Remembering

I could see the lights of houses, twinkling in the distance as we rounded the Point of the Mountain. The little white car's enging purred, kitten-like, as Cathy drove along the Wasatch front. One hand on the steering wheel, the other always seemed on the move . . . from the gear stick to the air to help tell a story, or to motion to something I should see out the window. She kept up a steady monologue, reeling off story after story with relish. And I loved listening to her. Cathy loved life with an intensity belied by her ability to brush off just about anything negative. She made the best of things, often with some cackling sarcasm, and she had always been a stalwart friend, even though she was old enough to be my mother.

Cathy was taking me home after a night out. She had picked me up at the Salt Lake City airport in the late afternoon, and had taken me out to dinner and then to the grocery store. "D'you need any pit polish?" she had asked in her matter-of-fact, dryly humorous voice. Now, I listened to her tell a story I had heard her tell the last time she had given me a drive home; about traveling to visit friends in the South, punctuated with bits of advice on how to travel without as much baggage as she'd seen me pack into her trunk. "I only need an overnight bag with a change of clothes and a Sunday dress when going to visit family or friends. They have a washer & dryer, and they all use shampoo and soap, after all," she'd say.

On our way down the hill, past the place where Thanksgiving Point would later be built, she told me the story of the last time she brought me home at night . . . how the snow was falling so thick you couldn't see, and how they closed the Point of the Mountain right after her car went by. She had followed the snow plow's and a police car's flashing lights all the way up and over, singing the same snatch of the Primary Song, I Am a Child of God, over and over to try to stay calm because she couldn't remember any more of the words. And yet she laughed and laughed as she told me, and I laughed, too.

Tonight I'm thinking about what if's. What if Cathy hadn't died in her early 50's from congestive heart failure, a complication of diabetes? What if I could have convinced her that if she would only break her lifelong rule of never eating anything green? What if? What if?

She would have seen her 13 year old daughter grow up. She would have been around for grandchildren. She could have met my children, and gotten to see how my life has turned out. I would still be able to pick up the phone and see how she was doing, hear all of the gossip from the little California town where I grew up going to church with her, and listen to her latest adventures in travel.

I miss my friend.

But one thing I have definitely learned: I will not allow time to steal away from me the opportunities I have to include loved ones in my life. I miss Cathy. I pray that God will allow her to know that. And I pray that I will remember it, so I won't let precious days slip past without calling a friend.

Nurture

The difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she is treated…. I should never have known how ladies and gentlemen really behaved, if it hadn't been for Colonel Pickering. He always showed what he thought and felt about me as if I were something better than a common flower girl. You see, apart from the things one can pick up, the difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she is treated. I shall always be a common flower girl to Professor Higgins, because he always treats me like a common flower girl, and always will. But I know that I shall always be a lady to Colonel Pickering, because he always treats me like a lady, and always will.

Eliza Doolittle, My Fair Lady

Amen.

Hej Då!

("Hej Då!" is a commonly used "good bye" in Sweeden, and translates more literally to "Hello, then!".)

Today the munchkins and I ventured forth once again to the magical blue and yellow box of treasures: IKEA Portland.

Armed with the knowledge that it's the "ok" button on the phone that actually saves the photos I take, I brought back not only treasures to warm my home and family, but photographic evidence of our journey.

Witness . . . the girls being sweet and cooperative:

In an uncharacteristic fit of conformity, MissE (now 7--yikes!) agreed to wear a hair clip that matched LilMissL's.  I think they looked adorable . . . and at least there's tenacious evidence (those clips don't. move. ever.) that I did, at one point this morning, brush and otherwise groom their hair!

The boys being . . . um . . . boys:

(Don't you love CS's french fry glamour pose?  And I'm so thankful the Anderman's tongue is mostly in his mouth!)  Their heads were carefully groomed with a wet comb before leaving, as well . . . but it's hard to convince them to wear rhinestone-studded barrettes to prove it.

And the Baby bustin' out his favorite new move . . . The Uber-Nab:

The kid is seriously fast with those fingers.  If you get your head too close, it's game over until he decides to let go. ;o)

Overall, we had a very successful time.  We came away with nearly everything we went to fetch (minus an attractive laundry-sorter deal for the family's dirty duds), a couple of things I didn't have on the list (Hello, Persian carpet in As-Is!  Woot!), and another adventure under our belts.  Honestly, I love taking my kids to Ikea with me.  It's such a family-friendly place (love the baby care room, with a changing table, nursing chair, and toys for the kids!), the munchkins love looking at all of the displays, getting to try out the model living spaces, and play in the children's area.  I love all of the really great homewares (I'm a new duvet/cover convert . . . the older boys each scored a set today, and they love the poufy, squishy softness to snuggle under), I know the store well enough now to not be completely overwhelmed after an hour, and I get a lot of compliments from other Ikea shoppers on my family.  (What mother doesn't simply eat that up?)

(Honest . . . this really isn't bragging . . . I'm just so happy to see that some of the pain and hard word has paid off!)  Today was an all-time record for the number of people who stopped to talk to me for a minute or two about the spectacle of one mother with five children . . . in a public space.  

There was a gentleman about the same age as my dad (mid-50's) who came within about six feet of our table and addressed me, his face steadily flushing as he spoke with an admirably-controlled, quaking voice: "Ma'am, I would like to compliment you on the demeanor of your children."  I thanked him wholeheartedly, appreciating deeply that he was impressed enough to brave coming over to say something.  He was clearly very shy, and retreated as soon as my "Thank You" was spoken. 

Then there was the jovial man who sidled up to me and said: "Are these all yours, girl?!?"  When I affirmed it, he laughed and said "Heavens!"  We chatted for a few seconds, as he grinningly watched the kids arranging the dishes and lunch ephemera on the table.  Then looking me in the eye he asked "You're not Mormon, are you?"  I laughed again, confessing, and he responded with "Good for you!" before smiling and heading off to the lunch line, shaking his head a few times as he went.  

There was the dark-haired grandmother at the very end of our adventure, sitting at the table next to us in the cafe near the exit, who talked back and forth a bit about children and families.  It was clear, after a few exchanges, that she loved children . . . she and her husband had wanted six, had tried to get them here, but had lost babies 2, 4 & 6.  They raised three.  We spoke of what we thought her three angels were doing, and how they spent their time waiting for her to join them.  She was so warm and congratulatory, and visibly joyed by my life choices.  I need to plant her firmly in my mind, to hear her voice and see her smiling eyes on days when things overwhelm me, despite my mighty struggle.

In the interest of full disclosure: they weren't perfect.  There aren't old heads on those young shoulders, to paraphrase E. Nesbit.  CS ran MissE down in the couch section, trapping one of her legs under the stroller cart and eliciting quite the sobbing episode, until MissE was safely ensconsed in the second stroller to rest her mortally injured (and visibly unscathed) leg.  LilMissL was kind enough to take a turn walking without too much fanfare.  

LilMissL had a tearful breakdown while I tried to get everyone's orders straight in the lunch line.  (She was the only one of the kids who wanted pasta instead of mashed potatoes, and thought she wasn't going to be heard.)  

The Baby sobbed broken-heartedly when I disappeared into a batthroom stall (he was in a stroller cart, with the older children, in the bathroom proper).  

And there was complaining and moaning at various times.  Plenty of "Mom, can we get _____???" answered with a plain and quiet "No."  Our fair share of exclamations and excited voices.  And a few social goofs.  They are kids, after all. ;o)

And now that full disclosure has been made, can I just say that seeing people's positive reactions made my day?  I know that people watch me when I'm out with the kids.  Five children, three or four of which are in a straggling line behind me (depending on how many I've got in the cart), is somewhat uncommon 'round these parts. ;o)  Since moving to Oregon I've felt very much like an activist.  People overwhelmed with their child (or two or three) see me with mine.  People who haven't yet started a family get a glimpse into what's possible, instead of the more common and disturbing scenes.

Today, while out with a brood of five:

• I was smiling.  
  
• I was reasonably well-groomed.  (No model, but I'm clean and brushed, and usually have on a smile and mascara!)  
  
• My children were not a hindrance (well, not much of one), or a spectacle, or a burden, or usually an inconvenience to those around them.  (We're working on the whole "pay attention so you aren't in the way of others" concept still.)  
  

They're somewhat shy, but at the same time unafraid, around adults.  This is their reality--their commonplace.  Being out with mom, in the "real world" (to borrow a tired school phrase), is part of their lives.  I'm careful to make sure their physical needs are met; we don't go out at nap time, I make sure they're fed and watered regularly while we're out, we make potty stops, I talk with them and we explore together wherever we are so they're not completely bored, etc.  If I mess up on any one of those, there are highly visible (and audible) repercussions.  (I've been a quick study on that lesson. ;o)

There are lactivists . . . and various types of rights activists . . . there are missionaries and Salvation Army bell ringers . . . people that stand out because they're serving a different purpose than the rest of us.  

That's how I felt today.  We stood out.

Today I finally realized that while only six people stopped to say something to me, there were in all likelihood far more than that who took notice, who watched, who wondered.  I was honestly happy to be there with my children, and I know it showed.

I've never been one to accept the status quo when it didn't match my priorities . . . or to accept the cultural myths that support the more broken facets of society.  Showing random strangers that children are complete individuals, entirely capable of handling themselves well in public places and that women can be capable of true happiness in motherhood was highly satisfying to me today.  I know those concepts are generally accepted as possible--but few in the adult world have ever seen hard evidence.  I wonder if other participants in social movements have felt the same on a good day?

How I Do It

Today my neighbor told me she doesn't know how I do it . . . How I take care of five children all day without losing my mind. "Mine drive me crazy, and I only have two!" she said as she began on her way.

As I went on with my morning after that exchange, I carefully mused over how many other women (and men) have told me that same thing. How their one or two or three children drive them crazy, even though they love them.  How they can't imagine spending all day with their children.  (Am I the only one whose heart breaks when I hear that?)  And I could only come up with one difference that applied in every instance:

I have consciously chosen to NOT distance myself from my children.

I don't work for money. They don't "go to" school. Up until a few months ago, Vern worked from home.  It hasn't been easy. (Ha!) And I still have plenty of moments and melt-downs. (As do the kids.) 

But. 

We have learned how to honestly like each other.  Not just that familial love that only surfaces at big milestones and crises, but actually, honestly like one another.  Every day, we're learning to treat each other with courtesy and kindness out of sheer necessity.  We have been together. 

Instead of my children learning to treat their teachers and other people's children with respect, they are learning it at home.  Home.  Where this stuff is supposed to be learnt.  Where all of the work of learning these skills and Christ-like attributes will do them good in the things that matter most.  Very few of us have good friends from high school living close by.  It's hard to make new friends in this world of ours.  But family is hard to get rid of. ;o)

I don't know what I'll do when they grow up and start off on their own . . . but I hope and pray that we'll have managed to spend enough time together that not only will we have a million more memories than most families, but the loving friendship that ties my children to me will be strong enough to keep them from disappearing into adulthood, leaving me behind. (And hopefully they'll come back from wherever they go upon fledging, and live somewhere nearby. ;o)

A World Full of Children

In the spirit of just banging it out, here are a few thoughts I've had:

I was thinking about John Holt’s vision of a world that’s safe for children; a world where there are places of peace and security in which children and adults could work side-by-side, learning from each other and growing together. I thought about how it’s only from seeing adults modeling good adult behavior that children even have the slightest clue of what it is that adults are supposed to be, and how they’re supposed to behave.
Instead of those kinds of places, we have daycare. Industrial factory-modeled schooling. Children isolated with children very close to their own age, then sent out to recess with children of a slightly wider age range for a few minutes each day. On a good day, children in school have direct, one-on-one contact with a few adults for a couple minutes each. (And then there are the children who measure the sucess of their day by how little attention they recieve from the teachers at school.) Children in our society are largely raised by other children, outside of disciplinary action from adults. Yes, kids have contact with adults at home, and in activities, but not very much compared with how much time they spend with kids. A quote I read once comes to mind: "If we spend 15 minutes a day on God, and 12 hours on things, is it any wonder that things seem more real than God?" Where we spend our time is where our reality lies. Is it any wonder that we find the adults in our society so childish? Selfishness, whether expressed in high consumer debt, road rage, vicious gossip, mindless entertainment, breaking promises & contracts, or in countless other ways, plagues our culture. Many adults are so eager to stick it to the next guy to help themselves get ahead . . . playground politics on a grand scale.

It seems ironic that it's often through spending time with children that adults become less childish; especially since that's something that many American adults avidly avoid. When it seems so clear that both children and adults benefit materially from spending time together, why is it that we're all so resistant to the idea?
I think it takes children so incredibly long to “grow up” because they are forced to live a protracted childhood. Sequestered with other inexperienced souls, they have to forge ahead as best they can. They do pick up as much adult behavior as possible from teachers and parents, coaches and church leaders. How many of us know kids who started smoking at 11 or 12, or drinking only a few years later? It’s amazing how quickly children pick up the behaviors they see, and how exactly they mimic us. And then there are the teenagers, ready for responsibility and new experiences, full of energy and primed to learn all that the world has to offer, often handed an easy life on a platter instead of the worthwhile and valuable work that they crave.

The other dichotomy I see is that once freed from schooling and isolation, (albeit isolation in a crowd), a shockingly large portion of adults are eager to then turn around and opress children in the same way. So exultant at finally winning a long-coveted place in the grown up world, these children actively exclude their own children from their company for much of the day. Parents joke about not being able to wait until summer vacation is over, and about how they’ve barely survived Spring Break. Culturally, we’ve all laughed at those jokes. Underneath the joke, though, is one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen: parents who don’t yearn for the company of their own children.

How far we've come--from early cultures whose children are an integral part of their lives each day, to our highly civilized society. I know from my own experience that I had very little idea of what to DO with my children as they came into my life. And please bear in mind--these thoughts are born of my own experience. They're based on what I've seen in my life, and not meant to cover the totality of the experiences of American children on the whole. As I once read: "Remember, all generalizations are false."