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.

No Tigers Allowed

Excuse the length of this.


I am getting tired – oh so tired of the “Tiger Mom” getting press. It’s comical that even the late night news has picked up on it and the reporting style is pitiful on this cultural subject.

Unfortunately, parents are left so volatile, so picked at and left for damaged goods that they are willing to grab on to the next express of parenting fodor (cursor blinks…not sure how to proceed).

On the tails of “Tiger Parenting” is “Children are not raised to be happy” mentality (I know this is a blanket statement and much goes into the argument). I might as well dig my own grave now, for I am doing it all wrong according to the Experts: the 20 something editorialist in the Star Tribune and WCCO news anchors.

I understand the nature of the beast. Parenting is a job and a job to be done with great merit, character and moral upbringing. But what is missing?

I am rasing imperfect children. 30 minutes piano practice, lots of play time outside, sleep overs, adequate and age appropriate chores, respectful conversation between parent and child and lots of affection…..and did I mention lots of laughter?

Do i want success for my children – ABSOLUTELY! Do I want them to be happy? Absolutely..

I want my children to be successful. I want them to have motivation and ambition. I want them to care about others and see the world around them as a place to be active members. I want them to not take their life for granted. I work on this standard day in and day out – but, I have to be honest, presently, I want them to be happy. Sooner than later, they will be lost within their own moment of heart ache, sadness, feelings of despair, and unfortunately, agonizing emotions. Why ask them to give this all up because I am asked to put more into piano practice.

My two cents aside, i do see a slide in relation to expectations of children: giving in to whims, meeting demands, and letting the ‘such as life’ mantra hold high rank in a family; ending in detrimental side effects. But, i completely disagree with the attempt at comparing a western culture to something that has been in place for centuries. I know Amy Chua “Tiger Mom” is getting some poor press, but just the same, she is getting press and contributing to this almost lemming mentality http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AOOs8MaR1YM :

I think i have to close. My arguments are not as stable as I would like them to be; I am writing on complete emotion at the moment and still need to process.

Thanks for listening.

Hold that Elevator

 I know I am blessed. I am a mother of 4, a wife of a wonderful man and incredibly grateful to my surrounding peace. This year, I am being self-seeking --- to an extent. I am doing more for myself and in turn, this will only assist me in being a successful mom and wife. And, fortunately, I have that choice.


As I write, I have a little girl who is cleaning up after the two of us painting wooden flowers. I have a 22 month old singing my name over and over again as he stomps around the house with his blue threaded friend. I am making time to write – it will be a split second and I can promise that. It takes nothing for me to write a couple of paragraphs. Today, I had 17 minutes to myself. I took it. With travel to and from piano, I had 17 minutes. I opened my lap top, wrote quickly and after I packed everything in to get back into the car, I quickly grabbed a cup of coffee. I ran to the store, bought stuff for lunch and picked up son from his lessons. The rest of the day is to be spent at home – whether it is cleaning, playing a board game, watching a toddler dance, playing catch or simply being present…nothing is on the calendar. But for 17 minutes, I was able to observe and be grateful and be present in body, mind and spirit.

Lately, I have been doing more for myself; but at no impediment to my family. I have gone out twice for dinner this week – but they have been late dinners. I was able to spend time with two friends. One I had not seen in 2 years and the other about the same. The last time I saw her, I announced to her that I was pregnant. The table was set, the meal was made the babe was in pajamas and ready for bed before I left. I did my job and I was able to go out and reclaim Katie for a couple of hours.

I am married to a man who works hard. He works hard by choice. During the baseball season, he is not home. I am home with kids --- yes, by choice, but with a hint of necessity. I am blessed to be here; but I have also acknowledged that my husband would not be the success he was if it were not for his wife who picks up every piece of slack that falls from him in his path. No accolades, an observation.

I am not a person to take time for granted. My day to day is proof of that.

The heartbeat of the baseball season is upon us and things are beginning to pick up. John leaves tomorrow and we will not see him until the following Sunday evening (if we are lucky – we may all be in bed). This will be a standard pretty soon. In a couple of months, he will basically say good bye to his family and we will see him sometime in October. The season will once again end with a celebratory dinner that Daddy is home. I am not complaining and I am not reaching out for pity. I have complete grasp that there are others completely less fortunate or who have husbands who are far busier than john.

I am selfish, I am spoiled, I am appreciative, and I am blessed. I am a busy mom in my very small world. How I choose to live my life may not be the right choice. What I say and do may completely go against the grain. I know for sure that I cannot devote 24 hours a day to my children and my husband without coming up for a bit of air – and this is what I do when there is an inch of time. The elevator door is beginning to close and I squeeze myself in – if only for the short ride.

4 minutes have passed since I have begun this posting and my time is up.

Before it Crashes

The milk is frothing in the background.  If I close my eyes, my ears are full and it is hard to decipher the noise within.  My eyes peruse the surround: college aged girls sharing dreams of nearing future; moms finding an hour within their day to talk about the woes of parenthood - coupled with laughter from the antics at home. Two gray haired, aged men sitting upon the leather chairs in juxtaposition as a woman reads her newspaper, looking up from time to time, almost questioning why she is here and what she wants from this split second instant.  A man comes in, hits me on the shoulder and bellows, "Hey, Katie, how the hell are ya?"  He just dropped one of his kids off at hockey practice and is squeezing in the time for the large coffee his friend just bought him.

I came here to write about me, but I have less than 5 minutes before my computer shuts down and i am not near an outlet.  I came here to write about me, but i am more entertained by the people who share in my existence in this moment: laughing moms, crying co-eds, a complete variation of generations sitting within this crowded coffee house, filling the space with voice, thought, laughter, and tears.  the background music is barely audible.  In a few hours, when the rush has passed, a sole barista will stand behind the counter, wiping it down with a wet rag, filling in her moment and listening to the music that fills the empty space.  my battery has 25% life left and my son will soon be picked up from his piano lessons.  I have yet to order my coffee as the line is solid and i do not want to break from thought. 7% left, 7 minutes until I leave.  7 perfect minutes to write and share.  Thanks for listening.

Connected

Many times in this life, i have deliberately disconnected myself from the world.  It was almost a safe guarding decision.  If there is a disconnect, then there are no expectations, no follow thru, no discord, no thought of what is to be.  But as often as I attempt to pronounce this time as if heralding out to the masses; it never simply takes.  Somewhere, out of the woodwork, comes a connection that is in need of seeing, hearing, feeling, and being.  These connections remind me of who I am, who i was, who i am still to be.  They make me stronger, more aligned, more intense with mission and they fill me.  truly fill me.  I am connected, whether i choose to see it or not.  I am strongly connected.

Thanks for listening.

Diving by Winds Instrution

A swift wind picks her up and she finds herself falling down by the sea – diving with no fear – for she just knows this is all going to be okay.  Within the mirror, she visualizes her younger ,protected self, her younger shield of glory.  This is a time of all abandon – she has never been here before, but is welcoming it like an old friend.

What is she to find here?  Hypnotically fixed within the void.  Ageless moments encircling and enticing the invitation to stay and ponder. No fear. Accepting.  Complimenting. Like a lyrical ping of sound, she finds contentment.

Her 10 minutes are almost up and she is beginning to feel the tug on her ankles by those whom do not wish for her to continue on this mystical moment.  One day, she will try to find this spot again, by the sea, to dive in again with no fear.

10 minutes

New Years Resolutions have never played a role in this life. I sit, I ponder, and ultimately, I pass.

This year, as I tried to make my argument for time - i thought i would take action instead of longing and then debating and then defeating.

So, on the top of my list was to take 10 minutes each day to write. I am not sure what will come of it, but I will give myself at least 10 minutes, if not more. No crying babies, no child by my side, waiting quitely and patiently for mommy to be done with her 'selfish deed,' and no agenda but to write.

I have been asked to be a guest writer on another blog and that is where most of my writing will take place. Second on the list is piano lessons. at 7:15 this evening, I made my way to my children's piano teacher and slowly plunked away at the keys. Elation filled at the end. Number three, go to bed at a decent hour. The alarm is always set for 6:15am, no matter what time i get to bed.

So, tonight, I sat for my 10 minutes. A bit tired, a bit ambivilent, but nontheless, took part in the exercise.

Result of 10 minutes of time.
What can happen in 10 minutes? We are about to find out. The vertical line..blink, blink, blink.

What can happen in 10 minutes? I wish I knew.

I approached this journey with a willingness and peaceful resolution and I am in search of truth – like Alice in the Looking Glass – searching for pieces that will find me out; to see what and where I have been, where I am going and where my passions lie.

10 minutes. I am frozen by this desire.

The grey matter of mess rallies and commands an attention that is not yet available. Beating inside, think, do, write, and say something!

5 minutes

Yet, music rhythmically brings it all back together and yeah, it will be ok. Do nothing today, give into the break . Let your imagination run away, close eyes, turn the sound up a bit, move within the beat.

10 minutes – what can happen?

This.