motherhood, music, and magic

This weekend, we went on a Mother's Day "themed" camping trip through our local YMCA.  It was great for mom's because we stayed in air-conditioned cabins that had private bathrooms with granite countertops, and enjoyed home-cooked meals that other people shopped and prepared for us.   The kids had plenty of things to do during the day, and our only parental responsibility was to ensure they had on sufficient sunscreen and bugspray.

There was rock climbing and zip lining, archery, water slides, hiking and horseback riding and several more fun things to do than we could actually accomplish.  We attended this camping event with some of our very good friends whom we had met through other good friends - and while there - we met some new wonderful people from various parts of Texas.  I remember my mother taking me on camping trips through the Y when I was our children's age (although never with granite countertops?!) - and it's so fun to share that experience with them, now.  Particularly the part that involves us meeting people from all over.



When we came home this afternoon, a few of our neighbors dropped in for a barbecue that I had coordinated before we left on Friday afternoon. While I knew our Sunday afternoon would be a bit busy because we would just be coming back from our "camping" trip - I really wanted to have these friends over for dinner, because one of them had suddenly lost their mother (who lives in Australia) earlier this week to cancer.  And our other friend was home alone with her children while her husband was in China on a business trip.

We wound up having a wonderful time tonight. We put leaves in to our table, and all 12 of us sat around telling stories, and giving thanks for the mothers in our lives: those that are still here, and those that have left this earth - but will never leave our hearts. We shared sad tears, and happy tears.



Growing up, our home was always open to people. My mother was, and still is, the most social person I've ever met.  And so it is that extended family - friends - neighbors - and exchange students came to stay with us, often for an extended period of time simply because my mother made everyone feel welcome.  Even the needy kid who I once caught trying to steal my bicycle that was padlocked outside our house, and my mother invited inside for dinner and chocolate chip cookies.

(Yes. Even them.)



This past week, my mother moved out of her home that she has lived in for the past 38 years, and in to an independent living community in South Carolina.  It was a big decision and transition for her, that I think has been many years in the making.  She has recognized that the stairs leading to her second floor condo have been a bit challenging, particularly when she has bags of groceries to haul up, or a stairwell to descend that is slicked by ice in the winter.

I'd tried, quite desperately and unsuccessfully, to convince my mother to come and live with us in Texas. For a few days, I thought I had a legitimate shot, because once upon a time, mom had entertained the thought that she'd move closer to help with the children.  But then …. life happens, and it never quite worked out that way.



When Jim was diagnosed with dementia, and moved in to an assisted living facility, my mother would visit with him every day.  Mom also visited with the other residents, some of who had such advanced stages of dementia they didn't speak, or would appear frozen.  And my mother, a nurse by professional training and I'm sure coded in to her DNA, would be drawn to these residents.  She would sit down next to them, and sing them a song.  Any song, but usually a song that includes their name... if possible.

My Aunt Grace tells the story of witnessing people who she had thought for sure were in a vegetative state, break in to small grins, and start singing along with my mother.  Auntie was in disbelief.  People who didn't know where they were - or what they were doing - or when they were going home, would suddenly be singing all the words to "Amazing Grace" or "Georgia on My Mind."



Mom tells me that part of the reason she feels compelled to move in to this independent living community ~ and not near us in Texas ~ is because of how much GOOD she thinks she can do for the residents in the nearby dementia unit.  How she feels like there are so many lonely people who need a friend, or someone to just sit and sing with them. As for us - we have each other, and an incredible community of friends, around us. Which OK. That's true.



While I would love to have my mother live near us, I am so grateful and proud of the lives that my mother continues to touch and warm with her gentle presence.  I can only hope that one day, our children, will understand the importance of having an open door, a compassionate heart, and a welcoming table and will be as proud of me - as I am of my mom.  She truly is, and always has been, a magically bright light in my world.



If and when that day comes, I also hope our kids can bear the sound of my singing. These days, whenever I start to sing, or do anything remotely related to making something that might be construed as musical with my voice,  the children desperately attempt to silence me. As if even the slightest hum from my lips will awaken the kraken.

baby teeth: here there, everywhere

We're still losing baby teeth, it feels like most weeks there's at least one.  It's happened more than once, that we've lost the exact same tooth, on the exact same day.

The look on William's face: this is the expression of a 13-year old boy who is really annoyed that his mother is capturing the moment when he and his triplet sister lost their top left canine cuspids.  We've been getting this look a lot these days. Tooth or no tooth.  It's really quite delightful in backwards world.  #DeepBreaths. #ItsAPhase. #ThisTooShallPass. #LoveThemAllTheTime.



This revolving tooth inventory can be problematic for a Tooth Fairy, who has short-term memory loss, is busy trying to remember to take a lot of deep breaths, and tends to go to sleep right after the kids do, when they should instead be zipping around the world and perkily trading out teeth for cash.

At our house, it typically happens that Mrs. Tooth Fairy remembers just before she's about to fall asleep and gasps loudly, "OH NO!" which awakens Mr. Tooth Fairy, who flies out of bed as if on wings.  And thus a search begins for small bills.  Ones are ideal, because the exchange rate here is 1 tooth = $2 dollars.  But a few times the Tooth Fairy has slipped the children a $5 and once a $20, but that isn't really sustainable with so many teeth falling out.  It's best to keep the bar low, since once all the teeth have ceased falling out, the Tooth Fairy will need $$$$ for four sets of braces.

Also, the Tooth Fairy doesn't usually have cash on hand, so it has been known to happen the children have awoken to find their tooth replaced with a stack of quarters, dimes or nickels.  Gone are the days when the Tooth Fairy could raid their piggy banks because these kids know how much cash they have - at all times.  Sometimes, the Tooth Fairy slips a lost tooth in their pocket and then totally forgets about it. For several nights in a row. Which prompts a letter like this one:



Hmmm … Oops.