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30 tiny moments: day 1 – practice
Amanda at Soule Mama and Jessica at Kerflop are each doing a photo project designed to capture and document the ordinary and simple aspects of their lives in a month of photos.
See Soul Mama’s here and Kerflop’s here.
I thought this would be a fantastic way to celebrate all that is ordinary in our lives, for it is in the simple everyday parts of family life that magic happens, but only for those willing to look. These are the moments worth remembering.
Abby has OCD. (I am trying to consider it as Obsessive Compulsive Delightful.)
One of her obsessions is the need to be perfect. Even as a two year old, she would not want to color in her coloring books. Her coloring skills were not developed enough for her taste. (She was two, for crying out loud!) Instead, she always asked her dad or I to do it so it looked “right.” In many areas of her life she will choose to not participate in something if she thinks won’t be able to do it perfectly. As her mother, it’s hard to see her get so frustrated with herself.
She has been taking piano lessons for about a year. In a good week, Abby will practice every night with me beside her on the bench. Our piano is old, and it shows; the date stamp on the back says 1897. Its keys are chipped and worn from years of playing. A family in our church had it sitting in their shed for years thinking “maybe someday” they’d get it in working order. When I heard they were giving it away, I jumped at the chance to have it.
Abby has always had an interest in music and was so excited when the old piano was delivered. It needed a good dusting, some Howard’s Restore a Finish, a tune-up and some repairs, and a little girl willing to overlook it’s obvious signs of wear.
One of the great things about the old piano is that because it has has been around the block, it’s friendly and patient. Much more so than a shiny new instrument. It holds a tune good enough for a beginner who doesn’t always hit the right notes anyway. And more importantly than helping her develop her musical interest, piano lessons are a way for her to practice making mistakes. She’s learning that it’s okay to mess up. That you can’t create something wonderful without hitting a lot of wrong notes along the way.
This old piano is teaching her that imperfection can still be beautiful. It’s a lesson I often need myself.
How do you deal with perfectionism?
plush wilderness
This morning I broke my daughter’s heart, and I don’t even care.
That’s just the kind of woman I am.
Just what terrible thing, you may be asking, did I do to the poor child?
I instituted a new rule. “One in, one out.”
You see, our home is being fully overrun by stuffed animals. They have no natural predators and so have multiplied at an astonishing rate. Do you remember the old Disney film “White Wilderness”? The one where the lemming population grew to be too large so the lemmings hurled themselves off a cliff? (Sidenote: I have recently discovered the film to be a hoax. Here’s the scoop on that.)
Anyway, I have been waiting for a mass plush suicide attempt, but it appears as though it’s not going to happen.
Hence the “one in, one out” rule.
This morning, Abby told me that she wants two more webkins so she can get some special online “feature item”. Whatever.
(Ok, I really must go off on a tangent here. The Ganz corporation is made up of evil geniuses. They have created a cute, fun, and wholesome website for kids. But it’s main purpose is not entertainment, education, or to develop creativity. It is marketing, plain and simple. The very concept is designed to make your little darlings dissatisfied with what they have and instead want, no need more, more, more! Tangent over.)
Anyway, this morning Abby told me she wanted more. First I (nicely) told her that I was not going to be buying any webkinz. Secondly, I (very sweetly) explained that she has reached the extreme limit on the amount of plush creatures this house will hold. For every new animal that comes in, be it a gift or with her own (ha) money, she will have to donate one of her old animals to charity.
Here is the rest of our conversation.
Abby: That’s mean.
Me: That’s life.
Abby: I don’t want to give away any of my animals.
Me: You don’t have to. You can keep them all. Just don’t get any new ones.
Abby: (Tearing up) Can’t I just put some in the attic?
Me: Nope. Sorry, Honey. We have reached the limit.
Abby: But-
Me: (Practicing diversionary tactics) Is that the bus I hear? Hurry and grab your coat.
So, what do you think? Was I unbearably cruel? What would you think if I told you I don’t even feel guilty?
Remember when you were a kid and you really wanted something? Like a doll, or a bike, or a snoopy Sno-Cone Machine? Do you remember dropping hints to grandma? Writing to Santa? Going to the store to look at it? Maybe even saving your allowance for it?
And then when you finally got it do remember how much you loved it?
It’s possible that I am being nostalgic for something that didn’t really exist and lkids then really weren’t that different, but I don’t think so.
For example, Abby does not know the joy of browsing the toy isle just to see what is there. I loved going to Bi-Mart with my mom and just getting to look at the toys. But when Abby sees something she wants and can’t have it right now, she’s sad. So she chooses to not even look unless she knows she’s getting something. I commend her for that, but I truly feel like she is missing out on something. That bittersweet feeling of wanting and waiting and dreaming.
Abby has so much more than I did. I think it’s hard for anything to be truly special in the face of so much abundance. Her kid culture (friends, tv, webkinz) tells her that she has to have more. One Littlest Pet Shop pet is no fun. You have to have the whole set. When does it end?
Ok, before you start blasting me with, “Well, where did she get all this stuff, huh?” or telling me how spoiled she is, please know that one-yes, I accept blame for bringing in all the stuff and two-she’s no more spoiled than her peers and less than many of them.
Even so, I am going to make a concentrated effort to reduce the amount of consumerism taking place in this house. To do more with what we have and not look for something new and shiny to make us happy.
Last week we took all of her broken crayons and melted them in muffin tins. The “new” big crayons were a huge hit with Abby. She thought I was sooo clever. (Stop. I am not. Ok, maybe a little…) It was simple and it was fun. More fun, I dare say, than a brand new box of crayolas. What we had on hand was more than good enough.
Maybe with the “one in, one out” rule I can bring that feeling into our Plush Wilderness. If not, I’ll be looking for a film crew and a high cliff.
the ending of an era
From lds.org:
“Beloved Church President Gordon B. Hinckley, who led The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints through 12 years of global expansion, has died at the age of 97. President Hinckley was the 15th president in the 177-year history of the Church and had served as its president since March 12, 1995. For more information, visit the Newsroom.”
I remember when President Hinckley was sustained as president of the church. I was not quite twenty at the time and just starting out my adult life. Now I am 32, married and a mother. The past 13 years have been a time of great transition. I have changed. The world has changed. But President Hinckley has remained constant as a source of truth, leadership and direction.
In October of 1995, just seven months after his sustaining, President Hinckley, along with the other members of the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, issued “The Family: A Proclamation to the World”.
Two months later I married and five years after that, after much heartache and trial, my husband and I had the joy of welcoming our daughter into our family. Through the years, the words of this great document have inspired and taught me in my developing roles as a wife and a mother. Take, for example, these passages:
“Husband and wife have a solemn responsibility to love and care for each other and for their children.”
“Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ. Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities.”
The application of these words have brought much peace and joy into my life and strength to my family. And I know they will continue to do so as I strive to better live the values taught.
On September 11, 2001 the world changed. I was a young mother looking forward to Hannah’s first birthday. My cares and concerns to that point were largely for family matters. Turning on the tv to the earth shattering violence that fall morning brought home greater fears. My personal prayers brought a semblance of peace, but I had another source of comfort, a refuge in the storm.
Less than a month after the attacks the leaders of the church convened for our semi-annual conference and President Hinckley spoke these words of encouragement and direction:
“Now, brothers and sisters, we must do our duty, whatever that duty might be. Peace may be denied for a season. Some of our liberties may be curtailed. We may be inconvenienced. We may even be called on to suffer in one way or another. But God our Eternal Father will watch over this nation and all of the civilized world who look to Him. He has declared, “Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord” (Ps. 33:12). Our safety lies in repentance. Our strength comes of obedience to the commandments of God.
Let us be prayerful. Let us pray for righteousness. Let us pray for the forces of good. Let us reach out to help men and women of goodwill, whatever their religious persuasion and wherever they live. Let us stand firm against evil, both at home and abroad. Let us live worthy of the blessings of heaven, reforming our lives where necessary and looking to Him, the Father of us all. He has said, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Ps. 46:10).
Are these perilous times? They are. But there is no need to fear. We can have peace in our hearts and peace in our homes. We can be an influence for good in this world, every one of us.”
I think his words are just as appropriate today as they were seven years ago.
Gordon B. Hinckley will always be remembered for his warm hearted wit, the tender love he showed for his sweet wife and his sorrow at her passing, and his encouragements and exhortation to just try a little harder. I am a better person because of him.
I could go on and on about his teachings and accomplishments, but I will leave it here. Though I will support and love the new president completely, President Gordon B. Hinckley will always have a special place in my heart.
I miss him already.
sock monkey magic
Several months ago , GW and I had a conversation about sock monkeys.
I told her that they were a very popular toy of old. And, although I have never owned one (my mom was partial to making its cousin, the sock bunny) I have always thought them to be “dang cute”. A quick google image search later and Hannah was in agreement.
So, possibly in an effort to fulfill my own unmet childhood desire (although bunnies are very cute and I am lucky to have a mother willing to handcraft something for me), I decided to make a sock monkey for my girl as a Christmas gift. (Mother of the year nomination, anyone?)
Once again, I turned to my good friend google (what did I ever do without him?) who directed me to a website from which I was able to procure the original red heeled socks. When they arrived, I put them into my sewing basket and out of my mind.
Fast forward to November.
GW’s Christmas list is made out and, of course “sock-monkey” is nowhere on it. And then, the Frantically Simple Family go on an outing to the movies.
We are enjoying Mr. Magorium’s Magic Emporium but are not expecting it to change our lives in any way. (I admit, that last sentence is a bit dramatic, but I like it, so it stays.) Suddenly, we make the acquaintance of the sweetest sock monkey in all creation. And all he wants is a hug. The little guy is in the movie for probably less than 30 seconds, but he absolutely steals the show. Abby even cried because he was so darn needy and adorable. (We’ll take it up in therapy.)
Once we got home, the Christmas list went through a dramatic revision. Sock monkeys took up the top two slots:
1. A sock monkey
2. A magical sock monkey
Jackpot for me! I couldn’t guarantee #2, but #1 was in the bag!
I created the little creature in a day, trying with all my might to imbue personality into his every (somewhat crooked) feature. In a spirit of Marthaism, I even hand knit a tiny hat and scarf set for him (with love in every stitch). Here is a portrait of my masterpiece:
On Christmas Eve, while Abby was knocking on the gates of Dreamland, I slipped him into her slumbering arms.
The next morning, oddly enough, I woke first and could hardly wait for my little girl to get up. After hanging around for half an hour or so, I shook some jingle-bells in her ear to get things moving.
A couple of minutes later, she ran in our room clutching her new best friend (now named Bananas). She was shocked to discover that I had sewed him myself. My stock went way up in my little girl’s eyes that day!
I asked her how she felt waking to discover that she had been snuggling him all night and she told me that she had woken in the night. When she saw him, she thought that she was peeking (not allowed!) so she grabbed him tight, but kept her eyes closed. Abby thinks he may have hugged her back while she wasn’t looking.
After all the excitement and gifts of the day, she still claims Bananas is her very favorite Christmas present.
I think he may be magical after all.
better is not always better
One evening last week, my husband and I picked up our seven year old daughter from a friend’s house. She had spent the afternoon playing and then stayed for dinner. (Why is it that someone else’s fish sticks always taste better than mine?)
Anyway, she came home later than usual. We pulled up to the driveway after eight o’clock.
Eight o’clock is a special time of night. Eight o’clock is bedtime for Abby and me time.
For me.
Mine.
Get it?
(Well, sometimes I do share it with Bob. I’m not entirely selfish you know.)
I was all ready to rush the little one up the stairs to bed so I could settle my self on the couch with Jane Austen, but then something happened. I looked out the car window.
The recent snow lay on our little hill glittering in the moonlight. I turned my head to the porch and there was the abandoned sled.
Just that morning we had spent twenty minutes stuffing ourselves into our snow gear. Abby’s pinky had refused to go into its own slot in her gloves. It preferred to double up with her ring finger and I had to remove her glove and try again several times before it would be coaxed into being alone. Then Abby’s hat made her head itch. Her boots were hard to put on and her sock had a wrinkle. All the while a new snow was outside beckoning we were inside getting increasingly frustrated with the scarf stuck in the jacket zipper.
Once we finally (angrily) got outside we only had a few minutes left to play before having to go back in, un-gear and head off to the day’s must-dos. The sled was left on the porch. Mom and daughter were thoroughly unsatisfied.
When I was a little girl growing up in Oregon, snow was a magical rarity, maybe two or three times a winter. I did not own a stitch of snow clothes. In order to keep our feet dry in our hand-me-down tennis shoes, my mom gave my brothers and I saved bread bags to put on over our socks. When our jeans got too wet and we were freezing we came into the house for some mothering.
Our home had no fireplace so we dragged the kitchen chairs to the oven. My mom would crank it up to about 300 degrees and put folded towels on the open door. There we would prop our frozen toes to thaw while we sipped hot cocoa. Once we were warm and dry, we’d slip those bread bags back on and head out for more cold, wet fun.
We made snow angels without snow pants. We made snowmen and had icicle sword fights without gloves. Sure it was cold. I remember my hands stinging when I came in the house. But I did not die. I didn’t even catch a cold. And I still had fun. My daughter has every cold weather comfort item out there, but somehow they seem to detract from rather than add to the experience.
And so this brings us back to the car and me looking out the window at that moonlight hill. The little girl in me woke up and said “C’mon woman, Jane Austen has been around for 200 hundred years, but this moment will be over in a second. Let’s play!”
I got my confused child out of the car in her capris and mary-janes and we grabbed the sled. It was amazing. The darkness seemed to ad to the thrill of the ride. Sledding our tiny front yard hill was no longer ordinary; it was a mysterious, exotic adventure. We came in the house half an hour later, wet, cold, and laughing.
As she got ready for bed, Abby kept asking me, “Mom, why did you let me do that?”
I guess I just remembered for a minute what it feels like to be a kid. And in this overstressed and over scheduled world, I want to make sure she knows too.
Once upon a time there was a Heidi…
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