Cheers!

“Cheers” is how we toasted over our imaginary tea. Bear, Baby Doll, Ella and I all enjoyed our muffins, animal crackers, blackberries and “tea”. The setting sun’s rays directly hit her blonde hair by way of the kitchen window. The shade was pulled up half way, its usual position. I have not moved the shade’s position much since we moved in nearly 3 years ago, more proof that I am not a great house keeper.

Oh, how I wanted to freeze that moment in time. Her smile, her cocked head, her giggle- the one that begins in the back of her throat and slowly travels to her lips- “Cheers mommy,” she offered and touched her cup to mine then to her other guests. It was perfect.

Ella is not much on names for her animals and dolls; she never has been.  Her ever faithful  teddy bear has always been just "Bear".  Her first Christmas we added "Big Puppy" because, you guessed it, he was big.  Her second Christmas we welcomed "New Puppy" as the newest stuffed animal in Ella's crew.  This Christmas Santa delivered Big Bear, the biggest one yet.... You get the picture.
Once Hunt and I urged her to name her baby doll.  The doll she carried under her arm everywhere, pretended to feed, dressed and redressed in various outfits deserved a name.  After pressing the subject, I asked the name of her doll and she replied, "Furniture".  Her beautiful baby doll is named Furniture.  Another doll she named "Window" followed so I quit asking.  I still do not ask but most days she asks where "Baby Doll" is in the house so I am assuming names are just not important to her. 

This bugs me but I realize in the big picture of life perhaps it is a good thing.  The Susie's, Sally's, Maggie's of the world may not automatically register as legit with Ella because she will not have a childhood association with them.  Who knows?  If we remain in Austin, it will be a gift for Ella to be open to people with different names because there are quite a few around us.  As of now, I am adding it up as one of E's unique qualities and moving on with actual issues in our lives.

This week will bring 2009 to an end and close out one heck of a decade.  It is a great time for reflection, celebration of successes and letting go of any losses.  It is also a great time to raise our glassses and say Cheers even to those with weird names. 

Mrs. Lehman 1903-2009, Rest In Peace

Mrs. Alma Lehman passed away Christmas morning at the beautiful age of 106.  She lived her life her way and passed away peacefully in her sleep.  She will remain a central figure in my life.  In my mind's eye. she is still sitting in her chair in her beloved garden waiting for a visit with her windchimes sending a soft melody into the breeze.  In 1998, I wrote her the poem below for her birthday.  It is somewhat corny but she loved it.  Even on her last day, this poem hung on her bedroom wall near her bed.  I consider that almost as much as an honor as having in her in my life for all my 34 years.   Rest in peace, my forever friend.  XXXOOOXXX

My Forever Friend

We learned of the finer things in life from a neighbor next door
Mrs. Lehman filled us with mints, Jelly Bellys and oh so much more

As little girls her home was the one place we were allowed to walk
So many times a day, across our yard to her door we would stalk

Trying to describe her stirs up so many thoughts:
A love for Hawaii and delicious award winning cookies, Russian Rocks


Her blue bird of happiness was always poised between the piano and her chair
The sound of her wind chimes outside always filled the air

Framed pictures on her piano told the story of family and friends
They continuously heard stories of her neighbor girls and us of them

She would visit with Shelley and I, while we took turns sitting in her comfy blue chair
We would drink tea with fresh mint leaves that she would daily prepare

And I will not forget the oil field painting the hung stately on her wall
Or the sea shells she loved that were spaced throughout her bathroom and hall

Summer afternoons served as show time when her “other grandchildren” came to town
Jennifer, Christy, Shelley and I were the neighborhood’s biggest clowns


With a plain white sheet as our back drop we delivered one heck of a show
All original scripts and characters…where we got the ideas I do not know

Then one day Shelley and I got the news our family was leaving 620 W. 5th St.
We were all so sad to leave a neighbor we loved and was just so neat

But she too moved after hearing our news to find a home in Kerrville
Although no longer neighbors, she is my forever friend and we keep in touch still


Visits are not as frequent as we would like them to be
But I know a card game is always waiting with that glass of fresh mint tea

Jingle Bells

My first Christmas this year has come and gone. The second round is approaching. Christmas is not a day; it is a season, a spirit, a feeling. Hunt’s family is much different than mine. One is not right and one wrong but they are different. Ella is getting to see two very different families celebrating a most important event. Next year she will see how our family celebrates the birth of Christ. In our house, with our traditions- whatever we choose them to be- it will be a great day in my life and hopefully a memorable one in our lives collectively.


Hunt and I have been together for nearly 11 years and have not yet experienced a Christmas morning in OUR house with OUR family and extend heartfelt invites for other loved ones to join US. I have enjoyed each of them but am so excited to have a house of our very own. I have such grand plans to decorate the chimney with our homemade stockings. The stairway will be wrapped with garland and our large, one hundred year old Oak will be lined with twinkling lights whose rhythm contrasted with the dark December sky will lull Ella and Baby Foster to sleep at night. Each of their windows, as do most all the windows in the house, has a view of that tree. I look at it and imagine how large its root system must be and how long they must travel in every direction; somewhat like a family, my family. My family, our Oak, our house, OUR Christmas…… I like the ring of that Jingle Bell!

I Miss My Grandparents

I miss my grandparents. It is not only the time of year that has brought this on, it is a daily thing but today it’s heavy. I miss the feeling of wanting to bust out of the car as we pulled into their driveway so I run through their door during a visit. I miss the smell of their house and of them. I miss monkey bread and rum cake and hearing the stories of late night dice games with friends. I miss hearing the ruckus in the kitchen when the family got together and a domino game got started. I will forever associate the smell of perm solution with Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, etc. Curler rolling papers were never far from Nanny’s reach when needed. A coveted role for many of the seven granddaughters was to get a turn to hand her the papers. We were easily entertained.

My grandfather had ears longer than my index finger and he let me flap his free lobes as much as I wanted when I climbed into his lap. It sounds strange, I know, but as a kid it was endless fun. I have free lobes like him just smaller, same goes for my daughter. He was larger than life in most ways and still is in my memories.

My grandmother had this knack of making people feel comfortable and loved. It was effortless and genuine; it was not something anyone taught her. My grandmother’s hair did not begin to gray until her last year of life, when she was 72. She did not color her hair, although as a beautician she certainly knew how but she did not need to. I have to think it was because of the way she lived her life, no pretense, no regrets and lots of humanity and love.

I miss my grandparents. I used to whisper in my daughter’s ear as I rocked her at night that one of my many wishes is that I live my life in such a way that people will continue to say nice things about me to her long after I am gone. My wish for us all is that we leave a legacy that even beyond the grave our love continues to spread.

It's Complicated

Recently, E and I were on our way home from work and preschool and I could tell her mood was flat.  She was not her talkative self so I asked what was wrong.  Her answer suprised me, "It's complicated Mom".

To be clear, Ella is 3 years old.  Her life is not complicated.  She goes to school where they paint, read books, go to Chapel, sing songs, play AND get two hours of nap time.  NOT COMPLICATED yet here she was down and troubled as she sat strapped in her car seat.

I looked back in the rear view mirror and asked what happened to make it so complicated.  Her response, "just stuff, Mom, just stuff" and then stared out the window.  She was serious but forgive me- it was funny!  Oh, the drama!

We went home, ate ice cream and the world instantly became a better place.  Whatever was on her mind that day did not leave a scar but gave me a great memory.  I never did find out what happened but that is okay.  I know we will have more like it as we grow up together.  I hope ice cream will always be the cure but I doubt it.  What is "complicated" at 3 years will seem like a cake walk at 5 years.  It is the "complications" that she may struggle with from 15 years on that keep me up at night. 

Today I Colored

Today I colored. Ella’s coloring book was left out with her colors strewn about and I could not resist. Work is stressful and the minutia of my everyday activity had created a heavy load. I felt a sense of relief as I picked up the Red and let my inner child out to play. Today was a “color inside the lines” kind of day. This was not about self expression, this was therapy. I let my imagination play as I choose my colors, Blue for the sky, Green for the leaves of the tree and Light Green for the turtle’s shell.

My grandmother kept our colors in a cigar box. Very few were whole, most were without wrappers but all were coveted by each grand daughter who took possession of the cigar box. As I colored today, I smelled the familiar smell that only Crayola can provide and I smiled. I took care in making sure each flower was colorful and unique and when I was done I signed my name and added the date underneath. We always dated our colored pages of art growing up; it was just what we did. Perhaps it was because, like the cigar box of colors, our coloring books were also communal property. Properly signing and dating a page was our way of staking our claim on a little piece of family history.

I have finished my picture and the Wonder Pets have never looked so good. I thumbed through the book and saw Ella’s stray marks and wild color pairings on several pages. At 2, she did not have to obey the rules of the coloring. She had not been pressured to conform and took great liberty with her bold strokes and random color choices. Soon enough my baby will learn the rules- she has already started at 3- and I, unfortunately, will probably be the mom that puts a shiny star on the picture where she finally stays inside the lines. It is my prayer that when she begins to color responsibly she will also learn to appreciate the freedoms of self expression and those random, bold strokes she made as a toddler. I also pray she will not have a day where she is reduced to coloring in silence as a way of finding peace. O’ Father, grant me grace….

Christmasween

One pair of black and white small checked pants, one black and white striped top- the one with the sequined, orange pumpkin on it, one bright red Christmas sweater adorned with appliqued ornaments and reindeer, one pair of pink Care Bear socks and one pair bright red Mary Jane shoes. Mix them all together and you get Ella as she went to school today.

“No mommy, not these” is what she said as she threw the clothes I laid out for her to the ground in utter defiance, “I will pick my clothes.” And she did. And I let her. It was a big moment for both of us. I had to let go of my need to control and let her lead. It sounds easier than it was for me to do.

We got to school on time, where she quickly removed her Christmas sweater to reveal the Halloween shirt and no one pointed or laughed. The world did not stop because she did not match anything she was wearing. All the girls loved her pink socks; all the boys liked the pumpkin. Ella pleased everyone in the room including herself and I felt like the weak one for professing, “Ella dressed herself today” the minute we walked into her classroom prior to her disrobing. Oh well, lesson learned and point taken. My kid has a mind of her own and she appreciates me letting her use it. I like that she found the literal meaning of “Happy Holidays”. She may bring Christmasween to the mass public one day, who knows with Ella.

It's Just Paint

E was 22 months old when we attended our neighborhood festival on a perfect spring day. There was a moon jump, or as E calls them a "jumpy jump", in the middle of festivities. It was a grand castle that E was quickly drawn to when we arrived. The castle soon became her domain that she ungraciously shared with some other children in her kingdom. One of her counterparts had sat patiently while his entire face was transformed into Spiderman by the talented face painters. Apparently after the paint was applied he found his way to E’s domain and began to bounce. E did not notice his entrance until she came face to face with the boy and his face paint.  Her shriek came after a glorious jump and letting out a loud giggle in mid air. When their eyes met E’s grand personality shrank before our eyes. Her face went straight and she started her immediate retreat by backpedaling out of her castle as quickly as she had entered.

She ran barefront across a few feet of hot payment and stood at my feet begging to be carried away from the castle. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as I scooped her up into my arms. I tried to find the right "mommy words" to comfort her but instead of using any of them I blurted out, “It’s just paint!”. She pulled away from my shoulder and cocked her head; staring at me like I was crazy. I found that trying to explain the art of face painting to a toddler is a futile effort so I stuck to my basic definition and first explanation of what she had just seen, “It’s just paint”.

E did not recover quickly from that experience. Her question, “Mommy, it’s just paint?” as she touched her face continued on well past the trip home that day continuing into the next few weeks. Now when we seek to understand something trivial, something that either does not make sense or does not warrant the time needed to truly figure it out, we simply shrug our shoulders and say, “It’s just paint!”

My further reflection on that little encounter has me thinking my simple statement is fairly deep. So many things in our lives are superficial even though we transfer a greater meaning without true cause for doing so. When those little things get to me, I have to step back and say at the end of the day, “It is just paint”.  I give thanks for E and for the countless lessons she has taught me but this is one I shall never forget.   All "paint" washes off at the end of the day and I now understand it is the stuff underneath the paint that counts.