My Piece of the Rock

We're Not in Kansas Anymore

So I’m pretty sure I know how it happened. I’m just trying to figure out when it happened. The shift was slow and gradual, sneaking up on me so that it caught me unaware. And I think I’ve been in denial for a while, refusing to acknowledge what I’ve become…the Mom Behind the Curtain.

 

See, I used to know everything. I was the Great and Powerful Mom. Every day all day they’d ask me question upon question: “Wat dat, Mommy? Where we going, Mommy? Why’s the sky blue, Mommy? What do you think would happen if I rode my bike in the pool, Mommy?” It didn’t matter what the question was, I knew it all. What a good thing!

 

But I’m pretty sure, somewhere in the midst of this nonstop quest for information that often interfered with my basic functioning as a sane individual, I began to answer, “I don’t know.” And, as the questions got harder and my need for peace and quiet increased, I also began to answer: “Hmmm, I’m not sure. Go ask your father. Go look it up. What do you think, honey?” Along with the contagiously convenient: “I don’t know.”

 

The sad thing is…my strategy worked, at least if my two teenagers are any indication. Very clearly, I know NOTHING at this point in my life. And it’s my own doing. I told them I didn’t know. Why, oh why, did they have to listen to me about that? It’s just not fair.

 

But admitting you have a problem means you’re halfway to fixing your problem, right? And actually, I think I’m more than halfway to reclaiming my status as the Great and Powerful Mom thanks to my new offensive tactic. It’s based on my oldest son’s theory of life which is: Why deal with facts when you can live in your own reality!

 

I’m adopting that little pearl of wisdom and from now on, I’m making stuff up! Never again will I say, “I don’t know.” I’m going to have an answer for everything, and really, who’s going to be the wiser? And just like Dorothy and her three friends, my children will once again come begging me for an audience in which I can share my vast knowledge of the universe with them. And all will be right with the world…

 

So I tested the waters yesterday with my youngest. He was giving me the play by play on the massive bug habitat that the neighbor kids had created with locusts and worms and mud and grass and then…whammo! Out of nowhere I got hit with, “What color are termites, Mom?”

 

I flipped through my mental file folders with rising panic. The termite folder was empty except for the random tidbit that they ate most of the historic wooden buildings in New Orleans. That wasn't going to cut it. I almost said, "I don't know, honey" when I remembered that we're not in Kansas anymore...and I made something up.

 

“Brown,” I said with authority. Max seemed to buy it, so I continued. “Yup, they’re brown and little, kind of like a mini-beetle, and they like to live in dirt or mud. And they also like to eat wood, brown wood, ‘cause it matches their wing color…” Max was nodding along with me. I felt slightly guilty, but not enough to abandon my brilliant new parenting plan. Because I think I’m well on my way to becoming the Great and Powerful Mom once again. And that, I’m quite sure, is a very good thing!

Gifted Education, Vegas Style

First her arm brushed mine. Once, twice, three times. Then her hip bumped mine in the same triplet rhythm. Since it was still 85 degrees at 10:30 p.m., I had it on the tip of my tongue to say, with some irritation, “Could you please not walk on top of me?” when I felt her fingertips casually brush mine. No, not brush, seek…purposefully. Almost immediately our fingers were interlaced, and we walked on that way in the steamy Las Vegas night, hip to hip, arm to arm, hands sandwiched together in between. I honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

She’s never been a clingy kid, this independent girl of mine. As a baby she never wanted to be rocked to sleep, just put down in her crib where she’d smile and stretch out, happy to be “home”…alone. That should have told me a lot about the years to come.

 

And, as much as the eye rolls, hair flips and head snaps have been part of the tween (now teen) years, it seems like her confidence has grown in proportion to her attitude. Typical tween/teen issues haven’t bothered her like I remembering them bothering me and my friends. Whether she lets teenage angst run off her like water off a duck’s back or just rolls her eyes and declares, “Whatever!” to the latest conspiracy or injustice in her youthful world, I have come to think of my daughter as impervious to stress and pressure. Yet as my beautiful Midwestern middle-schooler surveyed the griminess and garishness of Sin City at night, I felt her grip tighten and her body mold itself to mine, and I knew there was a chink in the armor. And that’s a good thing…

Because in my momly opinion, Las Vegas at night should inspire sensory overload in a thirteen year old, and we weren’t even out on the Strip, just on the walkway which runs overhead. In truth, our Las Vegas adventure was not exactly a family vacation. It was the ultimate grand prize awarded by Schwan’s Foods to my daughter and three of her friends from Hickory Creek Middle School for a songwriting contest on global hunger awareness. As part of an ongoing lunch time jam session with school music teacher Dave Wonder, Kai had written the lyrics and music last spring, performed the song with three other girls (Rebecca Gerske, Angie Bravo and Hanna Samawi) and entered their music video in the contest…then won!

Yet even though visions of American Idol have danced in their heads, this trip was not only a dream come true (corporate jets, stretch limos, backstage passes, bodyguards and playing at the Vegas House of Blues for 1,200 National School Nutrition Conference attendees) but also a little gifted education done outside the box. Because as my mom, who just retired from fifty years in education, said after a pre-Vegas rehearsal, “What do you do, as the teacher, to take kids like this to the next level?”

 

I’d argue that you do what Dave Wonder did and give them a way to keep on exploring the gifts they’ve been given, nurturing their independence and encouraging them to soar, all good things. Not surprisingly, this trip has them planning for the future, trying to figure out how to make this good thing last. Yet in my momly opinion, discovering that my girl may still need her hand held at times was both a gift and an education and, perhaps, the best good thing of all.

In The Middle -- WJOL Radio Interview

The girls were lucky enough to do a 15 minute interview with Scott Slocum of WJOL AM 1340 this morning. The link below is our video of the interview plus the girls hearing their song on the radio for the first time.

Download Itm_radiointerview_62909

In The Middle -- The Road to Vegas

Check out the girls' rehearsal as the prep for Vegas. Radio interview coming later.

Download Inthemiddle_roughcut_62909

What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger?

That's really a very heavy title for a totally fluffy post today, but I just came back from a writer's conference where I attended the session, "The Truth about Publishing Myths". One of the myths that the agent teaching the session assured us was absolutely not true was that all agents and editors are heartless, evilly laughing "preditors" who sit waiting at their desks with their REJECTED stamp at the ready, poised to mercilessly destroy the future of any manuscript that comes across their desk.

"Not true," the agent reassured us. "There are a lot of good people out here who are in this high pressure job because they're doing what they love, trying to bring quality books to the people. We're rooting for you!!"

Hmmm...while I'd like to think she knows what she's talking about, I'd have to say these Pearls Before Swine comic strips more accurately represent my writer's sense of things...because when you're on the receiving end of the rejection letters, you do begin to develop the mentality of what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. If it didn't, I would have been dead a long time ago!

For more Pearls Before Swine, visit http://comics.com/pearls_before_swine/.

The Summer of the Red Fox

"Hunger will lead a fox out of the forest."
- Polish Proverb

At dusk and at dawn for the past two months we've had whispered moments of anticipation and excitement watching the mama fox and her baby come in and out of her very clever culvert den across the street in Old Man's yard...the reward of suburbia destroying animal habitats, no doubt. Mom likely picked our neck of the woods, so to speak, because we're a quick trot from the (overcrowded) forest preserve and full of good hiding places in our forty year old neighborhood of no sidewalks and open ditches. Plus lots of chipmunks. Still, one baby was amazing. Two made us hold our breath and tiptoe down the driveway to really believe what we were seeing. Three was tipping the balance slightly. Four babies playing in the street across from my house made me wonder how long this live documentary is going to last and will there be a happy ending... 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Editing Life

I had the oddest sense of déjà vu this week. Sitting on the stone steps of Wheaton College’s Billy Graham Center, trying to pull myself together so I could go back inside  the writer’s conference, I realized I had been in the exact same position seven years ago…with one big exception. Last time I was wiping away tears of sadness, frustration, anger and confusion. This time they were tears of joy.

Seven years ago I’d attended the Write to Publish conference with my retreat planning manuscript in hand, eager to talk to editors who might be interested in acquiring it. My first appointment was with an editor, who, it turned out, was very offended that I was suggesting in my book that anyone other than an ordained pastor could organize and lead a retreat. She told me the only place to really do a retreat was somewhere like the Crystal Cathedral (which, at the time, I didn’t want to admit I had no clue where that was…sounded like Disney World to me, which I didn’t think was a good thing to mention).

In any case, I quickly realized three minutes into my fifteen minute appointment that I had not done my homework and researched this editor’s publishing house. I clearly had no idea what their theological slant was nor the type of books they published, and so my punishment was to sit there and listen to this woman rip apart my manuscript and tell me what a horrible idea it was and how no one would ever buy the book. (BTW, Judson Press published The Complete Leader’s Guide to Christian Retreats in December 2008, but that’s another story for another day…)

I was crushed, completely and totally. I’d been freelance writing for about four years at that point, and I’d received my share of rejection letters. But this was different. This project was truly a heart-work, something I felt passionately about and had put several years into finishing, and in fifteen short minutes, this editor had reduced it to mere words on a page, and bad words at that. So, instead of going back into the conference, I drove home, stuck my manuscript in a drawer and vowed to get out of Christian freelancing for good.

But a lot’s happened in the past seven years, and, from my perspective, God has an amazing way of putting you on the right path, even if you don’t know it at the time. Sitting on the steps of the Billy Graham Center trying to pull myself together, I realized how different this moment was because I was different. And, interestingly, I met another author, Cheryl Semick, the first day of the conference who also had last attended in 2002 with disastrous results. We swapped horror stories but later in the day traded successes and sighs of relief over how much better this year was going.

Then Cheryl said something that really struck me…”You know, in this business they call it thick skin, the ability to take all this rejection and personal defeat. Well, I call it growing up.” Wow! Cheryl’s right on the money with that one…no edits necessary.

I look at where I was seven years ago, personally and professionally, and boy, did I need some revising. To realize now that I’ve grown in that time, grown up actually, in my writing, in my friendships, in my faith…Wow! In my book that’s both a God thing and a good thing…nope, scratch that…a very good thing!

Mothering and Mind Melds

As a psychologist, my dad had a lifelong interest in people’s brains, especially how one’s understanding of the world developed from infancy to adulthood. When my oldest son Alex was a baby, my dad used to watch him watching the world and finally, unable to contain himself any longer, would go over to Alex and sit forehead to forehead with him, staring into his eyes and saying to me: “Time for the Mind Meld…I wonder what’s going on inside that little brain, don’t you?”

And I often do…still…even though my oldest will be sixteen at the end of the summer. Like my father, one of the things that I find most interesting as a parent is watching your child morph into his or her own person. It’s sort of like watching a potter at work on his wheel…spinning, molding, pulling, coaxing…until suddenly the form begins to take shape out of that lump of clay and you get glimmers of what the end product will be. But just glimmers. There’s a lot of reshaping and recreating going on as the pot evolves.

Yet as unresolved as that shape shifting sometimes feels, it’s the very process of defining and refining that’s so amazing. Case in point, my soon-to-be-sixteen Alex ran distance this year for track. Never one for competitive sports, Alex (in his younger years) sat on the field and picked dandelions during a short experiment with t-ball, walked the lines on the gym floor during indoor soccer and stayed as far away from the ball as possible during park district basketball. My husband and I finally gave up on encouraging him to try organized sports, yet Alex was an athletic kid, born with sturdy legs and a kinesthetic awareness that far surpassed anything his parents possessed. So it was encouraging (for his parents) to finally see him join volleyball and run track last year in eighth grade. It was even more encouraging to see him commit to indoor and outdoor track this year at East. Little glimmers of Alex’s inner athlete started shining through as he experienced teamwork, hard work and fitness as a lifestyle choice for the first time.

And then it happened. At the last official meet of the season, something clicked and he really looked like he knew what he was doing out on the track. Stride, pacing, breathing, confidence…everything synched…and Alex took twenty seconds off his best time. I don’t know who was more excited, him or me.

And not because he won the race (he didn’t) or because I think he’s now a shoe in for the Junior Olympic team (he’s not) but because he’s starting to figure out the value of perseverance and planning and focus and foresight, all good things that can help him navigate life. As for me, I feel like the Master Potter is at work, shaping Alex with his invisible hand. No doubt the glazing stage is almost here, and I can’t wait to see what brilliant colors emerge after firing. After years of watching and wondering what’s going on in that boy brain, I’m thinking the end product will be a very good thing indeed.

Don't Mess With Your Mother

I'm tired of being ignored, so I have sadly resorted to kidnapping and ransom notes to get my point across...

 

The offending suitcase that precipitated the kidnapping...

A Good Thing

Four women sit on a bench, catching up as women have been known to do. Three talk animatedly about their children, how they’re dealing with school, with friends, with life. One seems distracted. She’s got other things on her mind today, which is why the others are there…and will be there…

 

Thirteen years ago these women sat on another bench, this one outside in the warm spring sun in a neighborhood park. Sweet bird songs and youthful shrieks of joy danced on the breeze as they talked animatedly about their children, watching their little ones play and wondering aloud about how they’d deal with school, with friends, with life. At the time, motherhood linked them. Now friendship binds them. And so they sit, talking animatedly about their children…moms committed to a Lifelong Involvement in Nurturing Kids. MomsLINK. That was the name of the mothers group they started a lifetime ago when their babies were babies, not tweens and teens.

 

Yet that LINK still connects them. So much so that the three were there for the one as she sat on the bench in the skin-paling fluorescent light of the concrete-walled county courthouse, anxiously waiting for her divorce trial to begin. Who knew that thirteen years ago conversations about coupons and crafts and diapers and discipline would lead to this kind of loyalty…this kind of love?

 

I knew. Or at least I hoped, desperately, that’s what MomsLINK would do for its members. We Founding Mothers, as we called ourselves, used to joke that we needed friends so badly we were willing to put an ad in the newspaper to look for other lost souls who were hungry for coherent conversation and a little moral support. It wasn’t too far from the truth. Very few MomsLINKers knew each other before joining, yet friendships blossomed that quickly connected women to other women, at all ages and stages of motherhood, those working in the home and out, and what a good thing it was.

 

It was a good thing to have another mom point out that you had a colicky baby, not just an awful, caterwauling baby, and tell you that your beautiful baby would outgrow this stage, just wait, and here, let me walk with her a while so you can rest.

 

It was a good thing to have two weeks’ worth of women lined up to provide meals for one of their own who’d just had a baby or just lost their mom to cancer or just had a child come home from the hospital.

 

It was a good thing to have park play days, mom and tot outings and monthly evening meetings where you got to pretend you were a real grown up for a while (until the clock struck noon or nine and the minivan turned back into a pumpkin and you were relegated to Cinderella status once again).

 

For ten years, MomsLINK was a very good thing. Sadly, all good things must come to an end; yet the end of MomsLINK wasn’t really an ending, more like a new beginning. Friendships that developed because of the group’s creation continued in spite of the group’s evolutionary conclusion.

 

So that years later, those same women who sat on the park bench sharing life’s joys and concerns can now sit on the courthouse bench sharing life’s joys and concerns, literally. And that, most definitely, is a good thing…