face time

The bambini love calling family members via FaceTime on our gadgets that support the application.  It's a bit like The Muppet Show while we are waiting for the call to connect, with much jostling and jockeying for that front and center spot, as well as some last minute reminders hissed by the director (that'd be me) to "modulate your voices" (as Grannie would say) so that the people on the receiving end can hear what we're saying. 

Being able to connect with our loved ones by seeing their faces and hearing their voices in real time is an amazing boon, one of the biggest advantages of our present-day technology.  When we can't be in the same room with our friends and loved ones, we can still see and hear them.  It's not quite the same as being able to reach out and hug them, but we'll take it!

In this world with so many ways of communicating, there is still no substitute for time spent together face to face.  Phone calls keep voices fresh in our minds; and letters, e-mail, texting, and social media are better than nothing, but each of these media have their limitations.  We can only infer the intentions with which people write to us; we can't hear their tone of voice or see their facial expressions.  As the messages get shorter, such as in texting, there is ample room for misunderstandings to arise from such short snippets and exchanges.  While they are useful for a variety of things, they certainly can't be the primary means of communication between two people, and there are many situations for which these modes of communication are simply inappropriate.

Then there is the time factor.  It's difficult to have meaningful conversations when time is limited, conditions are noisy, or gadgets are involved.  When there is only time for exchanging pleasantries, how can any real relationship be cultivated or maintained?

While the tools at our disposal continue to evolve in capability, they cannot intuit the meaning of a human heart and convey that to another.   Only we can do that for ourselves, and the best way to accomplish that is face to face.  Until we can visit in person, we'll make use of the array of technological tools made to keep us in touch, always preferring actual face time to its virtual counterpart.

fighting words

Maybe the triple digit heat with temperatures upwards of 110 degrees have something to do with it, or maybe it's a consequence of us slacking off on our agenda, but I've noticed an unwelcome increase in the amount whining, fussing, and caterwauling heard in these parts -- yes, even from me.  What's going on?   The answer is probably multi-fold, but on my part I'm sure my sleep deficit isn't helping.  I thought this braid of homegrown garlic curing in our kitchen might help ward off the crankies (just kidding), but alas it has not.

I am not one to criticize, blame, nag, cajole, or be passive aggressive.  When I am extraordinarily tired, however, I am far less able to take the "normal" drama and shennanigans in stride.  Instead of employing humor, goofiness, or alternatives to yelling like singing or whispering, I am far more inclined to be snarky, snippy, snide, or sarcarstic in my terse responses.  I am never proud of those pronouncements.  They are anything but constructive. I don't like to be spoken to in any of those ways, and I always feel terrible when I allow such vitriol to escape my lips. 

It is one of my highest priorities for our bambini to learn to authentically, respectfully, and honestly express whatever emotion or need they're trying to verbalize.   However will they learn to do that?  By replicating the way the adults in their lives handle themselves in times of stress and moments of need.  (That would be me, among others)

When one of our children spouts off some poorly-phrased demand request or hurtful insult, I try to respond matter-of-factly with an opportunity to restate him- or herself and a script to use in doing so.  When the insults are flying among siblings or disrespectful demands are hurtled my way, adding my own yelling voice to the equation gets us nowhere good (even if I'm trying to communicate that some things are better left unsaid).

Feelings of frustration, disappointment, hurt, and confusion are all part of the human experience.  It's important to sort them out and move on without name-calling, empty threats, or brute force, just as it's important to take ownership of the emotions we feel and take control of how we allow the treatment of others to affect us.  Similarly, we all have basic (and not-so-basic) needs for all kinds of things both tangible and intangible.  Not every need is of equal necessity, nor can every one be met *right now.*  And we can't always have everything we want -- not in this life.

We owe it to our bambini, their future spouses, ourselves, and society at large to express our own emotions, needs, and desires clearly, respectfully, and as lovingly as possible -- even when we are tired, frustrated, hungry, overheated, or otherwise vexed -- so that when our little loves go to express themselves, they will have some positive point of reference to model.  They won't always get it right, but with practice comes a greater chance of success.

On my part I have to get better about going to bed earlier so that I have easier access to the tools at my disposal.  When it comes to conflict resolution, I'm still working on developing the virtue of fortitude to speak up in a manner that honors the needs of all involved.  The best outcome of such a faithful response to conflict or insult instructs those who are watching closely to be ever mindful of the presence of Christ in every person and to be respectful of the inherent dignity in each of God's precious children, young or old, sassy or circumspect, willing or unwilling, peaceful or troubled, happy or sad, whatever and whenever.  It's how I wish to be treated, and it's how I endeavor to teach our bambini to treat others, to "do as I would be done by", and to tread lightly on the delicate ground that is the heart of the other.

the pause that refreshes

Backtracking a little, the Gospel reading this past Sunday is resonating with me several days later. Jesus and his disciples try to take some downtime, only to be met with people in need of their ministry and mercy.  The opportunity to fill in for an absent pianist was in itself just such a retreat from my everyday circumstances for a little while.  Afterward I felt refreshed and ready to dive back into the busy-ness and emotionally demanding work of caring for my four young children (if also a little sheepish about the mistakes that characterize some "rusty" piano playing -- the bambini couldn't care less about those).

How often does it happen to parents who try to take a moment's retreat before reengaging back into the challenging work of ministering to their children that something comes up preventing the parents from taking that time for the purpose of renewing what might be lagging spirits?  In my own experience, it's plenty of times.  I know I'm not the only one to face this.  In the Gospel, Jesus and his disciples are moved with pity for the people who meet them at what is supposed to be their resting place, and those in need are cared for and taught with compassion.  While I do my best, I can't say I'm always as gracious when this scene plays out in my own realm.  We can't give what we don't have. 

It's my nature to keep pushing through fatigue and similar symptoms, but the risk of burnout is great.  The effects of that aren't at all the kind of legacy I want to leave with my children.  While the extraction process for Mama to depart and go do something else for a while, such as play the piano at church or visit with friends or pursue some other hobby lately relegated to the back burner (or cooling rack, as it were, not even simmering anymore) can be fraught with emotion, it's getting easier for me to get out the door and do a few things such as these every once in a while.  The bambini have come to relish their days at "camp" with Grandmare or their time spent at home with Daddy-o while I am out for a little while.  This is a great relief to everyone, as it should be.  I hoped this would eventually be the case, and it often is. 

Sometimes I think I stay a little too close to home, but as the heart of ours, I am happy to be here.  Still, everyone needs a break now and then.  As I get a little more mothering under my belt, I find myself better able to articulate the legitimate need for a change of scenery, a little breathing room, and some time to regroup.  When a rejuvenated Mama returns, everyone is the better for it.

free to be...

Our Independence Day observance began bright and early with some spectacular aural fireworks.  They flamed out once the drinkable yogurt was poured and the pint-sized firecracker was dressed in Fourth of July-appropriate attire, though there were a few more rounds of outbursts from some other firecrackers throughout the course of the holiday, which was a quiet one for us spent recouperating and resting.

Some of the fireworks had to do with not getting what one wanted when that one wanted it.  Such is not uncommon around here in this season of family life.  Dealing with the big feelings, underlying needs, and objective reality that are all wrapped up in one caterwauling little person is tricky business.  Reacting with empathy and objectivity are always my goals, but they aren't always the way I actually react -- especially with all the variables thrown in. Sometimes I am anything but empathetic and objective. We all have our moments.

After a day spent focused on pointing out the effects one child's behavior has on his or her siblings (and parents) in real time, the long view kicks in as I reflect on the day and its ups and downs.  With so much emphasis on "freedom" and "personal freedom" around our nation's Independence Day celebration, episodes such as these are powerful examples of what freedom is and isn't. In exercising our free will, our faith teaches us to consider the effects our choices and behaviors have on other people, as we are all part of the mystical Body of Christ.

We can't always have what we want when we want it. Someone else may be adversely affected, even hurt, by the way we act upon our desires, which we may or may not realize. What we want might not be good for us literally or spiritually. And while we may have the free will to act as we please, we will be held accountable for our actions by others and ultimately to God himself.

These are lessons we are presently teaching on a very basic level, but it's a lifelong process dealing with disappointment and learning how to channel the free will God gives us into the outlets he wishes us to utilize in his service. As adults we may know all too well that we don't always get what we want when we want it. We may not throw fits about that disappointing reality -- or maybe we do, each in our own way.  We might think ourselves so independent, as in "I'm an adult and I'll do as I please," or "I can do it all by myself," but we're all connected to each other in ways big and small, seen and unseen.

Free to be me yet dependent on Christ and on those around me, I pray for the grace to live in the freedom that comes from being the person God calls me to be, doing right by the people around me as best I can for the glory of God.

parts of speech

The elder lad has been waylaid by a nasty summer cold, running a high fever for several days and struggling with a sore throat as well as head and nasal congestion.  On Saturday we worked our way through a few pages from our book of Junior Mad Libs (with Mama-imposed limits on potty word usage) during a break from the "glowing screen".  With an understanding of the basic parts of speech, he was able to choose words from the list of suggested ones easily to fill in the blanks, and he took great care in making his selections.  As fun as it was working through the short "libs," the best part was hearing him laugh at the resulting silly story.

Later that evening I took him to urgent care to be tested for Strep throat.  That came back negative.  The doctor said it was likely a summer cold, albeit a miserable one, and let him know that popsicles* counted as "drink" in an effort to push the fluids.

Once we finally got home from urgent care and got the lad tucked into bed, I laid next to him for a few minutes as he was settling in.  I told him that I loved him more today than I did yesterday, and that I would love him more tomorrow.  This is not the first time I had said such a thing to him (or his siblings or their father). 

"How can you love me more tomorrow than you do today?" he wondered aloud, if a little sleepily. 

"Because love grows," I told him.  "It doesn't keep to itself.  It reaches out and keeps going.  Love is a verb.  It means working for the good of the other person as well as the feelings we have for that person.  I want to be the best mother I can be for you, to do all I can to help you be the person God calls you to be.  That's loving you."

That might been a heady explanation for a sleepy, sniffly lad seeking some assurance of his mother's love and presence throughout the long night ahead when he struggled to sleep, but it laid the groundwork for future discussions about how we are called to place ourselves in the service of others. 

We'll save those discourses for when he's feeling better...

*as for the popsicles, we've (and by "we" I mean my beloved in collaboration with other non-sniffly bambini) been freezing fruit juice in popsicle molds I found in the dollar section at Target a few years ago, sometimes fancying it up a bit by layering one flavor of juice on top of another.   Nifty. 

ringy dingy

Today would've been Aunt Robin's 51st birthday, and I didn't call my Grannie. 

I always try to call my Grannie on Aunt Robin's birthday -- or Papa Jack's -- and most definitely on Grannie's own birthday.  That's just how we do things.  As with there always being lamb cake for Easter, we always call each other on our birthdays, or on what would've been the birthdays of those we love but who are now departed from this life.

Grannie called late last week as we were driving to the last day of Vacation Bible School.  It was pretty early to be hearing from her, so I was initially concerned that something may be amiss.  It wasn't.  She was in good spirits, about to head out to help one of my aunts with some organizing.  Grannie has wizard-like skills in the organizational department -- specifically in the kitchen.   It had been a while since I had called her, in spite of my best intentions to call her at least once a week.   

*Once a week, Bonnie!  Is that so difficult?!  Especially considering how much time you spend driving in the car with that handsfree phone gadget?!*  

Not so long ago I did ring my Grannie-o to catch up on the "doings", as she calls them, only to chat for a minute with her dear friend there visiting all the while thinking it was Grannie.  Another time I called and interrupted her weekly bridge game with her "lady friends".  It was her turn to host.  She called me back later. 

Every time she calls she says something along the lines of, "I wasn't sure if this was a good time to call, so I just decided to try." I'm so glad she takes the chance.  I do that now too, not just with Grannie but with a few other cherished people.  I boldly acknowledge that I've taken the calculated risk of calling a fellow mother with young children at what might be their siesta time, hoping with great fervor that I won't awaken a bambini *thisclose* to drifting off to sleep for a sorely-needed siesta. 

When I've been on the receiving end of a call that I can't prudently answer, I don't answer it.  I hope this doesn't offend the caller, but most people who call me anymore realize that I'm not exactly sitting around waiting for the phone to ring.  It may take me a little (or a long) while to return the call, but knowing with certainty that someone I cherish has taken the time to call me has such a buoying effect on my spirits.  

I am often reticent to pick up the phone and call someone to say hello or indirectly ask for a pick-me-up in the form of a brief conversation for fear that they might be in the middle of something, but when I take the chance and hear his or her voice on the receiving end, I am so much the better for having done so. 

I'm sorry, Gran, that I didn't call you today.  Be expecting a call from me tomorrow...

help yourself

Somewhere in the mix of not being a cruise director yet still being present to the littles, there is this idea of cultivating in each of them the art of doing things for oneself.  This takes patient instruction and coaching.*

*she says as one lass flails on the floor upset about having to share a couple of toys while the other tugs on Mama's pant leg demanding to be held while the lads are chasing each other through the kitchen with blunt objects rather than completing some age-appropriate task such as making one's bed or clearing one's cup and plate after lunch, and the collective emotional temperature gets higher and higher...

I have to write about such pie-in-the-sky ideals to keep sight of the long view I try to take, especially when it seems everyone is all out of sorts, with siblings going feral on each other and Mama close to wit's end to try to restore some sense of peace and positive vibe (or endure, at the very least). This does happen, believe it or not, more often than I would like. We all have our moments.

From the beginning, the idea of mothering has a daunting, breath-stealing, overwhelming idea for me to imagine myself being successful executing. Taking a proactive approach to everything from the day's routine to the tending of infants and young children has been my way of trying to do what sometimes seems impossible.

In terms of logistics and efficiency, sometimes it is simply easier to do things for the bambini that they (at least some) can now do themselves because not so long ago we had multiple very young children in need of diapering, feeding, clothing, and just about everything else. Engaging everyone in activities fell right in with these other needs. Given the temperaments of our children and the resulting dynamics, this proactive approach has been necessary.

Now as the bambini are getting a little older, they are finding more opportunities for self-directed exploration and entertainment as well as lending more practical help with household duties like emptying the dishwasher and putting laundry away. They are still very young, but there's a lot they can contribute to the family's functioning well being.  They can also do a lot more for themselves, though they don't always want to, and they play together a lot of the time, though they don't always get along very well.  They still need close supervision, but they don't always need me right next to them, though they don't always agree with me on that point.

Along the way I may have inadvertently deferred their growth in self-sufficiency out of a sincere desire to do something constructive mixed with a little bit of fear of the resulting chaos that comes from a lack of direction/sleep/attention/growing food/whatever. I was doing the best I knew to do at the time, and the experience I have gleaned from that informs the way I manage things nowadays, which may or may not be the same as how I did them in those freaky early days of motherhood.  As we all grow up a little more each day as a family we're each figuring out how to take care of ourselves.  It's all part of the journey, isn't it?  

loveys

Of all the bambini, the younger lass is the most touchy-feely child.  She loves to poke her fingers into the crevasses of my face, twist my hair around her fingers, twiddle, fiddle, smack, and kick when I'm holding her close.  Attempts to divert her are not usually well-received, Many a baby doll, stuffed animal, and silky soft blanket I've tried to employ in an effort to divert her tactile-seeking compulsion.  So far, nothing will do but Mama's hair, Mama's nose, or Mama's neck.  She seems to already know that people are more important than things.

Each of the bambini has his or her way of touching me that seems to give them reassurance or otherwise soothes them. Try as I have several times to introduce "loveys" to my bambini -- things that can help to assuage some serious Mama-needing drama, especially helpful when there have been multiple children in acute need simultaneously (of which times there have been plenty) -- not a one of the babes ever gone for the person-substitute to the degree that there is one unquestionable lovey that must be in sight or attendance at all times lest there be much wailing and gnashing of teeth.  They simply never took to them to that extent.

Max the Monkey: the lovey I chose for the elder lad.  I bought two Maxes, just in case one got lost.  The elder lad liked Max, but not as much as I hoped he would.

Each child does have some favorite stuffed animal "friends" and toys that go with on sleepovers to the grandparents' house or reside on the bed of each sleeping (if only they would) child, but they aren't what I think of as "loveys" in the sense that compelled my Grannie to Fed Ex my own childhood lovey back to my parents' house when I'd left it behind in Chicago as a young girl.

Maybe that's because, to borrow and tweak an expression coined by Dr. Laura Schlessinger, *I* am my kids' lovey.  Grannie has long used this term of endearment to address me, my cousins, and other loved ones. I've adopted this habit myself, but I know a woman who calls her mother "Lovey."  It seems either usage is appropriate.

 Here is where I must own that I am not always gracious about responding to Mama-I-Need-You-To-Hold-Me-Right-Now beseechings, which is -- I realize -- a primary reason for introducing a lovey.  Many times I ask for "a moment, please" or flat out say "I can't hold you right now because....  I will hold you as soon as...".  Sometimes the neediness and close physical proximity is almost too much for me.  In these moments I try my level best to model healthy ways of calming myself and expressing my discomfort so that eventually the bambini will be able to do this for themselves.  

The elder lad's eventual and longtime friend, given to him by a friend of his daddy's and mine that the young lad named for his grandparents' family pet.

I am in no hurry to push the bambini into independence.  They'll take take that in their own time.  By my presence and availability to them, I hope to help cultivate within the bambini a burgeoning sense of confidence in themselves that leads to the development of their ability to manage their strong emotions.  Their need for my physical closeness will diminish as time marches on, although I do hope to be a calming presence to them in their time of need whatever their age.

Long after the hair pulling and nostril poking have subsided, I hope the attachment we've forged will flourish, because nothing in this world is more important than the bond of love that holds us together no matter how close together or far apart we are.

get this right

The younger lass rifled through a filing cabinet with some of my piano scores and found a spiral-bound booklet of the repertoire assigned to me my senior year of college. She slapped it up on the music desk and toddled off to do something else.

As I walked past the piano I caught sight of the score she had left open, and I stopped to thumb through the pages. It was the "working copy" where my piano professor and I noted all sorts of things related to the piece and its performance: fingerings, pedaling, dynamics, harmonic analysis, and phrasing, among other things like this note I scribbled:

 

get this right.

as in: quit making this same mistake here.  You know it's coming.  It's tripped you up enough times to merit a note in the score *and* a highlighter, so fix it already.  Don't make it again.

How many times in a day do I make the same mistakes or allow myself to edge too close to that line where I can't help but bungle a situation that presents itself over and over again -- one I've had the opportunity to address and learn from and traverse successfully going forward?  For whatever reason, I still make some of  the same mistakes.  

My dad says I use my music degree every day, even those days when I don't touch a piano.  Maybe this is what he means.  And thank the good Lord for his infinite mercy in forgiving those mistakes, even though I make them time and again.  Isn't that what Easter, which we are at last celebrating, is all about -- forgiveness of sins and everlasting life?

I don't operate under the delusion that I am perfect or will always handle every situation perfectly, but I would like to eliminate some of those oft-made mistakes by considering the factors that contribute to my making them and doing what needs to be done to set up a better outcome.  

Here's what I hope I did get right today:  I hope I made good use of the time God gave me this day to show his love and mercy to those around me.  I hope in those moments when I felt like I might lose my patience or withdraw from interaction in the face of some drama that I was able to recognize them inwardly and overcome them either by expressing those emotions in a healthy and respectful way or by waiting a minute to let them blow over.   I hope to have shown my bambini that Mama does make mistakes sometimes, as we all do, and that when I do I try my best to make amends, tend to the hurt I may have caused, and move on.

We do our best, says my Grannie, and that's all we can do.  Part of that is built on learning from our mistakes -- God willing, before warranting a highlighter's notice.

my darling clementine

It wasn't exactly spontaneous, but at long last and with great relief I went into labor on my own.  Our wee raven-haired lass was born yesterday morning.  We are filled with wonderment, great joy, and profound gratitude for the blessings of a safe delivery, healthy baby, and abundant grace throughout the journey culminating in seeing her sweet face.

She is the "smallest of the small ones" (to borrow a descriptive from Judy Schachner's Skippyjon Jones books, some of our lads' favorites), weighing the same as the elder lad at just shy of eight pounds but a tad shorter in length.  Tiny little thing she seems compared to her three smitten siblings, she is our little peanut girl -- or maybe our clementine.

Diminutive food references aside, she -- like her siblings -- is a keeper.

wait a minute

It's been raining a lot here lately.  By this time of year, such rain is a bit unseasonable, but we'll take it.    Sometimes the rain comes down in a deluge, as the heavens open and the thunder rolls.  I keep thinking the barometric pressure might signal Quattro's arrival, but so far Quattro is content to ride out to the storms in utero.

Severe weather season may have passed, but figurative storms and flash floods still pop up around here on what seems like a near daily basis to this enormous/hormonal/preoccupied-about-Quattro's-imminent-birth mama.  Such a mix for Mama probably contributes to the atmosphere that lends itself to these types of disturbances.  Whether it's one of the bambini or all of them, when they get upset and loud about it, the direction of the course of events depends largely on *my* response -- or lack there-of.  Mine is the only response I can truly control, anyway.  It's hugely important for me to do so for my sake as well as theirs, and to model healthy emotional management.

If I've learned anything from the severe storms that come every spring to our part of the country, it's that they hardly ever last very long.  There might be a successive string of them, one after another, each intense and scary and loud, but rarely does one storm have the energy necessary to sustain a prolonged fury.

This seems to be true for bambini storms as well *if* Mama can keep her wits about her and be prudently responsive to the situation.  That might mean letting the storm pass on its own (ascertaining everyone's safety, of course), or by actively seeking out a solution with the one (or several) who are raging.

I would rather quell the tempests before they break, but this doesn't always work out.   While my initial reaction might be to jump in and squelch the outburst, usually this only worsens things.  For me and us, a more reserved response seems more effective in both the long and short runs. 

Riding these emotional roller coasters takes a lot out of me, but it comes with the territory.  To paraphrase Will Rogers, if you don't like the weather...

wait a minute.