Oct 12 2017

He Flies

I’ve kept this to myself for more than a year and at the risk of sounding completely delusional, I’ve decided to share my secret, I talk to flies. Not so bad? OK, it gets weirder… I talk to my dad as a fly. Yep, I warned you, now hold your judgement and let me explain.

I know a lot of people who see signs, symbols or animals and remember a loved one. Most of the time I hear butterflies or cardinals, usually creatures with less filthy and annoying reputations. My dad always wished he had the ability to fly and beginning with the day he passed it seemed he was communicating literally as a fly. After battling a cancer that ate away at his bones, robbed his ability to move comfortably and provided a hellish amount of pain, he was finally free to fly.

The police arrived after his last breath before 4 AM, a fly flew in with them. It was early spring and the first fly I had seen that year rested on the ceiling in his bedroom as I sat with my mom, numb from the previous year leading up to that moment.

Breaking the empty silence, “I still want to go on the family vacation we talked about,” Mom said. We had been trying to keep my dad encouraged during his illness by talk of taking a big trip to Machu Picchu, a place he had always wanted to see. We promised him we would all go when he regained his health, as we all believed he would. The fly took off from the ceiling and circled around the room several times before landing again. Half joking, I identified the fly as “Dad” and stated he was showing his support of us going.

Over the months that followed, I continued to have symbolic moments with flies. Times when I was overwhelmed with sorrow, flies seemed to appear in the most unlikely or random places. I didn’t associate all flies with my dad and there was some frustration within myself for even recognizing the connection an insect could have with someone I admired so much. Generally, the disgust I had for flies and what they represented before, turned to comfort and humor when I needed it during the darkest moments of grief. An early fly memory was watching as the creature floundered in flight, wobbling like a drunk as if it were learning to fly brought a smile. I lost my natural instinct to swat away flies and instead forced me to tune into the present in those moments they appeared.

Six months after his death, I dreaded my parent’s anniversary. I knew it would be unbearable for my mom and I figured she wouldn’t want anyone around. The hopelessness I felt during his illness returned with the hopelessness I had knowing there was nothing I could do to help my mom. For the better half of the day I debated whether I should bring her the roses I knew my dad would have brought to her as he did every year. I agonized, cried and could not turn my thoughts to anything else as I sat at my kitchen table confused. Of course a fly appeared and circled around me, maybe out of anger he wasn’t physically present and my mom was suffering, I left for the opposite corner of the house to let my tears continue to flow. The damn fly immediately followed and rested on the ceiling above my head. For the first time in six months I spoke to the fly, to my dad. “Do you want me to bring her roses,” I asked. The fly left the ceiling and flew into my raw wet cheek. “Fine Dad, I will go get them.” I can’t imagine they helped Mom much that day, but Dad wanted her to have them.

Without hearing his words, the fly has been his form of communication to quiet my emotion, to remind me to breathe, at times to let me know his disapproval and more than anything to signal he is and always will be with me. As strange as I know it is, I accept my bizarre connection to this six-legged, giant eyed buzzing creature.

This past summer my uncle also passed. My cousin, sister and I all decided to get a tattoo for our dads, likely one of the last things they would have wanted us to do for them. My uncle even told his daughters “tattoos are like putting a bumper sticker on a Cadillac.” I guess I think of my body as more of a Volkswagen bus with a statement to make. Of all the words or imagines I debated to use as a tribute to my dad, one thing seemed make the most sense. The fly sits high on my left femur, the bone which broke on my dad’s way to being able to fly.

Happy Birthday Dad, the flies are not much of a substitute for being able to see you, talk to you and feel your hug. I appreciate them either way. You are free from pain and at peace now, I miss you today and always.

Sep 12 2016

Kindergarten Tears

My daughter started kindergarten and the immediate response from people I have encountered since has been “Were there tears?” The short answer is no not that morning anyway, we all went to school smiling and prepared for this new experience. We did have a tearful exchange long after bedtime the night before the first day, Parker stated she could not sleep and was full of anxiety.

“My friends won’t be there, what if I won’t have any friends?” she muttered out in between sobbing. After her body and mind finally relaxed she woke up excited and ready to put on her new outfit declaring “I look fresh.”

The tears I may or may not have been shedding were related to the stress of delaying and then choosing a kindergarten. I felt my daughter was kindergarten ready last year, therefore 1st grade ready now… Unfortunately birth date restrictions prohibit or mandate kids start according to a standardized system of laws out of my control. So I waited, continuing her education through Montessori school and at home. There were so many things I loved about her school, it

The Montessori school also offered ballet lessons, which Parker’s teacher Ms. Deja taught. This is after the recital in June 2016.

made the search for kindergarten all the more emotional. Parker had the same adoring teachers for three years, ones who I faithfully trusted and appreciated. She had home cooked, healthy lunches and I knew she was eating better than what I would have been scrambling together at home for her noon meal. Her classroom was autonomous, she got to engage in activities she was interested in and learned at her own level. Over the course of three years I watched Parker thrive, put creative effort and pride in her work and challenge herself to learn more. Her school does offer kindergarten and it was a consideration to stay. However, I knew our attachment was already so strong after three years, if we stayed a fourth I would be desperate to keep her in the pre-school setting until college.

An example of the type of work Parker was doing in Montessori school. She individually punched out states, labeled, puzzled, glued and painted her own maps of the United States, Australia, North America and South America.

With so much to love about Parker’s Montessori school, I may have been hyper critical of other schools when checking out kindergartens. I researched online last fall, had information packets sent and began touring. I walked the halls of not one, not two but eight different elementary schools. Some tours were more out of curiosity or comparison purposes, I wanted to really see the variety. I toured public schools, a charter Montessori school, private schools, religious schools and a language immersion school. I asked a lot of questions and I kept a lot of my observations and judgements to myself. There were things I liked about each school individually and equally unfavorable items everywhere too. I’ll admit to being personally critical of common core curriculum and an advocate for increasing teacher’s salaries due to their inadequate financial appreciation. I examined the diversity of the students and staff, the quality of work hanging on the walls, the cleanliness and organization of the buildings, and the menu of food served in the cafeteria in each elementary school.

Ultimately I came down to two favorites. The first happens to be the closest private school to our home and one which I was surprised to enjoy so much. It was a small school with one classroom per grade level and went up to grade twelve. Their quality of work, academic achievement, atmosphere and friendliness of the students (all grade levels) far exceeded any other school I toured. Their art teacher and classroom were impressive and since Parker toured with me, she continued to talk about it for months. I was also ecstatic about their lunch menu as it was another school with daily cooked, healthy farm-fresh ingredients. As if this weren’t enough – no common core. The curriculum is structured as Classical Christian and would require memorization of bible versus. While there is a lot to admire about Classical Christian, including the cursive handwriting she would be practicing this year and the focus on grammar, logic and rhetoric, I am not Christian and know little about the bible.

The other favorite school I considered is one modeled from Waldorf education. A short YouTube explanation of Waldorf can be viewed by clicking here. The belief is music, theater, literature and writing need to not just be learned but experienced. They aim to cultivate a desire to learn within each individual child and eliminate the need for competitive testing. My artistically inclined five year old would be encouraged to dance, perform and learn about her world by exploring on their seven acre rural property. Students in the school had cubbies containing slickers, hats and rain boots because they spent a lot of time out in the gardens no matter the weather. When we viewed the school it was for a May Pole Celebration, I observed teachers redirecting students by singing them back into attention. Parker participated in a treasure hunt in the sandbox to find shells, rocks and feathers which she got to add to a fairy house she made out of clay. While students hung upside down from trees, swung on tire swings and picnicked with their patchouli smelling dreadlocked parents, I knew this would be the school to encourage her creativity. About half-way through the Native American story puppet show, when the scent of the burning sage had worn off, I realized it may be unrealistic to plan to attend a school so far from home.

Based on so many variables, cost and distance to my preferred schools, it seemed like I would be having issues no matter where she attended. Ultimately we chose the free public school option with the hope she would be assigned to the kindergarten teacher with the most experience as we indicated to the principal. Unfortunately our request was not respected and she was added to the classroom with a first year teacher with the principals statement “Don’t worry, it will be great.” And every day since the teacher comments “Parker did great.” I understand the teacher is commenting on her behavior, which compared to peers in her class, I’m sure the teacher feels she hit the jackpot with my daughter. Except the quality of work Parker brings home has declined from

Quality public education.

what I know she is capable of, not great. The countless worksheets she brings home on a daily basis is equivalent to introductory work she is too advanced for, not great. And the post-it notes I found in her backpack this morning with words Parker said her teacher wrote for her to copy: “speggitti” and “basktball,” really not great. The excitement she had for school and learning is transitioning to becoming a chore and while this happens for many students, it definitely shouldn’t happen in kindergarten.

More tears may be shed over kindergarten, it may be me or it may be her teacher and principal – and we haven’t even gotten to the common core math shenanigans yet. I think the worst part is knowing my daughter has parents who will advocate for her and ensure she gets what she needs, while there are a lot of other kids who have to settle for what they get and will not meet their full potential. I will be speaking with her teacher and without improvement, the principal. Choosing a kindergarten took more effort and thoughtfulness than I took in choosing a college, however, just like in college – there is always an option to transfer.

How would you recommend speaking to the teacher in a way that will promote change without making her offended? Or would you abandon the school?

Aug 22 2016

Life on Purpose

As a mother and wife, it has been an extreme importance to provide a healthy life to those I love. Until recently I believed I was doing a great job by being mindful of nutrition, being aware of toxic products and making conscious decisions about medical interventions. It seemed simple because it was the lifestyle I was fortunate to grow up with, though something changed to make me understand there is more I can do to improve the environment I am raising my child in.

When my dad was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma in September 2015, I watched his condition deteriorate and felt the confusion, frustration and fear involved with cancer. He was the only person in our family to ever receive a cancer diagnosis and I thought he was doing everything “right” to avoid getting cancer. He was one who rarely got sick, religiously took vitamins, stayed active, maintained a healthy weight, often ate a vegetarian diet and stopped using the microwave because it zapped nutrients from foods. Dad had never been hospitalized for anything ever, I wrongly assumed he would be safe from this type of disease. Like most cancers, myeloma doesn’t have a direct cause provided with the diagnosis. My dad received a double major in chemistry and biology, then made his professional career working in the chemical industry. Despite the doctor’s hesitation to name a cause, it’s easy to see some correlation in how his cancer likely developed.

About the same time of the diagnosis, a friend contacted me about Norwex and emphasized how important this product could be in his home. I declined hosting a party or learning more about the products as we were all engrossed in treatments, symptom management and appeasing his appetite. At the end of March 2016, my dad passed and was finally at peace from the pain.

In the cycle of grief, I consider what we could have done different, how I could have helped more or what might have changed his outcome. There are many things I wish could have been different for my dad and because I can’t change what happened with him, I am propelled to try to reduce the chances of anyone else suffering in the same way.

In every home there are known cancer causing agents; environmental toxins we clean with, put on our body, ingest and breathe on a regular basis. Because they have commercials and are available to buy in stores, it’s normal to believe they are safe. Alarmingly, of the 80,000 new chemicals which have been introduced to our market in the last fifty years, less than 200 have actually been tested for safety. Many we use on a regular basis in the United States have been banned across Europe. The statistics are shocking and really show consumers are not protected. Norwex can provide the same or better standards of clean and can do so with only water and a lot less time. Don’t believe me? I’d be happy to prove it and help you create a safe, chemical free environment in your home. While I cannot change the past, I am confident in my choice to live life on purpose now and share the microfiber magic with those I love.

The very best way to experience this safe clean and do it for free is by hosting a party. Norwex is an extremely generous company by spoiling a hostess with free gifts just for bringing friends together to learn about the products. Please check out my website, contact me about hosting a party and share with those you love and wish to protect. Norwex life on purpose

Nov 13 2014

The Vacuum of Vacuums

I wish I were talking about the greatest vacuum in the world, the most reliable engineered home-cleaning system. Sadly, I’m talking about my home literally sucking the life out of vacuum cleaners.

The day we brought my daughter home from the hospital my husband went to purchase a new vacuum cleaner. Funny to think I remember it so clearly, maybe it was because he felt the urgency for a momentary escape from the emotional magnitude of bringing home a baby. Maybe it was feeling like we needed an exceptionally clean start for the new precious being. Or maybe it was an errand he could contribute because this new tiny creature was infinitely latched to my boobs.

I can’t even think of what we had been using prior to the new vacuum, probably a hand-me-down appliance like most others throughout our home. I do know, the purchase began our spiral of irreparable cleaning apparatuses. Thankfully, since the purchase was made at Costco we have been able to lug in our dusty useless equipment, no box and no receipt and walk out with a fresh start. Over the years we have seen the same model in a variety of colors and minimal improvements, at no cost except the gas and time it takes to make the transaction. In the last four years we have had a revolving door of vacuums making this exchange at least once and sometimes twice per year.

One might think a consumer is being too hard on the vacuum, how could it really break that often? Our square footage of carpet isn’t even too great in our little home, a few rugs, two carpeted bedrooms and one living space. Regular usage to rid our home of shed dog hair, kid messes and typical traffic, I don’t think it’s more than an average home. And I certainly haven’t dropped it down the stairs, thrown objects at it or beaten it in any way – at least thoughts of raging on the machines don’t cause physical harm. People say things aren’t made like they used to be and claim the investment is worth it for a machine from the door to door variety. Then again, I’d hate to think of my home sucking the life out of antique or ultra expensive vacuum, a risk I’m not willing to take as long as they keep taking broken ones at Costco.

Still, it doesn’t take long in our home to go from “just out of the box” condition to slowly loosing it’s suction. A vacuuming job quickly ends up sucking time out of my day to take bits of it apart, cleaning it and cutting out threads and hairs trying to get back to working condition. When a recent exchange failed in less than three months, I borrowed a spare vacuum my mom had in her home. All I could do was laugh when the whole upper half of the machine came off with the mere pull of the handle, of course in my home the Vacuum of Vacuums.

And last week I had the time to do one of my favorite floor cleaning rituals… Steam cleaning rugs. I poured the appropriate measurements of solution and water into the machine, plenty of which made it evenly dispersed onto the rugs. Very little of it ended up suctioned back into the steam cleaner, and it was only its second use. Out of the time it took me to steam clean the rugs, most it was sucked into squatting on the floor trying to find out why it wasn’t sucking.

Yesterday I made the official return to Costco (again) and this time opted to upgrade to the more expensive model vacuum. I’ll try to stay optimistic and believe it will become my faithful tool, my companion for cleaning for decades. Let’s hope the shark will not fall victim to the Vacuum of Vacuums or our only choice will be to move to a home with no carpet.

Jun 4 2013

Cooperation At Two

I often write about my daughter. About how funny, how brilliant, how inspirational and how fantastic it is to be her mom. Even though all these things are true, our days aren’t always filled with cotton candy, rainbows and sunshine, lovey-dovey happiness. Oh no, far from it. Parker is a product of my husband and I and shows for it with all the independent stubbornness capable of being supported in her two and a half-year old frame.

Today was one of those days where every direction, limitation and plea for cooperation was met with equal or greater opposition. If I said here, she went there. If I said up, she went down. And when I said no, she took it as a yes with a running head start. Battle after battle, talking it out followed by Parker’s apologies and eventual follow-through with requests. It seems on days like today I have to work twice as hard to maintain my patience and consistency to prove I’m not going to give in, hoping it will curb tomorrow’s behavior.

By the end of the day I was exhausted counting down the minutes until bed-time and still prepared for Parker’s next challenge. She had dumped out a large bag of foam blocks to play with and after a short while abandoned the blocks for crayons and paper. “Parker, you need to put the blocks away before coloring,” I instructed her.

She looked up at me with a Crazy Lady Leave Me Alone glare and said, “Mommy you not cooperating!”

Yes, exactly what I have been telling her all day.

May 31 2013

Big Girl Bed, Again.

A few months back the baby crib came down and was replaced with a toddler bed for my growing tiny tot. Then a few weeks afterwards the realization set in, too many growing up changes happening too soon and Parker was not accepting them all. A pack and play was assembled next to the toddler bed for sleeping and temporary reassurance. The pack and play remained up for both naps and bedtime, while the fancy new toddler bed sat lonely, only getting an occasional hop, pretending to put Mommy down for a nap or movie time cuddles.

Despite the obvious lack of space in the confining pack and play, Parker chose to sleep there and didn’t try to climb out until this week. She casually walked out of her room following a nap one afternoon, so I promptly set her back into the pack and play to demonstrate how she escaped. Swinging her leg over the rail and onto her toddler bed as a step down, she proudly showed how she braved her long limbs into her escape plan.

Now, I have to say I have been ambiguous about the use of the pack and play. In a sense it’s nice to restrict her movement when it’s time to slow down and fall asleep. Although the structure became an obstacle in her room to manuever around and it was intended to be temporary in the transition. I have been ready whenever she was and her climbing out seemed to be the obvious sign it was no longer necessary.

As much of an explanation can be comprehended by a two-year old, she heard it while I disassembled the pack and play. “It’s time to use your big girl bed now,” I told her.

“Why not?” She asks, as this is the standard response for questioning even when the ‘not’ part doesn’t fit in. She appeared bothered, as if the folding boards thinly covered in foam and synthetic material was the most comfortable sleeping arrangement possible. After some convincing Parker was more excited about the impending night back in her new bed.

Bedtime loomed closer, I felt my nerves rising. Would she stay in her bed, would she fall asleep and would she stay asleep through the night. No matter how often I try to prepare, it’s impossible to predict the behavior to expect from a toddler. Our nighttime routine stayed exactly the same and when it was time I laid her down just as smoothly as I had the previous night in the pack and play. Momentary success as I closed the door and wished Parker sweet dreams.

I continued my evening downstairs until nearly an hour later I could hear her footsteps, then the door knob and then her chattering. Back upstairs I went, preparing to set a strict tone of needing to stay in bed.

“I not sleepy Mommy,” she pleaded to me with her big brown eyes as I escorted her back to her door. “I stinky Mommy,” she said with more urgency. “I need to go potty, need to go potty,” she said rapidly as a final distraction before I silently steered her back into her room. Climbing into bed she reiterated “I stinky Mommy.” I knew she was using any tactic possible to delay going to bed, and I also figured while I was there I should check her claims to be sure. Against my wishes I switched on her lamp and asked her to stand up to peek in the back of her pull-up. Sure enough, she needed to be changed.

Parker was delighted to have a captive audience now, she released her delirious inner comedian while I laid her down to wipe her clean. She sang The Wheels on the Bus using different tunes, voices and tempos with each line. I did my best to contain laughter, knowing it would only encourage her more. I couldn’t keep from smiling at her ridiculous state and was relieved to have my face in the shadow of the light so she couldn’t see my response. Parker went back to bed easily and sang herself to sleep.

All this week we have been redirecting her back to bed, though each night seems less and less. We also have been getting up several times during the night to bring her back to bed when she comes into our room after we have gone to sleep. The second night in her big girl bed I woke up early in the morning to find her laying between us, oblivious to when she arrived or how she climbed up, although from her mummified sleep I knew she had been there a while. Since I was exhausted from the frequent wake-ups the night before, I fell back asleep before having a conscious thought about needing to move her back.

The next few nights were more of the same. Redirections to go back to her own bed, and carrying her back to her room after we had gone to sleep. One early morning my husband awoke when he heard her door knob and from his position in bed he had a clear view of her charge from her room to my side of the bed. My recollection of the event was a terrifying jolt from my peaceful slumber by an excited tot, exercising her new-found freedom from the confinement of a pack and play.

Apr 18 2013

Hits & Misses

Spending all day with my sweet little girl it’s impossible to give her undivided attention all the time. It would be lovely to just get to play nanny and focus only on her, unfortunately I have to play housekeeper, cook, chauffeur, and house manager cohesively. This conflict of roles lends it’s self to many hits and misses as far as connections we get to have as mother and daughter thoughout the day.

We both have times when we deny each other’s affections, when the opposite is fulfilled by a task. Like this morning while she ate her breakfast I began preparing a crafting collage until she finished eating and promptly decided she needed to be sitting in my lap. I held her off with distractions in her own chair as long as I could and somehow she ended up crawling her way back into my lap, blinding my efforts with scissors and paper with her curly brown locks. Eventually I gave in and assumed the project would have to wait. We pulled down the Play-Doh for her to roll and press shapes, this time it was her brushing mommy’s affection. It’s just so hard for me to resist her enthusiastic smile and positive energy, I want to swoop in to her kissable cheeks and savor the moment. And as if she suddenly incarnates a “too cool for parents” teenaged attitude her shoulder comes up to block her cheek – too busy for a kiss right now.

Those moments of craving attention are frequently coorelated with times of being tired or hungry, and when this is the case there is lot of whining involved. My response to the whining is encouragement for her to use her words, and when that doesn’t seem to make an impact I tell her I think she might be tired and needing a nap. This technique usually works since naps are the enemy and she would never volunteer herself for one. Except since this has been my response to her whining, she has begun beating me to the punch. She informs me: “I’m going to take a nap,” when I have repeatidly told her I can’t hold her while I am cooking. She doesn’t actually take a nap though, she just leaves for a minute and usually brings back a toy from her room.

I have to learn to not be hard on myself about the misses. I can’t entertain, hold, clean and fix everything for her and I have to be okay with her being upset about that sometimes. It makes it easier to accept the rough parts of the days when there are so many hits of the days to look back on and appreciate.

The mornings we stay extra long in bed pulling the covers over our heads to play with a flashlight. Dancing in our living room for hours on end stomping, twirling and shaking with laughter and songs. And closing each day with reading books, snuggles and kisses. There are so many moments when it’s just me and Parker, when I am completely present with her. In those moments she heals me from the chaos of life, problems in the world and the grown up worries which consume my mind most other waking hours of the day. For now though, I had better go finish my collage while she takes her nap.

Under The Covers

Mar 31 2013

Not Quite Ready To Grow Up

My Bye Bye Bye Baby post (here) may have been a little too premature to celebrate. I boosted about Parker’s progress in potty training, going without a pacifier and abandoning her crib all in one week. Turns out she is not exactly ready to shed her baby skin completely. Maybe it was too much too soon and once the thrill of it all was gone she decided growing up isn’t all it’s cracked up to be… At least I feel that way sometimes.

PJ did well in her toddler bed for several nights, maybe even a full week, with no problems. And amazingly she still called in the morning, from her room, to let me know she was up instead of charging through the door. Taking naps in the new bed became a challenge, as predicted, she petifully looked at me with her head tilted to the side reporting “I’m not tired mommy, I don’t want to take a nap.” Then as I told her she could just lay down for some quiet time then (hoping a change in the name might change her attitude), this frequently ignited a brief crockadile teared tantrum clearly insinuating the need for a nap. For days Parker was able to escape taking naps just for the simple fact of not being able to keep her horizontal long enough to doze off.

Eventually Parker began leaving her room in the morning too, discovering she could hop right into mommy and daddy’s bed when she wakes up. It was fun at first, a little bit of snuggle time before breakfast. Then morning after morning she came in earlier and earlier until our usually late sleeper was now rousing each morning at 6AM. Too tired to even calculate how we were going to curb this new behavior and determine who was going to have to adjust – her or us – then the night of doom happened.

The day was normal, the nighttime routine was normal, by all accounts she appeared healthy and content when I put her down to bed. Then two hours after she had been sound asleep she woke up crying. Daddy addressed her crying and she went back to sleep, two hours later the same thing only this time we had gone to bed and she met me at my bedside. The rest of the night was more up and down, screaming at my bedside and exhausting any idea of what could be wrong. It felt like I was back to having a newborn to care for again except this newborn sprung from bed and hopped into my face to let me know she wasn’t sleeping. We took her temperature, rocked, changed pull-ups, drank milk, laid in her bed, and tried for about an hour of the night to see if she would sleep in my bed. The night was a blur of activities, screaming, scattered sleep and no clear idea of why it was all happening.

The next day when she continued to plead for no nap she was not tired, I knew she had to be exhausted. Again, she was not cooperating with the need to stay in bed so I offered her the option of sleeping in her big girl bed or a pack and play. I offer her choices a lot of times to try to employ her to make the positive choice, she often chooses the other option to see if I will carry through with the consequence. So, out the pack and play came since the crib has been disassembled and stored away. The afternoon after the night of doom she slept a good nap in her pack and play. And since then the pack and play has remained set up in her room, next to her toddler bed and she continues to choose to sleep there for night time and naps.

Maybe it’s more comfortable to be enclosed? I don’t know why it’s her preference for now, as long as we don’t end up shipping the pack and play away to college later on I suppose we are okay.

Mar 26 2013

Dollhouse Foreshadowing

My sister and I spent endless hours playing with dollhouses when we were little, I’m talking NASA astronaut training hours. Our first dollhouse was constructed by my mom from a wooden craft kit. The four room house was decorated and redecorated by painting the interior, gluing felt for carpeting and paper on the walls. We bought furniture and accessories down to potted plants, tiny picture frames, dishes and tea cups. Later we planned to add to our dollhouse neighborhood and each bought our own craft kits for additional houses. My house, like many of my master-minded projects, never got completed. I lost the directions and the beginnings of a large three-story house remained untouched in my parent’s basement for nearly 20 years. Call it divine intervention interrupting either mom’s ~~hoarding~~ reservation in throwing things out or my inability to follow-through with projects; the remaining contents in the doll house kit got wet in a minor leak in their basement and the house was finally set out on the curb.

The clean up effort lead my mom and I to rediscovering the remaining dollhouses last week. I assumed at some point I would introduce my daughter to the houses, thinking maybe when she is a little older. Two years old is too young for the fragile old wood, it doesn’t light up or make sounds like other plastic houses she’s seen, and all of the itsy-bitsy accessories to keep track of is enough to cause me an aneurism. In a few years I figured she would love the houses. Then as quickly as the dollhouses were at table level and within reach, a childhood wave of sentiment rushed over me and I couldn’t wait for her to wake up from her nap to come and play.

My mom and I sorted through the miniature time capsule of our youth, cleaning up, dusting off and discarding what was broken or not worth keeping. My sister was mighty pleased, back in the day, to use some creative skill in making her own dollhouse furniture. Foam haphazardly covered in fabric as the bed would have been fit for a dollhouse equivalent to a crack house. There were a few surprises in the excavation of the houses which ironically seemed accurate in our lives today. My sister’s house was filled with pets, including two tigers. This spring she will be completing her vet tech degree and the journey to get her there was inspired by her time working with the tigers at Endangered Animal Rescue in Citra, Florida. (Click HERE for more on that story.) My sister plans to work with a zoo veterinary department and continue her passion with big cats.

The other foreshadowing shock from our childhood houses, we found a black family. In our suburban caucasian home I can’t remember or imagine why we had purchased a black family. Perhaps my sister and I needed a way to distinguish who’s dolls belonged to each other? Were we impatient with a store who ran out of white families? Could it be my sister and I wisely saw a value in increasing the diversity in our dollhouse community? Whatever the reasoning was back then it has long since been forgotten and I’m sure my twelve-year-old self would have never been able to know she would one day fall in love and marry a black man.

With the components freshly sanitized, small accessories stored away and rooms reconfigured the houses were ready. I barely withheld my desire to wake my daughter up to come and play… Finally she arose and joined us downstairs to get her first glimpse of the hand crafted childhood treasure. Parker jumped right into investigating the pieces of furniture, opening the refrigerator, rearranging the living room, and pointing out the bird-cage. She opened the toilet seat and promptly put the little girl on it, holding the “mommy doll” near by to applaud her when she finished. Dollhouses may predict the future and when a two-year old plays it replicates her present life with plenty of potty practice.

If you are interested in having your own fun with this creative and playful hobby you can find doll house kits online or at craft stores like Hobby Lobby or Jo Ann ETC. In the Kansas City area you can check out Mini Temptations at 3633 West 95th in Overland Park, KS for a greater variety of houses, decorations, furniture and accessories you can see first hand.

Mar 23 2013

Two words, out of the blue.

Behavior is lawful, I learned this phrase when I became an instructor for Positive Behavior Support. It has been a long time since I have taught the class, however this phrase always stays with me. In short it means no behavior is ‘out of the blue,’ as we sometimes describe actions of others. Any action an individual takes is a response to something whether we are aware of it or not, the trigger could be anything in the environment noticed by our senses, a reaction to another person’s behavior or behavior can stem from a thought.

There have been many occurrences, since by daughter began speaking regularly, where I would have been caught off guard by her simple communication. Sometimes it’s while I am driving the car with her behind me in the car seat sitting peacefully observing the scenes passing outside her window when I hear the two words in her sweet high-pitched voice, “Thank you,” she says. She is very polite expressing thanks to family, friends and strangers on a regular basis; it’s the times when there is no apparent prompt for the comment I am boggled by. The comment appears to come out of the blue, except I know behavior is lawful and it must have a purpose.

I’m so curious at the thoughts in her two-year-old mind which evoked this comment. She didn’t get anything, no compliment received or favor helped. Is she thanking me for the ride, praising me for being a safe driver? Is she as appreciative to get out of the house as I am? Was she just trying to start a conversation to break the silence and these are the words others respond to? And then my mind takes me to wondering if it’s simply a thank you for being, kids are present in a way we lose as life gets more complicated. They are not congested with the volume of thoughts, opinions, data and stresses we have in our adult minds.

Without having the words to provide an explanation, I am left to imagine. Her enduring two-word expression, when the environment is otherwise silent, has developed meaning for me even when I don’t know what it means from her. It’s a reminder to focus on the present, no moment is ordinary, I need to appreciate it all.

Inspired Living KC

Inspiration can come from everywhere, you just have to slow down and notice it..

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