To My Daughter on her Ninth Birthday

You, my girl, the child who made me a mother, are nine years old today! We have had such a wonderful day together today, with our traditional birthday girls' day out. You are so excited about the flower they painted on your big toenails at our mani-pedis. You waited to find just the right outfit at the mall. You were thrilled to see our new housemate, your "Uncle Pizza," at lunch. My cheeks hurt so much from all the laughing we did today! You held my hand in every parking lot we were in today, and each time, I savored the moment, knowing they are limited. Please don't grow up so fast. Here are some other things I love about you at this brief moment in time:

1. You are so earnest when you talk about very grown-up things, such as the fashion choices on "Project Runway" or "What Not to Wear." You don't sound at all like a little girl, so to hear the utter sincerity of your opinions coming out of that be-freckled little face is marvelous!

2. You make no apologies for your talents. They are just a fact, like your clear blue eyes. Today as we made your Birthday Calzone, you put on your new apron and sighed, "I love to cook. I have several different gifts. I can't choose just one." You are not yet at an age where you have to prioritize.

3. You love God, and you love to learn about Him. When you took your first communion, you exclaimed loudly, "That was GREAT!" You feel short-changed when we can't make it to Sunday School or we miss church. One time you were so upset that we were missing Holy Eucharist that we had to run to the grocery store and get some port and mazzo bread, pulled out the Book of Common Prayer, and fudge communion as best we could, just to calm you down. Needless to say, your first experience at church camp was a raging success. May this bring you a lifetime of peace and joy.

4. Your freckles are so incredibly beautiful! I love every single one--especially the family freckle. You know the one.

5. Your compassion blows me away. It's not the sappy kind of compassion, although a cute puppy will invoke an appropriate "Awwww, cute!" No, yours is Action Compassion. [I'm going to trademark that, I think.] You do chores to buy a CD to bring to a sick friend. You enjoy helping at the homeless shelter, and are willing to donate your backpack and supplies for the homeless kids. You, my darling, have a generous heart. I credit your father's influence.

6. You are so blessedly snuggly. We complain about what a flopper you are in bed, but secretly I enjoy how you smash your whole body right up against mine all night. Even though you are long and lanky, it's still wonderful to hold you on my lap in the evenings.

7. What a funny child you are! You use a hint of sarcasm and a marvelous vocabulary. Together, they absolutely slay me.

8. You are perhaps the most loving sister I've ever seen. You are so patient with your baby brother. You never complain about the compromises we all must make by having a little one around, or some of the added responsibility. You are a help to your father and me, and a model to the baby. He is such a fortunate child to have you to look up to. I hate to think that this is a side of you we almost never saw.

9. I take great joy in your antiestablishmentarianism. You prefer to be just a little bit on the edge of popularity. When we went to the Jonas Brothers concert, you rolled your eyes at how frenzied the other little girls were. When the crowd was wildly and loudly applauding, you lightly tapped your fingers together, saying you wanted to show your enjoyment but not add to the noise. Please always feel free to color outside the lines.

10. How on earth can I possibly stop at 10? You are smart and reasonable, super silly, clutzy (like me), so very strong. You are focused and pay attention to details, and seem to remember everything. At the same time, you never seem to be able to find whatever you are looking for, and will forget something you're told 2 seconds after you've heard it. You are unselfconscious, full of enthusiasm, and springy! I love every little cell in your being, and am so happy I get to be your mother.

Happy birthday, my precious one. May the year ahead be your best yet.
Love,
Mommy

These are the Thoughts that Occupy my MInd (what's left of it)

Daughter's 9th birthday is a week from today. Nine years ago today I went into labor. She was born 7 days later. (A story for another time.) Since I am a winter baby, planning her summer birthday party has always been a source of fun for me. Not so much this year.

Because of camp last week taking up 98% of my brain, we put off planning her party until she got back on Saturday. Here is the series of events:
Sunday night: Spoke with the pool's party planner. This is now the 3rd year in a row she's had a pool party. She confirms that we can have her party at 1 pm on Saturday, August 2. We order her invitations.
Tuesday: We mail the invitations, saying that the party will be on Saturday, August 2 at 1 pm. You see where this is going.
Wednesday: Ignorant bliss.
Thursday (today)--9 days before the event: Party coordinator calls and says that I cannot have the party at 11 am on Aug 2 because there's a swim meet scheduled. I say no problem, we had requested 1 pm anyway. She says that's a no go, since someone else has the pool from 1-4.

In the estimable words of Bill the Cat, ACK! ACK ACK ACK! Invitations are out, and there is no party place. If we do the party after 4 pm, baby boy may be too tired to be much fun at the party. Any other options for party days are also reserved until 4 pm.

Dear reader(s), if you've been holding off on commenting before, now is the time to dive on in. I sure could use some ideas. By the way, hosting at our house isn't really an option.

Short and Oh, so Sweet

The boy-child is always learning new words. We heard a new one at diaper-changing time tonight. As I was trying to wrestle him into a clean nappy and pajamas, his little voice squeeked, "Help! Help!" We laughed so hard we had to let him run around naked for a while.

An Open Letter to Doctors' Offices*

Dear ones, since you are always dealing with people who are nervous, or hurting, or somehow uncomfortable, please do not add to the anxiety by tuning your radio station to abrasive music. I like Aerosmith as much as the next girl, and I had many of my happiest moments with 80's hair bands in the background, but when I am sitting in your waiting room, guitar riffs are the last thing I want to hear. I am partial to classical music; no matter where I am, I can settle into myself with a symphony in the background. I know I am not like everyone, though. Waiting room music should be not-noticeable. Just something creating an ambient atmosphere, conducive to relaxation.

For example, yesterday I was in urgent care with my back hurting so badly I was near tears. The radio in the office was loud, tuned to a 70's/80's station with static. Static, I tell you! It's very possible my ears started to bleed. On top of that, the nurses and office manager were opposed to looking anyone in the eye or speaking kindly. By the end of the visit, my nerves were frayed and I was weeping. Weeping, I tell you! Two summers ago I had the distinct displeasure of frequently visiting the obstetrician, where the music over the loudspeaker was tuned to a different station than the little radio the receptionists kept behind the front desk. Warring music! It was my own personal hell.

So, friends and colleagues, take heed. Some of your patients are already a little wound up and are quite noise-sensitive. Please don't make it worse by embracing static or choosing music that is too noticeable. I beg of you, use your powers for good and not evil by choosing unobtrusive music.

*Disclaimer: I am the office manager at a dentist's office, and often in control of the music, unless a certain doctor is in the office, in which case we have no choice but to listen to Clint Black or Kenny Chesney over and over. I probably frustrate our patients with my music choices, and I accept that. Moreover, I live with a non-noise-sensitive man who has no problem having the TV on, the radio on, and playing the ukelele AT THE SAME TIME. The moral of the lesson is that familiarity breeds contempt.

Emptier Nest

The house is too quiet. I miss her. Her baby brother keeps looking for her. This morning, he couldn't stop looking at photos on her, hanging on the wall. At every one, he'd point and say, "Titi?"

Lest anyone start feeling sorry for her, though, here is a photo of her with her counselor, nicknamed "Element:"
The cabin is a converted boxcar. Air-conditioned, no less. She'll be fine. Here is the view of her camp site, with Mt. Rainier in the background:

Random Sunday

1) KED is at camp, now. I didn't cry when I hugged her goodbye, only because I was still frustrated from the 3 hour drive getting there. (Can you believe the camp people don't answer the phones on check-in day?) However, I did cry before we left, and that, in turn, made her cry. There were many meaningful looks at her from me today, as I tried to telepathically teach her everything she might need for a successful camp week, everything I might have overlooked lo, these 9 years we've had together. She said a quick goodbye, and skipped off to her pizza dinner. Now we're home, but my heart is 60 miles away.

2) Last night our closet started smelling of something dead or dying. We emptied out the closet, vacuumed, and refilled it. It still smells of decay, and the smell has moved toward the hallway. Yucky yuckity yuck.

3) When you grow up in a church, raised by a church musician, and you can play the piano, God sometimes taps you on the shoulder and says He needs you for a little while. As I said in my previous post, I'm only a mediocre performer, and yet He still borrows my fingers once and again. Yesterday my father-in-law told me that at his church they will be looking for a pianist soon. I've subbed there, and it's a small and low-key congregation. With some practice, I could be up to the job, and I might even learn some organ, too. I really don't want to leave St. Mary's, though, so we'd probably go to the 9 am service, then Steve and children would stay for Sunday School, while I went to the in-laws' church to play, then they would come get me. So is this really something I want to do? It's that age-old question of whether it's truly God's call or my own will. This is a toughie.

4) I got to read in church today. It was one of my favorite passages, from my favorite prophet: Isaiah 55:12: You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. So many pieces have been written with this text, and when I was standing at the lectern, it was all I could do to not sing the words! That often happens with me and Isaiah.

A Terrible Journey

At my daughter's piano lesson last night, her teacher (whom we adore) declared that K is at the beginning of "a terrible journey." I had not thought of the burden he was referring to described quite that way, but after our discussion, I think he is right.

K is a talented musician. I've made this assessment trying to be as unbiased as possible. I've been a pianist my whole life (including the first 5 years where my musical education was less formal and more familial), am the daughter of two wonderful musicians, one professional, and I've been a piano teacher for quite a while. Believe me, I've experienced the spectrum of musical giftedness. Me, I consider myself a mediocre performer, but I do have a good and critical ear. K is talented. The point her teacher was making was that because of her talent, she can get by and have a decent lesson or performance without much effort. But should she?

Do we all have those times? I could get decent grades without killing myself over assignments or reading the text. I could have an ok performance with just a little practice. How many of us had the teacher who said that we'd be great, if only we'd just apply ourselves? Sound familiar? Then I think back on my college days, and how much more I should have made of those years if only I had worked a little harder and played a little less. One could argue that there is value in play, sure, but not so much in this case.

Tim the Marvelous Piano Teacher called this bad stewardship. (He is also a Christian.) This was a new concept to me. God gifted us with music. He placed it in our hands like a fragile bird, closed our fingers around it, looked into our eyes, and asked us to please take good care of it--indeed, to make it even better (see the parable of the talents.) Or our family motto, from Luke 12:48, "From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded."

Sure, we could skate by, or keep what has been given to us intact. By most standards, keeping what we've been given in good shape, and returning it as we found it, would be considered responsible and good. But as Christians, we are on a terrible, wonderful journey. We are to be grateful for our gifts, which, in K's case, is music (and so much more). Then we are to continually, joyously challenge ourselves to do better than good enough. Thank you, Tim, for teaching us that lesson, and thank you, God, for putting Tim in our lives so that we might learn.

Make the World Go Away

There are times in a mommy's life when she wishes time would stop. I just had one of those moments.

Baby (21 months, big toddler boy) was having difficulty falling asleep. I attribute it to the light outside. Although it is nearly 8 pm, we're at a higher latitude and so it doesn't start getting dark until later. I went in his room, whereupon he asked for a book, which means he wants to be read to. Normally I would be happy to oblige, but it's 2 hours past his bedtime and the child doesn't need more stimulation. I picked him up out of his crib, sat in the glider (thanks, Dad, still using it!), and cradled his precious, sweaty head to my shoulder. He was silent and calm for a long time. When I lifted my head to see if he was asleep, he met my gaze and smiled his big toothy smile. I kissed his nose and his cheeks and his lips, and he made smacky-kissy sounds in return. I whispered in my sing-sing voice, "I love you," and he sung back, "I loo!"

His body relaxed, and for 15 beautiful minutes I rocked him, silently prayed for him, and worked in earnest to commit every single moment to everlasting memory. I know it's a cliche, but truly these days go so quickly. My little girl will be 9 this month, and in church today the lay eucharistic minister whispered to me, "you have a young lady on your hands." She's right: overnight, it seems, my little baby girl is halfway to 18. Next week she heads to overnight camp, 6 days far away from us. She is self-assured, confident, funny, smart, and marvelous. If I were 9, I would want to be her best friend. Instead, I have the honor of mothering her and her brother, and I thank God every day for that gift.