Last is Best

Jdog began cello lessons three weeks ago.  I don't think this little man has ever been so excited about anything.  We observed his teacher, Carey Cheney, for three months prior to his first lesson.  He received a cello for Christmas, and two weeks ago he proudly carried it--backpack style--into the Cheney cello studio.  His full-cheek, twinkly-eyed smile never once left his face.

Fast forward three weeks.  He still loves his cello.  He loves setting up his practice magic carpet.  He loves bowing and sitting on his own little stool.  But when it is time to pluck out a few rhythmic note patterns, he slumps over, grunts and says, "I'm tired."

I knew this would happen.  Even with his heart brimming with excitement about joining the strings community in our family, it's just hard to sit down and learn new things.  Especially when you're JJ, and new things make you a little uncomfortable.  And singing new songs in front of new people is something you don't really like to do.  But sweet JJ will sing every word to every song when no one is watching.  He rehearses the melodies and rhythms on his cello CD with exactness as we drive from place to place in the car.  But it's hard to put it all together in front of your mom, especially when you can sense she is losing patience as an hour of practice attempts tick by on the clock.

So, this morning after I got Aaron off to school, I was determined to make it to the end of his practice exercises.  We failed with each attempt in the past two days.  I sat there with him and told him I wasn't going anywhere.  "I'm not giving up on you, and I know you don't want to give up on cello.  It is hard, but you can do hard things."  Over and over again.

It took us two hours of attempts, but he did it.  It only took him 15 minutes when he actually got going. It was like something clicked in his mind--and he didn't need chocolate chip bribery or elaborate train tracks built--one piece for every exercise he completed.  All he needed to know was that I wasn't going anywhere.  I wasn't going to give up on practice.  So, he didn't give up either.

And then after it all I smothered him again and again with kisses, and "I'm so proud of you for doing hard things" praise.  And I am.  So stinking proud.

J has this thing going lately, "last is best of all the rest."  Sometimes it is extremely aggravating and inconvenient, and silly.  But today, if we had raced in some sort of cello practice contest we most certainly would have come in last.  But it was the best race of all the rest, I would say.

Right Where We Are

Well hello January 6th.  I am suffering from a severe case of self loathing. I wanted to go swimming tonight to drown my sweat and sorrows in the depth of the lap pool, but somehow I couldn't even accomplish that.  Forgot my darn wallet 3/4 of the way to the pool that closed in a half hour.  It was worthless to return.  That's what the husband said.  And he was right.  He was also right when he discovered the second bike that I popped on the bike trainer. Sometimes I hate it when he's right. He said it was wound much too tight. A metaphor for the past few days, I suppose.

I started crying in front of Mrs. Roller today.  I stopped in after hour seven hour journey to Logan and back with all the kiddos for Aaron's cochlear appointment.  On Monday morning--the first day back to school after the Christmas break--I rode my bike and read my book and was pumped to get Aaron back into a routine and ready to go.  I walked in his bedroom and saw the look on his face and knew that my sweet Aaron wouldn't be going anywhere that day.  He's been battling dizzy spells and GI bugs for the past 48 hours.  And when sweet Mrs. Roller patted me on the back today I just couldn't hold in the frustrated tears.

The odd thing is, I think Aaron sort of enjoys these days (to some extent).  Of course he could pass on the sick part, but he gets to be home, playing trains, reading with the boys, doing homework with mom, sharing his opinions and needs freely, etc. etc.  Given the choice, I don't think he'd choose a dizzy day over a first day back to school after Christmas break.  I'm 99% sure he's not faking it.  But seriously, if he wakes up dizzy tomorrow morning I'm going to tell him we have to do some blood work at the hospital.  Then we'll see if that 1% chance my child is a prodigy actor wins out.

We were, after all, dancing in the kitchen tonight.  That was far and away my favorite part of the day.  Not the questions I don't know how to answer.  Not my foiled attempts to build a hot bod.  Not the gaseous goals floating around in my head.  Nope.  Most definitely my favorite moment was when Davey bopped around in his minion PJs, JJ pounded out the beat on my squishy tummy, Aaron rolled his eyes when I wiggled a little too wildly, and when the husband slid his fingers between mine and swayed his hips against mine and sang the words, "baby--we found love right where we are..."

Yes we did, January 6th. Yes. We did.        

The New Year

Today I read that the way in which you spend the first day of the new year is the way you will spend the rest of the year. If this is the case, 2015 will be something like this:

Me: sleeping on the floor at my parents house so Davey will sleep soundly; waking early then ditching Christmas clean up (with loads of guilt) at my mom's to protect my crew from the flu; borrowing old snow clothes to join my boys' fun in freezing temps outside; Christmas clean up; and a silent run to reflect on my relationship with God, the universe and everything. 

The Husband: creating a midmorning snowmobiling adventure out of a bleak, indecisive, conflicted escape from Spork; cooking dinner for the fam while he sends me out to run off some steam; and pausing with wide eyes to realize that today was our "halfway through residency" mark.

Atrain: Deftly handling 45mph speeds behind the steering wheel of powerful snow machines, then (later) collapsing into a puddle of "it's not fair" tears when Jdog decides not to share dinosaurs. He also practiced his violin. (phew).

Jdog: Giving out his Christmas gum-balls according to recipients' favorite colors, sneakily stepping on Doodle's favorite "choo choos", and jumping on the couch and yelling expectantly, "who wants to snuggle?!" Also, he is kicking trash in our 3 day long monopoly game.    

Doodle: pushing step ladders around the house, relentlessly attempting to touch the cooking griddle, spreading smiles with his brothers and spending hours admiring his dada.

All in all, there will be tears. There will be adventures. There will be cleaning. There will be exercise and reflection. There will be managers: Atrain was assigned the manager of camping with the husband; Jdog is the manager of family prayer; and Doodlebug is the manager of cuteness. It was all decided over a dinner of ham fried rice so excellently cooked by the husband.

And there will be writing.  I miss exploring thoughts in words here and in my novel project.  Whether here or there, words will fly into being.

2015 could be a good year. A very good year indeed.  

Frandsenland

ONCE upon a time, in a land not so far away, there was a queen.  She lived a lovely life in her cottage sized castle with her husband and their three sons: Aaron the brave-heart; Jared "JJ" the jolly; and David, the beautiful baby.  The queen had a good heart, and she loved her boys with every piece of it. Every day in Frandsenland she worked and played and did her very best NOT to be evil. Sometimes she succeeded.

These are the official records of Frandsenland.  This is the Queen's diary.

It is Time

I'm sitting on the couch, next to the husband, twiddling my wedding ring around my finger with my tongue, considering my life.

I'm considering my boys--their quirks and their charms: Jdog laughing out loud right on cue whenever the husband stares at him and laughs; Atrain teaching me about the sacrament today, "we remember how Jesus brings us to choose eternal life," he said (possibly connecting discussions about the scripture he will recite this Sunday (2 Ne 2:27) and our conversation about the sacrament).

The husband is agonizing over his choice between his Ohio and San Diego residency program interviews, drowning his sorrows in the latest season of "Arrested Development."

I'm thinking about the gift my sister in law Hilly gave me for Christmas--"A Year in the Puddle," printed out and bound with her love and blood. It was a book.  And, I had written it.

And, I'm giggling as I recall my recent unplanned, serendipitous sleep over with Bambi.  We crafted deep into the night and then fell asleep by each other on the couch.  She asked me about my book--not the puddle book--the one I've been building for a couple of years now.  As I told her, that familiar flame of excited fear began to burn in my belly.  I felt the same flicker when the weight of the printed "Year in the Puddle" paper sat in my hands.

It is a flame I have been flirting with for a while--the kind I whisk my fingers through, daring it to burn me, strangely hoping that it does--just a little.  I've been afraid of it, knowing that keeping my family's fire alive and well is my first priority and greatest joy.  Hence, "The Puddle Project," a way to combine my feverish desire to record, to create and to practice stories on a page, while keeping my mind settled in my home (as it always will be).  It was only designed to be a year-long project...a place to splash and plan and prepare.  It is a good feeling--every purpose has been fulfilled except that last, little leap forward into the unknown.

I've been fighting it.  As the year turned, I felt that it was time--but it is so difficult to say goodbye to something that has been so good for me.  It helped me grow into a mother of two.  It made me shift my attitude, broaden my perspective, and set my sights on the mother I want to become.  But, when Bambie asked me, "Are you hiding behind The Puddle?" it was as if we were back in junior high and she was throwing back the shower curtain exclaiming, "It's time to go!"  She didn't tell me what to do.  Good sisters never need to.

So, it is with a scared, yet inspired heart that I bid adieu to my safe, warm, predictable puddle to adventure into other oceans of authorship.  I'll try not to take myself too seriously.  I'm excited to attempt to replace my daily puddle writing time with book writing time.  My mother muddling will continue faithfully on my revamped family blog (if you need an invitation, please let me know).  My home and family will always be the best fire burning in my life.  It has been an incredible journey.  Thank you for puddling with me.

xoxo--MJ

The Entitlement Problem/The Ownership Solution

I'm reading a book written by the parents of an old boyfriend of mine.  The husband will cringe at my mentioning of the old boyfriend.  He dry heaves at the thought that I would have actually liked any other guy.  As he should.  (What he doesn't mention is that he was sincerely confused by my dating of this RM while he was simultaneously smacking lips with an adorable freshman gal.  We rehearse the irony of our past a fair amount.  It still makes me growl).

Anyhow, welcome to "The Entitlement Trap" by Richard and Linda Eyre.  What amazing people.  What an awesome family.  I'm excited to learn more from them.  Here are things from the first chapter of this book that I  will add to my parenting quiver:

Chapter 1: The Entitlement Problem

• "In the name of LOVE, we give our kids: indulgence rather than consequences; instant rather than delayed gratification; lazness rather than discipline; dependence rather than independence; and entitlement rather than responsibility. We are trying to control our kids, rather than giving them control.  
• It is easy to give my kids what they want.  Much, much easier than teaching them what the need.  And, my job is (mostly) to teach them what the need and give them a few surprises along the way.
• "Entitlement stymies their chances to develop self-esteem and self-reliance and self-discipline and all the other "selves" that can't find traction in a world where everything is demanded and expected and nothing is earned and appreciated."
• "The far-reaching nature of the (entitlement) problem is not only about allowances and money and cell phones and "stuff."  Its tentacles reach into virtually every aspect of our children's lives.  It affects their education, because they feel they should not have to work for their grades...it impacts their relationships, because they think parents should step in and work out their fights or conflicts with other kids...their health...their ability to set goals, because when one is entitled, who needs goals.

Chapter 2: The Ownership Solution

• "As parents, we must find reliable methods to get our children to feel the kind of ownership--of toys, of money, of goals, of grades, of choices, of their bodies, of their conflicts--that will foster responsibility and displace indulgence-based entitlement...the ownership we are speaking of is chosen, earned ownership, something a child decides on and works for and takes pride in."
• "If the perception of ownership can be given to children, a sense of responsibility will follow, and a sense of pride, and a sense of purpose."
• "As a person earns, obtains, and takes care of something that belongs to him, he develops self-esteem, self-discipline, self confidence, self-motivation, happiness and good judgment."
• "WHEN is the prime time for teaching the skills of ownership-based responsibility?  Not when they are preschoolers and incapable of really grasping or accepting responsiblity...and not when they are teens and the consequences of their mistakes are too great, but when they are elementary-and middle-school-age kids who are flattered by responsiblity and who still think their parents are worth listening to...still the very best answer to the question"when?" is "Always."
• "When kids have real input and responsibility in family matters, they begin to feel like co-owners rather than tenants or servants in our homes, or pawns on our grown-up chessboard."

Great, motivating things to think about.  "It is best to start early, but it's never too late."  (Phew.  I'm not too late. :)  I guess it can never be too early to start building a solid foundation for my kids.  It empowers me to read their thoughts.  Can't wait for the next few chapters.  

Broken things to Mend

"Can I borrow your shoes?"  I ask the husband.

"All I have are my flip flops." He says.

"It's better than running in my heels," I say.

I hop out of our broken down car and start jogging toward our apartment building.  The click-clack echo of my over sized flip flops is embarrassing.  I hope no one really pays attention to me.  But, I know that's unlikely--seeing that I'm running as fast as I possibly can, shoving my Sunday skirt back down, fighting the winter breeze's cruel game of "peek a boo."

I hope I can find someone to tow my broken car the rest of the way up the hill to our parking lot.  I hope the husband's broken car will make it to the boys and back without blowing out the other shock's hashed fix-it job done in Texas.  I hope my key will let me into the building.  I hope Jdog won't be too flustered by this sudden frantic burst to go back to sleep.  He can't endure another sleepless night.

My key card opens the door.  I go strait up the stairs to my sweet friend and supervisor, Darleen's apartment.  It doesn't look like the lights are on.  I feel guilty even before I knock on the door.  But, I think about my stranded boys and I tap my knuckles to the wood.  Her dogs bark.  "SSShhhh" she says.  I want to apologize before she even opens up.  I take a deep breath.

The door swings open.  Her sweet face greets me.  I try to smile as I explain, "So sorry to bother you so late, but...can your husband's truck tow our car up the hill?"  Her kind eyes widen.  I tell her the rest of our sudden, tragic mishap and my eyes tear up.  "Not a problem." She says.  "Don't apologize," she repeats.  I say sorry again, but thank her for her kindness.

I race down the stairs to my apartment, trying to wipe the tears from my face.  I wonder how much it will be to fix the darn machines.  Then I pause.  Whatever it cost, it's not as much as it could have been.  We were protected.  Our car could have stopped in the middle of the construction zone on the freeway.  It could have stopped somewhere in the city running errands while the husband was gone.  It could have stopped in the middle of a busy intersection tomorrow on my outing with the boys.  I could have.

But, it didn't.  It stopped two blocks from our home, where my angel neighbors were able to pull it the rest of the way to the parking lot.  It could have been all sorts of bad.  But, it wasn't.  Even if it had been bad, it wouldn't change how grateful I am that God is aware of my little family.