Imagination evaporation

What happens to our imaginations as we get older?

My oldest son, Gabriel, went to a camp this week. Camp Invention. It was pretty cool. They learned all about science and physics and inventing during the week. Today, they had a little expo where their family members came to view their inventions and creations.

I was impressed by all the creative problem-solving these elementary school students came up with. The older students created Rube Goldberg machines, complex devices that perform simple tasks in indirect, convoluted ways, that were to catapult and smash a rotten egg. Each team came up with something different. They were made out of coffee maker parts, Walkman's and other discarded appliance and recyclable items like paper towel rolls, boxes, egg cartons, etc.

Their machine designs and plans were some of the most creative drawings I've seen in a long time.

They let their imaginations run wild with nothing to stop them and all the encouragement in the world from the camp counselors.

It did get me thinking about how my imagination has been stunted by the rules, discouragement and years of working for the Man. Somewhere along the way, I lost my desire to create and be artistic. I lost my joy of simply silly and beautiful creations made for creation's sake. I began to produce.

Somewhere along the line, everything I did had to have purpose and meaning beyond being silly or beautiful.

I still dabble with scrapbooking and design and painting and crafts, but it's usually with a specific goal, such as organizing my photos for my family, making presents for various holidays, cooking a meal, etc. It's rarely for the simple purpose of expressing myself or exercising my imagination. It only happens when all the chores are done and everything is in its place, which means rarely.

I think that is one thing that being home with my kids has taught me. I need to get in touch with my inner child again and relearn how to be silly and imaginative. I'd forgotten how happy those simple pleasures make me.

My youngest, Morgan, is probably the most imaginative person I have ever known. He creates entire worlds out of nothing at all. He comes up with the most amazing and detailed stories you've ever heard. He doesn't care that sometimes they don't make much sense in the real world. They make perfect sense to him and that is all that matters. It is a beautiful thing.

I hope he never loses touch with that imaginative side of himself.

... and Gabe's invention?

He created something called an "Attractor" that attracts his little brother when Morgan is being a bit too imaginative, and annoying, for Gabriel's comfort.

Farewell my furry friend

I've been hibernating lately.

Sometimes, you just have to disappear for a while.

We had to put Dizzy to sleep on June 9, and I've been nursing a bit of depression. I find myself missing the darnedest things - the exact things she did that drove me crazy, such as snorting in the middle of the night to let us know she needed to go out, despite the fact that there is a doggie door and she could let herself out. I also miss her hanging out underfoot in the kitchen and eating anything and everything that fell on the floor.

There are a lot more crumbs under Morgan's chair than there had been before, and I find myself sweeping and mopping in the kitchen more often, too, always with Dizzy in mind.

We finally broke down and put her food and water bowls away. We washed her bed and stored it in case we get another dog someday.

I took the boys to the dog pound this week to see what options there were, but none of us seemed too eager to find another dog just yet. I think I just wanted to go to hear the barking.

When Toto died last year, it was a little easier. We didn't love him any less, but we had Dizzy to transfer that love to and to remind us of him. Now, with her gone, it's like we're grieving for both of them.

Our oldest son, Gabriel, went with us to Anacapa Animal Hospital. He wanted to be there to tell her goodbye. I was proud of him for wanting to show her how much he loved her by being there. He took it really hard, but knows it was for the best. After he said goodbye, he waited in the lobby with Eric.

I stayed with Dizzy. She went to sleep in my arms.

The staff at Anacapa made a paw print for us. I plan to put it up on the TV with a picture of Dizzy right next to the one of Toto.

Morgan, who was at the baby sitter's house that day, was quite upset when he realized we forgot to take Dizzy's bed with us. That's when I decided I really needed to remove it from it's homey spot right in front of the fireplace.

Morgan asked me the other day when she was going to come home. We told him Dizzy is playing with Toto and is in a much better place. He's made the connection and knows she died now, but he still misses her - so do the rest of us.

Some roads end too soon

We've recently been confronted with some heavy decisions lately. Ones our hearts and our heads cannot reconcile.

Our beautiful, furry friend and companion, Dizzy, isn't doing well. She's an old dog. Fifteen by human years. She's not the most graceful pup, nor is she the brightest bulb, but when it comes to love, she makes up for it in spades.

We adopted Dizzy in 1995. We were living in Texas and had been talking about getting a companion for our dog Toto. He died a couple of years ago. He was my first baby, and losing him was heartbreaking and unexpected.

Back then, my mom was diagnosed with cancer, and I was having a tough time dealing with it. While I was back in Kansas helping her, my husband went to see a litter of pups. They were Pomeranians, just like Toto. Eric thought a dog might help. He was right.

When I got back into town, he surprised me by taking me to a house I'd never seen and telling me to pick out a puppy. The dogs were adorable, racing each other down the hall, hopping all over each other to be the first into the backyard. They were a playful lot and it was tough to choose one.

I was looking at a cream-colored little fur ball and sat down cross-legged to get a better look at her, when this sable-colored dog with big brown eyes pushed her way into my lap and claimed me for her own.

Dizzy has always known what she's wanted. She's always made it clear. Ball, food, treats and lots and lots of love and attention.

She's a crazy little dog who was out for trouble, damn the consequences.

When she was about 4 months old, she jumped off the bed at breakneck speed and promptly broke her right leg. She spent forever in the cast and lost a ton of playtime, for which she made up as soon as the cast was removed. That is not to say that the cast really ever slowed her down. She'd go thumping all over the house, dragging whatever stuffed toy was her favorite and threatening to tear it to shreds in frustration at her limited movement.

Her favorite things to do were play ball, snatch birds out of the air and chase down horny toads in our back yard, that's when she and Toto weren't up to no good and digging under the fence to roam the neighborhood. I can't even count the number of times they snuck out of the back yard only to show up scratching at the front door or lounging on the front steps, lying in wait for the mailman.

Dizzy was our Tasmanian Devil. Full of mischief to Toto's aloof attitude.

She's mellowed out a lot over the years, becoming a beloved companion for our 3-year-old. When Toto died, Morgan kind of stepped up as Dizzy's best friend. He follows her around and hugs her, pets her and tells her she's beautiful despite her gaseous nature and horrible breath.

She stays up with me late into the night when I read or watch TV, always there looking for some love and attention, curled up on her bed in front of the fireplace. When we go to sleep, she crawls beneath the bed and lays down for the night, always wanting to be in our presence.

She's also our alarm clock.

I'm not sure when she decided that 5 a.m. is the time to be fed, but pretty close to 5 every morning she'll wake us up and won't take no for an answer. It may have something to do with Eric getting up at 5:30 a.m. Although I'm not sure who trained who.

Dizzy is 15 now. We think her esophagus is collapsing. The vet says it's pretty common for Poms. It could be her heart, though. The exam to determine what the problem is costs $500. The cures are heart surgery at $10,000 or placing a stent in her esophagus, which again runs into the thousands.

With me not working, neither is an option. The best we can do for her is give her some cough medicine to easy her pain and pray it isn't her heart. Either way, the end is coming. I can hear it in her rasping breath and see it in her eyes when she stares at me for help that I can't give as she stuggles with a coughing fit.

I feel helpless. She was there for me when I needed her, but I can't seem to be able to return the favor. I feel like I'm letting her down. I hear the accusation with every cough.

I'm not sure what life will be like without her. It will be quieter, the air will be a little fresher, we may get a little more sleep, but there will be an immense emptiness. And if it's anything like when Toto died, the pain won't ease any time soon.

She's family and always will be. She's marked us in so many ways. We love you, Dizzy.

The privilege is mine, for once

Being home with my kids is a privilege.

Yeah, I know I complain a lot about them driving me crazy, but I think that's just me working through some of my adjustment issues since I'm not really used to having them around that much.

When I worked full time, I defined myself a great deal by what I did.

I was a journalist.

I was a mom.

I was a wife.

Those were the things that defined me, but who was I?

Frazzled the way I was and stretched between everything I thought I wanted to be, I lost track of that.

What kind of mom am I?

What kind of wife?

What kind of journalist?

What kind of woman?

What really makes me happy?

The last six months without a job have given me a chance to explore a few of those questions. Even though I'm a little afraid to dig too deep. Reinvention is a scary thing sometimes. It makes you look a little too closely at yourself.

Mostly what I've found is that working was a good excuse to avoid other things. Things I was too tired to do. Things like volunteer, get involved in the community, garden, and yes, clean my house.

As you may have noticed, I've been on a bit of a cleaning and organizing frenzy. In some ways, as I get closer to being caught up, I think that, too, is just another attempt to avoid self-examination.

I do find that as I begin to organize photos and the kids' artwork and school certificates, I realize just how much of their lives that I've missed. I get a much better idea of exactly what I wasn't there to take pictures of and what I was too tired to really enjoy.

Thank goodness for all those other moms in the classroom who gave me pictures or discs with all the photos they had taken. Bless them!

The more I find myself thinking about those things, the more I find myself slowing down and taking time to play a game of catch, to dig worms in the garden, to build forts out of blocks, to listen to the made-up Godzilla and shark stories (anyone who's met Morgan understands) or play on the Wii.

As upset as I was - am - about losing my job, worrying about the mortgage and finding ways to cut corners, the more I realize how much I enjoy being there for my kids. It's hard work and sometimes exhausting, but in the end it's much more rewarding.

I enjoy curling up in the big chair with Gabriel and reading in the afternoon. I enjoy reading books with him that I loved as a child.

I really don't mind stopping what I'm doing to go pick him up from school. The truth is, most days I can't wait until 2:30 p.m. so I can see him.

I really enjoy being able to sit down to dinner when my husband gets home, with most of the homework done and nothing but family time left in the evening.

So, while I worry how long we can make it before the savings runs out, I'm enjoying the opportunity to figure out who I am and be with my kids. It's a rare privilege that I may only have for a little while.

Motherhood, me and Mom

I know it's past Mother's Day, but I've been taking some time to reflect on motherhood, me and Mom.


I've come to realize in the past few days that I'm more like Mom than I thought.

While that thought frightens me in many, many ways, there's comfort in it, too. After all, I don't think I turned out THAT bad.

My mother was a wonderful woman. She had a heart bigger than most countries and could charm a snake right out of its skin. She was, however, a bit obsessive about some things. Cleaning, germs, religion, garage sales, cooking, being frugal and her intense dislike of feet are a few examples.

I remember as a teenager thinking she was out of her mind for getting up at 6 a.m. to clean and vacuum the house. She would dust at least one room each day. She would do at least one load of laundry each day, too. She insisted that everything be put in its place before bedtime ... and by everything, I mean dishes put away, clothes in the hamper, newspapers and magazines in the rack, and everything off the floor.

If I left jewelry sitting on the counter in the bathroom or coffee table overnight, it would disappear to teach me a lesson: Put things where they belong.

I came to realize recently, that her obsessive cleaning was actually a symptom of an overly organized woman. She was very good at managing her time - and ours, too.

By getting a portion of the cleaning and laundry done each day, she was making sure the weekends were free to spend with the family. By vacuuming at 6 a.m., she was making sure we were getting up in time for school and that she was getting a chance to talk with us before we all headed our separate ways.

She'd get all the housework done by the time we left for school, then she would go out and do volunteer work in the community. Sure, she hung out with her friends and went antique shopping, too, but mostly, she was home when we got home from school, usually baking cookies, cakes or pie and asking us how our day went. She was always there for us.

Dinner was always on the table by 7 p.m., unless Dad was grilling or frying fish, then we'd wait until he got home. She ran the house like clockwork.

I'm not quite that obsessive, but now that I'm not working, I'm finding myself trying to get all the chores done during the day and during the week, so that when the kids get home or the weekend rolls around, we get to spend quality time together... reading, goofing off in the backyard, watching movies and playing games.

It's actually become more crucial for me to be organized, to have a menu plan and to get the chores done, so I can enjoy the rewards at the end of the day: hugs from my boys, quiet time with my husband and fun weekends that we never were able to experience before.

I've become so obsessive that I've printed out a monthly chores spreadsheet in Excel, so I make sure we're all on track. Mom kept hers in her head.

One other way I'm like Mom, I have several junk drawers/baskets hidden away. They look really good from the outside, but never, ever open them unless you have a few hours to sort through them.

It takes some time. There's junk in there all right, but there's also some pretty cool mementos, too. Tickets from Dodger games, Thomas the Tank Engine outings, and old birthday and Mother's day cards. Perhaps even a few broken, favorite toys of the boys that Mom can't seem to part with. There's also I-love-you notes and drawings, too.

When my mom died in 1995, my brother and I went through some of those drawers. It took us hours for just one. We found all the above mentioned items along with favorite recipes and poems she wrote about us. It was like a treasure chest of memories.

She didn't leave us with scrapbooks or even bothered putting pictures in albums, but all the ephemera of our lives was saved in those junk drawers. She left the organizing to my brother and me. Someday, we just might get it done. But, someone else will have to take care of my junk drawers.

P.S. Here's another one of Mom's secrets. If you find that you've been goofing off a little too long and you get home moments before everyone else and you're running late for dinner, saute some onions in butter. It will make the whole house smell wonderful - just like you've been cooking for hours. You can always use onions for something.

Bizarro's world

Have you ever tried to win an argument with a 3-year-old

I think it's an impossible task. I feel like I'm living in Bizzaro's world.

No means yes. Don't means do. Stop means do it again.

My first theory was to play along, but Morgan is on to me. Or, more likely, doesn't know I exist today. He's in his own world. Listening to his own drummer.

The laptop makes a great dance platform. Talking as loud as possible while Mommy is on the phone is a fun game. Pulling out every Thomas the Tank Engine train you own, not to play, just to make a mess seems logical. Spilling a juice bag on the leather couch creates an interesting pattern.

Despite my frustration, his world is more pleasing. No cares, no worries, no rules. He sure does seem happy doin' his own thing.

I caught a glimpse of him this morning as he bit into a whole green apple for the first time. The juice was glistening on his lips in the sunlight and rolling down his chin and little fingers. His eyes were shining with glee at the experience of something so simple.

His smile became wider when I told him his older brother had never bitten into a whole apple before.

It was his own first. One thing his brother hadn't done before him. He reveled in it.

It's moments like these that I cherish.

The picture of him sitting there with juice running down his chin, a smile on his face and joy in his eyes will be forever in my heart. Right beside the first time he said, "I love you, Mom," unprompted and the time he cupped my face in his little hands, caressed my cheek and said, "You're beautiful, Mom."

Moments like these make my little Bizarro's world a pretty perfect place to be.

Productivity hangover

Have you ever had one of those weeks where all the productivity of the past month just seems to catch up to you.

I'm having one of those weeks.

I've finished several projects that have been simmering on the back burner for months; helped mentor my son's Lego League team; carted the the kids to swimming lessons, T-ball, Spring Fling class; cleaned out the closets; planted a small garden; weeded the flower beds, twice; baked; organized our photos on the computer; planned a vacation; hunted for jobs; cleaned the house over and over; done many, many loads of laundry; and helped organize pajama reading night at my son's school. That's just a partial list.

I feel like I've accomplished a lot, and I have, yet there's still a ton to be done, and my body and soul are calling it quits and screaming for renewal. My head is pounding and I can't keep a clear thought.

I call it the productivity hangover.

Just like a night on the town, when you squeeze too much work into a small period of time, you're headed for a backlash. And, just like a hangover from a night out, sometimes it's worth it.

I think this calls for a girls' night out. Call it the hair-of-another-dog cure. I'm pretty sure it'll be worth it.