It's a Mess!

Listening to talk radio I heard a man talk about how having a child turned his calm, quiet, orderly life into a life that was quite messy.  And he couldn’t be happier.  I can’t remember the examples that he gave but they were along the lines of pre- child he could read the newspaper at leisure on a Sunday morning, take long bike rides with his wife at a moment’s notice, and go out to a fancy dinner without a care in the world.  He resisted having a child for years because he did not want to give up his nicely structured life for one that was (and again, these are my examples since I can’t quite remember his, but you will get the idea!) filled with cracker crumbs in the car, cartoons on the television and lots and lots of noise.  Now that he had a child however, his life was messy yes, but of course, he was thrilled with his new life.

Though his examples did not stick in my mind, the idea of choosing a messy life over a calm and orderly one made a permanent impression. I thought about the decisions we all make at one time or another.  Some of us have more children, bring a puppy or kitten into our lives (ahem!!), decide to move somewhere unknown and perhaps exotic, change jobs, etc., etc. We take our calm and orderly lives and make them messy. 

And as I think about it, a messy life means a life filled with more dimensions then ever before. New experiences to shake up our world as we know it.  Laughter, disruptions to routines, new friends, expanded horizons, unconditional love; you can pick your pleasure!

Does it always work out?  Maybe not.  But if you don’t risk, you’ll never know what you missed.  Trite but true.  Is this new way of thinking another rendition of my ongoing mid-life crisis along with my snazzy red sports car 

and brand new puppy? 

 And oh yes, becoming a cast member in Listen to Your Mother Chicago 2013?

Maybe.  But don’t stop me now, I am making a mess!  And loving it!

A Moment in Time

Typical, hectic start of the weekend.  An errand list that could easily fill two weeks but had to be squeezed into one precious morning chunk of Saturday morning. Take a deep breath and go! And joy of joys, my husband G decided to go on the errand journey with me!  This really was a very good thing.  After thirty three years of marriage I can honestly say that spending time with G, even doing mundane errands, was fun!  I know, I know, corny but quite true.  We laugh, we talk, and even though our shopping styles are quite different, we manage. First stop, grocery store. I like to walk slowly up and down each aisle, delighting in finding new and oh so improved products that tempt me with their bold marketing banners and sincere promises of health, ever lasting youth, boundless energy, major antioxidants, and then there is the super-duper spray in a bottle stuff that guarantees a sparkling kitchen with absolutely, positively no effort required. Hmmm . . . Maybe forget that last one.  Sparkling kitchens and I are just not that well acquainted and even I, who lives for trying new things, am skeptical. Anyway, I know I need to get a life but I do have fun contemplating what new products the advertising gurus have conspired to get into my shopping cart.

G on the other hand, is a power shopper.  He knows what he wants and where the items live.  These said items get thrown in the cart and he is in the check out lane and out the door before I can sample a single piece of fancy cheese on a multi-grain wheat cracker all held together with a cute little toothpick and handed to me on a napkin by a very smiley person.

But these differences aside, we still manage to get what we need. And in between my slow meandering and his crazed pace there is definitely eye rolling and good natured teasing but always laughter, and you know, you just have to take your fun where you can find it!

So, here we were on a Saturday afternoon in a big box store doing our grocery shopping dance.  Finally, we both agreed it was time to check out.  He was a little grumpy, I had meandered a bit too much, but it was all good. As we put our items on the conveyer belt, G casually asked the cashier if she was having a good day. This is just part of who he is, this husband of mine.  As much as he likes to zoom through the aisles at breakneck speed, he also immensely enjoys talking to people and is known to strike up casual conversations just about anywhere with anyone. Including cashiers at a check out lane.

We expected a simple answer back, something along the lines of  “I’m fine, how are you today?” Well, instead we got an earful.  The cashier looked up at G and it almost looked like her eyes were filling with tears.  She told us that last night her teenage daughter announced that she could not stand the sound of her mother’s voice.  That mother being our cashier.  She went on to tell us that it broke her heart, how could her daughter say that to her, she doesn’t even know where it came from, and she doesn’t know if she is furious or just very sad but she thinks she might be both.  Wow.  Whoa.  What do we do?  G sort of hemmed and hawed but then he came through big time.  With a gentle tone he assured her that teenagers can get like that sometimes and she should try not to take it to heart.  We think her voice sounds just fine! Her eyes softened a bit and she smiled. Back to briskly back to bagging our groceries.  The moment was over.  She needed to vent, we needed paper towels, granola bars, cereal, milk and frozen pizzas. It all worked out. I knew there was a reason that I like spending time with this guy . . .

The First Rehearsal

I walked into the nondescript room which nonetheless felt filled to the brim with anticipation and promise.  Excited, yes, but nervous too.  Seventeen chairs in a U-shaped configuration. Seventeen women. Seventeen stories to be told.  And mine would be one of them.  Was I brave enough? Strong enough?  Oh gosh, would I be loud enough?

And then the stories started.  Vibes robust enough that they could almost be seen and touched filled every corner. Trust. Energy. Acceptance. Compassion. Understanding. Empathy. And laughter.  Lots and lots of laughter.  This was going to be okay.  In fact, it was going to be more than okay.  This experience was going to change me; I knew I would never be quite the same again.

Photo credit: Sabrina Persico

 The concept of motherhood in nuances aplenty was given 17 voices at this first rehearsal of Listen to Your Mother 2013. Each voice was as unique as it was powerful.

This show is going to touch, entertain, challenge, and enlighten people. We may never see things quite the same way again.  The stories are silly and poignant and awe inspiring and heart wrenching and hilarious and soul touching.  Yep, all in one show.  It just doesn’t get any better than that! Buy your tickets and prepare to experience a very special prelude a week before Mother’s Day.  Please click here for the first step in the start of an amazing, and yes, I am sure of it, a life-changing experience.

Blog, Interrupted

Who knew that a three-pound ball of fluff could wreak such havoc in a household in less than 24 hours?  Yesterday an adorable cream and apricot Yorkie-Maltese mix found his way into our lives.  It was a friend of a friend situation, and that friend of a friend had just gotten a puppy a week ago and found she was hugely allergic.  So, with the way that friend of a friend networking works, I found a forwarded email in my inbox at 6:00 am yesterday. It was from my cousin announcing the availability of an adorable puppy to a good home.  Uh oh.  Yep, I was on it in no time flat. We used to have two Yorkies.  And we miss them desperately. But our life had settled into a comfortable, calm routine, as far as the world of owning animals goes.  We have a cat, who is, admittedly, high maintenance, but she does not have to go out in the middle of the night and she does not chew on my shoes. Yes. she does sometimes sleep in the bathroom sink.

It was a good life.  But a little too quiet, and missing one important element.

Problem solved. Now there is the aforementioned three-pound fur ball to contend with 24/7. 

And no sleeping for anyone, not even in the bathroom sink, at this point anyway.  It was not for lack of trying. We played and played and played with him, he just had to be tired.  We took him out countless times.  We made sure he was well fed, well snuggled, and surrounded with familiar toys from his former home.  But yes, we had to insist that he sleep in his crate during the night.  It was for his own good.  He is so little that if he wandered the house he could easily fall through the banister rungs in our loft.  And of course, he is not housebroken yet.  So who knows what we would have, could have stepped in on our way to a middle of the night bathroom run. And then there is the dynamic between the old and the new.  He cannot resist pouncing on our cat every chance he gets.  So far she has been incredibly tolerant but we need to keep a careful eye on things so for all those reasons, it was crate time for nighttime. 

Lights out.  Kisses and hugs.  Nighty nite. A big soft fluffy blanket, oodles of toys, and still room for the food and water bowl in this Taj Mahal of a crate. It all looked good. Within seconds the whining started.  Followed by crying, whining and more howling. I raced to make sure all was well.  He was fine, just very indignant.  I did what I was not supposed to do, brought him back to bed with us.  

Momentary lapse.  I knew I had to put him back.  Jaz had to get used to the crate, every article I looked up on the Internet told me so.  And we have had many dogs before, so I truly did know. Okay, little cutie pie, back in the crate.  Silence for a quarter of a second.  And then, howl, cry, whine, repeat.  It was breaking my heart but I knew I had to persevere. I woke my husband.  “How can you sleep?  What should I do”?  He was very sweet and calmly told me we had to keep little Jaz in the crate.  Then he promptly fell right back asleep.  How does he do that? 3:00 am. Okay, I am going to take him out, I am sure his tiny little bladder needs relief.  Very legitimate reason to go to him. He did his business, yay!  “Good boy, Mommy is so proud of you!  Now it’s time to go back to bed.”   Howl, cry, whine, repeat.  My son Z woke up and begged me to take Jaz out of the crate.  I wanted to, I really did. But we had to hang tough here.  Z tried sleeping on the couch to keep Jaz company, but no luck.  Needless to say, it was a very long night.

And then it was morning. Time to write my blog. I started it three and a half hours ago.  In between there has been accidents and feeding and cleaning up more accidents and rescuing my backpack buckle from inquiring and surprisingly strong little jaws.  Not much writing getting done.  But did I mention there has also been cuddles and puppy kisses and tummy rubs and more cuddles and big brown eyes looking adoringly into my eyes and more cuddles and more puppy kisses?  

And he even wandered into his crate on his own this morning so apparently my 4:00 am worry that he was being traumatized was for naught. Whew! Yes, blog interrupted, no sleep, somewhat stressed cat, husband and son but you know what? This new normal is going to be just fine.  In fact, better than fine.  This little guy has something that lasts forever, a complete and total hold on our hearts.  All this in a three pound package.  Who could ask for more? And my husband, he is hooked! And sleeping just fine thank you!

                                                                                                                          

Pop!

Did you ever have a week when something keeps popping up in your life over and over again? Well, this week that would be balloons and me.  Balloons have been calling my name, silently imploring my mind to pay attention to what my heart has been noticing.  It started at Red Robin. My daughter and I went there for lunch and there was a little boy, darting away from the grown up person whose hand he had been holding. They were starting to leave when I saw him eagerly dash over to a tangle of  primary colors and hanging down strings that made up the bunch near the cash register.  He plucked out a bright yellow balloon and clutched the string with small but determined fingers. “It’s windy out, you better hold it tight” warned Grandma.  Side note.  Yes, I am thinking it was Grandma.  You know how you make up quick stories about people you see out and about? Me too, I do that all the time. I had instantly decided this was Grandma with Grandson, out for a special lunch because it was a sparkling,  sunshiny winter’s day and who knows how many of those we are going to get during February bleakness.  Anyway, Grandson told Grandma that the balloon would be just fine, as he clutched the thin string.  “We will see what happens,” said Grandma gently, smiling at Grandson. That was it.  She did not tell him that it might blow away, she did not check to see if he was holding the string tightly enough, she just told him to see what happens.  My child development brain was delighted.  Grandson was going to be able to figure out on his own how much strength and strategizing it will take to keep possession of his bright yellow treasure on this sunny, but wind blowing day. Wise Grandma. Lucky Grandson. And yes, as they ventured into the parking lot the wind bellowed and beckoned and the balloon string lurched and pulled. Grandson quickly figured out how to hold on tightly enough to maneuver that bright, yellow balloon safely into Grandma’s car, and off they went!  So that was my first balloon lesson of the week.  Scientific principles about wind and resistance learned by small boy courtesy of Grandma letting him figure it out all by himself! 

Driving home from Red Robin, a vivid memory made its way to the forefront of my mind. I thought about my father, my children’s grandfather.  I adored my father.  My father adored my two children who in turn adored him back. When he died my children were little, but not too little to be very, very sad.  About a week later we were home and my children each had a balloon, I don’t remember why or how.  But I do remember my son Z requesting to go outside in the backyard. He wanted to send his balloon “Up to Grandpa.”  And so we did.  Z and my daughter M released their balloons into the puffy cloud sky.  We had not talked very much yet about where people go when they die. I was still too raw. But somehow, in the minds of my children, Grandpa was up in the clouds and he was to be the recipient of these two balloons, released with much love, some tears, and a firm belief that the journey of said balloons would culminate in making their way directly to Grandpa. And, somehow,  the healing process began . . .

A few days after our Red Robin lunch, my daughter had a brief stay in the hospital.  It was almost evening and she wanted an Italian Ice. While walking to the nurse’s station that had a cute little mini-fridge filled with juice and Italian Ices, and surprisingly, turkey sandwiches, I glanced inside one of the patient rooms.  It is hard not to do that, human nature I guess. There was an older woman alone in the room, lying in bed.  She appeared to be quite ill, and my mind started to make a story again.  She is sick, no one is with her, there is no family close by, this is very sad. But then I saw them. Two heart shaped balloons, tied to the foot of her bed, that said “I love you.” Quick story revision. She was not a lonely woman, facing her illness in solitude and isolation.  She was well loved. As I, in a relieved state, pondered this new development two adults and a child came down the hall and turned into her room. I heard the laughter. I imagined the hugs. The balloons had told the story much better than I.  And the child giggled. I peeked again.  And the balloons danced. I realized  how important it is to be open to the extraordinary within the ordinary. The balloons have much to share.  And I have much to learn . . 

                                                                                   

The Power of the Shower

I get such grand ideas in the shower! It really is my best time of day. Though those same ideas may not seem as innovative and illuminating at 4:00 in the afternoon, when I am formulating them at 7:00 am in between the drops of deliciously hot water splashing on my back, they seem positively world changing.

I don’t know why anyone hasn’t invented a write on/wipe off board that can be mounted in the shower to jot down wonderful early morning thoughts. All I need is a simple white board, (well maybe one with cool and colorful designs would be nice, I love cool, colorful designs!) and a special, super nifty waterproof marker with ink that somehow could still be easily wiped off the board. That’s not too much to ask, is it? Right now, when these sometimes downright amazing thoughts come to me, I have to repeat them over and over like a mantra until I exit the shower and then race, slip sliding all the way to the ledge of the bathtub where I keep a pad of paper and a pen (and yes, I know that is weird but it is what I do!) to write those golden thoughts down. By that time the water has dripped all over the paper and an hour later I have very little legible evidence of what I may have been thinking, let alone tried to write.

And though I enjoy multi-tasking as well as anyone, it is a bit challenging to keep my shower routine in my head, (shampoo, conditioner, detangler, etc., ) while doing my chanting at the same time. There are times when by the time I leave the shower, my thoughts and ideas are gone, usually never to be remembered again. Of course, with very careful chanting there are times that I have recalled what I wanted to write down, but because of careful chanting, forgot the conditioner and detangled twice instead. Agh! 

So, anyway, there was one idea that amazingly stayed with me all the way until I dried off and was able to write it down without one smear on the paper by occasional, errant water droplets. I remembered reading on Facebook that Melisa Wells was enthusiastically encouraging people to submit essays for a show called Listen To Your Mother 2013. And the subject matter was, of course, motherhood. I am the proud mother of two young adults, M and Z. And as amazing as they are, for some odd reason, my two very spectacular young adults were not what I felt inspired to write about. I knew I had another story to tell. Deep breath. It was not a story that I had ever written about before. Another deep breath. Did I have the courage to send in my essay? Slight hyperventilating. Okay, I told myself. I am just going to stop thinking about it and do it! Time to get out of the bathroom and onto the computer. And I did. I wrote my essay and quickly, before I changed my mind, emailed it to Melisa Wells and Tracey Becker. Once I pushed “send”, that pesky hyperventilating started again. Breathe in, breathe out. I probably won’t get an audition anyway. Breathe in, breathe out. 

Fast forward to a week later. I got an audition!! I can’t believe it!! I really can’t believe it!! Oh my, I have to go through with this now. Do I? Yep, I have to, I can’t back down now. Practice, practice, practice, practice. Loving advice from M, Z, and my incredibly patient and supportive husband, G. Work their suggestions into my essay. Practice, practice, practice, practice. It’s here. The day of the audition. What do I wear? Do I have gas in the car? Can I get down any breakfast? Something comfortable but nice, yes, and NO! The audition was scary. Just reading my words out loud to two very nice people sitting behind the table who warmly welcomed me into the audition room was very scary. Somehow I did it. In a brain foggy haze I heard the words, “Thank you, we will let you know one way or another in about a week.” Stumble out and drive home without really remembering how I actually got home. This was not my typical crazy shower idea. This was real. And I was not sure why in the world I had done this. 

Fast forward again, one week later. First I saw a FB post in which Tracey Becker so eloquently and kindly explained that there was so much talent out there, they wished they could put on two shows, but of course they couldn’t. So many excellent entries ended up in their “No Folder,” it was breaking their hearts. Any tiny bit of hope I had at that point was gone. I started my justification thinking, telling myself that the important thing was that I tried. Just like I used to tell my children when they were little. Just like I sometimes still tell them even though they are not little anymore. And I had my essay. Nothing could take away the words that were finally on paper now. Ok, I am alright with whatever happens. 

Fast forward a few more agonizing days. And then it came! The email that started with “Congratulations!” I could not believe it!! I was going to be in the cast of the 2013 Listen to Your Mother show! Unbelievable!! And a few hours later the cast list came out in print. My name was really there. Minor hyperventilating again, which I am somewhat feeling again as I write this blog. Oh yes, the blog. I quickly realized that everyone on the list wrote blogs except for me. Which was fine. Really okay. Even though their names were all in red, linked to their blogs which made for fascinating reading, and my mine was the lone name in black. And then I started to think. If I can get a part in the show, maybe I can blog, too?? Cue Eleanor Roosevelt’s quote, 

                                        “Do one thing every day that scares you.” 

Ok, I’ve definitely got that one covered this week. Which brings me to today. I am, with my very first blog ever, going to encourage anyone who may be reading this to come to Listen To Your Mother 2013 on May 5th at the beautiful, historic Athenaeum Theater in Chicago on May 5th at 2:00 pm. Click here for tickets.

 And if you happen to find a really cool and colorful shower write on/wipe off board, let me know! I happen to strongly believe in the Power of the Shower.