Tell Me on a Sunday, Please!

My friend Molly Moon Ogden (don't you just love her name -- Molly Moon) gave a stellar performance the other night, and it is worth commenting on.

Molly loves musical theatre. Her daughter and my three are involved in an amazing musical theatre program called Kids Who Care, and we have watched our children blossom in this program. But Molly takes her love further and has been studying with Betty Lynn Buckley who has moved back to Fort Worth and is teaching classes to aspiring musical theatre performers.

"Teaching classes" makes it sound so simple -- show up from 4 - 5 and learn how to sing. STOP! From everything Molly has shared, these are intense classes with transforming information in them -- lessons on meditation and calming yourself so that when you are on stage you won't be nervous. Lessons in character analysis and the right songs for your voice and presence to sing. Lessons, of course, in diction and voice. They have been intense and time consuming, and on occasion, a punch in the stomach.

And Molly has learned amazing things, so much so, that she is willing to pass this information along to others. She finds joy in sharing what she is doing and learning. So D1 has been learning from Molly who is learning from Betty Lynn.

This past fall, D1 had a duet in a play and explained to Molly and I that she didn't sing in front of people which is a problem when you are in a five weekend run of a show. The most amazing words came from Molly's mouth, "We all have gifts. Some of us can share those gifts with others through our voices. It is our job when we are on stage to take what the audience already knows and remind them of that when we sing. So, give them the gift of your voice and take them to a place where they remember."

What amazing advice.

And Molly's performance exuded that advice. On Wednesday and Thursday of this week, Molly and six other performers reached deep in their souls and shared their gifts with us. They made us laugh and made us cry. They made us yearn for long lost loves and reminded us about romance. The notes they sang and the stories their songs told made us all remember and touched our hearts.

As I fell asleep Wednesday night, I thought about the lessons Betty Lynn was sharing with her students. How nice it must be to have someone so skilled to share with you insights and techniques she had learned from the masters before her. Any time you are working on a performance there are hours of rehearsals that go into things before the show begins. And there are notes after the first performance to improve the next.

I wish God were a bit more like Betty Lynn. I'd like some notes after my rehearsals. I'd like a voice to boom down from the darkness and remind me of my direction and my gifts.

• God: "Don't worry about the economy -- go build your business. I will be there to take care of everything.
• God: "You are doing a great job with kids. Keep it up."
• God: "No, you aren't going to live your life as a lonely old woman... Mr. Right just isn't ready for you yet."
• God: "Go take a class from a master and get better at something."

But since God's voice only comes in whispers, I will have to be content with what I learn as life passes me by. I will work to help my children find their gifts and share them with others. I will continue to find joy in the gifts my friend share with me. I will look for the masters and learn from them.

And I will remind you that if you have a bad news for me, "Find a circus with a flying trapeze. Tell me on a Sunday, please."

Wash, Rinse, Dry, Repeat

Sort
Wash
Rinse
Dry
Hang
Repeat

Sort
Wash
Rinse
Hang
Repeat

Ah, the joys of doing laundry! Three kids, one dog and a mommy create an awful lot of laundry. There are school uniforms, weekend clothes, practice clothes, dance clothes, soccer uniforms, basketball shirts... the list is endless, and so is the laundry!

Every Sunday, we gather up the laundry and bring it down for the sorting to begin. Then the washing and the drying take place. Finally, there is the dreaded hanging of the clothes (no folding in this house as we have closets and no dressers) unless of course we run out of time and just hang things over the chair.

Back when I was married and not a working mom with three busy tweeners, I would have stayed up all night to finish the laundry and put it away so the house could be clean and organized for our beloved family. Now I am happy if everything is wrinkle-free and ready to be hung. So what if it stays on the laundry chair all week -- everyone knows where it is -- just pull it off the chair and put it on.

Of course, it took awhile for my crazily, neurotic self to be OK with the laundry on the chair. Hm... spend time reading Inkheart to S1 or hang the laundry. Hm... download current hit songs with D1 (so I can be the hippest mom ever) or hang the laundry. Hm... practice long-division with D2 or hang the laundry (might consider getting D1 to help with this so I can avoid all things related to math and hang the laundry instead, but practice long division anyway wondering who it is harder for -- me or D2).

I think the laundry is kind of like a metaphor for my life. As soon as I finish up the weekly loads of whites, reds, darks and towels, there is more in the basket just like there is always more on my list of things to do. I am not sure who thought being an entrepreneur with carpool responsibilities would be a good idea, but it is our life:

Exercise
Take kids to school
Work like crazy while they are at school
Drive all over town for practices, classes and games
Figure out some kind of healthy dinner
Read out loud
Kiss kids goodnight.
Fall into bed.
REPEAT.

And so yes, at the end of the week everything on the list isn't done and the laundry is hung on the chair yet again. But there is that one moment of silence on Sunday night when the clothes are all clean, and the list is written for the week, and the house is quiet. I tiptoe from room to room kissing foreheads (still looking to make sure they are breathing even though they are big now), and I know joy from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I head downstairs and smile.

Fall into bed.

REPEAT!

Love You -- Have a Great Time!

Do you know the difference between a trip and a vacation? A trip is what you go on with your kids and a vacation is when your kids spend a week with their dad.

During this holiday season, I've been lucky enough to have both. And I am in heaven...

Our "trip" was Christmas at the beach on Sanibel Island in Florida and what a stunning week we had. Our angels totally blessed us from the time we woke up to catch our plane til we returned home.

Now your concept of a great trip might not involve your parents and three children in a two bedroom condo with the worst pull-out couch for a mattress you've ever slept on, but for me, it was awesome.

We played on the beach almost every day. My mom fixed sumptuous meals (and I really didn't have to cook once save sandwiches on the beach). We made sand art sharks and castles and turtles and Christmas trees and more castles (one for the Star Wars mini-guys and one for the princesses) and got wet and went body surfing and found shells that we hadn't found before and made friends with other families on the beach from OH and NJ. We got my dad out in a kayak (he's 6'9" and doesn't fit a lot of places) and he even played spoons and water tag with us. It was full of great memories -- the kind you want to make so that your family stays strong and you look back and say to each other later "Remember the kayak trip...."

Oh, the kayak trip you say.... We decided to kayak in the mangroves to look for birds and other cool sea creatures. Paddling into the mangroves was easy -- the tide was coming in and the wind was at our back. D1 and D2 chose to kayak together so S1 and I could share. My mom and dad squeezed into the other. We saw neat birds and cool trees and had a great time.

But 90 minutes on the water paddling a kayak when your twelve and ten can make any pair of sisters begin to fight. It can also make a 65 year's butt begin to hurt. And don't forget... the tide was coming in. So, on the return trip, we kept getting sucked back into the mangroves and the wind was hitting us right in the face. D1 and D2 were yelling, and no one was happy. My smart mother knew my dad was dying, so they paddled back.

And where was I -- in the middle of a bay with my son in one kayak and my daughters in another. All yelling...(I am sure that none of you have experienced any of this before -- we are the only family who dare to mar Mother Nature by yelling.) D2 is threatening to get out of the kayak and swim-walk the mile back. D1 thinks that is a great idea -- anything to get D2 out of the kayak.

And then out of the water popped two dolphins playing in the waves. The water stilled. The yelling stopped. And we watched these magical mammals jumping and flipping in out of the water. They were having so much fun -- we all wanted to get in the water and swim with them.

Mother Nature is so cool!

And thank goodness dolphins are lucky because inspiration hit. I moved S1 in with D1 and my cranky, wet 10 year old in with me. I tied the kayaks together and somehow muscled the two boats across the open span of water thus completing the kayak trip knowing it was totally worth it just to see the dolphins.

The icing on the cake was Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Next year, when they are at their dads, I will hold this memory in my heart. We all attend Christmas Eve service on the beach. Families were all sitting together sharing blankets and chairs. The waves crashed against the shore. People were laughing and talking until the service began and even as the Christmas story unfolded at the front of the beach church, families still rustled as children made Bethlehem scenes out of sand.

Then it came time to light the candles and sing Silent Night -- and I looked down the beach at this beautiful scene of beaming candles. Night was falling and families all around were glowing in the spirit of the season. We walked home on the beach not wanting the beauty of Christ's birth to end when the candle flames were extinguished.

And in the words of my mother... there is nothing like having kids for Christmas.

But all good trips must come to an end. So we packed our bags. Washed our shells. Took a swim and one last walk on the beach. Said goodbye to our new friends and kissed my parents. And headed home.

DaddyX and Girlfriend met us at the airport and the fabulous Fox's headed off for Christmas with their dad. And I drove home to my vacation.

It has taken a long time for me to get to the point that I am OK with my threesome leaving me, but this time I was actually looking forward to them going. I had lots planned: naps, books to read, organizing to be done, hair appointments to be kept, girlfriends to hang out with, a grown up New Year's Eve planned, goals to write for the new year. A week of doing nothing -- no squabbles to break up. No carpools or soccer games or rehearsals. I had a week to do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted -- heaven!

And there are only two days left before we go back to life. And the best part -- their dad took them to Six Flags and all I had to say was, "Love you -- have a great time." And head off to my hair appointment.

The Crisp, Clean Page

This will let you know what a total geek I am because I bet there aren't many of you out there that like a brand new crisp, clean sheet of paper just waiting for ideas to be written down and thoughts to be shared.

I love that sheet of paper -- all white and fresh just waiting to be filled with ideas. That's what this is -- the first blog. The first piece of paper where ideas take shape and begin to be catalogued. There won't be another one like this.

So what to say... (difficult to tap your pencil on that crisp sheet of paper when you are typing). But I already know where to start.. the words aren't foreign as they have been writing themselves in my head for several weeks now.

In November, D2 (daughter number 2) and I traveled to Phoenix, AZ (by car for 16 long hours) to watch our friend Jeanne compete in the Arizona Ironman. Anyone who has run an Ironman will tell you that it takes a team to support you as you take on this endeavor. There are those who wish you well when you are training and those who show up on long bike rides to ride with your for an hour. Some send notes as you are getting ready. Many spend a long time in cars or money on plane tickets to be there when you actually compete. To make it through the 140.6 miles you travel during the race (and all the swims, runs, and rides you put in before hand), you need a support system and it has to be a strong one.

This system has to be made up of people with different talents as well -- laughter, organization, grunt work (like getting your stuff at the end of the race so you don't have to), cheering, child care (if you are an ironmom), and may other talents too lengthy to mention here. But you need all kinds of people to "cheer you on" in their own special way.

As I watched this race unfold and all the people who cheered on Jeanne in their own special way, it occurred to me that a single parent needs an Ironmom team (or Irondad team) as well. And I've been pondering what exactly that means.

What kind of team do I have? What kind of team do I need? And more importantly, how can I set up teams for others? I am far enough along in my divorce to actually see color in the world again. The anger, the sadness, and the deep, deep loneliness I felt for so long have passed through my door. I feel comfortable in my skin, in our family, in the direction in which I am headed. Now I am looking for ideas to reach out to others and help them travel on their... maybe it should be called Irondivorce... journey.

Over the holidays, I read Winterdance by Gary Paulsen. This is his personal story of taking on the Alaskan Iditorod as a rookie. It is full of funny stories about his runs with the dogs but also of breathtaking beauty found in sharing life with his dogs. While not an Ironman, racing the Iditorod takes that same kind of team support.

What I liked about this book and about supporting Jeanne on her Ironmom adventure was how both of them stopped to enjoy moments along the way. They found "soul" in even the most trying of situations and kept on racing. I only have one dog but I do have three fabulous kids. We aren't running the Iditorod or the Ironman. In fact, I am not sure we are even racing. But we do have a lot of miles to cover. Here is the first crisp, clean page in my journey to find beauty in our daily adventures as we juggle this thing called life.