Ten Things I Learned From Everywhere I Went....

There are many things I could write about, but these are the ones that stick near and dear to my heart, because many of them were taught to me when I was about to graduate, whether from high school, college, or graduate school.  In all three cases, the lessons came not from the texts or research, but from encounters with people who really loved what they taught, and wanted more than anything else, to convey something of that love to others who might do the same. 

It didn't matter what the person taught or didn't teach, it mattered who they were. 

Lesson #10    Don't get too hung up on how people are, because they will grow, they will change, and so will you.  --Mr. John Conway upon my grousing about boys, friends, and high school. 

Lesson #9  Expect to make friends wherever you go, and be a good one to all you encounter. --A brilliant teacher at Lamar University, a 25 year veteran of Special Education who taught Teaching Reading, one of the last classes I took for my masters, and one of the best teachers I ever met.  Wish I could recall her name. 

Lesson #8  Read everything and more, but don't be pompous about it. Just read. --Jean Rodes, Professor at Saint Mary's College  on referencing anything else other than what is assigned.

Lesson #7 When things get too rough, read Dickens and eat ice cream.  --Professor Liz Noel, (advice when I caught Chicken pox, and another professor assigned Camus' The Plague). 

Lesson #6 All behavior is communication, no matter how old you are, no matter your condition, no matter your level of education, no matter your status in life.   Your job as a teacher, is to figure out what is being communicated and respond.   --Professor Sandra Einsel of Boston College on Human Development and Handicapping Conditions. 

Lesson #5  Wrap a line around your think...(whether drawing or writing) --Sr. Kelly at Saint Mary's College, on what creating, whether with words or otherwise, is. 

Lesson #4  "You will never be as good as Yeats.   Yates Maybe." --Professor Max Westler at Saint Mary's College on humility in the arts. 

Lesson #3  "A world defined only by science and math is inherently reductive, I wouldn't want to live in it....and neither should you." --Fantasy and Philosophy Professor Sayer, posing a philosophical question to the class, based on the books we'd read. 

Lesson #2  "Push through the pain, it's only temporary." --Kick Boxing Instructor, Jill (lost her last name to time), because she never let me slack off. 

Lesson #1  "How are you going to prevent yourself from being seduced by academia?" --my professor at the University of Texas asked.  "I think my husband and son will handle that problem."  I told him. 

Moral of the story:  Never give God that much leeway.   (We moved two months later, and the rest is history). 

Strange Gods and Cool Moms

One of the things I decided I needed to do for myself this year was read a book a month.  In May, I read Strange Gods by my Internet friend, the very excellent writer, Elizabeth Scalia.  She addresses our proclivity to create for ourselves Golden Calves to worship in our everyday life.  As I walked through the pages, I saw my earlier self when she got immersed in physical fitness, when it was all volunteer all the time, when I obsessed over gourmet cooking and discovered writers forums. 
Every time, what began as a good, an interest, a passion, a hobby, would eventually become less good, an obsession, a substitute, a routine or want that became a need and thus a chain.  This is not to say that foodie lover impulses or work outs or learning a new trade via reading/interacting with professionals online is a bad thing, only that my natural tendency toward being enthusiastic would allow the right order of things to become disordered.  I'd even done it with prayer!  It is a good but hard read in the same way going to the doctor and stepping on the scale is a good but hard notice, time to stop eating apple bread and go for a walk.

In June, I read my friend Tracy Beckerman's Lost in Suburbia and while she tackles coming to terms with motherhood through humor, she and Elizabeth are talking about the very same thing, our innate desire both to be consumed by whatever role we've chosen/been given  and to be noticed as singularly unique and special, beyond the role we've chosen/been given.  I laughed out loud several times at the pool and in the car before I finished, seeing my own self in the unwieldy battle between  trying to be mom and still more than mom and becoming increasingly crazy whenever one's own identity gets lost and  the mom role of one's life takes over entirely. I have known that strong need to stand apart and separate from everyone else, which when given, makes me wish to blend and be one in a million.   Ultimately, her search for the cool person within (read happy with herself and who she is and where she is and why she is in life), mirrored my multiple idol creating quest and the deep frustration and unhappiness that came with being ill at ease with wherever it is that I was before coming to terms with my own self.

 Being a mom of many, I've often felt subdivided and like I'm never doing what I should be. Ironically, it's meant I've cast about rather than be still, the best example being when my oldest son set me straight. I was expecting our ninth.  I'd volunteered to be the chair of the fall festival and I was writing.  Aloud I mused, "Do you think I should coach Peter's baseball team?"  He pushed himself back from the computer game he'd been playing.  "Are YOU CRAZY?" he asked. 

It struck home. I was trying to somehow do it all, to show I could do it all, but by casting myself apart from my family, rather than being present to it.  I didn't have the words then for what I was doing, creating an idol, in servitude to myself. But what I learned from my friends and family and years of hits and misses is not to beat myself up over the times I become overtaken by enthusiasm, but to just keep starting over. 

So today, I got up early and was writing when three children asked for breakfast. After I'd served them, I returned to the table but the laptop now took up too much space.  Symbolically, it was correct, the laptop should not crowd the family.  It was a gentle reminder, priorities.  Removing the computer, I looked at those still sitting at the table, happy, eating, content.  I looked at my daughter who was still on the couch.  "Want to play some pinball?" I asked. She beamed like a sunflower.  "Cool mom!" she said as we went up stairs.   Yeah.  I am a cool mom too. 

Can't wait to figure out what July's book will teach me.

The Little Extra Miracles of Every Day

Paul is four and a half. Words still mostly elude him.  He has good and bad days at school, so I get reports that he signed sandwich and cookie and said book and more and stop and days he dumped the shelf full of toys and pinned his best friend after chasing him into the boy's bathroom. 

Home is similarly conflicted.  There are days that begin with Paul taking out the skim milk and a sippy cup and lid to bring them to me while I'm getting dressed for the day because at 5:55 a.m, he's feeling a mite thirsty.  He's also taught his younger sister to climb up on the table with him and together bang out a clarion call for attention and more importantly, food.   We've discovered Paul putting three discs in the Wii.  He's also known  to try kick off his socks and shoes as soon as he sees the bus pull up.  In short, there is a gleam of mischief in those blue eyes.  He knows what he does and also knows how to use his disability to cloak his deliberate misbehavior.  Fortunately, his siblings have learned from his father and me, Down's syndrome is not an excuse.   It is not a get out of trouble free card.  If he dumps the book shelf, he gets to put it back together. If he scatters the muffin, he gets time out and no more muffin.  If he bites his sister, he gets removed from the room.  He howls like any four year old when justice is administered.  

But with those bad days, there are the momentary miracles, when we get to see Paul.  It has become his habit, after brushing his teeth for as long as we will tolerate (man does he love his One Direction playing electric toothbrush), to climb onto our bed and watch a bit of baseball with his dad.  Yesterday, his father was explaining where exactly his ankle hurt and what tendons needed to be rubbed.  Before I could move, Paul scooted down to his father's feet and began rubbing them.  It was a gift.  It was hard to do anything other than watch as a four year old son ministered to his 46 year old father's pain. It was a great moment of a little miracle, the kind we would not recognize if not for the silence he gives us most of the time.  His silence helped us see. 

Today, he did it again.  The kids were grousing about bringing up their laundry baskets.  Paul went over and picked one up and began the slow hard process of bringing one up the stairs.  Everyone watched as he moved the basket one step at a time.  It was very hard for anyone to argue afterwards about having to do the same chore.  "And a little child shall lead them..." I thought.   But his actions this morning like the other evening again revealed a listening mind and a willing heart. His body had to work to align itself with his will and his generous spirit, but that is the struggle we all have, getting that proper orientation of the will to the heart and the mind and the body to do good, to be obedient, to try for the benefit of another. 

There is a great temptation in the world to either ostracize/demonize children with disabilities --rendering them things to be discarded or destroyed or removed from society, or to sanctify them into heaven while here, to pretend they cannot sin, to make them cherubs or angels when they are what we are, humans, whose talents, like our talents, must be developed and discovered and encouraged, and whose flaws must be addressed and admonished and acknowledged.   Paul remains very human. He makes us more so.

Today he picked a dandelion, hugged his sister as if he hadn't seen her in years and came home to spend time coloring the table before I could get him paper.  He scares me by trying to run outside and out into the world and at the same time, his zeal for exploring is a reminder to me not to stay caged up at the computer.  He will compel me to play out on the grass kicking a soccer ball, to go examine the garden and to stomp in rain puddles and take walks.  Theoretically I do this for his sake, but I am made healthier and more human for it.   Likewise he will compel his siblings to work and to bring him out, and they will be made more whole in the process of introducing everything to him.

Paul's little extra does not limit his open heart or generous spirit, but his condition keeps the rest of us from placing an over emphasis on efficiency, by making us listen to the wonder of the world, of living at a slower pace than the world prescribes. 

Happy Dog Days of Summer!

The dog days of summer are upon us and I've noticed some behaviors that are not strictly speaking, healthy, smart or acceptable.   I wish to clarify without lecturing so let me put them in a 10 point rule format.

10) Bedtime is not cruel or unusual. 

9) We will not eat out every day or even every week. Deal.

8) Lack of an event on the schedule does not equal an invitation to propose six. 

7) Breakfast service ends at 9 a.m.  Lunch opens at 11:30 and closes at 1. (See, I'm reasonable).  Snack is a sometimes thing, and dinner is at 6-7.   I promise, you won't starve.  Now get out of the refrigerator.

6) Sleeping until noon will earn dinner dish duty.  It will still be earned if you get up at 11:58.  (or close enough).  

5) You must shower daily, as well as see to all other necessary hygine.  (Sorry, them's the breaks).

4) The Internet, TV, Computer, Kindle, DVD player and Wii all have off switches.  Coincidentally, when you turn them off, your brain starts working.  (Useful for summer reading). 

3) Being bored does not mean "Let's poke our sister until she screams."

2) Just because homework isn't being assigned doesn't mean chores don't still need to be done. 

1) I don't stay on you to exercise, read, wash, do your math and take care of things because I enjoy being a Matronly Goblin task master, trust me, I'd rather write, swim, shop, surf the net, sun, eat out and nap too. I just know, if I leave you to sink or swim, I'm supposed to be the lifeguard, so I'm trying to help you learn how to do more than tread water.   

P.S. Swimming lessons start next week.  

Virtual Reality

As followers of this blog know, I now have a Wii fit. I've been asked if it's good, and to give a review.

I will say, it is fun, it has promoted exercise in my family and according to it, I've jogged in place roughly 30 miles since last week.  Given that before last week, I had not run mile one in about three years, you'ld think the pounds would be melting away.

Alas the virtual miles do not make the actual pounds disappear. I've gained two! My Wii Mii is flabby in the middle like me.  Speaking from the tiny part of me that is completely vain, I'd like a little less realistic reality in my virtual avatar. 

Then there's the Wii Mii age. The machine gives you your physical age based on a series of tests.  I've been 63, 54, 49, 33, and 25.  It's very demoralizing when your kids tell you, "Hey Mom...it says you're old and overweight.  The Wii said so." 

The Wii also says I'm running 12.6 miles in an hour. I've NEVER done that, I don't think it's physically possible given my airway issues.  So the skeptic in me has awakened.  How is it possible I'm jogging nearly the equivalent of a half a marathon a day in an hour? How is it I am morphing into Supergirl when I run in the Wii world and staying slug flabby Mii both on the screen and in real life?  Is the Wii lying to me in my activity, telling me what I want to hear in one area but not the other? If the machine is going to lie to me, I wish it would tell me I'm thinner for all these miles.

Here's what I do know...reality is always harder than virtual; rockband is easier than practicing a guitar, blogging is easier than writing for a publication, and Facebook is no substitute for time spent with friends.

Sigh...Nothing good or great or worthwhile is easy. Nothing of value does not require commitment.
I'm reminded of the quote, "Of course it's hard. If it was easy then everybody would do it. Its the hard that makes it great."--from A League of Their Own. 

Wii Fit is the exercise equivalent of diet food dessert.  It almost works, but not quite because we know what the real cheesecake tastes like.    It is real enough, I'm working out and that's a start.   I still like the Wii, but tomorrow, I'm going to try running outside and see what happens...I'll let you know how far I get in those sixty minutes outside of the Wii world.  Hopefully actual exercise in the real world will yield better results than the Wii world has.  I'll let you know.

Spring Thaw

One of the problems I face raising so many children, is getting into a parental rut; like not varying the menu or not thinking to expose my kids to a type of art work because for me, I’ve done this six times before. The tone I use with the three pre-schoolers cannot apply to older, nor can the ironic humor used with teens be salted in conversations with pre-teens. If you only eat Nutella, you forget other chocolates like semi-sweet have a beauty that’s worth appreciating. Drinking only one type of wine or hearing only one kind of song will ultimately become dull. Parenting the same way with everyone is a guaranteed recipe for failure. As of late, the sheer numbers had resulted in my engaging in mostly triage style parenting, fixing what needed help the most and trying to just muddle through the rest.

Playing ball, the kids began a rhyming game and I had to marvel at how quickly my older children molded their behavior to keep the younger ones engaged. I conceded, I had been an all work and no fun parent as of late. Fortunately, my daughters and sons keep providing me with their fresh perspectives. Without their everyday examples, I’m not sure how one could rediscover experiencing toddlerhood the eighth time around and continue to recognize that a day spent scribble scrabbling through an entire ream of paper is much better time spent than even a few minutes agonizing over a difficult Sudoku.

The other day, my daughter put out the paper and crayons as soon as breakfast was over and had the toddlers make periscopes so they could play pirates. The project lasted all of 20 minutes but the joy was contagious and soon I had swabs running about the house saying “ARRR” and “AVAST” with lots of giggles, whereas boring old me would have cleaned the table and handed out the crayons and paper without the additional prompt.

How long had I been sleeping? These effortless acts that for some reason had for me, taken effort, were all around me. The children needed me to have new eyes too. A mental wall came down, making me wonder when I first put the darn thing up and why?

Suddenly, there were all sorts of possibilities. I could already foresee, reading the lyrics to rock band, our first grader would getting additional reading time and mentally planned a band session for the next day. That week, times tables were an issue for my baseball player, so we’re worked on drilling them as we played catch. “Pop fly Pop Quiz. Seven times Seven.” He had to catch, throw and give the answer. I told him it was just as hard for me without the math. After watching me drop a few routine flies, he agreed.

The calendar may say only March 8th, but the first signs of a real spring are here. For me, parenting is and will always be like listening to opera, watching a movie with subtitles, visiting a museum or hearing baseball on the radio. The experience itself is more pleasurable than the idea of the experience, and I need to not be put off by the concepts which often sound dryer and duller than the reality. The thaw of my hibernating fun parent has begun.

Yesterday was beautiful so we went outside. One daughter had too much homework, but in keeping with the new policy to squeeze in a little fun, she dribbled the basketball under the table as she worked on her geometry. The old me started to mess with it, after all, she was in the house, it was loud, what if the toddlers try to do this…visions of messes threatened to create six more weeks of winter. Then I remembered myself in a desk. Even in graduate school, my leg was always bouncing, I never sat still. Even in tests, I’d be almost twitching to get out of my seat and my notebooks were illustrated with dragons on every page whenever a lecture was taking place.

I made myself smile and ushered the younger ones outside to bike a game of red light green light, but before leaving, I drew a dragon on her worksheet. "Keep up the good work." I added.
“Cool Mom.” and she kept on dribbling. “Look, with my left hand too."

P.S. There are lots of lessons I’m taking in from this most recent child’s brief life, not the least of which is, whatever I’m currently worrying or obsessing about, it isn’t important. Life raising nine children suddenly seems a lot less difficult than I previously thought it was, and thus I am grateful to this little one for bringing with her, the gift of perspective.

Piano Lessons

Everyone who has ever signed their kid up for a musical instrument understands the position of the cowboy renegade in the movies.

Except instead of saying, "Okay Sherriff, Dance!" we're stuck trying to hotglue our children's seats to the bench and place their fingers on the keyboard "Play...play it again...play it for old times' sake....I've set the timer...play before the time goes by..."

Threats don't work well in the realm of musical instrument practice, "Practice or no more lessons sounds curiously like a reward rather than a big stick." Whenever I mention...you could play the piano...children's bladders have an instantaneous urge, or there are homework assignments that haven't been attended to...or gee, that book looks interesting...in fact, the only chore dreaded more than practice is laundry...I did try that once...practice music or fold socks. I was actually bummed out when she chose the tickling the ivories over sorting the whites.

Now I know music builds hand/eye coordination, reading skills, helps develop brain synapse overlap and creates a life long skill that most people come to appreciate long after the weekly lessons have stopped, but I still wonder, what lessons is this weekly/daily struggle teaching me?

Well, I never really learned to read notes...so I can now FACE and EGBDF with the best of them. My teachers always had to play songs for me before I would try them. I can now sight read as a intermediate and have even ventured into looking at new pieces...something beyond the Spinning Song and the Happy Farmer...those never get requested at parties...maybe that's why I'm not invited to many. The lecture about playing a piece three times each, putting that into practice has really been an intellectual effort on my part not to be a hypocrit. I know it works...but even I chaffe at having to do it...darn it, why was I right on this one?

Still, after getting my daughter who actually requested this extra curricular activity to practice, she conceeded, she likes the idea of being able to play more than the reality of learning it. And I gave in, and told her we didn't have to continue.

Followers of this blog know that I name my appliances and important non animated tools that aid in this galactic struggle we call parenting. Today, the piano earned it's name after five years of servicing us sans a monicker..and the piano's name is Lonley. "Because it's only happy when we play it." My daughter explained. Then she set the timer for me.

"But I have laundry to do."
"It can wait. You always say we should make sure we keep proper perspective on things and do things every day to enrich our brains and increase our talents."

I hate being quoted back to me.

She leaned forward and looked earnest. "I don't think folding socks improves your brain or your talents. Besides, you're always saying you don't do enough things that have no purpose other than being good for you --like exercise and reading and..."

I meekly sat at the bench. Lonely and I were in for it.

She even put out my piano books so I wouldn't be able to stall as she had in locating the sheet music.

"What are you going to do while I'm practicing?"
"I'm going to fold socks to help you out Mom." she smiled. "And to make sure you practice each piece three times."

"Lonely, this looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

New at Subway, Eat Fresh...

It always happens this way.

I was going to drive to Austin for a graduate class. My husband shut the door, handed me a diet coke through the open window and said, “Drive safely, don’t speed. I love you.”

I got busted going 87 miles on 290 North, Bonnie Raitt blasting on my CD player, half way there.

After spending a week dieting and exercising, and discussing healthy eating habits with my children, my oldest caught me making my super fabulous extra bad for you fudge sauce for ice cream sundaes…and of course alerted the others, such that I had to share and suffer lectures from my children about being healthy.

This latest come-uppance comes courtesy of my son.

Friday was the beginning of his spring break. He came home. He promptly unplugged completely. The backpack sat at the front door, unopened, unmoved, unloved for four days. My husband asked him at a band meeting after the band leader made reference to report cards…”Where’s yours, son?” “Oh. It’s in my backpack.” He replied indifferently, and rattled off his grades.

Four days…four days and it never occurred to him to mention his report card. I was off.

Pointing out that if he couldn’t get out of being lost in space long enough to remember a report card, maybe he shouldn’t be sent on a band trip for five days to Florida, I started listing the other examples of him forgetting things earlier in the year. His gym shoes, his wallet and his lunch bag all had been casualties of carelessness.

I was working up a full head of steam and hitting my stride, talking about being responsible, about paying attention to your surroundings and to detail, how adulthood required this on a daily and systemic basis…and…the phone rang.

That afternoon, I had picked up sandwiches for dinner. I had left my cell phone at Subway.

So, I’m ordering a toasted Crow with provolone and some humble pie dressing to go.
for more tasty helpings of humilty and hilarity, try http://www.humor-blogs.com/! It's so much easier when someone else gets taught a lesson.