water goes around the rock ...

That is one of my core mantras, along with "baby steps" (is it just me, or have you noticed as you've aged Bill Murray becomes increasingly relevant and indeed heroic?)






This is not where I planned to wander today ... but I am baby stepping my way through things over here and I am claiming points for showing up.  Yes, I operate upon an imaginary point system (thank you Karen!) where certain tasks - say, making the bed or tidying up the counter clutter (clutter, I've discovered is naturally self propagating) earn me ten points.  Putting laundry away (I may be one of those rarest of rare beings that has heaps of clean, air-dried, laundry sitting about - I do so love my drying rack ...) folded is 15 points and pulling out a new, clean t-shirt for the day (rather than the one I tossed off the night before) is also point-worthy.  I don't record my points mind you ... it's just the game I play in my head.

ahem ... yes ... the voices inside my head ... so staying with the brain lint theme here, I have come to confess that I am a bit fatigued - okay, completely done in! - by the sound of my own voice droning on and on and on inside my head.  I am hoping others of you partaking in your own homesteading adventures can reassure me that you know of what I speak.  Otherwise, well ... I don't know what otherwise I have available to me?

So, baby steps and water goes around the rock ... you see, today is one of those days where my flow - if you could call it such - ran smack into a unexpected and inopportune boulder.  Nothing too massive that I cannot shift around it and indeed, there is no other option (a tantrum not option so much as a delaying tactic.) So as I take the curve around the obstacles in my day, I find myself thinking about the rocks that water goes around.  And I am thinking those rocks are really the opportunities where I am force to shift perspective, change direction, and open myself up to the reality that life is not about me reaffirming who I think I am, so much as me rediscovering moment by moment who I am and who I am becoming.

Okay ... did that just hurt your brain too?  Blame this this talk by the poet David Whyte which has the white mouse in my brain spinning wildly upon his little wheel: Being at the Frontier of Your Identity.  I've listened to this talk 3 or 4 times now and only a fraction of its immensity has penetrated the dense outer crust of my mind.  

A form of enlightenment may be to understand that you'll never feel quite at home in the world. And you're not meant to.  (from What to Remember When Waking)

My mind is reeling.

And then there is this nugget: 
 

...one of the difficulties of parenting is that you are constantly attempting to relate to someone who is not there anymore ...  they are growing so quickly  ... and you also have this internal heartbreak that they are growing away from you and they are no longer the person who needed you in every facet of their life ... and so there are tremendous dynamics that are attempting to stop the child from growing. 

I am sucking the marrow from that bone ...

So today I am attempting to staying present for the me that I meet as life forces me to flow unexpected ways.  There is the me I've crafted piece by piece through the stories and events in my life; and there is the me I meet when I let go of the labels I've plastered upon myself - impatient, emotional, sensitive, odd ball - and open to the reality that I am always unfolding, learning, growing, being and becoming.  What surprises me is how much trust I feel about that process ... and about that person.

I wonder who we will be tomorrow?  

okay, so the paintings make an appearance because 1) in reviewing old old blog posts, I was struck by all the color in my life and I feel a strong pull right now to paint and bring color back in; and 2) the characters that appear in my work represent the many voices that are attempting to penetrate this thick skull,  so perhaps I ought to give them their space to speak?

this mother's words

In recent months I've had a number of friends reveal that they are expecting their first child.  I used to teach prenatal yoga and I never tired of the sharing between soon-to-be moms and those with some experience under their belts.  Which any mom will tell you, never feels like enough!

I usually send my friends this essay by the writer Anne Lamott who is my favorite writer when it comes to expressing the wonder, the insanity, the highs and the poopy, ranting-like-an-insane-person lows of parenting.  She is the first stop for any mother-to-be not so much for advice, but for reassurance that you are not an awful person if you snap at your child. Lesson number one: we are all flawed (didn't you get that memo?) but it's a place to start. There's only up!

So I've decided I need to write my own "letter to a friend who is expecting" as I have 6 1/2 years under my belt and some stories from the road to share that may be helpful. Here goes:

Of course, my heartfelt and immediate first response is to say what everyone with kids will say: "Congratulations ... your life will never be the same!"

Ominous, I know.  The meaning of that statement depends upon the tone of voice in which it is uttered and I'm sure by now you've heard the entire range.  I can tell you - they are all correct.

Here's how I would sum things up:  You've heard about the Cyclone rollercoaster (or maybe the Beast or Titan or MegaForce) and you wait in line for your turn.  Time seems leisurely, you sip a lemonade and chat up your neighbors in what appears to be an endless queue. You are nervously excited.  Sooner than you expec, you are next to go.  You are hustled into your seat and the roll bar snaps down across your lap in a startling and unsettling manner and then cars lurches forward towards the first massive dip and you realize: There's no going back.  

You have two options: scream your head off out of fear and lack of control; or scream your head off in total surrender to the moment.  

My advice is the latter, but you will all-too-soon have a chance to decide.

What I wasn't expecting when I became a mother was just how incompetent I would feel. Like, all that time waiting and I should have been studying pediatric medicine, child psychology and early education principles.  But I did what most of us do - get lost in the wonder of children's books, toys, clothes and room decor. (I went with the jungle animal theme; never underestimate the power of that first interior to mold personality! My girl loves the zoo - so there's the proof!) 

You will believe for a time that everyone else has this parenting thing figured out.  Many  will try to impress upon you that they do know it all and know best. (Not to make general assumptions, but often they are the vocal and demonstrative breast feeding moms; not that all moms who embrace breast feeding are this way, but many of the more assertive advice-dispensing mothers happen to be passionate about the subject.)    

Don't be deceived!  Everyone fumbles their way through those early months (did I say months?  How about years?) and I maintain it is the truly secure among us who freely admit we are pretty much winging it.  It's a lot like sitting in a meditation group: while you sit there in agony from the effort to sit still and quiet the mind, you will look out and see all these other serenely meditating people.  The thing is, they are probably in just as much mental and/or physical distress as you and are wondering how you are able to pull this off!

Okay, so we've established there is no manual, no real preparation possible, and that others may try to assuage their feelings of incompetence by questioning the way you are raising your child.  Family may do this as well.  The thing is, the only one you need to worry about is your child ... and he/she won't know about Super Mom down the block. They will only know you.

Here's the diamond among all this mess: your child will love you.  Nothing can prepare you for the power and immensity of that love and the trust.  They will lift up their chubby little hand and they just know you will reach down to clasp it.  They will look at you with such love and wonderment in their eyes and you will be blown away to realize you are the object of such adoration.

There is a tangible moment when you realize you and your child are falling in love with each other.  Not that you don't already love your child before they are placed in your arms; but as your relationship grows, there is this sense of dropping down into a sea of love that is vaster and more powerful than anything you can imagine.  You fall into each other. Words cannot capture the magnitude of this experience.  But once you experience it, you will want to return to that memory again and again.  It is like a talismans that will protect and guide you through some of the thornier experiences that await you.

Speaking of which ... Anne Lamott does a great job in describing all manner of poop so I'll let you read her.  I will say this: I promise you, your child will be toilet trained at least by the time of their 16th birthday.  You laugh now, but trust me ... when the time comes you will question how anyone survives the experience. (Best advice I received: toilet train in the warmer months outside with a wadding pool, portable potty and naked child.  Give them lots to drink - lemonade was a forbidden fruit that was sucked down in great quantity - and let them play.  The elmo sprinkler was a nice added touch.  All that bubbling water ...)

Children are constantly growing and in ways we can't always see.  Much of the crazy behavior (those moments when we wondered if we broke her) I think is due to a delicate nervous system constantly re-wiring itself. (Here's where I could have benefited from prior pediatric studies.) Some of the best information a friend passed on to me was that when there is no discernible problem and your child is still crying (usually at the end of the day), it may be their way of releasing pent up energy, stimulating endorphin production or even releasing toxins.  If you are proficient at meditating, now is the time to practice it! Or just breathe. Or sing. (Which is breathing with sound ... having a song that was our soothing song was a powerful tool for calming us all quickly. It actually was pretty miraculous!)  You being calm will carry you through many rough patches.

The other really useful information is to know that before every breakthrough, there is a total breakdown.  When your child is moving towards some new developmental stage, like walking, they will have a sense of what they can do,  but need to develop the skills to do it.  So frustration levels are huge.  And it seems the entire family feeds upon this energy. So when you find yourself in a state of utter chaos, rest easy knowing soon ... soon ... something new and wonderful will happen.  Until then, return to your happy place recalling those moments of blissful love and adoration.  (I believe this model - breakdown before breakthrough - applies for all changes even subtle emotional and intellectual developments.  When Cowgirl was learning to read, there were some massive melt-downs the likes we hadn't seen since those terrible twos ... and threes ... I bet we will have them in the teen years when the brain does a massive remodel!)

Okay, some of the random bits that I want to get off my chest share:

Your child will be like a fun house mirror.  You will see yourself magnified and distorted in ways both comical and unsettling. One day while trying to get Cowgirl ready for the swimming pool, I had to put her into a 4 minute time-out.  Naked and seething, she put her face just inches from mine and snarled "You're wasting my time!"

This is actually one of the great services our children provide for us.  We are given the opportunity to polish our rough edges, re-visit and resolve those problem areas ignored for much of our life.  (Apparently, we all need to work on the tone of voice we use - its a family affair!) We can choose to fix ourselves and even though it can be daunting work, our children inspire us to take on that challenge.

Our children inspire us to be braver than we previously might have held possible. I have found myself dancing and singing in public and my friend Diana will testify that I went down the water slide multiple times (and almost drown!) Going out regularly in a bathing suit in public is pretty high up on my list of brave.  More daunting, I have had to initiate difficult conversations and confront people I would normally avoid.  We are their advocates and as such must use our voice when they cannot.

You will also do some wonderful and crazy things.  Yes, one day you will find yourself sitting the crowd of Sesame Street Live wondering how did I get here? But you will look over and see your child be-bopping in the aisle to Elmo and that hour of an inane storyline  will be worth it. (Pray Dan Zanes and his band come to town while your child is young.)

There will be times your child does something and your head will nearly explodes or you will want to punt kick them across a parking lot.  Ask my husband about the time Cowgirl decorated his car with an engraved star.  Remind me to tell you about my new (and only) burnished leather bag and the pen mark.  A whole new twist to "tag - you're it!"

My favorite part of being a mother is I get to relive being a child from the vantage point of having survived it.  I can indulge in the play, the games, the stories, and the magic of the world revealing its mysteries all over again, only this time I'm sucking the marrow from the bone and savoring every delightful morsel.  You also tap into your past in ways that are unexpected if not informative. (Oh, the first time you play Monopoly as a family ... like Proust's bite of madeleine ... all childhood issues come rushing back to you)  

 

Now is a opportunity to process some of that material, if you choose.  The challenge is always questioning whether you are making choices based upon who your child is, or whether you are being haunted by the specter of your childhood self.  The universe having no small sense of humor, often takes care of this by providing us with the child exactly opposite of what we know and understand.  Hence shy, uncoordinated, introverted me (I know ... hard to reconcile ... but that's who I was) has an active, outgoing social butterfly for a daughter.

One delight no one told me about (so here is something to look forward to!) is how amazingly toasty warm and cuddly children can be.  If happiness is a warm puppy, well, children are just like puppies (read: squirmy with sharp nails) in that you will want to constantly hug, squeeze, kiss, and nuzzle them.  Imagine the most delightfully warm and fragrant homemade roll coming out of the oven and now imagine being able to wrap your entire body around it.  Our family manifesto includes this vital point: begin and end every day with cuddles.

You can expect many such treats as compensation for the worry, anxiety, frustration and confusion that are part of the package deal. (There are only package deals,  much like cable television.) Record those moments  - the strawberry scented kisses, the tummy raspberries, the handmade presents, snowball fights, nonsensical knock-knock jokes, the first lost tooth, crazy songs and wilder dances, the full body "I love you!" hugs - and treasure them.  

Parenting presents us with the opportunity to clarify our values and beliefs and can serve as incentive for us to make our life - our actions, our words, our contributions - rich and meaningful. We are given the chance to remember dreams and to see possibilities continue to abound and our children remind us that there's never a better time than right now to begin anew. We have this little person who understands the magical ways the world works and we are given the privilege to learn from them. In exchange, we must  honor the responsibility to care for, guide, and love them. 

It's a wonderful dance, squashed toes and all. The beauty is you will be the expert on your child.  No one else is qualified to do the job.  It truly is the toughest job you'll ever love.  And at the end of the day, your reward is all that warm, wiggly, cuddly love. It's oh so sweet!

For K - I'm holding you three in my heart.

in this moment ... (stories from the trenches of motherhood)

 

... I have been feeling pretty dammed edgy.  Chewing tinfoil kind of edgy.  Furtively looking over my shoulder and not sure whether I want to jump, or push someone off the bridge kind of edgy.


Part of my emotional exhaustion is due to the Husband being absent for the past two weeks.  Well, not completely absent.  I believe that lump that I kick in the bed ever night is him, but I could not swear before a jury that I know this beyond a shadow of a doubt.  He's working on a all-consuming project which has him body and soul.  And that means the hyenas of life are circling around me, teeth barred in crazy, flesh hungry leers and they are moving in closer and closer.


There is this Far Side cartoon that very accurately captures my experience of life.  In it a white bearded figure, God, is standing before a kitchen table and on the table is a globe of the earth. God is holding a salt shaker over the earth and the caption reads "And just to make it interesting ..."  The salt shaker is labeled "jerks" and God is smiling that same hyena smile.  


In this moment, that is how my world looks and feels.  


With only one and a half days left of school, Cowgirl informs me a boy on the playground is telling her that he "hates China" and "hates Chinese people."  Now, for the uninitiated, unraveling and decoding the tales of a first grader is pretty tricky stuff.  What was said and what was heard occupy distant ends of a spectrum.  Notions of "always" and "never" are murky and fluid concepts.  What constitutes "telling an adult" is open for debate.  


But in my emotionally depleted state, I'm just not capable of tolerating any kind of shit. Saying you hate an entire country or group of people is just trash talk and I want my girl to know that while we cannot stop it, we will not tolerate it.  


It is the first time we've really had to deal with racism (and for the record, I do think the kid is just being a punk and doesn't understand the implications of what he is saying.)  I say "we" but it isn't we.  It is my girl.  As hard as I try, I do not stand in her shoes,nor understand what it means to occupy her caramel-colored skin.  I tell her kids made fun of me because of my red hair and because I was overweight.  It's not the same, but I want to reinforce to her the notion that people go for the most obvious things like skin color, hair, eyes, teeth when it comes to being mean.  I tell her people will always pick on other people.  That when people feel bad about themselves, they want to push those bad feelings out and onto other people.  I want to teach her compassion and forgiveness but in my irritation and exhaustion I feel only anger and frustration.


I say that to justify what came out of my mouth next.  Casting about for words to give her, I told her to tell the kid he was being hateful. "If he says it again, tell him 'that is a lot of hate' and then walk away" I counseled.  When she seemed unconvinced of that strategy, I added "Tell him what he said is hateful and Jesus heard him and is disappointed."  


Okay, so I might have said "Tell him Jesus is pissed."  I'm not sure.  I was very tired. 

This morning I had a little time before school to think while I walked the dog. (Have I mentioned I am the only one walking the dog these past few weeks - along with being the only one making dinner, doing bath and bedtime, school drop off and pick up, slaying the occasional orcs that pop up -  which accounts for a large part of my exhaustion and diminished mental state?)  When I got back I told Cowgirl I had been thinking about it and that there are people you just can't argue or reason with and it is best to not engage if at all possible.  I told her there are people who try to steal your power and engaging with them is just one way that they try to gain power and take energy you from you. (Having played many Lego Star Wars, Batman and Harry Potter Wii games, she understands this notion of energy or life force and the need to guard and replenish.) I said the best thing is to tell him he is being hateful and hurtful and to leave you alone. And if he won't leave you alone, then to go tell an adult.  And if that teacher doesn't do anything, tell another one. And if that teacher does nothing, tell me and I will go in and tell the principal.


I ended up email her teacher about the situation and copying the school counselor.  The danger in contacting the school is similar to making one too many claims on your home owner's insurance:  they'll honor the first claim, then drop your coverage when they believe you've become "a problem."  The counselor responded immediately so I think we're in the credible camp, for now.  

Cowgirl greeted me after school with an immediate update on the situation: the boy and his friend continued with the "I hate China" taunts (which are beginning to sound like "I hate the New York Yankees" kind of rants) but now the situation has taken on a kind of science experiment vibe.  "I told him he was being ignorant mom."  (oh yeah, I guess I did say that as well.)  "What did he do then?" I asked.  "He didn't know what it means" Cowgirl responded, with a hint of a smile.  "Well," I said, " that proves he really IS ignorant."  

It's like we are testing various hypotheses upon him, trying to figure out what is driving his behavior.  "Maybe he does like me," Cowgirl suggested after I mentioned sometimes when boys like you they act all stupid; or maybe he is jealous of her mad monkey bar skills. (After the initial sturm und drang Cowgirl casually mentioned he is smaller than her and she is small compared to most of her classmates.  Of course I've been envisioning a beefy midwest football player with a crew cut when in reality he may be more an Owen Meanie squeaky voice pasty faced squirt.)  "He may be jealous of my lovely brown skin," she suggested. (I kid not - she did refer to her skin as "lovely" which proves she is listening even when she is rolling her eyes at my declarations of her talents, intelligence and beauty.)

Later that night Cowgirl had martial arts class.  She is in the advanced class now which means she is sparring with much taller and somewhat older kids.  When she suits up into her sparring gear, she looks very much like a Stormtrooper from Star Wars except she is the Lego version. This night the instructor had the kids sparring with the older boys who have their black belts.  It was ludicrous at first; Cowgirl came up to the waist of one boy who could hold her off by placing his hand upon her helmet.  Her usual tactic is to run circles around her opponent.  It looks like a baby Stoogies routine.  


So Cowgirl was using her usual tactic which is to run away when suddenly, above the blast of the music, there came a voice.  "Go Cowgirl! You can get him!  Kick Cowgirl, kick him!" 

One of the students who has known Cowgirl for years is an autistic boy just a little bit older than her.  His family is the sweetest family from Africa and the changes in this boy's behavior over the years is awe inspiring.  He is one belt ahead of Cowgirl.  He always greets her, his voice just a wee bit loud and insistent and she thinks nothing of his sometimes aggressive behavior.  She will always high five him even when he doesn't raise his hand to meet hers. This night he was her cheerleader. 

He really got into it.  His voice louder, his commands more precise.  "Roundhouse kick!"  "Side punch!" And the beautiful thing was, she began to follow his instructions.  She punched, she kicked, she added a couple of flying leap kicks which usually had her landing on her bum.  But she got back up and his voice guided her. "You've got him!" he yelled triumphantly when the older boy was finally disarmed by the enthusiasm of his mini opponents.  

 


I know the playground incident is the first of many such events.  I tell myself I survived childhood and my teens and I was not nearly as strong-willed, determined and fearless as my girl is. I try to remember that it was through challenge that I discovered my strength and gifts.  That being an underdog taught me compassion and adaptability. And the most important lessons are ones we are both learning: that not everyone will like us and that's okay because we don't need to like everyone either.  But we do need to like and believe in ourselves enough to stand up and give voice to what we need, what we believe is right and say how it is we want to be treated.  

More importantly, we are both learning to ask for help. We are discovering support is all around us and that we can never predict who will come to our aid, but if we ask and if we trust, someone will always be there to cheer us on. This is the gift bullies unknowingly give to us: knowledge of our real friends. Our friends may be a raggle taggle group, but they are loyal and true and they are there, by our sides in support. Ultimately, it is the bullies who hurt themselves, hurt their hearts and spirit with every mean word they utter.  We talk about this and I truly believe it.  My girl's heart is strong and brave and true.  And this mama  and her friends will be there to remind her of this truth. 

finding my rhythm

I wish I could say the absence of any sustained writing appearing on this blog was due to my pounding away at other projects.

Alas, I am here to confess: first grade is whipping my butt.

I know, it is meant to be challenging The Girl and it is - but in order to keep her moving along this mama is having to run alongside her much like a third base coach yelling his runner into home base.

First there are the weekly spelling tests. Because my child is "gifted" and honest, she tests out of the A-list (the "easier" list as she knows it) and is thus burdened by the onerous B-list. (She is honest - or naive - as she doesn't fail the pretest on purpose as a friend's son has figured out to do.)

So B-list it is. And I am wondering about the relevancy of that list. This past week she had (and misspelled) the word splint. Do doctor's still use splints? And even so, how many 7-year olds come across the word splint in their reading? So far, no splints in Frog and Toad or Little Bear.

But each week we blunder on. blunder ... that would be a good B-list word.

Then there are the craft projects which you would think this crafty mama would enjoy. Well, no. First of all, the project slips come home with usually only a week's lead time. As we live far from the craft store, a visit for supplies requires some planning and no small amount of mental/emotional preparation on my part. Perhaps we will reach a state of stasis whereby we will have all the pipe cleaners, popsicle sticks and raffia required?

We have made scarecrows, pet portraits, and animal habitats among other things. I actually assigned the last project - the creation of a shoebox habitat for a robin - to The Husband. (Not that I wasn't involved; knowing he would put it off until the final day, I was prompting Cowgirl through the week to tackle elements of the project like drawing a robin and gathering sticks.)

They are both pretty proud of it:

It was a two fingers-injured (The Husband's) affair. Advice-that-one-apparently-does-have-to-state-to-Husband: do not let a 7-year old handle a hot glue gun.

Have I mentioned the social events of a first grader? Bounce gym, bowling alley, dress-up shop parties just to name the most recent few.

This what I remember of first grade: Mary, Mike and Jane books; worksheets matching rabbits with the correct number of carrots; wearing pants under my skirts as one never knew when petticoat day might be happening (that's when boys pull up your skirt to see your underwear - a phobia I am just now realizing has affected me quite profoundly); parties at home with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; and a mock election to teach us about the upcoming Presidential election: Nixon versus Humphrey. (For the non-American reader: let's just say the Beatles were still a band that year.)

All of this mama-business aside, I have been able to poke my head above the clutter of elmer's glue, tissue paper and bottle caps and make some useful observations about myself and my life. The biggest revelation is an understanding of the cycles and rhythms that I move through as well as an awareness of how the larger cycles of the seasons and life move through and affect me. Ironically, I am coming to understand all of this as my own body shifts out of what had been a very regular rhythm and lurches into the erratic.

Initially, I was disturbed by the unpredictability of my cycles. But what I have learned is to be more sensitive and alert to feelings and sensations of my body and my emotions. The dialogue with my body has deepened and I am learning to be more attentive to its needs. Equally important is understanding my emotional/creative cycles. This piece of wisdom came as a gift from a very plump little caterpillar.

#44 in my series 49 by 49

I was walking the dog when I noticed a jolly green caterpillar making his way across the sidewalk. Caterpillars always put me back into the mindset of a child. I paused and watched as he methodically made his way across the concrete and into the grass. I started thinking about a book Cowgirl has called "The Very Hungry Caterpillar." It then struck me that I have been in a caterpillar phase: gobbling up everything I can to feed me in preparation for the time in the cocoon. While I had been thinking I was directionless - dabbling in too many mediums, gobbling up ecourses and dining in multiple social sites like ning groups or secret Facebook clusters - what I have been doing is fattening myself up creatively in order to move into a period of gestation and transformation.

So as we move deeper into the stillness of Autumn that threatens to merge prematurely into Winter, I am feeling the pull to cocoon myself and I'm okay with it. Perhaps there will be some new growth, but within a safe space.

Meanwhile, we girls continue to play. Or are we feeding ourselves?





Munch, munch ...

Cowgirl's trademark "Blue Thunder" monster truck;
that's "Hey man" at the bottom (well, Hay man!)

considering a sunflower series

Happy cocoon building!

It's elementary ... (and a summertime treat)

My girl and I possess a lot of fire. In Ayurvedic terms our main dosha or constitution is Pitta (fire and water) with intensity being one of the overriding characteristics. Typically Pittas are focused, determined, driven, and structured but also passionate with a zest for life. When out of balance, Pittas can be aggressive, demanding, bossy, irritable, sharp tongued, impatient, and stubborn.

Did I mention intense?

Balance for Pitta involves cultivating the opposite qualities: relaxed, cooling, soothing, sweet, non-competitive choices in activities, lifestyle, diet and environment. It goes without saying, excessive heat can aggravate us.

Recently Cowgirl and I spent a whirlwind long weekend visiting good friends and attending Chinese Heritage camp. The weekend was packed with fun but it was also intense in terms of activities and social interaction. It was also incredibly hot.

Our final day, we had some time to hang out before heading to the airport. The plan had been for a leisurely day walking around the Pearl Street Mall in Boulder, enjoying lunch and savoring the last hours with our friends. Whether it was the cumulative effect of so much fun, the heat or the impending end of our time together, Cowgirl greeted this day with a snarl and her mood deteriorated from there. Getting out of the car she wanted me to carry all 45 pounds of her as we walked along the mall. When I wouldn't (she is almost seven) she groused, whined, and staggered along at a grouchy clip. Then she became hungry.

Oh, by the way, Pittas when we get hungry are not mildly hungry, we are dying from starvation and must-be-fed-now.

I mentioned demanding, right?

Of course, I was also tired and fed up with her mood so there was this domino effect of bad humor all around. We finally ate which lifted her spirits a smidge but not enough to lift mine.

Walking back towards the car, we came upon the splash area on the mall, a favorite spot in previous summers for Cowgirl and her buddy to play. She saw the water and immediately headed over. Still being a Pitta mom (read: controlling) I yelled out "You can play a little ... but don't get too wet!" We had to go the airport and fly home and the last thing I wanted was a soggy daughter.








Or so I thought. Within minutes of splashing in the water, the black clouds that had surrounded my girl all day lifted. Face beaming, arms outstretched and dripping wet, my happy child was back. And watching her laugh and dance through the jets of water, I too was transformed.







Sometimes finding our balance, our place of peace and calm within, can be that elementary. To calm fire, just play in water. To lift a heavy mood, indulge in some lightness and fun. Thank goodness for us Pittas the treats of the summer are exactly what we need to temper the fire: watermelon, ice cream, leisurely days and lots of time in the water.















(She was still drippy when we got to the airport and as she walked through the security screener her socks left wet little footprints across the dark tiled floor - a sight that brought my spirits to a new high!)








For more images of Summertime Treats, be sure to visit 52 Photos Project. Now, go find a sprinkler and have some clean fun!

Weekly Reflection (Week 49): nuturing our talents

As I was cleaning up the dinner dishes, Cowgirl plunked herself upon a stool at the kitchen island to do some coloring. As an art historian, I cannot help but notice my daughter's work moves through distinctive phases. First, there was her Blue period followed by a Rainbow period and then a Dinosaur period. Now she working on a Transportation series. There are her Train pieces utilizing an Asian scroll-like format (many sheets of paper taped together) and more recently, Truck Books (incorporating staples - a new favorite rivaling her love for scotch tape.)

in "Blue Thunder" the artist draws upon her previous exploration of the expressive power of blue, incorporating a new investigation inquiry into speed and power as exemplified by the truck and car.

She was drawing away while I busied myself with the dirty dishes, pots and pans (perhaps a Kitchen Series is coming?) Then she asked us to help her spell out the words "Once upon a time." This is a typical scene:

Cowgirl: "Mom, how do you spell Once?"
Me: "O"
CG: "Got it!"
Me: "N"
CG: "Got it!"
Me: "C"
CG: "Got it!"

And so on. (The husband and I argue about the pacing of our spelling out loud. He fires off the letters while I wait for her "got it" before going on to the next letter. I find my brain seizes up when people recite letters or numbers quickly. The worst is on answering machine messages where I have to replay over and over, the numbers always getting transposed in my mind.)

Before long, The Husband had taken a seat by her and together they completed her story book. Cowgirl dictated the sentences, while daddy helped edit and then write out the words. Watching them together, my heart melted. It is such a joy for me when Cowgirl takes an interest in doing art with me and I saw the same pride and pleasure on The Husband's face as he assisted his daughter. You see, I forget that the husband teaches writing (screen writing) along with film production to university students and that, in fact, he is a writer. And in that moment, I realized we are a family of writers.

cover art for "The Orange Car"

"The car used fire rockets to go fast and not get hit."

"Then the car shot back at the bad suns. They were hit and shrunk until they were gone. The car was happy and jumped on a bump to fly away. The End."

When Cowgirl first came home at age 23 months, she spoke just a few words of baby babble and possibly simple Cantonese. Her first English word was "Woof" followed by "Up" which had an Italian inflection to it as I taught it to her saying "Uh, Uh, Pah, Pah" and so it become Uh-Pa! She didn't say much more and we actually discussed whether we should be concerned about her speech. Of course, we are a talkative couple and - you guessed it - quickly we had a very chatty child on our hands.

We are also a family of readers, so it should come as no surprise that Cowgirl is interested in writing her own stories, making her own books. Her first full sentence was "We like dogs." (By now I am sure you are noticing the theme here ... again, no wonder she refers to herself as "C Dog.")

And now she has a number of her books filling the tables in our home. She is becoming more adept at reading and writing words by sounding the letters out and with this new skill, her talent as a story teller is blossoming. I am proud of her joy and sense of accomplishment as she works on her creations. I am also coming recognize the importance of my sharing with her the thrills and pride I experience in my work. In thinking about all this, it is dawning on me that among other things, I too am a writer.

I'm not sure which is harder for me to say - I am a writer or I am an artist? In my heart, I know I am both, but saying so feels awkward and presumptuous. But if I want my daughter to be comfortable embracing her talents, I need to become comfortable doing so myself. I need to practice acknowledging the gifts and the talents that I take great efforts exercising. And it is effort; I know that talent is not a matter of total ease but of perserverence, commitment, passion and practice, practice, practice.

Also essential is taking time to celebrate and appreciate our accomplishments. To do so gives momentum to continue on. As the year draws towards its conclusion, I look back over my list from last January of "Things to Do in 2010." I am stunned to see so many items on my list have been realized or are well on their way to becoming a reality. Some are rather mundane: sew an apron, knit Cowgirl a sweater, wear more dresses. But some are pretty major: attend Squam, be involved in a big creative project (21 Secrets), take a painting class (BIG), skinny dip (at Squam in a frigid lake!), start a women's circle, and connect with some of my "idols" (classes with Marisa, Sarah, and Susannah.)

Connection was a major theme and intention for me in 2010. Another goal was to have my writing and images appear in places other than this blog. And today I am proud to announce I have a guest post up on The Mortal Muses blog for the theme "where i live." Having my work appear in other blogs is like having someone want to hang your art work in their living room. It is one thing to display my pieces in my home, but to have my work accepted into another's space is a huge form of validation. I realized this morning that I have had my work appear in four other blogs and that is a feat I would never have imagined myself capable of achieving. And I don't mean to say that my work isn't worthy, but for me to put myself out there and ask another person "would you read this?" or "would you consider this piece, this image?" is a HUGE accomplishment for me.

In fact, I have another dream project that just received some positive encouragement. I cannot go into the details just yet, but it is an idea that involves art, photography and underprivileged young people utilizing these formats to validate their perspectives, their experiences. I write about this because I almost let my idea whither away. It came to me last summer and I wrote to a couple of people about it, asking for advice on how to proceed. I got no feedback and over time, I let the doubts and the obvious logistical challenges damper my enthusiasm. Then I was in contact with a person whose organization I had hoped to contact for this project, but for a different matter. I was sending an email and it hit me I should mention my idea to this person and ask for feedback or a name of someone who I might contact. I sat at my desk, the angel of enthusiasm and passion shouting "write it! write it!" and the devil of doubt and self-effacement whispering "You can't do this ... you don't have the skills ..." and the most insidious of them all "now is not a good time ... wait until you are more ready for this." I wavered for an instant, and then I typed out my idea and hit the send button. The next day I got a response that my idea is great and she wants to discuss it at the January planning meeting with other departments in the organization.

The story I all too often tell myself is "what I do isn't all that important or big." I am coming to realize, I cannot maintain that lie any longer. For beyond anything I might achieve for myself, there is my impact upon my daughter's life which becomes more apparent every day. She moves her hands like me, she uses similar verbal inflections and facial expressions and now there is her sense of herself and her identity which is directly related to how I think and express my sense of self.

apparently, i am also an ice [cream] truck

Hello, my name is Lisa and I am a hard-working, passionately engaged, and dedicated writer, artist, and mother.

How do you describe yourself? Is it a nurturing or a destructive description? Who do you aspire to be?





(Thank you for the inquiries and well wishes into Moose's current health challenge. He has been doing much better and while we still do not know the cause of his stomach ailments, he is responding well to medication and a convalescence's diet. That said, he has had cravings which lead him to devour the top 2 inches of Rick's boot! So he is recovering from the effects of shoe leather moving through his system. And in a twist of either poetry or perversion, I found myself paying for his last vet's visit - a barium swallow test with x-rays! - and thinking "there go my new black boots." Well, someone got a black boot!)

Weekly Reflection (week 25): Strength versus weakness

(Don't forget to read Friday's post with my first Painting with a Purpose giveaway and your chance to win our Friendship Fish painting! Comments close on Monday, so don't wait!)

What strengths do I bring to my family?

This was the closing question in the parents session of HeArt Talks at Heritage Camp, a forum for participants to discussion their emotions and experiences around adoption, using art as a means to access deeper feelings. I had read the literature before camp regarding the subject matter of Cowgirl's session and was preparing myself for her questions or reactions but I had given little thought to how the session would impact me.






The parent's meeting was held at the very end of camp. Having had a rough morning with Cowgirl, my emotions were pretty much right under the surface and ready to spill out over me and anyone unfortunate enough to be in close proximity. I knew Cowgirl was physically tired, over stimulated, excited and overwhelmed but I had paid little attention to myself. Until that moment of walking into the parent's room.

As I pulled my plastic chair over to the circle of adults already seated in the room, I was painfully aware of my immense vulnerability and raw emotional state. It had been thrilling to witness the children bonding, celebrating their Chinese heritage and just goofing around as kids do, climbing all over the adult counselors like a pack of playful puppies. But a sadness was settling around me as the reality of their bond - their shared history of loss of birth family and heritage - presents a more difficult history to explain never mind grasp with one's heart.

So I sat down in a group of strangers feeling rather helpless and overwhelmed. If I was having a hard time processing things, how could I hope to help Cowgirl move through her feelings? I think parenting in general makes everyone feel incompetent at some point or another - at least for anyone who really wants to do the job right. And make no mistake - this is a job. The hardest job I'll ever love. A job with mandatory overtime, no sick or personal days and certainly no holidays. A job I cannot quit, walk away from, or fail at. A job with the best benefits ever, but there are tolls to be paid.

The session itself was pretty loose and open; just a time to talk about whatever feelings or concerns were coming up for us. As each person shared a bit of their story, what I sensed - or maybe projected onto others - was everyone scrambling to keep far away from a deep well of fear. Myself included. Most were willing to share pieces of their story and their struggles, but no one dared admit what I was stewing in at that moment: fear of failure. And yet that fear lurks at the edges of all that I do as a parent: I gather as much information as I can, I put myself out there even when I want to run and hide, I get up every day for the joy and the challenge of raising my daughter and I push pass this fear that nips at my heels, trying to trip me up. I do all that I can, I love my daughter as best as I am able but still there is a fear that I will not be enough: I will not know enough, say enough, try hard enough to usher her through the challenges that lie ahead.

As I type this, I sigh with recognition of that thorny phrase "I am not enough." I was definitely feeling this way as the session wore on. Then the counselor directed us to go pick up a magazine picture that represented the strength we brought to our family and then to share with the group.






I wish I could say in those final moments of sharing, I found my strength and discovered myself to be equal to the task.

Instead I left that room more confused and uncertain. But I also left resolved to fight for answers and for support. My job is not to heal Cowgirl but to provide her with the tools and understanding to heal herself. By finding my strength, by acknowledging it, I hope I can show her how to dig down deep to uncover her core of strength. And goodness. Because that is what I believe: that we are all born whole and good but for some reason we lose sight of that truth. However we come into our families, whatever trials life serves up to us, I firmly believe our task is to healed ourselves and in the process come to know ourselves as good and whole.

So the strengths I bring to my family are determination, faith and hopefulness. I chose a picture of a woman who reminded me of the goddess Lakshmi, the goddess of the Arts and learning. She represents to me the tools I am using to heal myself: Art and Yoga. I hope that my daughter can use these tools to understand and heal herself.






To appreciate my strengths, I have to face my fears and understand my perceived weakness. I may have left that session feeling overwhelmed and incapable but growing in me is a conviction that I have to be enough. I cannot allow myself to believe anything less because my Cowgirl depends upon me being more than enough. In order to support her in her journey to wholeness, I must first heal myself. That I believe this possible may be the greatest strength I bring to my family. I cannot settle for anything less; my girl depends upon me to be strong in the face of our fears and to lead us towards understanding and healing. In her eyes, I am enough and I am slowly learning to live up to that belief.





Celebrate your strengths today. Share them and in the process strengthen them. Do this for yourself and for all those that you love.