my time away: the nitty gritty

Yes, I am launching into a post about my week immersed in the practice of spiritual discernment with an image of gently falling water. What can I say? I'm not going to try to reinvent the wheel, and I did spend a fair amount of time either listening to this trickling water, watching it from a nearby bench, or admiring the lily pads floating on its surface during that week. And throughout the week images of flowing water became increasingly central for me, so it seems apt.

I have been struggling with what to share with all of you about the discernment training week. It was certainly the most intense and sustained spiritual practice of my adult life, and one that I chose all on my own. But talking about it gets into my faith and growing sense of religious commitment, which are curious things about me in most of the circles I travel in. In my own past, when friends 'got religion' (or when I discovered they had had it all along), I typically experienced it as a distancing phenomenon. It can be hard to talk about these things, even with intimates, and even though it is so central to our understanding of ourselves and our place in the world.

So let me at least try, a little, to share with you all. I trust you to read on with an open heart!

The week is designed to teach people to train others in the practice of communal spiritual discernment, typically in order to begin small groups that will offer discernment in their home faith community. I was asked to attend as a relatively new staff person at Listening Hearts, to experientially learn what the organization is all about (my role there does not involve teaching or practicing discernment; I just write about it). The Listening Hearts style of group discernment involves three "discerners" and one "focus person." The focus person brings a question or issue that she is grappling with in her life, and through gentle, imaginative, evocative questions (and long periods of silence surrounding each question) the discerners try to help the focus person hear God's call. The discerners' role is to try to help the focus person find clarity and a sense of what it would mean to remain true to herself, true to God's call, and to respond to that call in the way she lives her life.

I am really coming out of the spiritual/religious closet, huh? 

The week was intensive and often exhausting for me; it was also fruitful in ways I could not have anticipated. I missed the children like mad for the first 48 hours or so. I cried a lot. I was expected to be with myself and God so much more than I ever am in typical daily life; there was nowhere to go to escape! No internet, no phone, nothing. Oy, I was tired, and I couldn't push my worries aside. But as the week rolled on, and I continued to receive cheerful daily emails from Mike (checked at the public library a short drive from the retreat house), I was able to settle in to what I was doing and trust that my family was doing beautifully without me. That indeed, it was positive for them to have this time together, and it wouldn't have been possible with me in the picture.

I either ran or did yoga outside early every morning with the birds singing wildly and swooping low over me. When I ran I went past cows, roosters who crowed at me, horses in green hilly fields meeting my eyes with that calm otherworldly horse expression that can be so arresting. This morning time in and of itself was replenishing. I was alone, and I could sink into my aloneness. I was not anticipating who I needed to pick up or return to at home as I have habitually these past five years of parenting; it was a singular and exhilarating experience.

So I'd do it again, yes. (Mike might have something to say about that! - though he did an extraordinary job and is still teaching me things he figured out during his week of single parenthood). I might choose a more relaxing pursuit the next time I spend time away from my family, but I do think incorporating time for silence, reflection, and stillness will remain a priority. 

Coming home was pure happiness, by the way. Frances sang "Pollito Chicken" and danced around me, fetching tissues to wipe my eyes (couldn't stop crying, no surprise there). Gabriel was a little wary, seeing me so emotional, but eventually he relaxed and did his characteristic YOU CAME BACK!! over and over with an extra joyful expression on his face. I didn't want to stop touching Mike, Frances, or Gabriel for a long time.

In more recent news, Gabriel was up most of the night with croup. Poor guy. He got his usual steroid dose at the pediatrician's this morning. Then tonight, I was at the sink washing squash and he was at his usual post behind me, standing on a dining room chair at the counter and "cooking" with me. Suddenly I heard him crying and I turned around to see blood dripping onto the floor. He had sliced his finger on a citrus zester pulled from a very accessible drawer, one that he often notes is "full of sharp shiny things." Ah. We bandaged him up and eventually it stopped bleeding. After he went to bed I moved things around and filled the danger drawer with wooden play food, to surprise him tomorrow.

What a rough 24 hours! And even still, during dinner he turned to me and said: You're a plant. I will water you and you will grow! 

What kind of a plant am I?

A...a...delphinium!!

Love that kid.

Night night, everyone. 

starting with today

I am suffering that ridiculous paralysis that sets in when it is my turn in a correspondence to speak, to share, and yet too much time has passed. However can I report on all that has happened? However can I write the letter that I should write, the kind of excellent and honest dispatch that will make up for my undue silence?

The silence continues, the pressure mounts to make up for it, and sometimes it takes a radical move to break the cycle. So I am returning to the blog with a post that does not attempt any poetic summation of the last two momentous weeks. Rather, I'm here to tell you about pudding.

This is pudding unlike you've ever had before! Edith sent this to me, originally found in an old Mothering magazine. All you late nursers, lovers of alternative medicine, and women who cannot bear to cut your sons' long curly locks will - I suspect - go for this hook, line, and sinker. Skeptics, lower those raised eyebrows and just try it!

1 ripe avocado
1/2 to 1 ripe banana (depending on how much you like banana)
1/4 cup cocoa powder
1/4 cup agave nectar
1 Tbs. (or more) coconut oil
1 tsp. vanilla

Put it in your blender or mash it with a fork. Oh my, it is decadent. I am eating some right now. As I sat wondering what to tell you about, and how to say it, I looked down into my bowl and realized I had to start out exactly where I was. With pudding. Gabriel loves it, but Frances spied me scooping the avocado into the bowl so she has thus far avoided it.

While we're talking food, I should also tell you about the book I picked up on a whim at the library earlier this week. I've been avoiding this book because it seems lame to take parenting advice of any sort from Jerry Seinfeld's wife. But being the food-loving mother of a food-fearing five year old, I'm vulnerable. I took it home to read about how to sneak squash and spinach into Frances' limited diet. This morning I made banana peanut butter muffins featuring a healthy dose of pureed cauliflower. Gabriel ate four in rapid succession. Frances sniffed the air as they came out of the oven and declared them weird.

I think she caved eventually and ate one. But the real problem is that she is an outrageously curious and excellent reader, and sat next to me as I flipped through the book at the library. Her face was positively grim and shadowy with suspicion this morning, even though she hadn't seen me assembling the ingredients.

Did you make these with a recipe from THAT book, Mama?

(Damn, damn!) Yes.  Don't they look yummy?

No.

Oh well. But I will say I am a bit taken by the premise (slipping vegetable purees into everything from hot chocolate to scrambled eggs) and will give it a few more tries. Magic green sauce belongs to this family of kid cookery. That works pretty darn well. If anyone else goes the extra mile and slips magic veggies secretly into meals, will you share with the rest of us?

Finally, in other food-related news, Gabriel ate his first hot dog on Tuesday night. I keep saying that I'm not raising vegetarian children, that they can eat whatever they enjoy (within reason), but I have to admit it pained me a little as I slipped him pieces covered in ketchup and relish at the end-of-the-year picnic for Frances' preschool.

I grow increasingly uncomfortable with factory-farmed meat. I always was, but my opposition used to conveniently float out the window at picnics, family gatherings, and dinner parties. Now I find my gut, my conscience, that little angel dressed in white - whoever it is that lives inside me and pipes up when I'm doing something that doesn't feel right - that presence hollers at me when it comes to eating factory-farmed animals in polite society. The little twist inside is sharper these days.

I really felt it during my training week at Aisling Retreat Center, where a kind and beautiful elderly nun named Sister Cecelia made all our meals. She was perplexed and confused by my eating habits, but tried with love and sincerity to accommodate them. One evening she pulled me aside and pointed to a small plate featuring two petite burgers neatly tucked into white buns and explained she'd made turkey burgers in addition to the hamburgers. Won't you like those better, dear?

Did I mention she is Irish and speaks with a quiet, musical accent? I knew in that moment that the twist inside me when faced with those turkey burgers was not quite as painful as the twist I felt during the split second that I considered rejecting her gift.

But did I really need to offer that hot dog to Gabriel? He is an innocent, dear boy. I was the one who introduced the idea and fetched it for him. It was driven by that tiresome part of me that is stuck on what one does. Kids eat hot dogs, right? Why should I be so uptight?? Come on Frances and Gabriel, we're not a weird family, get out there and do what kids do! Here, let me help! Watch me saunter over to the grill and ask for a hot dog for my toddler as if I do this sort of this every dang day.

Lesson learned? When a 78 year old nun spends a good portion of her afternoon preparing food for me, I'll graciously accept it. At a neighborhood picnic, I'll bring the tofu pups. We're a weird family! I'm not quite ready to shout it from the rooftops, but I am hoping to learn to claim our singularity with more confidence. And I am hoping that a growing attunement to those inner twists will help me to honor them. To go with my gut.

p.s. I have to share some wet kid pictures from the past few days...and I suspect I'll tell you about them more in a future post. I'm in the process of securing some more daytime babysitting so my evenings will be freed up from work and open for the simple delights of reading, movie-watching, conversation with my dear husband, and of course, blogging!

I just loaded many pictures into the computer and found a series that Mike took of the children at the zoo during my training week. How strange to see them out in the world having a fantastic time, while I was meditating many miles away.

Birthday party sprinkler FUN. It was a blast, truly.

Here I am herding cats. I mean, organizing a wet relay race. The five year olds were ready and willing to follow rules and belong to teams, but the toddlers in attendance had other ideas.

life takes over

Such a week we've had. The past few days have included the purchase of a 1995 Toyota Camry station wagon* (two trips to Virginia, one trip to the Virginia DMV, two trips to the Maryland MVA, two trips to the mechanic), truck rental to haul some lovely furniture gifts to our home, and a plumbing disaster that resulted in a flooded downstairs. Ick. A neighbor's wet vac, a rug cleaner from Safeway, a few calls to the home insurance man, a few stressed out spats and a fast and loose packing job, and finally here we are in cool, comfortable Delaware visiting Mike's parents.

Did I mention Frances also had her last day of preschool EVER?

These are some of the reasons I've been quiet of late. And now I'm preparing to go away on a training retreat for my job at Listening Hearts. For an entire week! What will become of me? I started out worrying about the kids, but now I am facing up to the fact that I am the one who will probably fall apart.

When I get back I expect I'll have to spend a few days with my nose buried in my kids' bellies. So you may not be hearing from me for a little while. But I'll be back!

Love to all of you. Enjoy these summery days.



*It's beautiful. I love it. I want to take each and every one of my readers for a spin. And I could, all at the same time, because it is huge! No fighting over who gets to ride in the backety-back though, okay?

goodbye clothes, hello summer

I don't think either child got dressed yesterday. They wore either bathing suits or nothing at all. As you can see, this was the way the under-five set in our house operated on Sunday too, together with our friends Amelia, Henry and Agatha (adorable riding with the diapered school bus driver, above).

How I love feeling sunned and a bit sticky, having life oriented outside. Of course, the addition of Tumbletoads to our backyard and the presence of dear old friends facilitated the feeling of summertime satisfaction this weekend. Children scampering about, climbing and swinging and perfecting their tricks!

Highlights? Yes, I think I can come up with a few. I was immensely proud of Frances, who with Henry's help soon discovered the joy of completing a 'backwards somersault flip' all by herself.

Amelia made her signature crowns for the royal good guys - no wait, bad guys - no no, actually they are good guys. Until they switch hideouts and turn into bad guys again.

The water fun started in the wading pool. We eventually made it down the street to our neighborhood pool, where Amelia discovered how I spent my summer last year - hovering over a toddler drawn to the edge of the water like a moth to the flame. How relaxing!

All the sunshine and pool time reminded me of Edith and Asa's visit last summer. If only I'd kept the blog then so I could link to that post! Then as now, I'll take a wading pool over the Big Pool any day. Maybe I'll change my tune when the children can play on the slide in the deep end, relatively supervision-free, and I can be that mom hiding on a chaise lounge in a shady corner with a novel. And a beer. But I digress.

Mike turned on the tickle charm with little Aggie, cozy here in pajamas flecked with melted fudgsicle.

Cleaning up the kitchen after our friends left Sunday evening, I felt the peace of a day spent with others without a shred of social weirdness. I reflected on the way our tender, early, impressionable years as new parents were shaped in relationship with Amelia and Michael. I learned how to do this with them. Whenever a new problem arises or challenge presents itself, I always want to ask Amelia what to do - though the truth is I can usually imagine what she would say, and that in itself is helpful. [One of the only things helping me to be relatively calm as I plunge ahead towards an unprecedented week away from my family (for a Listening Hearts training retreat) is Amelia's support of the endeavor and her assurance that everyone will be just fine.]

The intimacy of two years spent sharing developmental milestones, the duty of pushing our kids to preschool in the shared double stroller (a pleasure that I, with the most demanding work schedule of the four of us back then, missed out on), sweaty walks home from the market, laden with heavy cantelopes and sweet potatoes, pleading with children who refused to ride in their strollers, and countless impromptu family dinners - these experiences are imprinted on me just as early experiences, for better or worse, are firmly lodged in our children's developing brains. I realize now, in another town, how I carried away certain assumptions about what makes for a good family life, what not to worry about too much, and what one might need to ask for help with. And these things are not universals, as I have discovered!

How lucky we were. Are. What a delight to share parenthood; to have parent-comrades that you don't have to translate or explain things to, that, for lack of a better phrase, get it. I don't feel defensive exposing my vulnerabilities or for that matter my children's vulnerabilities around such friends. Thank goodness for Amelia, and for all my kindred spirit mamas. Here we are, sweaty and dirty together, and it feels great.