Competition

Halloween is pretty important for kids. You'd know this if you came anywhere near our house in the last two weeks. My adorable girls have been counting down the days, checking the progress on the costumes (which until yesterday was non-existent). They've been barking orders about lawn decorations (but not helping out). And they've been dancing circles around the halloween candy bags like little vultures.

Things are pretty hectic here; Chris and I both work, there are three little ones underfoot, and the girls' and my own expectations are usually pretty unattainable. We set the bar high.

Yesterday, with the clock ticking down, I got to it.

In the few hours before I had to go to work, I managed to  prep a pretty yummy pot pie for dinner, bake pumpkin cupcakes with green slime frosting and black sprinkles,  and make some progress on Mae's Fiery Phoenix and Bela's Ghost Bride costumes. I cleaned the house a bit, threw on some clothes, grabbed my breast pump, and headed out the door when the babysitter came.

At the tail end of the day, I came home, fed the baby, got the pot pie in the oven, did homework with the girls, and finished the costumes.

Did they thank me? Did they rave about my ability to manage so many tasks so well? Did they fall over themselves trying to reach me to give me hugs for making all their wishes come true?

No. They complained that the costumes weren't just right. They stuck their little fingers in the frosting of 50% of the cupcakes. They cried about the two brussels sprouts I put in the pot pie.

And then Dad came home, with a single green light bulb in his hand, to add to the spooky decor. A single green energy efficient lightbulb to screw into our front window light, and you would have thought the Halloween Master himself had walked in the front door.

DADDY!!!!!! YOU'RE THE BEST~!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chris laughed and gave me that look, the one that acknowledges that this is not a competition, but even so - he won. I gave him my shitty little laugh that really means this is not a competition but I'll still beat you in the end.

Within two minutes of his homecoming Mae dropped (and broke) the awesome green light while she was spinning in circles and singing his praises.

We exchanged playful glances, my opponent and I. And I walked to the kitchen to dish them up some Halloween Cupcakes (made with leftover butternut squash, whole wheat flour, and that Garam Masala I threw in when I mistook it for Cinnamon).  As they stuffed them in their mouths I thought to myself: they don't know it, but I just won.

But hey, this isn't a competition. Right?

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This Moment

My (occasional) Friday post; a moment from our week I'd like to share and remember. Friday, Happy Friday!

Something Wicked This Way Comes

But what father ever really believes [his child is his own]?He carries no burden, he feels no pain. What man, like woman, lies down in darkness and gets up with child? The gentle, smiling ones own the good secret. Oh, what strange wonderful clocks women are. They nest in Time. They make the flesh that holds fast and binds eternity. They live inside the gift, know power, accept, and need not mention it. Why speak of Time when you are Time, and shape the universal moments, as they pass, into warmth and action? How men envy and often hate these warm clocks, these wives, who know they will live forever. So what do we do? We men turn terribly mean, because we can't hold to the world or ourselves or anything. We are blind to continuity, all breaks down, falls, melts, stops, rots, or runs away. So, since we cannot shape Time, where does that leave men? Sleepless. Staring. 

Three A.M. That's our reward. Three in the morn. The soul's midnight. The tide goes out, the soul ebbs. And a train arrives at an hour of despair...

Bela at 4 - fishing the drainage ditch

I'm reading Ray Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes to the girls. It's not age appropriate, but it takes place in small town Illinois the week leading up to Halloween. It's perfect.

I've never read the book before, but saw the movie at the Castle Theater in Bloomington, Il, way back when. I must have been 8 or 9 years old. It obviously stuck with me.

We're taking it slow, they're asking a lot of questions. The book is flooded with metaphor, analogy, hyperbole. Mae likes to listen, doesn't mind if she's not following along perfectly, falls asleep while I'm reading. Bela though, she is on it.

I read the above passage earlier this evening as they were tucked into their beds. I was struck by it, feeling like I've been pondering this very thing, from the other end. When I finished, I asked Bela what she thought about Charles Halloway - the father of one of the main characters, the man to whom this internal dialogue belongs. I figured she wasn't following at all.

"I think he wishes he were a better man. No, a better person."

Sometimes I look right at that girl without seeing her. Sometimes, it's easy to think of her as just a bundle of messy clothes, crooked teeth, and bouncy hair I have to feed, help with homework, get to bed. But that girl, she always comes around and blows my mind.

Good night.

tick tock

The girls spent their time well last weekend.

The moment before I die, as images and moments and history float before my dimming eyes, I will briefly dwell on one single regret: there was never enough time.

Go ahead. Carve it on my tombstone: HERE LIES KATHRYN. SHE NEVER HAD ENOUGH TIME. 

However long I live (and I'm hoping I'll reach a ripe and stinky age), it won't be enough - not nearly enough to accomplish all I hope to do.

The childless and the single most likely feel the same way, but the parent... oh, don't parents know the true meaning of limited time? If Chris and I choose to do A on any given night, it is only because we are not doing B. Or C, D, E, F, G. Unfortunately, A usually winds up being some mundane, monotonous task: preparing and cleaning up after dinner. Homework with the girls. Ridding the house of stinky diapers. Laundry. Errands. Kids kids kids kids kids.

But on the off chance we can sneak in a few minutes of ME time or even WE time, it's a never-ending struggle of choice: If I'm knitting, I'm not reading. If I'm reading, I'm not blogging. And if I'm blogging, I'm definitely not sewing Halloween costumes, or hanging fake spider webs, or baking cute little monster cookies. 

If Chris is putting together his basement work studio, he is not painting that picture for the art show. If he's working on the art show, he's not hanging out in the woods with his camera. If he's fishing, he's not hanging out with his kids. If he's building wonderful worlds out of Legos with his wonderful girls, he is definitely not bidding on that next job.

And if we manage to cram in some pleasurable, solo activity, we are NOT spending time together.

I limit my kids' extracurricular activities in an attempt to keep their lives simple, underwhelmed. One thing at a time is the rule. (If only I could live by the same one!) Mae is pretty cool with it. Bela, well, she's a bit more like me in this regard. She accepts the rule, but she has plans, that one. Her list:

Ballet
Then Flamenco
Then karate
And...
Swimming
Gymnastics
Art class
Spanish
Chinese
Ice Skating
Piano

Mae is either more laid back or less forward thinking. Her list?

Swimming.

And mine?

Learn to use my serger better
Train for another marathon
Take the next banjo class
Join a singing class
Try out that trapeze class
Personal training
1 on 1 swim lessons
Drawing class
Square dancing
Book club
Get certified to teach in the public schools
Finish the farm mat I've been making for 3 years
Sew a quilt
Do some needlework
Paint the rest of my house
Reupholster my chairs
Finish the hand embroidered Christmas stockings I didn't finish last year
knit a sweater
travel to Nepal to see Mt. Everest
take a kayak somewhere. Anywhere.
sleep.

and on
and on
and on

And now if you'll excuse me, I have a load of things I want to do that I'll never accomplish. Gotta run!

Auditions

Bela's 1st grade class put on an end-of-the-year play last year. It was very sweet; all the kids learned all the parts and presented the play in chorus format. They took turns playing the lead roles and no one had any solo lines. Bela got to play the princess in the final scene, and don the coveted princess gown and dance with the king. 

Chris and I stood at the back of the performance space, proud as any two parents could be. That is, until the play was over. Our joy and excitement for her was replaced suddenly by feelings of awkwardness and discomfort when she refused to leave center stage. We watched in growing horror as she curtsied and smiled and practically blew kisses to the crowd while her teacher was trying to give a little speech and the rest of her class remained back in their spaces like well-behaved, mildly disinterested performers. We secretly wished someone would take one of those long canes with a hook at the end and yank her off the stage.

It took us about 6 months to get over that. Now I want to get her right back up there.

I loved theater in school, though was late to dabble in it after my smashing 3rd grade star performance in Mrs so and so and the Pear Tree. About half-way through high school, though, I turned in my cheerleading uniform and joined the drama club and the speech team and never looked back. And still never do.

What an amazing gift drama and theater give to kids, don't you think? Childhood, puberty, adolescence - these are times in our lives when things seem big and scary and always changing. When one day we feel like one person, and the next another. Heck, I suppose this never changes. But drama lets our kids try on different personalities, explore different parts of themselves. I really want to get my girls involved.

I began to search for an option that didn't involve me spending gross amounts of money, especially with the risk that they would hate it. What a waste. Old Town School of Folk Music has some really great looking classes, as well as all the other theaters in the area. But I wanted something cheaper. I wanted something free.

Then I saw the posting on Every Block. The local Methodist church was holding auditions for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Coat. They needed kids 4 and up for chorus roles.

Perfect!

We arrived at the church at 6:00 on the dot and there was only one other little girl there. Others began shuffling in as we were getting started. I felt all the nervousness and anxiety of my high-school play audition days return.

Then they called Bela. She belted out a perfect Happy Birthday, in tune with the piano and all. She was glowing. Then, to my surprise, Mae ran to the piano and did equally as well. I was such a proud mama.  We hung around to hear a few more auditions (some pretty comical), and then went back home and had dinner.

That was several weeks ago. I was just about to give up hope when there was another announcement posted on Every Block. Due to severe lack of adult talent, the play has been postponed.

I guess that means, however, there is still hope for Bela and Mae. Stay tuned!

The math test

I haven't been sleeping so well lately. If it's not the baby waking three times a night, fussing over new teeth, it's the cats. Or the cold. Or bad dreams.

Last week I had a dream that Bela failed 2nd grade. Her teacher hated her.  She complained that when Bela would write sentences they were completely illogical. That she couldn't do any math. That she wouldn't listen.

We fretted over the emotional transition facing Bela (and Mae), going from a Waldorf model of education to the public school version. But the academic transition has proved to be harder, by a bit.

Our dreams have some foundation in reality, after all, right? My own insecurities whisper to me that Bela's teacher might not like her very much. My own observations had me realizing that Bela's homework is not always clearly recorded in her agenda, and that she had no real sense of what was going on in the classroom (aside from the social aspect).

My doubts were confirmed mid week. Bela brought home some math homework and some other papers. "This one has all these red Xs and I don't know why" she reported, casually.

It was her math test. D+.

My knee jerk reaction was, as always, the wrong one.

"Bela! This is a BAD grade!" Blank stare from Bela. She doesn't even know what a test is, let alone a grade.

"Bela! If you get grades like this all year you won't make it to third grade!"

Once I finished shaming her and worrying her unnecessarily, I calmed down. And then I began to blame myself. Bela got a bad grade because I had failed her.

Bela's reaction? Confusion, realization, frustration, tears. "I don't understand her teacher words!"

I constantly have to remind myself that Bela is not me. I am not her. Does anyone else get fooled into thinking that our children's lives are just mere extensions of our own? Why do I feel anxious about who likes her and who doesn't? Why do I  feel inadequate when she gets a bad grade on her math test? Why do I only make them put on shoes to play outside when other parents are watching - letting them go barefoot when I assume we're all alone?

Because I believe I am being judged by how likeable, smart, and well-behaved my kids are. Because I secretly judge others by the same standards. But that's me. Absurdly self-aware but with a shameful lack of self-control.

I read somewhere we should consider ourselves, as parents, to be responsible to our kids instead of responsible for. What an easy line to read and a hard philosophy to live by, no?

Here are the promises I make to myself every day, even though every day they are as hard to uphold as they were the day before, and I hardly ever do a very good job at them:
     I will try to be more present and more honest in my parenting.
     I will teach my children good manners but I won't crumble to pieces when they forget them all in front of other parents.
      I will sit down with them every night and practice counting money, practice reading instructions, practice spelling words and filingl out science worksheets. I will answer their questions, encourage them to do their best. And then I will send them to school and not freak out if the results are not perfect.

Maybe if I do all this, I'll sleep a little better at night.

Yesterday, Bela came home all smiles. She got an A+ on her spelling test.

This moment

My weekly post - A moment from our week I want to share and remember.

Happy Friday!