Show Me the Money

Marek and I are hanging out waiting to pick up Oscar from preschool at the rec center. Tildy is napping nearby in the bike trailer, so I am stealing a moment and laying on the floor just letting my spine decompress.

Marek has just come back from the restrooms which happen to be off a vending machine filled hallway. He doesn't bother to ask about the vending machines anymore. Instead his question is a surprise. "Mom, do you have something long I can reach with?"

I avoid the question since the answer seems a little obvious. "Did you find money under the vending machines?"

"Yeah, but I can't reach it. Can I take the front connection stick off the bike trailer?"

"NOOO! Why don't you just go outside and find a stick to use?"

He happily runs off and a few minutes later I literally stumble upon him on my way to get a drink of water. He is laying on his belly half under the vending machine, fishing for his coin. "Got it!" He successfully reveals his hard-earned quarter.

"Marek, how in the world did you ever notice a quarter way in the back under a vending machine?"

"I just knew it was there."

I ponder this one. "I just knew it was there." Does Marek have unknown and untapped mystical powers? Or is he referring to the common sense idea that money is often dropped and lost under vending machines?

Either way I am impressed. My son has learned the secret to making money!

Weird Things

If weird things happen in threes, then I guess I can relax for a few days, because three weird things have happened this past week to give me pause and question human nature.

1) It is last Wednesday. I put an outgoing check to post in my mailbox. Now I know I shouldn't mail checks out this way and trust me, I never will again so please don't waste your time committing a felony to steal my mail. Wednesday. This is the day after the huge snowfall. The world is just beginning to unbury itself, so I put the check in the box rather than wading through the snow with three children to the post office. And in the meantime two different parties come a-knocking on the door wanting to clear our sidewalk. The first is a group of teenage boys. The second is a middle age man in a Carhart jacket. I brush them both off (I'm always slightly offended by offers like this, though I know I shouldn't take it personally - like don't I look like I can clear my own snow!?) Two hours later I finally get my boots on, and you guessed it, the check is gone, and there is no mail in the mailbox. I frantically run around the neighborhood to confirm my fears - no, the mail carrier has not yet visited. And then I quickly put a stop payment on that check. It is a business check anyway. Turns out no one can cash a check to a business.

2) It is Thursday night. I place our garbage (how I love garbage day!) out in the alley for Friday morning pick up. It is overflowing - remember how I forgot to put it out last week? Well. Friday morning we are heading out before the garbage pick up, and the trash lid is closed. I stare for minutes wondering if this is a magic trick or if I am just going crazy. But no, someone has removed a bag of trash. Is this a helpful neighbor trying to ease our trash load? Perhaps. Or did the check thief come for more info? More likely. I wish so much it was the bottom bag of trash that has been removed which contained the dog remnants from the spring cleaning of our backyard. I sure hope I shredded everything of value and interest...

3) A totally different weirdness. It is late Saturday night and I am taking a long, hot shower. When I step out of the bathroom, Daisy (the dog) is staring intently at the front door, which is slightly ajar, and Geoff is no where to be found. I am slightly freaked out, but hoping he just stepped out to get a breath of fresh air. He returns shortly. Apparently while he was getting a drink of water he looked out the kitchen window and noticed A PERSON laying and then crawling in the middle of the street. He said cars were driving around this person. No one stopped to help. Did anyone even call the police? So heroic warrior Geoff went out to see what was going on and found a very intoxicated woman. He helped her up and tried to walk her home, but apparently she couldn't even find her home. So he brings her back to our front sidewalk of safety and calls the police.

Weird things. I am slightly unnerved by all three incidences. I feel invaded and uncertainty remains as to any aftershocks. I think of what my college roommate always said that annoyed me so much at the time. "People will fail you," she said with her Texas drawl and her smug certainty that God would save her in the end.

But I am beginning to see the light. Not the God part. The failings of human nature. Weird things, we humans.

Ninety Years

Suzanne Newton is 90 years old! I wanted to experience 90. I wanted to feel what 90 feels like. I wanted to make 90 somethings. I thought about some sort of origami project but realized I would have had to begin this idea months ago. And I only had two days to create. And so the beads. I hand rolled 90 paper beads and attached them to a birthday crown to give to Suzanne.

Halfway through this project I suddenly realized how very young I am. It seems like 39 bead years should be a lot. And really it is. But I made 39 beads, and I still had 51 more to make to get to 90! And every bead is a year lived. WOW!

90 years. How much life: love, loss, stories, adventures, relationships, travel, style, inventions, how many years! And from what I have heard, Suzanne has always lived life. Just think of the changes that she has experienced in her lifetime...

Ninety years ago:

• The FIRST World War has just ended.
• Women are just given the right to vote with the passage of the 19th amendment to the constitution.
• The 18th amendment to the constitution prohibits the production, sales or transportation of alcoholic beverages: Prohibition.
• The "Jazz Age" begins.
• The average earnings for a family in the US is $1236.
• It takes 13 days to reach California from New York. There are 387,000 miles of paved road.
• The life expectancy for a male is 53.6 and for a female, 54.6.
• Henry Ford's combustion engine and assembly line production of the automobile begins to allow affordability to the middle class.
• United Artists Corporation is formed by Charles Chaplin, Mary Pickford, Douglas Fairbanks and D.W. Griffith.
• The flu and pneumonia spread worldwide killing thousands.
• The New York Yankees buy Babe Ruth.
• The first commercial radio station in the U.S. begins in Detroit, Michigan and the first radios appear for sale.
• Traffic lights, the Band-Aid and the hair dryer are invented.

For Richer or Poorer

Out of the blue the other night at dinner, Marek popped out with, "Are we poor, Mommy?"

I was taken aback by the question, but in retrospect I appreciate his forthrightness. Most kids would just assume, "We are poor" or "We are rich" and base their belief on scientific data like how nice one's clothes are or how big one's house is or how often a trip to Australia is offered for spring break.

I tried to coolly but honestly answer him, "We are rich compared to some people, and we are poor compared to some people." Luckily for me, he accepted this and we moved on to more important questions like whether we might genetically alter a cow to produce chocolate milk.

We have been rich and we have been poor. That is one of the benefits of self employment - the ability to experience all of the colors of the rainbow financial spectrum. Lately for us, like so many right now, it's been tough. And on some level I just feel lucky to still be in business regardless of the profit margin.

I've thought a lot about wealth recently. Now I know I should be grateful for my health and my kids and finding the great love of my life, and trust me, I am. But money definitely makes things easier. It is sometimes really tense around here when we are waiting for a receivable to pay our utility bill. And the creative energy involved with making something out of nothing - or the nothing found in one's basement, can be tiring. Though I don't like to admit it, a lack of funds makes me yell more, makes me less present, makes me testier, and creates work for me (creative bill paying). It makes me think of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. And it makes me wonder about other people, because I know we are not alone.

A long time ago, a friend of mine commented on all the peanut butter sandwiches she lived on while we were dancing together. I'm sure I was oblivious to her repetitive diet and enjoyed my lavish deli sandwiches in front of her all the time. How often is this going on in our society and we are unaware?

In some ways I think challenging economic times are a good thing. Suddenly people are questioning their way of life. Are vacations in far away places a necessity? Is cable TV? Is a cell phone? Is a hair cut? But after one has cut all the fluff from the budget, then what? What if there is nothing left to cut except the deli sandwiches? How do you explain this one to your kids?

My sister told me recently that she felt poor while we were growing up. I was flabbergasted because I had the opposite experience. I felt like I was given so much. We always had trips (though in a car), new clothes, dance and gymnastic lessons. But she said it was the homemade bread and the solar panels and the recycling cans for cash all the time. She didn't understand these as lifestyle choices, and assumed it was because we were too poor to afford store bought bread.

As I make these same choices, in part because of the financial impact, but mainly because I think they are right, I must keep this in perspective. I must share my reasoning with my kids before they ask if we are poor or even worse, just assume we are poor for their whole life.

And what if we are poor? I can no longer equate being poor with a lack of intelligence or even a lack of education. Suddenly people I assumed to be in a great financial position are laid-off and having their house foreclosed on them. It seems to me that we are all just a hair breath away from being poor or being rich, and it is often just the way the cards fall. The cards can change. And life goes on...

THINGS TO DO: Make a Dance

So I swear I did NOT instigate this one. For years I have tried to get my kids to make up dances with me. I've had wild fantasies about the shapes and the lifts and the movement we would create together. But it has never transpired. And really it still hasn't.

But suddenly tonight I was herded by Marek and Oscar into the boys new and improved room for a surprise. And the surprise was a DANCE! Of course I was delighted, so they were delighted. So they made up another. And then I simply suggested they connect the two together. (A choreographing technique my parents spent thousands of dollars for me to learn in college.) Here is the result:



Here is another choreography idea that I've tried for years to do with the kids - maybe your kids would cooperate. One person does a move of their choice. Everyone learns this move. The next person does the first move and then adds a move of their own. Everyone adds on the next move. The next person does the first two moves and then adds another move to the phrase. Everyone learns the third move. When everyone has had a turn creating a move, you repeat through everybody again and again until you are bored or confused or satisfied. Honestly - I've made stage worthy dances with friends utilizing this technique.

The Elements

I rarely pay attention to the weather report. I gain all my weather forecasting knowledge on hearsay, which, for the most part, is surprisingly accurate. But I didn't quite understand what was in store for us yesterday. We headed out the door for a fabulous spring break play date. The last thing I did before departing was hang my laundry out to dry. And then the kids and I jumped on our bikes and excitedly rode away.

Fast forward four hours when this same bunch arrives home a soaking mess after an invigorating ride through a rainstorm rapidly turning into a wet March snowstorm. The funny thing is, I really didn't mind. Sure, it was wet. Sure, it was cold. But at least we beat the snow. And the wind was at our backs. And the kids rode FAST. Oscar didn't even whine once that he had to stop and take off his bike helmet to itch the top of his head. It was just a little rain. Water. "Yum!," said Matilda as she caught raindrops on her tongue.

We are frequently out in the elements. I don't see much point in trying to hide from them. There they are: sun, wind, rain, snow. If I want to get from Point A to Point B, I must be out in them. My vehicle is, after all, a stroller (or bike).

At this point, I'm sure everyone knows me. I'm the one with the awesome red Chariot with many children bubbling around her. There's probably one in your town too. The one who rarely is seen in a car. Because I sold my car when I was pregnant with Matilda. She wouldn't have fit. So it is no surprise when I am out there walking to pick up Oscar from preschool in a blizzard or a rainstorm or extreme cold. Why would I let a little weather stop me from getting my son six blocks to preschool? And you know what? I like it!

Sure, there are always those days when I am running late or just tired and it literally hurts to take one more walk. But then I imagine loading up one or two or three kids into their car seats, finding a parking place, unloading them at our destination, herding them in and out, and then reloading them to return home. It is much easier to simply say, "Grab your bike helmet! Let's go!"

I love being uninsulated from the real world, from nature in a city. The real world where it can be hot or cold or wet or windy. No artificial ingredients added. We, as a culture, work so hard to maintain a constant pleasurable temperature no matter the season. In the winter, blast the heat, and in the summer crank up the air conditioning. What if we just tried to live with it? What if we learned to like it?

Butt.....

We are in a very crowded elevator. The crowd includes the Newton clan plus several young friends, so our group alone can halfway fill an elevator. And it is the typical scene - the quiet of awaiting elevator touch down so we may disembark. The kids are all sucking on lollipops - this is really why it is quiet around us for a change. I am focused on noting floor numbers so so there is no confusion about when to exit. And then I hear it:

"My lollipop stick is a cigarette. I am smoking a cigarette."

My innocent, lovely child is making a joke about a cigarette! Have I taught him nothing! I thought I had pounded into all my children's heads that cigarettes are BAD, BAD, BAD and worse than the devil and that only stupid people smoke cigarettes (sorry if I am inadvertently calling you stupid, but if you're smoking cigarettes...).

And then we are at the correct floor, and we are rushing out of the elevator, or some of us are rushing, and the rest are meandering and I am trying to keep us all together, and the moment is over. And I am beginning to worry about the rest of my son's life because he is interested in cigarettes.

How did he even hear about cigarettes? Why are these on his mind?

I understand kids learn by play acting. I remember smoking candy cigarettes when I was little (and for the record, this is the only cigarette that ever touched my lips). But I also remember adults smoking everywhere when I was little. My parents did NOT smoke. But most of my Mom's six sisters and brother smoked and one of her good friends smoked so there was always smoking in the house at those late night gatherings. It was the seventies before the tobacco lawsuits. Of course there was smoking. But when have my children even witnessed anyone smoke a cigarette? I don't recall them smoking in Star Wars...

I was recently paging through a very old magazine I had kept in the basement for the purpose of craft when I happened upon an ad for cigarettes. I studied it for a while. I hadn't seen one of those in a long time. Are they even allowed anymore or am I just in the wrong magazine reading demographic now? Could my child have been influenced by advertising? Before he knows how to read?

I know people still do smoke, especially at late night events involving alcohol. And I will admit, every now and then I pass by someone smoking and smell a whiff and it smells GOOD. Perhaps they are smoking a brand of an old boyfriend or something, because usually I past by a smoker and think, "They could use a shower." But for the most part cigarettes are not even on my radar. Anti-smoking laws were past here way back when I was just a wee lass still frequenting late night establishments, so secondhand smoke hasn't even been an issue for me for a couple of lifetimes. Haven't we all started to worry about childhood obesity instead?

Well maybe the rest of the country has, but suddenly I am worried. I must spend the evening brainwashing my children while they are young and vulnerable. I am sure I only have a small window of time before it is too late; before they join a world so not understandable to me - the smokers.

LIVING in a Small Space

We didn't buy our 1150 square foot home with the intention of raising a family within its homey confines. In fact, Geoff and I had only known each other eight months when we pooled our money and invested in our home. At one point our walls used to echo with a need for sound absorbent stuff. But life goes on. Turns out we bought in a location we love, and fifteen years, three kids, and a dog later, we are still here. And now we are trendy, because we are living per person so environmentally. Here are my tips for making a small space seem larger than it really probably is.

Think like a sailor. Our house has been compared to a boat on more than one occasion. Can your rooms and belongings do double duty - perform more than one function? (Think of the kitchenette or the "Murphy" bed.) In addition, the built-ins found on boats often are the best way to save space, because you can make use of that little nook that otherwise might be wasted.

Consider the scale. When buying new (or new to you) furniture consider the size and ceiling height of the room, and the period of your small home. Smaller rooms require smaller furniture. We have had success in buying antique furniture for our 1940s home. A long time ago people lived smaller, so it still works. A 1990s overstuffed chair attempt of mine was soon left on the curb.

Use your outside rooms. Use your patio, deck, balcony, or backyard as another room to your house. Design your landscaping with your needs in mind. The mud pit in our backyard is a favorite with our kids. The front yard is being filled with vegetables, because no one ever plays out there.

Knock out walls. Open up your space so it seems larger. We took out a wall and the closet in the bathroom making a huge bathroom for this tiny house. It is one of the best places for the family to hang. It goes without saying that any structural building needs take precedent here. Or you could...

Put up some walls. Create smaller spaces to add mystery of what might be found around the corner. There is no mystery in our house. I dream of mystery sometimes.

Think untypically. When we first looked at our home to buy, I wondered why the laundry area was filled with a dresser. Once we moved in, I knew. It was great storage and the only way to fit all our clothes. Sure, most people might have their clothes in their bedroom, but maybe yours fit better in the kitchen cupboards.

Provide a place for everything. If something doesn't have a place, it is unwanted. Get rid of it.

Provide special space for everyone. Our house is too small for a room for each person. But each child has a special box for treasures, a special shelf to place things on, and a special bin for works-in-progress. These special places should be respected by everyone else and only be accessed by their owner. I emphasize the "should."

Create a list of questions to define your treasures. Ideally my belongings will answer yes to more than one of the following questions: Is the item used regularly? Do I love it? Is there sentimental attachment? Is it a thing of beauty or joy? Otherwise, I give it away.

Remove the clutter. Just give it away. You can always buy another one. I bet whatever the item in question is, the Salvation Army has six of them for sale for cheap. And something cluttering up your house bogs you down.

Create systems. Every act that you do within your home is easier with a system. Incoming mail. Dinner preparations. Household cleaning. Provide storage and a way of doing your tasks so you can't put them off and stuff can't build up in piles around you until new walls are formed in your already small house.

Respect the bathroom needs of others. A long time ago huge families used to share only one bathroom. We are managing so far by being considerate of the needs of others while behind a closed door, using a designated bush outside for emergencies, and lighting a match after the bathroom is well-used. We are not a family for extra-curricular hygiene. If you like to dry your hair or make yourself up, the bathroom in this scenario is not the place for this hobby.

Combine beauty and function. I like to love to look at every item that I own. Some of my favorite items include my toaster and teapot.

Collect only one of everything. I'm not one for collections. I would much rather own one pair of awesome shoes than ten mediocre pairs. I have found that great love will surpass all trends of time. And if not, replace it. Or just get rid of it.

Think in terms of a cycle. If something comes in, something needs to go out.

Look at it again. Is it half full or half empty? How you view your space can transform it. I'm not kidding. After I visit my Mom's for a week, I come home and our house feels small. After I visit my son's classroom for an hour, I come home, and our home is suddenly HUGE.

Keep it clean and picked up. Once when my mother-in-law came over for a visit, the house was actually picked up. She walked in our house and said "Spacious!"

Garbage Day

I love garbage day!

Think about it. You place all your disgusting, cast off, unwanted, unmentionable trash in a receptacle and - voila' - it is whisked away never to be seen again. What a magical experience. Talk about eight dollars a month that is well spent.

And I know this first hand, because for a while we experimented with hauling our own trash away - get this - to save money. Let me assure you that it may have saved us eight dollars a month, but it was NOT a magical experience. It was an unsightly, smelly, piled up high, get out the gloves and facemask experience that was always put off until our garage was overflowing. And then we would load it up and haul it away.

I've heard say that a lot can be told about a household by the contents and quantity of its trash. While you can definitely tell that a child in diapers and a dog live here, I think it is fun to try to fool those trash inspectors as to the quantity of people here at the Newton's. How little waste can a family of five generate? Can we mange to fit it in the smallest receptacle offered every week?

We missed our trash pick up today. It is days like this that I appreciate even more than usual the work of the garbage collector.

And so I just wanted to say, "Thanks," to the garbage collectors of the world. So they know they are not taken for granted. And they know their work is much loved.

Buried Treasure

"My flip-flops!" Oscar's joyous shout fills the house. The flip-flops have been missing for almost a year now, and I had long assumed them to be left at a park or sucked away into that void of forever lost treasures. And here they were all along, stuck under the dresser.

The move has officially begun. No, not to a larger house. A slightly smaller move. It is time to move Matilda out of the nursery. Yes, I can hear you hysterically laughing about the term "nursery" to describe the ten-foot by ten-foot space the kids have shared until now. Or are you crying? But what better term than "nursery" - a room occupied with all our children and toys. Anyway, we have begun to transform the "nursery" into "the boys' room."

You may be wondering how we will do this magical feat in our two bedroom home? How will we all sleep? A space time continuum perhaps where Matilda and Geoff and I can all share the same room at the same time and not trip over each other? Has this been invented in Star Trek? Think of the environmental impact! But no. We are merely changing our household psychology. Instead of Matilda coming into our room every night to sleep, we will be going into her room to sleep. Look at that - I just solved our space problem and our sleep problem all at once!

When I proposed this change, Geoff asked, "Why? Why NOW?" He means, "Why can't we wait until we complete (start) the sleeping porch addition on our house?"

I really have no good answer to this question. Because I am impatient. Because it feels right. Because it is better to move us gradually. Because it will help motivate us to the next step. Because I am tired of stepping on Legos.

The Legos. It's the Legos fault. I want them out of my living room and into the boys' room. The special shelf, special bin, special box idea is no longer cutting it. The boys need their own space. We are growing.

So we begin the move.

We are repaid for our furniture moving efforts - in flip-flops, buttons, the lost mitten, coins, coupons, toy cars. And all of this just by moving two dressers out from the wall. And as we are moving and organizing and cleaning, we are counting our material blessings.

We are five people living in a very small house. But we have STUFF! This is better than a trip to the mall!

THINGS TO DO: Build a Chain Reaction

Okay - I really don't know what to call this, but we were inspired by Okay, Go's new video. It combines marble runs, dominos, water works, hammer drops and every other thing that can cause a chain reaction into one big, long glorious video. Check it out for fun and inspiration:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qybUFnY7Y8w

Then try to build your own.

What I really found interesting to behold was the kid's reaction to the chain reaction. After watching, Marek and Oscar both instantly set to work to come up with their own chain reaction creation. Compare this to their behavior after playing their Star Wars Legos video after which they take up swords and try to kill each other.

Here is what we came up with. Yes, this took us an HOUR to create!

School Fundraisers

So what do coupon books and wrapping paper have in common?

It appears they both have raised a lot of money for my son's PTA this year. Here is the breakdown as reported in the last PTA update:

The following are the main sources of income for the year***:
• Box Tops - $760 (These are collected from the box tops of cereal, diapers, etc.)
• Race for Your Cause - $1690 (Sponsorship.)
• Grocery Certificate Program - $2870 (The grocery store returns a percentage of sales to the school.)
• Original Works - $3070 (Sales of your child's custom art printed on various products with a percentage returned to the school.)
• Family Donations - $3500 (Donations.)
• Sally Foster - $4740 (Sales of wrapping paper with a percentage returned to the school.)
• Payback Book - $8265 (Sales of a book of coupons for local shops, restaurants, etc. with a percentage returned to the school.)

***This is income for the school year 2009-2010. The largest expected fundraiser is the Jog-A-Thon which will happen in the spring.

"Wow," you say. "That is fabulous. I'm so glad your school is so successful in raising money through these programs."

This is what I'm trying to tell myself. But I can't. I was absolutely amazed by these fundraising figures. And I will admit why. The fundraisers that brought in the most money for the PTA so far this year were fundraisers that I absolutely opposed. And I voted for my viewpoint by not contributing one cent to these campaigns. It seems like I was the only one.

Let me thank the PTA in all seriousness, for their efforts in raising and distributing money within our school. This organization has contributed enormously in making the extras and the not-so-extras available to our staff and students. Though I value the PTA, I must admit that I have never even attended a meeting. And so I should certainly not be one to criticize. But I have to. Because I am bursting.

I just have to throw this question out there - should our school's PTA fundraising efforts support our educational values? What are we teaching our children by asking them to sell coupon books (one of which was sent home with every student for purchase) and wrapping paper? Do the ends justify the means?

Now there are many fundraisers and school programs that support my values - the recycling efforts, the Garden to Table program, the Walk to School program, the Jog-A-Thon. I even like the Original Works program because the kids experience the publication and distribution of their work. But I believe that education occurs most naturally through example out of the classroom. What are we teaching our children about the world when our fundraising efforts are about consumerism?

Here is what I would like to ask of our school's fundraising:
Does it reflect our community values?
Does it better the world?
Does it bring the community together?
Does it teach our children something positive?

Public education is SO awesome, because it is FREE. We can decide to contribute more than our tax dollars or not. I understand that statistically people will contribute more if they feel they are getting a product. We are clearly voting on the means by handing over our dollars.

Isn't there a way to package the true product for sale here? Because what is actually being purchased is not wrapping paper or a coupon book but AN EDUCATION.

I Am the One

Geoff is putting Matilda to bed tonight. I can hear them from the kitchen where I am washing the dishes. He is finished with his lengthy reading session - daylight savings makes for challenging bedtimes - and he is attempting to move on to the next step. The step of the actual sleep.

I can hear Matilda, "I want Mommy. I don't want you."

She repeats this quite a few times just in case Geoff doesn't get the point. The point being, in the Newton household, I am most popular.

In so many ways this is like a soft pillow for a tired head, because I sure wasn't the popular one in high school. But popularity in a household does not give you quite the same rewards as popularity in high school.

For example, I am the one who must sympathize and kiss invisible wounds when I feel like saying, "I told you so..."

I am the one who must clean up the spilled milk and worse.

I am the one who must climb out of bed to aid and keep company at hours of the clock that should never be seen by human eyes.

I am the one who must interrupt my most important work, my train of thought, my relaxation to get a tissue.

I am the one who must referee a battle of siblings as a neutral party when I would like to clunk all heads together.

I am the one followed to the toilet, the shower, to get dressed when I just want a minute alone.

I am the one.

But - I am also the one who receives countless kisses from those who don't even know how to yet close their mouth.

I am the one who receives unconditional trust despite my loud cries of dismay over bad behavior.

I am the one who is showed proud displays of gymnastics and craftmanship.

I am the one who is turned to for advice and guidance.

I am the one who gets raspberries on my tummy's stretch marks.

I am the one who hears "I love you" at unexpected moments when I need it most.

I am the one.

Marking

This is Jen. A long time ago I had the honor of dancing with Jen. I'm assuming she's out there somewhere still moving - dancing, mountain biking. She is amazing. She is STRONG. But sometimes I wonder, could she now be a Mom like me? Is she still strong or has she been weakened from years of pregnancy, nursing, midnight disturbances, and lack of time? Like me?

I realized in yoga class today that I am marking. I am going through the motions of being there - I am paying attention and doing everything that everyone else is doing. My muscles are shaking hard as I try to maintain the proper pose. My arm is reaching out. But it is not REALLY reaching. The energy is not coming from my back and radiating out until it beams out my fingertips drawing every eye to where I am pointing. I am not performing my best.

Granted it is easy for me in yoga class to relax and just endure. I have years of dance training behind me and I am in class with "normal" people aside from the gymnastic teacher who occasionally stops in. I don't have to try very hard to look okay. But I know how to perform. And I'm not.

And this makes me wonder, how much of the rest of my life is being marked? Am I fulfilling my life potential? Am I really living or is my life passing me by?

I am at that point where I reflect on where I am versus where I thought I would be. The problem here is that I never imagined any concrete places to visit on my journey.

I moved to Colorado randomly to dance with a dance company. The dance company didn't work out, but I stuck around because I met my husband. I drifted through a series of jobs that were satisfying, but was happy to stay home to raise the kids. The kids happened because I was losing my Dad and I suddenly realized that he would never meet the unconceived kids. The now conceived kids are growing older. Instead of an organized attack, my life is a pinball bouncing around in the machine. Where is the next ball going to bounce?

I believe that every cell in my body has absorbed the life I have lived up to now. I am a product of my environment, a product of what I have done and the people of influence in my life. My posture, my dress, my speech, my beliefs all are a result of my experiences. Like the rings on a tree, I am time stamped. In me, all my life moments make up the whole.

Breath in.

I believe a part of me remains in each place I have glided through. I can drive past the house I grew up in and see my spirit playing Blueberry Hill on the front porch. I can hike through the forest where I ate carry out pizza with my prom date and see us there still eating. I can stand on the mound where I once promised my husband "til death do us part" and we are still promising. In every place a part of me remains.

Breath out.

Is life simply these small moments strung on a chain? Or is it about building each small moment in a pile until one can stack them up and step up to the next rung of being? Are these moments leading up to a point, a goal, an objective?

I pause for a moment in my yoga practice. I take a deep breath in and out. And for a moment I am present, focused, and in the moment with my arm stretched out long and my body radiating my soul. I am not marking, but making a mark.

THINGS TO DO: Make Homemade Granola

Granola - It defines a lifestyle. But it's better than that.

I use this recipe: http://www.kitchenscoop.com/recipes/granola

I stumbled across the cookbook "Cheap, Fast, Good" by Beverly Mills and Alicia Ross in our local library last fall. I checked it out, and then liked it so much I bought it and read it cover to cover despite Geoff's teasing. The book lives up to its name. The granola has become a staple in our household.

This is a sweet recipe - have I mentioned I love sugar? It is easy to make, fun for the kids to help mix, reasonable (especially compared to store bought granola), somewhat nutritious, and yummy. Even the kids liked it until I put it it their lunch once too often. I buy the nuts, wheat germ, and oats in bulk from the local health food store to lower the cost. I love it sprinkled on Wheaties. I wonder if I could make the Wheaties myself too?

Toilet Talk

The Newton household made a major household change this week: we began using one ply toilet paper.

Now if my college housemates are reading this, they will realize how major this truly is. I'm sure they can recall our household budgeting conversation decades ago in which I declared, "I'm all for saving money, but not in the toilet paper department. I like GOOD toilet paper." I think this was brought up for years.

So what prompted this change? It started with a bellow of rage from Geoff, who is normally a rather mild fellow.

"WHO DID THIS?!"

The bellow came from the bathroom, and so my belly instantly gave a flutter of worry. With our old plumbing I am always waiting for our drainage pipe to give out resulting in extreme discomfort and a large bill. I imagined the toilet overflowing with a blanket or shoe or baby doll halfway on its way to the city's water treatment plant, and I tore into the bathroom expecting the worst. Instead I found a toilet full of - well - toilet paper.

I gave a sigh of relief. And went back to my bread baking. I figured this one was Geoff's discovery so he could deal with it.

Despite Geoff's reaction, over use of toilet paper is a daily occurrence here, and the toilet plunger is my friend. I think often of the directions one of my college housemates received from her Dad (and I repeat this since their anonymity is safe!). He directed their toilet paper use as follows: first use four squares of toilet paper, then three more, then three, then you should be finished. When I first heard these wise words at the tender age of twenty, I thought he was a little uptight. Now I advise my children to count toilet paper squares regularly. Think of the many trees sacrificed in our toilet paper consumption. Think of the many dollars spent. What waste.

Will one ply toilet paper save the day? I guess I am waiting in suspense for the answer to this question. But I haven't plunged the toilet in several days.

I will conclude the toilet dialogue with a comment from Geoff on one of my previous entries. "Is sewer really spelled like sewer?"

Yes, it is.

U-Turn

Lately I've been taking a lot of wrong turns. And I mean that, not figuratively, but literally. Life seems to be an out of body experience. I turn a corner and find I am nowhere I intended. Which is not a big deal. I can always turn around or go an alternative route. Luckily I don't drive that often. I'm not quite as much a hazard behind the wheels of the stroller.

But why? I think it is this blog. BLOG. Who came up with this word? It is awful. But I am having more fun with this blog than I ever imagined. So I seem to daydream frequently as to content and format and intent and ideas. And then when I should really be dreaming, I find myself here - in front of the computer.

So this week I have been trying to sort out the technicalities of blogging. I know it's not pretty yet. I'll get there. But in the meantime I have been trying to answer these questions: What is a follower? What is a DDS reel? Should I list my email address? What else do I need for functionality? How does the community play into all of this? Am I doing all right? And Mom and Wendy - are you out there?

THINGS TO DO: Have Running Races

Yes, I mean YOU! For some strange reason my kids think running back and forth, over and over for hours is fun, especially when their Mom participates. It IS fun!

For us this is an indoor activity, especially useful in the gray hour before dinner time. It is true that our house was designed with this game in mind. It is what you would call a shotgun house meaning if you stand at the front door and happen to fire a shotgun, (?) the bullet would run straight through the house and out the back door. So we race from door to door. As fast as a speeding bullet.

When you start the race make sure you say, "On your mark. Get set. Go!" You can also crouch in a runner's starting pose.

Running races gets the blood flowing, provides exercise, and livens things up.

When you tire of plain running races, try variations on a theme: hopping, skipping, galloping, crawling, bear walking, crab walking, walking backwards, s-l-o-w walking, tip-toe walking. You can even set up an obstacle course.

The Tooth Fairy is Flighty

The tooth fairy forgot to come last night.

In defense of the tooth fairy, this was an unexpected trip. There was no loose tooth build up. Instead Marek pulled out a tooth while using his mouth as a Lego pry bar. He filed the tooth away under his pillow with dreams of extra loot due to the painful nature of its extraction. Instead he woke up and found - his tooth.

I knew instantly what had happened when Marek actually got out of bed on his own this morning. I didn't have to cajole and bodily pull all 55 pounds of him out of the top bunk. Instead he sadly walked out of his room carrying his tooth.

I said to Marek, "I guess the tooth fairy was really busy last night." (LAME!)
"Do you think he might visit during the day?"

"The night," was Marek's disappointed reply.

"Well put it back under your pillow, and maybe he'll come tonight."

Geoff says to tell him the tooth fairy couldn't get through because I-70 is closed due to a landslide. The landslide is keeping Geoff from getting where he needs to go today.

I think the tooth fairy will need to leave a note of apology tonight and perhaps an extra reward for his/her thoughtlessness.

This is when I am glad that such things as the tooth fairy exist. I won't take the blame for this one for a while. Perhaps this is why they were invented?

Dead Things: Ode to my Dad

"The yellow fish is dead."

I announced this important news to the Newton family when I turned the light on the fish tank this morning. Death in my home is a shock to me. No one else seems very interested. Geoff tries to give me a kind glance, but I can tell his coffee has his attention.

I am particularly disheartened by the loss of the yellow one. He had looked quite sickly last week, but had lately roused and had even been seen eating. And now his whispery carcass delicately wound round the filter. There was no question that his soul had moved on.

I should not be surprised by the lack of family interest in the loss of this fish. After all it is I who will be forced to remove its sad little fins from the aquarium. I often wonder if the other fish miss their dear departed, or if he just registers as plant life. I've had plenty of opportunity to wonder about the thoughts of fish on death. You could call our aquarium "death row" by the number of fish that have been executed within its habitat. You will notice that the yellow fish does not have a name. We hoped this might give him sustenance.

The first fish loss was buried in the backyard with words said for his soul. This one will join the last ten in fertilizing the raspberry bushes by the front door. The circle of life.

I hate dead things.

It's been nine years now since I lost my Dad to cancer. I place him in the dead things category; he would understand. I held his hand and his heart as he left the world. And still I missed his departure. Where did he go? One moment he was there, and the next I was left with a shell. His heart quieted, and I realized I was holding onto a dead thing. My father was gone.

Strangely I was filled with a certain exhilaration. The same feeling I had when my children arrived from who knows where out of my body. Like I had sampled something raw and real and special. Death is intimate and individual and indescribable just like childbirth. Is this why we quake as we offer each other our condolences?

I thank hospice and my father's bravery for placing death in life so we could share this last experience together. Death is life. I wish we wouldn't all tip toe around it.

When someone comes into the world, we all move over to make room for this new life. When someone leaves the world, we all shift and try to fill in the hole that is left. It never fills. I miss my Dad.

Robert John Marek
May 31, 1944 - March 13, 2001

Mama Mia! Look At Christa! [Krees-ta]

I hope you read that title with the Spanish accent of my high school ballet teacher as I intended. Otherwise, go back and do it again.

Anyway, I am wondering if this could be an alternative mode of transportation for me? We've been watching the snow and ice melt for days, which has been fascinating, but at last we have reached dry pavement so the skateboard fun can began. Wow! These things can roll! Who knew all these years my embarrassing skateboard abilities had to do with equipment, not skills!

It begins with the equipment.

On a cold, snowy afternoon, we took the boys to our downtown skateboard shop to purchase their birthday gifts. As we waited for literally hours as the boys choose components and the boards were assembled, the clerk casually mentioned that skateboarding is the fastest growing sport in America.

Could this be? I think of skateboarding as popular for artsy, punk loner types who graffiti our garage in their spare time. But sure enough, I looked it up online and skateboarding is the third most popular sport right behind football and basketball.

This fact seemed to crystallize my journey into that skateboard shop.

This skateboard purchase was not one taken lightly. Yes, my neighbor warned me skateboards can be the cause of many broken bones, but even that was not my worry. This was my worry - suddenly, this past January, Marek turned EIGHT! GASP! For me, this is the magical number. This is the age when all activities can be easily learned, yet maturity has been reached so the motivation comes from the learner, not the learner's parent. It was time to reflect on - are Geoff and I doing enough to educate and expose our children to life? Are we doing too much?

I do like to compare my own childhood when I ponder the state of our children's lives. Like soccer for example. Well, bad example. Living in the Midwest a long time ago, soccer was nonexistent. But let's transpose that to football. Kids did not learn to play football at age three at a football lesson forty years ago. Instead we hung around our neighborhood (without our parents lurking nearby), until we got bored of calling each other names and organized a game of football or basketball or tetherball. This is how we developed our skill level. By the time we approached real competitive playing in Junior High, we were semi coordinated and knew the gist of the game, and it was obtained with no cost of time or money from our parents.

Does this happen anywhere anymore? Because in my experience everyone is so busy open enrolling their youth and then driving them around to after school activities it is hard for homework to even be completed much rather time for name calling and then the casual games.

Am I just lazy that I don't want to do this? Or will free time allow hobbies and interests to emerge from my kids that might not otherwise?

After much reflection, I think Geoff and I are doing all right for the kids. And here's the truth. I just have a hard time taking my kids seriously even if one is now eight years old. I love my kids, but they are just kids. And if they choose to become the next Tony Hawk or Albert Einstein, that will be from their perseverance and passion - not because I've done much of anything.

So. Let's get back to the skateboard.

After pondering the lack of free youth to play with and the Legos overflowing our household, it seems a simple skateboard was the gift of a lifetime. This is a gift that can be learned and mastered in our backyard at any time all alone. Given the statistics, I guess I'm not alone in coming to this conclusion.

And as I said before, "Wow! These things can roll!"


DISCLAIMER: All Newton children up to now have been provided with swim lesson so they don't drown, soccer lessons so they are not afraid of balls coming at them like their mother, and various free after school programs.

Signs of Spring from the Newton's 7700 Sq. Ft.

Wise Words From a Five-Year Old Boy

"Mom. Do you know how to make yourself really strong?"

"No," I pant.

I am pedaling furiously on my bike, uphill. Remember we live in Colorado? Do mountains come to mind? Behind me is my bike trailer fully loaded with Matilda and piles of food and accessories for a park outing. Am I making myself really strong?

Oscar is struggling a little with this hill also. I can almost see his brain sparking encouragement to himself - I think I can. I think I can. It is our first bike ride of the new year. His answer to his question amazes me.

"You just keep going when your muscles hurt, and pretend that they don't."

"Ah," I think. I must keep this in mind when my husband works until midnight - again, when we are struggling to dig up payroll, when my children are hurting each other, when I miss my Dad, when....

THINGS TO DO: Design A Stuffy

This past weekend the kids began drawing animals and requested a design-a-stuffy day. I love the teamwork involved as we work together to make their ideas three dimensional. I love to bring to life the choices my children make as we muddle through the creation process - colors, shape, fabric texture, leg placement, etc. There are always surprises and unexpected discoveries as to their preferences - if I can listen instead of imposing MY ideas!

Here is Marek's finished stuffy. Please note Marek would not allow me photograph him with it - is he getting too old for public stuffy play? Oscar's will be completed soon. Matilda is still working on circles...


If you are not a sewer, this same project concept could be done with wood, or toilet paper tubes and duck tape, or any other medium that makes it real for you both.

Orange Peels

Tonight Marek was given two dinner choices:

1) Broccoli soup - which I knew he would pass on
2) Potato-green-bean casserole - invented when I was 14 while living in Minnesota (land of all casseroles) - which Marek normally eats.

Instead he opted for a third choice - an orange. Only an orange.

Here are the results:

It seems my dinner rules of late are going to create some very slim, but artistic, children.

(Marek - You may only eat FROM THE DINNER MENU - AT DINNER TIME. You may not serve yourself cereal or cheese quesadilla or peanut butter and jelly or ...!)

A friend of mine told me recently that she doesn't buy any breakfast cereal. Her kids eat eggs, oatmeal, sausage, etc. for breakfast. In the goal to remove prepackaged food from our household, that's inspiring!