A Toothless Wonder

Yes, you too could make this sound if you had no teeth.

I'm sure you're headed to the dentist to have them removed as we speak.

And a little bit of conversation to boot. So cute.

One More Time Now

Lately I've been going to an aerobics class through the MBA spouses' program on Fridays. They meet every day, but I only go at the end of the week. The first time I went I ended up severely traumatized. But I'm still going. It's part of my "let's try to be social" plan. I know, I know, my friends are in awe that I'm talking to strangers. Anyway, back to being traumatized.....

I have never done aerobics before and I just knew I was going to feel like an idiot. Not that all you aerobic, jazzercize loving people look stupid. I just knew I would look stupid. My one experience with aerobics was watching my mom's aerobics show back when I was in kindergarten - or some other impressionable age. This was the one with the great 80's music, and the wardrobe composed only of spandex and braided headbands. Yes, you know it. And - once again - if I were gifted (I suppose I should branch out on my links) I would import the music from the show. I know you'd recognize it. In this particular version of aerobics there were three different levels you could try out. I felt gifted that I could do the top version as my five year old self. Hmmmm, wouldn't that be laughable to see now......

Anyway, back to aerobics in 2008. Picture this: all us mothers out there on the gym floor lifting our legs and cha-cha-ing, hopping in place and punching the air (am I supposed to try to punch with actual form?) while around our legs sit/scoot/crawl/walk/run at least two to three times as many children as there are adults in the room.

I don't think any more explanation of the traumatization is necessary. Of course, this is coming from the girl who dressed up in pink tights and a black leotard for eighteen years so she could walk on her toes and do other such funny looking things. Can I really mock aerobics with a history like mine? So, I decided not to laugh. "This is only funny looking because I'm insane," I told myself. Nothing about skipping while you do arm circles above your head is odd. I repeat, nothing about this is odd. None of us are even wearing spandex.

Fast forward a few weeks to today. Standing beside myself was another newcomer to the nursery/aerobics scene I have just described. And I kid you not, every time we did something which the cynical voice in my head had thought strange looking, she laughed. Out loud. Like it was the funniest looking thing ever. And do you know why? Because it was! Even Elise commented on it today.

J: Ellie, are you going to dance with me?
E: Mom, this is funny dancing.

No, no, I mock only in fun. Really, it's been great. I've never been able to get into the running gig and this is finally something interesting that gets my blood going in the morning. And it's great that Meg and Ellie can just run around and play with the other kids. (Or read in the dark stairwell as Ellie did today) I will not think about what Meg might have put her mouth on, and I will not think about how if I were watching this all happen, I would be laughing. That is all for you.

Too bad I can't stay for the yoga they offer later... but all Meg does is look for shoes she can eat.

A Mother of Children

One of the blog writers I read calls herself "Joyful Mother of Children." Whenever I see her posts, I experience a little interior dialogue with myself. Joyful? Huh. Am I a joyful mother of children? I think sometimes I'm a tired mother of children, or a distracted mother of children, or a stick a fork in me, I am done mother of children. But joyful? I don't think I do that nearly enough. And after this week, I am sure that has to change.

This week was the first week of ballet at our house. For those of you who don't know, I have spent the past two years teaching a few ballet classes at the studio where I used to dance. The location is not extraordinarily convenient (try a 45 minute one-way trip on for size), but the situation is. I am able to take both of my girls with me when I teach, and they attend a small nursery in the same building with me. This means I am able to visit them in between each of my classes, feed Meg, and bring Elise down to a few classes once in a while. The experience has been a blessing. It gives me time out of the house and my children are pretty sure the activity was planned for their benefit.

One of the requirements of Justin's MBA program this fall is that he sign a beautiful piece of paper that says he will not hold any kind of job for the following year. This counts even 7-Eleven out of the game. Oh the joys of being unemployed! In our new situation, we are living off our savings from the past years and a small federal student loan. (I am very disappointed that our “eating-out” budget has been deleted from the Excel spreadsheet. Bleh… I now must cook on a regular basis.) We decided that in an effort to keep our loan level down I would take a few more hours on at the ballet studio. This week was our first run.

As I spent Tuesday and Wednesday teaching other parent’s beautiful little girls how to twirl and jump, how to chasse and glissade, I made an important realization.

Every moment that I have with my own girls is a treasure. A treasure and a joy. Yes, in fact, I am a joyful mother of children.

Each evening, as I strapped Elise and Meg into their car-seats and began the long trek home, I thought of how I’d missed them during the day, and of how glad I was that I only had to leave them in someone else’s care for two days of our week together. I thought of how glad I was that almost every 45 minutes I could come to see them. That I could take them on short walks, or even to the park during my work-day. What glorious, beautiful, magnificent luck! (I think my writing group would make me cut out several of those adjectives.) Or, as Grandy Nelson would say: What a glorious, beautiful, magnificent blessing! After all, no one has luck, only blessings. But someone I can’t help feeling the luckiness of my blessings, because I know it is not that way for every mother.

I did not come from a home where my mother could be home with me. My mother was an amazing single-parent who spent her days working for others, and her nights working for me and my siblings. I never knew that my situation was not what others had. If I called my mother and needed her, she made every effort to be there for me. She brought me assignments I’d left at home so I wouldn’t get penalized five points, driving from the University, all the way home, downtown to my highschool, and back to the University. (Yes, even then I was O.C.D.) She shuttled me from library to library when I left my copy of Pride and Prejudice on the bus-stop with only a few chapters left until the end. She personally took the bus to work during my senior year so that I could drive to school each day and use the car for my responsibilites as the newspaper editor. And I never realized the effort this took, or the sacrifices she made every day to be both mother and working parent.

But even with all her extra time and effort she could not be there for me as much as I can be there for my girls. When I broke my foot in the eighth grade she took me home to wait until we could make an appointment with a doctor while she went back to work. She could not waste that time sitting in the E.R. And while this is the only example I can remember (I think the pain is what seared it in), I know that she remembers so many others. That she can think of times when she wishes she had not had to divide her time between a cold, grey office and her family.

Just last year I listened to my mother give a talk. It was the first she’d given in years, and I enjoyed hearing her speak words I would not have heard in any other environment. Our family is definitely not one of the vocally lovey-dovey families. (Just ask Justin, he’s been trying to bend me to his ways). But in her talk, I heard my mother tell of how she was so happy to be retired and to have the opportunity to help her children as she could not help them before. She spoke of promising herself that she would take the time to serve us more, to be there to tend her grandchildren, to help us run errands, and to lighten our loads. I was surprised by these words. I had never noticed her not being there before. But now I know, that as mother, she had noticed. As a mother she had known the things she was missing in her children’s lives.

I am so very blessed that this is not my burden at this time. I have the wonderful chance to be with my children through-out the day. I get to answer all their horrible questions, clean up after all their accidents, make all their meals, wash all their clothes, tend all their hurts, see all their firsts. I get to be there. And what a joyful experience that is.

We all have so many opportunities. And I would the first and loudest to say that we should all take the time to get out a little, have some alone time, develop our talents. But I have the unique insight of also knowing that with all its seeming triviality, the time we spend at home with our children is the most meaningful of all. And that when we give up any of that time, we should be sure that the reason for doing so is more than good enough.

And for all those mothers out there, doing as my mother did. Working in a needful way outside their homes, please know your love and sacrifice is felt by your children. I always knew my mother was there for me, and your children know too.

So yes, Aubrey, I am a joyful mother of children. And I am so blessed to be that. And so thankful for your reminder that I should always be that way.

Mom, I think it's Beautiful!

Taa daa!!! My mother can stop shaking her head at me every time I drive to Vegas. Yep, that's right, we finally bought our new car. If I were gifted, I'd get a Price is Right clip and put it on the site.... "And behind that curtain you have... a new car!"

Okay, so not really new. But new to me. And not really a car. A van.

But, let me tell you, I am NOT upset to be driving a minivan around town. I am glad. I am proud. I am liberated.

And you would be too if you'd been driving a Nissan Sentra around. Especially one that's been nicknamed "Vivaldi" because of all the different sounds it makes depending on the seasons. Now, I personally think our new van is slightly ugly. It is a Honda, and it looks like R2-D2, but I really, really, really like it.

It has power doors.
It has a DVD player for above-mentioned trips to Vegas.
It has room for Ellie's legs.

Yes, Elise is the true lover of our new car. When she got in it she said she thought it was beautiful. And every time she rides in it she says, "Look, my legs fit now."

So, we proudly announce the newest member of our family:

R2-D2, a red Honda Odyssey that everyone fits in.