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