sounds like life and living and love

"Listen-To-Me!" I must say it hundreds of times a day, begging for their attention so I can parent them.

"Hey you, listen up!" I say playfully, ready to give instructions for some new and no-doubt life changing project that will probably require a mop to clean up.

"Listen to me..." I think in my heart...wishing to be heard but truthfully, often too full of self-doubt to even speak.

He listened to me, and maybe that's why I married him.  He still listens.

Listen, I remind myself.  Listen, while they still want to talk.

Do more than listen, hear them.

Listen to what isn't said.

Listen with eyes and hands and heart.

Remember what it's like to want to be heard.

Sounds like breathing babies near me in the dark.
Sounds like a good man getting up early to make eggs and go to work in the dark while I sleep.
Sounds like angry sounds and crazy laughter because there are three of them.
Sounds like dishes and vacuums and the mundane things of life, call them boring or call them blessing.

Sounds like life and living and love.



Blogging today at the prompt of Lisa Jo Baker for Five Minute Friday.  Every Friday she invites the rest of us to share.  The only catch is that we do our writing in five minutes, share and encourage each other.


Other Traveler posts you might like...all about surviving life with kids...or maybe them surviving life with me...
My Name is Butmommy
Confessions of a Reformed Helicopter Parent
King Robert of the Wild Hair

Good Days and Bad Days

Can't believe I wrote this six years ago.  I still remember those times, and honestly miss them, however I can't imagine how we made it through.  Certainly wasn't on my own strength...

Today was a bad day.  I didn’t get anything done. We had to get flu shots at the clinic at church so they had to take a nap before we go.  

They wouldn’t go to sleep.  I got one child down in my room, bounced the crying baby on my knee and repeatedly eased the other one back down on his pillow.  Just when he got drowsy, the other mobile child appeared at the door.  He wanted to sleep in his own bed where I was trying to put his brother.  He never wants to sleep in his own bed.  I got both boys into one bed while still bouncing the crying baby. 

Then, I accidentally made Superman fall behind the bed post.  I apologized while promising to get him out from under the bed when they get up from their nap. 

It wasn’t good enough. 

Robert cried because he wanted Superman, Nathan cried because Robert was crying and the baby just cried.  I put the baby down causing her to cry louder.  Then I used a plastic kitchen spoon that I found under the bed (what?) to try to reach Superman.  Either my arm or the spoon was too short. 

So, I cried.  

Then I got up, moved the mattress, returned Superman to his owner, tucked Nathan in and gave him a reassuring kiss, picked up the baby and swayed with her in my arms until they all fell asleep.  

Today was a bad day.

Today was a good day.  We went to the playground at our church getting some wonderful, fall sunshine.  We ate Chinese at a buffet and got lo mein all over the carpet requiring a generous tip to ease our guilt.  

We made cupcakes and decorated them with sprinkles.  Then we ate them.  After that it was easier to give baths than to actually clean up.  

I left all of the dishes in the sink and rocked my baby while wonder-daddy got the boys ready for bed.  

Robert, who is three, asks me, “Are you happy Momma?” 

Two glasses of spilled milk, one new clean pajama shirt and one more diaper later, they are in bed with their music playing.  Now the girl is in her daddy’s arms and we anticipate getting to watch one of our favorite shows.  They just look precious.

Today was a good day.

It was the same day…

And yes, Robert, I am happy.

Michele Simmons

October 25, 2006

Care to share how you made it through the hard days?

Blessedly Ordinary

I want to write, to have interesting things to say, maybe make a difference to someone.

But I am really, really ordinary and most of my days are not interesting at all.  My day, on paper, would not inspire.

I lie in bed thinking about how little I have to say and how ordinary I am.  I long for beautiful words to spill from my fingertips out to you.  Surely there is something of worth in my mind, right?

I have no idea about the worth of my own mind but I know where my worth is found and it has nothing to do with what I may write...or not write.  I begin to see that blessed are these ordinary days.

Blessed is the heaviness of a blanket and two quilts on a cold morning.  What I mean is…it simply feels good to wake to warmth and physical comfort.  You know, warm, heavy blankets feel good on my legs.  That’s it.  Simple.  Good.

Blessed is the sound of my sons playing quietly in the next room.

Blessed is my daughter still wrapped up, completely sideways, sleeping in the bed that belonged to my grandmother.

Blessed is the donut shop and every bite of that Boston Crème and I don’t care how many calories it is because today it made me happy to be there and it made my kids happy to start our morning like this, in a donut shop and you know what?  Judge me irresponsible but those hot chocolates with all their wonderful sugar, that was blessed too and we WILL do that again.

Blessed is a lunch of simple leftovers where everyone chooses what they want and we eat yet another simply boring meal…together.  Blessed is the laughter that goes with it.

Blessed is the sibling rivalry.  I am not sure how but they worked it out and perhaps taught each other lessons about doing unto others that my preaching could never accomplish.

Blessed are library books and the worlds they bring to our ordinary, slightly dingy red couch which, by the way, the dog licks when we are gone.   Seriously, he licks the edges of the couch.  I don’t know why.  Just thought I would throw in that boring little bit of reality.

Blessed are knee socks and veggie trays with ranch dip.

Blessed are the many conversations we have had today about the plot of The Magician’s Nephew and The Horse and His Boy and Legos and how Aquaman had the money to buy the elaborate mansion that Six and Seven built for him and did you know that when Anakin isn’t fighting battles he has pet snakes and a dry cleaning establishment?  I am grateful to know these things inside the minds of those I love.

Blessed are vacuum cleaners and all the dog hair that they remove from my life.  Blessed is our good dog who really does not care what his kids, my kids, do to him.

I anticipate that our ordinary dinner of hamburger stroganoff with I don’t yet know what else will be blessed because sweet daddy (my husband) will be home tonight. 

I guess ordinary can be pretty great.

Blessedly ordinary,

Michele

Such as These...Nathan and the Bell Ringers

Okay, so I am going about the mundane things of life during the holiday season.  The swanky grocery store in this small town has those red buckets with bell ringers at both entrances.  We don’t go to the swanky store all the time, just for small things that the more affordable store doesn’t carry.

I admit, I am getting lost in the hustle, trying to hold onto the reason for the season but things are getting a little overwhelming.  To many places to be, a few too many gift exchanges, a blessedly busy hobby and one kid that has been sick long enough that it nags at the heart of this mom and dad.

Here there and everywhere and in a glow of Christmas Spirit, I decide not to pass the bell ringer with just a smile but here, let me dig out my change.  There is a bunch of it weighing down my purse anyway, right?  The kids love putting the change in the bucket and maybe if they observe me giving, they will grow up giving too.  Right?

A few days later and that swanky store is right next to the post office which makes it handy.  Another friendly bell ringer and I think, glowing warmly inside, “I will just try to give something every time we come by, isn’t that a noble goal?”  Yes, noble, and I dig in my purse while surely a mother in some part of the world is watching her cold, hungry kiddo, wishing she had my change.

And another trip or two and the change keeps on coming, handing it out to three happy kids who stuff  it into the red bucket while the bell ringer smiles and says, “Merry Christmas, every bit helps.”  Are they trained to stay cheerful in the face of so many that walk on by?

So, a week ago, on Friday, a friend of my children happens to give a Christmas card to my boys.  In the card is two dollars for Nathan.  We get in the car and ride the two minutes to the swanky store.  I just have to run in and get milk and bread. As we pull in, we pass the bell ringers, two men chatting by the red bucket.  I park, grab my purse and start digging out change…let’s give something each time we go in, you know?

From the back seat, the uncontainable sound of a joyful voice, “I KNOW.  I can give them my two dollars.”

Distracted by trying to dig out quarters, nickels and pennies, “Are you SURE you want to do that?  I have change that you can give…”

“I can give my two dollars!  They need real money too!  I want to.”

I begin, “Are you…” then something, surely not my own heart, but something, stops me and I fight misty eyes and I tell him that would be wonderful.  For once I understand not to steal his joy and what a beautiful, simple joy it is and I remember words, words about a kingdom for such as these, words about not hindering the children to come to Him.

This boy, who always has a list of Legos that he’s saving up for, this boy who has had this found money for less than five minutes, is giving it away because they need money, too.  And he runs up to the red bucket and stuffs his two dollars in before I can even get there with the other kids and the bell ringers, they thank him.  But I have a problem, watching this giving joy pour out of him and knowing that boy the way I do, and I am nearly crying in front of the HT.  So, I try to explain and I want them to understand because this kid didn’t give money from his momma’s purse, he gave his own two mites that he had only two minutes.

These two bell ringers, men older than me by a bit, with their friendly faces, they see my feelings on my face and they see his pure smile and he’s hopping next to the bucket.  They pause and they try to convey that they know how really cool this moment is…and we say goodbye and we go inside.

Milk and bread and life goes on and I am treasuring these things in my heart.

We head out the door and those bell ringers, they stop us and ask his name.  Nathan can’t answer. His mouth is full of free sugar cookies from the balloon station.  They can’t leave their bucket but they have paused in their ringing and they want to talk to him, to make an impression on him like he has made an impression on them and they say so.

They tell Nathan that he has touched their hearts, giving all of his brand new two dollars, these two men giving their time because they must be the kind of people whose hearts are already touched enough to be spending an afternoon in the air ringing a bell and watching people like me scoot by or explain that they don’t carry cash anymore.

They have it ready, a $5 bill for each of my children and I don’t know how to handle this and I point at the bucket because I am tearing up again and they make it clear that they want these kids to have something for themselves.  Those men give Nathan the money and ask him to hand it out to his brother and sister and he does so, dutifully, unaffected by his sudden increase in wealth and his mouth still full of sugar cookie. They explain that they want Nathan to know that he touched them that day and they are pleased to meet all three of them and I am still not sure about the money but again, something stops me and I think I should not mess with this moment but let it be.

At home I call Nathan to me and I ask him if he understands the consequences of his gift.  I tell him that his sweet heart and his two dollars blessed me.  Then it blessed those men enough that they wanted to give back and I am sure that whatever they wanted to put in the bucket is right there in the bucket.  Their giving blessed Nathan and Robert and Nora and it isn’t even about money but about the heart.

I don’t know what Nathan will do with their gift but I know that my heart grew two sizes that day.

Merry Christmas

Michele

Superman's Secret Identity Revealed

Let me let you in on a little secret, Superman is real and I know who he is.  I married him 12 years ago.  I know he has super powers because a friend who lent us a mower once said my husband could break an anvil.  Maybe that isn't what he meant...

He can hit baseballs out of the park, coach for days in freezing February weather or 102 degree sun, if you put oranges in your water cooler it makes a difference, you know.  But let him go too long without sugar and, lets just say hunger is his kryptonite.

As crazy as I was about him, I didn't even know his secret identity.

But then something happened, a miracle actually (but that is for another post) and we found out we were expecting.  A baby shoe with an apple seed to show the size of our child the day we learned he existed and a poppy seed to show the size of his already beating heart.   Twenty-one days wonderfully made and our child's heart was beating.

Superman became Mr. Safety, spending two hours in the car seat aisle before actually making a purchase.  I am not kidding.  He did the finger sticks to test the sugar in my blood and worked in his gymnasium office while I walked that sugar off at 10:00 PM.  While I lay in a hospital bed recovering from a c-section, he changed tar-filled diapers, eventually becoming such an expert by our third child that he made a list of the supplies he wanted, forget cotton balls, you need industrial wipes for that stuff.  I began to suspect that he was not to be taken for granted.

He is the "master swaddler" who kept vigil over me and the new ones every minute we were in the hospital.  He came in the door from work, kissed me (is that how all this got started?) and says, "Give me that baby, he needs Daddy-time."  He is the daddy who took the boy to daycare the whole first week because I couldn't stand to do it and then hurried there to get him first.  He always has room on his chest for a sleepy little one.  I reach out to the little one who can't lay down while he sleeps, strapped in a seat to keep his milk down, and I touch him to feel him breathe but his daddy's hand is already there.  These are the things you do when you are a daddy.  These are the ordinary things that turn men into heroes.

He is learning to live on kid-time and how to eat with a person on his lap.  The man of steel drives slower now.  He has used words like "onesie" and "exersaucer" and he says, "Sorry, not today, I am with my kids."  He learned to appreciate the sounds of babies breathing, squirming and talking to their toes while we tried to sleep because that means they are there and they are healthy.  These are the changes you make when you are a daddy.  These are the ordinary changes that change you.

He likes to be with the kids and misses us when he can't be home with us.  He tells me, his wife, that I take good care of our children when it is 5:00 AM and one of them is up again.  He says I did the right thing when an emergency room visit spawns a $1,500 bill because our son shook strangely without cause when he was nursing.  He bundles our children for the trip to church.  He worked long and hard to get his National Boards and principals' degree because he looks to the future and wants to take care of us.  The man of steel has made a commitment of steel.  Commitments of steel make it possible for ordinary men to leap tall buildings.

He loves me, the mother of his children, chooses to love me every day.  He works hard so that I can raise our children and it matters.  They wait for the lights of his van (major sacrifice there!) and run when they see him. They still cry sometimes when he has to work too many nights in a row.  They don't miss TV heroes but they need him and he is there.  Above all, these kids know, day after day, minute after minute that he loves them.

He endures an ever-lengthening bedtime routine and says daddy prayers over them.  These are the things that teach your children what a daddy does, what a hero is.  These are battles fought  with hard choices and adventures lived in wee hours and a legacy well worth leaving and I know that his power doesn't come from the planet Krypton but from a holy place that is not fiction.  He knows it too and that is why he is more than a man, but a hero to four of us whose day really gets started when daddy comes home.

Love always,
M