On Daughters

On this day my daughter turns seventeen, I reflect on the benefits of having a daughter in a family with two other males.

• Food: Not that my daughter feeds me, but now I have an ally with a palate that twists toward a cuisine not lusting after meat and potatoes. It's quite refreshing to hear those words, "I'm craving Thai" or "We should have a tomato and basil pizza."  Right on Sister, uh, I mean, Daughter.
• Technology without Condescendence: I love my son. I do. And I realize his age of twelve puts him at the height of his digital career. But when I need to figure out how to finagle a FB page or edit a pic on Instagram, I'd rather work with the more forgiving attitude of my daughter–even if her ancient 17 years seem beyond the electronic prime. "Here Mom. Let me help you," she'll say with her sympathetic eyes and caring smile. It's like she's feeding me at a nursing home. Thanks Al. I appreciate it. #daughter'sareablessing
• Fashion Critic: Having my own personal Stacey London has probably saved me several years of embarrassing fashion faux pas'. I've caught a few pics of myself when Alex was a toddler. Never will I forgive my hairdresser (whom I claim as a friend) for allowing one horrific, tightly-wound perm. Needless to say, my daughter has been my savior a few times before walking out the door. ("Mom! Untuck that shirt!" I guess high waisted fashion is for the youthful.) Although, I'm not sure I've done the same for her. There were a few trends she insisted upon sporting. Canary yellow tights...A year of nothing but Paramore t-shirts...the turquoise denim studded vest...okay, she never wore that...inside joke.
• Pop Culture Briefings: Sometime in my thirties, I sort of forgot to keep track of pop culture. So, thank goodness I have my daughter to tell me about music not made in the 80's (hallelujah) and what screenplays are being translated from books (more importantly, who's starring in them). Otherwise, I might only be plaguing my brain with stuff like when interest rates are going to rise or the crisis in the Ukraine. Now, I can interrupt those serious issues with stuff like how the opening scene of Star Wars was filmed. Or what's Chelsea Handler's next gig. What is her next gig, Alex? 
• Diffuser of Testosterone: The women in this house have been accused of being overly-sensitive, crying too much about puppies and kitties. We also tend to cry when the lack of male verbal filters kick in. However, I appreciate the fact my daughter and I can relate to each other about our emotions in this way. If no one noticed those animals on the Sarah McLachlin  commercial, maybe we'd never have saved Percy, our dog. Or gotten ourselves that evil cat that makes us laugh so much. So, it's nice to have two overly-sensitive souls in the house. It equalizes the action/sports/gun themes that tend to dominate the household.

Not only do I enjoy having a daughter in our house, I enjoy having my daughter in our house. Beyond a few housekeeping issues, she's smart, clever, and beautiful–in just about every way a person could be. She might be flinching at my horrible use of cliches, but I can't think of any other way to put it.

Here's to you my baby girl–God bless. I love you.

Hey Power Puff Girl.

Kindness

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

-Maya Angelou

The words of the late and profound poetess have been humming through my mind lately...thinking how we can be so caught up in routine that we don't give any consideration to the impact of our actions.

• Could I have offered a smile or a hello to the stranger in the grocery store?
• Did I really need to be so smug in proving myself "right" to my husband, only to make him feel bad?
• Did I say thanks to my kids for the chores they finished? Instead of muttering to myself about the parts they didn't?

My mother was telling me a story about a customer the other day. Okay, not a customer–a person who visited her shop. The lady wanted to purchase a baby gift (a hat specifically), but hated everything my mother presented her and expressed her dissatisfaction with gusto. (Now, my mother is a people-pleaser and was quite apologetic, but there was no pleasing the woman. She left the store, basically announcing her disgust with a few choice words. When Mom told me the story, I felt my skin prickle. Obviously, not everyone is going to be pleased with particular merchandise, but why the rudeness? My mother commented, "I would've reprimanded my three-year-old for acting that way." 

How sad for the woman. I'm guessing she's avoided by a few people because of her condescending nature. Perhaps she doesn't even know how she makes people feel. Luckily, most of my mother's stories in the shop or exactly the opposite of this. My mama is nice. People are generally happy in her store.

We tell our kids to study hard, pick up after themselves, keep up their practice in sports or instruments. But how much time do we devote to teaching them to offer kindness? 

Probably not enough.

Thanks Maya Angelou for your beautiful words.

R.I.P.

Soccer Mom Journal

I confess.

I initiate my fair share of harping at the kids. There's probably a reason they don't dash to greet me with open arms when I get home from work. My intent is always, always, always to greet them with a smile and ask them about their day. But inevitably, I become distracted by a mess in the kitchen or piles of sweatshirts, shoes and duffle bags on the floor. By the time I walk into the living room with the TV blasting of Spongebob, this idea of a good and patient mom has vanished into thin air.

Yet...I've been thinking lately.

I need to let my kids know something. I like adore how happy they are.

There are few families who will disagree about the insanity of the month of May. End of the year band and vocal concerts. Dance recitals. Graduation parties. Compound this with the soccer/baseball/track season, and one parent probably needs to resign from their day job in order to keep up. I hear some people bicker about how kids are too busy these days. But I'm not so sure. It seems, to me, the more involved kids are, the happier they become.

Case in point #1:

Cole has been a soccer aficionado since he was very young. (Luckily for us, he intends on playing in the Premier League someday which will make us very rich.) The kid has played soccer almost every season, fall and spring, since he was four. Now he intends to add cross country and basketball to his list of activities. (He's mentioned a career in the NBA as well as the soccer league things... Of course, he needs to learn to beat his mother at HORSE.) No matter, the kid likes to be busy and he definitely squirms with a zestful glee.

Case in point #2:

On a whim Alex decided to go out for soccer  this year. It's her first appearance since middle school. We questioned whether she could handle a sport after taking off so many years, then mix the intense sport into her whirl of other activities. Ultimately, we commend her on the move. She might not realize this, but her joy level has multiplied enormously. Yay for soccer.

I've come up with this most awesome logarithm:

Activity=endorphins, Endorphins=happy kids. Happy kids=Productive citizens (not necessarily NEAT citizens). Productive citizens=Bragging parents. Bragging parents=World Peace. Because everyone loves bragging parents, right?

Now that school, soccer, vocal, band, religious ed, and every other club known to man is finally winding down for the year, how will I ensure these kids will remain involved and happy?

Maybe they can clean the house! Or...more realistically, they can go outside and tackle each other.

Who won this one?

For the Love of Animals

Our Percy

The other day we started to watch The Family—a movie about a mobster family who’s been put into a witness protection program. In one of the opening scenes the family is seen traveling along in the car with their German Shepherd. My son commented, “I hope nothing happens to the dog.” We all concurred. (Well, most of us did—not sure if Doug voiced an opinion.) Sure, I would've felt bad if any of the people got gunned down—and quite a few did. But I was most nervous about the pup. (Those movie writers...ingenious with pet scenery!)

Which brings me to my next, sad (non-fictional) story. I came home the other day and asked Doug how his day was. He said he found one of his cows dead in the creek. No! I exclaimed. A mommy? He nodded. But how? Must’ve been pushed in, lost her footing, he stated solemnly. A horrible death. Will her calf be alright,I asked. Doug said so, but I couldn’t help but feel sad for a cute little cow looking for his mother. Tears emerged. Doug said my daughter had the same reaction. No, I didn’t even know the cow. And I eat cows. But I can hardly stand to think of any creature suffering.

I've decided every day should be spent with just a tiny does of animal musings. It brings about a certain joy that humans can't replicate.

Here are some examples: 

• Every morning I pass a beautiful horse on the way to work. It takes me less than five seconds to enjoy one of the most noble creations on earth. Sometimes I pass by and forget to look at the chestnut equine and my heart feels a little sad. 
• Our wiry dog has gotten into the habit of snuggling up with Cole every morning after we let him in. Even though he’s probably creating a huge hairball mess on my son’s bed, it’s the most heartwarming scene you could imagine—seeing the mutt sidled up to a skinny twelve-year old boy with the hair of Medusa. Precious.
• Even the self-absorbed cat gives us quite a few chuckles as it plans guerrilla attacks on a Terrier who could bite its head off in one taking. Oh the joys of violent animal outbursts.

Anyway, when Doug and I began our family, we definitely weren't on the same page when it came to pets. He absolutely said, "No pets in the house." That lasted about six months. Pretty soon a kitten showed up. Then there was a dog. Now we're on our second dog...and we've had several cats come and go. But I can't imagine our household without a little animal animosity. Because even when there is some "human" tension in the air, animals always find a magical way to dissolve it.

A Dead End? No Way!

Most recently a bridge was removed from our road. (We don’t exactly own it, nor have they named it after us yet. But I feel a claim to the gravelly path since we are the only residence on the ¾ mile stretch.) Now we live on a…dead end. The sign humors me every time I make the corner to go home, especially after a long day at work. There’s nothing metaphorical running through my mind! Really!

Actually, I have been thinking how quickly I blinked and found myself at the age of 44. Didn’t I just turn 25 a few years ago? 31? Then I wonder, have I achieved everything I set out to achieve? If my 25 year-old self would look at me now, I’d probably say, "Pretty much." Yet, there has been a certain restlessness–a certain lingering feeling, making me wonder if there was more that I should be doing. 

So I got some ideas!

Working hard. Learning the ropes. Obviously, all important in the making of a career. Purpose has almost always consumed me. And now that my kids no longer need their steaks cut into bite-size pieces (most of the time), the question of purpose really hovered over my cup of morning tea. Recently, I was inspired into action after reading two books: When Everything Changed by Gail Collins and Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg.  Ms. Collins gave me an education on the Women's Movement and Sheryl Sandberg reminded me of all the gender challenges I've faced in my career. Together, Sandberg and Collins convinced me to start a mentoring program at work. And after conversations with some other high-performing women at the Shelby County State Bank, we all decided to carry on the dialogue in formal framework–to encourage each other, to boost confidence, and to help each other in our careers. While we've only just begun a program, our roundtable talks are being received with great fervor. And just as Ben Stiller's enthusiasm soared when his Museum came alive in Night of the Museum, I'm feeling a sort of second-wind in my career as well.

Without trying to sound to cliche, I really do think God works in mysterious ways. I read a book which inspired me to laugh at the newly posted "Dead End" sign on our road. I guess when a bridge closes up, you just turn around and take the long way around. Sometimes, the scenery isn't only nicer–it's a better route. 

Just to give you a taste of Lean In and the conversations we've started at our place at work, see Sheryl Sandberg's Ted Talk here. It's fabulous.

Bless me Father–It's Who I Am!

Before attending an advent reconciliation, I debated on a number of things to confess. Once I sat down to confess my sins to the priest, I finally boiled down my guilt down to feelings of ingratitude. Most of you can probably relate to a certain extent. I.e., Do things as trivial as someone’s dirty dishes on the counter annoy the shit out of you? Yet...you don't think twice about having those dishes, or that counter, or that food piled on the dishes?

So after telling the priest about my bouts of resentment, along with my inability to appreciate all that I have, he quietly said,

“You’ve probably heard these words before, but remember it’s not about what you have, it’s about who you are.”

At first I wondered if he had understood my confession. I was expecting him to give me a prescription on how to manage my life differently, but he didn't. Admittedly, I didn't connect the dots–at first. So he sent me away to pray an Our Father and reflect. So I did.

Now I can’t shake the words from my head.

I spend an awful lot of time fussing about my purpose in life–wringing my hands, wondering if I'm doing enough in this world. There are lots of big, important causes out there in the world. Sometimes it’s overwhelming to figure out how we should make a difference. How can we help those victims in the Philippines, or comfort the vast population suffering from incurable diseases? Certainly, we can write a check. And while that's helpful, it never feels like enough.

It’s not about what you have, but who you are.

Maybe our actions don't have to be grand or ostentatious. So, I'm not a person who is powerful or important. But I feel that I am kind. And I like uplifting the spirit of people around me if at all possible. Have I been doing that? Have I engaged with my family? My friends? My coworkers? Or even the sad-looking person at the grocery store? Maybe not. Maybe not lately.

So it there's one thing I can do, it's show people I care. A smile, a hello, an empathetic ear. It might be a small gesture, but at least it’ll be sincere. It won't be like Oprah giving away cars, but that's not really who I am–right now anyway.

Stories

Interested in reading some short fiction? My other blog is dedicated to all things writing, so I've posted a short story I recently wrote called Phoenix Sun–about a mother who decides to take a short vacation from her life. But it remains to be seen whether she'll go back to her daily grind...

If you like to read, but don't have the time to dig into a book, here's a nice alternative. Hope you enjoy. (And I welcome comments–good, bad, or ugly!)