Warts and All

I have this mole on my left shoulder and it was one I thought needed to be checked. Having been a savage sun worshipper for a solid twenty years or so, I feel like I’ve gambled with skin cancer and may not come out without paying some sort of price. So, I went to my primary care physician and had her look at it.

“Oh that, that’s nothing to worry about. That’s just a weed in the garden of life,” she told me. O.K. It’s not a problem. Just a weed in the garden of life. Just an innocuous brown mole on my shoulder that looks not-so-pretty but is totally harmless. Its presence on my shoulder doesn’t bother me now that I know it’s simply a dandelion. In fact, I knew I’d really become a grown-up when things like my mole didn’t faze me. I don’t care anymore about how dark my tan lines are or about being smaller than God made me. There’s something really healthy about this – it’s both freeing and grounding.

It allows me to tell Taggart – who has a couple warts on his hand and knee – that it’s no big deal. They’ll go away sooner or later and they don’t hurt anything. And he believes me and that’s good. When I hold his hand and bump into the wart on his knuckle, I give it an extra little rub – silently saying, “You don’t trouble us a bit – we’re good with you. Stay if you must or leave when you’re able but know, we’re not bothered.” Now, I wouldn’t have wanted it at seven years old but he’s totally O.K. with it and I think that’s great. Very healthy. I’m proud of him (and I’m O.K. with it too – not that it’s about me, mind you!).

It affords me the opportunity to say to a friend who struggles with her body image, "You are a beautiful woman - so much more than the size of your arms or the number on a tag! You are healthy and vibrant and your kids and husband think you've hung the moon." Please don't waste your time - don't give up on your garden - for those few little weeds. Your garden is bountiful and rich. Dwell on that.

It lets me look at my relationship with my husband – which, like any relationship, has its fair share of ups and downs – and know that whatever is going on is a bump in the road and not a marital hi-jacking of sorts. No, just a little weed, saying, “Look at me. Pull me if you must. Or accept me and let me be, and know that the garden’s still big and beautiful with me in its midst.”

Little life lessons about picking your battles – knowing when a weed is a weed or when it’s something big and invasive. Knowing when a wart is a wart and not a self-esteem demolisher. Knowing when to say when. And, when to accept what is . . . warts and all.

Pushing Organic

I’m wading through a great book right now and it’s got me doing a lot of thinking. Jeff actually gave me this book a year ago for Mother’s Day but I tried to read it then and couldn’t deal with the guilt and deep thinking it was requiring so I shelved it. Alas, it beckoned a month or two ago and I pulled it back out and committed to reading it. Normally, I fly through books I love and can’t put them down until I finish – much to the frustration of my husband and kids. This book, though, I’m taking slowly. It’s beautiful and it’s tough and it’s making me question how I live and how I eat. And that’s a lot to contemplate.

The book is by Barbara Kingsolver – one of my favorite authors – and it is called Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. It is the true story of how she and her family moved from Arizona to Virginia – to a farm her husband had owned for thirty years so that they could live off their land for a year, keeping everything as organic and local as possible.

Now, for those who know me or my childhood, this may have some resemblance to my upbringing. When I was three and my brother was just born, we moved to Northern Michigan from the Detroit area so that we could have clean air, water, and a healthy living and learning environment in which to grow.

We had a huge garden, we had animals (though we did not eat them – well, one rooster but that’s another story), and everything was fairly local when you lived in Manton, Michigan. The year was 1973 and the counter-culture movement, one that my father embraced, was well underway. We frequented health food stores, ate organically, did not drink sodas or eat sugar cereals, and even had a compost-able toilet at one point (again, a whole other story).

Forgive my jaunt back in history but I think it’s helping me glean why the book is hard. People used to say when my dad pulled up for an unannounced visit that sometimes “It was hard to see your conscience pull up in the driveway.” This book feels a little like my conscience and a lot like my upbringing with my father. Both feel true in that I believe in the virtues each espouse.

My dad was pushing organic before it was trendy or mainstream and you couldn’t get a more “local” upbringing than the farm he moved us to in Northern Michigan. My brother and I would cut the rhubarb from our garden by the basketful and sell it to the local grocery store in town. You literally could know where a lot of your food came from – I remember our friends and neighbors the Roots slaughtering pigs and sharing their bounty with us. Pigs who had had a good life and were fed well. And, who died as humanely as possible to feed people who appreciated the food they provided.

That’s what’s hard now. And what this book is making me think about. Why don’t I eat and feed my kids a more local, organic diet? I feel in my heart it’s better. It was how I was raised. It is more humane for the animals who actually had a life – were fed with their and others’ health in mind – who were respected and appreciated for the life they gave. Unlike what you hear about how cows, pigs, and chickens are mass-produced without thought to these animals’ lives or spirits. It’s not so good.

So, I choose organic when it is convenient, on sale, or when I am feeling especially open and centered. I know it’s right. I know it’s better. And, the benefits are worth the costs in the long run. But there’s another big hurdle: my husband doesn’t support the choice for an all-organic diet. And he loves to cook and often likes to pick out what he is planning to prepare.

That puts me in a tough spot. I love that he has a passion for cooking. And, he is truly amazing in the kitchen. He believes in eating healthy – fruits and vegetables and a well-balanced diet. He’s just not sold on organics. And, he’s thrifty. So, when he knows I’m making a trip to Whole Foods, he gets a little nervous. It’s good. It’s organic. And, it’s pricey.

So where do you draw the line? How do you navigate your values, your and your family’s health and your relationship with your husband every time you go to the grocery store? It’s not easy. Actually, it’s damn hard. So, I’ll keep plugging away at this book completely cognizant that it is causing me to have issues. I’ll continue to wrestle with that.

My dad always said, “Moderation in all things.” And, perhaps, therein lies my answer. Moderation in all things. The book, page by page. My life, day by day. Our food, meal by meal. Knowing sometimes we’ll do better, sometimes we’ll do worse, but most of the time we’ll commit to making the best choices we know to make. For the animals, vegetables, the environment, and most importantly, for our own humanity.

No Zen at the Zoo

O.K. So I can call a spade a spade. And I’m here to tell you that in light of writing an essay about “I am that” yesterday, God decided to knock loudly at my door. I think he was laughing as I refused to answer . . .

After taking Taggart and our friend Lily to school this morning, Sage and I decided to go to my mom’s condo to see her and her friend Steve. I hadn’t even showered and that should have been my first clue that the day wasn’t off to a fresh start. It was my bright idea that my mom and I take Sage to the zoo. We had been talking about going at different times this week and I thought this morning was a good morning for it. My thinking: get there early, have a nice cool morning, and head home just in time for Sage's nap. Sounds fantastic, right?

No. Not so fantastic. In fact, let me just say now: I found no Zen at the zoo. What I did find was almost more than I could bear. I’ll be the first to say, I was commenting left and right, “I am that” to every judgment I was making (and I was making lots). It brought me little peace. I’m not sure if it was the humidity – which this Michigander still struggles mightily with after 20 years! – or the crowds (I think I counted 14 metro school buses as we pulled in), but I was anything but centered.

All I could think was, “How fast can we get out of here?” We saw the monkeys and the meerkats and then went to the carousel. I usually save this ‘til last; that tells you my frame of mind. After the carousel, we went and fed the lorikeets. Then, when I didn’t think I could stand the crowds or the humidity a second more, I pulled out the McDonald’s card.

“Sage, Grammy and I were thinking we’d run through McDonald’s when we leave and get ice cream. What do you think?” I’m no dummy. I knew what I was doing. But I had to – and I was pretty sure I was going to renege on the ice cream. How mean is that??? (I had already promised Taggart we would have cones when he got home from school. So, there was still ice cream, just not in her smack-dab-immediate future.)

Sage wanted to see the elephants and giraffes. I could manage that. I wasn’t so sure about my mom. Lagging behind, in long sleeves and jeans, all I could do was chuckle as I pushed Sage’s stroller up the hill. When we got to a shady spot, we waited for Grammy. She caught up and asked if it was 90 degrees - I’m not sure but it sure as heck felt like it.

We saw the elephants and the giraffes. Nothing remarkable. And then we beat a hasty retreat toward the exit. There were so many people. And it was hot – did I say that yet??? I was passing judgments by the minute – no one was safe. “Who are all these people?” “Where did they come from?” “They look like they’re from the country – maybe they need to go back there!” (I’m from the country. Manton, MI. Who am I to pass judgment . . . ?)

Needless to say, it wasn’t pretty. I wasn’t pretty. And my “I am that” that I spoke so highly of just yesterday wasn’t making a dent in my judgments or overheated mentality today. So again, it bears repeating, we are all doing the best we can. My best today was to get out of the zoo as quickly as possible without upsetting my daughter or leaving my slowpoke mom behind. My best was going to McDonald’s and getting Sage a Happy Meal and mom and I fries and Cokes. It was coping at its best. Full blast air-conditioning, comfort food, and Sage asleep before we got home.

My best was also sneaking into my bed after laying Sage down and resting under the fan in my darkened room. I awoke thirty minutes later. And life seemed much more manageable. I was more centered. Zen in my bed. Some days, I am that.

I Am That

In a yoga class about ten years ago, the teacher ended the session by telling us to do one thing over the next week that would help hone our awareness. She said that every time we made a judgment – good or bad – we needed to take a deep breath and say to ourselves, “I am that.”

So when we are really frustrated in traffic and need to get somewhere fast, after we've called the person in front of us a “Jackrabbit!” for lack of a better swear word amidst little ears, we take a deep breath and say, “I am that.” Or, when we are out walking on a cool morning, breathing in the air and the beauty of spring’s bounty all around us, we see a particularly beautiful coral poppy swaying in the breeze and say, “I am that.”

This exercise comes to me, not every day, but at times when it seems I really need the reminder. It tunes me in not only to my own thoughts, biased judgments, and cup half full or half empty mentality but most importantly reinforces the connections we all share. It only makes sense that if the universe is made of energy – and there are scientists who say it is so – then whatever energy we send out, we receive (call it what you will – karma, serendipity, coming full circle). And if we remind ourselves that we are the very good or bad that we see all around us by saying, “I am that”, then we begin to cultivate an awareness filled with compassion, intention, and love.

There’s that other little thing too. The thing my minister has said on a variety of occasions that I find insightful and sometimes too close to home. When we have a really strong reaction – again, positive or negative – to someone or something, we are usually seeing something that we identify with and that resonates within us. For better or worse. Other people are our mirrors and often reflect what we most need to see and learn.

These ideas have changed how I walk around in the world. They make me a little less right (remember, I call myself a recovering perfectionist – to earn this title I had to admit I am not always right!), a little less likely to judge, more tender with myself and others – softer and rounder in ways I don’t mind and have even grown to like.

Here’s the thing: we are all doing the best we can in this dance called life. We live, we learn, we love, we grow. Hopefully keeping ourselves open each step of the way. Open and balanced. Connected to others through love and compassion. Growing in awareness. Willing to embrace the new and different . . . yes, I am that.

Mother’s Day Every Day

Yesterday was a perfectly ordinary day. There was no sleeping in (though I tried!). No breakfast in bed. Not even a card from my husband (which I promise I’m o.k. with!). So ordinary, it could have been any Sunday, yet it was an absolutely perfect day.

I made my kids pancakes and read part of the paper (only the parts I like – the ads, the Living section, and the Home section), went for a run, and then went to church with my mom. When we got home we decided we’d pick up sandwiches and go have a picnic at the park. We picnicked, looked out for ticks, watched the kids play, and enjoyed a cool spring day. Headed home and Sage fell asleep so I knew I’d be able to sneak a nap in too (!).

After a relaxing afternoon, we headed to Whole Foods and got easy dinner stuff. Chicken sausages, broccoli, salad fixings, and rice. Home to quickly pull dinner together (a feat my husband makes look so simple) and another enjoyable spring dinner on the deck.

Here’s what I loved about the day. I got to feed myself physically, spiritually, and emotionally by exercising, going to church, and being with my family (my mom, our friend Steve, my brother Chris, Jeff, and the kids). We spent time outside, we relaxed, we ate well and we laughed. It was a mixture of simple pleasures and Meaghan essentials that made the day perfect in its ordinariness.

And not to disregard the gifts I did receive and that made the weekend special (fun stuff from my mom always – a necklace, a book, soap; a Japanese maple from Jeff; a sweet homemade card from Taggart with a picture he drew of me that was kind-of scary . . . ), the best gifts were the intangibles.

So, I’m thinking we need to make more of our every days a mother’s day. Indulge in simple pleasures. Spend time outside with our kids. Go on a picnic. Nap (when we can!). Eat well. Find ways to connect with ourselves and our God. Go for a walk.

Here’s what I know. If we honor ourselves by choosing those things we know nourish us, we are better moms, happier people, more whole souls. So, as moms who juggle constantly and make hundreds of decisions on a daily basis, giving ourselves the essentials we need makes perfect sense. Let’s commit to giving ourselves what we need and asking for those things too (“Honey, do you mind if I take a quick walk?”): let’s know we deserve everyday to be a mother’s day. To days where we are full and happy. To being great moms and even better people. Good to and for others because we’re good to ourselves . . .

Yes. Mother’s Day every day!

The Best Dog Ever

Our final morning with Holly, who appears to be resting comfortably at the moment. She has not been able to eat in two and a half days and has been throwing up bile. She will not drink any water and can barely make it up the stairs. We’ve all cried with her – each one of us. Jeff, Taggart, Sage, me. I cannot believe she will not always be here with us.

I wonder what I’ll do with her bed. Where do I put it? And the food we just bought last week? Her medicine? To throw it all away seems cold and uncaring. But what to do?

We plan to take her to the vet in thirty minutes and to be with her when they give her the sedative overdose. I want her to know our presence and be reassured until the very last moment of her life here. We have known her unwavering presence for the past nine and a half years and we will give her ours until she no longer needs us.

We will tell Taggart she died today on her own. At six and a half, he does not understand the concept of putting her to sleep. He keeps asking, “Why would you kill her???” And the last thing we want is for him to hold us responsible for her passing. Sage keeps asking, “Mama, why you crying?” And all I can say is that I am sad about Holly, sad that she’s so sick.

We will have her cremated and bury her ashes deep in our backyard by Taggart’s log cabin. A quiet spot by the creek she loved to swim in and amongst the trees that provided shade after an unchaperoned jaunt through the neighborhood. The kids and I will make a headstone together that reads: “Holly Wolly Wumperkins: The Best Dog Ever”.

She will be near and not so far. A walk across the yard, over the bridge, through the woods. And we can visit her or pray or simply remember. A dog with a heart of gold. Missed dearly by a family with a hole in its communal heart; mourning the loss of her sweet soul and gentle presence, whose smiling eyes told the story.

She loved us. We loved her. We’ll never forget.