Lessons from the Littles

Toddlers are certainly not perfect little people, and today I am not planning to romanticize life with a two-year-old.  There are fits and tantrums, fierce battles for independence, and infuriatingly fickle preferences that cause severe mood swings at random moments throughout the day.  Earlier today my toddler begged for a banana, and then threw it on the floor and screamed, "NO WANT THIS BANANA!" when I handed it to her.  Earlier this week she decided that the only thing she was prepared to wear all day was a purple Dora the Explorer night gown, glow-in-the-dark pajama pants, and her pink cowgirl boots.  I'm sure everyone at the grocery story thought she was adorable in that get up.

All of that being said, there are some pretty wonderful things about these little people.  Two-year-olds simply do not hold back their emotions.  Sometimes the result is an ugly scene, but other times it is beautiful.  I am thinking specifically about the way my youngest daughter reacts any and every time she is reunited with her best buddy Mae.  They typically see each other at least a few times a week, but their reaction is one of exuberant, irrepressible joy each time.  They squeal with delight.  They jump and run and dance.  They chant each other's names.  They love without any fear or embarrassment.

At some point after the age of two, we stop doing that.  I am trying to imagine how my husband might feel if I greeted him toddler-style when he arrived home after a long day at work.  Even though I love him even more than my toddler can comprehend, I hold back because I'm tired and a bit weary.  Maybe I am even a little bit afraid of rejection.  How crazy is that?

So while my toddler leaps for joy and shrieks excitedly, "DADDY'S HOME!!" I barely look up from scrubbing the toilet or doing dishes to say, "Hi. How was your day?"  Having recently lost a dear friend, I believe my toddler friends have something to teach me.  Having best friends, funny friends, serious friends, caring friends, old friends and new friends is absolutely worth getting excited about.  Loving and being loved by my husband and my family should cause me to feel euphoric and gleeful.

I don't allow that glee to overtake me nearly often enough.  Somehow life has squashed the fearlessly-loving toddler that used to live inside my skin.  I love watching my two favorite toddlers greet each other.  I may even be a little envious of the fact that they "get it" and that suppressing their delight never even occurs to them.  Having a friend who loves you, a friend who is excited about the fact that you are present in the world is one of the best things ever (even if that friend shoves you and steals your favorite Elmo book later).

 So, dear friends, in case I haven't said it lately, I love you and the fact that you love me too and want to be my friend is rawther exciting. 

"A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same."

~Elbert Hubbard

A Sad Time for the M&M Club

 

Of course I am not speaking of your favorite colorful chocolate candies.  The M&M club was founded many years ago when two young best friends marveled at the luck they had when their moms (who had been pregnant together) named both of them names beginning with the letter "M".  Miriam, my mother, tells me that her first memory of her best friend Myrt (who was actually named Merilyn) involved games of peek-a-boo played through the bars of their individual cribs in the First Baptist Church nursery about sixty years ago.


The two grew up together, Merilyn was graciously granted the childhood nickname of "Myrt," and my mother made certain that this nickname followed her to college and beyond.  At some point, in between numerous practical jokes and untold volumes of silliness that caused my mother to laugh so hard that the tears ran down her leg, these two friends made a vow that the M&M Club would endure throughout the next generation.  They promised to give their future children "M" names also.

I came along first, and poetically (since that is my nature), I was born on Myrt's birthday.  She is appropriately pictured above (at one of our mutual birthday celebrations) wearing the sparkling crown that she deserved every day.  Let the truth be known; she really was like my unofficial fairy godmother, and I am pretty sure they are supposed to wear crowns.

I will always remember her sweetness, her selflessness and her one-of-a kind funniness.  I think she thought of herself as being a somewhat plain and ordinary individual, but she was anything but ordinary.  Her laughter was musical and contagious.  Her spirit was generous and uncommonly kind, and she loved wastefully.  She gave me my first nickname: Yakky Doodle.  (Apparently I had adorable duck lips as an infant.  They were adorable, I tell you.)  She was the queen of board games and silly songs.  She was one of the truest friends who was ready to laugh and play with you or to cry with you, listen to you and hug you if that was what was needed.  And with her recent peaceful passing, she has left a Myrt-sized hole in my heart.

My heart breaks for her two "M" daughters, Melissa and Maleigh, since I know they loved their mom even more than I did.  I am sad for those of us who are left here on earth without her, but I am also happy for the times I had with her and for the things that she taught me without even knowing it.  I have cherished memories of times spent with our hearts intertwined as she listened to my troubles.  She was as good at listening to kid-sized-troubles as she was at devoting herself to my grown-up-troubles, but mostly when I think of Myrt I will think of snort-out-loud, silly, celebratory times like this one...

Of course we were dancing in our underpants right before my wedding.

That is just what real friends do.

I love you, Myrt, and I'll miss you until we meet again, dear friend.

Finding Joy in Unexpected Places

Because he lives with me all of the time, I sometimes forget what a joy my husband is.  I'm not even being sarcastic.  Sometimes I just get the tired George who has been at work all day, who comes home and feels compelled to carry out various construction projects around the house.  That guy is lovely, but he isn't the life of the party... so sometimes I forget that "the life of the party" is who my guy naturally is.

I am not the life of the party typically.  I am the girl who makes a quiet witty comment in the corner at the party.  In the beginning our differences drew us together, and these differences have continued to serve us well through the years.  He appreciates my unusual sense of humor, and I very much appreciate the fact that he can help me take myself less seriously.  But I still often forget how positively fabulous he is.  It is nice to be reminded.  It is nice to see my husband through someone else's eyes and to remember why he stole my heart in the beginning.

Today's love story, like so many others, was inspired by a colonoscopy.  The word itself conjures up amorous feelings, doesn't it?  George had to have one of those this week.  (To confirm, the procedure was routine and everything apparently looked "perfect up in there".)  George seems to have an easier time than the rest of us when it comes to nearly everything.  Sometimes it's a little annoying, but mostly it is admirable.  He had been warned that the preparation for the procedure would be hellish, but he was not terribly concerned. 

After fasting for 18 hours, he spent a couple more hours working on rebuilding our deck.  I'm pretty sure I even heard him whistling while he was out there.  Then he came inside and drank copious amounts of laxative-enriched Gatorade.  And then he waited.  I went upstairs and busied myself with reading bedtime stories and getting our three darling children into bed.  I may have lingered upstairs for a bit while I facebooked your mom.  Assuming the results of the Gatorade cocktail might be unpleasant and embarrassing, I was trying to give the man some space.

I returned to our bedroom an hour or so later and found George tucked up in bed watching a foreign language zombie movie (his guilty pleasure).  I hesitantly asked if he was okay and he replied casually that he indeed was, and that it was really no big deal.  After three or four trips to the bathroom, he was basically done and had happily moved on with the rest of his zombie-tastic evening.

The next morning, his fast continued, and he carried on with his usual workday responsibilities until noon.  We were all set to climb into the car and go to the medical center when he stopped me and asked urgently, "Wait!!  Can you write something on my butt?"

"Why?"  I wanted to know.

"Because it will be funny."  He answered.

And this is why our marriage works... "Okay," I responded, "What do you want me to write?"  We had to go upstairs since the only color Sharpie we had downstairs was hot pink.  Obviously that wouldn't do, you know.  So we raced upstairs and found a permanent marker in a manly shade of blue.  George dropped his trousers and thought for a moment.  "Could you write... 'Be Gentle.'?"

I quickly got to work; then interrupted my writing to ask,  "Shall I write one word on each cheek?"

"I think so." George answered thoughtfully.

And then we were off.  He checked in with the receptionist and was taken back to be prepped for his procedure shortly after that.  Lili and I took a quick field trip to McDonald's for oatmeal and vanilla milkshakes, as you do when a loved one is being probed.  An hour or so later Lili and I were allowed to go back and see George, who was in high spirits as usual.  And now we have arrived at the part of the story in which I explain why my husband's colonoscopy reminded me of why he is so great...

Anyone who had come in contact with my husband seemed to have developed a sincere affection for him.  He knew all of their names and had even been invited to their staff party next weekend.  Seriously. Apparently right up until the moment he lost consciousness due to the anesthesia, he had the entire room in stitches laughing.  From what I could gather, my handwritten greeting was also well-received.  I sat in a chair by his bedside and just watched as various medical personnel fawned over my husband, and I remembered how I had felt when I first met him.  I admit that I did feel quite amorous in those post-colonoscopy moments.  The head nurse made a point in telling me he was the best patient they'd had all week.

George got himself dressed, and high-fived the orderly on the way out.  "Keep it real, Andre." he said.  (Okay, fine.  That last part didn't happen, but if John Hughes ever decided to make a movie about my husband's colonoscopy, that's totally the way it would go.)   I drove him home and made an excellent post-colonoscopy dinner for him since that is my way of saying, "You rock!"  But since I've been writing this, I realized that I still haven't used my words like a big girl to simply tell him that I think he's a little bit special.  I think I will go and do that now.

Good night, friends.

Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference.  ~Winston Churchill

Fall in My Backyard

I am always a little sad to see summer go, but this past weekend upon returning from a wonderful getaway to Charleston, SC (more on that later), we had the best of fall and summer.  Summer-like temperatures accompanied beautiful fall foliage.  Sophia pulled the rake out of the garage and started making a pile of leaves simply because it sounded like a fun idea.  Lili quickly joined in, of course.

I am envious of the way that my youngest daughter is always ready to fully embrace a new experience.  Last weekend there weren't leaves all over the ground, but now they are every where.  Did she approach the strange new leaf pile that her sister had created tentatively and on cautious tiptoes? 

She certainly did not.

Happy Fall, Friends!

Love,

Meredith

Sunny Days, Everything's A-Okay...

Shortly after she came into the world, I decided that one of the reasons Lili was born, one of her important spiritual jobs in this life, was to teach me that it's okay to not be perfect.  (I wrote about that here.)  Sometimes I still forget, even with all of Lil's assistance, that I cannot make everything perfect.  I expect that there are mamas with multiple kids out there in the world who find that they are able to keep spotlessly clean houses, cook nutritious meals for their families, volunteer at their kids' schools and at church, sing in seventeen different choirs and still throw perfectly flawless birthday parties for their completely oblivious toddlers.  These mamas have excellent time management skills, of course, and they are a delight at dinner parties where they humbly show off their juggling abilities while wearing the same size jeans they wore back in high school.

I am not one of those mamas.   I know you're shocked.  I had big plans for Lili's birthday.  I made detailed lists and envisioned beautiful Sesame Street-inspired delights.  The night before the party, I stayed busy enjoying Lili's actual birthday.  I cooked dinner and we all ate together.  Then we enjoyed cake after singing "Happy Birthday" with numerous "Cha-cha-cha's" thrown in for extra excitement.  Afterwards Lili open her presents, and we watched her tickle Elmo (oh yes) until we'd all had enough.  That night I went to bed with dirty dishes in my sink, and I did almost nothing to prepare for the next day's party.  Gasp!

So you can imagine my horror the next day when, an hour before the guests were expected to arrive, I hadn't even put the chocolate Sesame sheet cake in the oven, my pepperErnie Rolls had not been prepared, all of the ingredients for my lime sherBert punch were still in the basement, and my husband was outside covered in mud and sweat and still in the midst of tearing down our old deck and putting up a new one.  (This is how George rolls.  He faithfully arrives fashionably late to all of the kids' birthday parties after working on a manly project in the hours leading up to the festivities.  We really don't even question it any more.)  The decorations were all in place, the tray of Super Grover's super foods had been prepared as had Oscar's trash with slimy worms and cookie monster's cookies, but I had decided at the last minute to add Rosita's vegetarian chili to the menu, and then everything had gotten off track.  Oh, the humanity!

Obviously the birthday girl couldn't have cared less about any of these theme-related menu snafus.  I heartily recognized this when it was fifteen minutes till party time, and I was sweating bullets and trying to shake her off my leg so that I could finish all of the stuff that I was doing to make her party so perfect....

  Oh hello there, my little karmic reminder!

So... I took a deep breath and remembered what Lili continues to teach me.  The small group of friends who were invited were coming to celebrate Lili and not to critique my party planning skills.  (One of those wonderful friends had already come over an hour early to rescue me from having a pepperErnie and mozzarella meltdown.  Thanks, Kasey!)  Then I changed into my party attire, took another deep breath and hugged my toddler.  The party guests arrived, and I wasn't ready, but it was all okay because this little monster didn't mind a bit (and it all got done in the end)...

Thanks to sweet Lili for helping me remember to keep things simple.  Gushing gratitude to lovely Lili for reminding me that it really is okay to forget to put Big Bird's birdseed bread sticks out on the buffet table.  It never was possible to be perfect, and being present is much more important that being perfect.  What would we do without you and all of the wisdom and whimsy you bring, little girl?

Happy Birthday (again!) to our littlest girl!

"Don't worry that it's not good enough for anyone else to hear!

Just sing!  Sing a song!" ~Joe Raposo