I’m a self-proclaimed pack-rat. And while I know admission is the first step toward getting better, it will probably also be my last step. The thing is, I like stuff. I’m not a hoarder. I share, I give away and then I buy more! I like to consider myself very eco-minded. I don’t like to waste things. So when my girls outgrow clothes I either give them to a friend or donate to charity. Same with old junk. Sometimes I try and earn a buck on eBay. But usually I just pay it forward. And then I go out and thrift and bring something else home. Still very recycle friendly, since I am re-using other people’s cast-off items, keeping things out of landfills and helping create jobs in my community.
I know it is possible to live with less, to live ‘simply’ and that really does appeal to me. I have gone long periods of time with little or no possessions. Well, at least not with me (they were in storage). And I know it is quite possible to get by with less. But it’s also a lot less fun. I am a very visual person. Artistically speaking I can barely draw a stick figure. But my home is my canvas. I arrange things in a way that is pleasing to me and hopefully others.
I am also very sentimental, which is a double-edged sword. It makes it hard for me to part with certain things, but it also makes me a deeper person, I think. I value people and so I value the things that people give me or that remind me of those that matter most to me.
The older I get, the easier it is to part with certain things. But there are still things I cannot seem to let go. Like pictures my girls draw for me or cards people have written to me.
I would like to learn to strike a balance between self-expression and feeling overwhelmed by the amount of clutter in my house. It is a work in progress. So like any masterpiece, it will take a while to complete.
I’m at another crossroads. I’ve been at more than one of those in my lifetime, and always, I’ve asked myself what I should do. But I haven’t always chosen well. When I was in my early twenties, I was in a car accident while in a friend’s car. He later got a settlement and I received a little money as well. It was enough to pay off what little debt I had and have a small amount left over. I should have stayed out of debt, but I didn’t. I should have bought my VW bus and followed my dream of traveling in it. But I didn’t.
A few years later, I met a guy, who had a VW bus and we eventually got married. The plan was to travel around in it…but it broke down and we rented an apartment and start accumulating stuff. Stuff makes it very hard to travel. It serves as anchors to wherever you are and it seems the only way to break free of those anchors are to let go of that stuff. But I’m not so good at that. Still, what use is it? It sits on my shelves, aesthetically pleasing for awhile, but otherwise pointless. But I like to decorate, I like holidays and so the accumulation continues.
Then I had kids. And they come with their own collection of stuff and the anchor becomes weightier. Not that it’s their fault. Society assigns a list of things they must have. Most kids, if they’re parents have the means, enter the world already weighed down by the ‘stuff of life’ Every once in awhile I have an epiphany. To sell everything I own and go, Henry Thoreau or John Muir-esque into life and fly by the seat of my pants.
At 41 I keep reminding myself that I’ll never have my 20′s back, but I’ll also never be younger than I am right now. So what am I waiting for? A partner in crime? Well, yeah, sort of. I can’t very well throw off the ties that bind me when I’m married and have children. So I try, without much luck, to get them to jump on my band-wagon. I want to live life in a trailer or a log cabin, ala Travels with Charlie or Grizzly Adams. And what am I waiting for? When will that happen? It won’t, unless I make it so. I want to take the road less traveled by, but I may have to drag my family kicking and screaming.
I’m living with a mermaid. She masquerades as a 7 year old, but really, she’s a fish out of water. She wants to spend most of her time in the water, watching mermaid videos on youtube or searching the internet for swimmable fins.
I’m not sure what started it all, although Ariel has always been her favorite princess, from a very early age. But then she discovered H2O. No, not the real deal–water. It’s a show. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H2O:_Just_Add_Water Leave it to my uber-computer literate kids to stumble onto a show filmed in Australia that, as far as I know, is no longer in production. And then to become obsessed.
She has relentlessly implored me to search for a mermaid tail for her. And believe it or not, they’re out there. But the ‘swimmable’ versions start at $80. Undeterred by a lack of funds and the far off date of Christmas, when Santa might come through, she has fashioned her own ‘tail’. She stuffed both of her legs into one ‘leg’ of a pair of pink tights and waddles around the house with a bikini top on. The bath tub is her ocean and she films herself with a little digital video camera, creating her own videos while playing a mermaid.
I happen to love it. I love her imagination and that she has the freedom to create a little alter-existence. After all, what else is childhood for, if not dreaming, making believe and spending part of your time, at least, under the sea?
How is it possible that another year has passed and my baby is now 7? S-E-V-E-N! I have asked her each year not to grow up. She just laughs at me, as children are wont to do. But growing up is sooo over-rated, I reason. Still, they do it! Against my will, against my best advice! But the joy is in the journey and getting a front row seat to their inevitable growing up. Mikah started year 6 as a First Grade drop-out. We home-schooled through the year, by the seat of our pants, while I fought off the pain of a back injury and later recovered from surgery. We survived last year and that’s about it! But along the way, she brought me smiles, laughter and love.
In the past year, you gave up your binky (trading it for your thumb) lost your first teeth, the two on bottom not long after your 6th birthday, and the second one up top, just shy of your 7th! You traded dance class for gymnastics, became obsessed with Littlest Pet Shops and put on many a song and dance show with your sister on our living room ‘stage’. You are laid back and mellow and would just as soon spend the day in your underwear. But when you do finally get around to getting dressed, you still love your leopard print clothes best.
You have gotten taller and smarter and you get so proud of yourself for reading a book all on your own. You count each page you read and congratulate yourself along the way. You have just about taught yourself to swim and would love to be a mermaid. You are fearless and free and you love the ocean. You fill my life with joy and I am blessed to get to be your Mama. Happy 7th birthday sweet Mikah Jean!
Today was the first day of school. But not for us. We went to the park and then the dentist and tomorrow, we will start our ‘school work’ at the kitchen table. We didn’t get up at 6:30 a.m. like last year. We didn’t put on new outfits or take a First Day picture, and I have to say, that made me a little sad. But having my girls home with me today made me anything BUT sad. This is the first year that both my girls are schooling at home. I did K and 1st with my oldest. And last year, 1st again, with my youngest, but I’ve never schooled both girls simultaneously.
I know some people don’t get it. Some people think I’m nuts (and I am, but that’s beside the point) But I am blessed to have a choice in the matter, and believe it or not, I CHOSE to home school both my girls. Or maybe it chose me. With my oldest, I couldn’t imagine ever sending her off alone. But after 2 years home with me, a crumbling marriage and a one-year-old along for the ride, I decided it was in everyone’s best interest to put her in public school. She adjusted well, thanks to the gift of a wonderful 2nd grade teacher, and spent the next four years thriving in that environment. So when it came time for daughter #2 to start school, I enrolled her. She had already done a little pre-school here and there, so she was raring to go. It took me a little longer to get used to the idea, but she took to it naturally, so I just went along for the ride. Until 1st grade rolled around last year. She went the first few days, and then she cried when it was time for me to drop her off. She told me she didn’t want to go. I asked her if something had happened to make her afraid, and she said “No”, she just missed me and felt safer at home. And I couldn’t leave her. She had never been afraid before. She didn’t bat an eye when I dropped her off for her first day of preschool at age 3 or when I walked out of her Kindergarten class room when she was not quite 5. So after talking to my husband, we decided to pull her out and home school her.
Some people would say I’m soft. That she would have gotten used to it after awhile and I’m sure that’s true. But I have never been a tough-love kind of Mom. Never a do-or-die kinda parent. And I remember being a scared 6 year old who just wanted to stay home with her Mom. The thing is, they are little for such a short time. There is such a push from society to measure up, tow the line, blend in and adapt. But I am not in any hurry for that. Maybe it’s because I’m a non-conformist myself or because I never really wanted to grow up either. But I believe there are more important things to do than hurrying my girls through adolescence. It is fleeting enough. And try as I might to savor it, it still slips by me, a day at a time. But when I look back over these years, I want to be sure that I did right by them and the very best thing for them at the time.
I am lucky to have an amazing and supportive husband, who works hard so I can be home with our girls. And who agrees that this is best for them. And while I know that homeschool isn’t for everyone, and I would never suggest that it’s the only way, I am following my heart. And most days, that’s all I’ve got to gone on. ♥♥
I finally did something tonite I’ve been threatening to do for more than a year now. I went over and spent an hour interviewing my Dad. That may sound strange, but only if you’ve never met my Dad. He’s one of the most interesting people I know. His life resembles that of a character in a Steinbeck novel, and like those story’s heroes, he overcame his obstacles and went on to be successful.
In many ways, he had a hard childhood, yet I’ve never heard him complain about it, nor have I ever heard him blame anyone else for the things that happened to him. Instead, he pulled himself up by his proverbial boot straps and got on with the rest of his life. His mother died a couple months before his 3rd birthday and so he and his older brother were raised by their father, until he remarried a few years later.
My dad was the first in his family to ever graduate high school and also went on to be the first to earn a college degree. These against all odds, having been raised in a family who worked in the fields for a living. They had come to California during the Dust Bowl, before my Dad was even a year old and settled near family in the Lamont area. Over the years, they sometimes moved to where there was work, literally pulling up the stakes of their tent house and spending time in Fresno, Wasco and Arvin.
In a way, the Rheumatic Fever that doctors feared would eventually take my Dad’s life, is the very thing that ended up giving him a leg up with his education. Because he could no longer work in the fields, there was nothing better for him to do than finish high school. After that, he had a hard time finding work he was experienced in, because everyone in his small town knew he’d been sick and didn’t want to risk him injuring his heart working in their fields. So he did what any young man looking for work after WWII did. He enlisted.
He spent 4 years in the Air Force, and a few of those in Japan, before returning to the States where his first child was born. He decided to try and find civilian work so he could be close to home, but jobs weren’t plentiful at that time. After working for a furniture store for a few months, he found himself unemployed again. He’d only been out of the service for 3 months, but had to decide quickly whether or not to re-enlist and keep his rank or wait and risk having to start from the bottom again. So he re-enlisted and was sent to Germany.
An hour into our conversation, my camera’s battery was low and my video tape was almost full, so we decided to stop and to pick up where we’d left off on another day. It’s important to me to record my Dad’s story. Partly because it’s so rich and partly because it’s part of our family’s history. I get my gift for storytelling from my Dad, so it seems fitting that I be the one to record his stories. I want to make sure I remember as many details of his life as possible. Because his story is my story too.
When I was a kid my Mom would give my sisters and me a six pack of Pepsi bottles to return to the corner store for the deposit money. Back then you got 10 cents a bottle and that would buy a decent amount of candy. In the ‘70’s there was still such a thing as penny candy…and even chocolate under a dime. The corner store wasn’t really on the corner, it was across a field, probably about a quarter mile from our house. We’d walk down to the end of our street , then set out across that dry field, full of dirt and weeds. The oasis was the store on the other side. I was a child in a time when you could roam the neighborhood all day during the summer and not come in until the streetlights came on or your Mom called you home for dinner. We walked to the bus stop every morning and home every afternoon and my Mother didn’t think twice about it. Safety in numbers, I told my sisters recently.
Growing up there were 3 of us. I was in the middle and I lived up to my birth order’s reputation. Always trying to keep the peace, when I wasn’t stirring up trouble, that is. My older sister was quiet and compliant. I was the boat-rocker—the one who asked “Why?” and didn’t just accept the status quo. My younger sister later benefited from the path I paved. Or maybe my parents were just too tired after raising me to fight so many battles, so she got away with the things I hadn’t.
One summer I decided to try my hand at being an entrepreneur. I walked to the store across the field and invested in several pieces of candy. Then came home and marked up the price a few cents and sold them to the neighbor kids. They were willing to pay for the convenience of not having to walk across that hot, dry field. Or maybe it was just for the instant gratification of biting into that chick-o-stick.
We lived in the same house from the time I was 4 years old until I was 18. I went from K-12 with the same kids and had a sense of security I didn’t realize I had until later. My dad came home every night, my mom made sure dinner was on the table, and we always had more than we needed. I wonder sometimes what my girls will think when they look back on their childhoods someday. The world is so different than it was when I was growing up. And I am an entirely different kind of Mom. I won’t let them play alone in the front yard, let alone walk to the store by themselves. And as far as dinner every night, let’s just say they eat, but it’s not always at the table. But one thing remains the same. When we cash in our cans and bottles for the deposit money, we still spend it on something frivolous.
Someday there won’t be naked Barbies on my living room floor. Or Littlest Pets waiting to set sail in my bathroom sink. Someday, my house might be cleaner, but as much as the clutter drives me crazy some days, I have to say, I’m in no hurry.
Before I know it, I won’t be tripping over toys. My girls will be young women and the evidence of their childhood will only be visible in my memory. So pardon our mess. It’s the stuff of life. I believe in playing and imagination and creative clutter.
I want them to have the tools of childhood always at their fingertips. Playdoh, bubbles, Crayons and markers…when my oldest was little I would buy toys that she wasn’t even old enough to play with yet. Because I wanted her to have everything. I was the same way with books. And I’ve always had a basket of miniature musical instruments, at the ready for their sweet symphonies. My only real regret is that their childhoods aren’t more stuffed with adventure. So when I am tripping over toys or watching their latest self-made production, I try to remember to savor it. Because childhood is over too soon. And once it’s gone, there’s no getting it back.
eleven…eleven years ago my world changed forever for the better when my first baby was born. not such a baby anymore, my oldest daughter turns 11 today. I remember that first year, trying to commit every precious moment to memory. Jotting down notes and dates by which to remember those significant ‘firsts’. Although the firsts seem to have gotten fewer and further between the past several years, they’re not altogether gone. She still has her first love to look forward to, and her first heartbreak. Her first date, first Prom, first car,…and I get the privilege and pleasure of experiencing those with her. But they are hers to experience first hand..I just get to go along for the ride. And what a ride motherhood has been so far!
As reluctant as I was to take that plunge, I wonder all the time, what else would I be doing? My girls have made my life richer and fuller and I cannot imagine my world without them. I am blessed beyond belief to get to be their mother. It wasn’t anything I earned and I still fall so short of the honor most days. But nothing can touch the love I feel for them. They have made me better, stronger and given my life purpose. Being a mother defines me in a way nothing else ever has. It’s not the whole of who I am, but it’s the most important role I’ve ever had.
So as I watch this girl grow, who is so much like me and yet so much herself, I am awed by the tremendous journey she and I started out on together eleven years ago. It seems like forever ago and also just like yesterday. It used to be so much simpler to meet her needs, so cut and dried. But the joy of watching her blossom into her own person offers its own kind of beauty amid the challenges. My job isn’t to make her into a clone of myself, but to nurture and support her into becoming uniquely who she was created to be. I am so very proud of her and often unworthy of that gift and responsibility. Because anyone who has ever been a mother knows, as they change and grow, so do we.
Happy Birthday sweet Sequoia June. I love you to the moon.
I am edgy and can’t sleep. Along with the lingering pain of back surgery and nerves that are still healing, I have a restless energy that is keeping me from relaxing into a mental escape. I was thinking a little about suffering and how some have to endure so much more than others. I thought of how this recent pain of mine (however slight compared to some) has consumed so much of my time and energy the past few months. And I was thinking about all we take for granted. Our health, our family and friends, that we will always be here and have them around. Life is short. This is not news to me, but some days I feel that fact more achingly than at other times. The point of life, after all, is not the pursuit of things, and not necessarily even experiences, per se, but investing in the lives of others. And yet, I can be so careless with my time, my money, and worst of all, my words. I let the curses fly, damaging those closest to me. The ones I hold most dear and whom I want most to protect. I am their worst enemy sometimes, and my own almost always.
Striking a balance seems to be the ultimate life lesson. Not taking more than we give. Working for what we need, but not at the expense of others or life itself. This is a theme I have come back to often in my life. Simplicity. And yet it is so hard to keep myself from becoming consumed by things not worthy of my time or energy. I would rather have fewer things and more time. More quality time with the people I love. I would trade just about everything I own for that. Maybe it’s time I started making that trade…