Ever since my son got it into his head that Santa Claus can make anything, he's really put me to the test.
Three years ago, he asked for a Harry Potter action figure that could bend and move his arms and legs. Yep, he'd been burned by Santa in past years, who gave him "collectibles" instead of toys. He also wanted a Jango Fett action figure, which was nowhere to be found in any local stores. Ebay saved Christmas...and my son's belief in Santa that year.
Two years ago, he really wanted a Roxas action figure. If you don't know who the heck he is, he's the hero of a video game called Kingdom Hearts. At the time, these things weren't in any toy stores. Or else they were sold out. I can't remember. Damn stupid memory. Anyway, amazon was our saviour that year. (In addition to J.C., of course.)
Last year, he asked for baseball action figures. Enough to field two teams that could play each other. And which had arms and legs...as well as wrists and ankles...that could move and bend. (I've learned to look for "fully posable" in the product descriptions.) He also wanted them to have equipment: bats, gloves, balls, oh my! Amazon!
This year, my son's at it again. He has asked for a full-size car that has a gokart engine that he can drive around our neighborhood because "Santa can make anything." I'm hoping I can find this on ebay or amazon. Or that my son will forget he wanted this. Or that I can convince my husband that maybe it's time to tell my son the truth. I'll be happy with any of the above.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
It's the Journey
I'm all about the results. The final product. The destination. It's usually only after I've got the results that I can then look back on the journey. And only if the results are good do I feel good about the journey.
My son brought home to me how short-sighted, how...unjoyous...this type of approach is.
Recently he saw a commercial for Creepy Incredible Edibles. In the ad, the kids are mixing these concontions then "daring to eat or drink" them. Things like Bio Brains and Green Goo and Gummy Body Parts. And they're having a blast doing so.
His excitement -- his sense of wonder, and of the possibilities -- was contagious. He's been a really good listener lately. So I found myself agreeing to bring him to the store to buy these incredible edibles. I paid for half, and he paid for half with his own money. We brought the box home and he made the easy stuff first, the stuff that didn't require equipment that needs assembly. Stuff that only needed measuring some water and mixing with packets of powder. At first it was fun. The Fizzy Drink changed color like it was supposed to. It fizzed up just as it was supposed to. But then came the time to drink it. And my son took a sip. Then had to hold back the barf. And the disappointment. It tasted terrible.
We made everything else in this box. And each one tasted awful. And after each one, the disillusionment on my son's face grew. I became obsessed with getting the measurements perfect, the process letter-perfect, the timing exactly right. Hoping against hope that if we just did it correctly, that this would magically make the conconctions taste good. And remove the look of utter disenchantment from my son's face.
Until we finally made a Gummy finger. He became so scared to do any of the steps himself, for fear of doing it wrong. So I took over. And of course it still came out tasting like crap, at which point, he promptly burst into tears. Sad and feeling bad, I asked him what was making him cry. Was it because they tasted bad and he'd been thinking they would taste good, based on the reaction of the kids in the commercial?
No.
Sniff.
He was crying because making them wasn't fun.
Oh.
Ouch.
I washed all the equipment. Then, I suggested that he make the next batches himself.
"What if I do it wrong?" he asked.
Oh. Another stab of pain.
There is no wrong, I told him. You just do it and have fun. You're free to do whatever you want with them. Make whatever you want.
"Okay," he said. "But throw away the instructions."
Gladly!
My son brought home to me how short-sighted, how...unjoyous...this type of approach is.
 |
| Creepy Incredible Edibles. Note the kids on the box having a blast. The liars. |
His excitement -- his sense of wonder, and of the possibilities -- was contagious. He's been a really good listener lately. So I found myself agreeing to bring him to the store to buy these incredible edibles. I paid for half, and he paid for half with his own money. We brought the box home and he made the easy stuff first, the stuff that didn't require equipment that needs assembly. Stuff that only needed measuring some water and mixing with packets of powder. At first it was fun. The Fizzy Drink changed color like it was supposed to. It fizzed up just as it was supposed to. But then came the time to drink it. And my son took a sip. Then had to hold back the barf. And the disappointment. It tasted terrible.
We made everything else in this box. And each one tasted awful. And after each one, the disillusionment on my son's face grew. I became obsessed with getting the measurements perfect, the process letter-perfect, the timing exactly right. Hoping against hope that if we just did it correctly, that this would magically make the conconctions taste good. And remove the look of utter disenchantment from my son's face.
Until we finally made a Gummy finger. He became so scared to do any of the steps himself, for fear of doing it wrong. So I took over. And of course it still came out tasting like crap, at which point, he promptly burst into tears. Sad and feeling bad, I asked him what was making him cry. Was it because they tasted bad and he'd been thinking they would taste good, based on the reaction of the kids in the commercial?
No.
Sniff.
He was crying because making them wasn't fun.
Oh.
Ouch.
I washed all the equipment. Then, I suggested that he make the next batches himself.
"What if I do it wrong?" he asked.
Oh. Another stab of pain.
There is no wrong, I told him. You just do it and have fun. You're free to do whatever you want with them. Make whatever you want.
"Okay," he said. "But throw away the instructions."
Gladly!
Monday, October 31, 2011
Beginning Where I Am
I'm an all or nothing kind of gal.
If I'm running really late for an event, often I'll end up not going. I tell myself I'm so late, why bother. Never mind that I might have enjoyed the second half of the event...or had fun connecting with the people there once I arrived.
Or I'll stubbornly tell myself I need at least a whole week off from work to clean out and declutter my walk-up attic, even though the Flylady tells me I can accomplish the same thing in 15 minutes a day. Of course, I have yet to prove to myself that this 15 minutes a day thing works because I have yet to DO a 15 minute boogie with a trashbag.
My latest ridiculousness is around my writing. I'm convinced I need several hours in a day to devote to my writing -- I can't write in any less amount of time. Since I don't have several hours to devote to my writing (who the heck has several hours to devote to anything?), I don't write.
And another day goes by without my having added any new scenes or pages to my story.
And another day of not working toward my dream slips by.
So I've decided I'm going to try something new. I'm going to Begin Where I Am. I forgive myself for all those days of not writing. In fact, I'll forgive and FORGET about them. I'll just put those days out of my mind and focus on now. Where I am. And put pen to paper. All I need is one new thought. One new sentence. Maybe even one new paragraph. And tomorrow, same thing. Until hopefully one day I'll look up and find myself at the end of my story...and ready to start another one.
If I'm running really late for an event, often I'll end up not going. I tell myself I'm so late, why bother. Never mind that I might have enjoyed the second half of the event...or had fun connecting with the people there once I arrived.
Or I'll stubbornly tell myself I need at least a whole week off from work to clean out and declutter my walk-up attic, even though the Flylady tells me I can accomplish the same thing in 15 minutes a day. Of course, I have yet to prove to myself that this 15 minutes a day thing works because I have yet to DO a 15 minute boogie with a trashbag.
My latest ridiculousness is around my writing. I'm convinced I need several hours in a day to devote to my writing -- I can't write in any less amount of time. Since I don't have several hours to devote to my writing (who the heck has several hours to devote to anything?), I don't write.
And another day goes by without my having added any new scenes or pages to my story.
And another day of not working toward my dream slips by.
So I've decided I'm going to try something new. I'm going to Begin Where I Am. I forgive myself for all those days of not writing. In fact, I'll forgive and FORGET about them. I'll just put those days out of my mind and focus on now. Where I am. And put pen to paper. All I need is one new thought. One new sentence. Maybe even one new paragraph. And tomorrow, same thing. Until hopefully one day I'll look up and find myself at the end of my story...and ready to start another one.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
This, Too, Shall Pass
It's already mid-October, and I dressed my son in shorts for school yesterday. I know that soon enough we'll be bundled in winter coats and shoveling snow and ice from our porch and driveway. But right at this moment, with the sun shining warmly down, it's hard to believe we'll be doing that.
I'm reminded of a sermon I once heard by a priest at the University of South Dakota about 20 years ago. It was the year after I graduated from college, when I traveled for my sorority as a leadership consultant, developing and advising our college women. The priest was a bit theatrical, and he started his sermon by standing right in front of us and pouring salt into his hand. His theme: This too shall pass.
It was a sermon about how everything that happens to you in life, both good and bad, will pass. It was his interpretation of "to every thing there is a season." And he ended it by reading various scenarios, and after each one, we repeated, "This too shall pass." He had us giggling when he'd read a sentence about becoming president or acing an exam, and we'd have to say, "This, too, shall pass." And he had us thinking when he'd talk about a loved one dying or experiencing a breakup with a boyfriend or girlfriend.
I struggle with how to share this important lesson with my eight-year old. Especially when he's sobbing and says he wants to die after events such as the Phillies losing in the first round of the playoffs, or when we can't find the book that was advertised at the end of one of his Captain Underpants books because it looks like the author never wrote it.
I worry that if he's feeling that way about relatively trivial things, how will he handle something truly tragic? And later, will he be able to survive his teenage years when life is so narrowly defined by a small high school peer group?
How do I honor his very real feelings of despair and disappointment, while also helping him understand that while it seems like dark times now, this too shall pass?
I'm reminded of a sermon I once heard by a priest at the University of South Dakota about 20 years ago. It was the year after I graduated from college, when I traveled for my sorority as a leadership consultant, developing and advising our college women. The priest was a bit theatrical, and he started his sermon by standing right in front of us and pouring salt into his hand. His theme: This too shall pass.
 |
| The priest's salt pile has grown in dimensions in my mind, or at least in importance! |
It was a sermon about how everything that happens to you in life, both good and bad, will pass. It was his interpretation of "to every thing there is a season." And he ended it by reading various scenarios, and after each one, we repeated, "This too shall pass." He had us giggling when he'd read a sentence about becoming president or acing an exam, and we'd have to say, "This, too, shall pass." And he had us thinking when he'd talk about a loved one dying or experiencing a breakup with a boyfriend or girlfriend.
I struggle with how to share this important lesson with my eight-year old. Especially when he's sobbing and says he wants to die after events such as the Phillies losing in the first round of the playoffs, or when we can't find the book that was advertised at the end of one of his Captain Underpants books because it looks like the author never wrote it.
I worry that if he's feeling that way about relatively trivial things, how will he handle something truly tragic? And later, will he be able to survive his teenage years when life is so narrowly defined by a small high school peer group?
How do I honor his very real feelings of despair and disappointment, while also helping him understand that while it seems like dark times now, this too shall pass?
Friday, September 30, 2011
The Power of Intention
Last summer, my son told my husband that he wanted a Major League Baseball. But not just any Major League Baseball. He wanted one from a Phillies game.
He talked about it all summer, how much he wanted this to happen.
My husband really wanted this to happen for him. So he bought him a Major League Baseball. It came in a nice case and had the official Major League Baseball stamp on it. My son liked it and treasured it. But it wasn't what he really wanted.
Later that fall, my husband got Phillies tickets. We went down to the ballpark really early. The plan was for me to stay in the car until the game started so that my son could nap while my husband went in to batting practice to see if he could catch a ball. Sometimes the players will hit one into the stands.
As planned, my husband goes into the stands to try and catch a ball. He forgot his glove. So he jams the tips of his fingers into my 7-year old's glove. He's standing in left field and realizes that he's on the wrong side. All of the balls are going to right field. He quick runs over to right field. But when he gets there, all the balls are now sailing out to where he was standing moments ago. Right before he's about to give up, a ball is hit right towards him. He freezes. Then, he holds up his little glove. The ball is falling right towards his glove. He's single-mindedly focused on that ball. He's telling himself, "Don't drop the ball. Don't drop the ball." He's so focused that he's completely unprepared when another dad knocks him out of the way and grabs the ball for his own son.
My husband was crushed.
He came out and got us, all upset. My husband and son had seats in left center field. My son had worn his Victorino jersey to honor his favorite player at the time. These seats were perfect, as Shane Victorino plays center field. I had a seat almost directly across from them -- in seats with one of my good friends.
About halfway through the game, I got a text from my husband. Not only did my son get a Major League Baseball at a Phillies game. But he got one thrown to him by his favorite player.
Here's how it happened. Between innings, all the children in the section would stand at the front and yell to Shane to throw them the ball when the players were done warming up. Before one of the innings, out of blue, out of all the children in that section, the usher randomly chose my son to stand all alone with her in front of the section right where Shane could see them. When the players were done warming up, Shane had the ball in his hand. My son yelled, "Shane!" He looked up, saw my son with the usher, standing there waiting, and he tossed the ball gently and perfectly up to him.
And that's how my son taught me the power of intention. And how if you put your intention -- your deepest desire, the thing you want most in the world -- into words, the universe will respond.
He talked about it all summer, how much he wanted this to happen.
My husband really wanted this to happen for him. So he bought him a Major League Baseball. It came in a nice case and had the official Major League Baseball stamp on it. My son liked it and treasured it. But it wasn't what he really wanted.
Later that fall, my husband got Phillies tickets. We went down to the ballpark really early. The plan was for me to stay in the car until the game started so that my son could nap while my husband went in to batting practice to see if he could catch a ball. Sometimes the players will hit one into the stands.
As planned, my husband goes into the stands to try and catch a ball. He forgot his glove. So he jams the tips of his fingers into my 7-year old's glove. He's standing in left field and realizes that he's on the wrong side. All of the balls are going to right field. He quick runs over to right field. But when he gets there, all the balls are now sailing out to where he was standing moments ago. Right before he's about to give up, a ball is hit right towards him. He freezes. Then, he holds up his little glove. The ball is falling right towards his glove. He's single-mindedly focused on that ball. He's telling himself, "Don't drop the ball. Don't drop the ball." He's so focused that he's completely unprepared when another dad knocks him out of the way and grabs the ball for his own son.
My husband was crushed.
He came out and got us, all upset. My husband and son had seats in left center field. My son had worn his Victorino jersey to honor his favorite player at the time. These seats were perfect, as Shane Victorino plays center field. I had a seat almost directly across from them -- in seats with one of my good friends.
About halfway through the game, I got a text from my husband. Not only did my son get a Major League Baseball at a Phillies game. But he got one thrown to him by his favorite player.
 |
| Ball that Shane Victorino threw to my son |
Here's how it happened. Between innings, all the children in the section would stand at the front and yell to Shane to throw them the ball when the players were done warming up. Before one of the innings, out of blue, out of all the children in that section, the usher randomly chose my son to stand all alone with her in front of the section right where Shane could see them. When the players were done warming up, Shane had the ball in his hand. My son yelled, "Shane!" He looked up, saw my son with the usher, standing there waiting, and he tossed the ball gently and perfectly up to him.
And that's how my son taught me the power of intention. And how if you put your intention -- your deepest desire, the thing you want most in the world -- into words, the universe will respond.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Almost Within Reach
Last week I found out an editor, who was recently promoted and is actively building her stable of authors, wants to see the first chapter and synopsis of a story I'm working on. And I didn't even query her! The instructor of an online writing course that I'm taking shared my story concept with her.
So what did I do? After I jumped for joy -- and fright? And peeled myself off the ceiling?
I did what every self-respecting procrastinator would do. I vaccuumed the entire house, including the baseboards. I even moved furniture out of the way to get those dust balls. Then I did three loads of laundry and two loads of dishes. After that, I turned my attention to the bathroom and scrubbed the toilet and bathtub and sink. Then I moved on to the bedroom and changed the sheets. Finally I entered the kitchen and cooked the chicken I had defrosting. Two different kinds of dishes.
Did I mention I don't have a synopsis written? And I only have a first draft of the first chapter? My class ends next week. And my instructor has told me to send everything to her so that she can give me advice on how to make these things sparkle. So time is ticking...slipping through my fingers as I try to grab onto it to slow it down.
Are you marveling over my actions -- or inactions -- as much as I am?
Two things are running through my head.
First, I'm thinking about Julia Cameron's Artist Way, and her concept of synchronicity, which is rooted in the belief that the universe will respond to your deepest desire. If you have the courage to pursue your dream.
Second, I'm thinking about a friend of mine who told me how she wanted to redo her kitchen for years. But for some reason, she just couldn't get started on it. She was completely blocked. Until this summer, when she felt a shift inside. And suddenly it was really easy. She found a contractor by chance who has been a great collaborator with her, and she couldn't feel more at peace and happy with the process.
I hope and pray that these two things come together for me. That the appearance of this editor is synchronicity -- is the universe responding to my deepest desire. If I just have the courage to pursue my dream. And that I will experience a shift inside where suddenly the insurmountable -- the writing of my synopsis, the revising of my first chapter, the finishing of the second half of my book -- suddenly becomes really easy.
So what did I do? After I jumped for joy -- and fright? And peeled myself off the ceiling?
I did what every self-respecting procrastinator would do. I vaccuumed the entire house, including the baseboards. I even moved furniture out of the way to get those dust balls. Then I did three loads of laundry and two loads of dishes. After that, I turned my attention to the bathroom and scrubbed the toilet and bathtub and sink. Then I moved on to the bedroom and changed the sheets. Finally I entered the kitchen and cooked the chicken I had defrosting. Two different kinds of dishes.
Did I mention I don't have a synopsis written? And I only have a first draft of the first chapter? My class ends next week. And my instructor has told me to send everything to her so that she can give me advice on how to make these things sparkle. So time is ticking...slipping through my fingers as I try to grab onto it to slow it down.
Are you marveling over my actions -- or inactions -- as much as I am?
Two things are running through my head.
First, I'm thinking about Julia Cameron's Artist Way, and her concept of synchronicity, which is rooted in the belief that the universe will respond to your deepest desire. If you have the courage to pursue your dream.
Second, I'm thinking about a friend of mine who told me how she wanted to redo her kitchen for years. But for some reason, she just couldn't get started on it. She was completely blocked. Until this summer, when she felt a shift inside. And suddenly it was really easy. She found a contractor by chance who has been a great collaborator with her, and she couldn't feel more at peace and happy with the process.
I hope and pray that these two things come together for me. That the appearance of this editor is synchronicity -- is the universe responding to my deepest desire. If I just have the courage to pursue my dream. And that I will experience a shift inside where suddenly the insurmountable -- the writing of my synopsis, the revising of my first chapter, the finishing of the second half of my book -- suddenly becomes really easy.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
I Used to Want to Be
Isis
Wonder Woman
Solid Gold Dancer
Soap Opera Actor
Judge
PhD Graduate
Pianist
Broadcast Journalist
Lead Singer of a Rock Band
Collegiate Leadership Consultant for my sorority
Soap Opera Writer
Romance Novelist
Greek Advisor
Leadership Trainer
Host and Creator of a Show Profiling Soap Opera Actors
Aerobics Instructor
Journalist
Audio Book Voice Talent (I had to google what you'd call this)
Writer
English Literature College Professor
Poet
Yoga Teacher
Fresh Air Producer
For the record, I never wanted to be a Puppeteer nor a Mime. I once bought a book with an extensive quiz that promised if you took it, it would tell you your top careers that matched your skills and interests. So after spending days on this thing, those were my top two results.
Wonder Woman
Solid Gold Dancer
Soap Opera Actor
Judge
PhD Graduate
Pianist
Broadcast Journalist
Lead Singer of a Rock Band
Collegiate Leadership Consultant for my sorority
Soap Opera Writer
Romance Novelist
Greek Advisor
Leadership Trainer
Host and Creator of a Show Profiling Soap Opera Actors
Aerobics Instructor
Journalist
Audio Book Voice Talent (I had to google what you'd call this)
Writer
English Literature College Professor
Poet
Yoga Teacher
Fresh Air Producer
For the record, I never wanted to be a Puppeteer nor a Mime. I once bought a book with an extensive quiz that promised if you took it, it would tell you your top careers that matched your skills and interests. So after spending days on this thing, those were my top two results.
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