We went out for a short snowshoe hike today in pristine snow left by the early February snowpocalypse. Not many people had ventured out onto the open space yet, so the unsullied snow begged for attention. Ruby ran ahead, bounding through drifts that sometimes left nothing but her head and shoulders exposed. Her palpable joy told me that this is what her heaven will look like. The sun was beginning to sink behind the foothills as we headed back to the house, so our shadows stretched out before us. I captured this self portrait, a girl and her dog.

I find peace in my shadow. It can raise me in stature or knock me down to size, but it consistently offers a stripped-down representation of my most basic form. In my shadow there is no room for vanity or insecurity about my appearance. It’s so simple, quiet, and soft, so unwilling to accept self-criticism or condemnation. My shadow doesn’t care how old I am. It doesn’t record my wrinkles or count my grey hairs. It doesn’t care if my clothes don’t match or my mascara is smeary. A shadow simply represents my true self, the evanescent spirit that resides within this physical house. It tells me that who I truly am has nothing to do with the way I appear. I am boundless and free. My shadow knows that I’m so much bigger than my body gives me credit for, and that’s why in the late afternoon it gives me room to be eight feet tall.**

 

(**Apologies to John Mayer for stealing his line.)

Let me start out by saying that I was never a “girly” girl. I never had a pink room, liked bubble baths, or cared for frilly dresses. I didn’t paint my nails, take ballet lessons, or wear ribbons in my hair. I never identified with princesses nor had dreams of Prince Charming. I’m pragmatic and, frankly, all that stuff seemed like an incredible waste of time to a girl who would rather hang with the boys, catch salamanders at Sandstone Park, and run barefoot after dark playing Capture the Flag. Sometimes, being not girly is more fun.

Yesterday, however, I was watching a recent episode of The Big Bang Theory, a show I adore because it’s both intelligent and incredibly funny. The dialogue is writer’s genius. For example:

Sheldon: “Why are you crying?”

Penny: “Because I’m stupid.”

Sheldon: “Well, that’s no reason to cry. One cries because one is sad. For example, I cry because others are stupid, and that makes me sad.”

Like I said, genius.

My favorite character is Amy Farrah Fowler. Although I relate more to Sheldon (not because I’m a genius but because I share his dislike for people and his inability to appreciate social conventions), Amy ‘s intelligence coupled with her over-the-top desire to be a “normal” girl make her hysterical. And, no one could play Amy the way Mayim Bialik does. Whoever cast her is a mastermind. She’s completely bizarre and yet somehow fully likable.

At any rate, the episode I saw yesterday had Amy and Sheldon at odds. To smooth over Amy’s ruffled feathers, Sheldon at his friend’s suggestion decides to buy Amy a gift so he can circumvent any further arguing. It works. Sheldon gives Amy a tiara, and it effectively ends the fight. Amy’s reaction to the tiara is priceless, and it got me to thinking. Every woman, even a not girly girl, deserves a tiara. It’s just that simple.

So, yesterday I went tiara shopping. After polling Heather M, my in-the-know shopping friend, I headed to the local mall to Claire’s. I’ve never stepped foot in Claire’s before because 1) it’s a girly store for pre-teens and 2) it’s a store filled with girly pre-teens. But, sure enough, just as Heather predicted there were rhinestone tiaras to be had. Yes. Tiaras. Plural. While my boys, none too thrilled with being dragged to the mall, sat outside in horror and shame, I stood in there among the girls and tried on tiaras. It was oddly fun. Finally I selected one, paid the obnoxious teenage clerk who had rolled her eyes at me when I was trying them on and she thought I couldn’t see her (newsflash, sweetie…I was looking into a mirror…I could SEE you behind me) and left with my tiara in a bag.

I got home, put it on, and walked in the kitchen to show Steve. He looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

“What is that for?” he inquired.

“I’m a princess, and this is my tiara,” I replied.

He didn’t say a thing. Just moved on to the next topic while I walked around wearing my tiara. Smart man.

I know it’s a silly for a grown woman to have a rhinestone tiara. It’s whimsical. It’s foolish. I’ll probably never wear it out anywhere except perhaps to a costume party. But I’m fairly certain that on my next really bad day I’m going to dig it out of my lingerie drawer, place it atop my head, and remind myself over a tasty glass of Cab that I rule this kingdom, such that it is. And, if the men in my life are as intelligent as I think they are, they will learn that when I’m wearing that tiara they’d best not mess with me. You never argue with a princess in a tiara unless you want to find yourself shackled in a dungeon that’s guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. I may not be a girly girl, but I do understand the inherent power in being a princess.

 

It’s Mom’s Day Out. I don’t have unproductive days very often. It’s my nature to be busy and accomplish a lot in the course of 24 hours. Out of coincidence, however, today I ended up scheduling a lunch date with my college roommates (it is Rachel’s birthday today) and a dinner date with my friend Heather just because weeks ago we decided we both wanted an evening sans children. It’s a great thing when you wake up and realize that you’re not going to be cleaning house today or running errands. It’s merely a dedicated day for goofing off.

Okay. Okay. It wasn’t entirely a day off. I did have to get the kids ready for school and then drive them there. And I had to get in the dog’s three mile walk. I had some laundry to fold and a dishwasher to unload. I also had to run by the bank, pick my boys up from school, and help with homework. Other than that, though, the day was mine.

I sat for two hours with my old friends at lunch laughing and talking about crazy times at CU. Afterward before getting the kids I ran by Sports Authority and tried on ski pants. Then I came home and searched for the exact ski pants I tried on and found them at www.altrec.com for $30 less than they were at the store plus free shipping. SCORE! Now I am desperately trying to get ready to meet Heather for barbeque (our weakness), so I am doing my makeup in between typing lines on my blog.

I hope you’ll excuse me for bailing out on writing anything meaningful today. You see…it’s Mom’s Day Out and for that to occur I actually need to get OUT.

“We don’t stop playing because we turn old. We turn old because we stop playing.” ~Author Unknown

I heard a lot about mammograms before I ever got to experience one. Between the comments from friends about the pain, the comics with women portrayed with flattened boobies, and the funny stories about the exam itself, I had no idea what to think. Honestly, by the time my gynecologist ordered my first mammogram when I turned 40, I was intrigued. I was finally going to be initiated and be able to join the conversation. It was oddly sort of exciting.

Today marked my fifth mammogram. Of my previous four mammograms, three came back with normal results. One did not. There is no way to describe my internal panic when that third mammogram came back with questionable spots that required further investigation. I know now that this is a common event, especially among women with smaller breasts and denser breast tissue. At the time, however, I freaked out. I remember going through all the worst case scenarios, mentally imagining myself purchasing a wig to replace the hair I had spent so long growing out and that now chemotherapy would take. In the end it was nothing, but it sure did make me think about how much time we spend worrying about things that never pan out and how many times we don’t see something until it’s too late.

As I stood there today, positioned in that bizarro machine with my breasts alternately being served up on a radiation platter, I was reminded that life is a crap shoot. And, I suppose that is what makes it so interesting, the way it can change (for good or bad) at a moment’s notice. Sometimes you get a sign that change is on the horizon, just like I did when that third mammogram came back with sketchy results, but then amazingly it doesn’t. Other times it just goes along without incident, and you find yourself wishing for some excitement. No matter what, though, you just never know.

That one false reading on the Big Squish did something positive for me. It reminded me that life can change in an instant. It’s best not to take anything for granted.

I’ve had some friends ask me over the past couple days what goals or resolutions I am setting for 2012. Funny how when that question comes up at this time every year I am caught off guard. Apparently I’m behind the curve. I’m still recovering from Christmas. My house is a pit. I haven’t yet put away all the gifts, much less finished writing thank you notes for them. I’m not even 100% sure about my plans for New Year’s Eve…and it’s tonight! But, I’m supposed to analyze my life for deficiencies and then devise ways to overcome them in the next 366 days all before January 1st? Holy hell. Perhaps one of my resolutions should be to start working on resolutions for 2013 before next Thanksgiving?

Before I can decide what to improve upon next year, I thought it might be good to revisit 2011 to see what made my highlight reel.

1) Polar Plunge – 364 days later and I’m still smiling about this event. I never thought I would jump into 38 degree water in the first place, much less emerge and say I’d be willing to do it again. Starting the New Year with 20 seconds of feeling truly alive (wet and cold, but viscerally alive) was so powerful. I left that reservoir feeling like I could do anything. Apparently, it’s healthy to take temporary leave of your sanity, shock your system, and wipe the slate clean.

2) My Father-in-Law’s Surprise 80th Birthday Party – A man doesn’t turn 80 every day. So, in April we flew to Coeur d’Alene to celebrate Jim’s momentous occasion. It wasn’t so much the perfectly executed surprise party or the time spent with family that made the trip special for me. It was something much more personal. I took an emotional risk that was long overdue. I know that life is short. Don’t go too long without telling someone important what they mean to you, no matter how hard it is for you to do it.

3) Camping in the Black Hills – We took a family camping trip to South Dakota with good friends this summer. I will be honest that I wasn’t super excited about the destination because I’d been there before and because I’d originally wanted to go somewhere else. But, we had an amazing time with our friends, exploring caves, hiking, communing with nature, and eating honest to goodness rhubarb pie in a purple store. Sometimes the simple things, the ones that aren’t shiny or exotic, are a true treasure.

4) Hot Air Balloon Ride – We did this ride, honestly, because I got a great deal. It’s easy to justify not doing something that’s truly an extravagance, which is why we hadn’t done a hot air balloon ride before, but ascending in that balloon with my family of men was the best thing I’ve done in a long time. It made me realize that we make excuses far too often, excuses that keep us from things that will broaden our horizons and enrich our lives in ways we never dreamed possible. If there’s something you’ve wanted to try and haven’t because of the cost, find a way to make it happen. You might be shocked to discover it was worth so much more than what you paid.

5) Warrior Dash – I registered for the Warrior Dash for the furry, bison hat and the excuse to crawl through the mud. I willingly admit that I did not train for the 3 mile run at 9,000 feet in elevation. I goofed around with training for the obstacles but that’s as far as it went. Still, on August 20th I somehow managed to get through the entire course and have a blast. So what if there were folks decades older than me that clocked (by over a half an hour) a better finish time than I did? I had an unbelievable time with our friends and I got good and muddy. I leaped over fire…twice. I cleaned myself off in a cold, mountain creek. Afterward, I drank a huge beer in a gorgeous setting and wore that furry hat with the pride that comes from getting off your couch and doing something just to say you’ve done it. I learned the best lesson that day. It’s good to be competitive and strive to be your best. But, sometimes it’s more fun when you draw out an experience and milk it for all its worth.

My kids are a lot like their mother. They talk too much. They prove to me daily that my mother’s comment that she hoped I had children just like me was actually a curse. To top it off, they are also deep thinkers (well, at lease one of them is), just like their mother.  Today as we were driving to and from appointments we spent about an hour and a half in the car. Car time is my favorite time to converse with them. We talk about life, listen to each others’ joys and concerns, and find out what we each think. I love that we have uninterrupted time to bounce ideas off each other. It’s hard to catch my kids for a conversation on a normal day, but in the car they’re trapped. And, I’m in control of the radio and our destination. There’s not much they can do. When they’re teenagers I am certain they will threaten to jump from my moving car on the highway if I don’t stop talking to them, but we’ll fall off that bridge when we come to it.

Most of today’s topics of conversation came straight out of a couple episodes of Little House on the Prairie. (I mentioned that show is under our skin right now.) Courtesy of an episode about a blizzard, we talked about frostbite and hypothermia, touched on faith and hope, and then danced over guilt and regret and the dreaded “what if” question. Then we skipped topics and talked about their view of their relationships with their grandparents. Later on we talked about my friend Gretchen, who is hospitalized right now, and how fragile yet resilient the human body is, how humans can incredibly withstand so much while still remaining so delicate. Soon after, we contemplated how wonderful our planet is and how intricately interwoven we are with it, in it, and with other persons and creatures.

Then, as if trying to provide proof of its shock-and-awe power, the universe offered us a stunning, orange and blue Colorado sunset. The sky, while mostly clear, was highlighted in spots with alto cumulus clouds that reflected the setting sun brilliantly. I pointed it out to the kids who wisely agreed that it was beautiful. We oohed and ahhed over the scene, and I reminded them what a gift life is and how we should appreciate each and every moment that we have on earth as if its the last one we will ever have. I told them again that I love them and that they are great boys. And, then I dropped them off at their aunt’s house for a visit and drove away filled with gratitude for my chattering little monkeys.

I am inordinately lucky to have the children I have. Despite our struggles, we teach each other more than I ever imagined we would. I know we’re never guaranteed tomorrow, so I’m just going to sit here for a few minutes right now and be glad I had today with them.

 

Every family has holiday traditions in place. Most of our traditions come straight from our parents (and still occur within their four walls). Some of them are unique to our household and are recently added. Most of them are welcome. Some of them not so much. But, as a whole they make Christmas feel like Christmas to me and the three men in my life. I thought I’d share them with you today, if only to prove to you that every family is special and nutty in its own way.

Christmas would not be Christmas without…

– pierogies, Polish sausage and the annual horseradish challenge where we see who can handle the most of that stuff without being reduced to tears.

– someone (most recently Joe) reading from the Bible, Luke 2:1-20.

– Steve and I telling the kids that there can be no gift opening on Christmas morning until after the lattes are made.

– the conundrum of trying to find a decent outfit to wear to the in-laws’ house that fits after an entire month of cookies, fudge, and libations. This closet event makes all the buying, baking, wrapping, and cleaning pale by comparison on the stress meter.

– the Candy Cane Cocktail with my family…Godiva white chocolate liquer, peppermint schnapps, and vanilla rum topped off with a candy cane.

–  a friendly go-round on some type of board game that turns into a contentious argument over cheating, being too competitive, or exhibiting poor sportsmanship. My sister’s comment yesterday: “It’s all fun and games until we play the games.”

– the annual Tisser (sister) Christmas photo.

– the Caipiroska with Steve’s family (vodka, limes, sugar, and ice).

– Luke knowing exactly what he’s getting and being unbelievably, graciously thrilled by it all the same.

– hearing the same stories we hear year after year from our parents and smiling to each other about them again.

 
Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanukkah, a joyous Festivus, or simply a pleasant day off from work!

Last Friday night while the boys were downstairs watching the latest and greatest episode of The Clone Wars, hubby and I were confined to our room watching a not-quite-kid-appropriate, Rated R film. About halfway through the movie, I started hearing a low, intermittent noise, like a child trying to impersonate a cartoon ghost. I immediately assumed one of our nutty boys had pulled the cover off the heating vent in the family room and was now “whoo-ing” up the vent at us to be funny. Oddly enough, this was a perfectly logical conclusion on my part. I went back to concentrating on the movie.

The noise continued periodically for about 10 minutes. Finally, my curiosity got the best of me. I crawled out of bed and trudged to the top of the stairs and yelled down to the boys.

 
“Who is hooting?”

“Whaaaaaaat?” came the response of my completely befuddled Joe.

“Is Luke hooting?”  Is Luke hooting? Hahahahahaha. I am one crazy mother.

“Ummmm…no. We’re watching The Clone Wars,” was Joe’s exasperated reply. Then, he said, “But, I do hear something outside. Maybe it’s an owl?”

An owl. That certainly was a more rational explanation for the noise. Steve paused the movie, we grabbed the boys Sonic Sleuth toy (a gift from my friend Rebecca which has granted the boys bionic ears to use for spying on their parents), and headed downstairs. I opened the curtains on the slider and looked up at the top of the tallest tree around our house, a cottonless cottonwood directly behind our yard. Sure enough. At the very top of the tree there was a dark, bird-like shadow. I told the boys they had to be unbelievably quiet and as stealthily as possible I eased the slider open. Luke put the Sonic Sleuth headphones on, aimed the cone at the object, and we listened. We didn’t need the machine. Sure enough. The hooting commenced again, clearly originating from the bird at the top of the tree. It actually was an owl. We were mesmerized.

We stood there listening to it and watching it for a couple minutes before it got restless. It began to flap its large wings.

As it flew off the tree and towards the nature preserve where it most likely lives, Joe said, “Listen….silent flight.”

I was amused at his statement. How cute was that? How are you supposed to listen to something that is silent? But, he was right. As that Great Horned Owl took flight, you could not hear the wings flapping like you would with other large birds. It was amazing. Joe’s innocent reminder about the way an owl’s ragged wing feathers allow it to fly soundlessly was a gift to his father and I who, over the years, have lost some of our childlike wonder at the world and its creatures. Thankfully I never lose my wonder at my children and their view of the world.

All week long I’ve been reflecting on the events of last Friday night, ruminating over what an honor it was to have that bird so close to our house and to have been fortunate enough to share in its existence if even for a few moments. I’ve been thinking too about how much I miss because I’ve become accustomed to the world, and I don’t always use all five of my senses to experience life anymore. The sad truth about growing up is that we learn to block things out. We filter out things we think are not important. We ignore more than we acknowledge, and yet somehow we consider ourselves wiser than our children. I have to wonder who we think we are fooling.