Door Number 4

So, as always and ever so frequent and I am sure, tiresome; I am writing about motherhood again.  My motherhood.

Today, on a drive home, I had a conversation with God.  Was it really God, or was it a superimposed something or other that fed me the words I wanted to hear.  Sometimes I really don't know.  Regardless, it brought me to tears -- those tears that flow, followed by the ugly lump in the throat, where even tightening up the lips leave no affect.

Each second, millisecond, nano-second of my mothering existence is completely wrapped in the 'job' of parenting.  Every word I say, every breath I take, every action i seize - noticed or not, is present in how my children are being raised.  

Break: Sidney just walked up to me with his box of legos saying, "Momma, up."  So, either this will have to wrap up soon, or i need to occupy him with something else.

The road I deliberately take with my children might not be the right one and that continually eats at my soul.  Different roads are riddled with opportunities, consequences, risks, adventures and so forth.What road am I choosing to take?

So, this question greets me each morning before my feet hit the floor, "Katie, what road are you taking today? What will your children learn from you, how will they benefit or not from your influence"

My daughter does not know the first thing about  sewing or quilting for even baking for that matter. My sons do not know how to milk a cow, work hard for their keep, or keep a clean room.  Suffice to say, there are many aspects of their life they are missing; solely because as a parent, i have not introduced it to them.  When someone asks them if they have read this classic book or that classic book and they say, 'No.' And I cringe.  When someone says, "Oh, you should know all about this or that," and they don't, I cringe.

I am hard on myself - i know. 
I am not sure if it is a matter of me getting up off my butt and choosing something different.  I am not sure I would want that....or do i?  Do I want to bake with my daughter?  Do I want to bake with my sons?  Do I want to learn how to sew or knot?  hmmm.

Okay, enough said on that topic.

Conversation withGod.  As I thought about my children and how they will be growing up under their parents' guidance, i thought what it might look like.  God put me on the stage of "Let's Make a Deal" and the conversation/visuals followed. I was able to imagine how each individual child may turn out if I chose to do differently.  Door Number 4 was my child -- my child that *I* raised and he/she was just perfect regardless of my flaws.  Each of them stood as adults behind Door Number 4, waiting for me to pick the correct one.

This probably doesn't make sense to you, but it makes sense to me -- or at the very least, this is what I will cling to for a while.  It was made clear to me that I want door number 4. I want my kids just they way they will be...raised by me....or for at least the next couple of hours (smile).

Maybe tomorrow for school, we will bake.

Was I Just in Paris?

I am not sure where I have been or where I am going.  I am unable to hold long conversations or for that matter, piece together coherent sentences.  My heavy eyelids direct an attention to my bed, but with each passing exhale, I feel I am losing pieces of an experience that must be written down - for one day, I will be asking myself, "Was I in Paris?"

Friday morning >> up at 6:10am, get perry out of bed and spend the morning with him before his departure at 7:13.  Get the others up and all are out the door for chess club by 7:45.  Make final lists, pack up the suitcase (no, did not pack until Friday departure....but it was 'all in my head') and do final clean up job so house is picked up for Daddy.  John and kids home by 9am.  All get back into car to take me to the airport. 11am - US Airways Flight 700 departs.  Adding in the layover, I arrived in Frankfurt at 6:30am Saturday morning  (CET)...11:30pm central time.  Nieces greeted me at the door at 7:30am and we were off to a fulfilling day of breakfast, basketball games, shopping in downtown Frankfurt, lunch, more basketball, dinner and Michael Jackson Wii dancing.  My head hit the pillow at 11:00pm (CET time)....4pm Saturday central time.  I had been up for 34 hours.

Sunday  morning> up at 7:30 to make train out of Frankfurt by 9am.  Erin had arranged first class tickets on train ride into Paris.  4 hours of talking and laughing.  Arrive in Paris shortly after 1pm. Check in and hit the town: Musee d' Orsay, lunch, drinks, espresso, grande ferris wheel overlooking Paris, and scrumptious dinner.  Back at hotel, we get to bed around 10:30.  I am unable to fall asleep.  At 2am, I am up and writing emails.  by 4am, i am finally asleep.

Monday  Morning > up early for breakfast.  10am, Erin has booked an appointment at a Moroccan Spa.  We check in and we check out around 2pm.  Relaxing.  The remainder of the day is simple - leisurely walks around the streets of Paris.  Time together, shopping, stopping for great food and drink, more shopping and walking.  See all the great sites - but only in passing.  Paris understood that it was 'sister time', so, it did not pressure us in anyway. Good people watching. The day goes by fast and we stop and another great restaurant for a late dinner. In bed by 11pm and I sleep the entire night.

Tuesday Morning > up by 8am.  out the door and check out of our hotel room.  Leave bags to pick up later.  Breakfast, and more walking around.  Enjoying the company of the other.  Lots of shops, lots of espresso.  We spend the day on the town and are back at the train station by 6:30 to catch the 7pm train back to Frankfurt.  12:00 arrival back home

Wednesday >>  up at 6:30am to see the girls off to school.  Enjoy breakfast with them, give them big hugs and kisses and wave good bye as they board the bus.  9:00, Erin and I are out the door to the airport.  Plane departs shortly before 12pm. On the plane, traveling through time. Arrive by 9pm ( 4am CET time) and back in my own bed by 11pm that evening.

Was I really just in Paris?

What Does It Mean to be Free

Today is National Freedom Day.  I am sure that Hallmark has a card for this somewhere in their collection.  Presently, it is Daybook time; i have scaled way down on this, even though it is one of my favorite times.  The kids have been prompted to write "What does it mean to you to be free?"  It will be interesting to hear their answers.  Lucy, who is the most hesitant at writing - simply because I think writing requires a creative and imaginative exploration that she finds hard to grasp.  I cant say that she is always black and white in her thinking, but often ties she is.  I look over and she is slowly making her letters form.  There might be tears soon.

So, what does it mean to be free?  For me, the answer is simple and because it is simple - I feel I take my freedom for granted - just as I do my sight, my sense of smell and the fact that there will always be food at the near by grocery store.  I think it is hard to teach freedom when you have always had it.  I feel it is hard to know lack of freedom when you have been born with this silver spoon in your mouth. 

I do wish that and I do hope that one day, I can choose to be apart of a greater world.  I continuously fight with this --- my household day to day, my kids, my white collar husband, my functional family.  The ground is solid and yet, i find time to dwell and complain about it. But again, i know no different.  I can read, listen, discuss, hypothesize - but can you really enjoy the taste of an orange by doing all of the above? no, you have to taste it.

What does it mean to be free?  take a look around...... voting, McDonalds (although we never eat fast food), debates, parades, protests, electricity, Internet, technology, transportation, food, etc, etc.  And yet, we are a culture of whiners and complainers and I never have enough time-ers. David Letterman, Jon Stewart, Monday trash day, church on Sunday....on and on and on.  what does it mean not to be free?  An easy response it to take all those away.....but honestly, I don't know.
Thanks for listening.  Time is up.