Mommy, Why Are You So Foolish

Driving with a 5 year old in the car presents a challenge. BC, before child, if someone pulled out in front of me on an icy road, I would deal with my anxiety and need for a sense of control by categorizing him as a farm animal - verbally.

AC, after child, I have tried to curb my reaction, or at least adjust it. This morning, I declared while driving to preschool,

Dude, what are you doing? Don't do it. Don't do it. Stay there. That's it.

Kiddo asked me,

Mommy, why are you so foolish?

Years of practice. Let's pray. God, bless all the drivers on the road.

Amen.

This is American Idol

TV has become as lethal as smoking. At every pediatrician appointment, school newsletter, and parenting handbook speaks of the dangers of watching it. Obviously, the data is stacked against TV, and I completely agree with limits and appropriate choices. Children need to run around, play and explore apart from the flickering lights of TV. Absolutely.

True confession. My kid likes American Idol. Kiddo can't tolerate the truly delusional fame seekers, but loves to get behind the favorite singers and cheer them on to be the next American Idol.

The show has taken on another dimension. Sometimes the best example is the worst example.

Enter bikini-girl. I must admit, I don't remember her name. Actually, I don't remember any of their names thus far. This young woman wore a bikini to her audition. Even my 5 year old knows that swimsuits are appropriate for the beach or the pool, not an audition for American Idol.

We talked about the fact that there are some people who get distracted by a pretty girl and think that her beauty is the only thing that makes her special.

But we know better, don't we? We know that girls can be beautiful and smart and talented and funny. They can compete, knowing that they have the skills to be successful. Right?

Kiddo smiled wide and said, Yeah.

We also learned about being a good team member and what it means to sacrifice to reach a goal. We talked about letting your performance speak for itself, listening to feedback and not defending, explaining or making excuses.

I am trying to teach my kid about moderation; I guess we're learning it together. TV can be a wasteland or it can inspire. But, as with all things in our family, the results are always great when we do things together.

Bitch No More

Listen. Enough complaining. If you can't do anything, but complain, I suggest that you keep your mouth shut. I can't hear any more of this whining, I said firmly, but without anger to the kid.

Mom's don't get sick. This is a myth. I have had a virus for 2 weeks, and I have been dragging myself around because the thought of keeping my healthy kid home with the sick mom for 2 weeks is unthinkable.

So, we keep our schedule. We're driving to the extra-curricular activity that kiddo chose, and I am hearing whining and ingratitude.

Knowing it was possible that I was overreacting due to my viral condition, I tried to change the subject. Tell me something you like about Circus.

The kid couldn't get off of the whining. I drew the line, I cannot hear anymore of this complaining. You can speak of something positive or we can listen to music. What is your choice?

The urge to complain was too much for the kid. My child's brain was high jacked by the bitch monster. I understood. My brain can be easily swept away with the drama.

We arrived at the big top. As I opened the first door, I made my aforementioned proclamation.

I opened the second door, turned and noticed the entire staff of Circus Juventas, huddled in a meeting.

Isn't that just the way? I get to look like the mean mommy.

Those who would judge do not have children. Find me a parent without a threshold for complaining, and I will find her drugs. Or her stash of HoHo's.

The world is full of victims who blame, bitch and moan. I don't want to be one, and I don't want to raise one.

Tomorrow, we stay home and heal.

Support for Change

An important member of my cabinet is moving on. Over the years, I have assembled a team of experts to provide support and encouragement for the life I have today. Since I have little or no training or practice for most of the important areas of my life, such as, intuitive eating, marriage, parenting, family, friends, sleep apnea, home & auto ownership, meditation, and blogging to name a few, I surround myself with quality teachers.

Mostly, I need them to listen. I share honestly what's happening and how I feel about what's happening. Only then am I able to be open and willing to what they have to tell me. I am a handful, but I diversify so it's not - all Jody, all the time. I also do exactly what they tell me to do.

I choose my cabinet wisely. I look at credentials; I ask for references. I also notice what happens when talk. I look for warmth, understanding, and directness. I want them to tell me the truth as they see it. I listen to what they say, even if I don't like it. I value their time so I try not to give them a lot of complaining or whining, but I also need for them to really listen without judgment.

Today, my eating and exercise guru told me she is moving. This position is critical to my survival. I will miss her, and I am happy for her. I'm a little jealous. She is leaving the frozen tundra for one of my favorite cities.

I also felt some fear about the change. I have habit of fearing change. So, I asked myself, what are you afraid of? Not finding an adequate replacement? No, this cabinet position is so important that I know someone great will be provided. Maybe I'll learn some new things that will improve upon my progress.

What I really am afraid of is the feelings about the change. I have grown to love and respect this person. I am going to miss her wise counsel.

I have experienced the transformation of grief into joy as the result of applying my mindfulness & compassion practice. Many of the previous posts in this blog document the process. Still, I don't want to. Sitting in the pain and waiting for it to pass requires a boat load of courage. I don't always feel up to it.

Somehow, I did sit with it today. As usual, the resistance to the pain is way worse than just sitting with it until it passes. For less time than the typical sitcom, I have the possibility of grace. You'd think that would be an easy choice, but at any time of day you can find an old episode of Friends or The Girls Next Door.

I know for certain that the cabinet position won't be filled until I make room in my heart for it. To feel or not to feel. The question is - how much do I want to suffer?

All Sinners Eat Snacks

I spent some time this morning listening to folks who are really into talking about sin. This word sin is loaded, especially for someone who has a lifetime habit of black and white thinking. Sin is bad. I sin; therefore, I am bad.

Indeed, I spent a lifetime trying to prove that assumption wrong by being very good. Being unconvinced, I would behave exactly as bad as I felt. Then hell would rain down on me.

Lately, I have begun to view sin differently. I'm told that the word sin is an archery term that means "to miss the mark." A sin is a mistake, an event that can be corrected.

The sin is the mistake; I am not the mistake. What a revelation to realize that I am basically good. I can relax and know that it is my divine right to be peaceful and not perfect.

When I am agitated, I know that I have forgotten myself. I can look for a mistake, and, if I find one, ask for it to be corrected. I can clean it up.

If I am basically good, then so is everyone else. Thus, the need for blaming and complaining is eliminated.

The challenge becomes how to listen to people talk about sin and sinners without going to the dark place. I prayed that I would hear what I needed to hear. I prayed to remember the basic goodness.

It worked. I heard that I make mistakes and that I can seek their correction. I don't have to dwell in guilt and shame anymore. I obviously need lots of reminders on this point.

Why would I put myself through this walk toward my dark side? My kid loves this class, actually jumps up and down when I announce where we are going. While I am attending my class, kiddo is attending an age appropriate version. While we talked about sin, they talked about doing the wrong thing and doing the right thing. Raised under the umbrella of basic goodness, my kid can assess sin without a lot of drama.

"So, what is a wrong thing?"

"Taking someone's toys without asking."

"What's a right thing?"

"Sharing. Can I have a graham cracker?"

So that's it. Sometimes we do the wrong thing. Sometimes we do the right thing, but when it is snack time, we all get a graham cracker.

Chatty Is as Chatty Does

I'm chatty. I really enjoy greeting the folks I meet during the day. One major blessing of living in the Midwest is that we actually speak to one another. We ask, "How are you today?" We answer. We say thank you. We wish each other a good day. It's friendly.

Of course, not everyone is friendly all the time. When behind the wheel, Minnesotans can be downright aggressive, rushing around, cutting ahead in traffic, and flipping the bird. We follow people who are leaving the mall, trolling for a place to park. Then, we hover, signal light blinking, for the driver to surrender the parking spot preventing any other drivers from passing.

However, once separated from their vehicles, Minnesotans are downright affable, especially after a month or so of enforced hibernation.

Wednesdays the kiddo and I go to Circus class, Cirque du Soleil-style. The kids do these incredible tricks, and the parents get to sit behind the red rope and watch. I am anxious to do the tricks too, but my core muscles are not ready yet. So, I watch and wait.

Waiting can be a lonely endeavor. I find it even more objectionable when I feel lonely in a crowd. So, I chat. Last fall, I made friends with one of the other circus moms. We talked about mom stuff. I really liked her, and kiddo liked her child too.

Last week, she let me know that they had decided to change their schedule. I was disappointed. I was just sure that I would have to sit and watch my kid in total silence. A whole hour alone in a crowd, isolated yet surrounded.

We show up. I ask one of the parents whether his wife had found a job yet. He said no, but they were thinking of moving to Japan. A woman said, we're moving to Japan in the fall. By the end of the class, there were five of us parents and one nanny, talking about living in Japan, France and Spain. We laughed about not sleeping. We talked about our quirky kids and what they were trying to teach us. I had a blast.

I went to circus today thinking that I was going to be bored and alone. I was sure of it. I would have bet money on it. What a great thing not to be right all the time.

It's super easy to stay home when the temperature is -30 degrees. It's comfortable to associate exclusively with people we already know and like. But when I step out of the house and out of my comfort zone, I get surprised.

String enough of these moments together and you have the makings of a truly good day.

We Give What We Can

President Obama has called us to help others, so today I decided to donate $142 to the city of Minneapolis. I got the idea from a policeman on 42nd Street. He told me that I could make this one time donation to the city and thus avoid an ongoing monthly donation to State Farm.

I trust that the City of Minneapolis will take my money and use it to do something I could never do alone. Perhaps they could reinstate full-day kindergarten for children of middle class families. Or, they could add it to the fund to provide fresh, clean water that does not smell of fish to it's citizens.

I trust that my elected officials will remember that they are our trusted servants and will respond to my donation by asking themselves, "How could we put this money to good use that would provide the maximum benefit to our neighbors?"

What a privilege to be a contributing member of society.

Yes, We Can Change

Kiddo and I sat crisscross applesauce today with all of the other less than 10 year olds at the Hennepin County Library. I declined to sit in the last chair because the kid refused to sit in a chair. Evidently, the best seat in the house was my lap.

We were enjoying a terrific one man program by T. Mychael Rambo, a well-known local teacher, actor and singer, commemorating the birth of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. We learned about the work of Dr. King and others who fought for civil rights in our country with excerpts of the "I Have a Dream speech, stories, poems and incredibly soulful singing.

The house was packed when a family of 4 children and their grandmother arrived. I encouraged the kids to fill in around the other children. Unable to sit on the floor, their grandmother had to stand in the back.

The youngest child was a little girl, maybe 2 years old. She was wearing red velour yoga pants with a matching hoodie lined with silver hearts. Her hair was thick, soft and curly. She had stunning hazel eyes, and enviable lips that thousands of dollars of injectibles could never replicate. Her sisters and brothers had moved up to the front of the crowd so she was stuck sitting by herself.

I had chosen to sit on the last row of kids so that I wouldn't block a little kid's view. The little girl was sitting right in front of me. She tilted her head to the side, sizing up the performance. She seemed a little lost. It was a lot for a 2 year old.

I tapped her on the shoulder and invited her to share my lap. Kiddo moved over to make room. The little girl slid easily onto my lap. I hugged both of them for the rest of the show, encouraging them to clap and sing. She placed her hand in mine, and we all swayed along with the music.

When Mr. Rambo sang, Sam Cooke's "Change is Gonna Come," I cried. I was holding my child and a beautiful girl who would not have been allowed in the same room with us, let alone in my lap. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and others worked and died so that I could do what was natural: love and care for God's children equally and openly.

Our country has changed.

I looked around. I was surrounded by young, old, black, white, Christian, Muslim and Jewish people.

Minnesota has changed.

Growing up in the land of 10,000 lakes, most everybody looked like me, white, middle class, Christian. I always found this unnerving. We had exactly 4 people of color in our entire high school and 1 Jewish person. It seemed unnatural to me, so I left for college on the east coast to experience the world as it is: diverse. Eventually, I minored in African-American studies.

After the performance, I stood up and put my shoes, careful not to flash any crack. See former post, "Butt Crack is Whack." I turned around and the grandmother said to me, "Thank you for taking care of my babies."

I smiled and said, "She couldn't see."

"Well, thank you."

"Oh, there's always room for one more on this lap," I said, slapping my thighs.

She smiled and said, "I hope you have a blessed day."

Yes, we can.

And yes, we did.