Turning Away

** It has been some time since I last wrote. Somehow five kids and a full-time job leave little time for such things as writing…

"FACT IS, we can't fully be at home and fully at work at the same time -- not even if work is in the next room. Work and life don't overlap so much as they collide or intersect -- leaving us to sit in our ergonomically correct swivel chairs and pivot between the two. And each time we turn toward one, we are, in that moment, turning away from the other."

From Life's Work: Confessions of an Unbalanced Mom by Lisa Belkin


5:00 a.m. -- I have been up several hours in the night with a sick child. As I lay awake I wonder, “Is he too sick for daycare?”

I make the phone call and send the e-mails – I won’t be in today. Classes are cancelled. Teachers are notified.

Pablo The Pet Chicken

You know you live in the sticks when your child has a pet chicken.

I heard the door open, shut, and then the sound of footsteps move quietly across the floor. He was whispering, "It's OK sweetie..."

Puzzled, I wondered, "Who could he possibly be talking to?" (certainly not one of his siblings).

To my surprise I found the three-year-old standing in the livingroom holding a chicken. He must have sensed my confusion because he quickly blurted --

"This is Pablo... He's a Mexican chicken.... No, he can't go outside because it's too cold... No, he doesn't want to see his mommy... I don't want to take him outside... I just wanna watch TV..."

And so, the three-year-old and Pablo the Chicken watched Sponge Bob for a time until I finally convinced him to take his feathered friend back to the coop.

Soon after I looked out the window to see the child on the swings (with Pablo in hand) singing at the top of his lungs, "Twinkle twinkle little.... underwear!"

Farm Etiquette 101

“Were you born in a barnyard?... No, but
I have one in my front yard!”
A. Villarreal

Rule #5: When you live on a farm it’s OK to pee outside… even in below freezing weather, but be careful NOT to pee on the electric fence.

Things were quiet – much too quiet – a sure sign that someone was certainly up to no good. The silence was broken by the sound of muffled amusement which quickly escalated to waves of uncontrollable laughter.

I looked out the window to see the two little boys (three and five years old) standing on the edge of the trampoline trying to pee on the dog.

Aghast, (remnant of my suburban upbringing) I yelled to Mr. V. “Dear, the little boys are trying to pee on Bella’s head!”

Without missing a beat or even cracking a smile he replied, “Did they get her?”

Remembering Montevideo

“I like him because he smiles at me and means it.”
Anonymous

It was an unlikely meeting in an unlikely place and yet, in that moment things were forever changed.

Now, I don’t consider myself a hopeless romantic, and I am certainly not an expert on commitment, but I can tell you this. There are times when the most unlikely becomes the very thing that fills the empty spaces of life.

And, so in this moment I am feeling a bit sentimental. It has started to rain and somehow, the smell of rain reminds me of tortas fritas, dulce de leche, cobblestone, and mist.

Baby Sister

“People have been asking me if I was going to have kids,
and I had puppies instead.”
Kate Jackson

Lately, the kids have been asking for a little sister. It first started as comments slyly thrown into everyday conversation – “Hey mom… did you know that Jacinto has a new baby sister?” or “Mom, last night I had the weirdest dream… I dreamed we had a baby sister!” and (my favorite) “This is a picture of the family – there’s dad, you, my sisters, my brothers, the goats, the cats, the chickens… and this is our new baby sister!”

I was not overly concerned (thinking this was just a passing whim) until the five-year-old proudly announced at church that his “mommy is having a baby” and the congratulations starting coming my way. At that point I realized that something had to be done.

“Mr. V.” I said, “Do you realize that the whole church congregation thinks we’re adding another child to the Rancho?”

Without looking away from the TV he sarcastically replied, “If that happens we will have to name her Milagro (Miracle).”

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?

Nature vs. Nurture 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!"

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.

Time Revisited

"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.

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.

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.

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 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 this was how I must begin his final tribute.

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.

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. 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.

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 -- far away from the hopes and dreams we once shared.