My Vacuum Sucks!

I was explaining to someone the other day how I was changing the bag in my large vacuum cleaner, which I love very much for it's superior sucking ability, and was compelled to use my handheld Dirt Devil to suck out all the dust and dog hair that was left over in the belly of the vacuum after I removed the bag.  Yes, I used a vacuum to clean my vacuum.  But as I explained my rationale that it seemed to be a better idea than using a paper towel sprayed with cleanser because I would have to throw away the paper towel when I was finished and that would be wasteful, and I considered using my microfiber cloth but then I realized I was planning to do the mirrors with it later and if I used it on the vacuum I would have to wash it first and that wasn't going to happen, and then I thought about how I should just bite the bullet and buy a few more of those microfiber cloths because they are so handy so I ran up the kitchen to add them to the Costco list and as I was doing that I decided the small amount of electricity it would take to turn on the handheld plus the excercise I would get running down the stairs and out to the garage seemed like a much greener choice!

When I saw the look on her face as I explained all of this it occurred to me that her tip about using a sponge next time might not have really been a suggestion of how to get the job done better.  I think she might have been mocking me a bit.  Not nice!  She's probably one of those nasty people with a dirty vacuum cleaner!

Here. After.

I'm thinking about a friend of mine today.  I'm thinking about the contradiction that you feel when you lose something you never had, didn't ask for and weren't sure you wanted.  The hollow, unsatisfying relief that comes when something ends that never had a chance at a beginning.

She's in the middle bit right now.  The middle that's the pits.  The middle that comes between the blissfully ignorant part before and the resolved to heal part that envelopes the after.   

I'm sure I don't know what happens to those little ones we lose.  Some are comforted by the knowledge that they journey to the Hereafter.  All I know is that we mother's that lose...we have to be here.  After.  Here without something we never had in the first place.  Here in this place.  Here in this day.  Here in this life.  After.   

She'll be the one to decide how long this middle bit goes on.  She'll have some help, but it will truly be up to her to decide.  That's when the middle bit that is so difficult comes to an end and becomes a beginning.  A beginning where you can look around at the Here.  And after everything.  Be happy you've arrived.

A Family Portrait

 

This is Marge's latest portrait of our family.  Some key details of note:

Accessories are important!  Even family members of the canine variety are captured here with this season's hottest trend: Costume Jewelry!

Daddy apparently has a big head.  The rest of us appear to have an accurate self image but the Father, complete with accurately depicted facial hair, is well, large.  It's revealing to see her draw him in this way. When I saw it I started reading all sorts of meanings into this: she sees him as the head of the family and so he is the biggest, somehow her little mind infers size related to importance, blah, blah, blah.  I asked her why his head was so much bigger than the rest of us and she replied with a sigh of disgust and a roll of her eyes, "Mom. He's just the biggest."  Yes Marge, he is the biggest.

I'm next in line with a smile on my face.  I'm glad that's the face she sees when she imagines how I look.  I have lots of other faces, not all of which I'd like drawn by the 5 year old. 

She and sister Mona follow with lots of expression.  Little Minnie has wacked out hair and tears streaming down on this day.  Its important to remember that the day she drew this picture, Minnie was working on 4 molars at once.  How's that for efficiency!

Love this drawing!  Thanks Marge!

Port a Potty

There is a toilet in the neighbor's front yard today.  We don't know these folks that well and are thus not privy to the inner workings of their household.  One can only guess what would make a man put his john on the lawn.

Maybe he is trying to send a message to the sweet lady on the hill who lets her dog loose in the neighborhood pooping in everyone's yard but hers.  "Hey Lady!  If you're going to let that mutt roam, the least you could do is teach him to use the loo!"

Like the Springtime banner that heralds the coming of new life or the front porch Jack-o-lantern that sets the mood for the season, does this monument announce the coming of a crappy day?  It is on a dolly which indicates that this potty is on the move.  With a hope of change he is prepared for his situation to improve.  Today might be bad, but tomorrow will be better.

In The Event of an Emergency

"In the event of an emergency, a mask will drop from the ceiling in front of you. If you are traveling with a child (or a person acting like a child) please place the mask over your own nose and mouth first and breathe deeply.  Then give aid to your companion."

They tell you that explicitly because they know that your first reaction as a mother will be to help your child but the message here is: Take care of yourself first or you'll be no good to anyone who might need you.

The answer is always available you just have to ask the right question.  Help is always there you just have to know where to look for it.  Sometimes its right in front of you, dropping into your lap in the event of a crisis.  You just have to be willing to take it, use it and BREATHE.  Then breathe again.

In the event of an emergency, or a crisis, or a time of stress, or a Wednesday afternoon when you feel taken advantage of and under appreciated, or a Saturday morning when all you really want to do is spend 10 more minutes under the covers before facing the onslaught of the breakfast routine, or on your birthday, or on their birthday or any time you need to catch your breath place that oxygen mask over your own nose and mouth first and then assist your companion.

It's Sweet but It's Not the Same

So it's a cold gray day here in the Middle. Not the kind of Autumn cold that is invigorating, but the kind of damp chill that is demoralizing. "What should we do today Mommy?" says 5 year old Marge. "Can we make something?" Bless her heart for asking that question instead of "Can we watch television?" Score one for the mother!!

"Yes, we can make something. How about cookies?" I replied with trepidation as I began to dig in the baking cabinet looking for ingredients. I was not about to take 3 children to the store, in the rain, to buy a missing ingredient. So it was with a bit of luck and a little Googling that I was able to come up with a recipe for cookies that matched the 5 bags of leftover chocolate morsels and rock of brown sugar that I had on hand. WooHoo! Score two for the mother!!

We got all the ingredients out and lined them up on the counter so they could help me dump them into the bowl one at a time. They wanted to sample each ingredient before it went in and since this activity was intended to be a time killer and not just a baking project, I agreed. They sampled everything and had some fabulous responses:

After the flour Mona said, "Mom this tastes like paper." And when I asked her how she knew what paper tasted like she responded, "Because yesterday I was being a recycle bin and I ate my tiny art project." I'm not happy about the consumption of non-edibles. But hey! My three year old knows what a recycle bin is! WooHoo! Score three!

The salt produced puckered faces and cries for beverages. Not unexpected.

When we got to the baking soda, Marge said "Mom, if I eat this will I rise?" Where does she learn this stuff?

I sliced off a tiny sliver of butter for each girl and placed it in the palm of their hand. The little one licked and licked and licked and then finally put her whole fist in her mouth. The butter was a hit with Minnie.

It was when we got to the sugar that this little culinary adventure became a opportunity for true learning. I got out the brown sugar and we sampled and measured. Smiles all around, no big surprise there. Then I got out the white sugar AND the Splenda. My thinking was I would let them sample both and give them the choice about which to put into the recipe. (Here is where I'll get some comments about feeding my children chemicals and sucralose. About how I'm stunting their growth. About how children don't need to eat that stuff and I should be reported for crimes against nutrition. To that I have only one thing to say...COKE IN A BABY BOTTLE! So either get over the choice I offered them and keep reading while I get to the point of this whole fable or stop reading. Your choice.)

Back to the sugar and the Splenda. I gave them each a pinch of sugar in their palm and told them to taste. I explained that we were going to try the next ingredient and decide which one we should put in the recipe. I told them that both ingredients would do the same job for the cookies, and that they were a lot alike but just a little different. Not unlike the brown sugar sampling, the white sugar was a hit. Then I gave them each a pinch of Splenda.

Minnie breathed into her palm too hard and her first pinch blew away in an instant.

Mona observed "It's so 'airy'. It doesn't feel like anything."

Marge peered at it dubiously and upon sampling it declared, "It's sweet, but it's not the same."

So we made the cookies with the sugar. We spent nearly an hour on a cold rainy day combining things that by themselves, weren't all that great but together turned out spectacularly. We laughed and counted and measured and mixed and spooned and made a huge mess. Then we had chocolate chip cookies for lunch.

Which proves two things:

1. Always use the real sugar, whether you're baking or saying something to someone you love. The fake stuff is sweet but it disappears if you don't hold onto it carefully, it doesn't really feel like anything AND it's just not the same as the real thing.

2. She who can see the wisdom and good fortune in the batter is truly a smart cookie.

It Turns Out My Center Is Not in the Middle

I returned to yoga this week after a too long hiatus. I had forgotten how much I loved yoga. The time to think, or not think, to be still, to have someone else guiding my actions. Yes G, everything is better after yoga, but after falling out of a down dog, breaking wind in a dancer's pose and looking more like a dead duck than a half pigeon I have come to an important conclusion...

My center isn't where I left it (which was in the middle of my being) but it's now "on the side." Like seasonal vegetables. So nice to enjoy once in awhile but not always available. Finding myself, at least for the near future, is going to have to happen "on the side."

I haven't lost me, but my center is filled up with so many other things these days and they kept pushing their way into my mind. It was knocking me off balance, and literally onto my knees. Ouch! After class, the instructor welcomed me back to my practice of yoga and told me the more I came the easier it would get. That the weeks when I have no time to think and certainly no time for yoga are the weeks when I belong there the most.

So that's the plan. I'm going to begin the process of returning my center to its rightful place. I've got a lot on my plate these days and none of its going anywhere. The good news is, yoga is in season and I'll take my daily bread with a side of chakra please.