What's a Mother to Do?

Today, I'm feeling a bit out of focus. Lost. The past 2 weeks have been stressful and exciting. The next 14 days promise to be intensifyingly busy, exciting, and stressful. Very little of that stress actually belongs to me but major events for one child or another of my family have come together in a potential collision over just a few days’ time. I don't really know what to do except offer support where I can and then just hang on for the ride.

 

Last week, one child showed me his bloody finger he injured while he was at work. It seems he caught his fingers in a conveyor pulley. He's fortunate, extremely fortunate. It's just badly bruised. I'm left thanking his guardian angel for making sure he didn't lose his finger, or fingers, or hand. All I could do was act nonchalant and take him to the doc to be sure it wasn't broken. I wasn't feeling particularly nonchalant, but what's a mother to do?

I can't make the wheels of bureaucracy move more quickly for another child. My child did her part and has dealt with seemingly endless indecision and foul-ups by others. She persisted in doing her part to push those she could influence. The wheels of bureaucracy, however, have refused to be greased into timely action. There has  been plenty of time to get some reasonably uncomplicated paperwork done. For some reason things are running 5 or 6 days late. Was it the record cold and snow that slowed the work?  Who knows. Can it the process be amped up in the last few days available? I sure hope so but it's out of my hands. What's a mother to do?

 

Then, there's the adventure my two youngest have found for themselves that has us in a tizzy. They joined a new, local robotics team. It's a rookie team in a competition style that's completely new to them all made up of kids with a little computer skills (at least those that they will admit) and a little robotics experience. They were just in it to learn a little and have fun. They weren't supposed to win anything, but they did. What they lacked in a quality robot for that first competition, they made up for in sportsmanship and charisma. They earned a spot in the state level competition. Many, many hours of team and individual work later found them with a much improved robot and skills that made them a more complete package. They weren't supposed to win but once again they earned a spot at the next level involving a 5 day trip out of state.  We only thought the work was intense before. I don't know if anyone's really kept a log of the hours the team has put in on this project now. The robot looks amazing, not at all like the sad little jerry-rigged thing it started out to be 6 weeks ago.  The team members are getting excited. Costumes? I really didn't dream they'd have time to think about costumes but that will be a reality. Team cheers, a tribute song, all signs that they are comfortable with each other and the progress they've made. I can't do the work for them. I can nudge or prod but it's their project, their team and I won't take that from them.  I'm in a support role here as well. What else is a mother to do?

 

Oh, and I've got things I'm supposed to be responsible for as well, plus a husband who deserves my support. Sometimes this role of a mom is overwhelming. It's like I can never do quite enough. What's a mother to do?

 

Choose Your Pen

"I am a pen snob," declared a classmate of mine yesterday as she retreived her favorite writing instrument from our table. Some folks laughed. I understood. I too am a pen snob. 

My favorite writing instrument is a fine point caligraphy pen. The most humble grocery list gains an air of elegance when written with a caligraphy pen. I love the feel of the nib against the paper.  I KNOW, through my sense of touch, that i'm transferring information from one media, my mind, to another. Most of my notes in college were taken using that pen. 

My second choice us an old fashioned fountain pen, a Parker 51 to be exact. It has a smoother feel than the calligraphy pen but the ink flows onto paper in a similar way.  The ink is not uniform. There are darker and lighter places as I slow to think or hurry to get an idea down. This pen belonged to my father. That adds to the attachment I feel for it. 

My third choice is a super fine point Pentel. It has that slight scratchy feel against the paper that the calligraphy pen has but is more reliable. It has an intensly precise feel.

The sense of touch, or connectedness I feel in my favorite pens, is important to me.  I was the child  who HAD to touch everything in the store. I didn't necessarily play with things, I just touched them. I'm still that way. I walk around an elevated track with a railing with vertical metal bars. Some days I can't resist running my fingers across the bars. It makes me smile to feel the rails tap against my fingertips.  I feel a bit like a mischievous child. 

Sometimes it's easy to feel a little disconnected. Life becomes so busy that you end up just making sure you hit the next check point. I'm not so sure that's really living life.   I heard a quote today that appealed to the pen snob in me.

"When writing the story of your own life, don't let someone else hold the pen." 

         Harley Davidson

Go grab your favorite pen and write!

I'll Be Damned

My father used to tell a story about a man who was on a journey along a country road late one evening. (Now, first you must understand that this story takes place before the days of cell phones.) He was dressed in his Sunday best with freshly polished shoes. All seemed well as he drove along and then, he felt an unfamiliar tug on the steering wheel, followed by the unpleasant thump, thump of a flat tire flopping on the road as the wheel turned. He pulled over on the narrow road as far as the wide ditch that ran along beside it would allow him. The tire was useless. It had shredded and no longer held any air.  "At least I have a good spare tire," he thought.

He opened the truck of the car to lift out the spare and then he saw it, or rather he didn't. The jack was missing.  He'd removed it some weeks before and had never returned it to the car. There he was, on the side of a deserted, rural road in the darkening evening without the one tool he desperately needed. He looked around him looking for something, anything he could use. There was nothing but empty fields as far as he could see. Frustration growing, he searched through his car again.  The jack was nowhere to be found.  The man stood up, leaning back against the side of his car trying to think what he could do. Then, just as the dark of evening settled in to night, he saw a light across the field. It looked as if there must be a house that he hadn't noticed in the dusky light.

It would take several minutes to walk to the house since it was at least a half mile away. The man started walking, a bit of hope opening in his mind.  Perhaps the person or family in this house would have a jack he could borrow so he could change his flat tire. As he walked along, a pebble worked it's way into his shoe. Ouch! He came down hard with his heel onto it. He had to stop and remove the tiny tormentor before he could continue toward the little homestead.  

He began rehearsing what he would say once he reached the door. It would be simple enough, he'd just introduce himself and ask to borrow a jack so he could change his tire. But what if they didn't have a jack?  "That's silly", he thought," just about everyone has a jack of some sort." The pebble really had bruised his foot.  Each step hurt. "What if they wouldn't even open the door?  What if they have a jack but it's all jammed tight with rust? I'll have to spend all sorts of time just trying to make it work. These people are so far out in the middle of nowhere, they're probably still riding horses."

He turned up a narrow, dusty driveway that led to the house. He heard a dog begin to bark. "Oh, great, they have a dog. It sounds like a big one. It will probably tear my leg off before I can get to the door." He trudged through the thick dust to the front porch. He could see peeling paint in the warm glow coming from the window. He could see that his shoes were now scuffed and dirty. His pants were dirty and his formerly crisply pressed shirt was sweat soaked. "They probably won't even let me use their rusty, old jack," he grumbled. He stomped up to the screen door and banged on it angrily.

A startled homeowner opened the door a crack to see who might be pounding on his front door. The traveler spotted him quickly and yelled angrily, "I didn't want to borrow your rusty, old jack anyway!" and then he stomped away back down the driveway.

I've been looking over our family schedule for the next few months. It's a bit overwhelming. There are meetings each week.  There will be some sort of club activity or event for my sons almost every Saturday through May. Sometimes I feel like life is managing me instead of me managing my life. Sometimes I find myself looking to borrow a jack. I've been quietly becoming more and more disgruntled as 2014 drew nearer because I knew the respite of autumn was about to be at an end and barely controlled chaos of winter, spring and early summer were about blanket my weeks.  You got a jack?  Well, I DON'T want to borrow it anyway!

I snapped yesterday. I was grumpy and really couldn't hide it any more. It was always just below the surface of a reply that came out a little to sharply or a door that closed a little too hard. That should not happen.

 

I'll be damned if I don't get over this. I'll be damned if I don't see this busy schedule for the blessing of opportunity it really is. It's an opportunity for my sons and me to develop leadership and time management skills. It's an opportunity for us to learn. It's a blessing to be able to participate in activities with other motivated youth and adults. I'll be damned if I don't recognize and accept such blessings with the gratitude they deserve.

Habits and Routines

It's been interesting watching events of the last few days unfold. We've known for days that there was a good probability of atypically bad weather coming for our area.  Let's face it, we're in the south. We do not cope with freezing rain and sleet with the same blasé attitude our neighbors to the north seem to have. We tend to be poorly prepared to manage without electricity or a frequent trip to the grocery.

 

I've got to admit I am a creature of habit. Most of us are to some extent or another. We get up in the morning in a particular way. We follow a particular path through our days. It may vary some by day but essentially we are very predictable. We have our habits, our routines, our way of doing things and we don't really like to deviate from that.

Have you ever noticed, when your week has been disrupted by a holiday or a snow day, that it takes a day or two to reorient yourself in time? You've broken your routine and been forced to modify your habits. 

 

Habits and routines are powerful tools. Most that we use are just ways we've found to do everyday activities in ways that work for us. They're not right. They're not wrong. They're just our way. What would happen if we changed our habits so that they are truly to our advantage? What if we stopped habits that were harmful and replaced them with helpful habits?

Replace compulsive spending with a little compulsive saving. Replace grabbing a quick, sugar laden snack with something healthier. Replace 30 minutes spent sitting still, unwinding with 30 minutes of exercise. Replace one habit at a time, one week at a time, one old routine with a new one; gradually improving along the way. 

Sick of It

This has been a quiet week for our household. Two of my children were sick most of the week. Fortunately, due to a mid-week holiday, it was the least scheduled week of the month. Wednesday night Scout meetings were canceled. There were no Thursday  or Friday afternoon meetings. It was blessedly quiet week all the way to the end.

 

That wasn't the case for many folks. A few hardy souls were lining up outside favored stores by Wednesday evening waiting for bargain shopping that would be coming up soon. Newspapers, TV, and radio all oozed a constant flow of information on where the best bargains would be found on Black Friday.

 

Why do I hear "Black Friday" but think "Black Plague?" It could be because the whole general concept disgusts me.  Folks are in such a hurry to get a deal that the meaning of the Thanksgiving holiday and the upcoming Christmas holiday are totally forgotten.  No, let me correct that. The meaning of the holidays is ignored. It's bad enough that the Thanksgiving feast has turned from a special meal for which we are thankful into a culinary orgy of gluttony. Or, since it's not easily commercialized, the Thanksgiving gathering is reduced to nothing more than a meal with a archaic theme. Follow that closely with a grab-fest of greed induced shopping and I find the whole weekend nauseating.

 

I'm stunned. Really? People fighting over televisions and towels because they're on sale? A plague on us indeed if this is what our affluent society has come to! 

Wintering Over

I just brought my scrawny, little stevia plant into the house for the winter. This was the neglected plant, the little sibling to a larger version of the same herb. Stevia is a plant that wants to be outdoors in the warm sunshine in warmer temperate and sub-tropical regions. Here, I'm just hoping to keep it alive all year. At the first sign of sub-freezing weather, I brought it into my garage. The poor little plant was not happy. It's cold and dark in the garage.  It's the place I bring some of my plants to wait out the winter while they cling to life. By bringing it into the house, I'm hoping I'm giving it a better chance at survival. I can give it more light, both natural and artificial.  I can keep it's soil moist. I can give it what it needs to grow and thrive again in the spring.

 

As I look at this little plant, I'm reminded of the past year. There have been seasons of struggle and seasons of bloom for me. I'm trying to find the time to remember to nourish myself physically, mentally and spiritually so I'll have the strength to flourish and bloom in season.

 

Maybe that's what wintering over is all about. Shorter days and longer evenings tend to force a slower pace of life. It's a time for plants and people to rest and regroup.  It's a good time to reassess priorities and revamp plans. We're approaching the holiday season with Thanksgiving Day this week. Perhaps, taking time to start with a reflection on the blessings of this year will help to put all the rest in proper perspective.

Seeds of Discouragement

I'd promised myself that I wouldn't pay any attention to my doctor saying I might never get my flexibility back and that I might always need help of some sort in tying my shoe or putting on socks. I told myself I could just put that thought out of my mind and wait to see what happened. I was wrong.

That little negative thought has been swimming in the back of my head all week. Although I've worked to ignore it and laugh off the early warning of possibly impending limitations, it was still there. It left me feeling like, maybe, I wasn't really progressing. Maybe, it was all in my imagination.  Maybe, pushing myself to stretch until it hurt a bit was wasted effort.

I've tested the reality so there's no question. Four weeks ago, I could walk about a half mile in 25 minutes.  This week I was consistently walking 1.5 miles in 30 minutes and I've stopped using the hiking pole for reassurance. Four weeks ago I could not reach my left foot at all. Now, If I work it just right, I can get a sock on without using my assistance device. I can't always do it but I can some of the time.  Four weeks ago I couldn't sit on a 18 inch tall stool and raise myself up with just my left leg. I could do it at 20 inches, but not 18. I can do that today.  Four weeks ago, I couldn't step up with my left leg onto the top of a 12 inch tall step.  Today I can step up on a 14 inch tall step.

My progress may be in fractions of an inch but it IS progress. A quarter of an inch gained this week, a couple of degrees more bend over the next week or two. That's all I ask. It is progress, even if it's slow progress. I know there will be times when I don't seem to be getting better. I will not let someone stop me from trying.

The power of a negative suggestion, a criticism, or a negative thought are amazing. Keep it positive because the negative will do nothing but hold you back and tear you down.