This quiet moment full of beauty is brought to you by a sprig of Lily of the Valley, a Begonia blossom, and a spritely Johnny Jump Up.

Thanks for stopping by.

“This is kind of late for you, isn’t it Dear?  Shouldn’t you be well into the morning’s chapter of reading by now?”

“I know, Audrey.  I know.  This is late.  I’m hiding.  I’m playing the role of the ostrich today.”

“I see.  So because you received a call with some unsettling news on Saturday, and slumped around in a funk all day Sunday, you think what you really need to do today is sleep in and avoid the rest of the world?”

“Well… yes.  I am going to fold my tent.  I will fold it neatly and tuck it away.  I’ll spend the day in bed with the covers pulled over my head and wait for everything to blow away in the wind.”

Audrey takes a long, delicate drag from the filter and exhales while staring back at me.

“What?  What are you looking at?  It’s my tent to fold if I want to.”

“Yes, dear.  It certainly is your tent.  I’m sure your children will learn quite a lot by watching the way you deliberately give up.”

I rolled over and pulled the covers over my head and said, “That’s not fair.”

“Listen to me, Dear.  You’ve handled many things as difficult as this.  You’ve handled them with grace.  You’ve shown your children that you don’t have to buckle under pressure.  Think back to how you’ve handled similar situations.  What have you done to get through?”

“I don’t want to deal with this anymore.”

She gently taps the filter with a manicured nail to deposit ashes in the ashtray on her dressing table.  “That isn’t an option, Dear.  What else can you do?”

I sit up in bed so I can use my hands to emphasize while I yell at her.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know what I’ll be expected to do.  I can’t fix this.  This isn’t my mess to fix.”

“I know that, Dear, but if you act from a position of strength rather than weakness, you’ll get your power back.  Tell them what you are willing to do.  Don’t wait on pins and needles for them to tell you what they want or expect you to do.  Darling, be proactive rather than reactive.”

She takes another drag and raises an eyebrow while saying, “You are going to get out of bed, aren’t you?”

I throw back the covers and say, “You know, you really should give up that nasty habit.”

“We’re talking about you, Darling.”

“So I’ll get out of bed.  Then what?  What do I say?  What will I do?”

“Take a shower, Dear.  Get cleaned up.  Have some coffee.  It’ll come to you.”

__________

While I was in the shower, the fog cleared.  My wits returned.  I composed the email.  I made a plan for me, based on what I am willing to do.  I clearly and politely stated what I will not do.

I had three strong cups of coffee.

I typed the email and proofread it.

I hit send.

As I walked back to the bedroom with a fourth cup of coffee, I felt my power return.

Was it my power returning, or was it caffeine surging through my veins?

Audrey heard my thoughts and said, “It’s not caffeine, Dear.  Your power is back because you took action.  You needed a couple days to process.  That was long enough.  You can’t let this be a setback.  You mustn’t lose your momentum.  You are capable of dealing with this in the same manner as past issues, and each time you do, you get stronger. ”

She pulled another cigarette out of the silver case on the dressing table and placed it in the end of the filter.  “Now, isn’t it time you found a proper frame for me?”

She sits on the couch with her legs curled under her.  With each sip of wine, she mulls over the day.  As she reviews the interactions she can’t help but think of how she felt during each exchange.

__________

The meeting with her supervisor left her feeling stiff and tense  – the same way she feels when dressed for work in a crisply ironed blouse and business suit.  There never seems to be room enough to stretch her arms or take a deep breath.  A day spent in that suit is a day spent as someone else.

The lunch with her sister was every bit as uncomfortable as the expensive wool sweater her sister had given her last Christmas.  The style didn’t fit her.  The colors didn’t match anything in her closet.   On the rare occasion that she wore the itchy cardigan, she was reminded of how disconnected she and her sister had always been.  The scratchy texture of the wool equaled her sister’s insensitivity.

On the way home she’d stopped to meet a friend and catch up on the craziness of their lives.  With heels kicked off and blazers draped over the backs of their chairs, they talked and vented and barely remembered to catch their breath.

With this friend she could laugh without covering her mouth.

Between laughs they would talk of the painful parts of the week without apology or excuses.  Each of their mistakes were accepted and dismissed.

She could rejoice in what went well with this friend, without feeling self-conscious, just as her friend would do the same.

She genuinely acknowledged her friend’s efforts at doing her best, in the same way her own efforts were appreciated.

They spoke honestly to each other, with tenderness and gentle humor.

“I really messed up at work this week,”  to which the other would say, “It’s tough, but you are always do your best.”

“This being a mom is wonderful and hard and tiring and scary,” and the other would say, “I know, but we can do this.”

She’d complain about lunch with her sister and her friend would quietly listen and nod her head, even though she’d heard the same complaints for years.

Her friend talked of how absent her mom had been, how she only rarely asked of the kids.  Her friend said, “I realize I complain about this all the time.  Thank you so much for listening.”   She said, “It’s okay.  I know.  That never gets easy.”

They looked at their phones and gasped at the time and wondered what they were going to fix for dinner.  They tucked toes back into heels as one said, “Damn, I have to stop at the store.”

She said, “We need to do this more often.”

Her friend said, “I needed this.  Thank you.”

She said, “We always pick up where we leave off.  It’s always so comfortable.”

They got up from the table, hugged and walked out to their cars.

__________

Back at home with dinner finished, legs outstretched, and bare feet up on the coffee table, she got to thinking about how the people in her life were like the clothes in her closet.  Some she had to wear; some she never wanted to wear again; and some she’d choose to wear all the time if she could.

She rested her head against the back of the couch and fantasized about cleaning out her closet.

We’d more easily live in the moment, if we quit beating ourselves up over how we mishandled the last moment.

Potholes Along the Way

Festering, lingering, dwelling on the difficult does not help us learn the lesson better; it keeps us in a holding pattern and prevents the arrival of new lessons.

If we more readily accepted that the downs were necessary for the goodness of the ups – would we enjoy the ride more?  Would we cease to take our funk out on our kids or the guy in the next cubicle or the clerk behind the counter?  Would we lift each other up, shed light for another or take better notes on how not to screw up again, if we believed that the process was supposed to include ups and downs, and that the sooner we left the downs behind, we’d be available for more ups?

Or maybe more downs…

If you’ve ever driven through Eastern Montana, you know how boring the ride can be without the occasional dip or rise in the road.  Don’t get me wrong.  Eastern Montana is gorgeous in that vast, expansive – God, I hope I don’t run out of gas before the next town – kind of way.  But, if you’ve ever spent a day driving on that two-lane highway – and it does take the better part of a day – you’ll be missing valleys and hills by sunset.

Accept that some days suck.

Know that it won’t last forever.

Realize that the downs give you the wisdom to help another and the opportunity to share what you’ve learned.   The downs are where growth resides.

Stop Long Enough to Take in the View

Blossoms look lovely and smell heavenly so we’ll stop and take notice.  They deliver a moment’s pause with their sweetness.

Blue skies are gorgeous so we’ll stand under them and ooo and ahhh at all that magnificence and wonder.

Books are enticing so we’ll want to while away the hours reading them.  When we swim in words written by another, we know the true value of our own story.

Music draws us in so that we may be soothed or energized, depending on what we need at the moment.

Art expresses outwardly what we feel internally.  Splash some paint, mix and match colors, use up the expensive markers, write that novel.  Express what you are feeling and learn the lessons.

Children have tiny hands that fit inside ours for a reason.  Hold them for as long as they’ll let you.  Take the time to watch a kid navigate a kitchen, or mow a backyard or get her ski boots and skis on by herself.  Those are reasons enough to keep teaching.  This parenting gig isn’t for sissies, but it’s full of sweet, simple rewards when done right.

We are given many opportunities to stop – appreciate – be grateful.  We can acknowledge those opportunities that make the ride enjoyable.

Or not.

Tune Into Your Right Music

The critical voice in our head – the naysayer, the doubter – is a composite of all the voices we ought to tune out.  They become the voice of a monster who spends its day comparing our choices to the choices of others.  Each time our choices differ from the mainstream, the monster gets larger and louder.  Its grin gets more sinister.  Its green stubby finger points at us while it laughs at our decisions.  It lurks in the corners, waiting to come at us in the middle of the night when we are most vulnerable.

Kick that monster to the curb.

Send it packing with a suitcase full of your insecurities and false assumptions.

Turn the dial to a new station.

Find the music that energizes you and drowns out the lingering memories of the monster’s voice.

Have faith in your choices and know they are right for you.

Will You Enjoy the Ride?

What will you do next?  Will you X out of this tab, open a new one and continue reading blogs until lunchtime, hoping to hit on the one that lights the fire under your butt?

Or…

Will you stop “your car” on the side of the road, take in the view, appreciate all that’s going well for you, and put the crap aside long enough to enjoy the ride?

I’m going to close my laptop, sneak over and kiss my kids, and then step into the backyard to snip some lilacs.

I’ll be the one waving and smiling as I pass by.

I’d lost the note I’d written.  At the beginning of April,  I’d discovered a college production of a funny version of King Arthur and Camelot.   I’d forgotten to buy tickets and the date was fast approaching.  “Will, I’m glad you reminded me.  I’ll get online and find out where to get tickets after we get back from the hardware store.”

__________

We’d gone to Home Depot under the guise of exploring options for a homeowner repair.  We came home with a pile of seed packets instead.

They each got to select a couple different packets for their corner of the garden.  Jenny selected celosia, forget-me-nots and celery.  She doesn’t actually like celery but her imaginary friend does.  Will selected a packet of habanero seeds and sweet onions.  I picked basil, California Poppies, hollyhocks, and nasturtiums.  I’m sure there were more in there.

When we got to the car I was still gasping at the receipt.  “How did we manage to spend $22 on seed packets?!  Who spends that much on random packets of seeds that may or may not even grow?  How is it that I scour pawn shops for golf clubs and second hand clothing stores for jeans and golf shoes, yet I throw away $22 on seeds?”

Jenny said, “Mom, call it school.”

Will said, “Mom, call it food.”

I said, “Ah, yeah…  habaneros and basil?  Food?  That’s a bit of a stretch, even for us.”

By the time we’d gotten home, I’d given myself a thorough tongue-lashing.  When I sat down in front of the laptop to search for tickets for the play, I was still mumbling to myself about how I shouldn’t have spent so much on seeds when I told the kids I was taking them to a play, and now I have to shell out even more money for tickets.

I Googled the name of the play and the first hit to pop up was a site explaining that the play started that very night.  We had originally talked about going on Friday night, but tonight there was a showing for free admission with a donation of food for the local food bank.  When I had first checked on ticket prices, there wasn’t any mention of the first night showing with free admission.

“You guys!  You guys!  We could go to the play tonight and save the cost of tickets by bringing cans of food with us.  But you won’t believe this….  If we go on Friday night, the tickets would total $22!”

Will said, “Hey, isn’t that we spent on the seeds today?”

Jen said, “Isn’t it weird that they are the same amount?”

I said, “Maybe it’s not that weird.”

Jen said, “So we get to go to the play for free?”

I said, “Well, it’s not exactly free, honey, because we are bringing cans of food.”

Just then, I looked at the laptop screen to see notification that I’d sold another book, giving us essentially enough to cover the costs of the cans of food.

I think she’s drawn to the ritual of the process.  She’s fascinated by the little envelopes that hold the dried leaves.  She likes the names of tea:  English Breakfast, Orange Pekoe, Honey Bush, Peppermint and Lemon Zinger.

And so she spent the better part of a sunny afternoon, sitting out on the patio with paper, embroidery floss, staples, tape and markers to make her own tea bags.  Her tea bags contained imaginary dried petals and herbs.

Will and I marveled at how much they looked like real tea bags.  Maybe these were tea bags for baby dolls.  They might be used for a party with imaginary friends.

Jenny served us up some “steaming hot tea” in pastel-colored cups with mismatched saucers.  Will asked for Peppermint.  I chose Earl Grey.

As we sipped, we noticed how much nicer it was to focus on Jenny’s homemade tea bags rather than the fact that their dad – who takes no interest in their schooling – had asked to borrow a book to read to elementary school kids across town.

Even imaginary tea from homemade tea bags soothes hurts, if you let it.

So you say… you’d like to do a better job of keeping in touch with friends, but there’s never enough time after work, homework, laundry and dinner, especially with the time you spend on Facebook every night.

So you say… you could cut back on hours at work, if only you could get your budget under control, while spending every Saturday at the mall looking for something to fill the void.

So you say… you’ll be able to slow the family pace a bit, right after the next session of swim lessons.  Oh, but there’s another season of soccer coming up and junior has to take soccer with all his buddies.

So you say… you’re going to take this minimalist lifestyle thing seriously, once you buy the shelving to organize all the stuff in storage.

So you say… your life would fall into place if you could just lose those last 15 pounds, as you hit the Starbucks drive thru for a decaf mocha on the way to soccer practice.

So you say… you’re going to tell your husband how much it hurts your feelings when he watches TV all Sunday, right after this episode of Desperate Housewives.

So you say… you’re going to talk to your son about his disrespectful tone, right after you ask your wife why she can’t manage to get your softball uniform washed in time for Friday night’s game.

So you say…  “I thought she was kidding when she said she didn’t want to live like this anymore.  What do I have to do to get her back?”

So you say… you don’t know why your best girlfriend hasn’t called in ages, but you’ll be damned if you’ll be the one to call her first.

So you say… you’re irritated that when you ask your kid to do something he says, “I’ll get to that in a minute.”  But when he asks you to watch him do a kick flip you say, “I’ll get there in a minute.”

So you say… you’re sick and tired of listening to your controlling mother-in-law.  “Who does she think she is, expecting my husband to fix her water heater when I  still can’t get him to clean out the garage.”

So you say… things will get better, right after the addition on the house is finished – just like you said things would get better right after starting a family.

So you say… this time next year, life will be different.  “I’ll get started on those changes right after things calm down at work.”

So you say…

The idea was that each of us would paint a birdhouse.

Will and Jen are coming out of that blissful phase of thinking everything they do is fantastic.  They are starting to compare their creations to others.  But for right now they still relish the act of creating.  That means they get out the paints, sit down on the floor and go to it.

Without a plan.

Without first sketching, erasing, sketching again or starting over.

They mix colors and splash paint and laugh as they go.

And when they are done they say, “Well it’s not the best birdhouse in the world, but I bet there’s at least one bird that’ll like it.”

I look at their houses and say, “Crap.  I can’t paint a birdhouse as lovely as yours.  I don’t even know where to start.  What color should I paint?  Should I draw something on the house first?”

And they laugh at me and say, “Just grab a paintbrush mom.  It’s not a contest.”

__________

Later, while I’m cooking dinner, Jenny strolls through the kitchen with a paintbrush in her hand.  She eyes my unpainted birdhouse and says, “Boy, I’d love to have something else to paint.”

*hint, hint*

I say, “Would you please paint my birdhouse.  That’d make my life so much easier.  Then I won’t have to fret about whether my birdhouse is cute or not.”

Jenny says, “I’d love to paint yours, but what about you?  Don’t you want to paint it?  And what about Will?  Is that fair if I get to paint two houses and he only gets to paint one?”

“You’re right, honey.  Of course.  I don’t care if I don’t get to paint one, but that isn’t fair if Will wants to paint another.  They’re only a dollar.  I’ll get Will another and we’ll have a bunch of sparkly, magical, happy birdhouses for the backyard.”

I try to make things fair when I can.

The Universe has taught me that there are plenty of times when life isn’t fair and I can do absolutely nothing about that.

___________

All this got me thinking about how kids always want things to be fair.  Treats must be cut exactly in half.  Kool Aid must be poured to the same line in each glass.  Each kid must get the same number of kisses and hugs.  They have to take turns getting tucked in first because, “That’s fair.”

They spend an inordinate amount of time being told to play fair and treat others fairly.

At the same time, they are preoccupied with making sure that they get their fair share.

If they are lucky – their parents try their best to make things fair, while gently pointing out that life isn’t always fair.  Sometimes you don’t get the same number of pieces of pepperoni pizza, but – thankfully – there may be more pizzas in your life.  You don’t always get to go first or play the longest or have the coolest toys or the best vacations or the funnest parents.

But if you are really lucky, you learn that it’s okay.

It doesn’t always have to be fair.

There’s plenty that’s still good in a life that isn’t always fair.

__________

And because Will reads Calvin and Hobbes every night, I had to include this quote:

Him:  “My parents would never have done that for me.”