The Best Snow Day Ever?

Today, my daughter had a snow day.  Again.  It's all just part of the cosmic conspiracy to keep me from writing.  However, contrary to what people think of me for hating snow days, it's not an entirely selfish reaction, it's just that I know how the day will go.  While it's true that I won't get any writing done, it's also true that my daughter loves snow days only until 9:00am, when she wakes from a glorious sleep and delights in the fact that she got to sleep in, only to remember that the day ahead will be long and boring.

The roads were pretty bad today, and the wind chills were brutal, so she couldn't call her friends to go sledding, or to come over and build a snowman.  Many of her friends live out in rural areas, and I was not willing to drive the slippery roads to pick them up, and their moms didn't want to bring them here either.  So my little Bean, while refreshed from catching up on her sleep, spent most of the day on the couch, watching mind-numbingly stupid shows on TV.  Bean is far too active a girl to enjoy a full day of TV.

Meanwhile, I shoveled the sidewalks and plowed the driveway.  An hour later, I did it again.  I did laundry, fixed the dryer, and checked emails.  I tried to write, but Bean kept calling out to me from the couch.  She made plans with friends, and would yell, "Mom, can I go to so-and-so's house at noon?"  and I would holler back my permission.  Ten minutes later, the plans would fall through.  Bean made plans with friends all day, but nothing ever came of it.  I gave up trying to write, hovered on the fringes of depression, and took a nap.

But then a funny thing happened on the way to my depression.  I found a way to love snow days, even if only for a moment.

After my nap, I sat down in front of my computer and was scrolling through social media sites when Bean wandered into the kitchen and sat down next to me.  She was complaining about how bored she was, when she suddenly exclaimed, "Mom!  Look at that bird!"

Outside the window, where I keep a bird feeder filled with seeds, was a Blue Jay, one brilliant bird among the many nuthatches and sparrows.  Then Bean shouted and said "Look, there's three more!"
She asked what kind of bird they are, and suddenly I found myself in my element, teaching her about Blue Jays.

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Bean moved closer to me, and I pointed out the coloring of their feathers.  She asked how to tell the difference between males and females.  Blue Jays do not exhibit differences among males and females by their markings.  Instead, you must observe their behavior.  I told Bean to watch each bird, and tell me what they are doing.  One bird would land, and the other three would follow.  The same bird would call out, imitating a hawk, and the other three would call out too.  When the one bird flew off, the other three followed.

The bird initiating the behaviors is the female, while the males imitate her, trying to impress her.  Mating season starts soon!

Blue Jays are a close-knit family unit.  Mates are monogamous, and males are fairly involved with nest-building and rearing young, though the female has the final say in all matters.  (Maybe that's why Bean is drawn to them!) They are very social birds, and will warn other species of birds of danger.  Blue Jays are also highly intelligent, and can be a bit aggressive at the bird feeder.  Bean was enthralled by them.

Sorry about the quality, pictures taken through
windows are never good!

 Then the best thing of all happened; a Yellow-Bellied Sapsucker made an appearance!  It swooped in, ate from the feeder, then flew off to land on the trunk of a nearby tree and started pecking at it.  Bean and I laughed as the Sapsucker backed down the tree trunk, and in that moment, I was so glad she'd had a snow day.  I would have missed this moment with her, sharing what I know and am passionate about and seeing her delight.  I'm not trying to sound cliche here, but it was a beautiful thing.

I don't care about the rest of the day.  I forgot about my frustration at interrupted schedules, I didn't dwell on the fact that I wasn't accomplishing much.  For that moment, Bean wasn't bored, she was at my side, sharing something wondrous.  She wasn't a teenager; she was my girl again.


The next time Bean has a snow day, which will most likely be next week, I might even suggest a snowy walk in the woods.  Who knows?  Maybe we'll see an owl, or a red-tailed hawk, or wild turkey.  I can show her rabbit tracks, deer tracks, and coyote tracks.  It's quite possible we could simply walk silently, and she might begin to understand the serenity I feel in the wintery woods.

Bean, and my other children, are a gift to me.  I have always believed that, even when I don't show it. Today, Bean was my gift, my reminder to slow down, breathe, and take in the moment.  If I can give that gift back to her, teach her to be interested in the natural world and to learn how to really observe what goes on around her, then I was a good mom, at least for a moment today.  The rest of the day?  Eh, maybe not so much, but I think Bean cherished our moment as much as I did.  Then a friend called, and she left.  Her warmth stayed with me.

I hope you had a simple moment of joy today, and every day.  I will remember today as the best snow day ever, at least for a moment.

A Little Me Time

This weekend, my little Birdie graduated from high school on Friday night, and yesterday we hosted an Open House in her honor.  It was a very emotional and stressful weekend, with an unexpected hospital stay for my husband and a few snafus in our schedule, but we pulled it off gloriously and were able to give our daughter the recognition she so deserves for her many accomplishments.




I went from moments of overwhelming stress to moments of overwhelming pride and love for my family.  When my daughter walked across that stage to receive her diploma, she was not thinking of herself, she was anxious to sneak away and see her daddy.  When her friends came through the next day to help us finish the many preparations for her party, I knew it was because they care so much for my daughter.  I watched her as she gathered her friends for pictures and moved among her guests with genuine gratitude that they came to wish her well.  I knew that, like me,
Birdie was exhausted and emotional and her nerves were stretched a bit too thin, yet she presented herself with grace and a warm smile for everyone.  I was so proud of her, and full of love for my beautiful daughter.

That being said, she hasn't exactly made it so easy to love her prior to this weekend.  I know it's normal for kids her age to start separating themselves from their family.  My friend Susan told me that kids have to create a scenario that they can't wait to get away from, or they would not be able to bear leaving.  So as my Birdie prepares to go off to the big city and start her college education, she doesn't want to hate us, but she has to, or she would not be capable of leaving us.

As Birdie starts the process of separating herself from us emotionally, I find myself doing the same thing.  My kids are growing up, and leaving me, and if I don't find something else to focus on, I won't be able to bear having them gone.  I am looking for a little "me time".

So many women I know reach a point where their role as a wife and mother changes, and they seek new interests and hobbies to fill the time.  The women I know enjoy a variety of pursuits for "me time".  Some join a book club, some set aside a certain day of the week, every week, for dinner out with other girl friends.  I know a few who garden, or attend quilt making classes, or travel often to museums, plays, and exhibits.  A few golf, but most simply go shopping to give themselves something to look forward to.  A day of pampering is also at the top of the list.

Not me.  I go camping.  I don't go often, but when I do I am gone for four days or more.  My family hates it.  The girls complain because they have to do the laundry and cooking when I'm gone, my husband has to attend all school and sporting events, and their time becomes full with the usual demands on my time.  Sometimes I feel a little guilty, but I need my camping trips.  I need my "me time".

I have not had time to write for the past six weeks.  Preparing my home for the Open House while juggling the many tasks a mother of a high school senior has, and still doing my daily chores and taking care of my family, leaves me with very little free time.

While there are countless details I have attended to, I also carved a little time out of each day to photo journal Birdie's life.  The picture posters were displayed at the Open House.  I spent hours scanning old pictures, categorizing them, and creating files for each board.  I took great care in selecting only the photos of my daughter that showed her true personality, her accomplishments, and her genuine goodness.  Then I sent each file to the printer, and once I received the photos, I began creating the boards.

There is a board for every school photo from every year, starting with pre-school and ending with Birdie's Senior Photo.  I love the progression of years, seeing how she changed and how she stayed the same.  Another board is for family, and one is exclusively photos of her relationship with her boyfriend.  The big tri-fold boards are for documenting the amazing and wonderful friends Birdie has kept through the years and for her beautiful journey from infant to young woman.  Then there is the board which tells the story of the sports she has played and her memorable experience winning a State Championship with her high school cross country team.

As I sorted the photos and began creating her story, it was, of course, an emotional journey for me.  I will admit, I take awesome pictures, and Birdie's entire being, everything she is about and all of the things that make me so proud of her were laid out in front of me.  I took a little trip down memory lane and truly enjoyed seeing how my daughter has grown.  The boards were prominently placed during the Open House this weekend for all the guests to look at, point out their own memories of Birdie, laugh at her antics, and experience the pride I feel in my girl.  I felt a sudden stab of panic over the camping trips I have taken this past year.  Did I miss out on something?  Was there one day in my daughter's life that I was unable to capture with my camera because I left my family for "me time"?  The thought left me sleepless.  What kind of mother goes off into the woods to be alone when her beautiful family is growing up too fast?  How could I ever want to miss a moment of this?

But in the normal fashion of high school seniors, my Birdie has attended to her necessary emotional separation from me with the same gusto that she went after outstanding grades and excellence in sports. She is closing off a little piece of her heart to me, for now, with the same passion that she has opened her heart to others.  A few days before her graduation, I finished the final photo journal board, and I couldn't wait to show her all my hard work and passion.  I eagerly anticipated that she would be as overcome by the photo story of her life as I was. But when Birdie stumbled out of bed at 11:00am and sleepily wandered over to look at the boards, her only comment to me was, "I hate some of those pictures, I wish you would have asked my permission first".

I leave Thursday to go camping.  Alone.  I need a little "me time".

A Tin Can for the Wise One

Last night, I had a long talk with my daughter while sitting by the bonfire.  We had been silent companions, enjoying the heat and the dancing flames, when she quietly said,

"My life is boring".  

She went on to say that she goes to school, she comes home, she does her homework, and she goes to bed.  She never does anything exciting or fun.  It's true.  So I asked her if she wants to invite a friend over after her soccer game today.  She replied,

"I don't really have any friends".

I know what she means.  She has a school friend who has taken her on family trips and loves being with my girl.  But that friend has lots of friends, so our Wise One doesn't spend all her time with her.  My daughter is liked well enough by the other girls, but she doesn't get invited to their homes.  I threw out the names of some girls from her class, but she kept coming back with reasons why they aren't her friends.  Finally she said to me, "Mom, I'm okay with not having friends.  Those girls are all into drama and boys, and I don't care about any of it.  I don't need friends.  What I need is a job."

She's twelve years old, and she wants a job.  So I gave her one.

She said she wants to start her own blog, but doesn't want to talk about kid stuff.  I have heard The Wise One talk passionately about politics and religion and the economy, and while her arguments are well-thought positions with intelligence and humor as her emphasis, she does not have the years of experience for her arguments to be tempered with an open mind.   I think the idea of my twelve year old writing a blog about adult issues is a bad, bad idea.

I asked her if she would like to take over writing one of my other blogs, Rooney Speaks.  I started it a while back, but since I have a hard enough time finding opportunities to write on this blog, I have written very little on Rooney Speaks.

Rooney is my dog.  He is a very large, messy, lovable dog who tends to get himself into trouble.  My daughter adores him and is annoyed by him at the same time.  But she was intrigued by the idea of writing about our lives through our dog's eyes, and I saw a little spark come alive inside her.

Maybe writing is her tin can.  We all need a tin can.  Mine is the vintage Airstream I lovingly live in part-time, traveling to my wilderness and learning about adventure as I go along.  My tin can is where I find my excitement, my joy, and my peace.  My Wise One needs to find her own tin can, but I suspect hers will be much the same as mine.

We made a pact.  I will bring Rooney into the picture more often by letting him come to her soccer games and school events, and taking him with us everywhere we go.  She will write about his antics on my blog.  She is quite excited about this plan.

It was getting late last night by the time we finished our talk, but The Wise One wanted to have a go at the blog.  I showed her how to access it on the computer, then left her alone.  She only wrote one small paragraph, because she said she hasn't given enough thought to it yet, but I was pleasantly surprised by what she wrote.  Without any guidance from me, she wrote using Rooney's voice, not hers or mine.  It is a short piece, but amusing.  The Wise One plans to write more.

This morning, she woke up early - as she always does - and ran out to my computer to see how many people have read her blog since last night.  She was thrilled to have 39 hits.  She already understands the satisfaction a writer gets from knowing someone is interested enough to hear what she (or Rooney!) has to say.

It makes me so very proud to see my daughter wanting to follow in my footsteps.  The best part is, unlike me, she is not waiting until she is having a mid-life crisis at 48 to know what she can contribute to the world.  If she sticks with it, The Wise One could someday use the written word to inspire, and change the way people see themselves and their world.  Or she might work at Target.  She hasn't decided yet.

I hope you will check out her blog, Rooney Speaks, so that when she gets home from her soccer game this afternoon and anxiously checks the dashboard, she will have even more hits.  You might even want to sign up to follow her blog.  That way, someday when she is writing powerful thoughts, you can say, "I have followed her from the beginning!'  Who knows?  Her Tin Can might be my Tin Can.  I dare say, hers will be better than mine, and nothing would make me happier.

The Things I Never Had

When I am home alone, I often have the TV on, just to keep me company.  I don't actually watch what is on the tube, it merely serves as background noise.  Once in a while, I pick up on a line or two coming through the TV speakers, and recently heard a sentence of dialogue that got me thinking.  It was a random moment, where my ears just happened to hear the TV character say,

"Those are things I never had".  The actress was lamenting the things she never had as a child, and how her life was negatively affected by their absence.  That kind of thinking brings out the worst in me and in a moment of unkindness, I looked at the TV and said "Quit whining!"

But the line stayed in my head.  I thought about it as I did the laundry.  The words came back to me during one of my many episodes of insomnia.  A theme began swirling around in my head, until I reached the point where I had to put my thoughts into perspective.

www.guess.com

Sure, my childhood wasn't perfect.  Instead of whining about it, I was thinking how lucky I am, because I never suffered.  I had a good home, with a mom and a dad who love and respect each other to this day.  I had the too-important pair of Guess jeans in high school, which any self-respecting teen in the early 80's simply had to have.  I wore those jeans until I became pregnant with my first child.  I had delicious southern fried meals every day, courtesy of my southern mom.  My parents were far from wealthy, but we took a few family vacations, drove a decent car, and had everything we needed.  My parents were involved and caring.  Sometimes a little too involved, but what teenager doesn't feel that way?  The best thing we had, though, was books.

My parents, my sister, and I still love to read.  My dad built a library in our home, and we often went to the bookstore as a family, where my mother could never deny me that third or fourth book in my pile, even though she knew I would read all of them in a week and beg for more.  Once I started middle school, I found amazing discoveries in my father's books.  He had books on every subject, from every part of the world.  I never ran out of things to read in my parents' house.  It was in those books that I found myself.

I grew up in the city.  I realized at a very young age that I hated the city.  I longed for the wide open spaces I read about in my books, I wanted to see the mountains and rivers and valleys.  I wanted to live on a farm.  As far back as I can remember, I coveted land.  I vowed to myself that some day, I would live in a place where I couldn't see another house but I could see untamed land for miles.  Instead of the steady sounds of city life with its cars backfiring and sirens wailing and neighbors yelling, I dreamt of hearing the wind and rushing water.  I believed, as a child, that it would just happen, that I would live in a place when I grew up that existed in my books and my heart.  It never happened.

When I was seven years old, I read The Boxcar Children for the first of many times.  Oh, how I envied Henry, Jessie, Violet and Benny for their boxcar home!  I wanted to run away from home and find my own boxcar to live in, but I never got very far away from my mother's watchful eyes.  In college, I went for a walk one day away from the campus, and found an abandoned boxcar in the woods a couple of miles from my dorm.  I was so delighted that whenever I couldn't sleep, I would walk there in the middle of the night and sit in that old boxcar to dream of my future.  I'm pretty sure that's when the dream was born of living in a little cabin high on a bluff deep in the woods overlooking the water.

As my life went on, I fell madly in love with a man from my hometown.  We married, and I moved straight from my parents' home to my husband's home, in the city.  I neglected my dreams as I embraced a new vision for my life with my husband and the three children that came along.  We moved to a bigger house just outside of the city, and I was happy to stay home, raise my family, and embrace suburban living.  My childhood dreams were never forgotten, they just didn't seem important anymore.

Twenty years ago, when my first child was born and I had the perfect husband and we were starting a perfect life together, no one could have told me what I would feel like now.  I couldn't foresee a time when my family would not be the center of my universe.  Then my kids grew up.  Damn them for turning out to be the responsible, independent young adults I raised them to be.  I never would have believed how much it would hurt to be so proud of my kids for making their own way.

Thinking about the things I never had has taken on an entirely new context.  I never had a mountain to climb or a river to cross.  I never had a bear, wolf, or moose run through my back yard, I didn't even have deer in my yard!  I never felt the rush of adrenaline as I rode my bike down a narrow ridge or pushed a canoe down the swift current of rushing whitewater.  I spent my childhood indoors, reading my books and imagining the lives of others, while never really living my own.

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The things I never had are what move me forward now.  There is a time for everything, and for each of us, the time is different.  I made the choices that were right for me, back then.  I did what I was meant to do by being a mother first and foremost.  I loved it!  Now, I find myself remembering my childhood dreams, and they are reawakening.  I find that I still want land around me, I still want that little cabin, and I still want to climb a mountain.  I may never have had those things before, but dreaming of them for 48 years just makes them that much sweeter.  Now is the time for me to be something all by myself, and that something will grow out of a child's longing to be outside, part of the vastness of the land and the greatness of a natural world.

These days, I don't live in a boxcar, but I do love living in my tin can, the old Airstream.  It's just like the boxcar, except I made it my own.  I park it in the woods like an abandoned old trailer so I can cook outside, search the woods for treasures, and seek its shelter at night.  Just like Henry, Jessie, Violet and Benny, I don't need to be found.  I need to be lost in my childhood dreams, writing the rest of my story, for once making it up as I go along.

Glass Lake, Google Images

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 I don't use my childhood as an excuse for not living passionately, in a place where I belong.  I was exactly where I belonged for many years, taking care of my family and giving them the best of me.  Now there is a new place for me to belong, and I am being drawn there because of the things I never had.  I recently searched for properties in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and found the perfect piece of land.  There are 360 acres of wild land surrounding a completely undeveloped body of water called Glass Lake.  The property has a high bluff on the north end of Glass Lake, the ideal spot for my little cabin.  Of course, one of the things I've never had is a winning lottery ticket, so I won't be buying Glass Lake at the bargain price of $1.8 million any time soon, but I know there is land out there waiting for me and my cabin.   Right now, I am planning a trip to kayak on Lake Superior, and another trip to the Porcupine Mountains, and several smaller trips camping in the woods in the tin can.  Alaska is still on the horizon, too.  I will hear the rush of water, climb a mountain, see a wolf, and stand in the middle of wide open spaces and breathe the glory of the land.  My time to be inspired by the things I never had is coming.  I am older, wiser, and in the right position to fully appreciate who I might become.  I have been patient with my dreams and I believe good things come to those who wait, so as I take these baby-steps toward my future I am learning once more to be open to what lies ahead and be grateful for the things I never had.

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