Sunday, January 28, 2007

Love is Patient



I oringinally started this blog to have a place to put an essay about my kids. Maggie was not my kid. I know some people think of their pets that way, but I never really have.

I have not told the kids that Maggie is dead. They have been with Eric for the weekend and I have really appreciated the privacy for my grief. I am melancholy - Friday especially was hard for me - and I cry randomly which is ok, but kind of embarassing and I just want to be alone. I don't want a kid climbing on me and asking me about it. I will tell them about Maggie tonight and I am sure that we will all cry, but really, she was my dog and I feel this the most, I am sure. She was older than any of the kids. They have never lived without her. She has not been real present in past years though. Anna was at the house yesterday for a short while and did not even notice that Maggie and her bed were not there.

Yesterday I progressed to the point where I could joke about it a little. Bill and I joked back and forth with made up memories about her. "I'll miss going for runs with Maggie," I said, when in fact, she was a toy breed dog and never went for a run with me. "And last night I kept expecting to hear her come up the stairs to get into bed with me." (The reality is that my dog has been in declining health for some time and that she has never climbed the stairs at this house. She lived mostly in the kitchen by choice. She slept in a little bed on the floor by the heating vent.)

Although I found Maggie at a gas station along a rural highway and brought her home with me 17 years ago, I have always felt that it was she that found me. So we can plan what our next pet will be, but it is also possible that the next pet will find me. It would be easier to find me if I was at the Humane Society, but I promised Bill that I would stay away from there for the time being.

The reading and homily at church last night was about love. It was a fitting tribute to my dear, sweet Maggie. I think that any example of love on Earth can be positive and celebrated. I am not interested in animal souls or Pet Heaven or any of those things. Pets and humans should be judged by their contribution to life and society and Earth. This really is the kind of love that I had with Maggie. She gave to me for years - adjusted when the kids came and took my time, put up with moves and other pets and long work hours and going to the kennel instead of vaction - she loved me. I was happy to give love back to her. In the end what we really need is a warm place to lay down and someone to clean up our pee and make sure our food is soft enough to eat. And she would lift her head when I came in the room even when she was too sore or tired to lift the rest of her body.

Love is patient; love is kind
and envies no one.
Love is never boastful, nor conceited, nor rude;
never selfish, not quick to take offense.
There is nothing love cannot face;
there is no limit to its faith,
its hope, and endurance.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Anna has a dental appointment this morning, so we didn't need to get up early and rush around. I am going into work late. I let the little kids sleep in a bit and when I went to get them up there was natural sunlight coming in the window. Frank was still rolled in his blankets like a coccoon ("Like a pupae!" he corrected me.) I went up the stairs to the attic and Mary was propped up in bed reading a book.

"I need you to get up and get ready, Mary," I said.

"Ok," she answered.

"It's later than usual," I said. "I let you guys stay in bed."

"I know it's later. I thought you forgot me and I just got to stay at home and read in bed." She grinned at me. She was delighted with the idea of staying in bed all day reading.

"You know, I just can't think of a better way to spend the day myself, but unfortunately I did not forget you and you need to get up, get dressed, have some breakfast and go to school."

"Ok," she said with a smile. "Let me just finish my chapter."

Sunday, January 21, 2007

There is a Recipe for Everything








"You can make playdoh, mom?"

"Sure."

3 C flour, 1 1/2 C salt and 6 t cream of tartar. Mix in 3 C of cool water and 3 T oil. Cook over medium heat until the dough forms a ball and pulls away from the pan. Knead in food coloring to make whatever colors you like.

Inspiration is limitless and unknown. The comics page called to them today.

Glitter is optional.

"They're going to grill the zebra, mom," said Frank when he figured out the joke.

"I know!" Mary squealed.

"I'm not sure that is so funny," Frank said.

"It totally is!" Mary insisted.

"I think they're New Orleans crocodiles, mom, since they talk like that book that you brought us from there."

"Brer Rabbit?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's the one," Frank said.

"Stupid Brer Crocodiles," Mary said. "They can't even trick a zebra."

Monday, January 15, 2007

Listen, the Snow is Falling.










I have heard the Metropolitan Opera on the radio and I have seen opera live, but I have never seen the Metropolitan Opera live, though it is one of those things I have always wanted to do.

I paid a crazy amount of money ($15 a ticket) to take my kids to the movie theater at the University to see a live performance broadcast onto a movie screen. The opera was amazing - the singing and costumes and stage were just as beautiful as I imagined they could be. And when at the end of the opera, the camera scanned the audience, I felt the desire to be there in the Metropolitan Opera which is something I have always wanted, but may never actually do. I actually cried as they panned the audience. It was what made it the most real for me and I cried from being overwhelmed with the experience of somehow being in the Met, not from sadness.

New York is a mythical place to me. New York is such an object of my artistic experience - it's in Woody Allen Movies and it's the location of THE Opera and THE Ballet. Simon and Garfunkel give concerts in the park and Bono rides a flatbed truck through the city singing. It's the setting for Catcher in the Rye and Eloise among others. It is ethnic and intellectual and artistic and dangerous. ("I did Shakespeare in the park. I got mugged." - name that movie-)

I felt a long way from New York when we stepped out of the theater onto a quiet midwestern college campus. There were huge snowflakes coming down. I zipped my son's coat for him (he already had his gloves on and couldn't manage the zipper). He took my hand and we walked through the softly falling snow to the car.

"Thanks to taking me to New York to the Opera, Mom," he giggled. He was quite taken with the idea that we had transported ourselves to New York.

"You bet, hon."

I took four kids to the Metropolitan Opera in New York City last night.

Saturday, January 13, 2007

My Friday Commute

My cellphone rang as I was in the middle of South Street trying to turn. That never happens. My phone rarely rings. I frantically reached for my purse and tried to get it open. I knew that it must be an emergency because we are not a family of phone talkers. My husband, myself and the two oldest kids have cellphones and we never use all of our minutes in a month. Not even close. No one has my cellphone number but family. It is posted prominently next to the phone at home so the kids can call me if there is an emergency.

"Hello?" I said.

"Mom?" said Frank.

"Yes?!"

"I was looking at this Build A Bear catalog and I found one that just costs $32 and I wondered if you would buy it for me."

"Can we talk about this tonight?"

"Oh sure, sure," he said.

"Ok. Have a good day, hon."

Thankfully I didn't have a car accident while having that conversation.

5 girls in the family and it is the boy who uses the phone to call and chat about nothing?!

I turned the volume on the stereo back up and Anna started complaining about Bob Dylan again. I told her that we were going to listen to Bob Dylan every morning until she would admit that he was brilliant and talented. Ha! (I do get that he is an acquired taste. I was 35 before I really got him.)

"Even if he can write, he can't sing. Why didn't he just have his voice electronically altered?" she asked.

Kids these days, I swear.

"Ask your vocal music teacher what he thinks about Bob Dylan's singing, ok?"

"I will! I won't see him today, but I'll ask him next week."

"And while you're at it, ask your vocal music teacher what he thinks about electronically altered voices."

"Ok."

After dropping her off I just turned the stereo up even louder and thankfully no one called to interrupt me.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Baby Animals

When the kittens come there are so many that I can't count them or control them. They cling to me with their little kitten claws and meow little tiny kitten meows. I am saving them - trying to get them out of the closet, away from the dog or off the roof outside my bedroom window.

When I wake up, the memory of their little claws and tiny meows is strong. I have even found myself opening the closet expecting a herd of kittens to come out. The kittens are recurring. The messes they get themselves into are always new, but the rescuing the kittens dream comes at least monthly.

Last night I walked across a field to an abandoned barn and inside was a wee little piglet. I picked him up and brought him home with the idea that I would take him to the children's zoo. He was soft and yet bristly the way pigs are. He liked to be carried and he nuzzled into me and slept next to me in bed. I did not want to take him to the zoo, I realized, I wanted to keep the baby pig. I woke up and felt disappointment that the little pig was not real. I missed him.

My friend is convinced that the kittens are my children.

"And the baby pig?" I asked.

"He is your son," she said confidently.

And we laughed.

Dino Car



The scouts race by den and then the winners of the dens race each other for the pack winners that go on to the council race. Last year we qualified for the council race and I was concerned that Frank's expectations were that high again.

Frank and his den lined the side of the track when it was their turn to race. I sat in a chair across from him. His car was doing well in its heats and then another car crossed the lane and smashed into his car on the decline and they both fell off the track and fell to the floor. As the pit crew, I rushed to help him assess the damage. The soft pine wood was damaged in the groove which functions as the axel. I knew that the race was over for his car. We did our best to put the wheel back in, but the car did not race the same way after the accident.

I knew that his car hadn't made finals and I watched Frank's expectant face as they announced the finalists. He was surprised. I saw him exclaim, "Darn!" and then he immediately wished good luck to his friends who qualified.

I was ready to tell him that I was sorry that his car lost and that we would try again and win next year. I didn't need to say anything.

"Corbyn's dad taped that crash! That crash was AWESOME!"

He went home with his broken car and announced to his sisters that he had lost but that it was just because of the car crash and he demonstrated the free fall of his car by twisting the car over and over in the air and then falling and rolling to the floor himself to demonstrate the impact. He put the car on top of his dresser next to last year's winning car and trophy.

"Next year, mom, I want my car to be three colors. That would be so awesome!"

"Yes it would," I assured him.

Sunday, January 07, 2007

Wallpaper Ghosts

The kids and I spent a lot of time and effort scraping wallpaper off my son's bedroom wall. As we worked I thought, for the first time, about the person who selected the light blue paper with the tiny floral print. I imagine that she is dead by now. I decided that she was a 50 year old woman at the time she picked the paper. I pictured her with short hair and trim hips. When she thought she pursed her lips and pushed them out. This was her sitting room or perhaps the spare bedroom.

We spend so much time and effort making choices in life - relationships, careers, meal planning, home decorating, and many choices are affected by outside sources that we have no control over. And you just never know when someone is going to come along with some warm water, a scraper and a little elbow greese.

Grey and blue walls. Red accents - a red reading chair and red comforters for the bunkbed. Bill and I are already thinking about the changes we will make in room assignments as the kids get older and eventually we intend to use the room for our home office. I can picture my son in his bedroom after it is done. I can picture Bill and myself in our office after my son has moved to a more private room. I struggle to picture the people who will come after us and I wonder if they will think about us and wonder why we chose blue and grey for the walls.