What happens when you leave home for a week...

...and leave your children in the care of an opthalmologist.


...and neglect your garden.

Eric had a conference in Rome a few weeks ago, and since it was our tenth anniversary I decided to go along. It was lovely. Eric lost his phone (which was doubling as our camera) to either a pickpocket or the back seat of a cab, I'm not sure which, and so we have no photographic evidence. But we did go- really! And it was lovely! Basically, we ate amazing food, saw amazing art, met amazing people and Eric unwittingly joined in a gay pride demonstration. Standard stuff, pretty much.

I think I've discovered, or maybe confirmed something about myself, though. I'm not a traveler. I don't like physical discomfort of any kind, be it lack of sleep, dry eyes, stiff legs or an empty belly. If I'm uncomfortable, I'm unhappy and there's just a certain amount if discomfort inherent in traveling. And boy do I hate power-trippy airline employees.

When we came home, we spent an absolutely insane week working to get our house ready to go on the market and now that that's been done, we're enjoying a few days of respite while Eric's Brazilian friend, David, is in town.

THIS, I like. I like that when he walked into our house he touched the walls and asked what they were made of (apparently there's not a lot of drywall in Brazil). I like that while I was making dinner last night he was outside taking pictures of our neighborhood because he thinks it's so beautiful. I liked hearing Brigham ask, in a slow, deliberate voice: "WHERE WERE YOU BORN?" and when it was clear that this had not been understood: "WHERE DID YOU COME OUT OF YOUR MOM'S TUMMY?"

I like hearing about Brazil, where a nanny is called a "baba" and makes in a day what I would pay a 14-year-old to watch my kids for one hour. And where they eat dinner at 10 o'clock at night. And where it's normal to shower 3 times a day. I like our new Havaianas. I like listening to Eric speak Portuguese- my favorite language.

So I guess I'm not a total provincial American boob. I do like other cultures, I just like learning about them in the comfort of my own living room. Maybe I won't show my kids the world, but I think I see exchange students in our future....

Leaving on the midnight train

When I woke up this morning I was missing a child. Eric had taken little Eric with him to school, where they watched the U.S. World Cup game instead of Eric teaching his class. It's hot. Too hot to teach, too hot to run, too hot to do house work, too hot to pack up your life.

We took a little trip to Atlanta this weekend. We visited the Atlanta Federal Reserve, who wants the rights to my husband for the next two years. I'm reluctantly -VERY reluctantly- handing him over, in exchange for a decent salary, health benefits and a shot at teaching position at a good school when he's done. Which he promises will be in two years, three at most. But I've heard promises like that before.

While Eric was being fingerprinted at the Fed to make sure he's not a crazy Arab terrorist (I tried to tell them I'm the crazy Arab in the family but they didn't listen), the kids and I watched through a glass wall while little robots with names like Abe and Felix wheeled huge amounts of cash up and down a dreary hallway. We learned that the Atlanta Fed shreds ten million dollars worth of unfit currency every day. I sometimes feel like that's what they're doing to my life, but I didn't tell them that.

We drove around Atlanta looking at house after house, trying to find one that I could actually see myself living in for the next two years. After two days, our best option had a rent double our mortgage here and, brace yourselves:

The front door opened into a closet.

Really, really.

Eric is still wishing we had snapped it up, but I had to draw the line somewhere. I will give up my home, my friends, my everything here in North Carolina but I WILL NOT ENTER MY HOUSE THROUGH A CLOSET. No, no, no!

Needless to say, I've done a lot of crying over the past few days. I'm a roots girl. I hate travel, I hate moving, I hate the end of the school year, all of it.

Someday I'll sink my roots down deep and never have to dig them up. That's what I keep telling myself, at least.

Teacher of my heart,

*This year, just like every year, I have cried and probably will cry a lot more over the end of the school year. I decided to write something that would express at least some of my feelings for the incredible teachers who have blessed my children's lives thus far.

Please, forgive me for the inadequacy of the little wrapped package in my son's backpack this morning. I know you must have lotion and candles to last you several lifetimes.

I wish I could give you a gift worthy of the one you have given me. I wish I could give you a room full of trophies, ribbons and framed diplomas. Except, instead of commemorating degrees and honors, there would be one for every moment of triumph when a reading concept has clicked; one for each argument you have compassionately helped settle, one for every tear you've dried, and every confidence-restoring hug you've given.

I wish I could give you a crystal ball that you could look into and see my son as he moves through the defining moments of his life. The day he gets his driver's license; his first day of his first job; the first time he holds his very own baby. You will be there, in all of them, because of the imprint you've made on his heart in one short school year. You did more than teach- you valued, you encouraged, you inspired.

I wish I could give you a paycheck that could compensate for all the early mornings you would have rather stayed in bed; all the expensive sweaters you never bought, all the dinner party conversations that passed you by because your job was not high-powered or prestigious in the world's eyes. You saw beyond that. You chose to listen the voice inside you that said your life's work was the most important thing in the world- the work of nurturing, guiding and shaping human beings.

There were days and weeks that I was not what I should have been for my son, when I fell short in my fulfillment of the sacred duties of motherhood, and on those days you were there- a refuge, a safe harbor, a wise friend. Where my words of praise were taken for granted, yours rang truer because you didn't 'have' to love him, and his confidence has blossomed under your care.

Of course I know that no tissue-wrapped present can ever repay the sacrifices you've made and the gifts you've offered. There is only end-of-the-year present worthy of a beloved teacher, and you have that already. It's the pure love that only a child's heart can feel.

Thank you, from the bottom of my soul. Though his memories of you will blur with time, the love and acceptance you have shown him is a part of him now. And I will never forget that.

Cluck

Brigham went out to gather eggs the other day. I noticed he was wearing only underwear, so I wasn't surprised to hear Eric stop him at the door. He told him to put shoes on...


Let it never be said that our hens lead an uninteresting life. And do let it be said that they are fabulous pets. Yummy eggs every day for very minimal effort and almost no cost. We have two loyal customers who buy the extra eggs and just about cover the cost of the feed. Eric built the coop out of free scraps he found around town. And they're such fun to chase around the yard! Plus it adds to our aura of quirkiness- always a good thing.



Did I ever mention that I took a pottery class in January and February? It was fun and now we have some cool things to eat and drink out of. I think I'll make that a yearly tradition- a fun class to bring a little joy to those dreary winter months.


Did I also mention that I tried my hand at gardening this year? I picked a patch of dirt where weeds seemed to grow extra fast, poked some holes in the dirt, threw in some seeds that my cousin sent me in the mail and see what happened?! They grew!! I'm already dreaming of next year's garden...

Two revelations and an explosion...mother's day at the beach

The first full day of our beach trip was mother's day. Eric silently removed the baby from the room so I could sleep in. Then no one brought me breakfast in bed. They know me so well. I passionately hate eating breakfast in bed.

Later, in the midst of the chaos of five families getting ready for church, the boys brought me their presents: a painting of a flower, a flower, a handmade card. I thanked them and hugged them and stretched my smile as far as it would go. Then the hustle and bustle faded back in and I turned my attention to other things.

We went to church right next to a Marine base. Both of the speakers were soldiers. It reminded me of my love of military people, developed in my R.O.T.C. days. At the end of the meeting, each mother was handed a giant chocolate bar. Enough for us to share with our kids and still have some left for ourselves- brilliant.

In Relief Society where there was a lesson on prayer. I remembered something that happened to me a long time ago in Seattle. Brigham was a week old and I needed to take him to his first doctor's appointment. It was probably my first time leaving the house with two kids. Nothing big, but it seemed big at the time. I was running late, and something happened with the car. I couldn't find my keys, or it wouldn't start- I don't remember, except that I didn't have a car to get Brigham to the doctor, and my toddler was probably crying, and I was probably hungry, and sore, and exhausted, and scared to death of how I was going to do this everyday on my own. I guess I figured it out, because I have a memory of sitting in the doctors office eating a peanut butter and honey sandwich later that day.

That night I went to return something to my neighbor, Danielle. We talked on the doorstep for a few minutes, and then she said that she wasn't sure why, but she felt like God had put it in her heart to tell me that they hardly ever used their second car and anytime I needed it, to just ask. In fact, she would be fine giving me a set of keys. I was confused. Clearly my Heavenly Father was mindful of me and the situation I'd been in earlier in the day. But why prompt my friend that I needed her car if it didn't lead to me actually using it? I never did use their car.

As I sat listening to the lesson, the spirit whispered the answer to the question I'd had all these years. I never asked for his help. I was probably too frustrated, too tired and too overwhelmed to even think to pray at that moment in my life. But he wanted me to know he was there, with a plan, ready to go. I think he wanted to bless me. To make my very stressed life a little easier in that moment, but he can't give me what I don't ask for. He won't violate my agency that way. And he is patient enough to wait seven years (almost exactly- Brigham was born on mother's day) for the right moment to teach me that truth.

Then we went home and it was my night to cook dinner. I made cinnamon rolls and one of the glass pans exploded when I set it on the counter. Miraculously there was still enough for everyone to eat their fill. The children all sang a mother's day song and someone put them to bed. I don't know who, just that it wasn't me.

We grownups stayed up late talking, so that it was past midnight when I reached for the lamp beside my bed and my eyes caught on the card little Eric had made me. I picked it up and looked at it, really looked, for the first time. I saw how he had written the words Happy Mothers Day! in pencil and then traced over them in marker, a different color for each letter. There were two butterflies with little M's on their wings (for Mama I think). Two hearts and a carefully drawn sunflower. Inside was a message: Roses are red, Pansies are white, I think that you are such a delight! More hearts, and on the back: Moms Rock! In my mind I could see him at his desk at school, head bent, biting his tongue, carefully drawing, tracing, considering, hoping. I cried myself to sleep, and then the next morning I went and told him how much I loved his card- really told him.

That night I prayed: Please, please. Help me to pay attention. To see. To see past the defiance, the smirking and the acting out, to the lovingly traced letters and carefully drawn butterflies.

Re-entry

That's my friend Cindy's word for coming home after a wonderful vacation and having reality come crashing down on you. Laundry, phone calls, emails, errands, lessons, school, work.... Miss Marley keeps the mood light though- by squirting me with some of Eric's cologne this morning, so that I smelled like him all day long. And Eric entertains me by eating crickets. And the boys, well, all they seem to do these days is fight. My neighbors told me they bought a van when their two boys were this age so they could each have their own bench. I asked them when it got better and they said when the older one got his driver's license. Which didn't make me feel any better.

We had a wonderful week at the beach with wonderful friends, some of whom we hadn't seen in a year. We woke up each morning to sunlight reflecting off the ocean through our balcony window, and fell asleep to the laughter of the West coast contingent, still not adjusted to North Carolina time. Mothers' Day left me with a profound realization about my firstborn. The kids had endless hours of fun on the beach and endless access to snacks and cartoons. Amid runs to the pier (okay so I only made it to the pier once), delicious communal meals, afternoon gospel discussions in the hot tub and quiet moments of reading and journal writing, I found so many inspiring little glimpses into my friends' lives. One inspired me to be more creative in my solutions to problems (by fashioning a window shade from a baby blanket and a coat-hanger); Another reminded me of the sweet joy of using our talents to bless others (evidence of this to come in a future post); Another impressed me, as always, with her unfailing patience and love for her children; And still another taught me the importance of living in the moment and taking the time necessary to care for myself and my family without feeling anxious that I'm missing out on interaction with friends.

In next few days, as I finish sifting the sand from our clothes and towels, I'll be sifting these insights, pondering which ones I'm ready to try and bring into my life, and which ones are best admired from afar for now. I've learned that expecting myself to instantly morph into the good examples I see all around me is ineffective and diminishes my self worth. I need to have respect for my own unique nature and draw from other people only what I'm ready to receive.

Updates...

No news from the potential job in Atlanta. WE'RE NEVER GOING TO HEAR ANYTHING FROM THEM FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES! THEY'VE FALLEN OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH! Ahem...I mean, maybe next week?

Brigham has been thrown over by his first girlfriend- because he's too short. He's taking it pretty well.

Little Eric likes his new haircut (oops- I forgot to post pictures...coming soon).

Marley has learned to say 'nice' and to hit.

Big Eric ate a live cricket on a dare. Evidence below:

I really like this (if you can't see the whole thing, click on the link at the top of the box):

The "token goat"

Because the title of my last post was grossing me out every time I opened up my blog (which functions as my google reader page), here is my to-do list before we leave for a week at the beach on Saturday:

1. Clean house.

2. Not scream at kids when they wreck house between the time I clean it and the time we leave.

3. Buy sunscreen and swim diapers.

4. Go to library and check out fluffy beach books.

5. Look for library card which I haven't seen since the last time Marley played with my wallet.

6. Fill i-pod with beachy running/relaxing music (which will most certainly include the entire soundtrack from Wicked, which I saw this weekend, which was so amazing. So if you're vacationing on the North Carolina coast next week and you see a crazy woman leaping over tidal pools and singing Defying Gravity at the top of her lungs, just look the other way and let her have her little moment. Thanks:).

I think I need a little time away. Yesterday in church I didn't have the energy to take Marley out in the hall when she got loud so I gave her my sunglasses, which she broke. Then I gave her the pearl bracelet that Eric gave me for graduation and she broke that. Then, while Eric went to his meetings and I tried to shepherd the kids into the car to go home, little Eric told me that Brigham had just relieved himself in the bushes RIGHT in front of the church. (How did I not notice? No idea.) I sighed and told him it was not okay to do that and that next time he should go across the parking lot to the woods to pee. Then Eric helpfully suggested, "oooor, you could use the bathroom inside".

And I was like, oh- right, do that Briggie!

Definitely time for a week at the beach....