With all my work and writing behind the scenes of this blog, I haven't had much time to create any new collages lately. I started this one a couple of weeks ago after taking a blurry shot of my niece Tori in the snow. I've been trying various incarnations out and finally arrived at a draft I am pleased with tonight. I still need to print it out and work on the extras. I know I want to embroider around the edges a bit and add some pastel, but this is the initial digital draft. I'm calling it Temptation. To me this is the child Eve, the tempted and the temptress. There's more to it than that, I think, but that's where I started.
Beautiful, Beautiful Boy
I've written before that it's more challenging for me to get those special shots of little boys than it is of little girls. I've speculated that its because boys move to much, are too rough and tumble to allow the lens to capture their inner selves. Every once in awhile, however, you get lucky. I did with this shot during our last big snowstorm. My nephew Avery was over at the house while his Dad plowed the driveway. I was out back taking pictures of the pugs when I looked over the gate and saw Avery peeking out above the snowbanks. I was glad I had my telephoto lens.
This beautiful, beautiful boy celebrated his 9th birthday. He received a telephone and he's been texting me ever since. His brother, 12, texts his girlfriend. This nine-year-old texts his aunt. I am lucky to be that special lady for a little while longer.
My Christmas Presents
I admit it. I had shopped and wrapped, organized and shopped again, written articles, mailed Christmas cards, corralled and coerced relatives and friends into celebrating the holidays until I wasn't much in the mood to celebrate them myself. By the time Christmas Eve arrived and the family started to gather, I was hoping that Santa might stop by with a fresh dose of Christmas spirit for me. And, he did. He came in the form of two family members -- my brother John and his son Avery.
My brother John wore Christmas on his sleeve, well, his neck actually, when he arrived wearing the very ugly Christmas tie I had given him on his birthday (Dec. 12). First thing you have to know, I intended it as a joke. Not for a minute did I consider it a beautiful tie and second, my brother John is the type of guy who dresses up every holiday. On Halloween, the year after Bush ran against Al Gore, he dressed as a Hanging Chad. So the guy is unique and has a sense of humor. Thus, I couldn't quite understand why he seemed to declare my birthday gift pathetically ugly and not suitable to wear to work. Once again I professed it wasn't meant to be taken seriously. BTW, I also gave my brother an itunes gift card and some other gifts so the ugly tie was not the only birthday present he unwrapped from me. I was kind of sad that we didn't share the joke, so when he appeared at my door on Christmas Eve wearing the red sequined accessory with white wooly tip, I took it for what it was a grand overture, a homage on my behalf. It made me smile and the Christmas spirit began to slowly find it's way back.
I felt it in full force a few minutes later when my 8 year-old nephew Avery arrived with a pile of gifts. Gifts he had picked out, purchased, and wrapped himself, all with his own money. When my one niece opened hers he proclaimed "That cost $10." He gave his cousin, my nephew Christian a bag of Krullers and me, a roll of lifesavers wrapped and addressed to "Anty Bee." And, he had purchased local -- the gas station and downtown store!
I had friends who complained this holiday that the focus is too much on gifts not enough on the true meaning of Christmas. I think both my brother and my nephew gave gifts that exemplified exactly what Christmas is about -- and I don't mean ugly ties and cheap food -- they gave of themselves, they thought of others, they brought a smile to the faces of those around them, chiefly my own. They acted in the spirit of Christ and the spirit of Santa -- they showed love.
Writing Prompt: What Makes You Laugh? The Tree is Up
As a night owl, there is something about the warm glow of Christmas lights to keep me company through the night. The house grows cozier with the addition of the Christmas tree even if it is fake and pink. I consider the color of my tree a statement. For years I fought having a fake Christmas tree and then one day I stumbled upon the pink tree for sale and decided if I was to go fake I was really going to go fake -- no pretend pine for me. This one is magenta and full of ornaments that are special to me including a number of pug ornaments. I even have a pug Santa.
I put the tree up the day after Thanksgiving because my niece Ellie was here and I wanted her to have the experience of the tree. She looked at it and just laughed. What a wonderful reaction -- pure glee! I felt like I had achieved the ultimate achievement -- my candy-pink pug tree had not only elicited a smile but giggles and wide eyes. What could be better?
Writing Prompt: What makes you laugh? Write about it.
Kid versus Pug
Last week my niece 22-month-old niece Ellie came to our house for Trick or Treating. She loves my dogs and loves their toys almost as much. It’s hard to deny her anything so when she picked up Waffles favorite stuffed dog, a fluffy, cream creature, and asked to bring it home. It was hard, no impossible, to say “no.”
Waffles has lots of toys and although she favors some, she likes new ones even better, so I was convinced that she wouldn’t miss her doggie too much. Ellie went home with it and life continued as normal.
Tonight, Ellie and her parents swung by again on their way to New York on vacation. Excited to see Ellie, my Mom decided to give her an early Christmas present – ad stuffed, pale peach pig. She placed it on the kitchen table waiting for Ellie to arrive. A few minutes later I heard her call me.
“Don’t mention the pig to Ellie,” she said.
“Why,” I asked.
She motioned to Waffles pen and I looked inside. Waffles was happily curled up with the pig and upon seeing me jumped up with it in her mouth to play! It was precious how excited she was by her find and even if she hadn’t suckled it until it was damp and grimy, it would have been impossible to take it away from her. I certainly couldn’t and besides it seemed like turnabout was fair play – Ellie had taken one of her toys after all.
When Ellie arrived she seemed to care little for Waffles’ wet pig, but she did have a good time playing with a handful of her bone-shaped chew toys. At one point holding one that resembled a baby’s teether to her Mom saying, “This isn’t a baby’s!”
Gretchin agreed. “No, it isn’t,” she said, holding the blue bone out to Ellie. “Whose is it?”
“ELLIE’S!” She declared, gleefully grabbing it in her tiny hand.
And, Waffles who was suckling on her pig, not teething on the bone, didn’t seem to care at all.
Trick or Treating in a Small Town
Truth be told I have never Trick or Treated anywhere else, but there are sometimes when life in a small town seems smaller than others. Sometimes this is good, sometimes it is bad. Tonight it was wonderful.
The town put on its best face to make a cold rainy Halloween a party for its children. Downtown stores opened their doors to masked kiddies. We saw soldiers and cops, the man in the yellow hat, the bride of Frankenstein, a flashlight, and more. We gathered in the Town Hall for crafts and games – where neighbors had made enchanted donuts with vampire teeth and spider cupcakes. Kids played pin the heart on the skeleton, bingo and guess the number of candy corns, while parents chatted, snapped pictures and tried to stay warm. A tractor pulled a wagon full of hay bales offering damp tricksters a hayride to the Haunted Bandstand.
I’m sure it is fun to comb a city’s streets, but I doubt it is ever as heartwarming. Best yet, my whole world fit in that downtown and we were there sharing it together: all three brothers’ families and their kids convened in the Town Hall and back at the house for pizza. I bumped into my best friend when I was 9 years old -- the one who used to come to my house every Monday night when we were young to watch Little House on the Prairie – and her son, who was dressed as Almanzo Wilder. The brother of the boy I loved was handing out candy in a downtown shop and I received a text or two from my nephew the next town over. I missed spending the night with them, but the rain kept me closer to home. Although the pugs stayed at home because of the freezing drizzle, they greeted me, happily settling down once the kids and I were back in the house. We were warm, we were happy, we were together in the big brick house where my parents raised us right in the center of town. And, though the place might be small, this feeling of contentment was big.
Mothers' Guilt
I am not a mother, but I am a daughter and as such I may just have the experience to witness and the objectivity to comment on, an unique aspect of motherhood: mothers' guilt. It seems to inflict almost every mother I know from my own to my sister-in-law to my student, who tonight was blaming herself for the rough patches her daughter has gone through in life. “If only I had been a better mother,” she sighed.
My own mother said the same thing to me only a few hours before when I was complaining about some relatively minor problem I was experiencing as if it was truly the end of the world and indeed as if she was to blame. It wasn’t that I held her responsible, it was that I needed a way to lash out, to expel my anger and grief over life’s obvious injustice, and as my mom she was the ready recipient. And, so I could tell my student with 100% certainty that her daughter’s sorrows were not her fault. “It’s mother’s guilt,” I explained. “You could be the most perfect mother in the world and still not get it right – she’d always blame you. It’s in the job description.”
And, so it is -- love and guilt being equal measures on the parenting scale. Funny thing is those moms who feel the most guilt are the least likely to warrant it. A truly bad mom probably doesn’t think twice about the effects of her parenting. A good mom? That’s pretty much all she thinks about.
This weekend I had the opportunity to watch my 20-month-old niece Ellie. Our march to the park yielded a steady stream of chatter: “Good morning Ellie,” my niece sang to herself. “We’re going to the park, going to the park. Nice park. We made it. Good job Ellie,” she praised and congratulated herself amidst her laughter and her squeals. Not long ago, I told my sister-in-law what a good mother she is and through teary eyes, she told me how she worries all the time about whether she’s getting it right. Looking at my niece, listening to her steady stream of self-praise, glimpsing her growing confidence, there is no question.
Life’s a strange adventure. “As long as they come out walking, you did your job,” I assured my student. We laughed over that. She outwardly acknowledging that I was right, but as certain as I was that this was so, I was equally certain she would never really believe it. Nor would my mother, nor sister-in-law nor Ellie, if she were to have children 20 years from now. Guilt like love is an umbilical cord that binds; even if severed it grows back, a steady anchor in an uncertain sea. Guilt gives mothers some measure of comfort, an illusion of control, a belief that their hands somehow navigate through the blinding fog of life and guide their children, even if they fall short. It is more reassuring than the truth: all one can do is her muddled best, try to give her child a song to sing and a measure of chutzpah to congratulate herself no matter what she encounters. In the end, guilt is the sister of hope, leading a good mother to willingly don it on the chance that its heavy weight will free her child to soar.
Animal Love
Is there anything cuter than a picture of children and animals? Probably not, and that’s just the problem – such pictures tend to be taken as throwaways, too lighthearted, too cliché – I think they hide hidden depths. Both children and animals inhabit worlds we can only guess at, imagine. One we can never visit, another we may have known, but have outgrown and quickly forgotten. We are foreigners to their minds, but we can observe. The cuteness is only the surface layer.
Today, we took my niece Ellie on a fun-filled outing. She encountered several dogs along the way. Each time she greeted them exactly the same – “Ohh, doggie,” she’d exclaim. “I hug!” And, she would proceed to go over pet, nuzzle or kiss the animal. “Goodbye doggie,” she’d then say.
Where does the love of animals come from? What causes it in some and not in others? Why do we find such images so precious, so cute? I see in my niece the ability to step outside of herself and embrace another, the start of lifelong connection, the beginnings of wonder, empathy and love. Animals are so well suited in allowing this connection, in rewarding with soulful expression or wag of the tail, our fledgling efforts.
When Ellie arrived at my house today, my pugs greeted her with lavish kisses. “Tongue,” she said, as Alfie and Waffles licked her, slobbering all over her mouth. “Oh my gosh!” she said! When I witness the angelic calm, the sweet bliss that comes over her face with each embrace, I feel the same way. “Oh my gosh!” And, I hope I never lose my fascination with such exchanges, that I never dismiss what passes between these creatures as mere cuteness. I hope it remains as fresh for me, as curious as it did when I saw it today.
May I always see in such moments the birth of empathy, the promise of acceptance.
And, this is the way a day ends...
We sit on a sofa, scattered markers on our laps. The television blasts an episode of Breaking Bad. My brother, in his easy chair, works on his computer. The baby monitor broadcasts my niece’s sweet snores. My sister-in-law Gretchin and I doodle on paper with pens purchased at the craft store an hour before. Morning mail for Ellie. Gretchin has established a tradition, creating a mailbox for Ellie to receive doodles and letters from Mommy each morning. I prepare to join in. I draw my picture of my pugs – first, Alfie and then Waffles, leaving the important message: “Good Morning Ellie, Bee (her name for me) Loves You!” “Hi Ellie, Waffles and Alfie Love You!” She will find them when she awakens and crumple them in her toddler’s tiny hands. The images probably have a short half-life when a toddler’s concerned, but the message, I hope, lasts a lifetime: We love you Ellie. That is the message on which to end each day and begin another anew. It keeps us cuddled on the sofa well passed midnight, drafting these small testaments. Maybe we’ll remember to tell you about your mail someday or maybe we’ll forget – the memory mixing with so many others over time. The specifics won’t really matter, just the hope we plant here: May all your days end and begin with this much love.
Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, Ain’t No Valley Low Enough, Ain’t No Bulldozer Wide enough…well, maybe…
Those could have been the lyrics flowing through my mind today as I attempted to pick my niece Ellie up at daycare. A couple of days earlier I answered my sister-in-law Gretchin’s plea for a babysitter so she could participate in a conference call at work. I felt the weight of responsibility on my shoulders as I headed off to retrieve her from daycare and a secret sense of pride in learning not only had my sister-in-law called ahead to let the daycare know that I would be picking up my niece, but I discovered that I was already on the pre-approved list to do so – had been from the get-go, my sister-in-law told me. Obviously, I was a trusted and trustworthy person, and I was on a mission.
I arrived at my sister-in-law’s on time, switched cars so I would have the vehicle with the car seat, and headed off to the daycare that I had visited only once before. I was pretty sure I had a fairly decent idea of where it was located and Gretchin had given me the street address to plug in my GPS. I shouldn’t have any problem.
I followed the gentle voice of “Mother” my name for my disembodied GPS narrator, taking a left where instructed only to find myself face to face with three bulldozers, completely blocking the road. No problem, I thought, I’ll head back into town and circle around another way. Mind you, I had no idea that there was another way, but it seemed like there should be. There wasn’t. I found myself wandering the one-way roads of the village until I began to despair. I didn’t even know the name of the daycare and by now my sister-in-law was in her meeting! When I was a little girl, my mother was late getting back from an appointment and when I arrived home from school, she wasn’t there. I was little and scared, so I wandered across the street to the neighbor’s and knocked on the door.
“My mom isn’t home I told her,” as she ushered me inside. I barely took a foot over the threshold when I realized things weren’t right. I had entered a prehistoric jungle. Draped on sofas and chairs, hanging from the ceiling and crawling on the floor were gigantic lizards. I was terrified! Years later, when I was older, I learned these were iguanas and that the neighbor raised and sold them, but then as a first-grader I was convinced I had stumbled into a monster’s lair. Was Ellie in for such a life-scaring experience if I didn’t arrive in time?
I wanted to phone Gretchin and at least find out the daycare’s name, but realized she was on her conference call by this time. Then I thought of my brother, Mark, Ellie’s dad. I dialed him at work, explaining that I wasn’t sure where the daycare was and remained on the phone as he guided me to the exact bulldozer-blocked location that “Mother” had taken me only minutes before.
“I can’t get there!” I exclaimed, but the phone had disconnected and suddenly was spouting some nonsense to me in Spanish. I tried calling Mark back only to end up stuck on some strange menu on my phone. (Let’s just say I haven’t gotten use to iOS7 yet). Mark rang me back and explained that if I was to get my niece I would have to find a way through the bulldozers. I took a deep breath, rolled down my window, stuck my head out and yelled at one of the construction workers. “I need to get my niece at school!” I said.
“School’s down that way in the village,” he answered.
“No, daycare!”
Understanding dawned on his face as he motioned one of the bulldozers out of the way and revealed the Grand Canyon of holes in the road. It seemed they had removed a portion of the sidewalk and for me to get to my niece I had to slowly, ever so slowly, they warned me, drive down the abyss and climb up the other side.
If I wanted to balk I couldn’t, I was on the pre-approved list after all and I could not let Ellie fall prey to whatever the modern-day equivalent of a house full of iguanas might be, so I shut my eyes, slowly pressed on the gas and made the crossing. I survived, but as I drove forward I realized the road reached a dead end and I had yet to find the daycare.
After another call to my brother I realized I was supposed to take a right, but I didn’t see a right. I drove back meeting the bulldozers again when it became apparent that the bulldozer that had moved out of the way to let me through was now blocking the driveway to the daycare. Again, I motioned to the construction worker, who in turn signaled to the bulldozer to get out of my way.
As it did, the daycare came into view. I swear I saw a heavenly glow around it. A few minutes and a flash of my official ID later, I was given custody of my niece, who viewed the big machines -- that once again had to move out of our way to let us exit -- with glee.
“Ohh, trucks,” she said.
After a visit to the malt shop, park, several stores, the Famers’ Market, a toy store, and another park, my niece returned home more impressed by our fun-filled day than my gallant rescue attempt. My sister-in-law was equally impressed with the peaceful afternoon. None of them seemed as fazed about my tale of rescue as I was, but I knew that Gretchin had done right by putting her trust in me. I was the woman for the job. When it came to getting my niece, nothing and I mean nothing, could keep me away from her!