Tell Me Why

“A year, ten years from now, I’ll remember this;

not why, only that we were

here like this together.”

Adrienne Rich

I love being a mom. It was something I always hoped for, and something I truly enjoy. It is, however, something for which I was not fully prepared. Despite the countless hours of child development classes, babysitting seven younger siblings, and reading Parenting Magazine I still had many questions.

Even now, fifteen years later, I find that one question continues to resonate within my brain – Why?

Why did you tell our church clergy that “Mommy has a boyfriend named Jack”? Why did you fill the living room with water? Why did you stick a rock in your ear? Why did you eat the dog’s thyroid medication? And, why did you pluck ALL your eyebrows?

Even at this very moment I am mulling over one question – Why can my child be deathly ill for several days, and the moment I walk into the doctor’s office he is miraculously healed?

This month we at the Rancho fell victim to the infamous influenza virus. Amid the mountains of Kleenex, Tylenol, and disinfectant I wondered if it would ever end. Finally, after several days of quarantine we seemed to all recover except the three-year-old who appeared to be on the verge of certain demise.

The poor child, who is usually a firecracker of energy, lay motionless on the couch. His eyes were glazed. His head was hot. His nose was red and he had a persistent cough that just wouldn’t go away. When he couldn’t be enticed to watch another episode of Dora I began to worry.

As an experienced mother I am not one to seek medical assistance too quickly, but as the day went on his condition worsened. And as luck would have it, it was 10:00 p.m. on a weekend.

At that moment I had a choice to make (remember I am big on choices). Tough it out or seek medical attention? As scenes of “worse scenarios” rushed through my mind I chose to take him to the hospital emergency room.

What happened next surely would have won me the $100,000 prize on America’s Funniest Home Videos.

The moment we walked through the hospital doors the poor child, who just minutes ago was not coherent enough to tell me his name, jumped out of Mr. V’s arms and started running around the lobby without a single cough or sniffle.

He refused to wear the flu mask, jumped on the waiting room chairs, and had a full fledged conversation with the receptionist. (Mr. V and I tried to sneak out the back without being noticed, but it was too late.) He then went on to shake the doctor’s hand, recite a whole episode of Sponge Bob, and ask questions about every piece of medical equipment in view.

As the doctor looked at us with that “Why did you bring your kid to the ER?” look, I managed to stammer, “But he was sick!”

So, that brings me to another “Why”. Why should I ever pay another medical bill when all I have to do is walk through the door?

Nurture vs. Nature Revisited

“Our birth is
but a sleep
and a forgetting:
The Soul that
rises with us,
our life’s Star,
Hath had elsewhere
its setting,
And cometh
from afar.”
William Wordsworth

Scientists have long debated whether it is nurture or nature that makes us who we are. Do we come to this earth as a clean slate to be shaped into the person we are by our environment? Or are there parts of us that have always been and cannot be changed no matter what we face?

Lately, at the Rancho we have had this very conversation. Our concerns stem from an incident with Child Number Four (the Kindergartner).

The other day he sat eating a plate of nachos with chili con carne when he enthusiastically exclaimed, "Dad, this is delicious! These PEANUTS are fabulous!"

Mr. V had to stop and process this for a moment and then asked, "What did you say?"

"I said," responded Number Four, "These PEANUTS are actually fabulous!"

When Mr. V came to me I could see the deep concern on his face. "Dear," he said, "I have failed as a father."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He replied, "I have failed to properly teach my son how to be a Mexican. He doesn't know the difference between PEANUTS and BEANS!"

So, that brought us to the current debate. Personally, I think we come to this life with many characteristics that are just us and have always been.

Has my husband failed in his responsibilities? I don't think so. Parenthood is so much more.

Often times amid the noise, commotion, and business of everyday life I have caught glimpses of true greatness in my little ones. It is something unspoken, but surely felt in those unexpected moments that seem to just happen.

And so, as I consider the crayon artwork on my walls and the piles of clutter that surround me, I remind myself that it really isn’t about peanuts or beans, or clean rooms, or personal space. It is about helping them understand who they are and who they can become.

Small Town

“The nice part about living in a small town

is that when you don't know what

you're doing, someone else does.”
Unknown

I grew up in the city. It was nothing in comparison to the millions of Mexico City, but it was a city. It was a place where we knew only some of our neighbors, locked the doors each time we left the house, and relied on public transportation to get anywhere my mom wouldn’t drive us.

The day Mr. V announced that he had been offered his first teaching job in Warden, Washington was the day my dreams of urban bliss wistfully floated away into the ozone above. As you can imagine, I did not come willingly to the Basin.

I will never forget my introduction to rural life. Early one morning Mr. V informed me that we would be “changing water”. As a newlywed I still believed in my spouse’s perfection, so I willingly followed.

With the crowing of the rooster I donned on my irrigation boots and hopped into the old pickup truck. As the morning sky began to appear we drove down the gravel road, past the big haystack, to the bean field. With all the passion of a politician giving his first speech, Mr. V began to explain the intricate art of changing water.

“First, you pick up the siphon tube like this”, he said as he carefully demonstrated the procedure. “Now, put one end into the water just so… and with your mouth on the other end, suck in like you would a straw… really fast to get the water going…”

I never stopped to question his motives until I experienced the taste of ditch water which, in my mind, slightly resembled the flavor of stinky gym socks. As he fell to the ground shaking with laughter, I threw my boot at his head and swore I would NEVER live in a small town. That was almost twenty years ago.

Since then my ideas have changed. Over the years I have found that there are many benefits to country living. Where else could I write a check without showing ID, leave an IOU at the local gas station when I forget my wallet, and be informed of all news events without ever having to turn on the TV?

My kids have experienced the benefits of 4-H; play sports in an amazing city league with their uncle as coach; and will be able to name everyone in their graduating class. I am related to my church clergy and my doctor is our next door neighbor. Everyone waves as they drive by and I have never lacked fresh produce. It is safe to play outside, the air is clean, and you can see the stars at night. And in the evening I can sit on my front porch, and if I listen carefully I can hear the sound of workers singing in the field as they change water.

Yes, this is a nice place to live and we at the Rancho have no plans of leaving our small town anytime soon. After all, if I should wake up one morning to find that I can’t remember my name or anything going on in my life, all I have to do is ask the ladies down the road. They’ll fill me in on all the details.

Time

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow,

and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace

from day to day."
William Shakespeare

The older I get, the more I realize how fleeting life is. When I was younger it seemed that time couldn't move fast enough. I was always in a hurry "to get there" -- to grow up, to finish school, to get married, to buy that first house... Now, I find that time moves so quickly that I cannot seem to hold on to any one moment, like sand sifting through my fingers. I have often told myself, "I must remember this moment," only to find that the moment becomes buried and lost in time.

Not long ago I changed my last diaper. You would think that after fifteen years and more than 27,375 diapers (and yes, I actually did the math), this would be a momentous occasion. In truth it was quite the opposite -- rather anti-climatic and a little bit sad. Within that instant I suddenly realized that there were moments that would never come again. Call me sentimental, but the realization that no more diapers meant no more babies touched something deep within me.

And then this last week I sent my fourth Kindergartener off to school. I have never been one to shed a tear during this rite of passage. Although I love being a mom, the first day of Kindergarten has always been a joyous occasion as I wave goodbye to the bus and happily anticipate more time for myself.

This time, however, as I watched the bus drive away I felt a bit of emptiness. I looked at my three-year-old (the last one left at home) with his sticky hands and insistent cries of, “Play with me, mommy!” and thought about the moments that were slipping by way too fast.

All of a sudden the plans I had made for myself this year -- my time to finish that masters degree, my time to work on the career put on hold for so many years, my time to "rediscover myself" and "begin where I left off" -- all those plans suddenly seemed so unimportant.

I found myself frantically searching for more time. More time to read just one more story… More time to cuddle with kids in bed… More time to listen to the detailed step-by-step account of my teenager’s day… More time to laugh with Mr. V… More time for all those things that for so long I wished would just "hurry up and happen".

And, although I know that I can never turn back the hours (and I'm not sure I would even try), I have come to realize that I must always remember to savor the moments before they disappear in time.

Early Morning Run

“It is not the mountain we conquer
but ourselves.”
Sir Edmund Hillary

Some months ago Mr. V excitedly announced that he had registered us to run a race. “It will be fun!” he said. “We will run every morning and …”

Upon hearing the words “run” and “morning” in the same sentence I started to feel faint and began to teeter on the brink of hyperventilation. You see, I have never considered myself a runner.

My mind immediately took me back to Dixon Jr. High and Miss Roland’s gym class. It is one of those moments forever engraved upon the walls of my mind. I can remember every detail -- the feel of my blue polyester gym shorts; the boy staring at me because he wanted to “be more than friends”; and the sweet sounds of the Doobie Brothers’ What A Fool Believes playing somewhere in the background. It was the day of the mile run and I knew for certain I would surely die before ever reaching the end. And so, I hid behind the big pine tree and watched the other kids run, joining them on the very last lap. I am convinced that Miss Roland’s mind must have been elsewhere that day as she didn’t even notice, and happily called out, “Seven minutes and three seconds!” as I crossed the finish line. That day I joined the prestigious ranks of Presidential Physical Fitness Award hopefuls.

Mr. V’s continued speech pulled me back to the present. “Come on,” he said, “you can do it!” At that moment I had a choice, and as I am a great believer that there are always choices in life, I chose to follow. After all, I have been following this man for almost twenty years and he has never led me astray.

There is much to be said about an early morning run. There is something awe inspiring in how the morning sky suddenly appears, like watercolors blending against the horizon. The air is crisp with a certain stillness that magnifies even the smallest sounds. And in each run there is a sense of accomplishment. What starts as a few steps turns into yards, which eventually become miles. Little by little the daunting task becomes a possibility. It is in moments like this that you realize just how much it means to have someone believe in you.

On July 4th we ran our race – Mr. V. and I, and two of our children. And although I must confess (as I promised him I would) that my nine-year-old crossed the finish line ahead of me, I did finish the race.

I am certain you will never find me among the Tarahumara Indians -- legendary phantom runners of Mexico’s Copper Canyon. After all, my DNA hails from the islands of the South Pacific, and just how many times can you run around one small island? If you look, however, you may see me some mornings running along a ditch bank with Mr. V by my side. And if you ask, you may even find that I am considering my next race, especially since I still have a score to settle with my nine-year-old.

Confessions Of A Perfectionist

Lately, I have had a hard time sitting down to write. Part of it has to do with summer and the laziness of this time of year, and part has to do with writing for a deadline. And so, since I have not posted for quite some time, and have been using old posts for my column, I decided I needed new material. Despite my most creative efforts, nothing came to mind. I do have a few projects in the works, but true to the spirit of this post I decided against perfection. For now I'm giving you my revision -- the one for this week's column. I promise to soon get back into the routine, but not until after a few more dips in the pool.

"Homes are for free expression,
not for good impression."

Helen North from the movie Yours, Mine and Ours (2005).

I have come to realize (OK, so I realized this a LONG time ago) that I am a perfectionist. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that as a young bride I prided myself in the fact that my house was immaculate to the point that even the patterns from the vacuum cleaner lined up perfectly in the carpet.

Oh, how things have changed over the years! It might have something to do with giving birth to five kids, Mr. V's pasture full of farm animals, or the lack of sleep. Somehow, along the way I realized that perfection is just plain HARD WORK! And so, I now view life a bit differently.

I now find great satisfaction in the fact that (according to my five-year-old) I am the "best storyteller ever!" I have discovered that I am impressive at comforting a crying toddler as my kisses magically cure any ailment. I can make Mac-N-Cheese with the best of them, and my blueberry pancakes are scrumptiously delicious. I am able to iron any shirt in the dryer, am an expert at ignoring crumbs on the kitchen floor, and can make something out of nothing. I am the best at singing "Itsy Bitsy Spider", and have endured watching Dora The Explorer over 20,000 times in a row. I have discovered that a bit of humor goes a long way, and that it's best to just shut my teenagers' bedroom doors. And most of all, I have found that all of us at the Rancho are most happy when mistakes are allowed.

I must admit, however, that there are times of relapse when I get the urge to break out of my not so perfect ways. In those moments of temptation I take a few deep breaths and remind myself to enjoy the journey. After all, hair does eventually grow back; it's great that the kids want to cook; a throw pillow will easily cover where the hamster chewed through the couch; and a baby goat in the house it not the end of the world!

Final Farewell

It was a great honor to be asked to present the eulogy at my grandfather’s funeral. For quite some time I contemplated what to write – looking for just the right thing to say. I have often sat at funerals where every minute indiscretion of the deceased’s life is hung out like dirty laundry for all to see. At other times I have listened as the speaker describes a life of perfection without any hint of mortal transgression.

I did not want this for my grandfather as he was neither. His life was more like a favorite novel, read and reread until the pages are frayed and faded at the favorite parts. It was a story full of conflict, resolution, intrigue, anticipation, romance, deception, love, forgiveness, and redemption. And like a good novel, when it was over, we all closed the last page and thought, “Ah, yes -- that was a good story!”

Early in the morning, in that space between slumber and wakefulness, the words came to me. They came so clearly that I could see them written on the page, but even more, I could feel them. And when I read them, I knew that this was how I must begin his final tribute.

The Refiner’s Touch
By N. Villarreal

I watched from afar the struggling man
Walk a pathway at times unclear.
Through uphill fight
And valleys deep
I saw the Master near.

With sometimes fire and sometimes ice
I thought the man’s soul might break,
But the Refiner’s touch
Though harsh at times,
He never did forsake.

And the man never stopped
Although he did stray
At times along the path.
His forward steps kept a steady pace
To the end he came at last.

And as he looked up
I saw in his eye
A weariness with words untold,
But where once was hard and unrefined
I saw the smoothest gold.

“... I know at times he wondered if his life had made a difference, and he worried about some of the choices made along the way. But his life did make a difference, and the legacy he leaves behind is one of the greatest gifts he could ever give. I will surely miss him, but I find great comfort in the knowledge that life is eternal, and the bonds of family stretch far beyond the confines of this mortal existence.”

**If any family or close friends would like a copy of the eulogy in its entirety, please e-mail me or leave a comment on the blog.

Again

Once again we packed the whole Rancho into our SUV to make that twelve hour trip back to the place of mountains – the second time in one week.

The trip was unplanned as this time we were returning for a funeral. And once again I wondered if the wild two-year-old should have some Benadryl; why one of my offspring peed in a water bottle instead of telling us he needed to go; if the teenager could please be a little nicer; and what passing cars thought upon seeing the five-year-old licking the windows.

I thought about funeral potatoes, a military salute, a handwritten personal history, laughter while remembering, and tears while missing. And I thought about family, and about how in times such as these it is good to be surrounded by loved ones.

And along the way I learned some important truths: NEVER stay in a hotel whose name contains any type of number, and if the billboard says, “Pet Friendly” it should be avoided at all costs.

Before leaving it was decided we would stay the night at the half-way point. In search of a good deal, I looked for a hotel online through one of the many travel sites available on the world wide web. So when this numbered hotel came up with a room that “sleeps five” for half the cost, I immediately made the non-transferable, non-refundable reservation. I soon learned, however, that in cyberspace four stars really means two, and two stars is more like ¼ a star.

The first clue should have been the bare-chested biker dude who told me to turn off the SUV so he could talk on his cell phone while we waited for Mr. V to check in.

The second clue came when the girl at the front desk told Mr. V with a wink, “All we ask is that you don’t party like a rock star.”

And then there was the man carrying a bag of microwave popcorn who muttered to himself as he took his two little Cockapoos to the “pets only” area behind the parking lot.

And finally, there was the swimming pool smaller than the water trough in our front pasture. These were all signs, but we were just too tired to notice.

But we did notice after the first child used the bathroom and we realized there was no bathroom fan. The five-year-old then looked around and loudly announced, “This hotel smells like c**p!” We chose to overlook his creative use of language as he was exactly right.

Upon closer inspection it was determined that the beds looked “clean enough”, and were free of any bug infestation, so we decided to stay (mostly because Mr. V and I were too tired to fathom hauling the whole crew to another location).

And so we slept, all seven of us, in two supposedly queen sized beds. The air conditioner rattled, the windows shook, and the room was in dire need of potpourri, but we were “making memories.”

When the 5:00 a.m. alarm sounded Mr. V turned on the heater before waking the kids. What happened next was definitely a memory made. The heater started spewing thick black smoke setting off the fire alarm.

Like Nacho Libre flying across the fighting ring with his Eagle Powers, Mr. V jumped to the ceiling and disconnected the alarm. In a record thirty seconds we had the whole Rancho clan packed and out the door.

As we rushed to the SUV the teenager exclaimed, “I didn’t want to swim there anyway. The last time my friend and her family swam at the Super 8 they all got sick!”

Goodbye

“Don’t cry because it’s over.
Smile because it happened.”
Dr. Seuss

Each summer we pack ourselves, five kids, and piles of “too much junk” into the SUV to make our annual pilgrimage to the place of my childhood. Over the Blues, through the valley, past endless fields of sagebrush, until we reach the mountains of the Wasatch Front.

As we drive I am thinking, “Who gave the five-year-old a harmonica? How many granola bars have been stuffed under the back seat? Will the neighbor boy remember to water my flowers? Should I give the wild two-year-old some more Benadryl? Will my teenager go deaf after listening to twelve hours of ipod?...”

In my heart I know that although this trip will be as wonderful as it is each year, it will also be a last goodbye to a grandfather dearly loved. After 92 years and a lifetime of experiences, he is slowly fading away. His frail body has become a shadow of the man he once was, and although I will not mourn his passing (as his was a life well-lived), I will surely miss him.

And so we drive, and I think about what the next few days will hold -- trips to the museum and amusement park, BBQ with family and friends, conversations late into the night, cousins for my kids, afternoon drives past our first apartment and the place where our oldest was born, hikes up the mountain, a 5K race, and time with those most loved.

And I also think about what I will say to him. How do you adequately thank someone for a lifetime of sacrifice and service? How do you express a love that is far beyond words? What questions do you ask when there may not be time for others? How do you say goodbye when you know that this will be your last?

And as we drive, I am not sad that he will soon be leaving – I find great comfort in a lifetime of memories and the belief that life is eternal. I am, however, reminded once again that life is fragile and each moment must be savored.


** Arthur J. Allen passed away on Tuesday, July 7, 2009. We do not mourn his passing as we know he is surrounded by loved ones and is once again with his beloved Mary. But, oh how we miss him! We thank him for the legacy he leaves behind, and look forward to the time when we will be reunited. For we know that life is eternal and that the bonds of family stretch far beyond this mortal existence.

Complacency

“There once was a beautiful house on a hill that worked so hard to stand until one day it just crumbled, disappearing into dust. Its foundation had been neglected for so long that it could no longer carry the weight of its walls.”

-- L. Leavitt

Somewhere in the middle lies a place called Complacency. It starts where the newness leaves off and the good is “good enough”. It is a place of passing words and passing actions, where we hold on because that’s what we’ve always done, and life is lived side by side rather than ever intersecting. It is where predictability and habit preside, and routines become lifetimes. It is a place often “stumbled upon” and unrecognized; and is not to be confused with Love, Trust, or Loyalty, as it is a very dangerous place to venture. And in the end the carelessness that leads us there will slowly eat away at the foundation of all we hold dear, until we are left holding only the pieces.

Some time ago I realized that my life consisted of passing conversations as I hurried to and from meetings, baseball games, piano lessons, parent-teacher conferences, grocery shopping, doctor appointments, church responsibilities … It was something that just happened, and before I even noticed it seemed that Mr. V and I were living our lives side by side -- a far cry from the hopes and dreams we once shared.

It was at this time we discovered Stehekin, a quaint little town nestled within the North Cascade Mountains of Washington State, on the far edge of Lake Chelan. Accessible only by boat, foot, or float plane, it is a step back in time to a life uncluttered and untouched by the rest of the world. It is a place where Carl the gardener says that pulling weeds is not hard work, but a chosen lifestyle. It is a place where the smell of freshly baked bread and cinnamon rolls floats from bakery windows, filling the morning air. It is a one room school house, a cabin retreat, and a quiet stroll through the woods. It is a challenging bike trek 13.6 miles up the mountain, and a thrilling ride back down. It is the power of a rushing river, the beauty of the hike, the still of silence, and the majesty of the mountains. It is quiet conversations, shared thoughts, and remembered moments. And to us… it was salvation.

And so each year we return to renew and recommit to those things we hold most dear. And each time we come away with a stronger resolve to not merely endure, but together enjoy the journey along the way. For we have learned that Complacency is not joy, and that true joy can be found in caring for the intricate relationships of life.

Life On His Planet

1. If you swallow a battery you get to go to the hospital where they take cool pictures of your stomach and try to decide if they have to perform surgery. You also get to see your mother practice relaxation breathing.

2. When you live on a farm it's OK to pee outside, even in below freezing weather.

3. Nacho Libre is the coolest movie ever made EVER!

4. "Jingle Bells, Batman Smells" is TOO an appropriate church song.

5. According to Poison Control eating a whole bottle of Tums will not hurt you... Also, the dog's thyroid medication is not poisonous; neither is White-Out, permanent marker, or the solution dad has to drink before his colonoscopy.

6. Mountain biking is an indoor sport...so is cliff diving, high jumping, and MMA fighting.

Why?

After the first few years of marital bliss I so wanted to have a baby! I dreamed of having a cute little one to cuddle and hold. I thought, "How hard can it be?... After all, my degree is in Human Development and I do know everything about early childhood..."

Well, the moment I first held my screaming red-faced baby girl I realized that parenthood was going to be more like a roller coaster ride than a sweet stroll through the park.

Wouldn't it be nice if every baby came with an owner's manual?

Troubleshooting, p. 5

1. If your baby cries too much simply press the off button located under the left ankle. If this doesn't work, just remove batteries and replace when you are ready.

2. If you have difficulty feeding your two-year-old foods other than cold cereal, push the reset button located under the right ankle, and hold for sixty seconds. Your child can be reprogrammed to eat green peas, brussel sprouts, grilled salmon, and hummus, as well as a variety of other nutritious and filling foods.

3. Your child comes equipped with a volume adjuster and mute button (found behind the left ear). Volume settings include Screaming At The Top of Lungs, Sweet and Giggly, Sleepy Sweet, and Barely Breathing. If all else fails, push the mute button to experience Sweet Silence.

4. After the first ten years of use your child may experience bouts of rolling eyes and stomping feet. This is part of the normal wear and tear of your product; however, replacement parts my be purchased through our extended warranty program.

5. Sometimes your child may move too fast. A remote control pause button can be purchased for an additional cost of $19.99 (plus shipping and handling). The pause feature may be used for various purposes: slow down a child running through the clothes racks at Walmart long enough to catch him; stop a rambling teenager mid-sentence giving you time to think of a reply; freeze a three-year-old before he smashes the next egg into the carpet or turns on the garden hose to fill the living room with water; or to create more personal time for talking on the phone and blog writing. This feature may also be used to stop time, giving you a chance to savor the moment before it "hurries up and happens".

On many occasions I have found myself wondering WHY. "Why did my child just do that? ... Why on school days do I have to drag my kids out of bed, but on vacation days they're up at 6:00 a.m. ?.. Why do my kids complain about having to eat healthy, but when I'm not looking they drink all my Acai Berry Blend juice?... Why can't I find that darn owner's manual?