Oh Happy Day: Hula Hoop Edition

It’s Friday! Oh Happy Day! It has been quite a while since I’ve written for my Oh Happy Day gratitude project. You may recall that I started as a way of making the TGIF statement my own — as a way of consciously incorporating gratitude in my life so that the TG wasn’t just a silly acronym. In my experience, there is no better cure for stress, worries or a case of the down-in-the-dumps than heaping dose of gratitude. The joy that comes from taking stock of the blessings you have right in front of you is powerful.

I learned that lesson from my 6-year-old this morning. Again.

We were walking into school and discussing the day. I couldn’t remember what extra activities he had on Friday. Was it art or music? Little Drummer Boy was quick to confirm art with this commentary…

“I love art. And PE. Because we get to play with hula hoops.”
[insert Mommy smile here]
“I can do magic with the hula hoop. Do you want to hear about it?”

Who in the world could resist hearing about magic with a hula hoop. From MY spectacular first grader. So, of course, I gave him a resounding “yes!”

Little Drummer Boy proceeded to explain. [You'll be happy to learn that his first grade teacher confirms he is indeed a drummer boy. In math.] He told me how he could roll the hula hoop and make it come back to him. I asked in amazement if he had a magic command to make this happen. He said “no,” that he could just do it. There’s my little magician, all happy and full of expectation about the possibilities of hula hoops and magic on Friday.

I couldn’t help but compare his enthusiasm to my own begrudging thoughts when I first woke up this morning… Ugh. It’s time to get up. I’m so tired today. I’m just not excited about anything today. Sigh. And a plethora of other dumpster attitudes.

Today is Friday. When I think of LDB and his PE tricks, I’m reminded of the magic to be found in each day. In THIS day. This day is another gift with the privilege of three little hearts in my house. Baby Girl dressed in pigtails and her brother’s torn jeans and plaid shirt for “farm day.” Bug all aglow with jets flying toward “vegetable soup” day with saltines in hand. And Little Drummer Boy. With the hula hoops. This day is another gift with the privilege of doing something I really enjoy. And getting paid for it. It’s a day with the privilege of choosing my steps, big and small. Of setting my own schedule from my own little office in my own blessed world. It’s another day with the opportunity to let my best self shine. To do my own bit of magic. To live according to what matters to me. For Friday is TODAY.  And at this moment, TODAY is the only day I have to live. The only day.

So, I think I’ll search down a hula hoop. And it’s magic.
Oh Happy Day!

Six

Six years ago, I never could have imagined just how much you would light up my life with your every smile — with your every everything. Happy Birthday, Little Drummer Boy!

McDonalds, Hands and Courage

It’s been a while since I’ve written an installment in my 2010-2011 theme word series on Courage. It’s a topic I’m trying to explore and an attribute I’m trying to cultivate in myself and in my children. One of the biggest questions of courage to me is where to find it. Are we born with it? If so, then what’s the use in trying to cultivate it. And, it’s not like you can bid on it on ebay or throw it in the buggy at the dollar store. So, where does it come from? As usual, my three gifts are teaching me a lot of lessons without even realizing it, and they recently showed me something: Confidence begets courage. The assurance and acknowledgement that we are, in fact, growing or learning those things we think we are and embracing that person we want to become somehow “encourages” us to step forward in those new skills or the new identity we’ve cultivated. It puts courage into us, as that often-used term, “encourage”, implies.

One of my favorite parts of early Spring is seeing tiny new shoots of growth emerge from what looks like completely dormant branches and earth. And, it seems to happen overnight! Where one day there is nothing but the same old brown or gray we’ve been accustomed to, the next appears a tiny spark of green, a new leaf or bloom that lets us know the season is changing.

I love when I see that in my children as well. Although I’ve seen the emerging signs of growth countless times in each of my gifts, it somehow still takes me by surprise each time. Even though their young lives have been a constant stream of changing and growing and learning new things, that moment when I notice it–or when THEY notice it–never ceases to amaze me.

It was Spring Break recently here, and the time (and weather) were ripe for some fun. Little Drummer Boy spent his first official “big school” Spring Break with special days at the daycare with his friends filled with bowling, skating and all the other fun they had planned. We weren’t able to take a full week to go somewhere, but I wanted to give them all at least a little outing and change of scenery. On Friday, we decided to skip daycare and work and take off on an adventure to see a museum in another city.

We started the day with much excitement (and energy) about our anticipated trip, so in my limited Mommy-wisdom, I decided that a trip to McDonald’s for breakfast and a stint in the “play place” were in order before settling into the minivan for an hour. One thing about our little adventures that I’ve come to predict is that one mommy plus three youngsters usually equals hands full, and a few accoutrements are required — namely extra juice, extra pull-ups, extra gummies, extra goldfish, extra chapstick and some well-placed extra instructions.

On this morning, those well-placed instructions were directed to Little Drummer Boy. He’s filled with excitement at being the “big brother,” emphasis on big, and it’s certainly a point of pride that he is the only one attending “big school.” When we walked into McDonald’s needing to order food, but ready to play, my hands were indeed full and I decided it was a good time to hand off some of those “big brother” duties. I asked LDB if he would take two-year-old Baby Girl’s hand and take her to the playground for me while I ordered. Bug was already half-way to the play place door because his sphere doesn’t quite include “big” duties. Little Drummer Boy on the other hand, seems to relish the reminders that he is growing stronger and smarter every day.

And, relish he did! When he heard my proposition, his face took on a new expression of “big-ness”, the countenance of responsibility. He had a job to do to take care of his little sister, and he took it seriously. It was an acknowledgement from Mommy that he was big enough to handle it, that he WAS the big brother, and that he was a good one. I could see his little heart fill with pride right there by the super hero prize display. A new courage to take on a fledgling leadership role was born. New shoots of growth popped out of the five-year-old earth before my eyes.

The wild card in the scenario was Baby Girl. Would she cling to Mama? Would she agree to the out-stretched hand of her newly minted “BIG” brother? It’s funny how confidence spreads. Once Little Drummer Boy adopted the confidence of “big brother” status and the responsibility that goes with it, Baby Girl adopted a new confidence that she had a big brother looking out for her.  And, she had the courage to take his hand and walk (not run) to the play area. Now, each time we’re at McDonald’s she wants to hold her brother’s hand instead of mine.

As I’ve been thinking about this simple experience from a few weeks ago, I’m so thankful for the little expressions of confidence I’ve received over the last year that have boosted my courage to step into new responsibilities and to embrace anew or reclaim areas of my time and space and efforts that reflect how I really want life to be. Thinking on the blossoming pride I saw in Little Drummer Boy reminds me that it’s important to acknowledge for myself the small, everyday milemarkers that reflect my progress. And it gave me a new commitment to give that inexpensive but invaluable gift to each of my children as well.

Something to Hear

A few weeks ago I had one of those experiences with my children that stuck with me. It was a moment I’ve been pondering for a while, knowing I needed to take it to heart, to glean from it–a moment I knew was important and profound in its simplicity.

Little Drummer Boy was in bed. As I was closing the Transformer book and pulling the blankets closer around him, he inquired (as only a 5-year-old can), “Mommy, while you’re rubbing my back, can I ask you some questions?”

Can I ask you some questions? It was such a simple request, but there was also such a look of anticipation on his face that it stopped me. Normally at this time of night I might have told him to wait, or reminded about bedtime or even warned about waking up his brother. But, there was something about his face. This was important to him. This was something special to him. So I said yes.

How could I say no to that opportunity after all? He had a smile on his face in the request. He had a look of excitement when I said yes. Then, I could see him thinking, his little mind processing and scanning. It dawned on me that Little Drummer Boy didn’t have a burning question on the tip of his tongue. He was searching his mind for his best inquisitive response. On the fly. He just wanted the opportunity to ask.

So, I took the opportunity to answer. I honestly don’t even remember what the questions were. Except, I remember they were wholly ordinary–at least for an inquisitive, car chase-loving, story-telling five-year-old wonder. They were burning inquisitions like “what makes the water hot when you turn the faucet?” or “where did that picture on the wall come from?” or “when will we get to go to the zoo again?”. They were all the voices of his uncensored thoughts, the stream-of-consciousness of boyhood.

The haphazard responding and clear confirmations that Mommy does not, indeed, remember everything she may have ever learned about science and/or the animal kingdom, and that she most certainly doesn’t have all the answers (at least not the correct ones) may be a subject for another post, but the process also brought to mind my own burning question…. Why don’t I do this every night?

In the rush to teach and impart, how often do I shush those seemingly random questions–the ones that belie the much greater underlying truths of love and security and acceptance? In the journey of parenthood–in the journey of everything–I sometimes spend so much time having something to say, be it teaching, reminding, cajoling, distracting, correcting, admonishing, sharing or instructing, that I forget what a blessing it is to have something to hear.

Sometimes I spend all my time looking for the opportunity to speak, to talk to someone, to impart information. To influence. To offer my own point of view.

Sometimes the greatest opportunity is the one to listen.

And so I did on that night. I relished taking the opportunity to give Little Drummer Boy a simple gift–one so easy to give it’s almost embarrassing how often I withhold it. It was the gift of sending him off to sleep knowing he’d been heard. Knowing he had an audience of one. And a standing ovation. The gift of time. A listening ear. An easy explanation. Or a hard one.

“Can I ask you some questions?”

Translation…
Can I talk?
About anything I want?
Can I tell you what I’m thinking about?
Do you care what I think is silly?
Do you know what I think is confusing?
Can I show you my heart?
Are you interested?
Will you explain something?
Will you give me your undivided attention?
Will you listen?
Will you answer?
Am I important?
Do I matter?

The Dollhouse

“Is that a house?”

We were spending the night at my parents’ home recently, and Little Drummer Boy was looking at the top of a chifferobe in the room where he and Bug sleep. My Mom keeps my childhood dollhouse there, and I think it was the first time Little Drummer Boy had really noticed it. When he found out the house was mine, LDB immediately wanted to play with it. I let him know that the house had too many small pieces inside it to be safe for Baby Girl and that it was better to leave it on the shelf for now. But, I explained that G-Mo had given me the dollhouse when I was little and that I would probably give it to Baby Girl one day when she is old enough to enjoy it.

“But, I won’t be able to play with it then.”

I assuaged his concern with the argument that he could play with the dollhouse WITH Baby Girl–that she would really love that and he would have lots of fun. I’ve witnessed that she does indeed relish the attentions of her oldest brother. However, it was one of those moments when I wasn’t sure if I had actually told him the truth. Little Drummer Boy is quite interested in the dollhouse now. But, that won’t always be true. By the time I decide to pass on this little chapter of Mommy-history, that may not be the case any longer. In three or four years when Baby Girl is old enough to be inspired by a well-furnished and appointed dollhouse, I’m not sure Little Drummer Boy will want to give it the same attention he did on this night. He will likely have moved on to past-times more of interest to an older boy. And their opportunity to play “together” with it may be nothing more than an older brother giving momentary indulgence to his baby sister. If that. I don’t even like to think about it.

I’m an only child, and although I don’t think I fit many of the stereotypes attributed to that family set-up, I find myself paying close attention to the dynamics between my children. The whole brother and sister thing is actually quite baffling to me. And, as I notice each of their ever-changing stages, I’m constantly trying to figure it out. I try to discover how to build their relationships with one another and still nuture their individual gifts and fascinations. And, even though we come as a set, I find myself still figuring out how to build my individual and unique relationship with each of them. As an only child, that relationship with MY mother was easy. I want them to have it too, even though they each share me with the others. I want them to have the assurances that I love and treasure each of them as individuals and that I’m so proud of each of their gifts and accomplishments. I want each to carry with them those moments when they know I was all theirs, that I really saw them and heard them.

This Christmas, as I ponder their sweet conversations, their moments of play together and even their moments of tussling, that dollhouse takes center stage in my mind.

Santa Claus brought me the dollhouse when I was young. But, even in my assurance of the jolly elf’s existence, in my willingness to overlook the fact that my grandparents didn’t have a chimney, in my amazement at the cookie plate filled with only crumbs each Christmas morning, somewhere in my heart I knew. I knew that this dollhouse was from my mother.

The blue and white two-story house came completely unfinished on the inside. Although there were Chippendale chairs, a Victorian sofa, a porcelain sink, tiny candlesticks, metal spatterwear for the table and even a Christmas tree and wreath, the walls and floors and windows were bare. Along with the house, there was a collection of wallpaper, fabric samples and ribbons as part of Christmas–materials waiting to appoint the rooms to my satisfaction. My Mom let me choose the colors and fabrics for each room and helped me hang the wallpaper, fashion the curtains and arrange the furniture. It was the perfect way to give a dollhouse to a girl with my early design sensibilities and my penchant toward nesting. But, the true gift Mom gave me that year was the special time she created for me to spend with her enjoying that dollhouse. In meaning and memory, it stands out among all the wonderfully “perfect” gifts Santa brought over the years. Mom made the process just as powerful as the final product. The lasting power came through the experience she carved out.

I want to give each of my children that experience. I want them each to have their own “dollhouse.” Their own time of undivided attention. Their own process of working together. Their own moments of playing together. Perhaps it takes more concentration, more discipline with my three gifts than it did with an only child. Perhaps it takes more wisdom or more time management. I don’t know. Still, it’s worth the effort and whatever trial-and-error is required in figuring out how to make those moments a reality. This season, I hope I can give them more than just gifts. I hope I can give them my feeble, untrained lessons in brother- and sisterhood. I hope I can give them time that translates into experiences and security and confidence. Amazon.com aside, I hope I can give them my self.