The Art of Falling

A week ago I fell.

A complete and total face plant walking Watson. My fantastic Audrey sunglasses scratched. Both knees scraped and bruised. My right shoulder still complains when I lay on it.

And… What happened in that fraction in of a second revealed a complete freedom.

On 8mm film, when I was 3 years old, flickers an odd little thing which is the perfect picture of my basic personality.

I run as fast as I can.

I stop.

Step warily over a garden hose.

Then continue running.

I remember at 5, learning to ride without training wheels. I was a two wheeling success for three days. Then my Grandparents came over. They wanted to see me ride my bike.

Proud, and feeling quite invincible, I pushed away.

Began pedaling down the sidewalk.

I was great riding in a straight line, but the bike decided to turn. I hung onto the bike as we both found the rosebush at the end of the apartment row.

I refused to ride my bike for the rest of the summer.

I. Hate. Falling.

Then I had boys. They jumped. They climbed. They fell. Ase was cautious and I realized very quickly he looked to me for bravery. I had to lead by example.

These were our mantras:

Being brave is being afraid and doing it anyway.

If you fall-point your toes. (Patrick Swayze’s Mom told him that.)

Then we moved to Mammoth. Counting Mutant worked for the resort which of course meant Ase and Zany learned how to ski.  Here they were, wanting to hurl themselves down an ice covered mountain on waxed wood pieces.

 

I was the parent.

I needed to set the example.

I needed to get my ass on a chair lift and learn how to ski. In throwing myself upon the mercy of gravity a truth emerged from the ski/snowboarding culture: falling is an art form. All falls are braggable accomplishments, because it means you tried.

Life happened and we moved into the Central Valley. The boys, now with sister in tow, decided dance would be their new passion. I would watch through the window of their classes, or in the audience during rehearsals. Beautiful, graceful dancers flowing across the stage would fall on their face. They would bounce up like a rubber ball, smile firmly in place and continue. It reminded me of what my Mom used to tell me when performing a musical piece: “If you make a mistake, keep playing. Don’t pause. Don’t start over. Just keep going because the audience won’t know you made a mistake. You are the only one who knows the music.”

I have listened to people the last week, express concern, sorrow, regret and warnings to be careful in the future. Each interaction leaves me a bit befuddled. I fell and it was spectacular. It was the rare person who could revel in the beauty of my wounds. Who could celebrate with me that I was alright in the grand scheme of things.

 

And I realized today:

Falling is not the worst thing that could happen. 

I bounced back up.

Smile on my face.

Bravely facing the next moment.

Never afraid to fall again.

Friendship Inspires Creative Horizons

Originally posted on June 20, 2013

Starting a new venture is daunting. Especially when it is discovering an art and allowing it expression. Divine Appointments brought people into my life who believed in me when I was not able to believe in myself. Jeannie Hart entered my life first. Weekly coffee which birthed through adversity became an oasis of empowerment and love. Through her encouragement, working through my art possibilities developed from a hobby into a pilgrimage. Learning how to make mistakes with flare are the spice within creativity.

Jeannie introduced me to Aaron. A small business owner and artist in town. He wanted to sell my quirky products. He didn't care what they were. He was happy to give light to anything I attempted. First came towel embroidery.

It surprised me how well they sold. I kept making them and people kept liking them. I played with floursack and bar towels. It morphed into custom orders. Play began to pay off.


 GirlyK needed an new messenger bag. Money was tight and I had clothes heading for Charity. Inspiration hit and using old jeans, a vinyl jacket and sheets, this bag was birthed. I played with pattern making for the first time.

Jeannie fell in love with it and ordered an Ipad bag, I blended denim and upholstery fabric samples.

Next came a purse for myself. I found this Buttercup Bag pattern online and fell in love with it. Her design has a magnetic enclosure, but I added a zipper to mine. Confidence grew
within my abilities. Bag making became a fun experiment. Each one tweakishly different from the one before. 

One day, Aaron suggested I try aprons. He like the ones which looked like vintage cocktail dresses. Like Dr. Frankenstein, I retreated into my laboratory. A little frightened of what might come to life. Joy of surprise flooded as I watched them take shape.

 Skeleton Toile                          Nutcracker                                  Sugar Skulls

Not to be excluded a pile of The Counting Mutant's shirts headed for Charity called out to me. They wanted to be mutated into something different. Of course I couldn't disappoint them. Thanks to pinterest and Grow And Make this happened:








Then, as with all moments of art and crafting, the greatest surprise of all, a person I never met loved the sugar skull apron concept but wanted something different. Gary Smith wanted a muy macho version. Retreating into my laboratory of creative madness I experimented. Many times, I started, then walked away because it just wasn't working. It sat on the wire form in the work room taunting me with desire for a testosterone infusion. Images of barbecue tools and a cold beer in hand kept me motivated. After months of wrestling with inspiration, it conked me on the head. Last week I finished it.

An etsy store is waiting in the wings for inventory. Soon it will be up and running. I do take custom orders as well. With each project, I feel stronger and braver as the next creative puzzle is faced. Without people such as these, my artistic spirit would not fly as confident as it does today. Their company breeds freedom as this artist looks for a true north. I am deeply grateful.

A Frog's Official Shotgun Rules

Driving with three kids was always an adventure. The front passenger seat was a coveted spot. Often some kind of war was declared between siblings in order to be my Navigator on trips. True to my ESFJ personality type, I "Mary Poppins" this job into a game. At first we tried Rochambeau aka: Rock, Paper, Scissors. However, three siblings and their Pentagon level strategies quickly proved the tactic ineffective. 

In a desperate attempt to keep Ase, Zany and Girly from de-evolving into some form of a Lord Of The Flies civilization, I scoured the interwebs for help. I came across a College Game of Shotgun. I modified it from a Drinking Game, to a Family Friendly version.

Printed it out.

Put it in a protective sleeve and placed it in the front seat.

There it lived until the last kid was an adult. 

I am happy to report, the wars stopped. Whenever a kerfuffle began, I handed them the Rules and Regulations and walked away.  Any and all disagreements were resolved by themselves. Yes, sometimes it was a bit noisy in the parking lot, but they were working on the life skill of negotiation. Rarely did their tempers flare. They found their own resolutions. My attitude improved. Road trips became fun once more.

So, Darling weary parent. Take these Rules and Regulations. Edit them and make them your own. Let me now how it works for you. Have hope. You all will survive another day.

Official Shotgun Rules and Regulations

1. The term "Shotgun" refers to the front passenger seat of an automobile.

2. "Calling Shotgun" is the act of claiming the position of Shotgun for one's self.

3. Driver is The Supreme Being and shall be treated as such at all times in the car.

4. Being as how everyone is created equal, men have the same right as women to the front seat of the car.

5. The first to be picked up is given automatic shotgun, until any shotgun laws are violated or until next destination.

6. Anyone calling shotgun must have their shoes on. Barefooted shotgun calling is strictly forbidden and an automatic Sandwich sitter (the uncomfortable middle of the back seat.) 

7. The Shot gunner must be in clear sight of the car, and shotgun can be called regardless of whether the driver is in sight of the car.

8. Shotgun cannot be called whilst inside a building. The only exception is a car park, the car must be within sight.-refer to rule 7.

 9. When simultaneous shotguns are called, one throw of rock, paper, scissors decides the Shotgun rider.

10. If driver wants to mix things up Driver can call “RELOAD.”  This means that all previous calls of shotgun are void. The first person to call SHOTGUN gets the seat. A Shotgun only has 2 barrels so RELOAD can only be called once.

11. Shotgunner can be tested. The challenger must call: “CHALLENGE.” The Shotgunner must respond with "ACCEPT." 

The Challenger and the Shotgunner must stand on one foot. 

The driver shouts “GO.”

The two contestants are to hop on one foot around the car. If a person touches both feet to the ground or switches feet during the race, they are immediately disqualified. The first one to touch the shotgun door first receives the Shotgunner title until the next destination.

12. Once shotgun has been called, the contest for the back left and back right can be called. The last seat left is the middle seat or “sandwich.” This seat can also be used for demotion to a Shotgun rider with a poor attitude.

  

Shotguner Responsibilities:

1. Once the journey is underway, the driver is the obvious controller of the tunes. However if the driver feels the road full concentration, duty is passed to the Shotgunner. However, putting on crap tunes or other malicious music will result in demotion to sandwich seat.

2. Shotgunner is responsible for navigation and map reading. 

3. Shotgunner is responsible for reading and typing any cell phone texts for the driver.

4. When a car is going through a fast food drive-thru Shotgunner must hold all of the food items/drinks, no matter how hot or cold, until the vehicle is safely out of the drive-thru path. Then they must distribute the items to their owners.

5. The Shotgunner assumes responsibility for all gates opening, toll ticket, change for toll finding and question asking. He/she is the co-pilot and therefore the enforcer of behavior in the vehicle and exacter of slaps/punches/water spraying/bag throwing at the passengers in the back.

6. The privilege of Shotgun does not include the right to correct the driver on their navigation skills or driving ability. If Shotgunner does this, they forfeit their position and are demoted to the sandwich seat.

7. Shotgunner must provide sufficient legroom to the person behind, but only to the point where the shotgunner is still comfortable.

 8. If someone asks "What is shotgun?" The Shotgunner must hand these written rules to them. They must read them and be prepared for a test once the destination is reached.

9. Couple's Rights Act: If the driver is the boyfriend/girlfriend of a passenger in the car, the partner has first choice to any seat in the car. Uncontested. 

10. The Pirate Rule - If One of the potential occupants of the vehicle is dressed (convincingly) as a pirate then they are given automatic shotgun. In the occurrence of more than one pirate then a sword fight shall determine the successful shot gunner.

____________________________________________________

*Driver/Owner of the car signature(s) to prove that they enforce these rules and must be followed or walk!


This was posted on July 17, 2013 with A Mother Life's Humpday Hookup.

Ethics of Motherhood

The Counting Mutant sent this to me today. With these words, "I thing you have accomplished most of this."

My heart skipped a beat.

Someone had read my mind. I was not the only one with this ethos fighting the battle of perception.

I honestly thought I was alone in this. 

Struggling to conform to a Cultural Christianity version of mother and wife kept me feeling like a constant failure. Dichotomy waged its war in my head, yet these criteria led a charge. Because of this code, I felt a measure of success. 

My kids are now 18, 17 and 12. It is true what they say, Childhood flies and before you know it, they are gone. As I look at the backend of this season where time is not my own, I am a little sad. I will miss the chaos. 

Let these rules free you up for lots of laughter, a heart full of possibilities and above all joy.

Thank you Lisa-Jo Baker:

Repeat after me:

1. I shall not judge my house, my kid’s summer activities or my crafting skills by Pinterest’s standards.

2. I shall not measure what I’ve accomplished today by the loads of unfolded laundry but by the assurance of deep love I’ve tickled into my kids.

3. I shall say yes to blanket forts and see past the chaos to the memories we’re building.

Amazing Blanket Fort Ideas

4. I shall surprise my kids with trips to get ice cream when they’re already in their pajamas.

5. I shall not compare myself to other mothers but find my identity in the God who trusted me with these kids in the first place.

6. I shall remember that a messy house at peace is better than an immaculate house tied up in knots.

7. I shall play music loudly and teach my kids the joy of wildly uncoordinated dance.

8. I shall remind myself that perfect is simply a street sign at the intersection of impossible and frustration in Never Never Land.

Photo taken by alisha

9. I shall embrace the fact that in becoming a mom, I traded perfect for a house full of real.

10. I shall promise to love this body that bore these three children out loud, especially in front of my daughter.

11. I shall give my other mother friends the gift of guilt-free friendship.

12. I shall do my best to admit to my people my unfine moments.

13. I shall say sorry when sorry is necessary.

14. I pray God I shall never be too proud, angry or stubborn to ask for my children’s forgiveness.

15. I shall make space in my grown-up world for goofball moments with my kids.

16. I shall love their father and make sure they know I love him.

17. I shall model kind words to kids and grown-ups alike.

18. I shall not be intimidated by the inside of my minivan (or Durango) this season of chip bags, goldfish crackers and discarded socks too shall pass.

19. I shall always make time to encourage new moms.

20. I shall not resent that last call for kisses and cups of water but remember instead that when I blink they’ll all be in college. 

An Idyllic Day

Originally posted on November 12, 2011.

After living in a ski resort town for a year, I was accused of having an idyllic life. Shortly after the accusation in 2001, this day happened. Grab a cuppa, buckle up and enjoy the ride.   

Sunrise. I raised blinds to reveal Mammoth Mountain, bathed in a rosy violet with a pale gold snowcap. Opening the south blinds, the Minnerets glowed with sapphire and lavender. My favorite time of the day, the house was quiet and all mine. 

Sleepy BoyA, six years old, came dragging out for breakfast.  BoyZ, five, came bouncing after him.  I went to retrieve GirlyK, ten months, from her crib. We were sitting at the breakfast table as we said goodbye to The Counting Mutant.  The morning ran like butter; gardening, Martha Stewart and kids’ imaginary adventures. 

I packed for a picnic lunch with The Counting Mutant; I went into the bathroom to gather the last few things together.  Stepping onto the sandy brown carpet I felt odd pinpoints of wetness.  Bewildered, I stepped carefully as droplets sent odd shivers into the bottoms of my feet.  I surveyed in wonder.   The toilet, shower door, cabinets and wall glistened with shiny yellow dewdrops.  Restrained, I found the boys. 

"What happened in the bathroom?"

BouA gaped, "I don't know."

BoyZ shining with pride, "I put out a fire."

Dumbfounded, I took a deep breath and sternly informed him, he was to clean it up as soon as we got back from lunch.  Dad was expecting us now.  

Three kids channeled and lunch transported into the car, we headed up the Mountain.  Once parked, I kept track of the boys as they raced around the car. Their concentric circles creeping further into the path of traffic; with one eye on their orbit, I seized the stroller, lunch box and GirlyK out of her car seat. The Counting Mutant arrived just as the boys turned into meteors and guided them to Mammoth Mountain’s Adventure Center.

We found our place on emerald grass.  In the winter it is covered in snow and training runs for small children.  In the summer it is a hub of fun. Mountain bike rental booth and a thirty-foot climbing wall fill the space.  The dulcet tone of different languages around us was a delight as the tourists took pleasure in the richness of the outdoors.

GirlyK’s feet were danced to a tune in her own mind as I opened her lunch.  Carrots, rice and a bottle chaser, was her lunch menu for the day. The Counting Mutant and boys started their lunch.  I debriefed The Mutant on the escapades of the morning when, out of the sweet little bow shaped mouth, the scream of a demon. GirlyK’s appendages hit the bowl of carrots in my hand with an explosion.   My shirt, face and hair were the casualties of the anti-carrot warfare. People around us turned away with sheepish grins. I took a deep breath and coaxed her through the rest of lunch. 

After their food was consumed, boys played on the climbing wall.  GirlyK crawled on the grass and visited with tourists.  Lunch completed, The Counting Mutant said goodbye and returned to his office.  For BoyA’s last turn on the climbing wall, he asked in a rush,

"Mom!  I am going to push myself today and be brave.  I am going to climb ALL the way up to the top." 

I rallied a cheerleading spirit and told him to go for it.  He found his favorite instructor, who geared BoyA up and he began his assent.

 Carefully he picked his grips and pushed himself up the 30-foot face.  Once at the top, he turned around and beamed with joy and pride. The instructor and I!  BoyA faced his fear and conquered it.  

The instructor said, "Ok, A, now let go of the wall, hang onto the rope and I will bring you down." BoyA took one glance at him, one stare at the top of the wall and finally frowned at me.  

"No,” was his calm but defiant answer.

 Encouraging began.  It quickly turned from cheerleading to drill sergeant. After twenty minutes, a sizeable audience gathered, a different instructor free climbed up. As he reached the top, all eyes glued to rescuer as he began to coax BoyA from the climbing holds.  All held their breath as the two of them eased their way down the wall.  Once at the bottom I awkwardly helped BoyA out of the harness.  

Quietly, I heard the rescuer say to the instructor, "That was the scariest thing I have done in my life!  No support and the kid pushed against me the whole way down.  I didn't know if I would make it."

Humiliations galore set in as I rushed all to the car.  The whole ride home the car was quiet.  Once home, I put the sweet girl down for a nap, set BoyZ at the table to await bathroom cleaning instructions. BoyA and I discussed in another room about bravery and trust. 

BoyA excused to his quiet corner. I attended to BoyZ and his firefighting in the carpeted bathroom.  

While waiting for me at the table, BoyZ found Bullfrog Sunscreen. After squirting half the bottle on the table, he created beautiful renditions of wax-based lotion art.

I began to feel my sense of sanity melting, a sponge was handed to the boy. 

We cleaned the table and moved onto the bathroom.  “Here is a bucket and sponge.  You need to wipe walls, sink and toilet.  When Dad gets home he will help you clean the carpet with the carpet cleaner.” I instructed.

“COOL!”  BoyZ’s eyes glittered with pride.   

Bathroom cleaned and BoyZ in a neutral corner, I called The Counting Mutant and suggested picnic dinner.  

Horseshoe Lake was known as the “locals’ dog lake”   Some years earlier, the area experienced a volcanic burp.  Gasses escaped through fissures and killed acres of trees around the lake.  We had never been. I thought it would be a way to finish off our day well. An attempt to turn the tide.

The Counting Mutant came home. We all piled into the car, complete with dog.  Pulling up to the lake, giant gray leafless toothpicks filled our visual plane as we walked across the pumiced earth to a picnic table. A breeze chilled our skin and kids shivered a bit.  I realized we had no jackets.  As I opened the basket, I realized to my horror, I had forgotten plates and utensils.  The Mutant laughed and we ate with our fingers. This day was going to end well even if it killed me.

 We started to prepare for a hike when, We noticed BoyZ only picked at his chicken.  He complained about the fat.  I volunteered to stay behind and help him.  The Mutant, BoyA, GirlyK and dog started their hike.  I began to peel off the meat and feed it to him.  He bit my finger.  We struggled through every bite.  The chicken leg finally consumed; I packed up. 

We met at the car. I gave BoyZ his nectarine for dessert.  On the drive home, I vented. “I tried to be flexible all day and I am done!  I need a moment away.”

  The Mutant agreed.  As we unloaded the car, Zachary walked to me with the uneaten nectarine.  He looked up at me with liquid blue eyes and stated, "I wanted the one with the sticker." 

I snached the sticker free nectarine, walked into the house and handed it to The Mutant, “He wanted the one with the sticker!”

The Mutant took the beautiful boy by the hand, “You should stay very far from Mommy right now.”

The two of them retrieved the carpet cleaner for the bathroom.  I tidied the kitchen. BoyA asked if he could help me. I set him to putting away the spilled books on floor in the family room.  He placed them onto the bookshelf in a boyish manner.  I snapped at his messy method of cleaning.

The Mutant came out to defend this gentle son.  "You need a walk or a bath.  Choose one and go now.  I will take care of the kids."  I chose a walk.

The Mineretts were a deep royal purple and stars were just beginning to peak out as the sun set on my day.

With a deep breath, I walked toward the bike path that ran through our neighborhood.  I walked downhill for half a mile and then turned around.  I was just beginning to feel relaxed. The steep uphill climb would be a perfect finish.  I was close to home when I heard a rustling of leaves to my left.  I slowed and looked.  Bambi stood 10 feet in front of me.  Velvety brown eyes looked deep within my soul and I swooned.  I lived in a miraculous place.  A few bad moments couldn't ruin this magic. After living here over a year, I see my first deer. Nothing could be more perfect. 

We gazed at one another for a moment, then  Bambi turned and bound up the embankment.  I watched his glorious dance as he leapt over bushes.

Then… from the corner of my eye I saw a shimmer of headlights.

My breath caught.  I watched Bambi bound onto the road.  The car was in full view. 

Bambi reached midline. The car was ten feet away.  I began to relax, he made it. 

In the last few moments of breath, the passenger's side headlight caught Bambi’s hind quarter.  Back legs flipped over stately antlers and he landed on the opposite embankment.   My soul wailed as I raced through the Manzanita bushes, leaving pieces of my own flesh behind, to check the people in the car.  As I reached the road and they were looking at the deer.  He tried to scramble away from the car and up the embankment.  His delicate front legs feverishly worked to drag the hind quarters.  I destroyed this beautiful animal.  It was my fault.  I apologized and offered my phone to call for help. 

I walked into the house with two strangers; The Mutant’s eyes blew out of their sockets. 

He asked, "What happened?" 

I said, “I killed Bambi." 

The cute couple called 911 and reported the deer.  The operator informed them that a CHP would be there to take care of it.  We sat and marveled at the oddities of mountain living and speculated what the CHP would do with the venison.  I wondered if we could have some too.  All laughed.  

They left to meet the CHP and I looked at The Mutant.  I was completely shattered.  He looked at me softly, “Go take a bath.  You can’t hurt anything in there.” 

After my bath, I asked Scott, “What would you do after a day like mine?”

  He said, "Get drunk. But, you should call your sister." 

I called my sister and in tears, told her about my day. She laughed.  In sage wisdom she observed, "You experienced all of mountain living in one day: firefighting, rock climbing, picnicking, hiking and hunting."