not speaking

I'm still not speaking. Technically, I am... but only when I have to. When I do try to speak, my voice is small & scratchy-painful sounding. When I don't, I have gotten quite good at pantomime & general hand gestures (no, not those hand gestures!)

I've had 5 days without a real voice. Five. Days. I have been flat-out sick for a few of those days, though today I'm finally able to get up and around a bit. I'm still hardly able to talk. Five days without reading stories. Five days without singing. Five days of headaches. Five days of missing most of the noisy, silly moments in our life, and five days without laughing out loud. Five days of drinking twelve million cups of tea (which may only be a slight overstatement).

Five days isn't a long time, but it's long enough, in my opinion.

I've learned some rather ugly things about myself, in the midst of my silence...

1. I raise my voice to get the attention or obedience of my children. This must happen more often than I realized. Far. Too. Often. Hopefully we've built some good new habits over the past five days.
2. I am not a very sympathetic sick person. When Mr. Kenobi came down with a similar cold a couple days ago, I actually felt annoyed with him for getting sick at the same time as me. As if I have "dibs" on sick time around here.
3. I do not like sitting quietly, nor laying down, especially for long periods of time. I get cabin fever easily.
4. I am willing to watch TV, even when I'm not interested in the show.
5. I have a limited attention span for chicken soup.

On the other hand, I've learned some really beautiful things about people around me. My neighbors are gems; they've taken the boys to school, play dates, and generally out of the house so I could rest. They've offered dinner and grocery trips. I love living here! Moreover, in the midst of being sick, I've been nurtured and loved by my family. In particular, I was blessed by a sweet moment of thoughtfulness from Obi-1 yesterday.

It was around 8 am, and I dragged myself out of bed so I could get the boys ready to go (with a neighbor) to a kids' program. Mr. Kenobi was stuffed up and miserable, and didn't want to get out of bed. The boys needed breakfast. They also needed sack lunches made for later. They needed to get dressed. Mr. Kenobi needed some hot tea to help him find his way back to the land of the living. Somebody had to do all these things... NOW.

So, I grumpily pulled myself out of bed, coughed and wheezed downstairs, and put on some oatmeal for the boys and turned on the kettle for hot water. I tromped back upstairs, helped the boys get some clothes out of drawers & on their bodies, then pointed them to brush their hair. I collected their school bags, activity bags, and made sure I'd unloaded the old projects before they went back for refills. Barely able to whisper, I instructed the kids back downstairs for breakfast, and began fixing their lunches while brewing a cup of tea for Mr. Kenobi. The dishes hadn't been finished last night, so I started loading the dishwasher & cleaning the counter. I was grumpy, and sick, and tired. So tired, in fact, that I hardly noticed as Obi-1 watched me with great interest. Finally, he spoke...

"Mama, what are you doing?"

"I'm getting breakfast for you, making tea for Daddy, and trying to get things done so you can start your day."

"Are you sick, Mama?"

"Yes, honey. I am. But somebody needs to take care of this family." I hoarsely reasoned with a 5-year-old.

He was thoughtful a moment. Then, the gem: "but who will take care of you, Mama?"

That is the question, isn't it? Who will take care of Mama? I thought of all the times my own mother, and hers before her, and many mothers I know, have struggled through illness or exhaustion to take care of others. This seems to be one of the least-glamorized pieces of motherhood. His question, and the thoughtful love behind it, moved my heart. He was worried about his Mama. Who would take care of her?

I struggled to give an adequate answer. "God will take care of me, sweetie. I'm going to be better, soon." I turned to continue the peanut-butter sandwiches, thinking my little Sunday School answer would satisfy him. Of course it didn't.

"But... who will make you tea?"

He is wise, that Obi-1. Wise, and loving. :)

The reality is, I do have to take care of myself. (Frankly, that's why I was sending him & his brother off with the neighbor and going back to bed soon.) The reason I got this sick was because I was going, going, going... 104 miles an hour, and a minor cold caught me in the midst of exhaustion. I knew I was more susceptible to illness when I'm pregnant, yet I didn't really stop to take care of myself.

Getting sick, and losing my voice, and having to be reminded of basic values by my five-year-old... Maybe the past five days weren't a total loss, after all. It is a good reminder about caring for my children & family. If I'm going to be of any good to the Kenobis, I need to be healthy. If I'm going to be healthy, some things will have to wait. Somebody has to take care of Mama, too.

ye of little voice

I do not have a voice.  

Perhaps more accurately, I have a very soft voice.  This is unusual, as I'm generally easy to hear (understatement) and frequently heard (although understood may be less frequent).   Right now, I can barely whisper.  My vocal chords have just ceased to function.  

This happens to me from time to time.  It's usually due to a combination of a cold, stress, feeling nervous about needing to speak in front of a group, and lack of sleep.  Check, check, check, and check.  So, while I'm slightly annoyed at my current predicament, I'm not too concerned.  It's nothing some rest and time won't cure.

I lost my voice on my wedding day.  It was highly ironic, considering it was the one day of my life that seemed really important to say something.  The mere fact that my voice was gone added to my nerves, which of course eliminated my voice altogether.  By the time of our evening wedding, I couldn't create more than a breath of sound.  Our pastor reassured me that he'd hold his microphone close to me during the vows...  and, he reasoned, God hears our hearts - not just our voices.  That part seemed highly philosophical to me at the time, and not very reassuring, so I was glad for the mic that meant at least my groom (standing inches from me and holding my hand) would be able to hear me say, "I do."

And so, as our wedding began and I entered a place one last time as a single woman, I remember feeling a rush of calm and joy.  From the moment I saw Mr. Kenobi standing a few short yards from me and married life, I no longer worried about details, or other people's happiness or accommodations, nor even how anyone might hear that I love this man and want to combine my life with his.   It was good.

So, I wasn't worried anymore when asked those fateful (and careful chosen) words of, "do you...?"  For the first time in nearly two days, I opened my mouth to speak and words came out - clearly, loudly, and enthusiastically.  I think I was as surprised as anyone, and especially because (with that lovely mic), it was really loud!  I Do.  I really, really, do.

With that, my voice came and went.  Like a divine provision, I was able to speak two words - highly significant and timely words - and then resume a scratchy, barely audible level of conversation for the remainder of the evening and weekend.  Friends and family mostly read my lips as I thanked them for being part of our celebration.  Parents hugged me and understood that I loved them, even if I couldn't say so out loud.  

In some marriages, a bride retains her vocal functions, but loses her voice after a wedding.  Many women around the world know this fate.  There are times when I wish I couldn't speak - or wouldn't have spoken - but I'm thankful to be allowed a strong, opinionated, and mostly joyous voice in my life and relationships.  I'm also afforded the gift of gracious ears from many others - especially Mr. Kenobi & the Obi's.

So, today my voice is gone.  Tomorrow, perhaps, I will speak again.

benefits of socialization

One of the most frequent benefits I hear about sending my children off to this program or that experience is "socialization."  Loosely defined, this is the knowledge of proper social interaction, appropriate friendship-building skills, empathy, appreciation of diversity, and ability to work together with others.  You know - the kinds of things you wish your coworkers had learned as children...

Anyway, I don't argue with the idea that it's good for my children (and everyone) to gain an appreciation for others, an ability to adapt, and an understanding that the world really doesn't revolve around them.  I'm not always sure these values are best taught in a classroom or on a field, but there are good also other good reasons to get out and get involved with others.

So, Obi-1 is at a local public school, enjoying a "pre-K" program immensely.  As far as we can tell, he's been learning all sorts of wonderful new things... Always a social bug, I've seen socialization work in ways I never considered.  Who would have thought I was depriving my child of important social skills (some of the same ones, in fact, which my own parents somehow kept from me!) - like every character's name & description from all six episodes of Star Wars (useful, I suppose, if he ever starts reading this blog?!), or fun facts about Pokemon cards, and words that he didn't know, but has seen by example that they are inappropriate (like "stupid" and "hate").  

What's more, his socialization has given him a new appreciation for diversity... in food.  He gets to try snacks that are from other cultures.  Some of these foods, he likes.  Other times, he prefers our options (case in point here).  

However, I was a bit unprepared to hear the that he no longer liked popcorn.  In readying for a recent "family movie night" in the Kenobi household, we thought the boys would be excited for fresh-popped corn.  Then the request came:

"I want cheese on it," announced Obi-1.

"What?  Cheese on it?  Hmmm..." I tried to figure out how we could grate a little parmesan or something to accommodate his request, only to be cut off with his specifics...

"Not that cheese.  I want orange popcorn.  Like we have at school."

Orange popcorn?  As in, orange-colored puffs of whatever-it-may-be.  As in, my son no longer likes real popcorn nearly as much as the manufactured stuff.  We, by design, don't have that around the Kenobi household.  Many of you have (privately perhaps, but often right in my living room) chided me about the values on nutrition around here.   When thinking about my children's need to appreciate diversity, I hadn't realized that this, too, is a benefit of exposure to other cultures & group dynamics.

Left out of a proper socialization opportunity like pre-K, he may never have tasted that orange popcorn.  It might not be the only benefit, but you have to admit that his life would be a little less-than-full without orange popcorn.

Okay... off with my sarcasm, now.  Just thought you might enjoy a laugh at me once in a while.

mamathree

The name won't change, but the household will.  The Kenobi's are having a baby this summer... and while our "real life" friends (hopefully) already know this, other readers may not have heard the news.

We are waiting until we meet Baby Fig (the current nickname) to find out if we'll have a daughter/sister or son/brother.  So, for those of you who are itching to send us pink or blue items, well... hold onto it a while longer.  I'm not one to decorate a nursery or stock up on a brand-new layette, anyway

I'll admit, not knowing our baby's gender before he or she arrives does raise some interesting challenges.  For instance, we've now used two of our favorite boy names.  The list of potential names seems a bit shorter and more difficult this time around.   Plus, more people seem to have imput this time.  Obi-2 wants to name a baby "Goliath."  Mr. Kenobi likes "Obadiah."  I share this because neither will make the short list!   For fun with current events and biblical trivia, we've told some of our more "red state" friends that we're looking at Judges 4 for names.

Anyway, we won't call our children "Obi" in real life around here.  It is a good bet, however, that Baby Fig will be featured here as "Obi-3," thus continuing on our long and odd tradition on this blog.  If you're wondering why in the world we ever started this tradition, enjoy a little review...

Here's to growth!

-MamaToo

  

beautiful mess

The pressure of writing to "catch up" has kept me from writing at all.  Our life is a wonderful adventure, and sometimes it leaves this mama with more experiences than commentary.  I've also had so much work to do on my computer lately, I just haven't wanted to sit and update the blog.  Oh - but I've wanted to write out my thoughts and memories, as they are so much fun!  So, today I'm sharing a little moment of motherhood that I hope to treasure a while...

Baths, in the Kenobi household, happen at least once a week.  Some families do this ritual daily, but in our house it seems that it's an "as needed" occasion.  The boys have been a little stuffed up lately, so I decided to put them in a steamy bath this morning.  They were less than thrilled with the idea.  Obi-1 and Obi-2, it seems, wanted to do something messy.  Thus, a compromise arose which was entirely fun and photogenic.

I taped pieces of paper to the walls of the bathtub, and got them down to their skivvies before setting them in the (empty) tub.  The hot steam vaporizer was turned on to quickly warm the room, and I filled four plastic bowls with finger paints.  They were a little incredulous that I would let them paint on the walls or in the tub, but quickly and joyously started creating.  While I watched and snapped photos, they painted masterpieces (or at least painted) with increasingly messy hands & environment.

I can be known to be one of those moms who resists messy art projects, because... well... they're messy.  In this case, I embraced it!  By the end, they had filled several pieces of paper with their designs.  We had all laughed and enjoyed the moment.  When the art was cleared, I simply filled the tub with sudsy water & bubbles, gave them two clean washcloths to "clean" the tile, and let them play.  Within moments, everyone (and everything) was sparkly.  

It's ten in the morning, and I'm updating this blog, enjoying a latte and admiring some small things:

1. Squeaky-clean boys before lunch.

2. Boys who can take deep breaths through their nose.

3. Tile and tub that's cleaner than when the day started - and I didn't have to do it.

4. Beautiful pieces of childhood art.

5. Fantastic (mostly unpostable, due to the skivvies) photos of childhood.

Here's what I want to remember about this season of my life:

Sometimes you get discouraged,

because I am so small

And leave my little fingerprints

On furniture and walls.

But everyday I'm growing

And soon will come the day

That all those little fingerprints

Will surely fade away.

So here's a little handprint

Just so you can recall

Exactly how my fingers looked

When I was very small.

(I don't know the author of this poem.  It was on a project I did in nursery school...)

pet peeves

I am trying to get our holiday adventures into written form, but in the meantime I had to drop in and say "Happy New Year" to all who are hoping to hear from the Kenobi family.  I also have to tell a story about a simple moment in an otherwise normal day.

We've had a winter wonderland out here in the rain forest, complete with road closures, over a foot of snow, sheets of ice, and other white-Christmasy weather.  There were special all-day news coverage teams, and poor journalism interns standing out in the cold in order to report "live" from somewhere.   There were graphics for the "Arctic Blast 2008" and cancellations of nearly every activity in the city.  Even the yarn shop had to close and change hours - just days before Christmas.  

Needless to say, over the weeks of crazy weather, many local drivers' patience wore thin.  Now that we're back to the predictable rain-and-sunbreaks we all love so much, (sarcasm dripping...) area drivers seem more at ease.

Except, that is, for a gentleman who was creeping along the freeway yesterday as I lined up to merge into traffic.  Many trucks slowly inched their way along in front and behind him, and those of us coming onto the freeway began the search for friendly faces who would actually allow us into the line.  As most drivers do, I concentrated mostly on my own space and opportunity, keeping a side glance on the driver in front and beside me and pacing with the others on the road.

When it came time for my "turn," if you will, I looked out my window to confirm the driver was actually letting me in.  He was not.  As it turns out, he had sped up to wave furiously at me (and anyone else looking).  With both arms (yes, he was determined to make the roads very safe) he admonished clearly that only one car at a time can merge into traffic.  Oops.  In my attempt to merge, I'd nearly made him later to his destination.  It was not my turn.

Evidently, I nearly made a mistake and had tried to merge with the person in front of me (who had not been able to get kindness from the truck in front of us).   This, I suppose, is a fair pet peeve.  However, given the speed of traffic and importance of the 1-at-a-time rule, I felt like my new friend was overreacting a little.   Fortunately, he had kept me from my error, and completed his favor with a hand-gesture lecture.   So, I braked slightly and let him continue on, merging in behind him.

This should have been the end, but he didn't feel I was properly educated.  From the car in front of me, a furious driver continued to lecture with both hands waving to indicate that only one car at a time can merge into traffic!!   "Good grief," I thought.  "I didn't even merge in front of him."  After what seemed like a long time of a driver waving and yelling into his rear view mirror, I finally flashed him an "OK" sign and he seemed satisfied.  

I admit, it wasn't the first sign I thought of flashing, but grace won the day and I smiled with a "please forgive me" attitude while letting him know I'd received the message.  He begrudgingly moved forward (both hands on wheel, finally) and cut off a semi coming up on his left as he lurched past the slower traffic.  Apparently, having to remind me about my driving inadequacies had forced him to inch along much longer than he'd planned to stay in that lane.

I'm sure I wasn't the only one to do this to him yesterday, or in general.  Merging into traffic is not an gift of northwestern drivers.  It bugs my husband, too, that folks tend to do this inefficiently - perhaps even unsafely.  And in case you're wondering, I'm usually good at sticking to the "one at a time" rule.  

This story reminded me something about new years, new opportunities, and new habits.  Perhaps you have a pet peeve.  It could be other drivers, or that coworker beside you, the in-law or family member you love, the person you married, or the child you're raising who offends you today.

Please, on behalf of me and others who make mistakes once in a while, forgive and move on.  It's really not worth a long lecture on the freeway or in the kitchen.  It's not helping that resolution to lower your blood pressure or show more kindness.  It's not valuable enough to hang onto and pull out in the list of things that prove we don't love you enough.  It's simply an annoyance, and here's a little secret: once in a while, you're not perfect, either.

Happy New Year,

MamaToo