"Conversations with My Kid" Friday - A New Feature

I know everyone is dying to read Part Two of The Mime Trilogy and believe you me, it's coming. I just want to give those peeps who have been too busy to read this blog some time to catch up. So if you want to get in on the mime frenzy that is currently spreading throughout the blogosphere, click here to read Part One.

For now, I've decided to launch something new over here. The idea came to me this morning and before I get too lazy to implement it, I'm gonna hit publish and get this rolling.

Last Friday, I published a little story that Claire wrote and it really made me smile. And maybe it made like six of you smile. So that's cool. And today I want to share another Claire story that has been making me smile for the last 16 hours or so.

And the story from yesterday was a conversation I had with Claire. Sometimes I stop in my busy tracks and wonder if I really did converse with any of my kids on any given day. You know? When I am having an actual conversation with my kids listening to their words, I realize I am present. And aren't we all always working on being more present? I sure am.

I thought, I want to remember more of these sweet conversations. Where I get real insight into their brains.

So I was thinking that every Friday, I'm gonna share a conversation I had with my kids that made me laugh, cry, think, whatever. I'm thinking these conversation posts will be short and sweet and will simply help me remember these precious interactions that happen every single day but then slip away into the corners of my mind making it tough for me to recall the beauty of each and every one. (or hardly any of them for that matter.)

I'm not sure what I'm gonna call this little Friday event but I'll come up with something by next week. And I'll even have Mr. Linky up next Friday. I mean, is Mr. Linky still the industry standard? Or has something cooler come along? Let me know.

This way, I figure I can click around and get to know a little more about your kids. I mean, your kids are cool, right? And they say awesome things? And we are kinda like uh, mommy bloggers? In a loose sense of the term. And we like to talk about our kids sometimes, right?

So, let's try this thing.

For now, let's call it "Conversations with My Kid" Fridays. Is that lame? Someone help me.

Here we go:

•••••••••••••••••••

Yesterday, Claire, 7, was doing her Social Studies homework. She had to color this packet of papers stapled together to tell a story about Martin Luther King Jr. I was, once again, in the kitchen doing God knows what and I said -

"Whatcha doing Claire?"

"I have to color this book about Martin Luther King Jr."

"Oh yeah? You've been learning about him, huh?"

"Yep."

"What have you learned about him?"

Still coloring and not looking up, Claire says "I learned that he had a dream."

"What was his dream?"

"His dream was that white people and black people could live together."

And then she paused but before I could say anything she added, "I don't think that's a very good dream."

"It's not?" I asked.

"Nope...

....My dream is to have a horse ranch. And that's a way better dream than his."

••••••••••••••••

If you have a "Conversations with My Kid" story you are sharing today or have shared recently or something that resembles one, leave the link in the comments and I'll come check it out.

Happy Friday!

Seeking the Perfect Balance in 2010 Without Feeling Dizzy

Happy 2010.

Most of my glorious two-week Christmas vacation felt kinda like this...




And in between all of the bright lights and the spinning,
there were also these moments....




Moments where I stood in awe at the power of the simplicity and
the beauty that is my life.

And in my life-long search for balance,
I can only hope that 2010 will continue to bring me
the perfect combination of spinning and stillness.

Because that is my life.
And I love my life.

Strength.........you have it.

Written by Annie, a mom without a blog

A year ago this week on my now retired blog I wrote about a story of a family tragedy. It was hard to write and I literally felt not only like crying, which I was doing, but also very much like retching as I wrote. You see, a year ago, a cousin I'm close to lost her 37-year-old husband to a very freak accident.

My cousin, newly pregnant with her third child, left for work as a teacher and thought nothing of sending her husband off to a routine outpatient rotator cuff surgery with his father. What she didn't expect was a phone call minutes after the surgery informing her that there had been a grave accident. You see, when they began the block of drugs to numb his shoulder, the needle did not go into his muscle, it went directly into his bloodstream pretty much killing him instantly. Although for hours they kept him on bypass and attempted to revive him, he was gone.

And she was left alone. With two little girls under the age of 5 and another on the way.

This post is not about the sadness, the heartache, or the explaining you do to two little girls who do nothing short of idolizing their Dad. This is not the story of how wonderful he was, or how his funeral commanded two thousand people to attend, or how his employer (Budweiser) had a highway banner with his name on it for weeks in honor because he was THAT guy, the one who everyone loved, everyone adored, everyone wanted to be friend with and like. Yes, he was that wonderful, but this is not about him today.

This is about her. About a 37-year-old woman, who although deeply heartbroken and extremely lost, did it when I am not sure I could. I think of her in awe every day. And I wonder where she gets it.

The strength.

I think about her when she comes up with amazing ideas to include her children in his life, even after he has left us physically. How she lets her now first grader write him love notes and puts them in a balloon to send to heaven. How she gave birth without the aid of drugs so no other freak accidents would happen in her family leaving her children orphaned.

This is a story of how she runs and pounds out her grief and anger and lays it all on the pavement in a Nike streak of healing. It is also a story of hand holding and how she gently allows you in to aid her in her need for understanding and healing. It is also the story of how she is not letting anger and revenge, nor all the lawyers knocking on her door, to overrule her right to grieve.

It is a glance into a life of a woman who teaches her children to remember their father every day, so when they age they won't forget because they are so young. About how her daughter says "I feel my Daddy every day, he is all around me. He even helps me when I put on my jammies."

How she just does it. Even though full understanding is not there, and the grief is still so raw.

This is a post about women. About how women just do. They do what they need to do, even when they don't know why or don't know how. Women like her. Women who persevere and keep moving. It is about the strength women have, that she has even though she may not know it. Today I honor her.

Facing the Fall of Change

Written by Kath, a mom without a blog

It’s fall across most of our country. The long, warm days of summer have given rise to brisk mornings and evenings; the sun is lower in the sky, and days are shorter. It’s fall out here in the desert as well, but the signs aren’t as obvious. You really have to look for them.

Fall in Phoenix means we open our windows again. Of course, this only happens in the early morning and late evening hours when the temps dip to the 70s or so. But still…we OPEN our WINDOWS. We haven’t done this since, seriously, May. Watching my curtains sway a little in the morning breeze is a little bit of heaven for me.

We don’t have the usual “look” of fall here, either. Our trees (for the most part) don’t turn color and drop their leaves. Oh, sure, a few do. They are scattered among the masses of desert trees (mesquites and palo verdes) and palm trees which pretty much stay green year-round. So the minority of trees that do change get sort of lost in the greenery.

I feel sorry that my kids don’t get to experience the traditional fall. My 5-year old daughter has only seen fall leaves in picture books or Charlie Brown specials. So last weekend, my husband and I packed up our three kids into our SUV and headed north for the weekend.

The usual noise and chatter of conversation and DVDs playing became a hush as we hit the dirt road and started the climb up the mountain. We rolled down our windows and breathed deeply the clean, crisp mountain air. And then, my kids began to see them. Small clusters of yellow and orange at first. But then we saw the maples. Oh, those glorious maples in their pinks, reds, oranges, fuchsias, rusts….so absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful. I turned around and watched my kids’ eyes soaking up the sights. Their “oohs” and “aahhs”, their squeals of delight…it was quite a moment.

We got settled in to our destination and went for a walk. Approaching the first oak tree, my daughter picked up an acorn off the ground.

“What’s this, Mama?”

“That’s an acorn, honey.”

Pause. Turning and examining the acorn in her little hand. “Like the one from Ice Age?”

“Yep, just like it.” Note to self….make this trip EVERY year with the kids.

There was just something so beautiful and comforting in the magnificence of pure nature. The colors were so vibrant. It’s an extraordinary sight to behold, but the trees were just doing what they were SUPPOSED to do—they were changing.

When we returned to Phoenix, I was telling a friend about the beautiful sights up north. Her reply stunned me a bit.

“Oh, I lived on the east coast and HATED fall,” she said. “The leaves changing color always made me depressed and anxious, knowing that the trees would soon be totally bare and that winter would set in.”

Wow. That thought had literally never occurred to me. I guess since I’ve lived in the desert most of my life, I didn’t realize that fall for some people (who live in areas where the winters are brutal) would be so anxiety-provoking.

It reminds me of a time in my life when I saw that things were “changing.” When I anticipated what would come with dread, fear, and anxiety. I know what that feeling is like. It’s scary. The unknown always is.

I’m currently in one of those moments again in my life. The subtle colors are there signaling a change that I know deep down is coming. It makes me frightened of the “barren tree.” I don’t want to think about it.

But here’s the deal. If I spend my days focusing only on the bare tree, I’ll miss the beauty of the fall. I won’t see the rich golds, bright reds, and deep browns. I might miss the very best part of all because I can’t stop thinking about what’s to come.

So, today, I will enjoy the fall. I will soak up the hues and try to imprint the images in my brain, so that I may NEVER forget.

Because when the leaves fall, it’s true the tree becomes bare. But what happens next is that the leaves break down and nourish the tree; for when spring comes, new buds will appear. And the hope of those new leaves…leaves that have been fed by the ones that came before, comforts me.

Obama's speech is NOT the main thing most moms are thinking about today

Big sis' and 2nd-grader Claire supporting Phoebe on her first day of kindergarten.

Sept. 4, 2009

As most kids are back to school today, we are slowly getting back to blogging over here at Moms Without Blogs. Today's post is from one of our hardcore MWOBS, Kath, who I have known since we were nine years old. As I read this piece, I got tears in my eyes as I often do when reading her because her words most always resonate deeply within me. Probably because we are cut from a similar cloth.  

My second baby, Phoebe, started kindergarten last Thursday. My heart did similar and different backflips of emotions as I watched another kid of mine take her place on the kindergarten carpet in a circle of strangers knowing full well some of these strangers would become her best friends. (and if she's lucky, one of them will be a lifelong friend like Kath is to me.) 

So the buzz du jour is certainly Obama's speech on education to the kids of America, but over here, all I can say is I'm psyched that Kath has written about what's really going on in most of our mama hearts today as we watch our babies take another step on their journey in the world. 

Written by Kath

It’s officially back to school time for everyone but we've been back to school for weeks here in sunny Arizona. I think it’s someone’s cruel joke to make kids return to school in mid-August. Picking up your children at 3 pm when the temperature exceeds 105 degrees (WITH humidity, I might add) is pure torture. 

The eve before the big “first day” I stood in the doorway of my boys’ room. I took in their over-stuffed backpacks, zippers strained from new crayons, pencils, notebooks, and glue. I saw the new tennis shoes, gleaming and clean (for the last time!) awaiting new adventures this school year. The uniforms were washed and hanging in the closets, the new socks neatly folded in the drawers. I sighed, and couldn’t help but feel, well…sad. Something was bugging me because I felt a little dread about the next day.

As we walked on campus that next morning, you could see the moms and dads had an extra spring in their step. It reminded me of that “Staples” commercial. You know the one, where the dad skips around the store to the tunes of the Christmas song “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.” He’s dancing through the isles, throwing school supplies into his cart in glorious anticipation of the return to school. Yep, most parents I saw that morning had that same giddy expression on their face. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I just felt, well sad. What the heck was up with that??

In the days since that first day, I’ve tried to make some sense of this sadness. Why am I not like the other parents? I should be thrilled that my kids are back in school, why aren’t I?

I keep remembering a conversation I had with my dear Irish father after I had my first child. He told me that the world is a “magnet.” “When you’re pregnant or your child is a baby, they are as close to you as they ever will be,” he said. “But gradually, the world pulls them away, little by little, until they are grown.”

At the time, the words were sweet, but I just couldn’t comprehend them. I mean, my nipples were cracked and bleeding from being “so close” to my son. He wanted to nurse non-stop. I was longing for a little magnet pull of the world to create a little distance.

But now, I think, I get it. I’m sad this time of year, because I’m feeling that pull. School reinforces the pull of the world to me. During the summer, my kids are mine. Each and every day, I have them. We relax in our PJs, go to movies, swim, take vacations. They are all mine, and although they can sometimes get on my nerves, I truly and absolutely love it.

When school starts (and all the activities that go with it), I sort of “lose” my kids. They spend more time at school and activities than they do with me. And my heart hurts. Oh, I know, it’s good for them to go to school, to learn, to be active. They are growing up. I understand.

But my heart just can’t. Children are little for such a short amount of time. Those first 5 years go by like the blink of an eye. Then that magnet world really starts to pull.

I know that in a few months, this sadness will be gone. I will enjoy watching my children learn new things at school. My heart will burst with joy as I cheer them on at their activities. They will grow and change and develop and all will be good. 

But for today, I’ll embrace the sadness a little.

As we walked around school the first day, many of the parents asked when my daughter would be starting kindergarten.

“Next year,” I said.

“Wow! Only one more year to go!” they’d remark with that look that says “hang in there” to the other parent.

Yep, ONLY one more year to go. I’ll cherish every moment of it.

We all need Neda

Written by Karen, a mom without a blog

There are so many images, so many sad, sad stories that daily come across the internet, are printed in our newspapers and are plastered all over our television newscasts, that we often become completely numb to it all. We may see something that will give us pause, but not even long enough to even qualify as an official “moment of silence” before we’re on to our next task.

It’s so difficult for me in the midst of my daily grind to focus on anything besides my own little self and my own little life – that to keep aware of what is going on in the rest of the world becomes almost another chore to add to my already addled brain.

Until something happens that cannot be ignored… a tsunami, a hurricane, a declaration of war. Something you cannot take your eyes off of or you can’t read enough about.

It’s akin to slowing down on the highway just long enough to marvel over the overturned car on the other side, grumble about how “everyone ALWAYS has to slow down to see the accident”, then speed up and back to reality – the tangled wreckage just a small side-note to your afternoon, soon to be forgotten altogether. That is precisely how we treat major calamitous events in our world. We stop, we take it in, we analyze our own feelings and those of others, we take stock of what we have and maybe hug are kids a little tighter that night, we try our best to empathize and maybe even try to help with a donation and definitely some heartfelt prayers… then we move on.

There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s how we can all keep on living without being buried under the burdens of the world.

But there are times when something happens, some symbol of an event that just stands out among all the rest. The one that makes you truly take stock of where we’re at and it actually CHANGES us. It may be a very subtle change or in may even be just that a SEED is planted that will eventually push us past our own lives to contemplate what is happening and how it could and should effect us.

Last night, I had just that moment of that tiny seed being planted. An image of a solitary woman. A woman no one knew save for her family and friends… until a few days ago. She was a young woman in the prime of life who was shot down in the midst of a demonstration in Iran. Now, tragically, in death, she is known by the entire world. I read about it when it happened, but yesterday I looked at her pictures – her reality was too intense to let fade in my mind.

This is Neda Agha-Soltan.

Her pictures and the video of her tragic death are easily found on the web. After seeing her pictures last night, I wanted to see the video. I felt like I owed it to her as a human being on this planet of ours. I had to give her horrific death more than a moment in my life. There is nothing more real than that video folks. This is a young, 26 year old, who believed the protests were justified and was standing by, not throwing anything or threatening anyone and she was shot by what is believed to be pro-government militia.

As you all may know, news from the area is sparse and regulated by the government. Foreign journalists have been barred from the streets and most of the pictures and video getting out of Iran are from the people.

The people.

It’s the people that make a country what it is – the government is supposed to represent ALL of the people. If nothing else, this disputed election shows that the people of Iran want FREEDOM, Iranian women want FREEDOM. Many Islamic clerics have been protesting along with the people! Watching these clerics march hand in hand with young Iranians – wow! That was a wonderful image - they also believe strongly in human rights – enough to put themselves in harms way as well.

In this week leading up to America’s Independence Day celebrations, I want to attach more meaning to what “independence” means and how grateful I am for all who fought and stood up to give that to me. Could I EVER be brave enough to do what these protesters are doing? Could I ever stand up and purposefully put myself in that volatile position, in full knowledge of what I’m up against, in full knowledge that weapons are being used against unarmed people, in full knowledge that retribution could be harsh, even possibly deadly? I’d like to think I could, for the sake of my children and the young people of my nation… but I have serious, serious doubts.

I thank God that our government in America allows for all people to believe, practice and proclaim their faiths, beliefs, opinions and convictions. We see playing out before us in Iran, the danger of trying to rule under one belief. No government should ever try to restrict its patrons to one set of opinions. Lets try to make a symbol like Neda real. Let her help us make room in our hearts for EVERYONE – lets try to EMBRACE our differences, rather than brush aside those who don’t believe what we do.

As far as how Neda effects us and our little lives…. Well I guess that is up to each and every one of us. The video of her death is seared into my brain, and as terrible as it is, I want it to stay there. I don’t want to forget her and what she is now becoming a symbol for. Her name “Neda” means “divine calling” in Persian and “the call” in Farsi.

If we take more than a moment and plant the seed of acceptance inside, then the horrific events of June 20th, the day Neda was taken from this earth, will turn evil to good. She will not have died in vain.