Fade into Peaceful Silence

"Not merely an absence of noise, Real Silence begins when a reasonable being withdraws from the noise in order to find peace and order in his inner sanctuary." ~ Peter Minard 

Or HER inner sanctuary. just sayin'. 

Most of my days, My Inner Sanctuary is ready for me in the wee early morning hours. My hubbie dutifully hit the alarm clock at 4:30am-ish. He was off to the gym. Half conscious, I hoped I'd be awake before he arrived back so I could dutifully-housewifey-with-aprony make his much-needed latte-y. Crap, this morning I did not, but (check it out, and make a note of this) I got the bonus prize of the short stick game for being a slacker wifey. I was still in bed when I felt him lean over my very tired-arse body to kiss little Miss Sophia on the cheek (yes, she still worms her way into our bed - don't tell my Mom! PLEASE!) Not sure why I'm second in line, but I get a kiss, too. And I fumble a return kiss for him. Then I get another kiss back. Dude, I scored over Sophia - how rare, I relish it! 

His footsteps fade before sunrise, and it aches my heart. Then he tries to close the rain-soaked door. The door rattles and slams, and I think I heard him kick the friggin' door? Or did he try to kick a cat? I don't know what he was doing, but I do know that it was making wa-a-a-y too much noise. If anything, I knew our two indoor/outdoor cats would welcome the obnoxious noise and the one pathetic dim light of the kitchen. And, ah hell get out, I'm awake now... where's my latte-y... where's the cat food... 

Me, a little unnerved, yes. 

Me, more gratified! YES! 

Why, you ask? 

I am MOM, therefore, I have a very precious smidgen of time to relish SILENCE. Of course this is no match to the silence I hope to reach in my yoga class. Namaste!  But it's pure silence for a MOM at 5am-ish. The geek in me defines this moment as the vertex of the parabolic diagram. If you are a Fellow Geek, you know what I'm asayin'! It is super über silence between when my hubbie leaves for work, the cats have settled down after their pre-sunrise spaz-attacks, and most importantly, before the kids stir and wake up. SILENCE OF VERTEX!

Silence is Golden. I know this oh-so-well because Noise defines my day as a SAHM. My Days with Kids. It's Winter Break. Need I say more. And I will: 

My kids woke up this morning full of energy. Why not?! They enjoyed a blissful day yesterday with grandparents. They have no clue how lucky they are. One. Two. Three. Four. Four Grandparents here, now, today, being goofy, even relaying weird cultural anecdotes that I need to explain to the kids later. Magic tricks • How to throw a dart • "You know, Young Man, when I was your age..." • HOW TO WIN • What's the football score on TV? • Over indulgence of chocolate and anything with 105% sugar-base • Adorable animated toy characters that repeat the same friggin' thing over and over...and over (where's the gun, Mabel?) • Where can we get more AA batteries? 

Wait, sorry, we are bonding with Grandparents. I forgot. Continue... Oh, how I love this. 

Special thanks to December, I'm a little spaz-tic myself. I am the door that is too stubborn to shut but willing to take a good old fashioned kick in the arse.

I think I meant to talk about The Noises of Today: 

Today was partly defined by cloudy sky hiding the anticipated Lunar Eclipse (It's okay, I missed it, I know it happened, it's all good, there will be another one in my lifetime...on another cloudy night, fer sure.) 

Peaceful rain drops 

Chickens crowed, ready for worms 

Cats meowed, not ready for more rain 

Trees stubbornly bend in the wild wind 

I stubbornly bend in the wild wind

Noise has defined my day. My One Day with Kids. 

Favorite Noise - Listening to KLOS. Two for Tuesday. Which means when they play Led Zep, I am in pure heavenly bliss for a full half an hour! Thank you, Robert! 

Surprise Favorite Noise - My kids wearing flip flops in the SoCali rain. We all accidentally spashed into a huge parking lot puddle. We all roared in unexpected laughter. Must have been 2pm-ish, and I finally noticed—while they laughed wildy—all three of my kids have matching purple smoothie moustaches (2 hours old). 

No wonder the elderly ladies were looking at us with a smirk. I imagine they will blab about this in their knitting group.

Ah, yes, makes me remember, yet how can I forget: 

The One Day Knitting Club

xoxo Breeze

To Just Be

I am lying down, face up, on a hard wood floor.  Every piece of my physical body sinks to its utter base to meet the earth of these very hard wood floors.  Four walls of the room coddles its own heavy warm air.  My eyes are closed, relaxed, soft.  I take this moment to rest, reflect, and rest again... when else will I have this chance.  I relish this moment.  Relish this moment.  This moment.  Moment.  It's all I want, all I need... a moment to just be.

The most pure silence reveals quiet footsteps coming towards me and delicately, respectfully, stepping around me.  I sense the other body stepping over me.  I feel the subtle vibrations in the floor, I smell his breath.  Breath of a pure stranger.  I must trust him.  I take my own breath of anticipation, quickly followed by a devoted Pranayama (breath control.)  I remind myself that I am safe here.  I am safe here.  Just breathe.

My Yogi positions himself over me.  I lie open and vulnerable, blind and open.  His hands gently and firmly push my stubborn shoulder blades down further into the Earth.  It hurts.  I imagine, someone else must find some relief in this.  I don't.  It makes me wonder, why do I hold so much weight, so much resistance, so much pain in my weak shoulders?

Why do I hold so much in my weak shoulders? 
I painfully realize the reflection in all of this.

I am lying down, face up, on a damp forest floor.  I am too young.  Every piece of my physical body sinks to its utter base to meet the earth of this very unforgiving dirt.  I am too young.  Open walls of a dark sky and a chill in the air.  My eyes are closed, anxious, fearful.  I have no moment to reflect, why would I.  I am too young.  I smell his breath.  Breath of a pure stranger.  I do not trust him.  I take my own breath of anticipation.  I have this chance to relish this moment.  I am too young. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, of this moment to relish.  I am too young.  All that is left is just enough to make a young girl's life awfully confusing and difficult for awhile...

Lying down, face up, on a wood floor, sinking into my Earth.  All I have to do is breathe and let the Earth support me.  The vibrations of his footsteps fade into peaceful silence.

xoxo Breeze

I'm Shakin' in My Boots!

Friends, it is a rare occurance, but sometimes I paint myself into a corner.  If you have not noticed, my blogs end with the title of my next blog... with no fore thought.

So now I must start with a topic about "Shakin' in my Boots."  WTF!  I've been stumped about this topic for a few days, but the beauty of motherhood and Mommy friends is that it—whatever IT is—is given to you/me unexpectedly.  Thank you to my Mommy friend who said so matter of fact, "I told him, I want BOOTS for Christmas."  I hear you, Sister.  That's all I want, too!  Boots!  My feet are freezing! Grey, knitted, three buttons, Ugg label somewhere. That's all. My friend and I have the very same boots in mind! Great minds think alike, am I right, Sisters?

All that fun and frivolity aside, this made me think,  
What do I REALLY want...

Shakin' in my Boots.  I'm frazzled.  Pier 1 wants me to buy every adorable item in their store. Home Goods is calling my name.  TJ Maxx, let's not go there.  Holiday Tea Parties and Gift Giving Soirees are lining up. Santa photos with kids are penciled in.  Volunteer/donations inked for three of my kids' classes. The very stressful Family Gift List is half way solidified thanks in part to my brother (being ocd for once) and UPS.  My Beloved Friend still has my panties, and I venture to her "gift exchange" party within a weeks time.  There's more, no doubt, but my Post-It is conveniently MIA. I'm feeling a little frazzled, I'm feeling my boots shakin'. But it'll be OKAY!

For me, this year is different. I am shakin' in my boots to face this holiday season with family and friends to celebrate ALL OF US without my 5th, maybe 6th, chardonnay in hand.  I do not know how to do this because I have never done it before... like, since I was 14. No joke.

What do I REALLY want...

To enjoy my Beloved Inner Circle of Trust without a 5th glass in hand.
Afterall, they are the ones who love me no matter what... whether I am drunk as a skunk... or, worse, myself...

Will this be a selfless gift for them or selfish gift for me? 

My gift is to be better, be sober, be open, be vulnerable, be strong, be creative, and be waiting.

To Just Be.

xoxo Breeze

I Do Not Hold the Golden Key, But You Hold My Panties

So my husband is probably the only man reading my SAHM blog, but he obviously carries a lot of weight in his praise and critiques.  Well, maybe "critique" is a strong word, after all, he certainly does not want to be exhiled from my blog forum, nor do I want to meet a reason to kick him out of my Girlie Club.  Let's just say he is welcome to offer "suggestions."

He loved my last blog, the one that took me quite unexpectedly into a deeper revelation of life as a middle-age (cough) mom caring for my little ones and slowly, very knowingly caring for my own parents.  He noted, this is the age. We are "in the in between." He loved the blog... and added, "You know that no one can hold the Golden Key."

I retort, "No one?...what?...someone does. Who do you think does?"  He shrugs.

For the past few days, I have been consumed with thoughts of existentialism, spiritualism, maternalism, and mortality.  Who holds the Golden Key?  Oh the weight of it has brought me down.  And when I get down, I seek supreme humor. Here we go:

I'm shaken in my boots, and it's not because of this California Winter.  It's because of the upcoming "Winter Formal" holiday party that my dear pal has planned.  She hosts a fun "White Elephant Gift Exchange" holiday party.  Notably, she has something valuable of mine, and even worse, she has an equally—if not more—wicked sense of humor than mine.  I'm scared!  This is Naughty Vs. Naughty!

Backtrack a few months. A thank you letter to My Beloved Friend from Me:

"Hi [My Beloved Friend]!

Thank you for a wonderful evening! I know we left earlier than usual.  I think I mentioned that my sinusitis has not been very forgiving, and is partly to blame for this funny one:

I woke up tired yesterday but had things to do. By afternoon, I let [hubby] takes the kids to the dentist so I could nap. And I reluctantly took a Dayquil pill. I rarely take those things cuz they make me so dopey!  Well, despite being DAYquil, I fell asleep and woke up at 4pm wondering where the hell I was and why was it daylight at 4am?!  Where were my kids? Why is the tv still on?  Yah, that's where I was yesterday afternoon!

So after coffee, dinner and a red wine, we ventured to your place for some fun!

Before we left, and whilst I was trying to wrangle my kids, I was on the patio when I noticed a little piece of black fabric on the floor.  I assumed it was part of a kids costume, dragged out. But nooo, it was a cute little black thong! I quickly swooped it up and thought, "Sweet! [My Beloved Friend] wears the same VS thong I do! It's soooo comfy!"  Being a fab friend that I am, I discreetly placed it on your little catch-all table, probably too close to someone's hat.  Sorry about that.  But I figured you'd find it eventually and tuck it away.

Back at home and ready for sleep (again) I wiggled out of my jeans, and it hit me:  
HOLY F*CK!  I was wearing the same jeans earlier but put on my pjs for my afternoon nap.  Quick to get changed for your party, I slipped my jeans back on, with a fresh pair o' panties, of course!

See where this is going?

YOU LEFT YOUR PANTIES IN MY JEANS!  LOL!

[My Beloved Friend}... seriously, feel free to grab some tongs and grab those thongs and drop them in the trash! I am soooo sorry! WTF!!!!
signed,
Your unabashed pal"

I never got my panties back, so with good reason, I am shaking in my boots!



xoxo Breeze

I Am So Thankful for The White Rabbit

"before her was another long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost: away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, "Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!"

Last weekend my parents visited us, mainly to watch, for the first time, Aidan's soccer game, which was also the Tornado's final game of the season. Thanks to Murphy's Law, the game was rained out.  Undaunted, we enjoyed a nice relaxing day at the house, watching football and our backyard chickens scratching for worms in the drizzle. It turned out to be be a day I will never forget.

For a little while, my mom, my daughter, and I sat in the sun room.  Before my eyes, my patient Mom taught little Sophia Ruth how to knit, just like how my Grandma Ruth taught me when I was her age. Every knit stitch was creating a treasured memory for all three of us!  Sophia is now the proud owner of a teeny purple pink purse stuffed with lip gloss, barrettes, and miniature tea cups.

Earlier that morning, when checking in the coop, I discovered that two of our newest pullets (young hens) were missing.  Fast forward.  After a break from the knitting lesson, I noticed the lovely "gift" our cat, no doubt, brought to the bottom of the deck stairs.  Half-of-a-hen was carefully placed for all to admire. Thanks, Rocket.

I tell my husband there is a "clean up on aisle 2."  He knows exactly what to do. But before he steps out to tackle the unglamorous task, we all stand at the window together to admire the carnage while discussing the mortality of chickens and how the kids are use to this aspect of chicken-raising. I add that I should have known Rocket was up to something when he was purring in my face and kneading on my belly in the early morning of a full moon.  No rest for the weary.

My husband steps out the door.  The boys retreat back to the tv.  Us girls head to the kitchen.  We had taken only a few paces away from my husband when she asked me, "Does he know about the dead chicken?"

The question hung in the air.  My mind could not grasp it.  I cannot express how much I wish it was my daughter who asked me this question.

There is forgetfulness, as us moms are all too aware of.  But then there is this. This was an unwanted, uninvited, indescribable moment when I saw her for the first time, and thankfully for only a fleeting moment, as a hollow seashell in the sands of time.  A memory misfire stole her away from me for a moment.  Indescribable moment.

The moment passed, she oblivious to its significance (thankfully), but the odd question gnawed at me for the rest of the day.  The teeny purple pink knitted purse takes on a whole new precious meaning now.  I am so thankful for the memory of watching her teach my daughter, her granddaughter, how to knit.  Cast on, knit stitch, drop a stitch, catch a stitch, cast off.  Creating something, anything, together. Before it gets too late.

I am thankful for you every day, White Rabbit.  And you cannot leave me as long as I hold your Golden Key.

xoxo
Alice (aka: Breeze)

"Let's go plant an f'n tree!"

"Alone with myself
The trees bend to caress me
The shade hugs my heart."
~Candy Polgar

The Family Tree, it anchors us, it anchors me.

I know I am not alone when I strategically tip-toe into the holiday season with serious trepidation.  This Is An Anxious Time Of Year!  No matter what religion you hold dear, or questions you may have about the Beyond, or what age-old-traditions you are forced to render perfect... brace yourself, the holiday season is here. (Thank you, Hallmark.)

I'm a sucker for holiday marketing! A few weeks ago, long before Turkey Day, I strolled into the Pier 1 store where a Christmas rap song filled the cinnamon scented air.  Against my own will, I found myself formulating the mental holiday to-do list, gift list, and wish list.  I circled the store a few times and spent way too much time looking through every single adorable tree ornament.  (I have GOT to get that little shiny "balloon animal" rocking horse...it's fabulous!) A half hour later, I left the store empty-handed and overwhelmed with panic. At first I was kind of pissed that the store was playing that music and I had to bypass plastic hot pink Christmas trees decked out with purple peacock ornaments, but the ploy worked!!!  I am now officially a walking Post-It pad, scribbled on and tattered until the dawn of 2011.  Please leave a message... on my forehead.


The Holiday Frazzle will never cease. Once again, I scour the internet for "unique" gifts.  I spend hours thumbing through every photo card company magazine stealing design ideas for our holiday card while indecisive about this year's greeting from the Wattsons. Will it be "Merry Christmas," "Happy Holidays," or "Peace"? Nope, I'm sticking with my own tradition. It will read "Believe!"  Scratch that off the Walking Post-It Mom.

Once again, I spent over two hours prepping my son's school craft - Wreath on a wire hanger.  I earned a blister cutting out a gazillion little 1x9 inch strips of fabric for this keepsake. Being our second year of this 1st grade seasonal craft, I actually debated whether to double up the sum so that I'd be ready for Wreath no. 3 in two years.  This is the sick mind of a Frazzled Post-It Mom.

Once again, the calendar fills up quickly as I ink school functions, family gatherings, parties, theatre productions. I hound my husband for a headcount, budget, and gift idea for his work colleagues.  I panic over gifts and budget for teachers.  I'll need a few hostess gifts ready and waiting, too. I really, really want to scratch these off my to-do list so that I can focus on the true meaning of the holiday season for me: my family.  Sentimental Post-It Mom embraces tradition.

I vow to embrace the holiday traditions given to me by my English, Scottish, Irish decent.  I now embrace the traditions of my husband's family history. Together we share these traditions with our three children. From goopy sweet-adorned gingerbread houses to fresh carrots crowned with feathery green leaves for Santa's reindeer, the holidays are rich with tradition courtesy of generations before us.

This season, like all seasons, I will find a quiet moment to reflect on the true meaning of holidays.  Look up through the tree and down to the shadows. I am so thankful.

"Alone with myself
The trees bend to caress me
The shade hugs my heart."

xoxo Breeze

I'll Have Some Chardonnay!

Back in the day, before marriage with kids, I proudly lived by dad's philosophy: "Work hard, play hard."  Throughout college and a career in graphic design, there was always a drink or two waiting just for me — somewhere — whether I was single, dating, or engaged.  Pondering my social time line, plus wondering how I came to love chardonnay so much, has lead me to reminisce about my party poisons of yore.  And, get this, in my blurry recollections, I have realized those poisons not only closely parallel the relationships related to them, but also can humorously define those stages in my life.  Almost warrants a list.  (Perhaps a subject matter for a later blog.)

Now here I am married with kids.  Blessed am I as my calendar is always full of events:  Ladies Book Club, GNO, bridal showers, baby showers, weddings, spa days, Friday "lunch," Sunday "tea," Call Mom Day, jewelry parties, spontaneous sahm play dates, the one-day Knitting Club, not to mention all the holiday festivities.  For me, there are two main entities that tie all of these events together: Women & Wine.

These celebratory estrogen-filled gatherings are abundant with laughter, good times, love, support, unsolicited advice, and volunteer-meal-sign-up lists for our dear friends too overwhelmed with new life, illness, or (God-forbid) recent death.  Women bring our gaggle of gals together.  Wine breaks the ice. Wine dissolves inhibitions. Wine eases us towards the table of strangers at the party of our close friend.  Wine brings giggles and pseudo-ease into a day usually filled with a lot of... well, a lot.

Countless times, I have been in the midst of making wonderful memories and even tighter bonds with my favorite gal pals over a lovely wine, when my empty glass needed attention. Countless times, I have chirped, "I'll have some Chardonnay, thanks!" 

Back to the history of party poisons
So, when did Chardonnay enter my social time line?  Why do I love this blonde wine so much?  Why do I relish any reason to raise my glass to all above mentioned celebrations honoring women, family milestones, birthdays, my kids accomplishments, my husband's hard work, and all holidays, even Arbor Day.  Why not? Arbor Day is a day of celebration, too! I say, "Cheers! Fill the glass and let's go plant an f'n tree!"

xoxo Breeze

Through the Looking Glass

After successfully leading my two mellow boys through toddler-hood, I was feeling pretty good about this whole parenting thing.  If you had a problem in life-with-new-offspring, I probably had already been there, done that.  I could write a book!  (Only I would then toss it in the trash like all my other "child rearing" books.)  The point is, I was confident I had this toddler-parenting thing down...

...until my daughter was born. 

Sophia has brought another set of cards to the table. She is four years old and can speak her mind—loudly, freely, and 24/7—no surprise to those who know her well.  Sophia has changed my perspective on parenting just when I got the hang of it!  Why? She is my third child, she has a strong personality, and she is a girl.  Girl. Soon-to-be little lady, tween, teen, young woman.  Woman.

I can't put my finger on it, but having a daughter has me going a bit crazy scrutinizing my own youth and life, then and now.  Just like you, just like her, just like my mom, I am a woman full of as many strengths as insecurities.  I feel a bit guilty about this new self... absorption? self centeredness?  self... ahem, awareness?  But it just might be a necessary evil into growing ever stronger as a mother for my daughter.

Call it what you want, but I'm starting to think my little Sophia is my Looking Glass.  She innocently puts a mirror to my face every day.  This either keeps me in check or reveals when I'm off balance, with no in-between.  We have a mother-daughter bond for life. Our two voices sucking the oxygen out of the room.  I feel overwhelmed by the huge job for me to guide little Sophia to her own future Womanhood—especially when she unknowingly becomes the Looking Glass.  Case in point:

My daughter is thoroughly enjoying her days learning and playing at our beloved parent-participation (co-op) preschool by the sea. The teachers and families are a pretty tight-knit group since parents volunteer to be at school often.  So one day, Sophia was playing tea with her friends in the sand, while her teacher and a Mommy looked on.  Sophia held up her glass to her onlookers and said "I'll have some Chardonnay!"

xoxo Breeze 

"Hi! How are you doing... in the weeds?"

Let's begin at the beginning, my dad always says.

First, a shout out to my awesome gal pals who responded to my latest FB status update with enthusiasm and support for me to give this a try.  Next, my blog's title was sent to me from my highly creative best friend and admired sahm, who now lives waaay too far away and likely had something better to do than think of a title for me!  Apropos, our unbreakable friendship began with this question—eons ago, at an overcrowded Rubys Diner, 2 hubbies, 4 toddlers, and 2 babies between us:

"Hi! How are you doing... in the weeds?"

A crystal clear question that stuck in my head amid the chaos, and not just the chaos in that echo loud, fluorescent-lit, salty restaurant.  This timeless phrase, poetry for chaos, is so befitting for us Moms when we cannot chat on the phone, share coffee or wine in person, or drop everything to seek a huge hug for tremendous joy, over-whelming sorrow, or for simply the triumph of finding the bottom of the laundry basket.  The hectic life raising kids keeps us basket-case Moms very humble, often tired, worried, anxious, overprotective, overloaded, over-medicated.  How easy it is to find ourselves inevitably lost between broadening their little horizons of wonder and trying to keep one step ahead of [fill in the blank] before the sun sets.

Many moons ago, I got lost.  I can't tell you how it happened because my life was, and is, filled with a loving family, comfortable home, and a very busy schedule.  My days started with emails and fb before sunrise, then I raced against the clock to sunset. After dinner was textbook "BBB" Time, aka: bath, book, bedtime... for kids, rarely for me.  I rarely had time for me, but couldn't see the forest from the trees, or weeds.  And if I did happen to have a snippet of time for myself, I was too exhausted to do what I used to do BK: paint, decorate, design, listen to loud explicit rock music, read, crafts, paint. Aside from glue sticks and construction paper, the right side of my brain was getting seriously neglected.

I did not see myself as unhappy.  I had a fun and supportive friend along for my crazy ride.  We'd meet everyday at sunset, sometimes earlier.  I, flustered and hot; she, still and slightly chilled. She was Yin to my Yang... until, sometimes, she would be replaced by another friend along for the ride later in the night. We laughed and we cried together unbeknownst to the serious toll it would quietly have on my health, marriage, and family.

"Hi! How are you doing... in the weeds?"
It sounds like a question, but it's not.
It's a statement. A covert statement that says, yes, I am here with you in the weeds everyday, my Mommy friend.

It's been a long 2010, digging even deeper for the strength to recover my health, find balance, carve out "ME time" while caring for my three beautiful kids and thanking my husband every day for his love and never-ending patience.  Lately, I've been reading funny SAHM blogs in between researching the history of Chardonnay and its marketing focus on women, both topics to which I obviously relate.  (Move over Virginia Slims, now there's something that really satisfies her!)  Anyhoo, I had to laugh out loud at the wicked irony of one of my gal pal's suggestions for my first blog story on motherhood...I'll call it "through the looking glass."

xoxo Breeze