dear monkey,

you behaved like a rabid banshee today at our local “paint your own pottery” establishment. you wanted to hold my cell phone in your glazy orange hands. then you didn’t want to wash your hands. then you had to tee tee but didn’t like the type of potty they had there. then you writhed around on a floor that apparently hasn’t been mopped since 1969.

there were Smug Old Women there (SOWs). i could taste their judgement. when i tried to elicit their sympathy by making a joke, they just shook their heads and kept painting football mascots on chip-and-dip platters. perhaps they were thinking that i shouldn’t have spanked you, or that i should have spanked you sooner. perhaps they looked disdainfully upon a far off world where four-year-olds think they are entitled to use smart phones. i don’t know exactly what they were thinking but i do know this: no matter how much they loathed me, i loathed me more.

you spilled green glaze on the floor, on your shoe, and in your hair. to my credit, your green apparel didn’t bother me. i cleaned it up, as well as the floor. i’m cool like that. the bird painted a yellow mustache on his face. again, no worries. i dig guys with facial hair.

in the car, on the way home, you tried to hit me with a red plastic guitar. and that’s when it occurred to me that if motherhood were a regular job, i’d be an idiot to keep reporting to work everyday.

but i’m your mom, and i love you, and i will report to work every single day.

there are going to be a few changes in the term “work,” however. we are never going to leave the house again. the floors here are clean, and there are no SOWs here painting colonal reb images on platters. there are places here, completely devoid of ceramics, where i can deposit the bird while i help you carry out the tasks of daily life. there is a time-out facility, otherwise known as YOUR ROOM, conveniently located on the second floor. and perhaps most importantly, there is a bottle of wine in our fridge.

love,

mom

here’s a little ditty i wrote about vaccines to the tune of jolene, by dolly parton:

doctor's office waiting room on "shot day"

vaccines, vaccines, vaccines, vaccines,

i’m begging of you please don’t hurt my bird.

vaccines, vaccines, vaccines, vaccines,

it’s hard to sift through everything i’ve heard.

          your protection is beyond compare

          shielding us from rubella’s snare

          all for little more than an infant’s scream.

some say you make kids autism prone

when you mix with testosterone

are your effects really this extreme, vaccines?

          they fight about you in the news

          but the parents are the ones who lose

          your truth is so evasive, damn vaccines.

so once a month we have “shot day”

according to a schedule that is delayed

tripling our trips to the doc for mean vaccines.

          vaccines, vaccines, vaccines, vaccines

          i’m begging of you please don’t hurt my bird.

          vaccines, vaccines, vaccines, vaccines,

          it’s hard to sift through everything i’ve heard.

no parents’ day out or church nursery

for a kid without immunity

you can’t fully join society without vaccines.

          i had to have this talk with you

          since last week i gave in to you

          we faced the dreaded MMR, vaccine

vaccines, vaccines, vaccines, vaccines,

i’m begging of you please don’t hurt my bird.

vaccines, vaccines, vaccines, vaccines,

it’s hard to sift through everything i’ve heard.

a few days before christmas, after the convenience of holing up in our warm house had given away to large inconvenient messes in every room, i took the boys to a movie. this was the monkey’s second trip to the movies. the first one occurred when he was 18 months old, and he made it until the popcorn ran out. i was hoping that the bird would be similarly enthralled with the popcorn on his first trip to the picture show.

no such luck.

while the monkey sat gawking in a trance that only the likes of disney can induce, the bird walked up and down the steps, touched every sticky surface, ate popcorn fromthe floor, rolled around on the grungy carpet, and pretty much wrecked this self-professed germaphobe. after about 30 minutes of this, i broke the news to the monkey that it was time to go home. in my most sympathetic tone, i explained that i would bring him back within the next few days to see the whole movie, and that we would find a sitter for the bird.

this did not fly.

the monkey cried earnest tears of disappointment while i excused myself once again to fetch the bird from his newly developed plot to touch the movie screen. when i returned, the young mom who was sitting behind us with three enthralled (and slightly older) children of her own said,

“it’s okay. let him stay. i’ll watch him.”

so, for the next hour, i roamed around the theatre with the bird. the monkey sat snugly in his seat, and i became an expert at locating the top of his curly little head from every possible vantage point.

a few days later, on new year’s eve, i found myself at the (very crowded) fresh market with both kids in tow. we were standing in the never ending checkout line when the boys tired of their giant lollipops. the monkey demanded a lemonade sample, and the bird, who has clearly had too much exposure to anna dewdney’s llama llama mad at mama, began tossing things out of the cart.

once again, we were helped by a stranger, this time an elderly great-grandmother-type, who distracted the boys while i walked eight feet away to procure lemonade samples. she said,

“i have two boys too. they’re all grown up now, but i will never forget what it was like when they were little!”

i believe that it truly takes a village to raise a child. but villages cannot be very broadly defined these days. there are kidnappings and child molesters and people who follow you all over town by foot and by car (this has actually happened to my children and me). parents have to select their villages carefully. there are some strangers whose offers to help i have turned down.

but my intuition over the holidays at the movies and at the grocery store was telling me two things: “these folks are okay,” and “stay close by.” i went with it.

trusting something so subjective is scary. but sometimes, this intuition is all we’ve got.

though we actually own two (TWO!) sleds to be used during the one (ONE!) yearly memphis snow day, the monkey and bird preferred this one instead:

clearly, it’s a makeshift world!

and yes. this is the same laundry basket where the baby jesus and his plush pals laid their sweet heads during the kids’ advent manger scene improvisation.

my list of quickly abandoned new year’s resolutions is impressive in length. it seems that i am not genetically wired to do yoga every single day, stop gossiping, or read more than ten or twelve books in one year.

this is why andy and i do not make new year’s resolutions anymore. instead, we each set big-picture intentions for ourselves by naming our years. the years have unfurled somewhat successfully with names such as “the year of balance,” or “the year of creativity,” or “the year of efficiency.” but the intentions i set on new year’s eve of 2009 win all contests of longevity and effectiveness. the year 2010, for me, was the year of rearranging.

prior to making this pronouncement, i had the sobering realization that doing the things i had to do prevented me from doing the things i wanted to do… almost all the time. all in the name of the year of rearranging i stopped preaching on a regular basis, started this blog, dropped a regular weekly work commitment, joined a running group, took on some new household responsibilities, organized several rooms of my home, and starting having people over for dinner. keep in mind that all of this movement was accompanied by my own tiresome process of self-analysis and took place at the pace of a turtle.

as late as october and november, i still felt that more shifting needed to occur. i was asked to speak at two private all-girls’ schools in town, and though i had already given up preaching (for the most part) i was excited and flattered enough to accept these invitations. when i walked into both of those schools, i was completely energized. it had been five years since i worked in college chaplaincy, and i had forgotten how at home i feel in places where people are expanding their minds, grappling with big questions, looking hopefully toward the future, and trying on every new fashion trend and turn of phrase in the process. i returned from both of these speaking engagements with a new and much-needed sense of clarity about my vocation. as andy and were cooking dinner one night in november i waved my hands to the powers that be and said,

“i’m putting it out there in the universe: i want to work with students.”

right before christmas, thanks to god or the universe or a divine twist of fate, i was offered a position as presbyterian campus minister at the university of memphis.

it’s a quarter-time job, and one that has excited me enough to enroll the bird in the parents-day-out program at the monkey’s school. the first order of business in my new job was to attend the montreat college conference  in my favorite north carolina mountains. there, as i talked with other chaplains and campus ministers (many of whom i already knew from my previous work in chaplaincy), i was heartened to learn that my thoughts and experiences about working with college students still seem to be on target and relevant.

yet, as i look forward to the challenges of 2011, i am a bit overwhelmed! i must learn a new environment and make up for a semester’s lapse in programming since my predecessor resigned. the job seems as if it could easily be full-time, yet i can only spend ten hours a week on it.

last saturday night, andy and i had dinner with old friends, and, as is customary with this group during this time of year, we went around the table and revealed the names of our years. still so involved in the process of rearranging, i confessed that my 2011 was going nameless for the time being.

but as the students are preparing for their return to the university and my excitement borders on anxiety, i am beginning to know what 2011 should be called. the goals at hand are huge, and potentially paralyzing. so this year, for me, will be the year of small tasks.

maybe, by doing a lot of small things, i will end up doing something big.

a couple of months ago, when our good friend and neighbor steve passed away suddenly, andy and i dreaded telling the monkey. steve was to the monkey as mr. wilson was to dennis the menace: the object of affectionate and well-meaning pestering. (steve’s patience, however, far exceed that of mr. wilson!) 

the comings and goings of “buddy steve,” marked by the roar of a diesel engine, were more accurate and dependable measures of time for the monkey than the PBS children’s television lineup. and that’s saying a lot.

so, when i tearfully explained to the monkey that buddy steve had passed away, i braced myself for heartbreaking four-year-old despair. instead, the monkey simply said,

“okay. can i go play now?”

the heartbreaking four-year-old despair came yesterday, as the monkey was recalling how buddy steve and andy had fixed his sink eight or ten months ago. “buddy steve died,” he informed me. “but daddy’s never going to die.”

part of me wishes that i had simply lied to the monkey and affirmed his notion that his daddy will live forever. instead, i told him that nobody lives forever. then, both of us came unraveled as he applied this theory to mommy, himself, and finally to “the whole wide world.” with tears streaming down his face, he crawled into my arms and wailed,

“the whole wide world is going to die.”

then, in what i believe was actually an appropriate action of disbelief and rage, he pitched a fit which resulted in a swift headbutt to my right cheek bone.

the rest of the day and evening were marked by periodic and tearful conversations about death and the same kinds of hopeful promises i remember hearing from my mom and dad, that we are going to be around for a long, long time. i believe it’s our job to give the monkey a sense of stability. i also believe we are to ease him into the notion that the world is not all rainbows and butterflies.

the latter, in all of its various forms, just might be the most excruciating task of parenting.

the scene unraveled quickly.

our annual trip to the pink palace enchanted forest began as it usually does, with unbridled excitement about the escalators leading to the exhibit. with spirits elevated, the boys quickly embraced beloved out-of-town friends before bounding into the faux snowy cave, dimly lit by christmas lights and animated by the same motorized woodland creatures that enchanted me as a child. there was a happy sort of pandemonium as the kids frollicked amidst the sights and sounds, pausing only occasionally under the hypnosis of what is sure to be the world’s largest and most detailed electric train set.

as we settled into the line for santa visits and photographs, i fished a wad of pipe cleaners from my purse to occupy the boys. in a previous life (otherwise known as the day before), pipe cleaners were highly revered and even trance-inducing.

however, in this scene, they were apparently a blaring disappointment. the monkey flippantly asked for “another surprise,” at which point i explained that there were no more toys in my purse.

what followed was every mother’s worst nightmare: public humiliation in slow-motion. the monkey hit me three times, despite my very clear and intermittent 1-2-3 magic-style warnings about the consequences of such behavior. i was left with no other choice but to cut the outing short and head for the car.

i held the monkey’s mid-section under my right arm while he kicked, screamed, and flailed his arms. this allowed me to chase down the escaping bird, who was suddenly deep in conversation with a singing, snow-dusted squirrel.

source: jupiterimages.com

i heard an acquaintance utter my first and last name to her friend, and i turned around just in time to glimpse the ultimate sign of judgement: her pointer finger.

during this befuddled pause, i inadvertently loosened my grip on the monkey just long enough for him to make a break for it. as i chased the monkey through a sea of themed christmas trees and parenting-horror-show spectators, the bird teetered dangerously on the edge of the escalator. in the day’s only redemptive moment, i was able to snag the monkey and return to the bird just in time to prevent his impending tumble.

we provided another ten minutes of this entertainment before we made it to the car, and as i drove home to the now familiar soundtrack of the monkey’s wailing protests, i reassured myself with recollections from 1-2-3 magic. i remembered the notion that sometimes parents have to punish everybody, ourselves included, to get the point across. i replayed the author’s insistence that humiliation is a small price to pay for the future reward of well-behaved children.

but seriously. is there any other job in the world in which you’re not doing it right unless you look like a complete idiot?

after the “disenchantment,” the monkey was an angel for the rest of the day. 1-2-3 magic did pay off. but there was something about his demand for “another surprise” and his sense of entitlement during the pipe cleaner incedent that makes me want to read yet another book: the price of privilege.

’twas eight days before christmas and all through preschool

performers were clad in halos, santa hats and tulle.

the parents were settled all snug in the pews

with grandparents, neighbors, and of course, camera crews.

when through the side door there processed such a clatter

that the audience responding with clapping and laughter.

lining up on stairsteps according to height

was a ragamuffin choir, unselfconscious and bright!

the monkey spoke not a word as the piano intro played

then with gusto and hand motions, he assumed a gospel singer’s sway.

his voice could be heard above those of his peers,

and his tonsils could be seen during his open-mouthed cheers.

with my cheeks tear-streaked from guffawing i rose

as the monkey hugged his fans at the program’s close.

but andy said it best, ere we drove out of the lot:

“thanks for procreating with me. i love who we got!”

for four years and four months, my world has constantly expanded.

motherhood has brought new and interesting people into my life. the day we brought the monkey home from the hospital, i became a member of a diverse group of fellow moms who share something so basic that there is potential for meaningful conversation even in the checkout line at target.

motherhood has broadened my realm of experiences. i’m not just a woman in my thirties. i’m a little boy in the terrible twos. i’m eating ice-cream for the first time. i am wrapping my four-year-old mind around the concept of death. i’m testing limits, drawing on walls, and climbing on counter tops. i am getting my first bicycle with training wheels for christmas.

on the other hand, for four years and four months, my world has constantly contracted.

motherhood has zapped my energy supply. never before have i had the level of connection with friends that i do now. the paradox is that i no longer have the get-up-and-go to make these connections happen regularly. 

motherhood has narrowed my realm of experiences. there are mind-blowing heights and depths in my every day. but most of these events take place within the four walls of my home.

the female body is not the only part that expands and contracts in the process of ushering in and supporting new life. long after the pregnancy is over there is a new largess and a new kind of narrowing with which to contend. the simultaneous awe and discomfort of pregnancy take up residence in the mind for how long? four years and four months? eighteen years? from now on?

a few years ago, my mother-in-law gave the kids a hand-sewn manger scene set, complete with plush, non-breakable characters that can be arranged, stacked, pelted at each other, et cetera. the set has been a hit for various reasons (see above), and because our den is home to a constantly evolving sea of miscellaneous toy pieces that defies organization, i was not surprised at all yesterday to see this:

it looks like the monkey crashed the party, so to speak.

some young clergy women friends of mine turned me on to the sermons of debbie blue a while back, and i recently re-read her hilarious and insightful musings about the placement of the wise men in manger scenes. in betty’s manger scene collection she writes,

“i’ve been thinking maybe someone should start a small group of guerilla activists whose task it would be to plant shocking figures in manger scenes…. suburban housewives will shriek when they find batman figures on the roof of the manger on their mantle. churches will be horrified to find barbies and plastic dinosaurs on their altars. but people will pay attention. they will look twice. they may even stop their car. they may even get out when they see a garden troll or a pink flamingo or a big plastic homer simpson leaning over the baby jesus on the cathedral lawn.

photo from ncs909x

i actually wonder if i’m not the first to come up with that idea. it might have been some sort of guerilla group that first placed the wise men in manger scenes…. these guys probably didn’t come from nice clean places, maybe not even good families, probably more like smoky little rooms in the back of tattoo parlors… that’s a bold way to tell a story, these foreigners, in every sense of the word, these outsiders (way outsiders) were the first people in matthew’s story to encounter the jewish messiah…. it’s like having shirley maclaine at our manger scene. it’s that out there. shirley maclaine.”

i’m so proud of my little guerilla activist! i’m thinking about following his lead and inserting a little shock value into all of the manger scenes i encounter from here on out. you better watch out… you never know who will turn up on your mantle. as previously stated, i have access to a constantly evolving sea of miscellaneous toy pieces.

[source for this post is located on the bibliography page on the sidebar to your right.]