What's Your Intention?

My yoga teacher starts practice with the words of wisdom, “Set your intention.”  For those of us who appreciate this principle, it’s key to progress in everything we do.  After I became more mindful on the mat, I started seeing better results.  The minute my thoughts start to wander, I reign them in or send them away or tell myself to keep breathing.  I've learned to stop avoiding uncomfortable postures out of fear of pain or failing or falling.  I've begun to accept my limitations without being a quitter.  I am trying to do the same in my life off the mat as well. 

I was at a funeral reception yesterday.  It was a beautiful tribute to my friend's much loved and respected “Maman,” which is Persian for “Mother.”  My friend said she lost her best friend, mother and grandmother (she was raised by Maman, her grandmother).  She is going to miss her dearly and I know the loss was huge for her entire family.  When my friend's children took their turns to speak at the dinner in her Maman's honor, I realized it was not happenstance that the person who they would miss and remember was generous, thoughtful, and loving.

They talked about going to Maman’s house after school where they always had so much fun.  One of them even said he would get excited seeing her waiting at the school gate.  She would fill them up with homemade food, get them to dance to Persian music, and teach them Farsi.  Photos projected on the wall showed Maman, proudly hugging her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.  You could see how much they appreciated the time and attention she gave them. 

School breaks at 3:15 today for 15 days.  The last thing I want is for my boys to remember a winter break with a stressed-out mom who yelled a lot and was forever running out the door.  I know they don't need a trunk load of wrapped gifts, and that what they'll treasure are happy memories of our family together.  In order to arrive where I intend--spending the next two weeks in ways I find important--I am going to have to let go of at least half my list and pull out the Monopoly board, lasagna pan and 80’s CDs.. 

Say, we can go where we want to.
A place where they will never find.
And we can act like we come from out of this world.
Leave the real one far behind.

We can dance.

Naughty or Nice?

The holidays really are a defining time.  If you choose to ignore them, you are a scrooge.  If you embrace them, you are an annoying Christmas-sweater-wearing type.  My friends’ posts recently on Facebook and Twitter were telling.  “Let the madness that is December begin” or “I just had a weekend that didn't feel like a weekend. #tired”

It’s tough finding the sweet spot that works for yourself and your family.  Everyone has different energy levels, budgets and amounts of free time.  I used to think that the key was organization and planning and that if I scheduled everything just right, I would survive the holidays victorious.  I shopped ahead of time, ordered photo cards before Thanksgiving, decorated when my curmudgeonly husband was out of town.  I tried to keep the stress of the holidays to myself by getting craftier and smarter every year, hoping to beat the mayhem, expense, and marathon-style events.

What I have found is that there is no winning at this game. My down-to-earth friend who I thought was so sane showed up at school last week with pine needles in her hair because she wrestled a Christmas tree out of the back of her SUV, up a flight of stairs, and into her home by herself.  I am sure she will decorate it by herself this year, too, as her boys are teenagers now and I’ve never seen a straight male over the age of 12 hang anything on a tree. 

I have a pact with the Professor to keep things to a dull roar, mainly because we are Jewish, but also because I admire and respect his sensibilities.  He grew up in an apartment in Manhattan where everyone valued movies and Chinese food and good moods over homemade turkeys, decorated homes and lots of alcohol.

The problem is I enjoy Christmas lights, holiday parties, and opening the cards and gifts that arrive in the mail.  I don’t want to be a free rider, so how can I receive if I don’t give?  Would it still feel like Christmas if all of my friends stopped decorating and hosting and just went and volunteered for a cause they found important and simply told me about it the next time I bumped in to them at the market?

It seems the balancing act of our lives is magnified most in December.  I really do wish everyone peace on earth…finding a way to achieve it would make this the most wonderful time of the year.

New Plan for December

Young children know how to get it right.  I realized on this holiday trip to New York why my boys love it so much.  Yes, they adore visiting their grandparents.  But I used to think the city was enchanting to them because we go to Chinatown on the subway, climb rocks in Central Park, and have big bowls of ice cream in beautiful places.

They reason they enjoy these visits is because we slow way down and suddenly we get to stay in our pajamas all morning and lounge about on the sofa with Grammy & Grampy.  First Born Prince has been playing lots of Lego and reading constantly.  Charming Baby brought an art kit and wrote a story.  Given the choice of how to spend an afternoon, they’ll choose playing cards at the kitchen table over a matinee on Broadway any day.

I would never have guessed that it would take a trip to Manhattan to remind me of the simple pleasures.  As I look at our December, I want to replicate the quiet, happy memories of the holidays from when I was a kid.  I remember getting very excited when "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" and "Charlie Brown's Christmas" were broadcast on ABC each year.  My brother and I would get to eat dinner on TV trays and suddenly the feeling in the air was magical.

I have no memories of my mom stressed out at the mall, cursing at people in parking lots, but I do remember her making at least a half-dozen different types of Christmas cookies and assembling beautiful tins full of delicious homemade goodies for family, friends and neighbors.  My favorites were the date nut pinwheel cookies.  The secret is freezing the rolls of dough before slicing.

We would spend hours decorating the house together with our Bing Crosby “White Christmas” album playing.  Everyone knew it was my job to put the angel on top of the tree and I didn’t even have to arm wrestle my brother for that.  He got to set up the nativity scene and spread the hay around v-e-r-y carefully.  My dad hung lights on the house while singing “Now, bring us some figgy pudding…”  There was no feeling of cramming a bunch of commercial activities into our schedule, but rather time to sleep in and enjoy the heavenly smells coming out of the kitchen.

There is an overwhelming assortment of activities back home waiting for us—holiday theatre, chamber music performances, Christmas parades, tree lighting ceremonies, parties, shopping events.  I have just decided that we’ll be opting out of most of it in favor of baking cookies and watching movies.  At home.  In our pajamas.  Just like it was 1978.

Thanksgiving Lesson

 

“We must get beyond textbooks, go out into the bypaths... and tell the world the glories of our journey."

--John Hope Franklin, History Professor Emeritus at Duke University

The traditional six-grade overnight camp trip was cut this year from the public middle school curriculum in our district due to budget constraints.  The whole program just folded up and vanished.  I decided to see what we could do to independently fund and send our students to a privately run camp.  I still remember how much fun I had when I went in sixth grade—it is an amazing opportunity for kids to learn through hands-on experiences out in nature. Students build their self-confidence, leadership abilities, and a respect for our environment.

I started the process in my kick-ass-and-take-names sort of way which turns people either on or off.  I got permission from the Principal to allow us to take the 330 6^th graders off campus for four days and then, with the help of two other volunteers, we researched our options.  We contacted the camps where the private middle and charter schools are sending their students.  Next step is to survey the parents to see who is willing to pay $275 to send their child, and more importantly, who is willing to help pay for other students to go.  We are facing numerous hurdles, and some days I get worn out and rude and say things like, “Pay to play, baby!”  I know, not cool.

We suggested to the principal that we have academic and citizenship requirements to qualify for going (knowing full well that would eliminate somewhere between $10,000 and $15,000 worth of fund raising we would have to do).  That was shot down.  Thankfully, my fellow volunteers pointed out:  1) The kids that need this the most are the ones who wouldn’t qualify; and 2)  Our kids already have so much, we are doing this for the ones who can’t afford it.

Then it hit me.  I am volunteering to keep the public school functioning in the ideal way, not turn it into a hybrid private institution.  I suddenly let go of all my anger about the free riders and people who don’t give.  I became thankful for the chance to work with caring, soulful people who are happy to give time so that we can keep the camp opportunity alive for all sixth graders—this year’s students, future classes, and hopefully, if we get the formula right, other public middle schools all over the city and state.

Haunted Trail

Last week First Born Prince was invited to the Balboa Haunted Trail, which has been around every Halloween since I was a teenager.  I only went once and remember it being over-the-top creepy.  The people who do the haunting chase you with chainsaws and touch you with slimy hands, crossing boundaries, seeming like they might be escapees from an asylum.  The other boys who were going attend a different school that starts an hour later than my son’s.

The mother offering this spooky treat asked me for permission to invite him, and even though I was tempted to just say no for him, I decided to test his ability to self manage.  I explained to my son that I thought it wasn’t a good idea and that I’d rather he wait until he was older and go on a weekend instead.  I am struggling with the balance between being a good mother and being a total killjoy.

He declined the invitation and then, afterwards, cried and pouted (confirming he was tired and needs to get his ass to bed on time) and accused me of being mean.  I ignored him (more meanness) and continued helping Charming Baby with his homework.  Eventually he snapped out of it and joined us in the family room, happy to be in pajamas, home, with us.

Later that night my friend texted me that they had to leave the haunted trail early because one of the boys got too scared.  I wished I could have saved her the gas and entrance money but she is trying to be a nice mom and sometimes that gets lost in translation.

High Price of Privilege

I realized last night sitting around a beach bonfire that my dark tales from childhood are par for the course in most of my friends’ upbringings.  It's comforting to know that I wasn't the only one raised with my parents goosing as much free child labor out of me as possible.  Listening and laughing to everyone’s stories brought back some of my best memories.

Like the way I spent my weekends not performing dance recitals or taking music lessons but helping my dad fix up the rental properties we owned.  I was a master at removing contact paper and old linoleum.  My brother and I both knew the difference between a Philips head and an Allen wrench. 

It wasn’t the middle ages.  My parents did take us to the beach, signed us up for baseball and we swam a lot in our backyard pool, but I got to know them the best when we were working together on a project or doing errands.  The way my mother effortlessly planned out a week’s worth of family meals and shopped from a list in her head, all while keeping both me and my brother from slipping sugar cereal into the cart when she wasn’t looking, still impresses me.

It was my mother and father who taught me how to cook, clean, garden and run a home.  I am not sure what to do with my skills and knowledge as the Professor and I employ a housekeeper, gardener, and handyman.  The Professor was at least trained how to pay for all of it.  I am just straddling the two worlds and trying to make sense of what exactly are privileges.

Case in point:  I now know two people that pay a dog poop scoop service to stop by their homes to clean their pets' messes up from their lawns.  Both of these families have strapping, capable children.  All I could think was maybe their sons and daughters were too busy doing all those things I never did as a kid to find the time to learn how to deal with the shit that is a normal and natural by product of owning a dog. 

I thought about it for about two seconds and then happily instructed First Born Prince and Charming Baby to get busy.

Rockin the Sabbath

The year before we left for New York, I was so overbooked that we almost never had long, quiet nights at home.  I dreamed of family game nights, family movie nights, but they rarely happened.  We always had people over, or somewhere to go, or I'd be tossing dinner at my kids while standing as I skipped eating because I was trying to lose weight. Often we’d meet for dinner out, usually at the local restaurant/bar that everybody goes to, sort of like a Cheers except with chardonnay and kid's meals.

I want to replicate the family time we had in Ithaca.  We had a lot of it there and I discovered the more time we spent together, the easier it was to get along.  It’s just that I need a little help prioritizing.  I decided to try having a regular Shabbat dinner, which means gathering your family for a special dinner every Friday night, to mark the beginning of the Sabbath, or Jewish day of rest.   You don’t have to produce an elaborate meal, it can be any little gesture—a table cloth, flowers, something that makes the dinner different than all the other nights of the week, a simple way of showing your family you are honoring what’s important. Plus, the Challah lady delivers the traditional bread to Hebrew school students in class on Thursdays, so we were halfway there.

We had to decline two dinner invitations and squeeze in a run to the market, but I pulled it off and we had all the ingredients for our first look-at-how-nice-and-sane-we-are Shabbat dinner.  We sang blessings as we lit candles, poured the wine and tore pieces from the ceremonial Challah.  I noticed we all lingered around the table talking for over an hour, much longer than our normal eating time.

Charming Baby was practically chirping and came over to me and curled up in my lap after dinner, petting my hair, feeling affectionate.  First Born Prince thanked me profusely for the cooking and I couldn’t believe it when they all cleared their plates and helped clean up without me even asking. 

I feel like we are setting a family tone and as the mom, I'm the DJ.