Mama's Musings

Love Does Indeed Float

Book Review: Flying Hugs and Kisses

Flying Hugs and Kisses by Jewel Sample

Lifevest Publishing, 2005

ISBN: 1-59879-119-2

“Love Does Indeed Float”

For anyone who has ever lost a child, this book is a painful reminder of how a sudden infant death can be. Jewel Sample’s book, Flying Hugs and Kisses, illustrates a loving family who welcomes a fifth child into their midst. The reader learns to love him as he grows, until one day he does not wake up in the morning.

Sudden Infant Death Syndrome is more common than most realize (over 2500 infant lives are claimed in the US each year alone). It happened to the author’s grandson, to whom the book is dedicated. The author lovingly handles a very difficult topic of how to deal with the loss of a child.

What makes the book so special is the way in which the children deal with their grief. As the days pass, their pain does not subside. Then, they come up with a brilliant way to send their baby brother kisses to heaven, which allays their grief considerably.

The illustrations are very compelling and, in my eyes, almost too frightening for younger children. The horror-stricken father with his hand on the dead baby was hard to take. My daughter, however, found the book’s pictures to be fitting. Reading it together with my children made me hug them a little closer and to be thankful for the minutes and days we share together.

Head Chatter

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Article "Head Chatter"

The loudest voice is the one in our heads. It chatters non-stop, saying this or that thing, not usually helpful and often misleading.

It says we're fat, not enough, far from perfect and 'slow'. It tells us things we'd rather not hear. We clamp the mouth of this voice in hopes of not passing it along to our children through our own. Some of us learn the voice is no soothsayer. Others of us live our lives as if it were real.

When we have children, the voice can turn icy. It surprises us just when we've been lulled into a false confidence that we've finally grown up and out of its clutches.

Just the other day I heard that voice as loud as ever, basking in its own omniscience like a lighthouse in the fog. It said "If your daughter isn't doing well in school, it's your own fault."

My daughter is a self-motivated learner who rarely seeks my help. Therein lies the dilemma. I actually want to help someone who doesn't need it.

We had our first parent-teacher conference of the school year this week. I truly care about my daughter's education. Doing her best supersedes being the best, and I tell her that the important thing is that she learn. She almost always brings home good grades. But what if she didn't? What would my voice say then?

I was anxious as I waited for my turn to chat with the teacher. The door swung open fifteen minutes late. Fifteen minutes to fret that somehow I wasn't good enough simply because the teacher might say she has issues with my kid.

"So I hear you and Sophia are writing a few books together," she began. I turned my head slightly, leaning forward in the tiny chair. My coat rustled.

"Well...I've been telling my kids stories about Mr. Heart and Mr. Head, and how Mr. Head always wants what he wants when he wants it. Meanwhile. Mr. Heart acts as his guide, asking him if that's such a good idea. It's a way of teaching my kids right from wrong in a fun and unobtrusive way..." I felt I was rambling already so I sat back and waited.

The teacher raised a brow. I inhaled.

"It's working. Sophia is such a delight to teach!"

I felt the limits of the chair beneath me as I caught the edge of the desk.

"Really?" I couldn't help squeaking. Scenes of our mother-daughter combat earlier in the week flashed before my mind's eye. My daughter had blocked me like a car accident on the highway.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," she had said as she kicked her head back in despair. I tried everything to explain to her in a level, rational tone why there is no hyphen between the words snow and sun. Finally, I left the room, teary-eyed and desperate. She wouldn't let me help her. She had always eagerly listened to me during homework time until this very day. It had been a new experience for me.

The teacher shuffled a few items in front of her. The rustling brought me back to attention.

"And I told your daughter how lucky she is to have a mom like you who is so interested in her homework."

I could feel the tears crawl up the orbs of my eyes. This teacher, nay this woman sitting before me had kids of her own. We locked eyes.

"Really?" I repeated in a whisper. I felt like the student, only with a bigger butt.

"You mean I don't need to do flashcards and administer sample tests to my daughter like my friends are doing?" My head chatter had curled back in surprise. It waited, seemingly aloof, yet ever watchful.

The teacher looked at me wide-eyed.

"Certainly not!" she said. "She's a smart girl, and she'll find her way in the world. Just you wait and see."

I swallowed hard, picturing Sophia in a glossy cap and gown. How many tears would pave the way to that day? The head chatter recoiled at my inner sense of triumph.

The teacher's words muzzled the voice that day. As I walked down the darkened hallway of the school, I could feel the embrace of Mr. Heart who knew a muzzle was a very good idea indeed.

(c) 2006 Christine Louise Hohlbaum

Working from home

Working from home can be quite a challenge, especially when your children have random mid-week holidays during your busiest season. Nonetheless, with a bit of planning and a huge dose of humor, I seem to pull it off every time.

This article was very helpful in thinking about how to deal with kids on school vacation. If I knew how to trackback, I would do that for this article, but seeing as I've been working odd hours and am completely exhausted, I'll just embed a link!

Pluck a String While You Disinfect

Today was tackle the Duplo Lego collection day. I knew the moment would arrive when I would have to wash all those darn Lego pieces and put them up for sale. eBay buyers have been so good to me lately that I decided, on this rainy, grey Sunday, it was time to dump the tub of baby toys and disinfect.

Two hours later, my hands looked like macromey mitts. Water-logged is not the word. I had raisin-sized finger tips. It was ugly.

But then the fun began. I got to assemble all the pieces, arrange them attractively on my living room floor, and snap photos of them. I fussed with the backdrop, grabbing a blanket or two to create an element of mystery. Several sets still have the original boxes. I could smell auction victory in my near future.

There was a bad guy, the sheriff and his horse. A racecar driver and oil truck driver. A farmyard. A zoo. Bob the Builder and friends. And on my new dining room table lay 12 pounds of Legos that I neatly tossed into a bag and will be selling in bulk.

For a millisecond, I felt a brief tug at my heartstrings. Pling, plang, plonk they went as I ordered the various sets into plastic baggies. My children looked on despondently. "Oh, those are baaaaa-ahay-by toys," my son sniffed. Ouch. He's only five (I reviewed the ages listed on the various boxes I had kept - yup, here it was in black and white. "Appropriate for ages 2-5"). My son is no longer interested in Duplo toys. He's on to bigger, more violent playware.

"Mama, don't forget to tell Santa I want the mega-dragon castle so I can set up a real battle scene between good and evil in my room," he commented recently, flipping through a Playmobil catalog. His heels tapped his butt as he continued to lie on the floor, mesmorized by All The Things I Don't Have Yet.

But never fear. Whatever Santa ends up bringing, I'll make sure to keep the original boxes. And then, in a few years' time, pass them on to some other parent whose child wants to do battle with right and wrong.

Children. They keep our heartstrings in tune, that's for sure.

Busting Out with eBay

I promised to comment on my eBay experience. I go through eBay selling jags, which quite overcome me, usually in the wee hours of the morning or night when I quickly realize I am surrounded my too much stuff. The kids suddenly have no interest in certain toys, and they've grown three inches overnight. That's when I scan their closets, drawers and shelves for saleable items.

Last week I hit gold.

Actually, it all began when the new furniture store opened. I had a compulsion to rid myself of my hand-me-down couch, our tiny table and unworkable IKEA chairs. We ordered a new table, six chairs and a couch. Then I set to work, placing them on eBay. They all sold to the same woman who came by with her Ford Explorer on Tuesday. Now we have an empty house until Saturday when we pick up our new stuff. And guess what? The old couch will be used in a meditation practice. Imagine! My grandmother's pull-out couch will now be employed for Transcendental Meditation in Ingolstadt, Germany.

I love it.

The Internet has saved my life in countless ways. Not only was I able to clear my house of unwanted junk, I can also work from home, write books, exchange ideas with people all over the world, and still greet my kids for lunch. It's wonderful (and, yes, I'm over the dog poop incident from Wednesday!).

The T-Shirt Says It All

I knew I was in trouble when I saw her black t-shirt.

"Move your ass."

There it was in black and white.

We had a new bodystyling instructor today. She couldn't have been more than 23 years old. She was fit. Tiny. And tough as nails.

I crawled out of the gym and into my car. I won't be walking this weekend. Anywhere.

For the Love of the Internet

I recently read a press release about distance learning, a fabulous trend made that much easier due to the Internet's ascent into our living rooms and home offices. There is something fabulous about sitting at home, sipping your coffee and pounding away at the keyboard while going to school at the same time. It's homeschooling at its best! E-learning is a new trend. I'm not certain if I want my kids to be cyber-geeks like I've become. I find it hard to be around people (just kidding), but seriously! There's something alienating about interacting with a flat monitor all day!

Accidental Messes

It was an accident. He didn't do it on purpose. The results was me not being my best.

We're going into Day Four of my husband's travels. He's not here, and I'm a single mom this week. No problem. The house stays cleaner, the kids seem more well-behaved, and I get my work done at night.

Except when my son wakes up and tosses a tantrum when he sees I'm already up. He thrashed his arms from side to side, propellor-like.

"I want to SNUGGLE!" he wailed. He envisioned an already cold bed and no early morning time with Mama. Scooping him up, we went back down to his still-warm bed and read two books. By the time we were finished, it was almost 7 am.

I woke up Sophia, raced around the kitchen preparing breakfast and their lunch boxes, and grabbed a few sips of coffee. After all their requests had been fulfilled, I sat down, gobbled a piece of toast and took a deep breath.

We sold our dining room table, a chair and couch on eBay. The woman picked it up yesterday (I promise to tell the story when I'm in a better frame of mind).

We sat on the floor, munching our toast.

"Isn't this fun?" I oozed a fake-sweet voice. "It's like we're camping!" The kids thought it was cute yesterday. Today, freezing on the floor in their jammies, they thought less of the experience.

The kids got dressed without a fuss, and I had managed to raise my voice only once in 30 minutes. That's when I discovered the dog poop leading all the way down the stairs, in the foyer and parts of the living room. Jackson had stepped on an Olympic-sized portion of poop at some point between yesterday and now. It looked fresh, and smelled it, too.

Mt. Etna exploded in my house. I grabbed some cleaner, a roll of paper towels, then cruelly made Sophia clean it. She was holding her nose and laughing. "That'll teach her!" I thought meanly. Then I managed to critique her cleaning skills. I was ready to let the Mama lava roll when I realized it wasn't anyone's fault. It had simply happened.

That's the crux of it. That's when you say, "Why can't I be perfect, more loving, more accepting, more understanding, more, more, more...!?" I was tired. I've had children sleeping in my bed because Daddy is gone. I've worked odd hours to keep it all together. And it's been a week in which I feel I've done everything but what I really wanted to do.

I'm feeling sorry for myself, angry, and a tad sad that I reacted so badly. It was an Erma Bombeck moment, and I failed to laugh.

Have you ever had a day like that?

The Zen of Ironing

Cut it out. You're laughing already, and I haven't even begun. I had a zen-like experience while ironing today, and I just had to share.

As a qualifying remark, I will say that I never used to like ironing. I even wrote about how my ironing board had turned into a desk of sorts in my second book, SAHM I Am: Tales of a Stay-at-Home Mom in Europe. And it had, for a while. That is until my children's textiles grew with them. Now I do wash three times a day with no clothes dryer. Thus the love affair with my iron.

It makes damp elastic waistbands on little tykes' trousers dry. It makes room on my three drying racks. It makes for a relaxing activity while listening to Native American chant music. This morning, I even lit a candle.

The atmosphere in the house becomes very serene with the wish-pfuuu of my iron. The children are calm. They read. The guinea pigs purr rhythmically. The world is in order when our clothes are trapped under my pressing machine. I glance at the growing pile of neatly stacked items, knowing they'll be jumbled in a matter of hours as my son tries to find his plastic sword in his drawer. But for the moment, I am satisfied with the box-like T-shirts sitting placidly on the chair and the sound of happy children at my feet.

Generous Day

Four days into my blog-a-thon and I skipped a day already. Yikes. My only excuse is that the snow threw me off. On the ride back from Italy, we encountered snow-dappled hills and wet highway. The biting chill in the air reminded me of a wintery Dracula, nibbling at the tip of my nose with ferocity. As promised, we had a snowball fight with our son at a reststop. We had been promising him for weeks that we'd have one the minute it snowed. Sophia and I stood behind the protective plexiglass panel and stuck our tongues out. That just riled the boys even more. It was a great time.

At home, that low-slung hue of November gray encased us. If it weren't for the bright displays on our last-minute food shopping tour, I might have hopped in the BMW Italy-bound once again. Thoughts of "oh-my-goodness-it's-time-to-send-Christmas-packages-overseas" dangled in my mind as I tossed a head of lettuce into the cart. We unloaded the car once we finally arrived home. It's amazing how much stuff we bring with us when we travel.

Last night, Andreas and I watched a heart-warming and hilarious movie called Cape of Good Hope. Set in South Africa, this modern-day film addresses the plight of Central African refugees. We loved it! Uplifted by the experience, we sorted through our closets afterwards. I culled through the "these don't serve me anymore" clothes and vigorously snapped my 80's fashionwear of its hanger and into the nearest giveaway bag.

Today has been a generous day. It has been a day of yes and why not's?! I went to the gym to get the kinks out after our long drive yesterday. After my workout, the sauna has never felt better! Andreas made pumpkin soup from our only salvagable pumpkin of the year. It was tasty! Then the kids got to watch one of their favorite movies.

So if I didn't blog yesterday, forgive me. Tomorrow, I'll let you know how my eBay mania is starting to take the upper hand...