Conquering the Master of Fright.

My parents celebrated their forty-seventh wedding anniversary on the thirteenth. My sister had driven them here to Nashville so that Mother could see her oncologist and other doctors at Vanderbilt. We four met at a pub for fish and chips -- reminiscent of some of Mother and Daddy's golden years spent living and working in the storybook setting of Northwestern England in Cumbria. Mother had a beer. And some of my water. And Dana's iced tea.

She's not eating much these days. And she's sad. It's hard to get unsad as she's realizing how much she is forgetting and how her quality of life has suffered. And yet: forty-seven years and two forty something daughters is a whole lotta complicated worn and dirty and yet hopeful love. Not to mention the not yet forty year old son holding down the fort in East Tennessee and his beautiful wife keeping all the kids save for mine who is with my husband at home in Nashville.

Yes. A whole lotta complicated worn and dirty and yet hopeful love.

Love that has spanned generations from teenaged meeting in "town" in Deep East Texas, a first movie date during junior college in which my father's leg fell asleep after the lights came up and he fell flat on his face. There was the wedding during which Mother whispered so low and all in the wedding party followed suit so that folks in the little congregation leaned in close and wished for an earhorn, maybe especially when Mother crossed her fingers during the "obey" line. The wedding during which my grandfather had atypically tied one on and bobbed a bit. The first year of marriage during which Mother has told us she cried every day. Moves to upstate New York and New Mexico and Maryland when the children were born one by one, raised up and loved through California and Tennessee following.

There've been cats and dogs during these near fifty years, and book reports, dance recitals, evenings out with grown ups. There've been years of living abroad, even more years of my father's travel during which Mother was on her own with us for weeks at a time, taking us to matinee shows with scrambled egg sandwiches and strange popcorn and Easter candy trail mixes tucked into baggies in her purse. There have been years of soccer games, neighbors calling and church events, friends dying, life spinning by faster and faster and then weddings of the grown children, the grandbabies coming.....

Yes. A whole lotta complicated worn and dirty and yet hopeful love.

***

I love my parents. So much.

***

I have the best sister and brother a girl could hope for. We do well together, and we are friends. Our children love each other and like us, they really *like* each other. What blessings.

***

Having helped my boy make homemade Valentines for each of his classmates, I did not, for the first year ever, make or even purchase, Valentines for my man and my boy. My Mister, however, came through with chocolates and a beautiful card for me and words that make me weep, "You're the glue of this family, you know that, right?" Also a delightful card for our son, and a CD -- "My first rap music," says our boy with a wonderful smile. I'm putting it on now. The Outkast, rockin' it to Scooby Doo.

***

We wrestled last night, as promised, the boy and I. On the big bed, we flung and rolled and laughed and  bounced. He announced, just before flinging his seventy pound boy body at me at full speed, "I will conquer the Master of Fright!" This war cry seemed particularly fitting for Valentines day, and for my boy's Diggy, who'd spent the day in the company of her husband and daughters at Vanderbilt, being told that the tumor might not have shrunk and it looks like six months of chemo will follow shortly.....

***

At bedtime, prior to resting, our boy -- obsessed with Harry Potter and the idea of having a Potter themed birthday party (in September!) -- had to rise to count the chairs in our home: the number of chairs by his reasoning equaling the number of seats at the party's wand making factory and therefore the number of party guests. I believed he settled on thirteen.

***

Love everywhere. Now.

We will conquer the Master of Fright.

A moment.

Given the past few evening's come aparts-- mine, endured by my family, loving me despite them -- these precious stolen minutes home alone are a gift. Rarely am I alone, rarely am I allowed to wade into quiet and solitude. It's a season.

A season of being the sole income earner, of being the adult-living-hours-away-daughter of a very ill parent. Of traversing sans child across the plateau for weekends mothering my mother, cooking pots of soup (some for now, some for the freezer,) grading papers at their large kitchen table while talking with my brother and sister. A season of Harry Potter read nightly, of my drifting off while its read aloud by the man who knows me so well, snugged up to the child who knows my warmth as his own. Of one hundred thirty eleven and twelve year old children in and out of my classroom for reading instruction and bandaids and hugs and calls home, of tens of boogery noses all at once and the smell of cigarettes and raging hormones clinging to their hair and skin and winter coats. A season of learning a job and feeling barely adequate many days. Of preparing meals and writing plans, procuring library books and Ninjago spinners, A season of scrimping and salvaging, of afternoon commutes across town and meetings and Cub Scouts and more meetings and sometimes women friends with whom I laugh and cry....  and the boys coming in now....

And so.

Here. They. Are. The two loves of my life. My man, and my boy.



The moment is over.

Further reflection on Twenty Twelve.

Very simple New Year resolution: NO more talking on the cell phone while driving. 


Otherly, goal like: monthly projects and plans (No spend (other than necessities) January and no fast food January -- seemingly redundant, but important to keep at bay that six year old's call for fast food in the car and mama's giving in because of poor planning on my part.) 


As per my friend Kelly Manchego Crase, I am focusing on what I'm not going to do this year: I am not going to talk on the cell phone while driving, I am not going to be a poor steward of money and time, I am not going to give in to instant gratification. Playing my friend Julie Helm Clark's Pollyanna game, I am going to focus on what I DO have and AM and what's going RIGHT this year. 

Like this: I am thankful for a ready smile and a body that moves mostly like I want and need it to and for its ability to provide comfort to my loved ones with hugs and snuggles and a lap and a strong back. 

As an overarching annual goal, I endeavor to pay greater respect and attention *throughout the year* to my role as my family's spiritual leader. 

Happy New Year!

We are ready to usher in Twenty-twelve.... the old ashes have been added to the fire, the blackeyed peas are on the stovetop with the bone of Christmas ham. There'll be greens and cornbread, deviled eggs and iced tea, also some oyster chowder from the Mister's familial tradition.

I have -- as of the end of the week -- received word that I will return to my job for the remainder of the year (hurrah!!) and our precious Diggy has but two radiation treatments left and upcoming appointments with her specialists at Vanderbilt. The boy is ready to return to first grade, the Mister is in job search mode, and I feel certain he will find just the right thing.
We had a wonderfully restorative Christmas with my family -- simple, quiet, family filled. Three things that do NOT tend to go together with my family, and yet we pulled it off!

The Mister got in a quick trip northerly to visit with his people, including his sister in from London (the boy and I remained here to complete the school year and to have him cycle through the vestiges of a viral infection before heading to see Diggy, whose fragility necessitates healthy visitors.)

The Mister and I have watched some of this year's series, the old BBC miniseries, I, Claudius.

We have embarked on a major clutter busting project, wherein I've determined to rid myself of all but the most precious books and CDs, to gain space and lessen our capacity for dust. The Mister hasn't agreed to follow suit completely, but he's on board to eliminate and consolidate a bit, for the overall health of our family. And after a decade, I readily admit that the man still surprises me. I love that about him.

Happy New Year, friends!! May 2012 be a year filled with riches of the heart. My son's precious wishes, made last night at our bonfire were NOT for a Wii and a bunch of toys, but for 1) Diggy to get better very soon, 2) us to get our house moved and organized (switching around some rooms to accomodate current family need) and 3) for a LOT more family time. Those are the things that make his six year old heart sing. May you find your very own version of whatever those wishes, hopes and dreams are for YOU.


Twenty-twelve, we are ready.... let's get to it.

The Guest House






This being human is a guest house.


Every morning a new arrival.






A joy, a depression, a meanness,


some momentary awareness comes


as an unexpected visitor.






Welcome and entertain them all!


Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,


who violently sweep your house


empty of its furniture,


still, treat each guest honorably.


He may be clearing you out


for some new delight.






The dark thought, the shame, the malice,


meet them at the door laughing,


and invite them in.






Be grateful for whoever comes,


because each has been sent


as a guide from beyond.






~ Rumi ~

Yes. I totally just said that....

Me: Well, I believe that I will need to have a little conversation with Santa Claus about a boy who isn't listening very well to his mother. 

The boy: Well, Mama, how are you going to do that? You don't even know the real Santa. 

Merry Happy Wonder: 2011 version.

Our boy was the first child to visit with Santa at Wednesday night's Cub Scout Pack holiday banquet, as he had rushed forward when the youngest den of the pack (Tigers) was called. (Bold, our boy.)

This was the calm before the storm, as moments later, he had Public Meltdown of the Year over a broken candy cane (Santa had given it to him.) I ended up literally having to carry our boy out of the sweet little neighborhood church that hosted the banquet with him kicking, screaming and crying. When he nearly flung both me and him down the stairs, his father took him and I took over the Fiesta platter on which we'd brought brownies. 

My Mister ended up putting him in the car where he cried more, thrashed, kicked the doors and dashboard..... until a good while later, he calmed, and I was able to climb into the backseat to monitor him while his daddy drove us slowly home with a steady hand on the wheel. 

Having had virtually no experience with this when he'd been working away from home seven days a week, this was a first for my Mister to experience this full on and IN THE WORLD of other people. I felt as though I'd been transported back to the first four years of my child's life and it could have been any day of the week: on a trip to the public library, at a park, in the grocery store or the KMart or the Target, or in the bank parking lot on Charlotte Avenue near the Nations section of town (you know -- the one with the gold dome....) It could have been during or after a presentation I was giving for Mothers Acting Up or during the time I was trying to write a grant or a web recipe for community action. It might have been over brushing teeth or putting shoes on, a trash can that was rolled on its side or any other item that was out of place and therefore disturbing. 

To my dear child's credit, he has weathered rather a lot. In recent months he has seen his beloved Diggy grow incredibly ill. He has been away from his mother while she worked fulltime away from home, finished grad school, graded papers in the evenings and in the wee morning farmer's hours... He has lived through having had a father work away from home seven days a week during near the entirty of his life until just last year, when grad school took over, and then this semester become the more available parent at home. He has been toted to and from two different preschools, weathered his mother's lay offs and job searches and a flooded out home and a move. 

He has begun elementary school, learned to read (very well,) participated in extracurriculars, and this year has enjoyed before and aftercare at our wonderful PTO run school care program. (Can I just say? we are soooooooooo fortunate with our boy's school and his teacher who is extraordinary! and the before and aftercare program which is stellar!!)

Our boy is also a bit high spirited, and strung tight. A lot like his mother, AND his father, too. (One of us is a stealth high maintenance person, one not so much.) 

And so, I fault him hardly at all for the upset. For the getting overstimulated on holiday treats and decorations and Santa and all three of us out at an evening activity on a school-night (exceptionally rare!) and the remaining hour plus crying in mama's arms over all the things listed above. "I hope you DON'T go back to that school!! You never play with me. You only do homework and grade papers and you don't love me!"

This boy, he is our emotional barometer and our angel. He is profane AND sacred. 

He is the manifestation of the purest love we have for each other, and the hope we hold for the world, and the faith we have in the Universe and in God and in each other. 

But even more than any of that: our boy is just a six year old boy with boogers and a sassy mouth and a love of Harry Potter and rock music and his dog. He's a kid who likes to climb trees, run with packs of wildly laughing children, eat crisp apples, dig in the dirt, kick soccer balls, earn Cub Scout badges and beads and belt loops. 

And it's all OK. 

Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. 

We're the Babcocks. 

You may consider this our holiday card for 2011 as to be frank about it, making a holiday card and sending it out has been last on my list of priorities this month what with finishing my degree, winding down teaching this semester and trying to renegotiate my interim contract (still not sure if I return in January or if I need to find a new job.) It's the first year we've ever NOT had a tree, have forgone putting up the full on decorations, and certainly you will find no elf on the shelf here. 

The bits of idle time at my hands have been wasted here and here, as the laughs have been needed a great deal. Laughter and prayer are close to the same for me. And as my friend Jay says, "Laughter is my religion." Er, for me, it's a spiritual expression, and keeps me going like nothing else. Laughing is being in communion with God and with humanity.

So ho ho ho!! And ha ha ha. 

With lots of love from here to wherever this may find you, 

XXX

peo

Mexican Hot Chocolate Snickerdoodles.

My boy decided he wanted to make his favorite cookie over the weekend. He made a list of each teacher on "my big hallway at school," and we made the cookies. We bagged a single one for each of the teachers on his list, and he asked me to type out the recipe, which I happily did. This afternoon, we'll staple the recipe, along with a note of cheer to each baggie.

Oh, I love my boy's heart.



 Mexican Hot Chocolate Snickerdoodles

Makes 2 dozen Cookies 

A beautiful crackle topped chocolate cookie with a spicy cayenne kick and a sugary cinnamon coating.

For the topping: 
1/3 cup sugar 
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon 

For the cookies: 
1/2 cup canola oil 
1 cup sugar 
1/4 cup pure maple syrup 
3 tablespoons almond milk (Or your preferred non-dairy milk) 
1 teaspoon vanilla extract 
1 teaspoon chocolate extract (or more vanilla extract if you have no chocolate) 
1 2/3 cups flour 
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder 

1 teaspoon baking soda 
1/4 teaspoon salt 
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon 
1/2 teaspoon cayenne 

Preheat oven to 350 F. Line 2 large baking sheets with parchment paper. 

Mix the topping ingredients together on a flat plate. Set aside. 

In a medium mixing bowl, use a fork to vigorously mix together oil, sugar, syrup, and milk. Mix in extracts. 

Sift in remaining ingredients, stirring as you add them. Once all ingredients are added mix until you’ve got a pliable dough. 

Roll dough into walnut sized balls. Pat into the sugar topping to flatten into roughly 2 inch discs. Transfer to baking sheet, sugar side up, at least 2 inches apart (they do spread). This should be easy as the the bottom of the cookies should just stick to your fingers so you can just flip them over onto the baking sheet. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes, they should be a bit spread and crackly on top. Remove from oven and let cool for 5 minutes, then transfer to a cooling rack to cool completely. 

from Vegan Cookies Invade Your Cookie Jar  By Isa Chandra Mowskowitz