Ballerina Mom

Visions of sugarplums and beautiful pink tutus fill my head when I think of a ballerina before Christmas time. I can hear the Nutcracker music and see the sparkling costumes.

However, despite my girlhood visions of a ballerina, when Mom follows Ballerina...it is vastly different.

On Black Friday, after we had dropped Ron and Nikela off at the airport, we headed off with coupon in hand to Dancer's Pointe. A delightful little dance store in the heart of Pittsburgh where the artists with the Pittsburgh Ballet are outfitted. The key here is the heart...meaning I will have the "opportunity" to navigate the traffic and narrow downtown streets in my Yukon.

However, I forgot to grab the address to program into my GPS since I would be coming from the airport instead of the house, but never fear, my sister Kristi was near via cell phone and with a quick google produced the necessary information. Arriving without further ado, we poured in the door of the quiet little store. Of course, the lady glared at the mere presence of my four children.

Shrugging it off, I smilingly inquired about new slippers and pointe shoes. I positioned everyone accordingly...Ethan--"In the vacant chair"...Chayse--"In the next chair"...Kade--"Beside me." Pointedly, the lady stated Kiahra would need to sit in a chair. Adapting, I asked Chayse to sit criss-cross applesauce on the floor nearby.

Then the fun began. Pointe shoes are an art that starts with fitting. Kiahra has a beautiful wide foot...that is very challenging to fit; however, we moved up to the more expensive models. Generally, I don't need the Cadillac to get to my destination, but in pointe shoes I buy into the theory because pointe shoes can permanently damage a child's feet if they are improperly fitted or improperly trained in them, so this is serious stuff for a mom.

As I watched the lady fit Kiahra, I relaxed a bit, as it is obvious she knows what she is doing. We have fitted three pairs previously at this store, but each time someone new has helped us. The last fitting didn't go as well, and the shoes didn't fit properly.

As I listen, I hear words like Fouette Grishko, and realize that there are different makes and models of shoes...exactly like cars. As the dollar signs run through my head, I distract myself...and the only thing I can think is...thank goodness we aren't looking for cars...yet.

Anyway, Kiahra is more familiar with her needs, and her confidence is emerging as she tries on different shoes and makes her final selection. Then back to the slippers. We try on the canvas instead of the leather in hope that they will last longer. Kiahra had already worn a toe through her pair that I just purchased in August...where is the warranty on this stuff?

Then we needed new toe pads. This was as grueling as the shoe selection. Five pairs later, Kiahra selected a new style toe pad that looks like plastic, but is a soft gel. Thankfully, this feature was actually the cheapest. Though throughout the process, I was thinking about lambs wool from grandpa being an excellent option for my pocketbook, and I know that many professionals also use it. Plus, how sweet to think that Grandpa would select his finest fleece for his little ballerina...

Finally, the last item was for mom...a sewing kit, as all my sewing needles are officially curved from so many stitches through ballet shoes. Each pair of pointe shoes comes with beautiful uncut ribbons and elastic to be carefully cut and attached to create a customized fit for each dancer (The slippers require custom elastic also). Romantic...until I am holding the marking pen in hand and stretching the elastic across the foot at various angles determining the best fit. Not to mention finding the exact angle to attach the satin ribbons to the shoes so they look beautiful as Kiahra goes up on pointe. Inevitably, it will require more than one try...

My new sewing kit includes a wax coated thread that I haven't used before, but I can see that it will be strong and reduce the number of times I reattach elastic and ribbons from wear. I also know that it will increase resistance, as I pull the thread through my stitches. The needle is larger too, meaning it won't bend...finally, but I know it will be hard to pull through the shoes.

Once we are nestled in at home again, I settled into my chair with scissors and supplies in hand, and I beginning my sewing. My predictions were all accurate, but I comfort myself with the knowledge that I am not ruining another needle and theoretically, my stitches will last longer. Also, the needle is not as sharp on my thumb, but nonetheless, it required a hard surface to help me push it through, as even a thimble isn't sufficient sometimes. First pair of shoes down. My thumb is tender. Second pair...my stitches grow more slow as I wince at the increasingly tender spots in my fingers and thumb. I remind myself that the feet that fit these shoes endure discomfort beyond mine, so I persevere.

A big smile and quick hug are shared with me after the final fitting...I think I forgot to mention that each time I sew I require a fitting?

As I relax in my chair after a couple hours, I realize that mom means ensuring a perfect fit and the best price on black Friday. On the day Kiahra was born, I became Kiahra's mom, the woman behind the scenes with bloody fingers. Smiling when I watch my little girl lift the nutcracker high into the air as she twirls gracefully on pointe as little Clara. With tears in my eyes, I realize that my little girl who debuted as a sweet little grey mouse in the Nutcracker is now the main character, a dream that has been close to her heart since that day. She will take the stage in 12 days, and just thinking about her performance makes my heart tight. A rite of passage that is so bittersweet, as I love to watch her dance, but suddenly little Clara looks so big...

Another Day

Last night, I toasted my husband as we said farewell to his thirties. His last day at 39...

Of course, thus far 40 is typical of life. The alarm sounded early, and he headed off to work quietly. He will probably endure more rain throughout the gray day making it long. The only change in routine is that the kids don't have any activities tonight, so we can gather around the fire without concerns for a schedule. Though I had to adapt the menu to accommodate Thanksgiving, as I just couldn't serve steak on Thanksgiving eve... He loves oyster stew, so yesterday he went down to the fish market in the strip district of Pittsburgh (which is like an open market one would find in NYC).

The day will not be flamboyant...which is like Ron. He navigates each day quietly making adjustments and changes as necessary...adapting to life (like the menu).

As we reflected on the last ten years of life, we realized our children have grown a tad. And that in the next ten years, they will graduate and leave home, or at least that is the expectation. We only moved a few times in the past decade, but covered Minnesota, Montana, and Pennsylvania. As we look ahead, we are anticipating the future with flexibility. Currently, San Francisco and Australia are on the map, but we really don't know. Nor do we really know what else the future will hold, but as we pause to remember a birthday, we are reminded to enjoy today. A warm fire. Hearty laughter. A medley of memories. A celebration of life.

40.

Stories

I love stories, and Chinaberry is my favorite source for children's books. Their magazine is like curling up with a good friend, as each book is thoroughly reviewed with love.

My favorite Christmas story is The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus . I will read at least one chapter from this book each night until Christmas Eve. In the delightful review, one will find an excerpt from the beginning of the tale.

Miss Rumphius is one of my all time favorites. A beautiful story about a little girl and her grandfather, and how she grows up and remembers his words.

Speaking of grandparents, Something From Nothing is another wonderful story. Snuggling in with a child, it is also fun to follow the illustrated story about a family of mice below street level on each page.

Wild Child is a delightful story that uses nature to capture the whimsical nature of young children. Mother earth patiently prepares her child for bed in this vibrantly illustrated story complete with rhyme.

Mouse Mess was Nikela's favorite. A little mouse creates a bit of chaos in the house--what's not to love?

In the future, I will add some parenting books and adult reads to my lists, but in the meantime, browse Chinaberry and subscribe to their catalog for your loved ones and yourself. All the books listed here were uncovered through Chinaberry, but they no longer carry some of the stories, thus the links to Amazon. Honestly, the accuracy of Chinaberry's reviews exceeds Amazon's, so I try to support them by purchasing my books from them. Chinaberry also has books for older kids and adults and neat gifts for all ages (also reviewed).

Oops...Chayse is insisting I add her favorite book, Who Hops, to the list. Young preschoolers love this simple story about who can hop, slither, jump, fly, and crawl.

Ice Cream

The sweetest thing (next to being an Aunt) is watching my little neice enjoy her ice cream.

Another Day Dawns...

The sun rose again yesterday...peacefully on the farm calling forth another day. As I watched it slowly emerge against the ol' familiar barn, I realized that for 90 years my family has watched the sun rise on the humble homestead. Prodding a living out has had its challenges through the years, but I am standing here as a testament to their tenacity.

I am flooded with warmth as the sun's rays grow stronger and the memories of my grandmother fill me. For 54 years, she lived on this land after marrying my grandfather. I never knew my great-grandparents, though I wonder about the details of their lives, too. I wonder if I am like them. I smiled then because I realized that throughout the weekend with all my cousins, I saw my grandmother in each of them. I hadn't noticed that before...

We first arrived at the farm as precocious babies. Then we returned as clamoring toddlers, as rambunctious kids, as unpredictable teenagers...and eventually adults. Grandma faithfully nurtured us throughout the memory-filled years with unconditional love, gentleness...and patience.

As we gathered together this weekend, it was the first time we did not have her guidance. The quietness was pervasive as we assembled in her memory, but gradually soft words led to shared stories and tender moments. Tears spilled out. Laughter rang out. We weren't sure of ourselves, as we said farewell to the rock of our family. A GPS couldn't help us through this uncharted territory, but slowly each child and grandchild found a new role within the family...each carrying the influence of Grandma...in shining eyes, a warm laugh, a gentle touch, a caring word, a helping hand, calm presence, a head bowed quietly...

Grandma departed gently leaving us with all the tools to navigate, and as we uncovered them a strength emerged within the family as new roles were distributed. The hand tools of the heart were being passed on to another generation

Today another day emerges and life's duties have called us all back too quickly, but I have returned with a renewed sense of family...an awareness of how closely I hold each person to my heart, and the realization that my grandmother is always with me...in the woman I have become.

Thank you, Grandma.

Veteran's Day

As he stood with eyes down cast, I sat watching the drizzle fall waiting for the light to change. As I read his cardboard plea for help, I started looking for money. His shoulders sagged in the worn clean yellow plaid shirt. The years lined his face, and I am sure a story or two could have been told for each line, though I doubted he told stories often, as he seemed like a gentle, listening man, rather quiet with the hurt of living evident in the way he stood, almost ashamed of where he was…and then I felt a wave of shame wash over me…it is Memorial Day weekend and this veteran is asking me for work so he can return home to a state far away. How often do I choose to look the other way? How often do I wonder if these strangers are really in need? What makes me so quick to judge without compassion? What do I know of suffering? As he received our donation, I knew he would have been happier doing so if he had completed a labor in exchange for the money. As we pulled away, my heart flooded with sorrow to watch someone struggle—it didn’t matter that he was a stranger to me, as I realized he is a fellow American—part of a greater family we don’t think about much anymore. Nonetheless, his shame became my shame as I thought about how circumstances in life are unpredictable and how important it is to lend a helping hand, and my mind flashed back through the years, as I embraced this reality.

My first stop was with my grandfather who remembered Memorial Day not only on Memorial Day, but throughout the year. As a young girl, I remember going to parades and activities at the local legion in our small community. My grandfather was a vivacious man who loved his country, and his pride flowed strong in his blood. He was the only son, so when his friends and neighbors went off to war, he stayed behind to milk the cows and plant the crops—though I didn’t know this until I was older. He always had such respect for our service people and never failed to remind us of the sacrifice of the men and women in the armed forces. In retrospect, I recognize he made it a priority to be knowledgeable about his country and fellow Americans. As a result, I had great admiration for these men and women I did not know, for in his passion I felt the cost of my freedom and opportunities.

Then I recall, a few years ago, though my children were young, I once again attended a local Memorial Day service at the cemetery. As the kids and I walked down the road beneath all the red, white, and blue I blinked back the tears and remembered my journeys with my grandfather as a child. My grandfather liked to talk, but this day was always silent. It was a comfortable silence filled with a reverent tone that seemed to last all day, and I noticed that my children also seemed to sense this. Afterwards, the kids asked me why we did this and I began walking through the headstones quietly pointing out the men and women who didn’t come home and tried to explain the significance of remembering—wondering why I hadn’t listened closer to my grandfather’s stories as I struggled for words. I realize though it may be years before they fully understand the significance of the holiday, but I desperately hope they too will understand someday.

You see, now I wish I had offered to take this man to the bus station and purchased his ticket home. It was so simple and I didn’t even think of it until it was too late because when I returned he was gone. Once again I feel shame, but next time I will know what I will do—though I wish there would never be a next time. What a powerful lesson,one that will remain in my heart. One that will remind me to be grateful. One that will remind me of the struggle of human existence. One that reminds me that freedom is not cheap. One that needs to be kept in my heart and felt each time I look at the American flag… Now, I understand why my grandfather faithfully raised and lowered the American flag each day.

For each veteran and for every family surrounding him/her, I thank God for you today and every day. I acknowledge that I have no idea what your sacrifice required from you. I know you may be hurt or wounded or proud or quiet, but tell the stories you can so your children and grandchildren will appreciate this day. One can tell a lot about a culture from the stories they tell, and frankly we don’t have time for stories much anymore. Perhaps as children when we grew weary of the same stories, we vowed not to tell stories, but maybe it is time to dust off the stories so the lessons won’t be forgotten.

So we can see the young man in a sharp clean uniform with shoulders back and head held high in sharp salute…

Life

Gently the leaf has landed...peacefully. My grandma is no longer weary.

Bread of Life

As I gaze out the window, I watch a single leaf flutter from the branch to the ground. Slowly, gracefully twirling, I pause to watch it's majestic journey.

As I turn back to preparing my frozen bread for thawing, I smile. Grandma always made frozen Schwan's bread. I loved the smell of her house as it baked. I loved the taste of the hot slice smothered in butter and honey. The honey from the hives down by the creek where the bees feasted on Grandpa's alfalfa was the best honey in the world. I still crave that honey. I loved my sticky fingers and Grandma's smile as I finished my treat.

My youngest daughter smiles up at me proclaiming, "Mommy, you are making bread."

She loves fresh bread too. She knows that we will gather around the table with her brothers and sisters enjoying the first slice of warm bread and conversation after school.

Warm memories passed from generation to generation.

93 years of living, and Grandma is growing weary. I gaze nostalgically out the window again. Another leaf is dancing to the ground.

Fine Wine

Once upon a time, I was a little girl. And I remember gazing into an elaborately ruffled little bassinet at a beautiful little princess. She was sleeping peacefully, and I remember her little bottom high in the air with her legs curled under her. Her breathing was like a whisper. I remember being entranced by the perfectly formed features and precious little bundle. It is one of my earliest memories. I can still visualize the moment in my mind.

That little girl grew quickly. Soon she was running in the hot prairie sun with me during the summer. She was lively and loved to explore the nooks and crannies…fascinated by the hidden treasures she would uncover on the farm. Seeing my life through her eyes, I loved the fresh, fun perspective she brought to me.

Of course, she still brings creativity and perspective to my life through her blog. It has given us the opportunity to reconnect despite life’s busy routine.

In the past year, she has celebrated her children’s birthdays, 15 years of marriage, a new basement, and the end of chemo for her husband. Of course, she has also worried about the introduction of cancer into their lives, her children, her family, and what to fix for dinner…as we all do. In light of it all, she has framed many of these moments majestically with her camera…and those photos will live on next to her clocks marking the arrival of all things special in her life, but more importantly, they are carried in her heart, her smile, and her love.

From childhood when self is center in our world…to marriage when partnership begins…and then motherhood that catapults us into selflessness, birthdays also shift from cake, balloons, and pin the tail on the donkey to an opportunity to stop and embrace our loved ones. It is time to slow down and celebrate all that life has brought and reflect on the challenges we must also embrace as we live.

Of course birthdays sometimes cause us to pause and look in the mirror where we can also see this passage of time…and that pesky gray hair that requires a bit o’ color from time to time…those pesky genes we share…and also those pesky jeans after motherhood... Anyway, as women, I believe we should look at the beauty the years have added. The smile lines should be celebrated…it means we have laughed often with loved ones. Eyes twinkle with warmth instead of flash with the impulsivity of youth. The gradual acquisition of wisdom is held in our hearts and reflected in our faces and should be worn with pride.

Today, I extend a special Happy Birthday to that beautiful little princess surrounded in billows of ruffles…to the beautiful woman she has become, my cousin, Val! A hug from the heart, a glass of wine, and another year travels on...

Silver Lining

On a mission, to complete my grocery shopping alone, I was diligently checking off my list with only a few more items ago when I came around the corner to the dairy department for milk. Ahead were two ladies whose pace was significantly slower than mine, so I slowed to a halt and paused.

As I did, I watched one lady gently reach out and wrap her arm around her friend's shoulders and hug her. For a moment the two gray heads came together, as the warm gesture was accepted. My heart immediately warmed too, as I saw a level of friendship that transcended words. Cautiously, they began pushing their carts ahead together...slowly...talking...oblivious to the world around them. I sensed loss and struggles in their lives, but they were persevering with grace and courage...quietly.

That is when a woman in a striking black suit came screeching around the corner and halted impatiently. She didn't say anthing, but her body language told me she was important and that she had a schedule to keep. She didn't make eye contact as she pushed ahead, though she tried to navigate around the two elderly women as politely as she possibly could.

My heart paused again. It is so easy to think that we are the first to live life to the fullest and without us the world may stop turning. Life is short, we must not let anyone stand in our way...but when we are old and gray will we have a friend to walk beside? To share a gentle squeeze of encouragement as life changes again?

I would have loved to been invited to tea by these two women to glimpse at the wisdom they have gained through living. It is funny to think that I need to slow down to live...truly live...to drink in what life has to offer...outside careers and material goods.

My heart needed that gentle squeeze to remind me to slow down. As I moved ahead, more slowly this time, I watched two smiles emerge from soft,supple faces previously hidden to me. The silver hair accentuated the shining eyes emulating the beauty within. I smiled to myself as my heart felt the warmth of their friendship as they headed down the aisle together. As I watched,I realized they had shared a precious gift...a fingerprint.

Leaves

Autumn foliage falling down, falling down, falling down.

Autumn foliage falling down, my fair season...

Now, I spy with my little eye...something green!


Yep! A yard buried deep beneath the falling, falling, falling leaves.

My favorite colorful little leaves are creating a new flurry of activity in the neighborhood. Yards are bustling with activity. Raking is one option. A leaf blower (more prized than a snow blower here) is another. However, the options are endless, as tonight I watched a bobcat push the leaves into a pile.

Regardless of the method, all of these leaves end up piled along the curb awaiting the arrival of the township dump truck which traverses the neighborhoods. This truck is designed with a giant vacuum hose which sucks up all the leaves into the dump truck box. It is fascinating for me to watch the men at work. A giant vacuum cleaner depositing leaves into a truck that I thought was designed for snow removal...silly me! Then the truck hauls the leaves off to the compost piles which are ready for use in the spring by people who live in the township.

No bags necessary. Evidently, they clutter up the landfills. Well, honestly, the bags of leaves would probably completely fill the landfill. Nonetheless, this process entertains me, as in Big Timber, MT the leaves blew away months ago.

However, on Monday morning (no school) I was fully entertained as I gazed out my window into the cul de sac after my son, Kade, had exited the house in his roller blades. The leaves which covered the road were now being pushed around with a rake as he zipped around proficiently.

Very clever of him. Of course, the purpose of the leaf removal was to create space for street hockey. Nonetheless, I was impressed with his creativity.

Later in the afternoon, Kade headed over to rake for the neighbor across the street. Mr. Lesser injured his back a few years ago, and he is a neighborhood favorite with the kids, as he always takes the time to talk to them, and he even lets them play football in his front yard. Anyway, Kade decided to tackle his yard and I gave him my blessing. Of course when I went to the window this time, I had to smile...

"Hi" was meticulously formed with neat piles of leaves. Grinning, I told Kade his message was backwards. Without missing a beat, he quipped, "No, it isn't Mom. Mr. Lesser can read it perfectly from his window."

The Date

Dates are rare in my world, so date night is a special occasion...especially when we are meeting Ron's boss and his wife for dinner.

Did I mention that preparation for this would require more shopping? Did I also mention that as I was leaving the house to head to the mall my cell phone rang...and it was my trusty husband checking on me?? How did he know his money was leaving the house? Nonetheless, he gave me his blessings (only because he was grateful he didn't have to go too...)

Off to the mall I headed, after touching base with my sister for suggestions. She suggested a sweater dress and boots, which is a bit intimidating at 39, but I decided to give it a try since I already own an adorable pair of boots. First stop, I tried on a mere twelve dresses, of which three might work. Then I headed off again...for at least another 20 try-ons at various stops. Nothing spectacular. Discouraged, I focused on accessory shopping. I have impeccable taste for accessories...if it is ridiculously expensive, I will like it. Finally, I headed back to where I started and selected one dress. Without accessories, I head home.

Later that evening (after I was finished running kids), I tried on my new dress with my brown boots. I was soooo disappointed. The boots were not as chocolate brown as I remembered, but instead they were a rosy brown, and they did NOT match. I tried a couple combos to no avail.

Frustrated I start pilfering through my closet. I try every combination possible. I literally pull all of my clothes out and try them on. Now, I forgot to mention that I have been working very hard for the past six months to modify my eating habits and increase my exercise. Counting all those calories has really paid off, and I have lost over 20 pounds, but I would like to lose a few more...well five to be specific; however, the process has slowed significantly, but I am persevering. Anyway, while I am excited that I have managed to lose weight, it has created another wardrobe crisis because nothing fits. No, I am not exaggerating.

Now, I realize that this is an opportunity to buy a whole new wardrobe...and shop...but it is more difficult than one realizes. Shopping is a lot of work. Especially if I have nothing to build off at home. Where do I start? Plus date night is tomorrow, and I officially have nothing to wear. Ron says I have 20 hours to figure it out.

Sleeping isn't even a reprieve, as I have nightmares about my clothes on date night. Really? I don't have time for nonsense at night. My sleep is a precious commodity that no one messes with! Annoyed, I face another day. This was supposed to fun...a special treat...a new dress...smiles...an evening with my husband.

Anyway, I send all the kids off to school. My Yukon is scheduled for inspection, and I spend the morning with Ron at Home Depot in search of bathroom details for the new remodel project...sadly, it isn't limited to my closet. With hardyboard, screws, 2 x 4's, and a light fixture, we head home. I have decided on tile, though. This makes my husband happy. However, I still don't have a dress.

Home again. I exercise while I wait for the call on my Yukon. My frustration pays off here. I manage to hit the four mile mark in thirty minutes on my elliptical for the first time!!

Still no vehicle. I call. They just finished, and I can come get it. Ron grabs the keys and drops me off wishing me luck...again. I notice he leaves with Chayse quickly. I am sure it is a precautionary measure. His willingness to manage the house and kids is motivated by avoidance of shopping...outside Home Depot.

As I head to the mall again, I detour instead to a local shopping center. Desperation requires variety. I begin my search grabbing anything that looks like it has potential...and might fit. Nine dresses later, I head to the dressing room again. I can only try on eight at a time, so I take the one I like the least and save it for later. Do they realize that I am on a mission here with only a few hours to spare? Oh well, I don't have time to quibble. I reluctantly, but quickly begin the process again. Pessimistically. Dress one...okay. Dress two...not flattering for my post-child figure. Dress three...is this a size three?? Dress four...too big. Dress five...jackpot! Hit...Again! And...Again! Bring on the lottery tickets! Shock requires me try them on again. Did I miss anything? Are they really suitable? Do I still like them? I think a smile crept across my face here...I have choices!

I exit the dressing room with no intention of returning. However, I must have accessories. I try on every single pair of black boots. My calves that powered four miles this morning are much too large for tall boots. For any boots. Nevermind. I am going to find the jewelry. Hummm. Nothing here. Well, I have more stores to go. I am not going to lose my momentum. At least I have dresses. I buy all three. I will bring back the ones I can't accessorize later.

Next store. I find great necklaces. One turquoise and copper for the sweater dress. AND it is on sale! As I head to the men's department to find my husband the scarf he requested, I power through the shoes. I pause once at a pair of black boots that catches my eye with the unique textures it sports. As I pick it up I realize that it has a spandex back! JACKPOT, again! I slip it on, and in amazement, I gaze in wonder at the boot on my leg. It fits. It really, really fits!

Without hesitation and sporting a big smile, I grab the box and head to the men's department. Scarf found. Checkout next. Ohhh...jewelry clearance. Pause. Cute silver and black, chunky necklace for black dress. Must have. On to checkout. Out the door. Cell phone rings. "Honey, how is it going?" This is code for.."You are running out of time, come home."

Enthusiastically, I babble on. The other end is quiet. Very quiet. Dollar signs are registering, I am sure. I assure him I will be home soon...though, notice, I did not reassure him I did not spend too much...

Home again. Now I really have choices. I begin trying every outfit on. I have three complete choices. My daughters join the ranks. Kiahra sends photos to Aunt Kristi for additional feedback. Ron narrows the choice for tonight by two. The girls vote black. Kristi tosses in her vote for black too. Black it is. Now I can get ready with 45 minutes to spare...well, not spare exactly, but no problem, now!

Whew. I did it. Smiling. Pa Kettle is still grimacing at the light pocketbook. Really, don't you think he should be smiling too? Without all that extra weight?