The Art of Becoming

The Thanksgiving break took its toll on all of us. We cooked all day on Thursday, it snowed, the kids played outside, the house was warm and smelled good. It couldn't have been more picturesque. That is until they all came inside. Then they fought with each other. Or Sean was busy tackling his sisters to the ground. The tackling isn't so much the problem, it's more the tackling on a hard wood floor. Or the tackling on the couch, while the 2 year old responds full force and then lands on the floor crying. Or tackling a sister in the middle of a well-traveled walkway for everyone else in the family. It was THAT. I spent so much of the evening quietly correcting, then swiftly and loudly reprimanding Sean, that by the time we were brushing teeth and getting ready for bed, he broke down into tears. me: (tired, exasperated) Why are you crying? Sean: I didn't have a fun night! me: Why is that? Sean: I'm sad... (sob, sob)...because you wouldn't let me do... anyth

“What most of us must be involved in--whether we teach or write, make films, write films, direct films, play music, act, whatever we do--has to not only make people feel good and inspired and at one with other people around them, but also has to educate a new generation to do this very modest thing: change the world.” ― Howard Zinn, Artists in Times of War and Other Essays  When I was in college, a friend's parents told me and my closest friends that idealism belonged to the young. They applauded our desire to better understand the war in Iraq and rail against it, but they seemed unwavering in their belief that we would abandon our idealism the older we got. In the wake of the attacks in Paris last Friday, I've been trying to channel my emotions into something good. My mom's response to Friday's attacks was prayer. She believes that's the only response possible in the face of such atrocity. I don't disagree. Another fr

I recently felt utterly consumed. I imagine I'm not alone in this feeling; to be a parent is to stay tuned in with little, crazy, brain-not-yet-developed creatures. These creatures have the ability to scream, yell, demonically grab the stairs (where they are taking a time out) and LET LOOSE at the top of their lungs, throat extended like that of a wolf at the moon. There are moments when I feel so consumed by these little crazy people that I have to leave the house. Looking for someone to take over so that I may escape, I text my dear husband who is in the process of taking public transportation home at the end of his work day. Even though I know he can't get home any faster, my texts go something like this: me: What's your ETA? Sean is completely losing it right now. We don't have the flavor of Popsicle he wants. or me: Please hurry home. I need a break from Frances. She hasn't stopped screaming for 25 minutes and she's following me around the house cryin

It seems parenting is filled with an array of emotions. Some parents talk about not wanting their kids to ever grow up. That's not me. I try to embrace the joyful moments as they come, breathe through the aggravating moments, and take breaks when I'm about to lose my mind. I have never found that any emotion sticks around for too long. A joyful moment, where the sun seems to shine just right, the kids are playing well with together and listening to the adults, will quickly be followed with a child's poop-in-the-pants-and-on-the-hands moment, followed by 30 minutes of clean up and cursing under my breath. A pull-my-hair-out moment at 3am with a teething baby will be followed by restful slumber and gazing at my sweet one, silent music playing in my ears at how glorious this moment can be. And the wheel turns. With the recent flood of back to school posts and pictures on Facebook, I see a similar array of emotions from parents: sadness, anxiety, nostalgia, gratitude, pride,

Recently my husband has traveled for work, leaving me to steer the ship at home.  When this happens my patience with the kids - at times - runs low. My craziness factor - most times - runs high. He doesn't travel much, maybe 3 - 4 times a year, but when he's out of town, solo parenting bears great fruits. Usually these emerge as really attractive character traits: resentment, anger, and rage (to name a few) directed at no one in particular. Well usually it's directed at my husband when he calls to check in me: Oh me? I'm great. Except the kids are fighting, I didn't sleep well, I can't go to the bathroom in peace, and Audrey was already in time out at 7am this morning. We're great - how are YOU? And sometimes (always) it's directed at our kids me: I'm the only adult here, so NO we will not swim in the deep pool. I don't CARE that you're practicing jumping in the deep end. That will wait for another time. and me: Put your clothes o

Most anyplace we go, the kids want me to watch something they're doing. Sometimes it's obvious what they want me to see - a slide down a slide, walking on a balance beam, climbing something high. Sometimes it's not obvious: "watch this!" followed by an ambiguous physical action, complete with a proud smile. My internal monologue: What am I supposed to be watching? What the hell did she just do? Can I stop watching now? Oh. Is that it? Did it just happen? Audrey: Did you see that? me: Ehm...yes? Of course watching is so fun when they're experiencing something for the first time. Watching Sean start to play soccer and run his heart out. Watching Audrey begin to take dance classes and enjoy figuring out the movements of her body. Watching Frankie begin to play with little figurines and talk to them or walk them around a doll house speaking gibberish to herself. The emerging personalities of our kids is a magical thing. It's easy to watch. But other t

If ever you think you might pick up a piano in Chicago and drive it across two state lines back to Minnesota, I've compiled some helpful hints for your trip. To quote my sister, Mary Kate, "Easy as pie. Nothing to it." 1. Rent a cargo van. 2. Silence questions about how you will get piano hoisted into cargo van. Tell these detail-seeking questioners that "I can not be bothered with the details! I am holding a vision!" 3. Drive to Chicago. 4. Stop in Wisconsin for gas and find a coffee shop. 5. If you worry about finding a place with fresh food, good coffee, essential oils, and homemade hemp-purses, just look for the VW van cut in half and plastered to the side wall of said coffee shop . It acts as the drive-thru window, and it's a beacon of originality in a sea of Wisconsin cheese houses. 6. Take note that they are Cheese HAUS's not HOUSE's. 7. Upon arriving in Chicago, reserve two hours to get through the god-awful traffic. 8. When trying

When I was pregnant, someone told me that a pregnant woman burns just as many calories per day as a mountain climber actively climbing a mountain. Whether or not this is scientifically proven doesn't matter to me. What matters is: growing a person is hard work. It's not just a blissful time of kicking back.  For most women I know, and especially those with other children, pregnancy is hard work! The pregnant body grows, swells, retains water, feels foreign and uncomfortable, keeps you awake at night, and makes you feel like you can barely hold your eyes open during the day. Pregnancy is like climbing a mountain. Those who have outgrown their rearing years frequently tell me that this is the best, most amazing time of my life: pregnant and with young children. How is this the best time of our lives? Why do people say, "you think it's busy now, you just wait!" or "you think you have problems now, just wait til your kids get older. Small people, small proble

Some things in life are better left unbroken. People's bones. Someone's heart. Your bike. I'd rather not see these things broken. There are things around my house I would prefer didn't break. The oven, the washer, the dishwasher, the car, the heat. Yet that's exactly what's happened recently: nearly everything has broken or a function of it has stopped working. Two years ago, our toaster oven bit the dust. It started sparking flames out of the back where the plug connected to the electrical insides. It made a quick exit stage left. Ever since then we've toasted things in the oven. No problem - that's why we have a broiler, right? Then a month ago, a couple days before Thanksgiving, the broiler stopped working.  Thankfully (no punn intended) we weren't planning to broil anything for Thanksgiving, so we just pushed through. To this day the broiler doesn't work. I'm just glad the subtle buzzing sound from the back of the oven has stopped. Si