Rules and Obligations

My children’s lives should be full of fun, spontaneous moments, mud, dirt and laughter.

Colin’s world is ruled by rules and obligations.

Tonight he had to spin around 6 times and then “bump into Mommy” before he could enter his bathroom to take a bath and get ready for bed. He refused to eat lunch…he refused to eat breakfast. His reason? The food felt funny on his tongue.

But, he devoured the nachos his sister made and managed two hours in the pool this afternoon as long as everyone was doing what he wanted them to do.

I’m exhausted already and he’s only five.

I worry that he’ll shrivel up into a little old man from malnutrition.  I’m afraid that all the big kids at school next year will think he’s wierd.  I cry when I think about soccer practice and Colin’s inability to play with other kids on a team eve though he’s great at heading the ball and kicks the hell out of it too!!

This week it’s all about how his fingers smell.  He’ll touch something, smell his hands and then let me know if said object is worth paying attention to.

I need vacation. 

Colin needs a Mommy who’ll understand.

I’m trying.

Please Throw Stuff Away!!!

I am pleading with you…do NOT hoarde decades worth of financial documents, illegible scribblings intended to log all your medical expenses, little calendars with your mileage to doctor appointments on them, paystubs, cancelled checks, benevolent gifts and other useless tax write offs.

As a daughter-in-law of someone who never throws things away…I implore you to look beyond yourself and realize that someday, one of your children or one of your children’s spouses will spend hours and hours going through all that crap and then pitching it!

I am now surrounded by boxes of papers ready for the Shred-It people who will charge me by the pound to obliterate any traces of personal information contained therein. They charge by the pound. I have at least 90 pounds of papers.

The IRS and Medicare are tricky. You can claim expenses, itemize deductions, under certain circumstances. Most people don’t fit those circumstances. So…stop with the obsessive record keeping.

Don’t go to funerals, give a donation to the memorial fund and then write on the pretty little service program you received the amount of your “charitable donation” and the date you used it as a tax write off. That’s just sick.

Don’t paperclip or rubber band all these things together. I have to remove each and every one of those before the shredder can eat the paper inside.

Don’t keep everything in it’s original envelope with little notes on the outside referring me to the date, hour, minute and second that you spent the money or claimed the deduction. It just makes the whole process of going through your stuff even more aggravating.

If you had spent half the time, money and energy on playing with your children and grandchildren or having fun with your wife that you did keeping, sorting, filing, documenting and storing all these papers….I can’t imagine how different it would be.

You Can’t Take It With You…

…when you go. And we all will go.

I am sitting in my dining room surround by boxes of someone else’s stuff. I wish I could say that all the boxes contain memories. Some photographs, some drawings. Mostly just stuff. Years of collectibles that would one day be “worth something” are now squarely planted in labeled boxes, bins and bags on my table.

When we moved to our home six years ago, we brought Andy’s parents with us. Andy’s parents brought 70 years worth of stuff with them. No amount of cajoling, bargaining, yard saleing or begging could get them to part with anything they thought might be of value. Over the past 2 years, we have begun to weed through the piles, beginning to hand over sentimental trinkets to others in the family. Granddaughters got lovely china sets as wedding presents. Sons and in-laws picked up pretty vases and John Wayne collectibles.

Over the past ten days, Andy’s sister Sue and I ravaged the garage and the rented storage locker to rid our lives of all the stuff we’re sitting on.

Charlie has spent the last 80 years saving everything and buying more. Anything on sale…we buy seventeen of them. Anything from the Franklin Mint…we’ve got it! Anyone need industrial strength Velcro? I could pull a boat with the amount of that stuff I found in the garage. Charlie’s drawings and cartoons could take up a locker of their own. The guy is an amazing artist…or was. On par with the classic cartoonists from the half century mark, no question. I don’t understand why he didn’t make a living out of it. But he kept it to himself like everything else.

During the last two decades, he has “invested” in coins, stamps and cookie-cutter Hummels and Wysocki items with the idea that some day they would be worth something. Fancy leather-bound albums for the goldleaf  coins and commemorative stamps piled up inside his home. When space ran out, they were boxed and sent to the storage shed where no one looked at them or enjoyed them. Sadly, all the collectibles he has purchased through magazines and marketing gurus are worth nothing monetarily. Tens of thousands of dollars spent on commemorative stamps and coins translate to merely a few hundred dollars in value.

The sadness on his face when I told him that none of his precious collections would earn him any money broke my heart.  He wanted to be rich but failed to do so. He wanted to make investments but bought into scams. He hoarded all his stuff so that he could show others how well he was living but no one sees the stuff in the storage locker. 

And, then I got angry. Hidden away among all the Snoopy characters, Marvel Comic figures, Wysocki villages, gold leaf stamps, Sacagawea coins, state quarters, 26 Model cars and trucks and pristine Hess Trucks was a small box of photographs and family heirlooms. Stuck at the back of the storage locker, in a box of pure junk…precious photos of family. Inside another box in the garage…a beautifully preserved pair of child’s ballet slippers. In another bin…an envelope labeled “Japanese Junk” from Charlie’s time in WWII containing photos of two geisha girls and other relics. All the important stuff was shoved into dark crevices and corners. But…if it’s not worth money, we won’t keep the boxes.

Those things that evoke memories, tears, laughter, joy, puzzlement and heartache are worth keeping.

Those things that sit on a shelf to be dusted off…

You can’t take it with you.

Anyone need burned down, used votive candles??
I’ve got 6 of them!

MUDSLAM!!!

English is a fantastic language.

I have always had a penchant for words. Spelling, reading and writing are exercises I enjoy very much. The Sunday News includes the NY Times crossword and I’m happy for that…otherwise I’d spend up to $10 a month for real news and awesome crossword puzzles.

I must confess to watching the Scripp’s Spelling Bee on TV yesterday. Given the chance, I would have loved to have competed in that competition as a young student. One young girl…who ultimately won…spelled words on her hand while she spoke the spelling out loud. Makes total sense to me. How do you see a word in your head?? It must be written before it can be spoken.

Colin has his own little language. When excited, he combines Spanish and English and Colinese. There is cadence and rhythm to what he’s saying, but none of it makes sense to the naked ear. Words that he has made up are repeated over and over and to him there is a definition, but not to me.

Many months ago he declared “Liam…You’re a MUDSLAM!”

Initially we thought he was calling his brother a Muslim…say “mudslam” 4 times fast and you’ll understand why.  Liam…you’re a mudslam!  POW!  

Blowing bubbles with him yesterday he got so excited with the big bubbles that I made…..

“WOW! Google bam monkey pop!”

Last night Andy gave him the ritual daddy bath. While drying him off, Colin declared daddy a “Goofbagel!!”

Those words wouldn’t show up when he’s ready for Scripps.

So what, you Stinky Poopy Head Bergel Boppy Gop Merkel!!!

Fun With Food

How to eat a cinnamon bagel:

Toast it on the number 31/2 setting (not 3 or 4) and wait for the “pop!” when it’s ready. Lather with cream cheese. Cut each half into 4 equal pieces. Eat all the cream cheese off the top with your index finger. Let it sit on the counter because Sponge Bob is on in the living room.

Now he won’t eat it because it smells cold. 

The child’s sense of smell has been guiding his decisions this week.  He has to smell it before he eats it (or wears it). White rice smells great and therefore tastes good. Cinnamon bagel smells cold, so can’t be finished.

One of our challenges with Colin is meal time. Since food is not his motivator, mealtimes are not always a pleasant experience for him. He’ll complain of being “really hungry” but eat two bites and is “so full.”  I don’t think he recognizes that his belly ache could be fixed if he’d eat.  Since he probably doesn’t taste food the same way we do, meals don’t matter too much.  He would also prefer to eat everything with his fingers so that he can feel the food on the way to his lips and that doesn’t always work out! I’m going to start using Julia Seinfeld’s cookbook, Deceptively Delicious. See if I can’t sneak some summer squash into that mac and cheese. Hopefully it won’t smell bad.

He LOVES chocolate milk. But…only the Extreme Chocolate milk from “the store called Giant”. Hershey’s syrup in white milk doesn’t pass the test, neither does powdered chocolate. We went to dinner at a local restaurant and he ordered chocolate milk. One taste and he could tell they used syrup. He wouldn’t drink it.

On the short list of things to eat are:
Mac and Cheese (Kraft or homemade). Hot dogs. Noodles. Bagels. Rice Krispies or Cheerios. Cracker, chips…tortilla chips preferably (we call them torties). Peaches. Pears. Green apples, sometimes with peanut butter. Jelly sandwhiches. And Danimals strawberry drinkable yogurt. Lots and lots and lots of Danimals.

The doctor said he’s healthy even though his weight is that of a 3 year old and for the first time ever, he’s made it onto the percentile chart!

I’ll take his word for it.

I Am From….

Our church asked us to write a poem or verse about where we are from…or who we are. I didn’t have this done in time, nor did I know what it would be.

But tonight it came:

 

I am from the womb of a black haired, dark eyed Jewish woman who shouldn’t but did.

I am from the seed of a brown haired, green eyed man with sawdust on his hands.

My contractions began in the middle of the Goochland Depart of Corrections while she served for crimes I know nothing about.

I am loved by the hips of a lady who fed children by the dozens while they waited for new homes.

I BECAME THE CHILD OF:

Two people who couldn’t but did.
A woman and man who loved and served, yet were left empty handed.

A history of dairy farms, hay bales, tractors and early mornings.
Mountain churches, outhouses, barefoot babies and bullet holes.

Swinging bridges, hollers and Sunday School.
Wagon rides, britches, coverings and Bibles.

Mennonite history.
Grandchild of a Bishop and missionary.
Daughter of ministry.
Child of expectation.

Brought up in the world of buses and taxis.
Vacationed on tropical beaches…surrounded by palm trees, monkeys and sun.

Surrounded by Hindus and Muslims and Pagans.
Sleeping in to the sounds of water on sand.

I AM NOW:

Addicted to water and sunsets and tidepools.
I long for hot sunshine and wine and tomatoes.
Milking cows in my sleep while waitng on surfboards.
My knees are bruised from prayers for my children and
I can’t stand the silence when the Imam calls Time.

My life has spanned countries, nations and cultures.

Yet, at the close of the day….

I am fully the product of where I have come from. The heritage born in me…the culture fed into me….the lifetimes of living sequestered in me…

At the end of the day….
I come from a place I’ll never return to.
I was born in a place that I’ll always call home.
I lived in a place that I’ll always return to.
I am in a place that I’ll make my own.

No Zipper Pockets

Sensory Integration Disorder (SID) is the brain’s inability to correctly interpret the information it receives from the senses. Clothing tags feel like sandpaper.  Vacuum cleaners sound like fire alarms. Food is tasteless.  Monday might be a day for hypersentivity and Tuesday might be a day for hyposensitivity. The rules change with the wind.  SID often rides the waves with ADD/ADHD, OCD and Asperger’s Syndrome or other Autism spectrum disorders. Or, it can stand alone.

SID is also now officially part of our family.

We’ve always known that Colin is “wired” a little differently. We just didn’t know what wiring was used at his creation.

It would explain why he cried as an infant when I dressed him in turtlenecks. Golf shirts or button down shirts are extremely stressful. No collars, no way, no how. Smelling things that no one else can was always what we deemed “weird.”  Did you know how “stinky” the paper on a doctor’s office exam table is?  He can’t sleep under the sheets on his bed. I thought he was just being obsessively neat by not wanting to mess up his bed. Turns out…the sheets make his feet feel hot…so, surface sleeping only.

New clothing goes over like a fart in church.  Colin is never impressed with new clothing. Rather the opposite. He wants nothing to do with it and stresses and cries if we ask him to put something on that he’s never worn before. Makes shopping a true treat. It could be the smell or the texture. It could be anything or nothing at all…but he’ll flat out refuse new shirts, pants and jackets until he can warm up to them a bit.

When he was licking the sidewalk last summer, we thought…how strange!  But, now that he’s moved on to putting toys in his mouth, we know why.  He LOVES superfast rollercoasters and teacup rides…he’d literally jump on our trampoline for hours if allowed… but hates to be swung around by the arms or turned upside down. His perception of where his body is in relation to his surroundings is completely different than ours.

If you offer him a handshake or a high five…don’t be offended if he looks at the floor and blows a raspberry. If you ask him a question, don’t be alarmed if he sits down and shuts his eyes. He’s not being rude…he just doesn’t know if you’ll feel, smell or sound good if he answers you.

If Colin comes to your home and has to eat a meal with you…don’t feel bad if he’ll only eat the foods that are safe in his world. Since he was a baby, food has not motivated him. There is a menu of about seven things that are sure to bring smiles. He discriminates based on texture and he could care less about taste. Home runs for sweet stuff or bland carbs.

He’ll separate himself from a crowd, or cover his ears, shut his eyes and hide away somewhere.  If you look him in the eye, don’t be distressed if he sits down on the floor, hides under the pew or puts his head down when you ask him a question. Eye contact is like nails on a chalkboard when he doesn’t know you.

But…he is five years old and has been reading for more than 2 years. He loves phonics and argued the idea with me today that “ph” should sound like “f.” Made perfect sense to him. He finds complex patterns in words and designs. He loves numbers and is obsessed with anything ending in a 0000.  The hymn books at church are a guaranteed source of distraction while he searches for 100, 200, 300 etc… He does simple addition and subtraction in his head, yet has never been taught how to do math. He plunks out tunes on the piano that he’s heard, but no one’s taught him.

It will be an interesting ride!  

Getting dressed this morning a new rule was introduced. No pants or shirts with zipper pockets. It took three tries through the pants drawer to find a suitable garment.  No explanation as to why…just no zipper pockets.

So…we’re in for a treat with this child. 

An amazing, complex, brilliant, sweet, sensitive, irritating, frustrating, loving and beautiful child.

Laundry Lint

We ordered pizza delivered tonight. Tuesdays are pretty hellish at our house for schedule conflicts. Andy works every Tuesday from 7-3 or 7-7 and I pretty much work every waking hour of the day. My graceful mother keeps the house from burning down while we are away. Nearly 6:00 until both adults got home from work today. Chicken was thawing in the sink but looked very limp and untasty compared to a hot pizza delivered.

Lent is upon us. For the first time in years I have decided to make a sacrifice. I’m giving up meat. That’s tough and a little Catholic but it tis what it tis. So, pizza was okay and the mozarella sticks even better.

While discussing this sacrifice over dinner, talking about “giving things up for Lent” my daughter looked very confused. Liam had comments on my meatless menu, Andy said “this will work for you” and then Erin piped up with…”Isn’t Lent that white stuff that comes out of the laundry in little balls?”

Ha!

I don’t remember learning much about Lent as a child. My Catholic friends were eating fish on fridays and moaning about going to Mass every weekend. That’s it. As an adult I’ve come to realize the significance of Lent, but honestly never gave it much thought.

Maybe this year.

But, I’ll chuckle every time I empty the dryer vent.

Being Church

Seven years ago, Andy and I, along with Todd and Twila Shertzer attempted to start a life group aimed at reaching people who otherwise wouldn’t step foot over the threshold of a holy place.  So many of our neighbors wanted to go to church but felt that they would be judged or preached to. Many had childhood experiences of church that left the bad flavor of brimstone in their throats.

Our timing was off.

No one is good enough to step foot into a church. None of us earned the right to show up and worship. Grace gave us the opportunity and love gave us the key.

When we finally decide to let go of our need to save souls and concentrate on loving people in our world then Jesus will show up in ways we have not imagined.

Problem is…we might get real. Our flaws and idiocies will be exposed. Our addictions and failures will come out. Our pride will be crushed and humility is mighty hard to live with. After all, we’re Christians, we’re perfect and we’ve got to show others the way to the truth, right?

Let’s not forget that each of us is only ONE person and each other person we touch values us only for what we bring to them and for what they can give us. It is not our job to save souls for Christ. It is our job to fully engage our lives and our neighbors no matter what religion they subscribe to. And hopefully, in that, they will see how Jesus lived and want to know more about him.

It’s hard. It’s long. It’s painful. It’s real.

It’s good.

Mothers, Daughters and Tea

Someone I have never met allowed me to have a great Valentine’s Day. Erin and I were invited to a Mother/Daughter tea with three of her friends and their mothers. I knew two of these women, but not the host. I am so grateful to her for inviting us and allowing me to relax for awhile in the comfort of other women. Even if four of them were 9 years old.

I am blessed to have such a beautiful girl in my home. Erin is growing and learning so much about life. Watching her today with her close friends gave me a new perspective on her life outside of my four walls. It’s obvious that her friends love her and know her pretty well.

I am also blessed to be able to learn to know her friend’s mothers. Liam’s friend’s moms have been in my life for a long time. I made more of an effort to learn to know them earlier on and somehow I forgot to pay attention to the other women in Erin’s life. I trust her to spend the night in their homes and go to their parties, but I haven’t made the effort to know them myself. That is changing and I am very glad!

So, thanks so much to Melissa and Maddy! We had a precious time. More than you’ll ever know.

Happy Valentine’s Day!!