A Cupcake of a Girl

Today is Sage’s 5th (!) birthday and it is such a cliché to say I can’t believe she’s already five when it feels like just yesterday I was carrying her around in the Baby Bjorn, feeding her bottles, and putting her down for twice daily naps. I don’t necessarily miss those days because I love the person she is becoming and watching her develop and grow. But it’s hard to know with all the certainty I can muster that those days have passed. Time marches on. And as she gets older, so do I. Sometimes that’s the hard part. Because I often still feel very much the same but as I watch Sage and Taggart grow and change, I know I am too. Sometimes that’s a little scary. And then they bring me back down to Earth or the present in one way or another. With Sage lately, it’s some of the things she says.

She is so very sweet – a cupcake of a girl – wakes up happy and, if not provoked by her big brother, is rarely a drama llama or fussy. And even with a big brother who antagonizes her almost daily, she said out of the blue the other night at dinner with a shy little smile, “I feel like saying I love Taggart right now.” And Taggart wasn’t being especially nice or kind or funny. We were just having an ordinary family dinner and she says that and I want to do the blessing all over again and thank God for her sweet smile and loving nature. Because each night, before we eat, we all hold hands and say something we are thankful for and on almost any given night I say our family. But that night, I was especially thankful for her and all the sunshine and smiles she brings to my days.

Another night, I was talking to our favorite babysitter Skyler about my dad and was explaining what he was like and described him as a hippie. Sage pipes in with her hand on her hip, “I know what you’re talking about” as if I’d said something in secret code to Skyler. Sage goes on to say, “You’re saying your dad’s a hypocrite.” As if she knew the big secret. And I’m thinking, “Really??? How old are you???” The real story here though, the inside joke, is that not only was my dad a hippie but he was a hypocrite too. Smoked two packs of Camels a day but touted an all organic diet, no white bread, no white sugar... (There’s a little bit of hypocrisy in all of us if we dig deeply enough or want to be that honest – he taught me that too.)

And then just the other day, Sage and I were talking about what would happen if my car ran out of gas. (And we were having this discussion because I have run out of gas before . . . my gas gauge doesn’t work anymore on the vintage 4-Runner and I have to go by my gas mileage. However, when little hands get to pushing my trip odometer and re-set it, I can’t always tell when I’m close to running out. Not once, but twice, I found out the hard way!) As Sage and I continued our discussion I said, “Well someone would have to come help us push the car out of the way.” We talked about how Daddy or Randy and Bill (our neighbors) could come help. And then she threw in very matter-of-factly, “Or your grandma.” I’m like, “Grandma Mundy, honey? Well, she’s kind-of old and we certainly wouldn’t want her pushing my car.” And Sage replies, “Well I’ve heard you say a million times she’s the strongest person you know!” So then we had the talk about muscles and hearts and how both could be ways of saying someone was strong. Strong like you’ve lost a lot of loved ones and keep looking forward, being kind and loving, and set a wonderful example for everyone around you and strong like you’ve got big muscles and like to lift weights. Yes, two very different kinds of strong. Glad we got that all sorted out!

Some of the things I love best about parenting: Learning from my kids. Getting to see things through their eyes. Being reminded of what matters. Laughing together. Hugs for no reason. Saying I love you at dinner just because.

The Big and The Little

So much goes through my head that I don’t even know where to start. I write things in my head all the time. Everyday. To whom, I do not know. Who am I thinking of when I write these essays that sit in a closet inside my head? They seem like good ideas. Ideas that would resonate for others. But I don’t let them out. I just keep them piled up in a jumble like my linen closet or my extra gift closet – disorganized, packed full, in need of some order and attention.

The Mother Earth on Prozac idea should be a book. But as it turns out, I am not Mother Earth and I’m not even on Prozac although maybe I should be. I am just any other ordinary mother trying to get through her to-do list one day at a time. When did I lose sight of the big picture, I wonder to myself. I was sitting in church on Sunday and the minister asked: “Are you happy? Are you moving toward your goals and what fulfills you? . . . If not, you don’t believe in what you say you want.” The air got still. I got still. And I thought to myself, where did my goals go? The big ones? The ones that define a life. Gosh darn it - what ARE my goals? What FULFILLS me? What do I WANT? And how do I get so caught up in the everyday details that I lose track of ME?

I’m a big girl. A grown-up now it would seem at the age of 41. Some people’s lives have ended at this point. Not to be morbid but we don’t have all the time in the world. Our lives are finite and that is something I can say with a lot more conviction now than I could, at say, 25. Because at 25 we still mostly believe we can live forever. But then life happens. And time marches on. We lose people whose passings came way too early – at least for our liking. And the reality of living forever begins to fade and is replaced by that darker knowing that we need to make the most of every day. Because we just never know.

Sometimes that big reality scares me into living small. That’s when I’m coming from my less-than-perfect, fear-based place that sometimes seems to swallow me whole. Bad things happen too often and sometimes it seems a feat just to get out of bed. Let alone get your kids up and ready for school, make their breakfasts and lunches, and send them on their merry ways – out into that very big scary world that they still trust – their innocence as pure as the big blue sky. It’s that trust and innocence that brings me back down to solid ground and helps me center myself in a more loving, kind space.

I am reminded of one of my favorite quotes from Marianne Williamson. “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Sometimes I ignore my own light and power as I get caught up in the swirling days and the passing of years. But that’s no good. It really does not serve me or those around me well. In fact, we’d all be brighter for it. So I must remember ME. I must feed my spirit what it needs so that I am shining my light. Some days it might be only a firefly’s flicker, other days a flashlight’s soft-focus beam, and yet other days a lighthouse’s insistent bright beacon…and on the very best days, a celestial Northern lights explosion where my body, heart, mind, and soul are in perfect alignment.

Writing does this for me. But my commitment to it is so spotty. I feel it is a gift I can share but I am more likely to leave those commentaries in the dark closet of my mind than actually put them out into the world where they might act as a light to others. What would it take for me to put myself out there regularly? That’s the question I have not been able to answer. Is it that I am lazy? Scared? Do I feel unworthy? Am I worried about what others think?

Maybe I’ve been scared of my own light, calling my writing my gift - asking that very question Williamson posed: “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?” The only good answer I have is that I am me – Meaghan Elizabeth Mundy Patterson – a child of God, a being made of love, created to be a gift to this world. And with so much to be thankful for, it’s hard to allow myself to stay stuck in fear. Don’t get me wrong, those opportunities present themselves almost daily – all you have to do is watch fifteen minutes of the news or read the headlines and it’s enough to put you back in your bed . . .

Nevertheless, I think our real, daily task is to balance our inner and outer realities so that we can see the big picture and remember ourselves in it. Remember that we are all parts of the greater whole. Know that we will pass. Our things will not last. We will not last on this Earthly plane forever. So we make the most of today. We be the very best we can be today. Be it the best mom, the best writer, the best teacher, the best chauffer, the best cheerleader, the best cook, the best gardener, the best healer, the best counselor or listener. Whatever it is you are called to do. However it is that you can share your light – even if it’s your laugh or a kind word – do it now.

Let YOUR light shine.

What I Didn't Shave My Legs For . . .

Call me crazy but I'm the type of girl who shaves her legs everyday, or just about. I shave my legs because it makes me just feel completely ready for whatever the day may bring. Showered, shaved, dressed, and ready for anything. It makes me feel thinner, cleaner, more together than not shaving. So, I shave. But there are some days when I just don't have a full fifteen minutes to shower or when I don't mind not feeling so put together. The kids and I might have errands to run, be in a hurry to get somewhere, or if I know I'm exercising later in the day, I put off my shaving ritual and I run with it.

So, last Friday, the day of Taggart's ninth birthday party, two days prior to our departure to Michigan for our three week long summer vacation, we had a long list of to-dos. Shaving came off my list real fast. I told the kids, "A quick shower . . . I'm not even going to shave my legs." And when I got out of the shower and quickly got dressed, they both said, "Wow, that was fast!" And off we ran to get my car checked, return books to the library and get new books for the road trip, and eventually, get snacks and party favors for Taggart's sleepover; maybe even pack.

However, on the way to Target, after having the car checked out by our neighborhood mechanic, I got a call from one of the Deans at Vanderbilt asking if it was a good time to talk about a position I had applied for earlier in the week. With a laugh, I shared that I had both kids in the car but they had promised to be good and yes, we could talk. So we did. Dean Hogge described the position in more detail and I shared that it sounded like an amazing position, one which I would have a lot to share and from which I could learn a great deal too. "Great," he says. "Can you come in at two for an interview?" "Two," I'm thinking, "is in less than three hours . . . and I have SO much to do . . ." But I tell him, "Of course, I need to check into childcare but I think I can do two." And I'm off again. In a totally different direction with my day, but running running, running. And trying to get my head around the interview!

I call a girlfriend to see if Taggart and Sage can come over while I head to campus for the interview and then I race home. I need a good outfit. I need to put some make-up on. And man, I wish I'd shaved my legs today!!! On this day, when I am interviewing for a position that could really shape my professional career in academia, a position that seems perfect for me, shaving my legs just might have given me that spurt of togetherness I needed. But no time for that. Time only to print out my curriculum vita, my cover letter, my notes to myself about the position. And I'm off again. Kids to my friend's, me to campus. Repeating affirmations as I go: I am deserving; I am talented; I am confident; I am well-spoken. The pep talk helps me rally. I feel as ready as I'll ever be given the short notice (not to mention the ho-hum outfit and stubbly legs . . .).

I walk into the Peabody Administration Building and am set to meet with the individual who currently holds the Assistant Dean for Student Affairs position. She walks in and we immediately begin to chat. We have many colleagues in common and she is easy to talk to. In learning about more of the specifics of the job and her responsibilities, my excitement and enthusiasm build. We talk for more than forty-five minutes and I really like her and feel good about our conversation. If it was an "interview" it didn't feel like it. And I was happy about that. As I gather my things, I comment that I am off to my nine-year-old son's birthday party. To which she responds, "Oh, well I better get you to your next interview quickly so you can get to the party on time." "What next interview?" I'm thinking. But of course, I nod and follow right along, hoping if I'm late for Taggart's birthday party, his dad is there to greet his friends.

I decide as I enter the office of the next interviewer that I will send my girlfriend a text to let her know I am going to be a bit longer than I had anticipated. And of course, as I send the text, the interviewer walks in. I feel totally unprofessional as I plink my text out and apologize to her. I explain that it is my son's birthday, his party is starting soon, and I just need to let me friend know I will be along shortly. I try to joke that I never let my students text in class but I don't get even a chuckle. So much for first impressions!

The second interview starts and after I share why I am interested in the position, I am asked how I prioritize my time in a given day. And I am thinking, "Are you kidding me???" And I begin, "Well as both a parent and an educator, I simply do what needs to get done. There is always more to do in a given day than I have time for but I make a list and decide what is most critical and I go from there." I also add that I know my energy for certain tasks is better at various times of day, so for example, I typically do more important intellectual tasks in the morning and when my brain is running a little slower in the afternoon, I work with people then to help energize me . . . and so the interview begins. And the next question, "Tell me about a time when you had a student in crisis and how that situation got resolved." My reply is, "Wow, this is a REAL interview!" Again, trying to get a laugh, a smile, an acknowledgement that we are connecting at some level. Uh-uh. That would be a negative. No connection. "Yes," she answers. O.K., let's press on. More inane questions: "Tell me how someone knows they are being listened to when you communicate with them." I give her some Counseling 101 answer and we move on. "Tell me about a time you had a conflict with someone and how it was resolved." "Really?" I'm thinking. "This is how we are going to do this? Ugh…" At one point, I try for humor yet again and say something like, "So this is what I get when I have less than three hours to prepare!" And still, we're not together on the craziness of this interview.

It ends after about twenty-five painful minutes. I've never been so glad to not have to talk to someone anymore. Not that she was a bad person, but I couldn't get her to loosen up which in turn kept me tight as a screw. So there we had it. My two interviews on my son's ninth birthday with no preparation, no shaved legs, no killer outfit. A splash of eyeliner, some affirming self-talk, my twenty years of Peabody experience (which I hope gets me somewhere!), and I'm the last of eight to interview for the coveted Assistant Dean of Student Affairs position.

They say they'll let us know by this Friday. I knew that by then I'd be at my beloved cottage on Higgins Lake and the Assistant Dean position would feel a very long way away. The distance will do us both good. I need the space and time in my favorite place on Earth. And maybe they need space to weigh their many options. My twenty years at Peabody College of Vanderbilt is a long time. But I could stand to make it a little longer. It's a special place too. A second home of sorts since moving to Nashville twenty plus years ago. I love that place. And boy, do I hope they love (and want!) me - shaved legs or not. But for my next big thing, for good measure, I sure would like to shave. It may make all the difference.

I'll keep you posted.

Old Dog, New Tricks

Watching Taggart learn to play baseball this spring, I have been impressed by how quickly he has picked up various aspects of the game. Some of it from his coaches, some from the other players, and some from watching the pros on T.V., each piece of information helps him put more of the puzzle of baseball together. Not ever having played before, he has come a long way and has grown to love the game.

Watching him so easily assimilate to the game and its many nuances made me wonder, what happens as we get older and trying something new no longer seems natural? Do we indeed simply become old dogs, unwilling to learn new tricks? Is it fear, or complacency, or laziness, or stuck-in-a-ruttedness? Even when we know we desperately need new tricks, we cling to our old ways. Even when there is a big change and we do not adjust the rest of our lives around it or for it . . . why are we so unmovable?

I remember my high school math teacher once telling us that when he was young his dad made him drive a different route home from school every day. That his dad wanted him to use his mind and to explore his surroundings. To be creative and not make a habit of a single way. How often do we make a habit of a single way? How often do we take different routes? What else might we see or experience for having done so?

As an up-and-coming old dog, I am still open to learning some new tricks and I have finally committed with my friend Terri to run a half-marathon next October. At 41, taking on new tricks involves some pretty serious training. The last thing I want is to be side-tracked in my busy days because of injuries. And one of the books I am using, Marathoning for Mortals, highly recommends cross-training vs. running every day. In the past, all I have done is run, run, run and my legs get sore, I get bored, and inevitably, my back or hip gives out (from being hit by a car while I was running – a whole other story about needing to learn new tricks!).

So, I have started riding my bike for one of my weekly workouts. And, I love it! I feel like a kid (er, puppy!) again as I pedal around the neighborhood, speeding down hills with the wind on my face and remembering the pure joy and freedom riding a bike can bring. I’m exploring new roads and trying on a new way to be healthy and strong.

Running has always been my quick fix but I’m learning that maybe it’s not the only way. I’m open to the possibility, that maybe – just maybe, there is more than one way to be my most fit and healthy self.

Riding a bike is an old trick for a middle-aged dog but it feels new. And sometimes just feeling new is all we need. So, to whatever makes you feel new again, bark up that tree. Find your inner-puppy and run (or roll) with it!

Inspired by Simplicity

I learned the five most important words in the English language today: “I am proud of you.” And, the four most important words: “Can I help you?” The three most important: “I love you.” The two most important: “Thank you.” And, the single most important word in the English language . . . “we”. The first four are pretty self-explanatory, the last is the idea of what “we” represents - that we can do anything together as a “we” versus an “I” or as an individual.

I heard all of this from an eighty-six year old gentleman named Jimmy Gentry. A World War II veteran, he shared his many lessons and his story of coming full circle in his long life. With an unbelievable memory (dates, weather, images), he told of his experiences as a foot soldier in World War II, of his humble childhood – one of nine children, and the indelible impact his parents had on him (his father died when he was 12 years old and his mother was left to raise he and his siblings single-handedly).

As Memorial Day approaches and we got lost in the anticipation of a three-day week-end and the kick-off to our summer seasons, Mr. Gentry’s vivid descriptions of his experiences in World War II make me think a little harder and appreciate a lot more what those in the military endure to ensure our safety and freedom. Never one to consider myself strongly patriotic, I, like so many others, have taken my freedom and rights for granted. Mr. Gentry awakened in me a deep sense of appreciation and humility as well as a deepened sense of the responsibilities that come with our many rights.

But to keep it simple, it seems if we only begin with those “most important words in the English language”, we might really have something. Simple truths for sure but they provide a powerful foundation from which we can build a stronger, more united citizenry – one built on pride, care and concern, love, appreciation, and a spirit of togetherness.

Thank you, Mr. Gentry, for all that you have given to so many. You are truly an inspiration to all whose lives you touch.

(To learn more about Mr. Gentry and his story, you can visit: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fbBygLCsm1g. He also has written a book, An American Adventure: The Living Legacy of Jimmy Gentry available at http://franklinsprings.com/allfilms/an-american-adventure.html/ )

Any Good Gardener

It’s been over a week since I wrote about my dear, sweet grandfather and life just sky rockets along. Spring bounds in and there seems to be too much to do and not enough time to complete all the projects on my to-do list. Since I turned in my final grades for my class at Vanderbilt last Wednesday, I have spent hours weeding, edging, mulching, and planting in our yard. Frustratingly enough, new weeds are already growing in one of the beds I cleared last week. And between you and me, weeding is not my favorite thing - a thankless sort of task. Because most of the time, no one even notices. But since weeding is the necessary preparation for the good part – the showy mulch, bright flowers, and clean edging – it must be done. Such is life.

We lay a solid foundation for any good thing, and find, what we build on top of it can stand tall and strong (think healthy eating, a vibrant marriage, effective parenting, a class, exercising, a bountiful garden . . .). I learn – over and over again – that there is very little in life that wouldn’t be made better through thoughtful preparation.

And the weeds, well they are everywhere (in our yards, our relationships, our eating) and if we look closely enough, we can sometimes find a reason for their clinging tenacity. Like any obstacle, they are there to illuminate something. And whether your weeds are literal or figurative, like any good gardener, the wisdom lies in knowing what weeds just need to be uprooted on the spot and which troublesome ones’ deep roots keep hanging on to either drive you absolutely crazy or open you up to greater introspection.

Ironically, I’m not choosing either today. Because the real trick to weeding our way through life is the ability to balance our thoughtful preparation and planning with a spirit of spontaneity and living in the moment. Today, I have five whole kid-free hours in which I could be a whirling dervish in our ever-beckoning yard. But my mom has offered to treat me to a facial (thank you mom!) and one of my very best friends (whom I see way too infrequently) called to see if I was free for lunch. Free? Heck yes, I’m free! Because there are times when we just have to say, “Weeds be damned!” as we focus on that foundation for self-care . . . an area where I’ve definitely got some flowers to pick and some seeds to sow. So today – YES today – I’m heading out and am SO looking forward to it.

I invite you to ask yourself, “Where are your weeds that just need to be pulled and where are there lessons hiding under that bright, egg-yolk yellow splash of dandelion?" Then, either get gardening, or call a friend and make some plans. Either way, you’ll be feeding your soul exactly what it needs.

Being Without

Over a year ago, I stopped writing and contributing to my blog – Moments of Grace. I could say I was too busy, too stressed, too tired but the truth of the matter is, I did not make my writing a priority. And in doing that, I robbed myself and others of my gifts. Simple though they may be, my words, ideas, and thoughts are what I have to share. And in not sharing, I have felt closed off and disconnected.

Coming back to where I started – and where I left off – has been in large part due to the passing of my grandfather, Gerry James Mundy, Sr. My Grampa would have been 89 this week and he and my grandmother were married 68 (!) years. They had eight children, nineteen grandchildren, and eight great-grandchildren (and more on the way!). What an indelible mark his passing leaves on so many who loved him.


Not surprisingly, his passing woke me up, once again, to what is most important for me in this life. Family and friends, love, kindness, connection. Finding meaning in our human experiences and shaping how we want to be remembered for our time here on Earth.

This morning I went through all the e.mails my grandfather had sent me over the past ten years. And he was quite an e.mailer – not afraid to forward any ole e.mail he found amusing or interesting, he often filled up our inboxes with information we didn’t want or need. Nevertheless, there was always his commentary along with the message – and that usually had some invaluable nugget of wisdom or humor. Almost always worth the price of a full inbox.

One of the e.mails I ran across was after my Grandma and Grampa had come to visit us one summer at Higgins Lake. The next week he wrote the following to me:

“Really loved being with you and that ‘lil big guy on our visit. We wish you lived just around the corner so that we were afforded the opportunity to watch Taggart develop. This business of seeing him (and you, too, of course) at such long intervals robs us of so much. That's why a visit such as we enjoyed last week is so very special. I still smile when I think of Taggart walking by and saying, straight out of the blue, ‘like your ring, Grampa’. It's a truism that we don't really appreciate fully all of the blessings we have. It takes being without them for an extended period of time to get our sense of value re-focused."

Well, being without my grandfather has truly brought my focus back to the many blessings within my life. I am ever-thankful for his and my grandmother’s presence and dedication to my growth and good. Two of the most loving, kind, generous people, they have helped shape me and have left their imprint on my soul. I owe so much of who I am to them and I will uphold and share their values and virtues.

Like them, I will share what I have been given and pass on what I have learned and gleaned in my life thus far. Being without my writing – as one of my blessings – has been stifling and lonesome. A part of myself hidden in armor of my own donning, my soul couldn’t breathe in such tight quarters. So, free like my grandfather, I am writing again – to honor his memory and to most fully be me. My soul is catching its breath. I am putting myself out there once more.

And in this capacity, being without has served me well.