Strength and Beauty

I am having a moment. A moment where I am wondering, “Is this what I signed up for as a mom?” If so, I am done. It is the second day of tantrums with Audrey that start to rumble around lunchtime. I cannot figure out what to feed these kids that has any nutritional values that they won’t spit out with spite or tell me in a whine, “This is gross!” without even tasting it! And that sets off the tantrum. And then I am dragging them upstairs for time-outs and naps. Spankings don’t work. Today, we are heaving up the stairs with screeching and little bursts of blood-curdling screams of anger and rage and all of a sudden Audrey is coughing and hacking and making herself dry-heave (curse that strong gag-reflex). Before I know it, the fruit smoothie from mid-morning is coming up and out onto the hardwood stairs in a nice, neat little puddle. Great. I feel my heart racing, emotion rising and tears brimming.

And all I have to say when it is all over: thank God for Solumel.

Postscript: My kind husband has pointed out that the above writing could be misconstrued as anger. No. Exasperation mixed with humor is more like it.

Postscript2: Get this: the girls wake up from their forced naps. Audrey tells me she is thirsty while I am cleaning the upstairs sitting room. I tell her to go downstairs and find her water cup. I come down a bit later after not seeing her for sometime, and lo and behold, there she is in the kitchen nook eating the very food we fought to the point of vomit over earlier. You have got to be freakin’ kidding me?!? Get this2: This evening, instead of eating LoAnn’s amazing homemade macaroni and cheese, the kid wants a repeat performance of what we had for lunch. She is currently in the kitchen eating another helping of it (tuna fish salad).

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change (like four year old’s who refuse to eat their lunches and puke all over my stairs) and courage to change the things I can (like my visceral reactions to not liking being a mom some days).

A few weeks ago, I found myself walking in the snow covered Lions Woods just north of my house. It had snowed a good six inches throughout the day and once my relief (aka husband) came home, off I went to my very own personal sanctuary.

It was dusk and big flakes were still falling, coating everything in the woods. Right when you enter the woods you encounter a very old pine grove that is stunning. Stunning in the sense that it centers you, stilling the resonating places within that need quieting. These old evergreens have a way of putting me at rest the moment I enter, particularly with the hush of snow that comes over one, that really deep quiet of snow.

I start walking and within a few paces I hear the hoot of an owl not far off. Amazed, I stop in my snowy tracks. I walk a bit farther and I hear it calling to me again. I stop. What a magical sound that was: the deep quiet of the snow and the hooting owl. Stunning in the sense that I felt so special to be able to catch the brilliance of the woods in that very moment. No one else was there in that moment but me.

I keep walking, hearing the owl calling now and then. From the distant trail, I can see someone coming with a dog that is running. They approach quickly and before I know it there is the most extraordinary thing before me: a man “cross country skiing” with 2 large ropes attached to his dog like reigns pulling him along. What a smart dog owner! They both looked like they were having fun. They went a bit past me and turned around and as the man “cross country skied” past me a second time, he says in a Santa Claus sort of voice, “Beautiful isn’t it…that owl in the woods.” And off he went. I felt stuck in my tracks and mesmerized by the entire experience.

I fear the owl was not so keen on the dog/skiing man contraption and did not call to me from that point on. I only walked for a bit longer and turned around for my little toesy-woesy’s were getting cold. I came home straight away and told Audrey about the owl and she was dazzled.

We have checked out from the library a book many times because I, in particular, really enjoy it. It is called Owl Moon. I believe it is an older book. The story goes something like this: a father takes his small daughter out owling in the woods as if it is a family rite of passage. To go owling involves bravery, patience, and utmost quiet and, I guess, the ability to keep up with your long-legged dad. The woods are captivating, the moon is powerful and bright and in the end they hear an owl and even spot it in the tree. Audrey and I were inspired to do this ourselves. There is another children’s book we adore called “Miss Spider” and there is one short story where she takes one of her little adopted children on a “listening walk”. Owling and listening walks have a pull on little Audrey Anne’s curious and adventurous heart.

So off we went tonight, owling in Lions Woods. It was dark, there was not much moon, a sliver in fact. The woods were thick with darkness, the snow was packed down under our feet. We had flashlights in our hands but I found that the beam of the light made it more eerie. Quiet and some more quiet. We started in and I bent down to look under the many layers of hoods and hats into my daughter’s eyes to make sure she didn’t have on her wide eyed owl panic look. Nope. She was game for adventure. We walked on and ever so often we would let out a hoot of our own, first me and then Audrey echoing, calling to the owl. Stop, listen, listen more deeply. Nothing. Keep walking. We repeated this for some time until we were deep in the grove of pines and still no owl calling to us. I was the one to turn us ’round and head back. I think Audrey could have kept walking in those woods, searching, waiting, listening. What a remarkable little owl watcher she is.

As we came out of the woods into the parking lot, she says to me, “That was fun!” I smiled.
“Were you scared at all?”, I asked her.
“Nope.”
“I was.”

In an effort to get my head out of my ass, I sat down in the wintry kitchen nook and made plans for my garden. Yes, it is early. But I sure do miss my garden.

This year I am making an electric propagating bed. Sounds impressive; it is. A box with a warming coil covered in sand and you put the seedlings on top of that. I spent the afternoon going through all my seeds, categorizing them, herbs, vegetables, full sun flowers, part sun flowers, etc. I then slowly, very slowly perused through the Burpee’s seed catalog making a dream list (that accounted for a couple hundred dollars and that is why it is called a dream list). How many different variety of tomatoes do I “need”? Do I need every color variation of nasturtium? Could I go without the bi-colored beets (probably not)? Dreaming about green things; caught up in a whole other fantasy world that involved rototillers, sand, and vermiculite.

I did all this while it snowed a couple of inches in my backyard and then I proceeded to go outside with the little snow-women (who looked just like Randy from A Christmas Story).

Scarlet did not proceed to move one little size 5 foot in any direction; paralyzed by all the white stuff.

We made snow angels, even Scarlet with such a cute, tiny wingspan. I jumped in more than once and I fear that may be why by lower back is a achin’ me and requiring multiple doses of Ibuprofen. Can you say, “Old Lady!”?

We went for a little sled ride; me pulling them around the back yard until, unbeknownst to me, they fell off face first into the snow. I have a bad Trudi-habit of laughing hysterically in these situations. But I sure did scoop up the littlest of the two who had the most snow-plowed-face damage and provided some comfort and a windshield wiper blade sort of swipe with my glove.

Gotcha! The one and only beauty of a photo amidst all the rest.
I love these two snow-women.

This captures much: Audrey always getting in Scarlet’s personal space and Scarlet always swatting her away with a grin.