Day 8: Harvest

The cherries were ripe earlier in the summer, but I won't forget the magical afternoon my family and I spent under my parents' cherry tree in Wisconsin. Even with the birds having a feast, there were plenty of bright red tart cherries to make pies and cobbler. Yum!

My son, the tree climber, shimmied up high into the branches as my mother and I half-heartedly chided him to come down. Another son used a ladder to reach the juiciest fruits. The birds chattered overheard, scolding us to get away from their giant buffet. We ignored them, chattering amongst ourselves as 3 generations filled their buckets with the plentiful yield.

If I took a picture today of what my harvest looks like, it would be a virtual field of kale. I have so much kale in my back yard garden! But I couldn't resist this shot of the bright red cherries for Day 8 of the 30 Day Holiday Photo Challenge.

Day 7: Water

Yesterday was the highly contested presidential election. My husband and I, newshounds, have had voices in our heads for months as we listened to pundits, journalists and the candidates themselves keep us up to date on every second of a long, tiring campaign. By yesterday, my stomach was in knots thinking about the possibilities of the results, and what might happen afterwards. Memories came back of the recount in 2000 that kept our country in limbo for 37 days. I knew I didn't want to go through that again.

Our instantaneous culture of today is not accustomed to waiting. But yesterday, I voted around noon, then switched on the radio to hear the news. The stump speeches had stopped, and the same negative campaign ads I'd heard over and over even sounded half-hearted to me yesterday. We were all exhausted and ready for this to be over. I switched off the radio. There really wouldn't be any new news until after the polls closed at 7 p.m.

After I picked up my son from school, he asked if he could borrow my camera. The two of us went to our back yard, where a gentle rain had been falling. It was quiet outside, and we both watched water droplets as they slowly slid down leaves, or hung in suspended animation off of our patio furniture.

Photo by Reese, age 8

Photo by Distracted Mommy

I think most people would say they don't like waiting. We all want everything nownownownownownow. But yesterday, after a long and tiring campaign, I savored the waiting. For a few hours yesterday afternoon, anything was possible, nobody knew all the answers, and I listened to the quiet.

I wish all of you some moments of quiet expectation!

Day 6: Action

Today's theme for the 30 Day Holiday Photo Challenge is Action. I knew I could count on my active household to put forth a photo opp sooner rather than later. If it's one thing I can depend on in my house, it's that something will get broken, someone will cry, and someone will hit their brother. Okay, that's three things. But it all boils down to action. This morning, my bedroom was bathed in morning sunlight and I stripped off the sheets from our bed and threw them in the washer. Immediately, my daughter and our new kitten, Dewey, saw the stripped bed as an opportunity for a quick morning wrestling match, and I got this shot:

 

For such a sweet little kitten, he has killer hunting instincts. His poor little teddy bear got a couple fangs to the jugular on this one.

Have a great day, everyone!

Day 5: Macro

I'd had my coffee, and I stared at my living room floor and sighed. It's overcast, I'm not as perky as I'd like to feel after gaining an hour for the end of Daylight Savings Time, and my house looks like a disaster area.

But I'm easily distracted, and instead of grabbing my vacuum cleaner, I grabbed my camera off the hook.

Despite the gloomy overcast sky, some of my daughter's dress up beads lay on the floor in a heap, catching the light in a beautiful way. It reminds me to look at the toys strewn on the floor not as a "mess," but as a sign that I have happy children in the house who are constantly creating and imagining.

After having three sons, our house was bursting with Legos and Star Wars. Bringing my daughter home from the hospital was like introducing a wave of pink into our house, sprinkled with a little fairy dust. Five years later, the pinkwash is still in full force. So today I used the "Macro" theme to give myself the excuse to get down on the floor and see my house from my kids' perspective.

Want to join the Photo Challenge? It's not too late! Visit DeBie Hive for details!

November Photo Challenge

November is not quite the month full of eye candy that October is. Things are getting brown and dull around here, and there are a lot of cloudy, sunless days. My blog has been dormant, and I'm trying to break myself out of the funk.

Lucky for me, I found DeBie Hive, a great blog—written by a mother of four living in Colorado. This month, she has a 30 Day Holiday Photo Challenge and I'm jumping on the bandwagon.

And as always, I'm late to the game. I missed the first 3 days: Fantasy, Create and Season. But I'm not looking back! For Day 4, Light, I posted my photo from my post, For the Love of October. I love the way the light can make you take a second look at things you take for granted.

So, here's hoping this month's photo challenge wakes up my mind. I'm grabbing my camera, and opening my eyes.

For the Love of October

October is a month for falling in love, which is why each autumn, I find myself head over heels with the way the light hits upon the things I love the most. The October sun is a spotlight that draws me outside to see everything that basks in early autumn glow.

As October winds shift and cool, I can close my windows against the shivery air, wrapping my hands around a steaming mug, sitting at my window in a square of brilliant warm golden light.

October pumpkins lay sideways in fields, ready to burst and when they do, they lay their souls bare full of musky sweet smell and more seeds that will grow and grab onto other souls. Not to smother and choke, but to support and buoy.

October swirls of colors, warm browns and oranges and yellows, the color of fire and passion, the shape of new and infinite possibilities, the way heavy globs and gentle splatters of paint smear across  a canvas in a way that looks purposefully haphazard.

October burns with wonder, hums with release, crackles with change. October holds a hidden promise that can only mean something unexpected.

Meeting Dewey

Meet the newest member of our family: Dewey the Cat. Dewey was rescued as a tiny kitten by my brother-in-law, a veterinarian, and his staff. They found him in a field behind their public library (thus the name, for the Dewey Decimal system), covered in fleas and barely alive. What a lucky boy Dewey is! For several weeks, he was cared for as a resident cat at the State Road Animal Hospital, until at about 14 weeks, it was decided that he would become a part of our crazy, chaotic family. So last weekend, Operation Dewey Drop was implemented, whereby Dewey traveled across two state lines to become part of our distracted family.

I, my husband and our four kids knew we would love Dewey, but we were not so sure about Ruby, our lovable 8 year-old chocolate lab. For a day, we kept them separate; Ruby in her kennel while Dewey pounced all over our area rug; then Dewey, sequestered to his portable kitty tent while Ruby was released to suspiciously sniff every surface where Dewey had padded.

In the end, their ultimate meeting was quite peaceable. Sure, Dewey cowered, backing up and raising the fur high up on his back. But then he advanced, hissed, and swatted his paw squarely on Ruby's nose. Ruby got the message. Now, the two of them still sniff each other interestedly, but there is a mutual fear and respect that seems to have taken hold.

If you want to read a great true story about another Dewey the Cat, check out this book by Vicki Myron. It's one of my favorites.

You’re Late—But You’re Here

That’s what the woman said to us, during the passing of the peace time at church.

We were visiting the church—not our usual Sunday morning haunt—and got the start time confused. We tiptoed in when everyone was standing up singing, when no one—we hoped—would notice our tardiness.

But when it came time to “welcome” each other—the obligatory time in the service when we shake hands and say things like, “Good morning,” or “peace be with you!” the woman seated next to us leaned over to us and hissed, “You’re late—but you’re here.”

We blinked. I heard my husband’s sharp intake of breath before he exhaled and responded, “Well, yes. We are here.”

Sometimes we don’t get the welcome that we want. We want the open armed, face-beaming-all-over, bear hug kind of welcome. Sometimes we feel like we get to our own party a little late in life; other things have taken priority or gotten in the way of our original hopes and dreams. But eventually, in our own time, we get there, and we hardly ever get there by the smooth, obstacle-free path we planned on taking.

I felt embarrassed that morning. I didn’t particularly want to be called out for my lateness. I was well aware of it. The woman probably doesn’t even remember this brief exchange, but for me, it’s been the one thing I’ve carried with me from that Sunday morning.

Over time, memory softens things. Her words jabbed sharply that morning; now, I’ve been able to separate her words from the tone in which they were delivered.

I’m not who I said I wanted to be at this time in my life. I haven’t accomplished the things I set out to do. But I’m not done yet. I’m still trying. It’s not too late for me. I don’t have time, nor do I want to waste it, accusing myself of coming up short.

It’s late—but I’m here.

Mr. Rickman, You Had Me At Earl Grey

There I was, five minutes before I should've been leaving for school with my kids, watching this video of Alan Rickman (your kids know him as Professor Snape). 

I couldn't look away; I dare you to try.

Original video from "Portraits in Dramatic Time" by David Michalek
Music from movie Inception - Mind Heist

How did the phone call go when Michalek tried to set this up?

 MICHALEK: "Uh, Mr. Rickman? Uh, yeah, I had this idea. Maybe you could come into the studio tomorrow morning? Could you maybe wear your new silver Armani suit, the one that makes you look like James Bond? Then, well, uh, I could make a 15-second video of you maybe, uh, making a cup of tea, then stirring it? After that, you can just go ahead and do what feels natural."

The results are epic. And, it makes me wonder how I might approach, say, unloading the dishwasher differently if I had a tune like that playing in the background:

Portraits in Dramatic Domesticity: Time to Unload the Dishwasher

She slowly grabs her bread knife, and looks at it with a cocked eyebrow as the stainless steel catches the light in the morning sun. A plate is released from her hand, spinning noiselessly into space before landing perfectly on the stack of dinnerware in the cabinet.

And then—a glass. Slowly, she brings it up to her face, and peers through it. She blinks, each eyelash apparent as she closes, and then reopens her eyes. And suddenly, she sees it—a spot! Her juice glasses are not clean!

Her face slowly transforms from mild-mannered housewife … to pouting domestic diva … to enraged Mistress of Evil.

She can not believe it; in slow motion, she shakes her head, her lips silently forming the word "Noooooo" and her knuckles turn white from the exertion of clenching her fist around the culpable glass.

Turning, she hurls the glass in disgust, and her fingers unclench to release it into the air. It spins and flips almost with the precision and grace of a ballerina until it meets its demise, smashing spectacularly against the kitchen cabinet. Splinters of glass fly everywhere, backlit by glistening sunlight streaming through the window.

She stands, panting, taking in the sight of the shards of glass scattering on the floor. One hand rests on her apron-clad hip, the other clenches in an angry fist, shaking in the air.

[Fade to black]

Retreat!

Today is the first full day of the school year in which all my kids, Kindergarten through High School will be … not home. The house is practically echoing. After catching up on the news, I turned off the TV and listened to that holy, blessed silence. I didn't think my house was capable of sounding like this.

It makes me think of the word retreat: (compliments of Wikipedia)

• Retreat (spiritual), a religious or spiritual term for time taken to reflect or meditate

This is happening right now. I'm sipping my ice water after a grueling workout. (Okay, grueling is probably a strong word. But I did sweat, and my legs kind of hurt.) And I've had about 6 complete thoughts already, and nobody interrupted me!

• Retreat (military), a withdrawal of military forces

 
 Not that my kids are a military force, but they do sometimes come at me from all directions with stunning force and efficiency. And watching them all leave for school, without looking over their shoulder, reminds me that I've done my job. My kids are strong and independent, and hopefully they know that they will make it in the world without me; but that if they need me, I'll be waiting behind them with words of moral support. Or maybe they'll hear my voice in their head: "Trust your gut."

• Retreat (survivalism), a place of refuge for those in the Survivalist subculture or movement

After a long exhausting day at school, hopefully everyone comes back here and feels like home is where they want to be. And hopefully I'll be ready to take on the homework questions (warning: anyone asking Mommy a question pertaining to math or chemistry will promptly receive a blank stare).

• Retreat (bugle call), a military signal for the end of day, known as Sunset in the UK and Commonwealth countries

Our days don't end with a trumpet fanfare, but last night, my husband and I took a walk with our daughter. As our she rode her new pink bike in front of us, we caught up on the day's events. We were lucky enough to catch the pinkest, most technicolor sunset I've seen in a while. I clasped his hand a little tighter, knowing not every day will end this peacefully. But I'm just taking one day at a time. Later that night, I held my kids close to me as we read a couple chapters of Roald Dahl's The Witches. No bugle there either—just the soft sound of me snoring because I was tired. But happy.

• Re-treat, to treat again: see Therapy

 A stark reminder (thank you, Wikipedia) that—despite all our best efforts—we are all really just a step away from therapy, aren't we?

Pregnant Sky

The earth has been so dry that in our back yard, deep crevices are carved into the ground below our crunchy grass. If you lean over these cracks, millions of tiny ants and roly polies swarm in these underground condominiums, and if you stand barefoot, and close your eyes and face it in the direction of the beating sun, you can feel the heat enveloping you from above while it creeps up the back of your heel and radiates towards your toes.

And finally, after barely any rain for a month, I saw the dark clouds looming in the west.

"Come to Mama," laughed my friend Jan, beckoning to the rain clouds. We were in her back garden, a lovely patch filled with leafy good things. In any direction, you see her efforts to keep the earth cool and moist so plants can eke out an existence during the dry summer.

The garden hose. Watering cans. Rain barrels.

But overhead, things looked more and more turbulent. We said our goodbyes to Jan, and kept looking skyward as we raced home in an attempt to reach our laundry, drying on the line. I jumped out of the car and immediately gathered my towels and sheets, wrapping my arms around their lovely warmth so I could spread them on my table and fold them, tuck them safely into the kitchen drawer and linen closet.

The sky got blacker. With our towels safely inside, we continued driving to the grocery store.

The pregnant sky is full of hope, anxious, excited, ready to burst with rain. The world stills in respect of the pregnant sky, and we all wait, feeling the electricity in the air and the anticipation of something we've been wanting for a long time.

The grocery list can wait. We stand in the parking lot, staring, slack-jawed, toward the heavens. Over my right shoulder, a man wearing his work out clothes is taking a video of this black sky, streaked with Mother Nature's paintbrush. Another couple stand nearby, pointing upwards. I want it to stay this way forever.

The rain does not come, but the clouds are changing every second, churning and tumbling closer and closer. The wind makes its entrance first, whooshing in our ears and flipping leaves up on end to expose their silver bellies. Everything feels awake and alive.

And then, a crack of thunder splits the air in half.

The rain has come.

Summer Pages

Almost two years ago to the day, I wrote this post, detailing the frustrations-turned-to-joys when taking small children to the pool. Two years later, we are still spending our summer evenings at the pool, something that's become a welcomed routine in our household. After a day of sweaty play and sunshine, we all head to the pool around sunset, to finish out the day in the cool waters of our community pool. The water is chlorinated, and patrolled by skilled and vigilant teen lifeguards who cling to their unlikely summer employment during this economic recession as tightly as they cling to their life-saving flotation devices.

But as parenthood has taught us, the drive towards independence is a tidal wave that can't be stopped by sentimentality. We tilt our heads and "Awww" at the sight of our kids splashing happily in the pool, but we dare not let them see us. They are older now, and we no longer have to chase after them or be ready to dive in at a moment's notice to bring a sputtering child back to the surface. In fact, last night, we didn't suit up at all. We were merely the chauffeurs. In our sandals and shorts, we sat like sentries in lounge chairs guarding the pile of towels, pool passes and goggles heaped lopsidedly on the deck.

The days of extreme parental supervision might be behind us, at least at the pool. My husband and I sat still, reading our books, lazily turning pages while our kids went off and did their thing.

He is reading Frank McCourt's Teacher Man, a searingly funny and poignant memoir of the Irish-born Pulitzer Prize-winning author, who taught English at various New York public high schools before penning his famous book, Angela's Ashes.

I've chosen The Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown, the story of three adult sisters who return to live with their parents, each hiding their own secret, living in the shadow of their father, a professor of Shakespeare. The literary nods to William Shakespeare is a treat for the literature nerd that lives just beneath my skin.

I like this new chapter, the two of us reading side-by-side, occasionally laughing out loud, then stopping to read a paragraph or two to the other.

It reminds me of two toddlers, who play side by side, but are not really playing with each other, besides occasionally passing a block to the other or knocking down a tower the other is building.

If this is our summer, I like it. I like it very much indeed.

I Hate Summer (And Other Lies I Tell Myself)

 

As seen on the Elmhurst Patch

School gets out on May 29th in Elmhurst. For heaven’s sake, it won’t even be June yet, and our kids will be lolling around in their pajamas at 10 a.m. trying to figure out if they want to watch yet another episode of SpongeBob, or invite the entire neighborhood over for a water fight. Excuse me. I mean an Epic Water Battle.

Sure, you can consult your calendar to find out exactly when summer vacation starts, but the truth is, you’ve known it’s been coming for a while. Moms start getting that preemptive tired look on their face as they peruse camp brochures and talk to other mothers. What are your kids doing for summer vacation? they murmur in hushed tones on the playground. Because, for crying out loud, they’ve got to do something. If they don’t do something, there are going to be a lot of exasperated parents out there. There’s got to be a sports team. Or a day camp maybe? Summer school? Community theatre?

A job?

I’m kidding. (No I’m not.)

Here are the top five lies I tell myself every summer:

1. I hate summer.

No, I don’t, really. I love summer. What’s not to love? Warm breezes, no homework. Grilling. Sounds of children laughing. Picnics. Sprinklers.
Do I worry about three months of unstructured time for my kids? Sure I do. But I'll get through it.

2. This summer, we’re sticking to our regular bedtimes.

Yeah, right. It doesn’t even get dark until 8:30, and that’s when the fireflies come out. Do you want the kids to miss that?

3. I’m going to make time for myself this summer.

Mommies need time for themselves, but you’re delusional if you think you’re actually going to be alone. Unless “Me-Time” means the one minute you get on your patio before one of your kids, hot and sweaty from playing, climbs up on your lap to sip from your lemonade and stroke your cheek with a sticky hand. Which, all in all, may not be a bad thing.

4. A good, old-fashioned vacation is what we need!

What we need is an all-inclusive resort hotel on an exotic island. What we’ll actually do will be a road trip to some unsuspecting relative’s house. We’ll fight over the temperature of the air conditioning in the car—until it breaks down somewhere in the middle of Iowa. Half the family will want Arby’s, the other half Burger King. No one will want the natural peanut butter sandwiches on 12-grain bread that I lovingly packed in the cooler. We’ll hear “Are we there yet?” a thousand times. Upon arrival, we’ll find out our relatives don’t have cable, don’t have an iPad, and their hide-a-bed in the basement smells like mildew. When we get back home, our dog will have kennel cough and all the houseplants will have died. Believe me, a vacation is not what we need.

5. I will NOT allow my children to buy from the ice cream truck.

You spend all your spare time telling your children to stay away from strange men in white vans who offer candy to children, then the ice cream man comes along and makes hypocrites of us all. I’ll fight a good fight, but at a certain point, the demonic sound of out-of-tune calliope music turning onto our block will wear me down, and just for once, I’ll decide to be Fun Mom. Maybe on a plain ol’ Tuesday when they least expect it. But you can be sure that some time, probably in August, I’ll give in and we’ll chase the ice cream truck down, waving dollar bills at him.
I'll push to the front of the line and get a Dreamsicle, the orange kind with vanilla ice cream in the middle. If you see me, I'll have orange residue on my chin and a trail of orange splotches below me on the sidewalk. I'll look like I'm lost in a reverie, transported to hot summers in my South Side hometown the year I was 12, when the long hot days seemed to go on forever.
But what I'll be thinking is, Gee, I really hate summer. No really. I do.

Fit to Be Fried: A Guide to Stress Eating

When it feels like the walls are closing in, nothing pushes out said walls—and the waistline—like some good old-fashioned stress eating. I sincerely hope I'm not alone in this because, well, misery loves company.

Recently, I received an invitation to a wine-tasting party. The invitation said something like "Sample Appetizers Perfectly Paired with Premium Wines from Selected Regions …"

It sounds so classy, doesn't it?

It made me start thinking about my stress eating. Despite the fact that stress eating is the furthest thing from classy, I realize I've developed some very specific "pairings" for my stress eating. Like a fine wine, I pair the comfort food to precisely match the type of stress I'm dealing with. So for all you stress eaters out there, I present to you:

Distracted Mommy's Sweet and Savory Guide:

Cleansing Your Palate 

of the Pungent Bitterness of Your Own Inadequacies

Anger

I combine my anger with the aggressive crunch of a Frito's corn chip. On special occasions, I call in the Chili Cheese variety when I'm getting dangerously close to my boiling point. Grab a handful of chips noisily in the loud, crinkly bag. Smack lips loudly while licking off the chili cheese residue from your fingers.

Financial Worries
White Castle Sliders, the little square hamburgers sold in the Midwestern chain restaurant, are a great way to drown your sorrows when you're short on cash. You can get an entire bag of them for a few bucks (that's a savings!). A few hours later, you'll regret your Slider Bender. But it will be worth it.

Fight with your Husband/Boyfriend/Partner
Chocolate, and not just some ol' cheap candy bar, either. Get yourself the good stuff—Swiss or German chocolate, the kind that melts before you get it into your mouth. For extreme cases, buy yourself a heart-shaped box of chocolates and eat the whole thing. It'll remind you of the times he used to get you chocolates, probably in the first 6 months of your relationship.

Fender Bender Woes
If your car is still drivable, get thee to a drive thru window for some fries with extra salt. If you're riding in the tow truck, buy the tow truck driver his/her own fries.

I'm Feeling Fat/Why Can't I Stick to This Diet?
Apples or bananas slathered in Nutella. Shut up—it's fruit.

Company is Coming and the House isn't Ready

*

When overnight guests are heading your way, and you know you have underwear in the guest bathroom and cobwebs in the ceiling fans, eggnog is easy to slurp while you run around the house trying to get ready. The obvious problem with this is that eggnog is seasonal. Take full advantage of eggnog season and drink straight from the carton in the grocery store parking lot.* Time's a-wastin'.

* Based on a true story. Leave me alone.
Fun fact: Eggnog is available at Christmas and Easter.

Why Can't I Shake this Cold/Flu?
When women get sick, things start to pile up and fall apart around them. In this situation, the stress food should contain medicinal qualities as well as provide a good comfort nosh. Therefore, I suggest rice pudding with a generous sprinkling of cinnamon.

Of course, these are just suggestions. Some other all-purpose stress foods include, but are not limited to:

-canned frosting
-ice cream
-Whipped Cream straight from the can
-Cracker Jack (there's a prize in every box!)
-Ramen Noodles

What is your favorite stress food? Leave a comment below.

Before I Die

I cried for a good portion of yesterday's Easter morning service at my church. From my seat in the balcony, the sight of a room full of people swaying, clapping, and singing their hearts out was enough to make my voice tremble and move me to tears.

Already at a tenuous brink of emotion, my phone vibrated in my pocket. Without thinking, I pulled it out, looked at it, and saw that I had received a message from my friend. Someone I knew had died. I stared in disbelief as a wave of nausea washed over me. Someone's wife was gone; a sister had passed away. I remembered seeing her just last fall, just a chance meeting of an old friend in a store aisle. We stood there, catching up for a few minutes. How could I have known that would be the last time I'd see her? As we parted ways to finish our respective shopping, we talked about getting together soon for dinner. Soon.

I cried again, this time tears of despair. Amidst hallelujahs and "He Lives!" I mourned the many times I've said, "Let's do that real soon," and never did it.

After church, we drove to Chicago's Pilsen neighborhood. On the corner of Carpenter and 18th St. is an installation of artist Candy Chang's interactive "Before I Die" exhibit. On the side of a building, a large area is covered with chalkboard paint with the phrase, "Before I die, I want to: _________" stenciled repeatedly all over the wall. Chang started this exhibit in her own native New Orleans as a chance to turn a neglected space into a space of hope; a chance for anyone walking by to put their dream into words. Now, these walls are cropping up in cities all over the world: London, Johannesburg, Mumbai, Reno and Muncie.

If you live near one of these walls, I encourage you to go. I liked reading what others had written:

Before I die, I want to:

-be loved how I love
-be a star
-play kazoo in front of a sold-out crowd
-meet my brother
-visit water parks all over the world
-have sex
-go to college
-kiss the man of my dreams

 
We all have dreams, and we have have good intentions of making them happen. Sometimes it's all I can do to get through my day, but it was a good exercise to step back and look at the big picture. Even more powerful was seeing my wish woven into a patchwork of dreams and hopes written by other strangers in brightly colored chalk.  We're all not that different after all.

And then after the stepping back, after the dreaming, it's time to get down to the business of doing.