Riding Into Bushes

Every year, my extended family goes on a well deserved summer vacation.  They rent a house called the “Lighthouse,” tow a trailer stocked with bikes, beach chairs and umbrellas,  and high tail it to Santa Rosa Beach for a solid week of family fun.  It’s like the Griswalds only without the station wagon.  (We’ve upgraded.) 

After thirteen plus hours in the car, they spill out like bugs, claim their beds, and organize the first bike ride of the vacation.  Each event is a group event, equipped with plans, directions, and our mixed drink of choice.    

This year, my son and I shared a slice of this adventurous undertaking. 

We were fully entrenched in the whirlpool that is my family’s vacation.  It swirls and dips and sucks you in like none other.  I sometimes feel sorry for those that have married into the madness.  J 

Going on vacation with my large family is a lot like going in the deep end at the Raging Rivers wave pool.  You know there is a giant machine manufacturing the waves with the suction force of a plane engine; you just can’t locate its exact location.  So, you give up, have fun bobbing up and down like fishing lure and concentrate on keeping your head above water.      

The first thing my son mastered was riding a bike without brakes.  This could be another applicable analogy for going on vacation with the relatives.  It’s akin to riding a bike without brakes.  All go.  No stop.  Don’t look down. 

This was not actually his bike.  It was a little big for him.  But, he was intent on riding around the quiet neighborhood.  “Mom, just hold the bike,” he directed me while he climbed onto the seat and reached for the pedals.  “Okay mom… now just hold on while I start pedaling.”  So I trotted awkwardly with him for a few paces while he found his bike legs.  “Okay, let go mom.”  And released I did… “Be careful!”  No response.  He was already out of earshot or choosing to ignore me.  Either way, I was nervous on two fronts:

A.      He didn’t have brakes.

B.      He wasn’t looking out for cars.

“Watch out for cars” I yelled in vain.  He was racing down the street going faster than the 12 MPH posted speed limit.  I watch helpless as he jets, head down, around the bend.    

More relatives emerge from around the corner.  They are jogging their first lap around the neighborhood.  Exercising is much more exciting in a breezy, beachy setting.  Midstride and nonchalantly, my sister yells to me… “Tyler is riding into bushes to stop.“  She finds this humorous and stops to elaborate, “He finds a bush and rides right into it to break his fall.” 

Great.  We are going to be asked to leave… probably by the same people who posted the pretentious   12 MPH speed limit.  The neighborhood bylaws outlaw bush mangling I am sure.  These neighbors are not going to be happy. 

Tyler rounds the corner and I witness his technique first hand.  “Hi mom!” he yells like this is perfectly normal and crash, there goes the bush.  He brushes himself off and strolls the bike over to me, very proud of himself. 

He has mastered a bike that is meant for someone twice his age because he is fearless.  He needs a little help getting started and a bush to break his fall, but besides that, he enjoys the ride for all its worth.  “Mom, look at me!” he yells as he glides down the middle of the street, pedaling away. 

I am fascinated by his tenacious drive to succeed.  And I want to bottle it. 

He set a goal to ride that bike.  He found help, got up, and overcame the weaknesses.  Each step along the way, he could have let fear take over and ruin his bike ride.  But, he didn’t.  He believed in his ability and resolve too much.  Lack of brakes – a minor detail – didn’t deter him. 

But for so many of us, we lose before we even begin.  We could take a few pointers from a fearless six year old.  Don’t be afraid to ask for help.  Don’t be afraid to try something that looks too big to master.  Don’t be afraid to fall down.

My son wasn’t concerned about stopping or falling down.  He was enjoying the ride.  He got faster and more confident with each bike ride.  Pretty soon, I just had to the hold the bike upright while he climbed up and sailed out of my hands.  “Thanks mom!” he shouted.  “No problem bud” I yelled after him.  “Watch out for the rose bushes!”     

Enjoying the Teasers in Life... Big and Small

To commemorate my son’s first year of school, a lively musical was held at his school.  On a Tuesday night, I rushed from work to change my son’s shirt, slick his hair back, change my shoes and hightail it to Valley Park gymnasium.  Teacher of the Year Mr. Ketterman, whom all the kindergarteners adore, is on stage with his microphone and guitar.  He commands the attentions of the 100 kids on stage.  Together for the next thirty minutes, the darlings sing their hearts out to top 40 hits, like “Dynamite” by Usher, Justin Beiber’s, “Baby,” as well as their own original creations. 

One song was cleverly repetitious.   They had to pick an animal and rhyme it with a thing or object – like a cat in a hat.  These words would then fit into the song. 

“Oh a hunting we will go

a hunting we will go

we’ll catch a bear

and put him in underwear

and then we’ll let him go.” 

This went on and on with different animals that were placed into the song, like a dog in a log or a brontosaurus in the chorus.

Parents around me have their souped up video cameras on tripods, and I have a four-year old malfunctioning camera that is running out of battery.  I’m feeling low.  My son is in the back row trying to see over the puffy bangs of the girl in front of him.  He’s looking all around for us, and I’m waving frantically.  We are all elbow to elbow in loud, metal folding chairs straining to see our children.  The lady sitting next to me struggles to keep a baby quiet while her husband is zooming in with his video camera on their adorable red headed daughter, Kennedy, in the front row.  I’m feeling even lower.  This mother with three kids can get it together enough to bring her video camera so that they will have a video they can treasure for years.  Their daughter sings the songs perfectly and mimes the motions precisely.  Mine is goofing off in the back row. 

I am silently kicking myself.  Why couldn’t I leave work early enough to charge my camera’s battery?  The iphone camera I am using is crap.  It doesn’t zoom and all I can capture is the top of his head.  I’ll have a really good picture of his spiky colic.   

But, in the end, it’s the memory that counts.  The night before the “big show” I was tucking my son into bed asking about how prepared he was for his musical.  “Can you give me a teaser?”  “What’s a teaser mom?”  I explained that it was giving me a taste of what songs he had planned so that I can look forward to it. 

So that night, tucked into his dinosaur sheets with his bumble bee pillow pet, he serenaded me with various different vignettes of the songs to come, stopping just short of giving away the whole song, and leaving me wanting more.  “That was very good Tyler!”  

I thought back on those special moments at bedtime while I was craning my neck to see the last song.  This event was for my son to feel special and accomplished, not for me to catch perfect video or pictures.  So I put down the camera and just enjoyed the show.  He was having a blast in the back row.  He found me in the audience and sang harder and louder.  I clapped ferociously, not caring that I was probably waking up the sleeping baby next to me.   

I realized that sometimes the small moments in life are more special that the big moments.  I got a first row seat to my son’s “teaser” in his bed the night before.  I could hear him loud and clear.  That was a special moment.  That was when he was felt accomplished and proud to belt out everything he had learned.  That moment was just as important as his moment on stage.  He could care less if I was recording it or not.  He just wanted my attention – the same attention he had when I tucked him into bed. 

As adults, we could learn from this lesson.  We spend so much time managing our lives for the stage, thinking that the “big musicals” are the only thing that’s going to matter in the end.  That’s when the video is rolling, the credits come out.  That’s when everyone is watching. 

But, I think it’s the small moments backstage that really make us who we really are.  We forget in the busyness of life to cherish the serenades, the bedside chats, and the anticipation of achievements.  As working women and moms we are so goal oriented, type A, overworked and perfectionist strived that we miss the “teasers” in life, the small moments that give life meaning and an overall theme.  Looking back, had I not experienced the serenade of the kindergarten musical, it wouldn’t have been nearly as special.  That is the tragedy.  Our overcompensating attitude toward life covers the crux of what we are working so hard for.  Life is made up of small moments and big moments.  Sometimes it’s the small moments that give so much meaning to the big moments.  Let’s not forget to enjoy the teasers.

Mother's Day, Moles, and Mantles

“Mom.  Come here!  Quick.”  My son is squatting down by a rock pointing at something black and furry with a tail.  It scurries under a rock, darts over the grass, and starts burrowing in the ground.  I squat down too and take a closer look.  Uggh… It’s a mole.  And it’s responsible for the mounds of dirt and tracks we get in our yard every year.  I hate these things.  “Give me the bat Tyler…” I regretfully request.  He hands it over; his eyes peeled on the enthusiastic rodent. 

I lift my arms to swing the bat, but lose my resolve.  I can’t do it.  I can’t crush a mole in front of my son.  His eyes are still peeled and I can tell the thing is gaining ground…literally.  I’m torn between letting the thing reek its havoc in our front yard or getting over my fear of squashing a live thing to its death… in front of my son… with his bat.    

So, I do what any woman of sound mind would do.  I call for back up.  We are screaming in unison, “Hurry!  Come here!” as the thing sinks lower and lower in the ground.  My husband arrives… almost too late.  And he has no problem banging that bat down on the moving earth.  He has patting down more molehills than I have. 

“He’s dead…” he remarks casually and hands Tyler the bat.  My son is in shock… “Dad, that’s one of God’s creatures…”

 “Well he’s with God now” my husband replies. 

My son is still squatting down, watching the now motionless, belly up mole.

I’m happy as the innocent bystander and only a witness to the crime.   

That answer seems to work.  He can dig molehills up in heaven, and we soon get distracted trying to figure out how to dispose of the animal and marveling at just how long its claws are. 

I am happy I made the right decision.  We moms have to think twice about what to bang in the head and when to do it. 

Had this been a head of lettuce, I would have had no problem banging the heck out of it. 

But, I start to think of my immediate impulse as a woman, mom, and gardener… On Mother’s Day, I wanted to bang that thing that was rooting through my ground in the head with a bat. 

I wanted it dead.  Not captured or stunned, but dead. 

I think this is how all moms are wired.  We plant the seeds in our children’s lives, we water the seeds, we watch them grow, and we sure the hell don’t want any trespassers chewing through it! 

Earlier, not two feet from the alleged misdemeanor, I was having a nice conversation with my neighbor.  She brought over a late Christmas gift, which made for a wonderful Mother’s Day gift.  It was a wine holder with the bottle swinging in a small hammock strapped to palm trees on a beach… It’s going on my mantle.  Everything about the gift says, “Relax.  Lay down.  Drink me.” 

I have to laugh that fifteen minutes after receiving this relaxing, symbolic gift I am poised over a mole with a bat and my bug eyed son yelling, “Don’t kill it mom!”   

It’s the story of our lives as mothers.  What we deserve and want more of (sleep, wine, and a vacation) sits on our mantle, while the unexpected reality (a live mole crawling through our garden) waits for us around the corner.     

It’s all how we swing the bat that gets us to the next inning. 

What Life Throws Your Way

You haven't really lived until you've sidelined a T-ball practice for kindergarteners. 

Their first game is tomorrow and coaches Jeff and Bobby Jo struggle to teach eight little kids with varying skill levels the organized game of baseball.  The only girl on the team, Lilah, is up first with a white flower barrette pinning back her massive mound of frizzy jet-black hair.  Lilah is headstrong and whirls her pink polka dotted bat defiantly through the air with style but no contact. 

Another boy, Connor, screams at the top of his lungs when he runs from base to base.  Logan prances up to home base in his spanking new orange helmet and Old Navy tracksuit, but struggles with swinging the heavy bat across his body.  The bat's momentum whirls him around in a full circle.   

Loudmouthed, older sister, Trisha "coaches" from the sidelines as she pushes her little brother, stroller and all, onto the field in the direct path of the pitch.  She gets shouted off the field and play resumes. 

Coach Bobby Jo yells, "Get in your ready positions," and all eight kids squat and perch their elbows on their knees with gloves aimed at the batter - a batter who has his legs spread so far apart he almost loses his balance.

Tyler swaggers up to bat chewing his Dubble Bubble, confident in his obvious superior grasp of the game.  "Something tells me we have a slugger on our hands," Coach Jeff yells from the pitcher position.    Veteran player, Carter, yells from first base, "I'm going hard on you Tyler!" 

Tyler is up for the challenge.  His eyes gleam as he addresses the plate with authority.  The whole field grows quiet.  You can feel the anticipation in the air.  "Get in your ready positions!" The kids squat down in unison.  Crack.  Tyler makes contact and jets off to first.

We parents on the sidelines are doubled over in tears at the organized chaos.  We have our own hilarious real life version of "Sandlot" and have to wonder if the other team's are as bad as we are. 

I'm a little worried.  Will my competitive, aggressive, perfectionist athlete son be happy playing on a team with a bunch of happy-go-lucky kids who could care less about baseball? 

I have to wonder if their are teams full of other aggressive, competitive and talented athletes.  Are we going to be the laughingstock of the league? 

But, when I look out at the field, my son is having a blast.  He's enjoying the game for the fun of it.

We could all take a lesson from this ragamuffin crew.  They didn't have to be perfect or beat anyone.  They weren't playing for the points.  They just had to express themselves.  Lilah didn't care if she missed the ball every single time.  She just liked swinging her polka dot bat!  They didn't worry about each "at bat" and whether of not it would be good enough for the onlookers.  They just tried to make the best of each throw and each opportunity. 

Maybe we adults should take some pointers.  Instead of worrying about the score and our "batting averages," we should concentrate on getting to know our team, developing team spirit, making the best of every opportunity, what life throws our way, and maybe running from 1st to 2nd base yelling at the top of our lungs. 

If we did this, I think life would seem a little more enjoyable and in the moment.  We could take our eyes off of the unreachable goals and back on what is happening right around us.  Because, sometimes what is happening in the present, everyday life is really what life is all about. 

Forty-five minutes later, we've gone through the lineup and head to the dugout.  The team receives their game gear - kelly green hats and matching t-shirts.

Tyler is excited for tomorrow's game.  He doesn't seem worried that other teams may be better and more prepared.  He's happy in his place on the team and confident that he will make the best of whatever life throws his way.           

Jellybeans and Good Intentions

“Your son is so well behaved!” a lady in the paper towel aisle expresses behind me.  I look around me, sure she is not talking to me.  My “well-behaved” son has been wheeling the cart around corners, cutting people off and is now perched on top of the Diet Pepsi 24 packs drinking a chocolate milk we have yet to pay for.    

“He is?” I ask pertinently.

“Yes, I was watching him in the candy aisle and he was so careful to pour every last one of the jellybeans in his hand back into the canister.  I was so impressed!  If that were my son, he would just stick all those jelly beans in his pocket and walk away.” 

I was skeptical to say the least.  The questions ran through my mind.  “How did he get the handful of jellybeans?  What other buttons did he push?  And where is he now?”  The tower of 24 packs was empty. 

But, I smiled and said, “Thank you.  He is something.”  And went to go find my six year old. 

Later that day, I was retelling the story in front of Tyler and my husband.  “This lady at the store was so impressed with Tyler!”  The story had sunk in.  I was proud.  Maybe he was putting all those jelly beans back, knowing that stealing was wrong. 

“Is this true Tyler?” my husband asked.  He nodded. “Yep, I tried one but I didn’t like it.  So, I poured them back.”  Aha…. 

Tyler nodded approvingly of his actions, not thinking that he may want to take credit for the first story. 

He was a hero in the first story – conscientious, thoughtful, and careful not to take something that wasn’t his.  He made that woman’s day!  She had hope in the world for all six year olds that there were a few well taught ones.  She was raving about him.  “He is so cute!” she said, “He was so meticulous about putting every one of them back.” 

“Well, at least he’s honest,” my husband remarked, trying to think of another good character trait we could hang our hats on as parents. 

So the action was not completely benevolent.  It actually was entirely self serving.  He did not mistakenly push the button and have to put them all back.  He purposefully pressed the button, tried one, and put them all back. 

Same end action.  Those manhandled, sticky jelly beans are back in their rightful place.  But, different intention.  

It’s the same way in how we live our lives.  It’s not always about the end result or what is in the eye of the beholder that matters.  It is the intention of the heart.

Sometimes, what is perceived is really different than what is real.    

As a six year old, Tyler didn’t know to cover up his real intentions like so many of us non-six year olds do.  His only way of living is to intend something and express his intentions, good or bad.

When we cover up our true intentions, we grow unhappy.  We grow out of ourselves and become a bystander to a life we are really not living. 

Not my son.  He is living his life to the fullest.  Jellybeans or no jellybeans, he stays true to what he thinks and believes. 

It’s just my job to make sure he pushes the right buttons. 

Life's Training Wheels

I’m reading a book called The Last Lecture.  It’s a professor’s last words of advice to his children, students and readers.  This successful and popular computer science professor died of pancreatic cancer shortly after he wrote this book.  His goal was to share what he has learned about the keys to an enriching life. 

In his book, he states that “being earnest is better than being hip.”  Those that are earnest in life will go far in their dreams. 

However, as we all start our work week and gear up for the day to day busyness in life, I have to wonder how earnest we are.  Is this what happens when we get older?  We lose our earnestness?

Another word for “earnest” is passion.  Being passionate about something is more important that fitting in. But, too many times, we try to fit ourselves in the mold than break the mold.  And we wonder where all the earnestness we used to have escaped to?  Being earnest knows no mold.

My son lives every moment of every day in deep earnest.  Whether it’s playing hockey and scoring twelve goals (yes, 12!) or picking out the best doughnuts at the bakery, he does everything in deep earnest.

Today, he found me in the backyard and declared confidently, “Mom, I think it’s time for my training wheels to come off.”  Not much comes out in question form with this kid.  “Mom, I need something to drink.  Mom, you forgot my lunch money.  Mom, you left the car door open.”  Thanks bud.

I asked the obvious question anyway, “How do you know you are ready to go without training wheels?”  No hesitation.  “I just know Mom.”  “Have you ridden a bike before without training wheels?” I persisted.  “No mom. But, I won’t know until they are off.”  Good point. 

He trots off to find the toolbox and before I know it, I’m ratcheting off lug nuts on my hands and knees.  “Good job Mom!” my son pats me on the back.    

My son has never had a lack of confidence or bravado.  In fact, it oozes out of him.  Off he went thinking that he was going to go flying down the street with no hands doing wheelies.  But, instead he swerves and falls down.  Thank goodness for helmets.  But, he gets up again in earnest, juts his chin out, and tries again.   

I had to laugh.  Come hell or high water, he was going to conquer that bike.  Another line in the book - “Brick walls are there to stop the people who don’t want it badly enough.”  While we may walk along the brick wall and wonder why it’s there, my son will take one look at it, set his mind to it, and start climbing. 

This is why we start losing the earnestness in life.  We let the brick walls stop us and misdirect us.  We walk along them instead of finding a way to break through them.  We let them become fixtures in our lives, obstructions we have to accept, rather than tearing them down. 

My son was no longer going to stand having training wheels on.  Even at six years old, he knew this was a brick wall that he was going to remove.  These decisions fuel his earnestness in life.  He fails and succeeds, but doesn’t pay attention to the failure.  In fact, the failure teaches him more than the successes. 

Another line in the book.  “Experience is what you get when you didn’t get what you wanted.  And experience is often the most valuable thing you have to offer.”  While we may try and fall down without training wheels, what we do with what we have learned is the most important thing.  This becomes our legacy and our own “last lecture.”  But, we have to do it in earnest or no one will want to listen.   

Dreaming of Ukuleles

“You are the author of your own life.”

This is the first line of a birthday card I received from my wonderful parents. 

Now that I am fully entrenched in the thirties and have started a new chapter in life, this sentence means more to me.  We each have a story to tell and to write.  And it needs to be told while we are still living it. 

We may feel unprepared to give our feedback on life and want to withdraw to the background and let someone else do the talking.  But, we need to grab life’s moments when they come and tell our stories.  The mistakes are as crucial to the story as the successes.  Why do we hide from our own story?  Why do we let someone else take our pen? 

“No one else can know the dreams you dream or the strengths you have within you that will help you make your dreams come true.” 

Another truth that rings true.  When I was a child, my dreams were so clear and distinct.  You didn’t doubt that they would all come true.  As an adult, life gets messy.  Choices become less clear.  Decisions become more difficult.  And dreams take the backseat to reality.  A dream is saddled with consequences and concrete choices.    

My son told me today one of his dreams.  “When I grow up, I’m going to play the ukulele.”  This came out of thin air and I asked him why.  “Mr. Ketterman has one.  He’s my favorite teacher.”  This same teacher taught him the song he endlessly sings entitled, “Joe and the Button Factory.” 

I know why he has this aspiration.  He sees his teacher who loves music and breathes it into life for his little pupils and helps them dream.  He listens to the little voice inside his heart.  He doesn’t care about the consequences or method to get there.    

I had teachers who inspired me to dream and think beyond everyday life.  But, when we grow up and become thirty or forty or fifty somethings, we look back and wonder what happened to our purity of a dream.  What happened to the crystal clear little voice inside our heart that told us what we liked, disliked, how we felt, and what we wanted to do with our lives. 

It’s like we set down the pen and start letting others write our story for us. 

My son just started to learn to write in Kindergarten.  I was surprised that they were teaching this so early in school.  They weren’t worried about misspelled words or grammar mistakes.  They concentrated on getting the six year olds to write a complete thought down on paper.  What did they want to say?  What kind of opinion or question about the world did they have?  What was their story so far. 

They were taught to write the first and last letter correctly, use the proper punctuation, and spell the rest phonetically.  Amazingly, with this limited skillset, I could understand what my son was trying to convey. 

This way of writing is a lot like life.  We don’t have to get everything spelled correctly.  We don’t have to know every letter before we write the word.  But, we have to start writing.  If we get caught up in the mechanics of writing, just like in life, we will never start telling our story.  Getting the beginning letter and the last letter right is the important part. 

My son doesn’t care about his mistakes.  He cares that I can understand what he was saying.  Just like in life, the mechanics are not as important as the meaning.  Sometimes, we lose sight of our dreams and the real story we want to live and only see the spelling errors and grammatical mistakes.  But, we can have a perfectly crafted paper without a story.

Just like my son, who’s not afraid to write on anything, I want to start writing again.  We each have new chapters in life and it’s up to us to fill them with what we want.