Author: mykitchentable2017

Source: So, You Want a Blogging Tip…

My three children have, or do, go to a summer camp in Tuftonboro, New Hampshire.  The camp is Merrowvista.  We found this camp when my oldest child, Jake, was in 7th grade.  At the time, he wanted nothing to do with going away to a sleepover camp.  But we thought it would be good for him to gain some independence away from home so we made him go.  The first summer was tough.  I can remember clearly the moment that we walked away from him that first year.  I will never forget it.  After a long hug and many forehead kisses we walked away.  I turned around a few steps later and saw him hanging back from the group, watching us leave.  It nearly killed me.  It was probably one of the most difficult things I have ever done.  Leaving him in a strange place with unknown people felt like I was abandoning him.  I cried all the way home.   Jake cried a lot that summer also.  We received many tear-stained letters explaining at great length how miserable he was and how he would try but might not make it to the end.  He did, in fact, make it to the end and went back for four more summers.  Today, at 20, he will tell you that it was the best thing we have ever done for him and helped make him into the person he is today – which is pretty damn awesome by the way.

This past year my other two younger children also went to Merrowvista.  Our departure from these two was not quite as dramatic but tearful just the same.  They too loved their camp experience and are going back again next summer.  I don’t know if they will go as many years as Jake but I can see how their Merrowvista summers have already impacted them.  They are more self-sufficient, more confident and I see each one finding it just a little bit easier to reach out for their own path.  More than that, they are finding their own social conscience and, while I certainly hope that at least a little of this comes from us, I have to also thank Merrowvista.

I am thinking about all this today because Merrowvista has also influenced me in a way that is so very timely.  All these years of attending Merrowvista closing council ceremonies have given me some of the same feelings that I know my children experience daily while there.  Some may say that closing council is a little “cult like”.  I can totally understand this.  There are definitely rituals that must be followed, like responding to discussion with a certain word or phrase, lighting the fire in a certain order that expresses the fourfold axioms, or always walking around the fire counter-clockwise to mirror the rotation of the Earth around the Sun.  I can see how this would seem hokey to some.  But for myself and my family it is an intensely emotional ceremony.  Partially because I see my children participate in something deeply connected to a community and partially because simply being there is like having someone sweep you into their community with open arms.   You cannot leave there without feeling like you belong to something bigger than yourself.

This summer the closing council was even more meaningful.  Without saying so in so many words, the camp director emphasized how truly important it is NOW to be a part of a community.  To support all those in your community.  To initiate positive change in your community.  These are all things that Merrowvista teaches.  It is not only a summer camp where kids can learn to be on their own and play endless soccer, it is a place that shows them that they are strong and capable just as they are.   Campers are inclusive and are taught to embrace their differences.  They are taught that everyone, EVERYONE, is important and has a strength that can better the community and make it stronger.  This year the further message was clear:  “Take this knowledge home with you to your own neighborhoods and communities.  Bring this strength and confidence beyond the walls of the camp and help our society through this difficult and divisive time.  Because it is only with these actions of our children – and of us – taken in our own small worlds that we can step forward in a positive way.”  I think the message simply put was:  just because you are one doesn’t mean that you cannot positively impact many.   And all this starts in our own small communities, one at a time.

I really started thinking about all this when my youngest son, Dylan, was reminiscing about leading the “rising bell”.  At Merrowvista campers rotate speaking at and ringing the rising bell each morning.  It occurred to me that in many places bells are rung to indicate that it is time to wake up, eat breakfast and start your day.  But I found it really meaningful that at Merrowvista this is called the “rising bell”.  Of course in simple terms it means “get up”!  But when taken in the context of the whole philosophy of Merrowvista, I think it also means to “rise up”, be strong, be your best self.  I should note that the idea of being your “best self” is the clearest of Merrovista’s doctrines.  It is the notion that your potential is all yours – no one else can claim it or pretend to dictate it to or for you.   And it is your obligation to yourself and your community, particularly. now, to rise up and live as your best self as much as you can.

The rising bell is ringing loud and clear these days for all of us.  And the message is that now is the time to “rise up and bring your best self to the table” because that is how we will accelerate the positive direction of our communities.  One at a time.

For most of my adult life I thought I would never have children.  I really couldn’t see myself as a mother.  My “best cousin” and I would sit for hours and talk about how we would never have kids but would have as many puppies and kittens as we could.  This continued on until I was about 30.  Then I met someone who changed my mind.  They didn’t stay around for long but long enough for me think “okay, I actually might want a child after all”.  So, my plan evolved to adopting at 40 if no one else showed up.  Luckily someone surfaced and we now have 3 children.  They range in age between 20 and 12.

I had my first child at 36.  After that it became more difficult to conceive, which explains the many years between them.  When I think about how many years I have spent thinking about having and then actually having my kids it astounds me.  I can easily take myself back to the time I was so emphatic about not having them.  That person would never have spent almost 8 years trying to become pregnant.  Never say never.

Like all mothers,  I cannot imagine my life without my children.  They are by far my proudest accomplishment and are the one true thing that gives me my purest joy.  But also, like most mothers, I have plenty of days when I think about how crazy I must be to have THREE of them.   As the math will tell you, to date I have spent 20 years raising them and it is not over yet.  Nor will it ever be.  It certainly changes as they get older and begin to create their own lives but my mothering of them will never leave me.  (Sorry kids but I’m all in to infinity and beyond).  Most days I wouldn’t have it any other way.

However, I would be totally lying if I didn’t admit that as they reach their teen years thoughts of wishing I’d stuck with puppies and kittens do wander through my crazed mind.  Changing diapers, burping, bathing, and feeding moves to becoming a chauffeur, tutor, cheerleader, ATM and chef.  Keeping schedules for 2 teens and 1 young adult can be  maddening.  Some days you wonder how you actually made it out of your PJ’s and back into them through such a shit storm.  I’m sure any parent reading this will understand.  So when this summer rolled around and we realized that they would ALL be gone at the same time for a solid 2 weeks I thought “Holy Hell!!!!  2 weeks of NO KIDS.  No driving anywhere 4 or 5 times to drop off and pick up.  No daily grocery shopping because no one actually wants to eat the same thing.  No worrying about leaving a teen girl home alone with her younger brother for fear of him ripping his ears off his head because she is singing.  No reminding your college student that yes, it’s still our house and you must let me know where you are and when you are coming home”.   I couldn’t imagine the freedom I would feel – the blissful silence in our house.  And then I could.

Camp drop off for the last one was yesterday.  So, yes, today is Day One of my 2 week hiatus.  You might ask me what I’m doing and how fabulous I must be feeling now that I’m a childless adult.  Well, guess what?  It’s too quiet, I’m too lonely, I miss the grocery store and feel like the dog and I are taking turns barking every time someone walks by the house.  I can’t figure out what to do.  Last night I couldn’t sleep.  I must have woken up 15 times wondering if my youngest is crying himself to sleep at camp.  Are they all eating enough?  Showering enough?  Do they miss me as much as I miss them?   Oh my God, will we have enough time to school shop by the time they get back?  I’m actually thinking maybe I shouldn’t bother getting out of my PJ’s at all.  After hearing me sigh for the 100th time this morning, my husband told me to “Take it down a notch.  They’ll be back soon enough and aren’t really leaving for several years yet and one maybe never”.  I guess that really is music to my ears.  It is so funny how you think you know yourself and your reaction to different phases of life but when those phases actually play out, you can totally be thrown for a loop.

Never underestimate the power of your children and of your immense need for and love of them.  It is beautiful, joyful, sad, crushing, mind boggling and the most lovely experience I have ever had.  I am pretty sure that the puppies and kittens would not have impacted me in quite the same way.  At least now I know I am most definitely NOT READY FOR AN EMPTY NEST.

“The only thing constant is change”.  This is something my mother used to say to me all the time.  But it’s only been since I reached my 40’s that I really understood what that meant.  Nothing, and I mean nothing stays the same.  Not your health, not your family, not your job, not your bank account, not even your own personality.

Some of these things are not surprising.  Like your job.  These days I think we all understand that jobs are not forever.  It is not like the old days, when our parents worked at the same company for 40 years, earning a beautiful gold watch for an extensive term of service.  Now we go to college, some of us for many years, and often don’t even work in the area we studied.  Changing jobs is pretty common – even changing career paths.  It seems much harder for our generation to find a place and stick with it.  Of course this is, in part, because we are all trying so hard to “find ourselves and ultimate happiness”.  Our parents surely never worried about that.  They worried about making ends meet.  Not about how happy they were doing it.

Other things are not surprising either.  Relationships are ever-changing.  We all continue to grow and change over time and experience.  Hopefully, whoever you are with will change along with you or at least hang in there with you.

Then there is death.  This is a change that is devastating.  Although we know in our heads that death will come to all of us, we just are not prepared for it when it happens.  Even when it is our parents.  I have found that this is one of the hardest things I have had to accept.  I’ve written about this before but I still cannot express enough how difficult this particular loss is.  I wonder how we ever recover.  Maybe we don’t.  Maybe we really do just carry on in a new world without that person.  Make no mistake, the death of a parent most definitely changes you and how you live your life.  I know this for sure.

I guess the change that is probably most surprising is changes with “families”.  I’m not talking about divorce here.  That is, unfortunately, not that unusual anymore.   But changes in relationships that you thought were more than they ended up being.  Of course this can include marriage but specifically I am thinking about friends and siblings.  Sometimes people can change in such a way that you absolutely do not see it coming.  You are completely taken off guard.  In these cases, I think this is particularly hard to just accept it and move on in your “new world”.

I once had a friend, a best friend actually, who I thought would be in my life forever.  We shared so much of ourselves and our separate families.  It was almost like we were related.  Maybe the family I chose.  Then something happened.  To this day, I still do not understand what it was.  We stopped communicating.  Our families stopped communicating.  The youngest of them really didn’t get it.  There have been times over the years when we have come together momentarily.  Times that I thought would bring us together again.  But it was really just momentary.   No matter how many years go by I will never understand it and have tried to teach myself to just let it go.  Most of the time I am ok.  But there are times when I just shake my head and am completely baffled.  I don’t think there is any blame to pin on anyone.  I think that things just changed.  Maybe that person changed right in front of me and I just didn’t see it happening.  Or maybe I changed and didn’t realize it.  Whatever the case I know that it changed.  Now that relationship is a memory for me.  A bittersweet memory.

I am not sure if I will ever know what lesson I am supposed to learn from that one.  But as time goes by, I am starting to reflect on  my Mom’s words and have come to this truth – there is no real lesson here – just change.  And it is probably wise to keep remembering that “the only thing constant is change”.

So.  I want to write.  I don’t really mean “be a writer” but I want to write.  It would be nice to write stuff that other people want to read or that makes other people think.   It would also be nice to have something I write published somewhere.  Not anywhere big or important but somewhere.  But the truth is those things are less important that just writing for me.  To express myself, my thoughts, my fears.   That’s why I started this blog.  Because I can write about anything I want and post it, without fear of being judged.

But here’s the rub.  If all this is true, then why can’t I just start writing.  Other than here, that is.  I have ideas for stories – one in particular – but just can’t get out of my own way to start.  I keep putting it off.  Waiting for the perfect time.  We all know this will never happen.  There is no time like the present.

After spending days (an understatement) thinking about this and struggling to push past it, I realize that I am afraid that I won’t be any good.  That everything I will say will be stupid and useless.  People will laugh and say “what ever made her think she’d be any good at writing – she’s such a loser”.  Well, I don’t really need anyone to say this about me.  I’m pretty good at saying it to myself.  Every damn day.

I can talk a big game to others about not caring what other people think of you and about how the most important thing is to be present and genuine with yourself.  Somehow when it comes to myself I get lost in the weeds of self doubt.  I guess we all do to some extent.  But for me this is the big bridge I have to cross.  And I want to cross it now – then blow it up.

I remember my Uncle Bob saying to me “do what you love and you will be satisfied”.  He also said that “the money will follow”.  I’m not so sure about that part.  But the part about being satisfied is absolutely true.  When I start writing, like in this very moment, I get excited.  You know that flurry in your belly that means you are having fun and feeling giddy about what you are doing?  This is the most powerful indicator of meeting your purpose and living it.  I know this like I know my own hand.

I’m lucky enough to have the opportunity and time to write and not worry about supporting myself.  Lucky is actually an understatement.   So, from this moment on I will focus on being grateful for that and on becoming satisfied and happy by writing.  Just for writing’s sake.  And also of course for me.  Bottom line is this – my mantra from here on is “feed your belly…feed it with words and stories”.  Write on.

How are you?  How could three simple, kind words make you so uncomfortable.  A couple of days ago a good friend of mine said “hello”, hugged me and then said “how are you”.  I responded with “good, how are you doing?”.  She said “good” too.  As we turned to go on our way, I thought about how much I hate that question.  I feel phony when I simply say “good”, like I should have said more.  In some circumstances, asking someone how you are can be a kind way to start a conversation.  But when you think about it, what do they really want to know.  Does anyone actually want to hear how you really are??

This all occurred to me because at that particular moment I really wasn’t “good”.  I was feeling sad.  I had just heard about a death in our family and was not quite on top of my game.  But I certainly didn’t want to tell my friend that.  What would I say?  “Thanks for asking but I’m feeling pretty shitty right now.  My step father-in-law just died and I feel really awful for my mother-in-law.  We’ve had so many deaths in our family lately and I’m just so tired and sad.”  I don’t think that response would have been what she expected or wanted to hear and ultimately would have created an uncomfortable silence.

I think the tendency to say “hi” and then, automatically “how are you” is a really interesting norm in our society.  It’s a nice way to start a conversation for sure.  But is it an honest query?  Isn’t it true that when it rolls off your tongue in casual conversation, it’s more of an expression than a question?  If approached that way, then the natural response would be “good and you?”.  But if you are supposed to be honest then “good” might not be it.  Instead you might want to say “shitty today, maybe better tomorrow”.   That of course opens up a whole can of worms to discuss and does anyone really have time for that?  How would that make the questioning person feel?  Probably sorry they asked.

I am guilty of asking the same question of course.  In fact, I just answered the phone and said “Hi Linda, how are you?”.   As I said it, I realized that I meant it as a nicety not really a question.  But I did hear a smile in Linda’s voice.  I think generally speaking people are happy when you take an interest in them and asking how someone is expresses that interest.  At least some of the time.   And maybe that’s why we say it so automatically.   To show interest in others.  I think the key is not to feel bad when you answer with the generic “I’m good, how about you?” even if you are feeling awful.  Realizing that the question is not intended to elicit an honest response, but instead is merely a generic greeting is an interesting thing to learn about human interaction.  I think, in part, it reveals our discomfort with silence.  I know this is absolutely true for me.  I will often rattle on and on about nothing in particular when conversation starts to lag.

Nonetheless, it might be funny to answer honestly sometime and see what happens.  Will the person back away, look confused or uncomfortable.  Or will they strike up a conversation about your answer.  My guess is discomfort.  Maybe I’ll try it.  Stay tuned.

Everyone talks about how important it is to teach your children right and wrong, to be polite, to encourage others and be supportive.  But not many people talk about how we can learn from our own kids.  Sometimes the most innocent of comments will strike a chord and really make you think twice about your actions.

I am not the most confident of people and have often been called a pessimist.  I have to admit that I often assume the worst in most situations.  I figure that if the worst happens, well then I’ll be prepared and not taken off guard.  This way of thinking has served me pretty well over the years.  I have had a very lucky and sweet life that, so far, has been without tragedy (knocking on wood right now…).

I am also not a person who likes to talk about myself.  But I will usually ask a multitude of questions of others.  I find conversations much easier this way, particularly with new people.  I am pretty self deprecating and don’t take kindly to compliments.  Preferring to shift the attention to someone else.

Recently, while out with some friends and my teenage daughter, the conversation turned to my house and its style.  Rather than accepting the generous compliment of how we’ve decorated, I explained how I thought it was so outdated and badly needed to be refreshed.  My daughter immediately got visibly upset about how I “am always so negative about everything and how mad it made her”.  This went on for a few minutes, with some tears and some flailing arms.  At this point we made a hasty exit.  The “visibly upset” take of my daughter turned into an outright tantrum that ended with her usual “you just don’t understand how I feel about it” comment.  You might think that this whole thing made me mad and that we had stormed home.  Not quite.

We did drove home in silence but I spent the time thinking about how right she was.  It occurred to me that simple comments I make to others, that to me are either a joke or an attempt to shift attention away from me, can be really upsetting to my own flesh and blood.  After all, talking about what a loser I am, how much weight I have to lose and how our house is really not very cool, certainly wouldn’t make anyone feel very good about hanging out with me.  Certainly not being related to me.  I thought about how I am so often on my soapbox about how we should empower our kids, especially girls.  How we need to make them confident about themselves.  I am a huge proponent of raising strong girls who believe that they are beautiful, smart and have enormous potential in the world.  So, seriously, what kind of example am I setting by downing myself and my home.  Why have I not thought of this before.

So, I went to my daughter and told her she was absolutely right about everything she said.  I apologized for the whole discussion and promised to think about what I said before I spoke.

This whole situation really impacted me and reminded me about how much power our words have over our children.  They see and hear EVERYTHING we do.  Make no mistake – they are listening.  And if we are not careful we can really mold them to become just like us.  Some of that is probably great, but some?  Not so much.

Parenting is such a goddamn hard job.  It requires so much thinking and rethinking.  Advising.  Modeling.  Watching.  Besides all the love we give them, it is important to remember that they will likely be a reflection of what we present to them.  If I want a confident daughter I’d better start acting like one myself.

My Mom, God love her, made a lot of my clothes when I was young.  She stopped sewing once we were in high school but always had her sewing machine nearby in the corner of the dining room.  It was a green Singer machine.  I can still smell the grease she kept nearby in case the bobbin got stuck.   Which, by the way, it always did and was followed immediately by a stream of swearing and a huge knot to untangle.

As I think about my Mom and what I remember most, one of the first things that comes to mind is this crafty side of her.  It might have been a sign of the times.  You know, a classic tv stay-at-home mom in the 60’s.   Spending a good part of the day unfolding and smoothing down the almost transparent paper Simplicity and McCalls patterns before pinning and cutting the fabric.  Cooking up a yummy dinner and then knitting to wrap the night up before bed.  But I also think it was a clear indication of her personality and its influence on us.

When I was about 7 or so my Mom started making 3 arm hole dresses.  Yes.  You read that right.  A dress with 3 arm holes.  It was basically a long piece of fabric that you put on arms first from the front, then wrapped around your back for one final arm hole.  I can remember the coarse flowery fabric she used and how she tricked them out with lace.  I must have had 10 of these dresses.  They were easy and cool in the summer.  A “summer shift” if you will.  She was so damn proud of those 3 arm holes.  Neat as a pin.  One for every day of the week.

Once the knitting phase began, she naturally started knitting me dresses.  I remember clearly the lime green knitted (or maybe this one was crocheted) dress she made for me and my friend, Pam.  We wore them to sing in an elementary school talent show.  I am sure I have a picture of that somewhere but I’m betting you can picture it.  We wore white turtlenecks and tights underneath.  Then the lime green over dress.  We were very proud……  We didn’t win the talent show but must have gotten something for being most creatively dressed.

She didn’t stop with me and my friends either.  Oh no.  My brother was not to be left out.  She made him pants without buttons or zippers.  Easy on easy off.  He looked like an Oompa Loompa toddling around in those pants.

One of her best creations though were her unisex slippers, a/k/a “mops”.  Mops were made from towels and when we were really little, washcloths.  They were sewn into a diamond shape and had elastic at the top.  Basically a washcloth over your foot and held on with a rubber band.  The real purpose though was for us to wear them around the house, covertly cleaning the floors as we ran around.  Pretty clever actually.

Once I had children, the sewing/knitting obsession switched to them.  My daughter was born with very graceful hands.  She frequently held them up as if showing them off to people – making graceful movements.  So what did my Mom do?  She knitted a onesie that had hands on it.  This didn’t turn out quite the way she had planned.  The hands were a bit hard to make out.  They actually looked more like claws with fingers bent at strange angles.  But it was the thought that counted and that onesie remains one of my favorite articles of baby clothes.   Mostly because the hands were a bit crazy – just like my Mom.  The good kind of crazy, that is.

All of these crafts sum up one of the best parts of my Mom.  Her fun, crazy, silly side.  The side that could care less what anyone thought of what she made for us to wear.  They were original to her and, most importantly, they were for us.  Of course, at the time we hated it.  I moaned a lot, as did my brother but now I see that it was her way of making sure that we were originals.  No standard JC Penny outfits for us.  She was imprinting herself on us to the world.  And now I am so glad that she did.   I have no doubt that having her outfit us and our children has not only kept us laughing with these memories but has made us appreciate the small things that make us real.  That make us original.  Mom definitely set us out on our own individual paths dressed to kill — one 3 arm hole dress at a time.