Stopping to Smell the Roses

Today wasn't particularly easy (this is me trying to be honest). But it wasn't exactly hard either (still being honest). In fact, if anything, it was just kind of a blah, boring day. 

I really struggle to play and engage with CJ when it is just she and I together, all day, at home. Give me a stack of books to read to her, and I'm happy. Or put her next to me in the kitchen to bake cookies, and everything is peachy. But today she just wanted to play. And I can only play cars (her current favorite make-believe game) for so long. Hide-and-seek with hotwheels cars named "Tindy," "Hotty," and "Jeff" loses its charm after the forth time. By the tenth time...there just aren't words.

So when we both got a bit frustrated - me bored and her whiny - we definitely needed a change of scenery. We went outside into the lovely tropical warmth and walked around our neighborhood. We strolled to the end of the cul-de-sac, and we stood on our tiptoes to see over the high cement wall where there is a cage full of huge parrots. CJ was convinced she could communicate with them by doing a sing-song cawing. 

Soon the tropical heat became more than bathwater-warm, and we decided to start walking back home. As we rounded the corner near the tennis courts, CJ stopped abruptly. She thrust out her arm to keep me from crushing a flower with my flip flop. Then she stooped down to retrieve a small white blossom that had fallen from a nearby tree. She put the petals to her nose and breathed deeply.

"Smell this, Mom! It smells beautiful!"

I did. I held the soft petals to my nose and inhaled. It smelled wonderful. CJ gathered more blossoms, and we spent a few lovely moments literally stopping to smell the flowers.

I had my iphone with me and CJ insisted I document the smelling...yes, she has a flare for dramatics.

I am thankful for this final child of mine who challenges me and gets me down on my hands and knees to play cars. Because of her, my life is far from lonely. Because of her, there are cars to hide, parrots to sing to, and flowers to save. Because of her, I stop to smell the roses.

Doing Hard Things

A few years ago, I delivered some muffins to a lady who I knew from church. When I dropped off the muffins at her house, she oohed and ahhed and said, "How did you make these? It would have taken me all morning to make...and then I would have needed a nap to recover." I remember thinking really? I just whipped these up. It was no big deal at all. I make these at least once a week.

The strange thing was - she wasn't just being nice and saying nice things. She was really telling me the truth. Making muffins for her was hard.

I've been thinking about those muffins and that conversation lately. The lady's comments made me realize that just because something is easy for me, doesn't mean it is easy for everyone.  And even though that idea seems self-evident (a duh! kind of thought), I sometimes forget and then that gets me in trouble.

Let me explain. A couple months ago, my husband and I decided it was time to push Leasie a bit harder and a bit further with her violin. Up till then, she had taken individual lessons and practiced on her own. But we felt that it was time for her to join an after school orchestra and add group lessons. 

When we proposed the idea, Leasie was terrified and flat-out refused. I was so surprised. For me, music lessons and after school activities were easy, even enjoyable experiences. We were offering her an opportunity - but she saw it as some kind of punishment. I confess, I wasn't very sympathetic.

After one particularly difficult conversation with Leasie, I found myself remembering the lady and the muffins. Maybe orchestra and group lessons for Leasie were like the muffins for the lady. Easy for me - but hard for someone else. Maybe I needed to be more understanding and try to work with Leasie instead of assuming and pushing so hard.

So we addressed some of her fears (aka bought her a cell phone so she would feel safe), we talked through scenarios, and after lots of reassurance, we signed her up. The first couple weeks of her orchestra lessons were down right hard. There were tears. But she was brave. 

Now fast forward to two weeks ago, when Leasie did another hard, scary thing. She and her orchestra group boarded a bus and came to the high school to play in the annual Strings Bash.

It was a fabulous concert - and not just because of the music. It was a thrill to watch Leasie and Madi play together. But it was thrilling mostly because I knew of the personal fears Leasie had faced in order to get to that point.  

 

 Do you see Leasie's shy smile? Yep, she's scared to death, but willing to try.

Do you see Madi's "please don't take my picture" smile? I took it anyway.

Can you see that "I did it" smile on Leasie's face? I can.

Muffins. Orchestra. Hard things. I'm so proud of my girls for being willing to do hard things.

My Jakarta Neighborhood at dusk

Tonight as I was clearing the dinner table, I looked out my window and couldn't believe what I saw. The sky looked like it was on fire, ablaze in orange. The neighborhood was bathed hues of gold. 

I left the dishes, called to the kids to get on their flip flops, and we rushed outside. It's not often the sky is this beautiful, this entertaining. Most often the sky is hidden behind a fog of pollution or a layer of clouds.

 

By the time we walked to the entrance of our neighborhood with the line of palm trees, the sky had changed to purple and pink. It lasted only a few minutes, but it was so beautiful.

We chased the colors in the sky past the security guards, down the brick path (where a squeaking rat barely phased us), and out onto the busy street. The sky had calmed to a dull gray. And we ended our pursuit when the haze of car exhaust burned our lungs. 

As we returned home, I had to smile at this familiar site: the bright lights of our neighborhood grocery store blinked on with the coming of night. 

 

Twins

I showed up unexpectedly at school to surprise my twins during their snack time today. Here were their extremely different reactions:

As soon as Meya saw me, she ran with open arms and gave me a huge hug. "Mom! I'm so glad you're here!"

Tman was only a few feet away when he realized I was sitting at his snack table. He stopped dead in his tracks, then took a couple tentative steps closer. "Mom?" he asked. "Hi Truman," I smiled. He thought for a moment then pleaded, "Please tell me you're here to take me home."

He recovered pretty quickly after I broke it to him that I was only here to share snack time, and he would have to stay at school for the whole day.

Meya chattered away easing from subject to subject as though she was flipping randomly through a book. She covered PE, the morning bus ride, what her friends were doing at recess, the afternoon schedule, and "by the way, how was your morning, Mom?" all in the matter of a couple minutes. Tman answered my questions but seemed more interested in the riveting tether-ball game just a few feet away. When he finished his snack, he asked if I would make chocolate chip cookies for him for an after-school snack. "Can you cook them so they're still warm when I get home?" he asked, then bound away to join the tether-ball line.
 
Oh my twins. How I love you. How I love your differences. Meya with your gift of gab and Tman with your very male-centric interests: food and sports.

It was only twenty minutes on a Thursday morning. Sitting together at the round tables outside the cafeteria. Talking over the sounds of an elementary school: giggling girls, squeaky swings, boys yelling on a soccer field, and a basketball pounding the cement.

Only twenty minutes. But my favorite minutes of the day.   

I am the Mom of a Teenager

This week I became the mom of a teenager. On the eve of her thirteenth birthday, Madi promised me that she wouldn't "morf" into a typical teen over night. Actually, I asked her to promise. And although I realize my request was quite selfish (and probably incredibly naive), I have great hopes that she will keep her promise.

I get kind of emotional when I think about how quickly time is passing. And so instead of spending this post giving voice to those thoughts, I want to record a perfect day I had with Madi.

On a Tuesday in July this past summer, I left the four youngest children with Holly Davis (bless her!) in her lovely home in Cheltenham, and Madi and I drove up to Northern England. Our final destination was the Preston Temple, 3 hours away, where Madi was scheduled to join a group from Scotland to do Temple Work in the evening. When I looked at the map as I planned our day trip, I realized we would be very close (just 30 minutes out of the way) to the Chatsworth House. This is the house used in the most recent Pride and Prejudice movie as Mr. Darcy's Pemberly.  I couldn't resist. We made a side-trip.

The sky was gray and the air was heavy with drizzly mist. But we both audibly gasped when we rounded the corner and saw Chatsworth, perfectly situated, amongst the rolling green hills. White sheep dotted the greenest green grass with white. 

 

With only an hour to spare, we took a whirlwind tour of the house. We had to ask one of the guides to direct us to the veiled statue "Femme Voilee" that Kiera Knightly looks at so intently during her tour of Pemberly. 

 

There it was, tucked away in a sunfilled alcove of the library. The statue was so hidden, in fact, that we almost missed it. 

 

Following our tour, I bought a pastie (still warm) wrapped in brown paper, and we walked the grounds. We both wanted to stay and explore, having only scratched the surface.  I hope to get the chance to come back and spend a couple days walking the trails and touring the house and gardens at a much slower speed. But even this single hour with Madi - sharing my love of England and Jane Austen (and wonderfully, she loves them too) - was wonderful.

I purchased a CD in the gift shop of the Chatsworth acapella choir. As we drove from Chatsworth to Preston, England, angelic voices serenaded us. The scenery was breathtaking. Stone fences created a grid of gray across the luscious green hills. The oldness and beauty of it tugged on my heart and filled me with what I can only describe as a strange homesickness. 

We saw the Preston Temple from the highway. A gray stone building that seemed almost white against the gray sky. Another beautiful building - but beautiful for much different reasons. My personal journal has my feelings recorded about this experience. Let me just say here, the joy was like a glimpse into heaven. And in spite of loving our tour of Chatsworth, we both agreed that the temple was the most beautiful place we'd ever been together.  
 

There are very few perfect days. But I suspect, when I'm an old lady and I look back on my life, this very well may be as close to perfect as it is going to get. 

It has been a privilege to spend the past 13 years with Madi. And I look forward to an eternity more to share. 

Redo Birthday

Last weekend, just 10 days after my actual birthday, I finally celebrated - really celebrated - my birthday.

The older I get, the less fussy I am about having a "party." But the truth is, when something actually comes together, it feels so nice. I don't like celebrating accumulating years (at my age, getting older is no longer an anticipated accomplishment). But I do love being with friends. Is it too narcissistic to say that, if nothing else, a birthday celebration is a reminder that I have family and friends who like me enough to celebrate the years I've been on this earth? (Probably too narcissistic. But since I'm in a low-editing mode, I'll leave it). 

Madi has a February birthday and so does Karla Ann (my neighbor and friend). So we combined. A triple bday celebration! We met at Lena and Dan's house. (Actually we just invited ourselves over because they have Wii Rock Band and Kinect Dance Central.) 

We boogied, sang, and did a series of serious competitions. I love this picture because Renee (hand over face in frustration) ended up being the dance champion of the night.  

  

One of the birthday presents from my husband (by special request from me) was that he promised to dance at the party. Here he is fulfilling that promise: 

 

The blurry little guy in the front is Tman who pretty much rocked the house!

And we made three cakes because you can never have too much cake. I made the lemon cake, and it turned out quite yummy.

The best part about the birthday redo is that it trumped anything I had planned for my actual birthday.

This past year was filled with some huge moments for me: 

Fulfilling my lifelong dream of traveling to Italy.

Taking Madi to the temple in Preston, England.

Watching my twins get baptized.

Becoming a 9th grade English teacher. 

But none of those things crossed my mind as I blew out my candles. I had just one wish. Happiness. Happiness that comes with huge things (like listed above) and small, everyday things. Like watching my husband dance to the Blues Brothers and eating chocolate and lemon cake (of course I had both!) with people I love. Happiness.

Barefoot on Valentine's Day

I love a reason to celebrate. And "love" is so worth celebrating!   

  Valentine's Day started with a run in the dark of pre-morning.

Followed by pink, heart-shaped biscuits.

 CJ literally ran to her preschool because she couldn't wait for the breakfast Valentine's Day party.

Tman left the house with his homemade cards made on army green paper with a hand-drawn jail on each (I decided to just let it go, though I'm sure there's some deep 9-year-old boy message here.) 

Meya was so very proud of her pink and purple stenciled cards.

I had a quick subbing gig at the Middle School. 

Traffic was terrible - so with just 20 minutes until the start of my class and stuck in standstill traffic, I did the only thing I could: 

I got out of the car, took off my sky-high shoes, and ran.

Margono, my driver, was unphased as I jumped out of the car - it's not the first time I've bailed in bad traffic.

However, it WAS a first to go barefoot.

Local Indonesians waved or laughed.

I wasn't embarrassed - I was in too much of a hurry.

I remember thinking, "As long as I don't step on glass or in something worm-infested, I'll be okay."

The asphalt and cement was warm. Grit. Sand. Rust-colored clay.

I made it on time.

Here's a picture of my dirty foot. I selected the far-away shot, since the close-up was a bit too gross. 

I stopped by the High School English department at lunch to deliver some cookies. We shared our favorite literary passages about love. My favorites: 

Tina quoted Sylvia Plath's poem about her unborn child "You're":

wrapped up in yourself like a spool. 

 And Yuchiro shared his favorite passage from "Gargoyle": I believe in your love for me. I believe in my love for you. I believe that every remaining beat of my heart belongs to you, and I believe that when I finally leave this world, my last breath will carry your name. I believe that my final word--Marianne--will be all I need to know that my life was good and full and worthy, and I believe that our love will last forever.

 (Really, how cool are these people? I LOVE my fellow English teachers!)

I arrived home and after taking the foot picture and washing my feet (twice), I made our traditional family Valentine's Day dinner - because this is one way I love to show my love.

Marinated flank steak.

Mashed potatoes and thin green beans.

Homemade rolls shaped into hearts (Leasie and I experimented with shapes and they turned out beautifully).

And my favorite: dark chocolate brownies cut into heart shapes with raspberry sauce. 

We ate by candlelight and celebrated.

 

And we talked about everything and nothing. The ordinary stuff that I know I will look back on as sublime. And so I tried to cherish each word.

I was surrounded by the best of my life.

I looked at my husband across the table and smiled.

I told my "barefoot" adventure, and we laughed together between bites of edible love. 

Happy Valentine's Day
(With truly very little editing - it really was a wonderful day.)