Little Lessons

So many DVDs, so little free time

I have a little confession: my family and I have become addicted to Little House on the Prairie. How we got to this point is a long story starting with a lesson in school about Laura Ingalls Wilder and ending with repeated trips to the library to check out DVDs.

Last night after we had cruised through another disc in Season Two, hubby said, “I think every American should have to watch this show.”

I have to agree. Little House is exactly the kind of show this nation needs right now. It’s filled with messages about getting along with others despite differences, facing challenges with bravery and tenacity, appreciating the little things, and giving back as much as you get in this world. Those are appropriate reminders in days when no one can find common ground, the easiest way is the only way, and we have more than ever before and it’s still not enough.

Last night before bed, I asked the boys to list off some of the lessons they’ve learned from the show thus far. Their answers were both insightful and humorous.

  • Never try to keep a raccoon for a pet.
  • Don’t spoil your kids or they will be mean like Nellie.
  • Be grateful for what you have.
  • Don’t blow yourself up with dynamite.
  • If you are good to others, they will be good friends.
  • It’s okay to push a bully if they’re asking for it.
  • Wear your glasses even if other kids call you “Four Eyes.”
  • Never climb a tree to get a kite. It’s not worth it.
  • Once upon a time, Mankato was the big city.

I’m chagrined to admit that I get teary eyed at nearly each episode, but watching the shows again has reminded me of how much I have to appreciate and how little time I spend actually appreciating it. I’m thankful that I don’t have to go outside to pee in the middle of the night in the dead of winter. I’m thankful that I have an ample supply of hot water at my fingertips. I’m thankful that my house is heated and I’m not perpetually doomed to smell like a campfire. And I’m eternally thankful that I don’t have to deal with that bitchy Harriet Oleson.

Mostly, though, what I’m taking away from our addiction to Little House is time with my family, snuggled on the couch, talking about life and love and friendship. I’m happy to have this time with my boys before they become teens and want nothing more to do with me. I’m also thrilled to know that when times get tough for my little guys in the next few years we’ll be able to draw upon the things we’ve observed with the Ingalls. And, if they give me a hard time about their Christmas gifts this year, I’m just going to remind them that Laura received a tin cup, a piece of peppermint candy, and a shiny new penny and said it was the best Christmas ever.

 

 

Whoo Are We Fooling?

A perfectly clear Colorado night

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.

 

The Awakening

“If you have one eye on yesterday, and one eye on tomorrow, you’re going to be cockeyed today.”  ~Author Unknown

Frosted trees on a frigid morning

Today is a perfect day for a new beginning. While driving my kids to school this morning, I noticed that the frigid temperatures combined with the steam from the warm ponds near our house had created the stunning effect of frosted trees. The contrasts, the white, stick-figure trees against the deep blue, cloudless sky, the freezing temps against the glowing heat of the rising sun, were awe inspiring. It’s the kind of morning that can make your whole day…if you stop to pay attention.

I have spent far too much time stressed out and simply getting by and, in the process, life is getting away from me. My boys are growing up, and I’m getting older. There is nothing I can do to stop those things from happening. I can, however, focus on living now and zen (emphasis on the now, hoping for the zen to come eventually). I can take more deep breaths and work to let go of things that are tethering me to negativity. I can slow down enough to relish the current moment rather than racing to the next one. And I can start this adjustment right now, in the midst of the holiday season rush, because the best time to start living now is now, right? Maybe if I put the unrecoverable past behind me and let go of the uncertain future my present won’t escape my notice?

I’m not sure where this journey will take me, but I’m going to post something here every day for the next month. It takes at least three weeks to establish a new habit, and I’m giving myself four. I will try to keep it positive. If I fail at that, I can at least guarantee it will be honest.