June 17, 2011 ~ Day 189 Swimming In The Gene Pool

One of the coolest parts of parenting so far has been getting a fresh glimpse of the world around me, through the eyes of my children. As they discover their surroundings and try to puzzle out the meaning behind all of the many mysteries that surround them, it reminds me of the wondrous aspects of nature and human innovation that I take for granted every day.

Like all children, my three kids have many questions about how the world works and why it works that way.

A random sampling of their recent questions:

• Why does the refrigerator get cold?
• Where does electricity come from?
• How many feet above the ocean is our house, and how did it get up here?
• How does the key turn the car on and make it go?
• Where does the thunder come from and why is it so loud?
• What is the difference between organic food and regular food?
• Will I be as tall as my brother? If not, why not?

This last question actually ignited a pretty interesting conversation in our car today on the way home from collecting the younger brother from preschool.

We were talking about how tall boys and girls grow, and how old they are when they stop growing. I mentioned that one of my older brothers grew until he was 20, while I myself stopped growing at the age of 13.

"Why?" my son asked. "How does your body know when to stop growing?"

"There is a sort of map in your body," I tried to explain. "The map is in every cell of your body, in every part of you. It tells your cells how to develop and what to become."

"A map?"

"Yes. It's like that. The scientists call that map your DNA."

"DNA? I have DNA?"

"Yes."

"And my DNA tells my body how to become and how big to grow?"

"Yes, something like that."

"Does my map tell my body how to make my eyes and my hair and my fingers?"

"Actually, yes! It's a little complicated though."

"Where does my map come from?"

"Well, half of it comes from your mommy. And half of it comes from your daddy. We each give half of the map to you, which we pass forward from our own DNA."

"You have maps in your bodies too?"

"We do. Anyway, when a mommy and a daddy decide to put together a baby, each of them makes a copy of half of their map - and together, they make up the map for the baby. Their maps combine to make the baby's DNA."

"So did I get your DNA, or my daddy's DNA?"

"You got both. However, each of us gives you one set of directions for every part of your body - and there is always a dominant set and a weak set of directions."

"What is dominant, mom?"

"It means strong. Both of us give you directions but one set is strong and clear, while the other set may be weaker. Whichever set of directions is strongest will dominate over the weaker one.

So, for example, your daddy has bright blue eyes. And I have brown eyes. Which of us do you think had the stronger set of directions when our DNA blended to make you guys?"

"I have pazel eyes!" cried our little boy. "My sister has pazel eyes too!"

"Well," I said, "Do any of you three kids have bright blue eyes?"

"No," they shook their heads.

"I have brown eyes like you," announced the oldest boy.

"So which of our eyes do you think were dominant, mine or your Dad's?"

"Yours."

"That's right," I nodded. "All three of you have brown in your eyes, and none of you ended up with blue eyes. But, maybe there is a reason for that. Your daddy needed to wear thick glasses growing up in order to see the world. I have fantastic eyesight and have never needed glasses. So, when our DNA combined, all three of you got stronger eyes than your daddy has. Your bodies selected the strongest, healthiest eyes."

"Cool!" smiled my bigger son.

"But whose hair do you think was dominant?" I added.

"Yours?" he asked hopefully.

"Uh, no... Look around the car. What color hair do all three of you have. Is it mine?"

"No!" he laughed. "It's Daddy's!"

"That's right," I smiled. "All three of you got your father's hair. So he had the dominant DNA map for hair color."

"But mommy," the little guy raised his voice. "My daddy is losing his hair! He doesn't have much hair."

"Good point," I laughed. "I still think he is very handsome, just as he is. But maybe the two of you boys will want to consider the fact that you are both very likely to begin balding before the age of thirty."

"Why, mommy?"

"Unfortunately for you, baldness runs on BOTH sides of your family! My father (your grandfather) was bald before I was born... and since your daddy has the same problem, I would say chances are very large that you both inherited male pattern baldness."

"Oh no!" the little boys giggled. "We're going to be BALD!" At ages 4 and 5, growing bald seems hilarious to them - almost as funny as if I'd told them that our last name is actually Potty. Bodily humor charms my sons to no end these days.

"Don't worry, you'll still each be mighty handsome," I smiled.

"I want to see my DNA map!" the youngest one hugged me as he climbed out of the car and headed for the front door of our house.

"Me too!" I thought to myself. "I'd LOVE to see our family DNA map. That would be incredibly cool!"

For the first time in years I was reminded of just how incredible the human body truly is - its regenerative capacity, its reproductive ability, the creativity and magic which somehow infuse our biological propagation and self-preservation as a species.

What a total joy to recall the mysterious, awe-inspiring nature of the physical world. I feel so blessed by the opportunity to see life through the eager (brown-dominant) eyes of my children!

June 16, 2011 ~ Day 188 ...Don't Lose The Lesson

A few weeks ago I blogged about a private tutoring session I'd just led where I left the family's home with the weird feeling that the vibe had been off and I might not be hearing from them again.

I could not put my finger on exactly WHY I felt that way. I just had that impression.

So far however, my intuition has proved accurate... I never heard back from the mother nor did she respond to my polite thank you email.

As I've waited patiently to see whether or not she would respond, I've frequently wondered what I might have done differently to improve as a tutor on that day for their family (the only time I had ever met the mother or child) so that I wouldn't have lost the account.

Tonight while driving home from working with another student ~ which is going extremely well ~ I realized that in all of the years I have tutored students privately, this was actually the only time to my knowledge that I have ever had a client immediately dissatisfied with my work. No wonder it shook me!

As I turned a corner, a sudden thought struck leaving me laughing. "Why don't I just ask them for feedback? If they were dissatisfied, I can simply ask why! If I know what the problem is... I can work on bettering myself and improve what I have to offer for future clients!"

I don't know why I didn't think of that weeks ago.

What a novel concept... just ASK. Ask for feedback.

This purpose of this 365 blog is to explore the meaning of life, as intended for my three small children, and to share with them my own often hard-won perspective.

It makes perfect sense then, to devote today's post to the importance of coming face to face with failure and loss, then finding the courage to ask for constructive criticism.

As a young girl and (later) adolescent, I was definitely not comfortable asking for feedback. I literally cringed at the notion of receiving a bad grade, and burned all papers returned to me covered in the teacher's red ink.

Constructive advice did not make me angry. Not at all. Rather, extensive critiques reinforced my own self doubt and insecurity to the point of depleting my sense of self esteem. I felt physically ill. I was already equipped with such a harsh inner critic that getting objective feedback from the outside world often just compounded my own sense of inadequacy.

For example, it would not have occurred to me to ask my Freshman English teacher why I couldn't seem to crack a "B" in her class. I would also never have made a point of asking the police officer that gave me my first stoplight ticket how I could be a better driver (although traffic school helped out with that one...) and I don't think it ever crossed my mind in the first 23 years I knew my parents to ask them how I could be a better daughter.

Similarly, it would not have occurred to me at age 16 to ask my high school boyfriend why he'd broken up with me. (Even if he'd given me some straightforward answer like, "You're self-involved, You talk too much, I want a girlfriend who will sleep with me, I met someone else," etc, I'm not sure I'd have been ready to hear his truth back then.)

I spent a lot of my adolescence and early adulthood mystified then, groping in the dark for answers and wondering what was WRONG with me; why a lot of things I'd wanted or loved slipped out of my grasp, much to my dismay.

The funny thing is, I would have saved a lot of time and heartache by simply asking for the lesson.

For example,
"What was wrong with this paper and why did you give it a C+?"
"What was missing for you in our relationship? Are there ways in which you think I could grow and mature?"
"How can I be a better and kinder friend to you?"
"How are you feeling about things with me right now? Are there life lessons you think I need to learn?"

There *were* a few times when I DID ask for the truth, mind you, and didn't get it. When I asked the serious boyfriend who was leaving me at the age of 23 if there was another woman in the picture, and he defensively insisted "No! There's no-one else!" - that was one instance of me actually being brave enough to stand right up next to the painful truth... and Life not playing fair and square. (As it turns out, he's married to her today.)

But overall, asking for honest constructive feedback - even when painful to hear - would probably have yielded some honest answers over time and made an important difference in my growth and self-view.

Denial is not a great platform for growth. Facing hard truths can do a lot for personal evolution.

Important life lessons often come out of failure and loss. That old cliche, "When you lose, don't lose the lesson" is actually fairly valid. I've done a lot of losing in my 35 years, and I've learned a lot of lessons the hard way. Each of those lessons has, I believe, functioned to make me a better person. More humble and definitely more grateful!

Here are just a few of the important life lessons I learned the hard way from losses I brought upon myself at earlier ages. Each one has its own story:

• Don't mix career and romance.
• Don't support another person on your credit card.
• Don't take family members for granted - they won't live forever.
• Don't gossip. Ever.
• Be careful who you tell your personal secrets to...
• Don't lie. Ever. The truth always comes out.
• Don't give your heart away to just anyone. Make them work for it.
• If you show only your optimistic, sunny side people will accuse you of being false or insincere.

I'm sure there are many more losses I incurred along the way, all of which brought important lessons.

One loss that stands out at this moment:

At the age of 25? 26? not long before beginning to date my husband, I flew to Texas to visit an old college fling that I'd never really closed the door on. The guy was exciting and romantic, and we had good chemistry. For at least 6 years he'd held a small but crucial piece of my heart despite geographical distance between us.

Once there, I was so surprised and bummed by his post-college lifestyle. There were a lot of hard drugs, a lot of escapism. Worse, he and his friends routinely drove all over the state while drinking a ton of beer at the wheel, putting not only themselves but also other innocent drivers and passengers in danger.

"Look," I announced. "I'm not going to get in a car where the driver is literally drinking while driving. Maybe that makes you think I'm lame or childish. I don't care."

"We're not in California anymore," he replied. "Things work differently here. This is Texas. People think and act more independently than they do where you live. You're in my house and you need to play by my rules. When in Rome, you know... Don't be a prude."

"Then I guess it is time for me to leave your house," I retorted, "And return to my own. I live by my own rules and I'm not going to drive around this state in some car with a drunk ass*(&^ behind the wheel, just to impress you."

It may sound from this exchange like it would have been easy for me to fly home and let go of that guy. After all, I'd lost a lot of respect for him -- and clearly he had no respect for my 'uptight' California lifestyle either. He'd called me a prude, his own form of feedback. What can I say - at least he was honest.

Saying goodbye to him, which I did that week in Texas, felt like a true loss to me though. I guess if anything, I was mourning the loss of some innocent romantic notions I'd long cherished where I pictured him cleaning himself up and us ending up together. We wrote back and forth a little after the trip, but it was never the same again.

The lessons I took from that week in Texas were many. You can love the idea of a person, but not respect the actual person all that much. We were not suited to each other, despite six years of trysts, dreaming and hoping.

I learned that it really doesn't matter how other people see you, especially if their peer pressure is putting your own life and health at risk. I learned that I was strong enough to walk away from someone magnetically attractive, because in the end, I honored myself more than I honored him.

Happily, just three months later my husband and I went on our first date and the rest is history. Perhaps by losing a misguided conception of what I thought I wanted, I finally freed myself up to find something real and lasting.

* * * * *

The purpose of this post is simple... life is full of mistakes and losses. You can learn a lot about how to expand as a person and improve your chances for future success by asking for clear, honest feedback. There is always a lesson in every loss, if you are brave enough to look for it.

In my freshman yearbook from high school, a close friend (graduating senior, wonderful girl!) wrote the following advice - which I took to heart, and has served me well over the past 21 years:

"One last piece of advice - listen to what people say about you, even if it hurts to hear criticism. Try to think deeply about it and look for the truth in it. If you find you don't like yourself or your life situation, you ALWAYS have the power to change!"

June 15, 2011 ~ Day 187 Bicycles and Beans

The best hour of our day, without question, was the one where I motivated to take my children with their bicycles and helmets down to a local bike path that wraps around a large body of water.

The boys were so excited! They pedaled their little legs as hard as they could, and fell off their bikes like 30 times whenever they tried to swerve around pedestrians or other cyclists.

"Stay to the right!" I'd shout, and they'd both promptly turn left, much to the chagrin of the folks trying to pass them.

Still, it was hard even for the grimmest stranger to be frustrated with such cute little guys in their helmets - biking their hearts out along the boardwalk. Eventually I realized that if I was more specific ("Stay close to the water!") they did a lot better figuring out where to ride and stopped creating traffic jams.

Even my two year old girl enjoyed that part of our day, despite the fact that she was trapped in a stroller due to her inability to scooter along fast enough to keep up with the boys. She laughed and squealed and pointed out the things she saw ("Mama - Birdeeee!!! Mama - Boat!!!") so all in all, the bike trip was an unqualified success.

If I'd been grading myself on mothering ability right then, I think I would have earned a solid "B", fair and square. It was a strong effort. When we got into the car, my sons agreed that they'd had a good time and the smaller one added,

"I had REALLY fun here. REALLY fun, mommy!"

Of course, within fifteen minutes the ground had shifted beneath my feet significantly.

We'd stopped by the grocery store on our way home from bicycling, to pick up needed items for the week. Grocery shopping with three little kids, on purpose, is like taking a needle and plunging it directly into your eye. Really. Why would anyone ever do it, if they didn't ABSOLUTELY have to?

Okay, maybe it's not quite THAT bad.
I'm also willing to admit that maybe, it's just MY kids.

Still,

Navigating the parking lot alone with them is enough to make me totally crazy. How many times can a woman really say, firmly and sincerely,

"You need to stay RIGHT HERE with me while I get your sister out of the car.
RIGHT HERE.
Guys.
Do you understand?
There are CARS everywhere around you. This is NOT a good place to mess around.
Are you hearing me?
This is NOT a good place to fight with each other.
Please stop pushing each other.
Boys? Boys? Boys!!!"

Add to that an exhausted two year old who hadn't napped and felt hungry.

"I WANT APPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!" she screamed as we arrived in the produce aisle. "I WANT MILK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

She grabbed wildly at all food and bottles within reach of her seat in the cart, knocking many things off of shelves and giving me plenty of reason to apologize every time we saw a passing clerk or shelf stocker... and to the numerous customers giving us dirty looks along the way.

What IS it about grocery stores that brings out the worst in my children?

When I really think it through, I guess it is understandable that they find it difficult to control their impulses when they are surrounded by a million tasty things that they aren't allowed to touch.

I wonder what my kids would DO if left unfettered to roam freely throughout a grocery store and eat anything they wanted to. Would they end up huddled in a ball somewhere in the snack bar aisle, after stuffing their little faces with twenty marshmallow and peanut butter bars? Would gallons of milk soak the cement floors beneath the cereal section?

It's an interesting thing to ponder.

Back to our day though, it seriously got to the point where the clerks themselves started to try to discipline my kids for me ("You need to act more nicely for your mother, young man!")

Possibly I need to find a different grocery store frequented by more families, so that my kids won't be the only children in the entire store. They really stand out... possibly because you can hear them coming from a mile away.

(As an aside, I have to hold back from laughing every time our little traveling herd comes close to a single guy in his mid to late twenties, I've frequently seen them look at my three kids and respond as though they are a contagious disease that may be catching... backing off slowly in the opposite direction ~ ESPECIALLY if they are grocery shopping with a date or girlfriend. I can only guess at what they are thinking - but it makes me laugh every time.)

By the time we left the market tonight, I had probably quietly asked my children to stop grabbing each other about thirty times. All three kids had lost dessert - a natural consequence, given that their misbehaviors centered around food.

The boys took this loss in stride, knowing full well that they'd crossed a few too many lines with me. Our toddler was sobbing however "MeMe wanna Cupcake! Cupcake!" and I later discovered that she'd shoplifted a small rainbow colored refrigerator magnet from the checkout aisle that reads: "Celebrate Who You Are!"

While a bit cheesy, I decided that maybe the magnet was Life's way of sending me a warm reminder to celebrate who WE are as a family - joys and warts (and chaos!) and all.

We're only two days into the kids' Summer Break from school and already I've drawn one important conclusion... every day is going to have its highs and lows, and if I want to feel good about the Summer as a whole I'm going to have to celebrate the highs and appreciate them as they happen.

So on that note, I'll sign off with the visual of two little boys racing around a wide boardwalk on their bikes (Spiderman and tiger striped, respectively) cheering at the June sky.

"Mama!!!! Look at Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!! I'm so fast!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

June 14, 2011 ~ Day 186 Four Years of Love with our 'Pazel'-Eyed Boy

Wouldn't you know it... I went to bed at 1:30am on the *one* night when my younger son would awaken at 2:25am screaming at the top of his lungs "MY TUMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY TUMMY HURRRRRRRRRRTS!!!!!! and crying hysterically.

Then when I rushed in to him, wouldn't it make things just THAT much better to have him vomit instantly the moment I lifted him in my arms - covering both of us with his puke.

Compounding matters, wouldn't it be ironic if all of this was happening on his fourth birthday? So that when I called the on-call nurse around 4:00am to let her know that his fever had spiked to 104 degrees F and was still climbing (it peaked at 105) and she asked, "When is your son's birthday, Ma'am?" my voice would wobble just a little when I answered:

"Today."

Laying on the couch with my child in the wee hours of the morning, with him snuggling into me loosely wrapped in a single blanket and dosed with children's generic Motrin, I couldn't help think about how precious he is to us and how he deserves the best in life. Seems like over his four years, he's had to deal with more than his fair share of sickness and getting beaten up by both of his siblings.

I do believe that everything happens for a purpose though, and it strikes me that perhaps our son has suffered a little more than his brother and sister in order to give him a more grateful, adaptable spirit. He is so laid back and good natured - and he doesn't take life too seriously. As his grandparents like to say, he's a real trooper. These qualities are bound to serve him well throughout life.

Because his fever continued to climb and sleep for either of us was not a real option, I pulled out the five pages of photos and writing I'd just created for his school birthday celebration and read them aloud to him. His new school honors all birthdays by having parents write the "story" of their child's lives, complete with photos. For every year of life, they provide one page upon which parents are asked to write a description of that year for the child.

My son was given sheets for his "Birth" and then ages 1 through 4. I'd spent the better part of an hour putting together his life story before bedtime, recounting the special milestones that he experienced during each year - ranging from learning how to crawl out of his own crib (1st Big Boy Bed!) to learning how to use the potty, taking family vacations and learning how to ride his tricycle without training wheels.

Slowly we read through all of the pages together, with him pointing out different things he noticed in each of the photos of his life.

At 4:30am then, with his feverish little head tucked into my shoulder, I began to tell him the story of his birth.

"On the day you were born," I started, "the Sun was shining brightly. You came out of my tummy and into the world in a light and airy room... at the end of what had been a beautiful afternoon.

Your Daddy was there with me, and your Mima (grandma). They cried with happiness when they saw how perfect you were. You didn't cry though. Actually, you smiled. You were the only baby I had who came into the world smiling."

"How big was I?" he murmured.

"You weighed 7 lbs 10 oz."

"Is that a lot for a baby? Is that big?"

"You were a good size for a baby. An excellent, normal size."

"And what did I look like?" he asked.

"Well, you had a full head of hair. But your head itself was very pointy because sometimes it gets squished a little bit when the baby comes out of the tummy. (Don't worry though, by the next day your head looked like a regular baby head.) You had such a sweet face. And you had a really interesting birth mark on your back."

"Do I still have the birth mark?"

"Yes, you do. It is fading, but it is still there."

"And I had Pazel eyes? Pazel that were green with brown?"

"Hazel eyes? You have those now honey but when you were born, your eyes were actually blue. Most babies have blue eyes at birth."

"Was I talking? Did I talk to you when I came out? What did I say?"

"Well honey, babies don't usually know how to talk right away. You spoke to us with your eyes though, and through your smile. You made it clear that you were happy to be with us. We were incredibly happy to be with you too."

"Was my brother there? Was he in the room when I got borned?"

"No, your brother was back at your grandmother's house waiting to meet you. And do you know what? Your brother was THRILLED because the very first thing you did when you met him was to give him his first little guitar."

"I DID? Why did I do that?"

"Because you were happy to meet him. You wanted him to know that you were glad to be his brother, and that you wanted to be his friend too. You were a very sweet baby."

"Oh. Good. Mommy?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Did you and Daddy love me right away?"

"Oh angel. We loved you even before we met you. I feel like I've known you my entire life, even before I met your Daddy. We both love you so much; you and your brother and sister mean the world to us."

"I loved you right away too, Mommy. I remember."

* * * * *

Much moved by his innocent, heartfelt admission of love I cuddled my son and kissed the top of his scalp - which even through the hair still felt like it was burning up.

Silently but with a full heart, I thanked God for giving me such a sweet child. His good heart has illuminated our lives for four years now, and every new day is its own miracle.

At dawn, when his fever had broken and he was at last peacefully slumbering by my side, I thought back with joy to that very first moment when my husband, mother and I met and fell head over heels for him on the spot.

Sometimes life really does give you something perfect and beautiful.

Happy Birthday my angel. May you feel well enough to enjoy your special day of Star Wars toys, Chinese takeout and lemon cake...

...and may you look forward to many future decades of health and happiness, surrounded always by people who love you as much as we do.

June 13, 2011 ~ Day 185 Ready or Not...

I may not be ready for it, but Summer Vacation is officially here.

In two short hours, I will collect my five year old son from school for the final time until September.

Three. Long. Months.

He will no longer be a kindergartener. I will no longer have quiet time in the morning in which to work for my husband's company, clean the house, exercise by myself, write this blog or do our grocery shopping.

I suppose I'm about to shift into my least favorite parental role - the one woman entertainment crew. Despite the fact that he will have his adorable little sister to play with and that we will be taking swimming lessons four days per week starting next Monday, my son has already told me how bored he is going to be this Summer - stuck at home with us.

Which calls to mind a conversation I engaged in fairly frequently with my mother as a child.

"I'm bored."
"Only boring people get bored. Go use that great brain of yours and invent something to do!"
"But that's boring!"
(Sigh.)

I'm sure that my own mother could make the case that I am now experiencing my karma for everything I put her through for years on end.

I would argue though, that dealing with one bored kid is perhaps less angst-producing than dealing with three bored kids. One bored kid is not likely to physically harm himself out of boredom... (he might fall asleep, but that would be a good thing). When you put two or three bored kids together, it can get nuts pretty fast.

Here is a sampling of the type of things I overhear when my children are bored - all of which let me know that I'd better move quickly to distract them before we have escalation:

• "Hey, can I look in your BumBum (bottom) to see what is in there?"
• "Hey! (gigglegigglegiggle) Look at what I'm DOING!!!"
• "Stop it!!! Stop it!!! STOP IT!!!! DON'T SIT ON ME!"
• "Brother, why don't we make our own lunch today? You get the milk."
• "Give ME the scissors! I want to be a haircutter!"
• "Look! I'm can fly!"
• "Is that poopoo? I think that's poopoo!"
• "Hand me the toothpaste."
• "Oh NO!!! Do you see what she's doing?!!! Mommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!"

Their 'bored-child' antics are often frustrating, sometimes dangerous and invariably entertaining. I would probably be laughing *with* them, if they weren't my children and my responsibility.

* * * * * *

Given that I'm working hard with the Law of Attraction to focus on drawing in positive things to our family and actively reframing my thoughts from the negative into a more optimistic light, I'd like to take this opportunity to create a heartfelt wish list submitted metaphysically to the Greek Goddess of Summer (Demeter?) to ask for what I REALLY want over the next three months.

Dear Demeter -

Thanks for listening. As you know, my kid will be out of school for the year in about 55 minutes. This means that I will have two or three small children with me for nearly every moment of the next 90 days. Did I mention that 90 days is a very, very long time in the life of a child?

I appreciate your assistance and would be so grateful if you could please arrange the following:

-My son loves spending time with his sister and I every morning
-My children get along better than ever
-My house stays reasonably organized and clean
-My children actually enjoy helping me with projects: gardening, organizing, washing cars, keeping our family operating like a well-oiled machine
-We have a surprise windfall of cash that enables a Disneyland trip, a family vacation and some more summer camps.
-My children learn how to speak appreciatively for the things they are given, and do not fixate on the negative or their own feelings of lack
-We have a lot of fun playdates and make new friends!
-We become closer as a family
-Everyone stays healthy and gets a lot of exercise
-We're able to throw a super fun family birthday party in August complete with a Jumpy for the kiddos, tons of food and great music
-We end the Summer so happily that my children are almost sorry to return to their normal school schedule in September

Lastly, I'd so appreciate anything you could possibly do to infuse the warmth of your weather into my children's hearts and minds, to make them feel sun-shiny on the inside and happy wherever they are.

Demeter, as a mother yourself I know you understand the need to take a break now and then. After all, you and your own daughter spend Winters apart, right? When she's down visiting Hades? You've gotta admit - sometimes it's nice to have a little peace.

I'm so grateful for anything you can do to help keep that tranquility in my house this Summer, even with no breaks and two to three children underfoot.

Thanks again for the hot weather and sunny skies. We're big fans of your work! All our best to you and Persephone...

* * * * * *
Time has flown by this morning and it's now 12:01p.m. I guess the moment has at last arrived to strap on my boots and step up to this new challenge.

Mothers of the world, be well and take care! May the Force be with you. Call me if you're heading to the park.

June 12, 2011 ~ Day 184 Dying Butterfly

Yesterday afternoon I decided to rake and water the front lawn while the kids were napping. Throwing on a pair of old tennis shoes and hoisting a large rake under one arm, I was just stepping from our long driveway toward the browning lawn when I noticed something moving on the ground within my line of sight.

"What's that?"

I bent down closer to see a creature writhing and withering at the same time - a truly tragic sight... especially when I realized that it had been a very pretty butterfly whose wings were badly injured. Its left wing lay listless yet beautifully formed - but the right was cruelly torn and mangled. The shreds of what remained were drying and curling up.

Sad to watch, the butterfly - whose delicate arms and legs still worked perfectly - was trying desperately to unfurl the broken, battered wing. It hopped and hopped, falling over again and again due to the disproportionate weight of the good wing.

It didn't take much for me to know with a very heavy heart that this creature would never fly again. As far as I know, even with our most advanced modern technology, there is no surgery to repair the wing of a butterfly.

I had never been so close to one of these elegant creatures before. Setting down my rake gently at the side of the lawn, I sat with the butterfly and watched it for a while - noticing how papery and dehydrated its body looked as it tried to flap its wings and ended up falling over on its back again and again.

I'd been observing the little creature for a while when my husband came through on his bicycle and stopped next to me.

"What are you doing, hon?"

"This poor butterfly is injured."

"Oh yeah? I wonder if that's the same one the kids and I saw yesterday. I think the crows that live in that tree are going after them."

"Wow, you mean this little guy has been here trying to fly since yesterday?"

"Yeah, it looks like the same one. It's sad. It's not going to make it, hon."

"I know."

"So you're just sitting with it?"

"Well, it may be dying but it doesn't have to die alone."

My husband smiled. "That's really sweet." He left for his bike ride, leaving me with the creature.

As I sat there meditating on its fate and how beautiful it must have been while flying, I got the strongest impression that the little creature might be thirsty or hungry.

"Just because you've suffered a mortal injury doesn't mean you can't enjoy food," I thought - and walked into our kitchen. I got a dipperful of water, some syrup and some applesauce. "I think butterflies eat sweet things..."

Yet when I brought the little plate of food outside, I realized that it was much too large for a wounded butterfly to reach and that there was no way the creature would be able to hop that high. Looking around, I found a few small leaves with upturned edges and filled three of them with different substances which I placed near the butterfly.

One leaf held syrup, another applesauce, the last water.

The butterfly watched them closely but stayed where it was. I decided to give it some breathing room and went to rake.

When I returned ten minutes later, I lay down on the cement and sent it thoughts of love.

Then, suddenly, it began to hop! The little creature hopped and rolled all the way to the leaf full of water. I watched breathlessly as it proceeded to unfurl its long slender proboscis and suck up a large amount of the water in the leaf.

"Oh wow! You WERE thirsty!"

"I really don't think this poor thing is ready to die. I'm going to try to get it out of the driveway without hurting it."

When I was a kid I read that butterfly wings are made up of countless tiny feathers and that even the gentlest touch of a human finger could grievously injure the insect. With this understanding, I knew I could not try to lift the butterfly without giving it greater injury and perhaps killing it.

So, I searched for a twig and ended up settling for a long thick stem of Bermuda grass.

"Here," I whispered. "If you will jump onto this grass, I will lift you out of the path of danger." I sent it thought pictures with my head of jumping onto the grass.

To my total shock, the butterfly - despite its bum wing - jumped immediately onto the green stem I extended toward it.

"Oh WOW!"

Lifting it gently into a glass dish, I surrounded it with the leaves of food and water and then placed the dish out of the path to the side of the driveway, under a tree.

"Do you want to be outside for your final hours? Do you want to be under this tree?" I asked the butterfly. "Where do butterflies like to sleep?"

I left and re-entered my house, to google butterfly habitats.

Soon I'd returned to the glass pan, now prepared with a better understanding of butterflies.

"I guess you need to be warm, especially at night. And you can live in a house and be fed with sugar water. The article I googled said that your normal life span is very short and that you are typically done in by a wide variety of predators in nature.

So, I'm moving you into the house where you'll be warm, because we've had really cold nights lately. And you'll make a perfect morsel for a bird or spider if you stay here under this tree, without the capacity to fly away."

The butterfly hopped a little. I gently carried the glass dish into our home - filled with leaves, grass, dirt and some sugar water - and placed it up high.

All throughout last night, I checked on it every so often. The poor thing seemed so tired, I mistook it for dead at least three times. However when I blew on it gently, it would rouse and hop again. I also found it drinking more water once, and finally I realized that it was trying to sleep.

'Well of course you are... any wounded creature would wish for water and rest to heal. I hope you're feeling better, my friend."

This morning when I awakened, the butterfly had moved a few inches away to a different part of the pan and it had actually sort of unfurled the good wing. The hurt wing is completely shriveled though, never to return.

I haven't made a big deal about this butterfly to my children, not wanting our two year old to hurt it further. It is living on the mantle above our fireplace where our little girl can not reach or see it. Our five year old son knows that it is up there, and he shook his head and told me very philosophically, "Butterflies are on the food chain of the birds, Mom. That's what must have happened to it." He's just finished a unit on butterflies at school, so I take his word as fact.

A lot of people might think I'm crazy for trying to give relief to an insect, even a butterfly. I'm sure they'd call me a bleeding heart, and laugh at the notion of comforting a bug.

I've always believed though that all life has value - ALL life. This butterfly may have a very small and wounded body, but who can say whether it has a soul. Who can truly say whether it has emotions? It is a very real being right now, and one that has clearly weathered a painful attack.

If I can give it a little peace and ease in its last hours on this Bird-Eat-Butterfly type of planet, I feel lucky to do so.

Who can really know what the larger ramifications might be from taking care of this small creature? When I was fourteen or so, we read the book "Chaos" in my high school Humanities class. It described something called the butterfly effect.

"In chaos theory, the butterfly effect is the sensitive dependence on initial conditions; where a small change at one place in a nonlinear system can result in large differences to a later state. For example, the presence or absence of a butterfly flapping its wings could lead to creation or absence of a hurricane."(Wikipedia)

Perhaps the nurturing of a dying butterfly may lead to the presence or creation of something beautiful in our world. At the very least, I'm comforted knowing that it has eaten and rested before beginning its final journey.

June 11, 2011 ~ Day 183 One Man's Joke... May Be A Special Treasure

When you're a parent, time is a limited and precious commodity that there never seems to be enough of. This can bring brief moments of tension to all couples trying to do the hard work of juggling schedules, career demands, the need for a break and the desire to be fully present for their children.

The more children you have, the more demands are made on your time… thus, the more uncomfortable conversations can be around which parent gets to go where and do what, when.

My husband and I figured out a long time ago that in order to maintain some sense of identity it was crucial for each of us to have a sacred window carved out for each of us in our week. During our 'personal' time, we may each make plans in any way that we chose with no constraints and no guilt. My husband gets Saturday. I get Sunday.

For a few hours, we can be wholly selfish and focus on meeting our own needs first. Personal time gave each of us a vital outlet - where he could go on long bike rides unhindered by timelines, and I could enjoy lunch with friends, sit or write quietly… anything I wanted, without a small person screaming, tugging at my pants and trying to get my attention.

For nearly six years, this arrangement has been a salvation for each of us - and brought much needed succor.

Realistically though, events do come up from time to time that mess with our agreed upon schedule and knock us out of our balance. Important gatherings given by family and friends that neither of us want to miss happen on Saturdays and Sundays… necessitating that one or both of us give up our personal time and come to join the fun and be part of the family. There are other things that can arise as well - business trips, larger projects, etc. Life happens.

Today we've just exchanged a rare handful of loaded words about our weekend schedule. My husband is feeling pressured about the work he must complete which is weighing heavily on him ~ especially as he still wants to have enough time to go for a bike ride and spend time with friends this evening. Tomorrow (my day) is already booked up with important family commitments that neither of us can miss. Thus, the negotiation.

"Hon, I've got things to do," he said. "I've got a lot to get done."

"Well, I understand that - but what about the things I need to do? I've got work that is important to me too…" I replied.

"What - like your blog?" he laughed. "I've got REAL work to do."

Ugh.

That hurt.

Anyone who has read this 365 blog over the course of the last six months knows that it has significant value to me… and that I write it as a gift to our children, to impart to them my unique viewpoint on the meaning of life. Blogging isn't just a fun activity… something to alleviate boredom or for me to tackle as an alternative to painting my nails and eating bonbons. It's a real labor of love.

I write when I'm too tired to write, when I'm sick, when I'm sad, when I don't feel like writing. I write to share our lives because I made the 365 day commitment and I feel awful about the fact that I'm currently about five days behind. I write because I want to leave something behind me for our family that will stand the test of time, and because I want to leave some mark on this world that I existed and that the love I shared was powerful.

My husband is a loving and genuine guy, and I know that he didn't mean to say something cruel or unkind. He made his comments in a joking sort of way, as though he thinks it is humorous or cute that I am fully invested in a daily project that yields our family no money. Clearly, he doesn't totally understand why the blog matters to me. If he understood, I don't think he would have responded to me as such. He has always been proud of me and my dedication to any pursuit.

But still.

The meaning of today's blog, as written for our three small children, is simple:

Never judge or make fun of a pastime that may not appear valuable to you, but which may be crucial to the happiness or life purpose of another person.

There is no way that any of us can see the world from the vantage point of another person's eyes, or understand their individual perspective on "what matters". I personally believe that when we embrace and accept other people and their dreams, it brings more acceptance and understanding in the world back into our own lives.

My mother taught me as a small child that what blesses one, blesses all. I figure, I may not understand why someone collects hundreds or thousands of similar looking seashells or cat figurines - but if it brings joy to them and isn't hurting anyone else, it isn't my place to judge whether that kind of pastime is important or worthy. Perhaps the joy alone that collectors feel when adding a new piece to their collection is enough.

Surely at least part of the meaning of life is to live joyfully! When others are joyful, then they are much more likely to act with kindness wherever they go.

My older brother can spend an entire weekend day sitting on a surfboard in the middle of the Pacific Ocean waiting for a single good wave to come. It can take hours. He must be very patient. Technically, he is not 'accomplishing' anything during these times and I suppose that some might say that he is wasting time.

It is true that he isn't making any money or producing anything (except great memories!) during these times on the water. I can imagine men his age who would scoff at the notion of a 45 year old man devoting whole days of his life to sitting on a board in the water.

Those who love the ocean and share his sense of its majesty and spirituality understand his actions completely, though. They "get" that he is living in alignment with his own passions and even if they aren't big surfing fans, they support his choice to surf out of respect for him.

I've never surfed but always understood my brother - and really admired his enthusiasm for the waves. As a child I would hear him awaken when it was still dark outside, to make sure that he and his buddies got to the surf just as the Sun was rising so that they would get the best waves staked out for their daily fun. They'd even hike through unmapped territory to find the best surf breaks, braving any manner of cuts, scrapes and reptiles. At times they were injured in the water by punishing waves pushing them into the jagged shoreline.

Hardship and sleep deprivation meant nothing to them compared to the coursing energy they felt pulsating through their veins as they caught a wave and rode the powerful sea to the shore she hugged so fiercely.

To me, a pastime doesn't have to be lucrative to be worthwhile. For me, writing is like waiting for the perfect wave. Sometimes I get it wrong… usually I have to be very patient - but sometimes, I do manage to create a line or image of indelible beauty. Sometimes I do actually capture an ounce of the precious sparkle in my kids. Sometimes, I record a conversation or adventure that really will comprise a sacred family memory down the road.

I believe that you get out of a project what you put into it - and I've put a lot of energy and emotion into writing this 365 blog. I believe and hope that someday our children will get much of that feeling out of it… and at the very minimum, they will know unequivocally at the ages of 20, 30, 40, 70, 90! that they had a mother and father who adored them - even in the crazy, busy, challenging times.

I hope that my husband, who is a total sweetheart with the best of intentions, will eventually see that this blog is more than just a bunch of words on a computer screen.

It's a record of our lives together. Something honest and deeply felt.
It is my heart, codified.