My Princess

We were listening to the Kids’ Station on Pandora yesterday while we finished up our waffles and milk. When the theme song to Beauty and the Beast started, Poppy jumped out of her seat and raced to the remote control. I assumed she was going to turn up the volume, but instead she skipped it. Before I could even ask why, she muttered, “Ugh. I don’t like princesses,” and shuffled back to her seat. It’s hard to explain, but I was both ecstatic and devastated. I’ve long suffered internal conflict when it comes to my daughter’s (former) obsession with princess paraphernalia. On one hand, I didn’t want her growing up thinking that all princesses need rescuing. On the other hand, how could I deny my little girl an interest that captured her heart and imagination so completely? Wasn’t it just Christmas before last when she asked begged for a princess hair dryer and matching accessories kit? Wasn’t it only last year when she squealed with delight when she opened an entire collection of princess dress-up shoes and a trunk of coordinating gowns from her uncle? Didn’t she wake up early on my birthday last year to watch the royal wedding of a ”real princess?”

The Princess and her Curling Iron

Giddy!

Oh, I wasn’t expecting to feel so sad about the passing of the princess passion. I guess I am already feeling nostalgic for the little girl who loved princesses and not the princesses themselves. I’ve noticed that she has grown up a lot this first year at school. Since she began kindergarten in the fall, she has started singing Justin Bieber songs in the back seat of the car, shaking her hips when she dances, indulging in potty humor with her brother, chasing boys on the playground, and admiring every fashion and fad of the older girls in school. I’ve noticed that my little girl is turning into a not-so-little girl. When I think about it, it makes my heart hurt (more than a little). She is still my sensitive and loving daughter. She hurts when her friends hurt. She is the first to cheer up a classmate who is having a hard day. She brings me a cool washcloth when I have a headache. She is expressive, artistic, articulate and complicated (in good ways). She is kind, and there is little more I could want from my child. But, (heavy sigh), she’s growing up. I better get busy planning that trip to Disney.

My Princess

Hyperventilation

I took the kids for a bike ride around the block before dinner tonight. We love to poke around with no particular agenda while we wait for Dad to come home from work. Poppy asks for these outings by suggesting, “Let’s go see what we can see today.” Now that the twins are a little more confident on their bicycles (with training wheels), they venture a little further away from me as I haul the baby in the wagon up the numerous hills in our neighborhood. I’m always a little nervous as there are always the cars that go too fast for a residential neighborhood. There are also lots of cars parked on the street which makes for tricky blind spots and obstructed visibility. The kids know the rules. Ride with traffic or, better yet, on the sidewalk. They always stop well before we approach the four-way intersection. They are good about stopping when I panic about (fill in the blank) and yell for them to wait for me to catch up. I must admit, these meandering outings were much more relaxing for me when it was the twins who were riding in the wagon. We all made it home with no trauma, but I was glad to let down my guard for a spell. I started making dinner. Russell was in the bedroom doing his Mr. Rogers routine with his shoes. Poppy decided to take a shower. And Charlie was playing with Mary Hazel. All was normal. Until it wasn’t. As I grabbed drinks out of the refrigerator, I heard a crash so loud that I started running toward the noise before my brain even processed what was happening. In the three seconds it took me to reach the twins’ bedroom, I braced myself for the worst thing I could imagine but tried to remain calm in order to process what I might find. As I crossed the threshold to the bedroom, I saw my five-year-old son trying to hold up the overturned dresser as his baby sister ran in the opposite direction out of harm’s way. I swooped in and grabbed him as the dresser settled into place. Reflecting back on it now, I remember him saying in a very calm voice, “Something fell, Mama.” Perhaps he was already trying to downplay the disaster to minimize possible disciplinary action or perhaps he was actually in shock himself. (A few minutes later, he cried mournfully and wandered from room to room.) My next move was to pick up the baby and hold her tightly to me while I rocked back and forth repeating, “It’s OK…it’s OK…it’s OK.” I was mostly reassuring myself as the baby didn’t seem to understand the severity of what had just happened. (“Things fall off, Mama?”) I couldn’t close my eyes because I immediately pictured all the alternate versions of what I could have found upon walking into that bedroom only seconds before. My heart was beating like a kick drum. That’s when I noticed that I was also hyperventilating. The only other time I can remember doing that was when the doctor on the phone told me by baby had cancer. I was that scared. There was an unspeakably tragic story last week about a local two-year-old boy who tried to reach something on the top of a dresser and was crushed when it shifted. I read this story as I rocked the baby to sleep last week and thought that I would rather die a thousand deaths than imagine something like that happening to my own child. You don’t think it could ever happen to you. This dresser never seemed unstable to me. I open and close the drawers a dozen times a day and never suspected that the massive piece of furniture could topple. I still have no idea how it did. We cannot even recreate a scenario in which it could have tipped over. The handyman is installing anchor bolts on Monday. I strongly suggest that anyone who has small children and large furniture do the same. I’m afraid this is not a warm, fuzzy, or witty post. I hesitated whether or not to even write about it. By writing about it, I thought it would make the event seem even more real. I certainly don’t want to worry my family with the “what ifs”. I decided to post it because I really want to make other moms and dads aware of something I never thought would happen in my own house. Call your own handyman and install some anchor bolts of your own. I’m not a big fan of hyperventilating and I get sick to my stomach when I think about what the mother of that little boy must be going through right now. We all have near misses. I was reminded today to minimize the risk.

Breathing in. Breathing out.

Project Kindness (Addendum)

Love this ripple. So proud of this sweet young lady. Just had to share.

Hi, My name is Madison. I’m 15 and I wanted to share the impact your project kindness has made on me. Couple of weeks ago my mom showed me your blog about the old man who rode his bicycle everyday. And then when I was done reading it she said “that’s sweet, you should do something like that!” she wasn’t serious, but it stuck. The next day I kept thinking about it, and asking God to show me His idea. And unfailingly, He did. Then Project Smile was created! It’s kinda like what you do. But a little different. I told my mom about it and I could tell she was proud, and I was excited to start. So I laid out my calendar and wrote something on everyday that would bring a smile to someone’s face, and I would send a text out every morning telling everyone about that “task”. That Sunday, I announced it in Sunday school, and they loved it! I told a few other people, and now I send out a group text to 53 people!! A few people have told me how it has impacted their lives and others. It’s really incredible to know that even though God has a big world to handle, He still has time to tend to His children.
In His love, Madison

Snippets (4.10.12)

4.10.12

Mary Hazel has mastered the use of the phrase *thumbs up” in every context. When she puts her toys away, she asks for approval – “Thumbs up, Mommy?”. When I leave for work in the mornings she reassures me – “Thumbs up, Mommy!”. When she’s pleased with herself, she grins and whispers – “thumbs up, baby”. The other night, I rocked her until her little body became heavy and her breathing rhythmic. I slowly got up and inched toward her crib. I tucked her in and sneaked toward the door. As I reached for the knob, she raised her head briefly and exclaimed, “To the moon and back! Thumbs up!”. 

***

MH recited the whole alphabet from the back seat of the van on the way home from school today. I celebrated and did the happy dance for her. (I think she might already be embarrassed by the happy dance like her siblings.) She still stumbles a bit through ”L,M,N,O,P”, but I’m going to give her full credit. I ended up doing the Elaine-from-Seinfeld-happy dance another time today when Mary Hazel told me she needed to go “potty like a big girl”, marched to the bathroom, pulled the stool over to the grown-up potty, climbed aboard and tinkled right on target! Woo Hoo! Woo Hoo! Woo, woo, woo hoo! (That’s an excerpt from the happy dance song, by the way.) She enjoyed the positive reinforcement so much that she got up and down from that potty about a dozen more times before she realized she had nothing left to give. Big fun.

***

Yesterday I was alone with Mary Hazel and needed to take a shower before going to work. I lured her to the bathroom with books and toys and told her to stay close. Of course, the moment I stepped under the hot water, she took off. I called her name several times to see if she would answer. She didn’t. I rushed through my shower and barely got the soap out of my hair before I grabbed the towel and went searching for her. I found her sitting pretty as you please in the middle of her sister’s bed surrounded by broken plastic Easter eggs and wadded up pieces of shiny tin foil. Her mischievous little hands and face were smeared with warm chocolate and she was rather pleased with herself. Back to the shower we went.

***

My dear friend and her lovely family of five spent the Easter holiday with us last week. When the big, tall daddy first walked through the door, MH wasn’t quite sure about him. I said something like, “Who is that man coming into our house?”. From that point on, she referred to him simply as Man. Hey Man, read me a book. Hey Man, come here. Hey Man, hug? He responded in kind by affectionately referring to her as Girl. Something about that exchange just made me smile every single time.

***

I had to take poor Charlie to the Minute Clinic Easter morning. Here is the conversation between the nurse practitioner and my son. Her: “So your ears hurt?” Him: “Yes.” Her: “And your throat hurts?” Him: “Yes.” Her: “And a bit of a fever?” Him: “Yes.” Her: “And anything else bothering you?” Him: “Well, sometimes my sister does.”

***

When my son revealed something rather embarrassing to me today, I told him he was honest to a fault. Charlie, who often pronounces r’s as l’s, cackled hysterically and reprimanded me for saying an “inappropriate” word. Took me a minute.

***

It is so fun listening to the kids read real books. (I consider Hop on Pop a real book in case you’re wondering.) Charlie seems a little more comfortable sounding out the letters and figuring out words in context. Poppy is so nervous about saying something wrong that she holds back a little. Bless her. If she hesitates too long, Charlie swoops in and gives her the answer (even though it makes her SO mad). It’s hard enough practicing our reading without the baby climbing in between us and stealing the book from my hands, now I have to make time to read with them individually so one doesn’t feel overshadowed by the other. It’s times like these that I feel there isn’t enough mama to go around.

Snippets (4.4.12)

3.7.12
We finally have everyone nursed back to health. (Knock, knock.) I was so relieved and ambitious this morning that we walked to school for the first time in a week. It was a crisp, clear morning and the children were happy to be helping me with my Kindness Project du jour. At least I think they were. We ran into a bit of a dilemma halfway to Main Street when we realized that Blackberry had followed us all the way from home. She’s only been camping on our front porch for a week or so, but I’ve grown quite attached to her already. The thought of her approaching one of the busiest streets this side of town had me breaking a sweat. I called Russell to come fetch the kitty. He was about to leave for work, so he wasn’t exactly thrilled with the distraction. But he obliged. When he approached our location, however, he somehow drove right past us. Boy, does that husband of mine have tunnel vision! Just when the kids and I started returning home to safely deposit the shadowing kitty, our neighbor let out her dozen or so barking basset hounds in their fenced-in backyard. Blackberry first jumped straight up in the air and then, from what I could see, actually flew halfway home. A blessing in disguise. Poppy was not happy that we were officially one minute late for school, but I think it was worth it.

When I picked up MH from school today, she gave me her signature bear hug and then grabbed my cheeks in her hand, made sure I was looking at her, and then proudly boasted, “I potty! Ms. Carol! No diaper!” She repeated this several times until her teachers nodded and vouched for her story. I don’t think she actually produced anything, but she asked to go and went through the motions. How exciting! I don’t think the twins were interested until they were closer to 2 ½. Of course, they never went to “school” to see how the big kids went about their, er, business. It’s fun to see the baby doing new and different things, but I will miss the diaper stage. Seriously. I think the potty training time is pretty challenging. You have to visit every bathroom at every place you even thought about visiting. You have to wash hands at every one of these locations. You have to pull off the interstate every 30 minutes because you don’t want to assume they can wait when they tell you they have to go. You have to travel with a potty in the trunk. And so on. The biggest reason I’ll miss the diaper stage, though, is I really love our cloth diapers! They are so pretty and pink and soft. Weird, I know.

3.30.12
It has become part of our driving-to-school routine to count. Mary Hazel is a very enthusiastic student. We always start with 1 – 20 in English. (It’s cute the way she always stumbles over “thwee”.) We’ve added to our repertoire a little Spanish and French for variety. My favorite part is when I get to the French seven. I say, “Sept” and she enthusiastically responds, “Go!”

Poppy and Charlie were very excited to let us in on a little secret over dinner last night. They whispered that there was going to be quite the event at school in a couple of weeks but swore us to secrecy. They hopped up from the table (which we normally discourage) and broke out into a dance routine that looked like a cross between The Robot and The Funky Chicken. Poppy finally broke the suspense when she revealed, “We’re going to have a flash mop!”

Project Kindness (Day 40)

I am the first to admit that I’m not a very good observer of Lent. To begin with, I am not officially fasting (more than usual) and I am not specifically practicing self-denial (more than usual). By endeavoring to spread kindness for the duration of the traditional Easter season instead, I’m afraid that I have actually interfered to a small degree with those folks who might have been trying to consciously do without. Chocolate chip cookies were a popular theme. Secondly, I will not win any awards for my observance of Lent because I have naively been operating on the notion that Lent lasted forty days. Forty days in the wilderness, right? It didn’t dawn on me until this morning (after my coffee) that Lent will officially be going on until Thursday. Oops. I did not realize that you don’t count the Sundays between Ash Wednesday and Easter. Silly me. So I apologize for my ignorance and for the somewhat anti-climactic denouement of this project ending a good five days before it was supposed to. Well, since this exercise was not really in keeping with the traditional observance of Lent, I guess it’s OK that it doesn’t follow all the rules.

My gesture today was not a particularly grand one. (If I had won the Mega Millions earlier this week like I had planned, you can bet that it would have been!) I decided that instead of trying to outdo my good deeds from the previous 39 days, I would simply carry on. Carry on in a way that suggests my exercise has become habit. Something I can do every single day that doesn’t interfere with my ability to take care of my own life, my own family. Today I bought a happy bouquet of tulips and delivered them to one of my oldest and dearest friends. Even though I’ve technically known her since 1989, it wasn’t until she and I became roommates after college that we became close. In fact, we like to joke about our relationship in high school. I found her rather intimidating because she hung out with the ”cool kids” and had a Polish last name I was afraid to pronounce. She remembers me as the shy girl who hung out with the honor society and never missed curfew. Once we actually got to know each other, we realized that we were to be friends for the duration. Together we have laughed, cried, traveled, raced, and dreamed of our respective futures. She was my roommate during our formative years, she was racing in Hawaii with me when I got engaged, she was a bridesmaid in my wedding, she’s been right there with me during all of life’s victories and defeats. So for those reasons and many more, she deserves tulips.

There are numerous other people in my life who deserve bouquets of happiness. Though this modest project is coming to a close, I am grateful that these acts of kindness have now become ritual. There is no reason to stop. My eyes are wide open to the opportunities. There are so many ways in which to help, surprise, thank, and honor the people in our lives. Kindness can be random. It can also be well thought out and purposeful. The one common thread that joins all acts of kindness together is the intention we have when performing them. My intention has been to become more aware of the needs of people around me. My intention has been to make a conscious effort to pay it forward. My intention has been to find joy in helping others. My intention has been to give away that which I seek.

When I got married nine years ago this month, there was a lot of soul-searching and internet searching for the perfect sentiments, the just-right quotes, to line our wedding program and highlight our vows. The one poet I kept going back to was Kahlil Gibran. Today I find myself running right back to him again. I reread his writing On Giving and felt like he was saying everything I was thinking, except with more eloquence and wisdom.

There are those who give with joy, and that joy is their reward.

And there are those who give with pain, and that pain is their baptism.

And there are those who give and know not pain in giving, nor do they seek joy, nor give with mindfulness of virtue;

They give as in yonder valley the myrtle breathes its fragrance into space.

Through the hands of such as these God speaks, and from behind their eyes He smiles upon the earth.

You often say, “I would give, but only to the deserving.”

The trees in your orchard say not so, nor the flocks in your pasture.

They give that they may live, for to withhold is to perish.

And you receivers, and you are all receivers, assume no weight of gratitude, lest you lay a yoke upon yourself and upon him who gives.

Rather rise together with the giver on his gifts as on wings;

For to be overmindful of your debt, is to doubt his generosity who has the freehearted earth for mother, and God for father.”

I will wake up tomorrow and not do anything differently than I have the last forty days. I will take what I have learned, mostly of myself, during these last six weeks and make it part of my new normal. And though I have loved surprising strangers with coffee and environmentally friendly grocery bags, I want to make sure I let the people I love most know how very much they mean to me. I will endeavor to have more patience, to stop what I’m doing to really listen to what my children are saying. To remember that it is not what I do but how I make them feel that really matters. My work is cut out for me. It is a lifelong goal. I am grateful that this project has given me a few more tools to use along the way.

Now, tell me, what was your act of kindness today?

Project Kindness (Day 39)

My first gesture of kindness today was foiled. A friend of mine, Batman, had surgery yesterday. Yes, the real Batman, despite Poppy’s recent doubts. He’s been to my children’s birthday parties several times (except when he got food poisoning last summer) and he showed up at our house once on Halloween when Charlie was homebound with the flu. Batman is the strong silent type, but he has always been kind to my family. He even delivered Christmas presents one year which was a little confusing since we were just trying to figure out Santa Claus at the time. Anyway, Batman had some outpatient surgery this week and is convalescing at home, er, the Bat Cave. Concerned that his strength would be compromised and our collective safety would be at risk, I offered to bring him dinner. Turns out he had a houseful of people already preparing his meal. (I’m thinking Alfred probably made these arrangements.) Though I was glad, of course, that his superfriends were looking out for him, I was left scrambling for another good deed this evening.

My father, who is the best father a girl could have, and I spent the entire day doing yard work. (He gets major points for always being kind when I need his help.) Since there was no dinner magically prepared and waiting at the end of the day, I ventured out in the severe weather to forage for food. On the way, I realized I had a major weekend headache. You know, the kind you get when you don’t drink your ritual cup of coffee on your drive to work because it’s not a work day. It was becoming more and more critical for my overall good mood to remedy my mal de tête at the nearest Starbucks. Starbucks…oh right. This is where Project Kindness all began way back on Day 1. Since this particular exercise in spreading random happiness is officially over tomorrow, I thought it was a poetic gesture to finish where I started. I endeavored to buy a cup of coffee for the person in the car behind me. Alas, there was no car behind me. We were, after all, having a hail storm at 5:30 in the afternoon. Oh well. So, I asked the barista, a jovial fellow called Alex, to charge me for an extra cup and give it to the next person who ordered a regular coffee. His eyes crinkled and he smiled big.

“Oh, I love this kind of stuff,” he said. “Are you paying it forward?”

I smiled back. “Why, yes. Yes, I am.”

He said, “Well, I’ll tell you what. Since there’s nobody behind you now and I don’t know when the next person will order a regular cup of coffee, I’ll just give the next lucky guy whatever he orders for free.”

“Really?” I asked. “And I don’t owe you anything for that?”

“Nope,” he said. “And I’ll be sure to tell him it was all your idea.”

“Awesome,” I replied. And it was awesome. It all came back full circle, leaving me feeling balanced, centered, and satisfied. The caffeine might have also helped.

So, forty days of kindness. I will reflect on it all in tomorrow’s post. Or at least I will try my best. In the meantime, I think it would be a wonderful way to close this project by challenging each of you supportive Kindness Apostles to perform your own random acts of kindness and report in tomorrow. What was it? How did it make you feel? Oh, I feel like a kid at Christmas (when Batman comes)!

“Tune in tomorrow – same Bat-time, same Bat-channel!”

Project Kindness (Day 38)

The little boy, who was Mary Hazel’s next door neighbor last July at the Children’s Cancer Center was having a rough go of it that week. His mom and I spent several late nights in the lounge sharing, commiserating, wishing, and crying. His name is Will and he is the same age as the possums. He was diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia. Well, to be exact, it is Average Risk (AR) B-Precursor (Pre-B) Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia (ALL). That’s too many acronyms for such a little boy. He is a little over one year into his three-year treatment. He has his “bucket days” when he doesn’t react well to his very potent medicine, but he has a lot of good days, too. His father affectionately refers to him as SuperDude and keeps all of Will’s adoring fans up to date through his CaringBridge site. From what I read, Will’s family is devoted to him and takes great comfort in their faith. I really want this little boy to be OK. I really need him to be OK. I feel a special connection to him even though I do not know him very well. Time and circumstances play a major role in what turns out to matter in this life. I think about little Will quite often. Yesterday, I got a notification that his CaringBridge site has been updated. When I clicked the link, I read that Will’s dad is taking part in a local fundraising walk, CureSearch for Children’s Cancer. This organization is a national non-profit foundation whose mission is to fund and support children’s cancer research and provide information and resources to all those affected by children’s cancer. Well, that sounds good. When I browsed the site, two statistics jumped out at me:

1. Charitable giving is especially important now, as federal funding for children’s cancer research has been flat for the last decade and was reduced by five percent in 2011. 
2. In the last 40 years, the overall survival rate for children’s cancer has increased from 10% to 78%. At CureSearch, our goal is 100%.

That would make me super happy if all children diagnosed with cancer could be cured. So, in part, to make myself feel super happy, I donated to Will’s page.

The walk takes place June 2 at Furman University in Greenville, SC. If you are interested in walking, check out the 2012 Upstate CureSearch Walk page. I you would like to help little Will reach his goal, please consider donating to his team.

I wish that fewer of my acts of kindness had to do with pediatric cancer. I really do.

Project Kindness (Day 37)

A Photo Essay on Kindness (as told by Mary Hazel, age 21 months)

“I made a new friend today. I call her ‘Big Girl’.”

“We’re the same size. We should definitely be friends, OK?”

“I will teach you all my favorite porch games.”

“Sometimes I just like to sit and watch the roly polies.”

“Sometimes I like jumping down the steps! Jumping! I’ll help you.”

“Did all that jumping make you tired? We can take a little rest.”

“All rested? Wanna play ball with me? Wow, you’re really good!”

 “That was fun!. Meet you here tomorrow?”

(Editor’s note: Mary Hazel asked me to make it clear that the dumpster seen in some of her photos is there because ol’ Mr. Dodson’s house is being renovated by the nice, new couple across the street.)

Project Kindness (Day 36)

My act of kindness today was of the drive-by variety.

I had a longer day (than usual even) and found myself at 8:00 in the evening with no act of kindness anywhere. I could not let my streak end. I had to dig deep. But on a budget since the next paycheck is still a couple of days away. While standing in the kitchen washing the last of the dinner dishes, I remembered the extra cookie dough I had frozen from one of last week’s random acts. As long as you have cookie dough in the freezer, you can perform an act of kindness, no matter how late in the day it is. Unless, of course, the person you are giving the treats to is on a diet. In that case, you might be accomplishing the opposite of what you set out to do. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts, right?

I preheated. I baked. I cooled. I put them on paper plates and covered them with aluminum foil. And then I hopped in my car with my slippers on and set out to deliver some kindness, guerilla style. I dared not disturb the quiet hours between folks putting their kids in bed and having to make lunches for the next school day, so I tried to sneakily leave the treats on porches and patios instead of knocking on doors. I felt like the tooth fairy in reverse. And like the tooth fairy, I hoped not to get caught. Especially in my stinky slippers. At my last stop, though, I heard the jiggle of the front doorknob as I started my retreat. I froze. Here I was lurking  in the dark wearing some of my pajamas and very unsure as to what to do next. I didn’t want to scare the unsuspecting neighbor but I thought it would look more suspicious if I bolted. So I came into the light, nonchalantly waved, and said “Hi. I brought you cookies.” He didn’t flinch or skip a beat as he twirled his car keys around his finger and replied. “It’s about time!”

P.S. I just got a text from another neighbor who confessed that she ate all the cookies while her children were sleeping. I don’t judge.