Strong with the Force We Are

In their 3D glasses waiting for the film to start

A little over three years ago, I first introduced my sons to Star Wars. Being seriously old school, I showed them what I knew to be the “original” Star Wars first, Episode 4…now known as A New Hope. I could not wait to show them The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi. I kept everything just as I had experienced it, letting them find out for themselves that Darth Vader was Luke’s father. Being the genius children they are, they immediately fell in love with that trilogy and asked us to buy it for them on disc because watching the films on the antiquated VHS tapes we owned was sub par.

After they’d watched those three episodes a few times, Joe came home and announced that his classmates had revealed the existence of three other episodes. He wanted to see those as well. Perfect. Three more films I can watch a million times. We found them on disc at Costco and sat down as a family to watch them all for the first time together.

I could not even estimate how many times our boys have watched those movies since we purchased them. If I admitted a possible number, Child Services might start knocking on our door. Those films were the best babysitters ever. As a special treat for us all, tonight we took our boys to see the 3D version of The Phantom Menace. It was fun to sit in the theater with them and watch the show we’ve seen dozens of times on our television on the big screen and in 3D.

My sons have Star Wars action figures, Lego sets, costumes, books, and weaponry. On Halloween, they have dressed as characters from the movies three years running. They never miss an episode of The Clone Wars on Cartoon Network. Joe, who can’t remember his times tables, can tell you the most minute details from each film. The kid who can’t spell “Colorado” can correctly spell the Star Wars planet names for “Tatooine,” “Coruscant,” and “Naboo.” During the film tonight, I tortured Joe with random Star Wars facts, which I of course had learned from him.

“Hey Joe….did you know that Tatooine is a desert planet?” I quipped.

“Mom…everyone knows that,” came his response.

“Hey Joe…did you know that Jedi mind tricks don’t work on Toydarians?”

“MOM…I know. Stop it. I’m trying to watch.”

I was cracking myself up. When I got tired of taunting him with the plethora of pointless trivia facts that are stored in my aging brain and keep me from remembering where I set my car keys, I started making up things to see if he was paying attention to me at all.

“Joe…did you know that Anakin’s real name is actually Spaghetti Skywalker?”

“Mom…you’re being ridiculous,” he replied, slightly annoyed with the interruption.

“Joe…you see that Hut standing behind Jabba? That’s Pizza the Hut.” I thought his eyes would roll right out of his 10 1/2 year old head on that one. So. Much. Fun.

My poor sons were doomed to become Star Wars junkies. I mean, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that one of the perks of naming our son was knowing that someday Steve would be able to tell him, “Luke…I am your father,” and I could remind him at the dinner table, “Luke…use the fork.” They run toward the automatic doors at Target with their arms outstretched so they can “force” them open. And, I would swear Luke has tried to employ Jedi mind tricks to get his way.

Thank you, George Lucas, for being a visionary and for sharing your story with the world. No matter what happens in the next few years as my sons become teenagers, I know we will always have Star Wars to fall back on. When they stop talking to me about their personal lives, I know I’ll still be able to bring up a Star Wars reference and get them to converse with me. And, grateful for that I am.

Posted on by Me 1

Lesson in Delayed Gratification

I bought a zoo!

My boys have been busily playing something called Tiny Village on their iPhones (which are our old iPhone 3 devices without the phone capability). As far as I can tell, Tiny Village is something along the lines of a Flintstones version of Farmville. The boys have quarries, are fabricating tools, and keeping dinosaurs as pets. I figured that at best it was a lesson in delayed gratification supplemented with a small course in urban planning and development. At worst, it was a total waste of time. Still, they’re young boys and it’s better to have them building a village than blowing up things in a violent video game, right?

This morning Joe came into my room early and told me that the Tiny Village app told him to download something called Tiny Zoo Friends. Ummm…yeah. Seriously, dude? Your phone made you do it? I can see where society is headed. Anyway, when they asked for the zoo app, I  hesitated for a moment; and then I decided that the zoo sounded infinitely more fun than the prehistoric village, so I acquiesced and downloaded the free app for them.

And, then, I made my biggest mistake since Angry Birds. I downloaded the Tiny Zoo Friends to my iPhone too, reasoning that it would be good to learn what it was all about so I could share in the experience with my boys. I dropped them at school and headed home to figure it out. I started by purchasing the recommended jack rabbits. I bought a male and female and then, knowing what rabbits are wont to do, I made sure they instantly had two jack rabbit children. From there, I bought a set of black bears and gave them some offspring, and then I rounded out my creature collection with a family of my favorite, African elephants.

An hour later I began to figure out how it all worked. My creatures earned points, which I could then cash in to buy more items for my zoo. I purchased an ice cream stand, a popcorn cart, some play equipment for the kids, a set of butterflies, and some musk oxen. Before I knew it, I had run out of room in my zoo and needed to spend some coin for zoo expansion. Then I discovered that my zoo expansion would take four hours. Four hours? I can’t wait four hours. My spectacled bears need a habitat! I immediately looked into purchasing the fake coins necessary to expand my zoo instantly. It would cost me $4.99. I stopped. I took a deep breath. I reminded myself that I had hoped this game would teach my boys about delayed gratification. How could I be lecturing my boys about waiting when I nearly spent the monetary equivalent of a Starbuck’s triple venti vanilla latte on an imaginary zoo? Ugh.

I decided the best course of action would be to put the game down and just walk away. So, I did. For about three minutes. Then I was back at it. I ignored the time left on the zoo expansion and focused on rearranging my zoo to make it a nice environment. I picked up trash, I created an African animal section, and I moved the trees to increase the aesthetics. I checked the clock again. Crap. I still had nearly two hours until my zoo would expand. I needed to get away from this stupid game. I grabbed my yoga mat and went to class. An hour later, I returned to my car, refreshed and relaxed and freed of this wretched distraction on my phone, right? Wrong. The minute I started the car, I plugged my phone in and checked to see if the expansion was complete. Oh holy hell. I’m going to need a 12-step program. 

I wasted approximately four full hours of my life today on this game. I’ve spent most of my evening trying to justify this debacle. I think I finally found a way. I’m going to chalk it up to a learning experience. I’ve learned that it’s one thing to preach the virtue of delayed gratification, but it’s another thing entirely to try to live it.

 

Posted on by Me 4

Homegrown Valentine’s Day Solution

Why having two sons is worth it.

I hate Valentine’s Day. My disdain for this pseudo holiday is well-documented and goes back many, many years. It’s a day rife with limitless expectations and impossible demands, which means most people come away from it highly disappointed. Since I lowered my Valentine’s Day expectations to less than nothing (an event which occurred sometime around February 15, 1992), I no longer have any investment in this day whatsoever. I’ve determined that February 14th is simply an excuse to eat conversation hearts, and I’m good with that.

Today, though, my youngest son came home from school and pulled something out of his backpack. He was bursting with excitement and handed it to me. It was a folded card, colored on the front with a handwritten note on the back. This is the first time that I’ve received something from Luke in his own words and his own handwriting. I was blown away, not just because it was neatly written but also because nearly everything was spelled correctly. He didn’t even have any run-on or fragmented sentences. So proud. As I sat there reading and re-reading the note, it occurred to me that I finally had received what I wanted on Valentine’s Day…a heartfelt, unsolicited note of appreciation.

When I recall all those years I sat around hoping a guy would say something nice to me on Valentine’s Day and truly mean it without ulterior motive, all those years I wanted someone to open up with a mushy sentiment without any prompting from me, I realize that my expectations were skewed. No one was going to appreciate me the way I hoped they would. They were coming from their own view point, a view point which no doubt had largely been sketched out by the women who existed in their lives before I did. I needed more time. I needed time to have sons. I needed someone who would love me unconditionally and see the good in me before recognizing the flaws. I needed a blank canvas, untainted by past experiences. It took me so long to find the right Valentine because, apparently, I simply needed enough time to raise the right man for the job. 😉

 

Posted on by Me 1

The Easiest Way Down Is For Sissies

There is difficult, slightly difficult, and not difficult at all. But, what you get out of life is largely only what you put into it.

“If there is no struggle, there is no progress.”                               ~  Frederick Douglass

I spent my weekend skiing at a resort that was new to me. It’s been a long time since that was the case for me, and I had forgotten how much it helps to rely on ski maps until you get your bearings somewhere new on a mountain. So, my friends and I studied the map, picked some routes, and targeted a few areas we were interested in experiencing. One thing struck me wherever we went on the mountain, though. I kept seeing signs that pointed to the easiest way down. Now, I know that if I had been on the beginner slopes, I would not have seen those signs; but because we’d decided to spend a fair amount of time on advanced terrain we saw plenty of signs that offered an easy way out.

Those signs are crucial on a ski mountain. Sometimes, without a map, you end up somewhere that might require more skiing skills than you actually possess. To keep yourself from injury, you need to find the easiest way down. But, the more I reflected on those signs, the more I realized that perpetually taking the easiest way down can do more harm than good. I only became a better skier when I began trusting myself and taking some risks on tougher slopes. If I had not been willing to let go, ski a bit faster, and believe in my abilities, I would still be stuck in the same rut, too fearful to venture out.

I work hard to show my boys that growth only comes through taking calculated risks, branching out, trying new things, and being willing occasionally to look foolish for a while while you work towards improvement. Most of the strides I’ve made in my life, the goals I’ve accomplished and are most proud of, have come only as a result of overcoming a struggle. Many things that have come too easily feel unimportant by comparison. And, the things I most worried I would not be able to do yet eventually accomplished are my happiest memories. If you look at a difficult task square on, have doubts in your ability to surmount it, and yet plug right along until the goal is reached, you truly are rewarded. If you’d asked me ten years ago if I could ride my bike 150 miles in two days, I would have flat out laughed. Yet, here I am with two MS150 rides under my belt and a third one on tap for this summer. I won’t lie. The last 7 miles on those 75-mile days are rough. But, once I roll under the finish gates, I feel such intense joy and strength. I know I can do anything. I am invincible.

Without struggle there is no progress. The easiest way down will get you where you need to be. No doubt about it. You can continually travel the same well-trodden path and live a perfectly adequate life. You won’t get anywhere but through it, but you’ll do fine. But if you can accept (or even seek out) a challenge or struggle now and then, you will grow beyond your wildest expectations. While I appreciate the tips on finding the easiest way down, I think I’ll keep pushing my boundaries for a while and see where I end up instead.

 

 

Posted on by Me

Stick a Fork in Me

A glimpse of the back side of Colorado's most photographed location, Maroon Bells, as seen from Paradise Bowl in Crested Butte on a perfect ski day. Doesn't get much better than this.

After a short but fun-packed weekend, I am officially done. I’ve been sitting here, staring at this screen for what seems like hours trying to dream up something to write about. But, I’m done. D-O-N-E kind of done. I’m effete from a couple days’ worth of skiing, overindulging, and missing out on good sleep. (Note to self: slopeside rooms, with their amazing views, also gratuitously include the rumble and beeping of snowcats grooming the slopes at 3:30 a.m.). So, I am going to admit defeat tonight and go to bed early. I hope you will forgive me my exhaustion.

I will leave you with this beautiful photo of Colorado that I took with my iPhone yesterday and this quote that summarizes why I will always be a mountain girl.

“Mountains are not stadiums where I satisfy my ambition to achieve. They are the cathedrals where I practice my religion…I go to them as humans go to worship. From their lofty summits I view my past, dream of the future and, with an unusual acuity, am allowed to experience the present moment…my vision cleared, my strength renewed. In the mountains I celebrate creation. On each journey I am reborn.”  ~Anatoli Boukreev

Posted on by Me 1

Found: Not Just Someone’s Mom

I found a snow cave!

Today, while skiing in Crested Butte, I found myself again. Funny thing is that I’m not even sure I knew I was missing. Once you have children, it is far too easy to forget that you exist outside of the role of parent. I am fairly adept at carving out an hour or two for myself each day, but it’s not until I step away from our home and children and fully relinquish my duties for a while that I rediscover who I am independent of them. When I take away the duty of caring for others, I become a bit lighter and freer.

None of this is to say that I don’t miss my boys. I do. They are everything to me. I can’t imagine my life without them now. Every once in a while, though, it’s good to reconnect with me, the me that I am when I can let go of accountability and relax. I laughed today. In fact, I laughed so hard I quite inappropriately spit some beer. I crawled around in a snow cave. I caught a tiny bit of air on my skis and actually did a bit of woo-hooing (out loud, even) on the slopes. I had a shot of Wild Turkey in the middle of a ski run. And, not once did I worry about the well-being of anyone other than myself.

When we got back to the room after a leisurely late-afternoon latte, I had messages waiting for me from our oldest son via text, voice mail, and video, asking us to come home because he missed us. I felt for him. I really did. It’s hard to know my children are sad. But, I understand how important it is for him to learn that he can function without us. I also know how much better of a parent I am when I have a chance to let go once in a while and be me and not just “Mom.” I’ll be home with my life’s work tomorrow night. But, for the next 18 hours or so, I’m going to revel in being my only responsibility.

Posted on by Me

The Great Escape

Wagon wheels everywhere!

Hubby and I escaped to Crested Butte this weekend with some friends. The plan…no kids, two days of skiing, uninterrupted meals with alcoholic beverages,  and a king-size suite with mountain view. We got here early this afternoon. First stop, the Brick Oven for pizza and beer. It was 2 p.m. Yes. I had a beer at 2 p.m. It was glorious. After lunch, we strolled around downtown Crested Butte (population: about 1500 crazy, skiing folks), checking out the restaurants and stores. As we were heading back up Elk Street, I saw something that stopped me dead in my tracks. You can’t be serious. Right there, just feet from the sidewalk, were two benches made out of wagon wheels. Wagon wheels have been a personal joke between Steve and I since the day he decided to install a whiskey barrel into our otherwise extremely natural and tastefully landscaped backyard. I told him that with that whiskey barrel we had officially arrived at one wagon wheel shy of white trash.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

“It’s a sign,” Steve said.

“Yeah. It’s a sign that too many people came west in covered wagons.”

Still, we had to sit on the stupid bench and have our picture taken. Apparently, I can escape my home life, the kids, the house, the chores. But, no matter what I do, I am doomed. I will never escape the wagon wheel.

Photo op

 

Posted on by Me 2

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Luke cooks Ratatouille

I was struggling tonight to come up with something to write about, so I decided to let my sons do my writing for me. In October of 2003, I started keeping a journal of funny or insightful things my boys said. I am still writing things in it and plan to continue until they become teenagers and stop talking to me. Every once in a while, I pull the book out and read to the boys from it. They truly think they are hilarious. I’m too biased to have a fair opinion. All I know is that this book is the only non-living thing I would try to save if our house caught fire. Here are some memories of my young boys that I will always treasure:

February 23, 2004 – Joe found my box of OB tampons. He pulled one out and brought it to me. He asked if he could have “this mint.” I guess it looked like the mints we get in our meals at Chick-Fil-A. Oops.

July 15, 2005 – Today as Joe walked out the slider I heard him say, “Today is a good day for digging, I think.”

January 10, 2006 – Yesterday Joe says, “Mommy…cows pee milk.” To which I, of course, go into this entire dissertation about how a cow has an udder to give milk. His reply, “Mom, my penis is an udder.” And that’s what I get for trying to talk to my boys like they are adults. I give up.

November 9, 2007 – Joe and Luke are fighting. Luke starts in with his fake cry. I ask Joe what’s going on and he says…”We have big time sharing issues, I think.”

August 8, 2008 – Today Joe noticed he’d put a tiny hole in his new stuffed toy. He was noticeably upset about it. His comment: “Mom, I think I loved him too much.”

February 12, 2009 – Joe just said, “If you really want to find out a mystery, you ask God.”

May 8, 2009 – I heard Luke taunting Joe saying, “I’m gonna cook your mouse.” Joe had just gotten a stuffed mouse from a prize box at school. I told Luke to knock it off and stop teasing his brother. A while later, I hear Luke say, “Joe…I’m cooking your mouse.” So, I turn around to tell him to stop with this “cooking” talk only to find Luke at the table, Joe’s stuffed mouse tied to a stick from the yard, the stick stuck between two upright clothespins, and a paper drawing of fire underneath him. He was roasting Ratatouille on a spit, just like he said he would. He’s a creative kid. Scary, but creative.

March 20, 2010 – The other night we were in a Brazilian steakhouse with the boys. In an effort to try to get Luke to try some new foods, I offered him a dollar. He looked pointedly at me and counter-offered with $6. I said, “No way, Luke. $1 is my offer.” To which he replied, “Okay. Okay. $1….plus $5.” The kid is way too smart.

April 16, 2010 – Buddy (our springer/lab mix) is still alive. He’s over 13 years old and still kicking. The other day Joe said, “Buddy must have drank from the doggy Holy Grail.”

May 8, 2011 – Today Luke said to Joe (after Steve poured me a big glass of wine), “It’s Mom’s lucky day.”

February 6, 2012 – Tonight I heard Luke chastising Joe for being mean to him. I backed Luke up and told Joe to knock it off. Then I heard Luke tell Joe, “You see that? Mom’s nice to me, Joe. Dad’s nice to me too.” Then there was a long pause as Joe returned to Luke the toy that was the cause of the discord. “And, you’re nice to me too, Joe.” Awwww.

I knew there was a reason I wanted two sons.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted on by Me 2

Do These Monkeys Make Me Look Fat?

This is what I do to the monkeys I pluck off my back. Paybacks are a bitch.

“Out of the strain of the doing, into the peace of the done.”  ~Julia Louis Woodruff

I’m wiped out. Normally I am wiped out because I get in a good workout or take a hot yoga class or become mentally exhausted dealing with my kids. Today, however, I am bushed because I cleaned my house. I mean, really cleaned it. In an attempt to get some monkeys off my back, I finally took care of things that had been bothering me for months. I vacuumed behind furniture. I dusted wood blinds. I hand-washed floors. I cleaned baseboards. I wiped off the spindles on the staircase. I was a woman possessed. As I crossed items off my mental checklist, I felt myself getting lighter and lighter as the monkeys became fewer and fewer.

As I was doing all these things, I reflected on why I go so long in between these tasks. Why do I let the monkeys pile up? I decided it all comes down to choices. It’s as if I have some unwritten mental hierarchy of things I detest. When I’m faced with two different options, my brain will consistently choose the task I’ve determined to be less despicable, even if the margin between the two choices is barely perceptible. Walk the dog or clean the bathroom? Walk the dog. Clean the bathroom or wash the floors? Clean the bathroom. Wash the floors or dust the blinds. Wash the floors. This same pattern holds true of personal chores. I’d rather pay the bills than schedule a dental appointment, but I’d rather wash my car than pay the bills. Things I hold the greatest disdain for wait the longest for my attention.

In the end, though, my intense hatred for the monkeys wins out. Eventually, whatever it is I’ve been avoiding will weigh me down until I feel it will flatten me. When I reach my limit, I flip a switch and go into a manic state, and I start tossing monkeys. That’s what happened to me today. My opportunity to snowshoe drizzled away while I scrubbed the shower floor. The chance to hit my yoga mat for an hour zipped by while my vacuum and I attacked stairs and sucked up cobwebs. Before I knew it, the entire day was over. And, for once, I did have something to show for it. My house is so clean right now I’m afraid that when my sister visits on Friday she’ll ask me if we’ve hired a cleaning service. I’m also afraid that my husband will now recognize that I am capable of cleaning and getting a tasty, well-balanced meal on the table; I fear he might begin to expect this on a regular basis. (Good luck to him if that’s the case.)

The most amazing thing happens when I truly apply myself and give something all my attention. I find I can accomplish a lot and accomplish it with great success. Okay. So I didn’t get in an official workout today, and I skipped my shower. It’s all good. It was all worth it. As I sit here writing this, I feel peaceful and about 10 monkeys lighter as I look around my dustless, dog-hair free, neat bedroom. Okay. Maybe it is just exhaustion and not peace, but I’ll take it. Look out, monkeys. Now that I remember how relatively pain-free it is to get rid of you, you might just have to find another host to carry you around.

Posted on by Me 1

The Fine Art of Accepting the Unacceptable

My nightmares often include my son Luke sitting in a dental chair

“Some people confuse acceptance with apathy, but there’s all the difference in the world. Apathy fails to distinguish between what can and what cannot be helped. Acceptance makes that distinction. Apathy paralyzes the will-to-action; acceptance frees it by releasing it of impossible burdens.”          ~ Arthur Gordon

In each and every calendar year, there are two days that I dread with every fiber of my being. They happen at roughly six month intervals. And, while I appreciate having some distance between them, all that really means for me is that by the time I’ve mostly healed from the scar of the last time I get to do it again. What are these heinous days of which I speak? Why, they’re D-Days…the days my sons get to go for their bi-yearly dental visits.

Before I go any further, please understand that I love my sons’ pediatric dentist and the entire staff at Southwest Pediatric Dentistry and Orthodontics as much as any person (other than a sadist) could love a dentist. They are the most helpful, professional, gentle adults, and their patience with my boys certainly qualifies them for sainthood, or at least knighthood. It’s hard to get any young boy to sit still in a dental chair for work. It’s nearly impossible to get a boy with ADHD to stay still and pay attention long enough for a proper dental cleaning. When Dr. Jim had to get braces on Joe’s teeth two years ago, I thought I would never recover from the trauma. And, Joe is my good dental patient.

Luke is a veritable nightmare at the dentist. He has an unbelievable gag reflex. In fact, as both Dr. Scott and the Mother Theresa-esque hygienist Kristy told me today, Luke is by far THE worst gag reflex patient either of them has ever seen. Ever. How’s that for a claim to fame for your child? Luke’s gag reflex is attributable to several things, a perfect storm of issues: 1) an actual oral defensiveness to textures and touch , 2) an oversensitivity to smells that makes so many things nauseating for him, 3) an active imagination (he can see something that grosses him out and puke as if on command…like the time he saw the preview for the film How To Eat Fried Worms and promptly vomited in the theater), and 4) a now-ingrained mental condition that makes him gag the minute the dentist or hygienist ask him to open his mouth. Luke has puked on poor Kristy before. And on me. And on Dr. Scott. I never leave these visits without a headache. I often find myself in the car afterwards in tears, full of frustration, dentist bill in my hand, beating my head against my steering wheel while my son watches with still uncleaned teeth.

Luke has done occupational therapy to combat his oral defensiveness. I’ve researched herbal remedies and acupuncture to see if those might be able to help. I’ve actually considered hypnotherapy for him. Can you do that with an 8 year old? Today, Dr. Scott suggested that next time we sedate Luke with nitrous oxide to see if that will help. Of course, insurance won’t cover that but if it works it would be worth it. I considered asking Dr. Scott if he could hook me up next visit too. Even if it’s not covered, at least with the nitrous I could relax a little in that office for once. Then, Dr. Scott casually mentioned that it is his job to prepare Luke for the approximately three years of orthodontics he expects Luke will need. Looking on the bright side, Dr. Scott told me that he’s fairly certain that by the time Luke is finished with braces his gag reflex will mostly likely be under control. What he failed to quip about is that by the time Luke is finished with braces I won’t care about his gag reflex anymore because I’ll be heavily sedated wearing a white coat with sleeves that attach in the back.

A while back I mentioned that I had seven mantras I was working on this year. One of them is “Practice Acceptance.” Practicing acceptance means letting go of the desire to be in control. That is what I have to do on Dentist Days. I practice accepting Joe’s ADHD tics and Luke’s crazy gag reflex. I practice accepting that this is who they are. It’s nothing they’re doing intentionally. They can’t help it. They’re not bad kids. These are simply their crosses to bear. They’re mine too, at least until they turn 18. I’ve been going through this with them since they were infants. Back then, it was frustrating. I didn’t understand. I got annoyed by it easily. As they got older, I got better at recognizing it for what it was, but it still embarrassed and aggravated me. It’s taken me nearly 11 years, but I am now able to accept these issues for what they are. Issues. We all have them. I don’t like it, but I have to live with it.

In the grand scheme of things, I know it’s not the worst thing I could have to handle with my boys. They’re healthy, able-bodied, sharp-minded kids. We’re making progress, oh-so-slowly but definitely surely. We’ll get it figured out eventually. I’ve never liked the saying “It is what it is” because it seems so lazy. But, in these situations, that phrase is completely valid. So, I’m going to continue working to accept the situation not out of apathy but instead with the understanding that not accepting it places an unreasonable burden on my two great kids who are just doing the best they can with what they’ve been given.

Posted on by Me