It has been awhile since I've written.  See, my husband and I took all the littles and and went on a camping trip.  We got home exactly a week ago, and I'm finally beginning to feel as if I'm starting to recover and get my feet under me again.  I have loved camping since I was a kid.  I always planned to live that way.  I remember, even in jr. high planning my dream cabin where I would live at one with nature.  Now, I can barely survive 5 days with 5 kids in the wild!  I admit it - I have gotten soft.  No more plans to someday move "off the grid" for this gal.  Don't get me wrong; I enjoyed every minute of the trip, and I've already reserved the campsite for next summer, but it was soooo hard!!!  I thought that my daily life was already one of perpetual motion, but up in the mountains, where the weather changes constantly and food prep is much more involved, I felt like a whirling dervish!!  It's regular life complicated by all four seasons every 24 hours with everything packed in tiny spaces.  I don't remember camping this way.  I remember leisure - listening to the wind in the trees - fishing on the river - reading - hiking - communing with nature.  I understand now why my Mom always laughed when I told her I was going to live in the middle of nowhere when I grew up.  Ah, wisdom.

But I still really enjoyed myself.  We go to the most beautiful spot, and it is fun to watch the kids discover it the way I did as a kid.  Wordsworth had it right when he called little boys "nature's priest."  Although my Lily is more wild than any of the boys - and more covered in head-to-toe dirt!  It is amazing to watch the stages as the kids at first are fascinated with everything, then they get bored wondering what to make of this non-technological world, then their minds begin to open, their imaginations begin to put down roots in the rich mountain soil, and something beautiful and wonderful grows.  By the time we leave, they know every rock and tree, where the grasshoppers are, the best skipping rock sites...  And they inevitably have established "clubhouses."  Not built, or altered from the way they find them, just spots where they gather - a fallen tree that makes a large hollow, the canopy of a giant pine, or a grassy clearing surrounded by aspen trees.  I always regret bringing them back to civilization (though one more day without a shower and I'd just cry).  In another Wordsworth poem, he writes, "and she shall lean her ear in many a secret place, where rivulets dance their wayward round, and beauty borne of murmuring sound shall pass into her face."  This notion resonates within me as I watch my children - filthy, bedraggled, sunburned, bug-bitten and more beautiful than at any polished time because the beauty of nature has passed into their faces.  

And so even though it takes me two weeks non-stop preparation followed by a whirlwind camping trip, followed by another two weeks of recovery and laundry, I will never neglect a summer by omitting a trip into the wild for my little wild ones.  But I won't be moving there permanently any time soon!

There is a tree in my yard that is amazingly beautiful and brings me great joy.  It was here when we moved in, so I don't know what kind of tree it is, but it has almond-shape leaves and it weeps just gently enough to give it an elegant, umbrella canopy.  In the spring, it puts on a show of blossoms in dangling, delicate white clusters that make the whole yard ethereal.  Of course, the birds love the tree too - and my mornings in summer always begin filled with birdsong, like a Disney movie.   Only the part no-one likes to mention is that having a beautiful tree that brings beautiful birds also means a yard covered in not-so-beautiful bird crap!  Every morning I have the lovely task of  getting outside before the kids do to hose down their table, the slide and swings, and anything and everything else left in the yard overnight.  It also makes it a bit of a gamble to actually sit under the shady canopy and emerge clean.  Why does it always seem that in order to enjoy beauty, we must put up with a certain amount of crap?

Once I start thinking about it, I find it in almost every aspect of life - especially when it comes to parenting.  A U2 song recognizes that "there's always pain before the child is born."  And from that moment on it continues into infinity; parenting is full of crap - literal and figurative.  It is down-and-dirty-not-for-the-faint-of-heart-back-breaking-heart-breaking work.  But flabbergasting beauty  is the payoff.  The look of adoration that my baby gives me just because I walked into the room.  Tiny arms wrapped around my neck.  Listening to the miracle of my kindergartener reading for the first time.  Reading a story written by my nine-year-old. Bedtime kisses.  Overheard prayers.  Tutus and lightsabers and baby dolls. 

 It would be nice to have the beauty without the crap - enjoy the love without enduring the nights of ill children vomiting - but I'm beginning to believe that it is a universal imperative.  It's the stupid adage that we'll enjoy the bike more if we earn the money to pay for it ourselves.   Somehow it's true.  Others may admire my tree, but they don't get the birdsong in the morning, the blossoms in the spring, or the crap to scrub.  Others may enjoy the company of my children, but I get the truly beautiful because I also get the unsavory.  But if dichotomy is a universal imperative, I personally believe that it is not at all an even one.  In the grand scheme of things, when all is weighed in the balance,  the beauty in life, in parenting, and in trees eclipses the requisite bad stuff.

An overheard scene:

Lily: Come on Chloe, time to take a shower.

Chloe: Okay mommy (gets into the closet and makes shwish noises)

Lily: All done, come get dressed now.

Chloe: Okay mommy.

Lily: You look pretty.  Now it's time to eat, let's go to the kitchen.

Chloe: Okay mommy.

While trotting by me in the hall, Lily announces, "We're playing house."  Obviously.  Yet I wonder.  If playing at being mommy and child is a reflection of their reality, why are they so much more obedient to "mommy" than they are to Mommy?  If I ever asked any of the kids to do something and had an instant response of "okay Mommy" followed by prompt action, I would think I was being punk'd!!  Maybe tomorrow morning I'll get up and tell the kids, "today we're playing house, I'll be the Mommy and you be the kids - now let's eat breakfast and get dressed."  Think I'll get an "okay Mommy," from any of them?  

I never cease to be amazed by how quickly babies learn what is important.  Evey has, at a mere eight months old, discovered the critical fact that spoons=goodness.  Though she has only been fed baby cereal (yuck, in my opinion) and a few mashed fruits, she knows that when someone is eating with a spoon, she wants it.  I don't know if it is from looks on the faces of those eating ice cream, pudding, or even jello, or from some other body language that we no longer pay attention to as we get used to seeing it, but babies know that whatever we are eating, as long as it is on a spoon, is worth stretching, reaching, wriggling, almost jumping out of the safety of protecting arms to get.  She sees someone eating with a spoon and she gets so excited - bouncing up and down, kicking her feet, and reaching with every inch of her body to try to get it.  Once or twice I have given in, letting her lick a tiny bit of chocolate from a sundae off my spoon - which was a terrible idea because it simply re-affirmed her already established ideas of spoon specialness.  Forks - not so intriguing.  They just hold stuff like a salad or casserole - but spoons, that's where the good stuff is!!  I can't help but agree.

Today it rained, and rained, and rained.  Since I live in the desert, that is a huge deal.  Perhaps a rainy day may be synonymous with sadness sometimes, but in the middle of the summer, in the desert, it is a miracle.  My kids and I sat out on the porch and watched it.  We just sat and watched the water fall from the sky and the gutters overflow.  Well, it's not too long before the kids just can't take it any more.  First an arm, then a leg, then the whole body dancing in the rain.  My first impulse was to stop them - if they get drenched I'll have to change clothes and do laundry....but I checked my self-preservation instinct and sat back to enjoy the show.  They then moved on to the overflowing gutter running swift with rainwater.  Big alarms here, right?  Children should not play in dirty gutters on the side of the street!  Again, I checked myself, watched vigilantly for cars in the distance, and let the dams get built, the leaves race, and the glorious splash dances ensue.  Childhood perfection.

Last night, while trying to get the kids to bed, the baby started making goofy squealing noises that set the kids off giggling.  Once it started, it got completely out of control.  Trying to stop it was like trying to roll back the tide.  I would just get everyone quieted down, then one would do that holding-back-the-giggle-snort, or the baby would squeal, and everyone would explode all over again.  As a good parent, I must get them to bed.  I must control!  Except it got to me too.  Suddenly I was giggling just as hard, which made my husband finally lose it too, and there we were, a whole shaking, jiggling, rolling-on-the-ground mass of giddy.

Lesson learned from these two seemingly unrelated instances?  Let it be, sometimes.  I try so hard to do all the right parenting things, taking my kids to the zoo, to the children's museum, to Disneyland.... so that they will be well-rounded and have a full childhood.  But sometimes it is too organized, too planned, too artificial.  Sometimes the fullest moments of childhood are organic and spontaneous - despite the mess, chaos, and extra work involved.  The payoff is miraculous, because  those times that I override my adult brain turn into magical moments - the ones that crystalize and become precious gems that I wouldn't trade for anything on this earth!!

As I am just a beginner at this whole blogging thing, I have the distinct impression of myself easing into a very cold swimming pool - first the toes, then to the ankles, then slowly on in.  Many times though, I feel that the pool floor suddenly takes a drastic plunge and I'm in over my head.  It's not the technology I struggle with, a lot of it comes from being unsure as to what I expect from blogging.  Am I recording for myself or hoping to attract an audience?  Jury is still out on that one, and I just try to tread water.  And why, when I read other blogs, do I feel, not inspired but hopeless - like, "well, they are so good at this, why waste my time?"  Stupid, when I have taught hundreds of students that everyone's voice offers something unique and valuable to the world.  

In gasping for air, I have been reading online advice for new bloggers.  Mostly it just pushes me further into the deep end and turns me off to blogging all together.  For example, Mom blogs are huge, and the more pictures and details the better - but if you value your privacy at all, and to protect your children and family from online predators, don't post pictures, give details, or worst-of-all-sins - use their real names.  The suggestion: use nicknames for your kids.  Great!  Fantastic!  I already have trouble attaching the proper moniker to the proper child!  Though I swore I'd never do it,  I go through the classic parent stereotype roll call - "Seth..Isaa..Lil..I mean Chloe!" My husband assures me that it could be worse - we could have pets.  He grew up thinking that his nickname was "Fluffy," because his Mom called him that more than the dog who actually owned that name.  So add to the already chaotic name game an online handle for each child and you might as well commit me now - I'd be loony bins in no time!

So maybe I totally suck, and have no clue how to be a hip blog, but hey, I'm still writing - that's something, eh?

I am the lucky member of a small percentage of women who have hyperemesis - meaning that when I am pregnant, I am unbearably crazy sick - usually needing IV fluids just to stay conscious.  It is torture, physical and psychological, for all nine months.  Silver lining?  I lose weight!  With my last pregnancy I lost 20lbs total.   Forced bulimia!  Down side?  I gain it back, despite all of my efforts to keep it off.   It is absolutely unfair.  I mean, the price I pay during all those months should at least buy me the right to a little chocolate now and then! 

And that's where I'm at now eight months after having a baby- watching the scale drift upward in frustrated hopelessness.  Reading articles about how all I need to do is move around for at least 20 min a day to maintain, more to lose.  Move around?  I have five kids!  Unless I'm asleep, I don't stop moving around.  How is that perpetual motion disqualified as weight-fighting movement?  So I try to move more.  With no time to exercise in the traditional way, I have created my own aerobic workout that I should definitely patent.  Here's the gist - while doing dishes, do squats; while folding laundry, jog and do lunges; while dusting, do the chain-step; lift kids for resistance training.  Whatever housework or child-care task needs doing, it can double as a workout!  I could call it Despercise - exercise for the desperate.  Or Momaerobics. Can you just see the informercial for the workout video?  "Get it all done and tighten that butt in just six weeks!"  Seriously, I could make it on Oprah with this one! 

Unfortunately, the scale disagrees that it is a proper workout. Dang! 

My kids were discussing vacation with me and asked if the motel we were staying at would have a cat pool.  "I am going to swim in the cat pool as soon as we get there!" They exclaimed.  What, you might ask, is a cat pool?  So did I.  Anyone who has ever questioned children knows the insanity of trying to arrive at any kind of logic, but finally I discovered that their "cat pool" was derived from "kitty pool,"  which is a hop-skip-and-a-jump from the true origin -"kiddie pool."  These several years of my children playing in water and just now I'm finding out that in their minds swimming is somehow related to cats!  And, as I always do, I can't help but wonder if there is a lesson to be learned here on communication and listening practices.  How many times do we misunderstand each other, like that classic game of telephone, without even realizing it?  I know my husband and I do it to each other all the time, and only find out after some mutual frustration that we are actually saying and wanting the same things, only stated and understood differently.  So I'm vowing now that every time I feel judgmental or wonder at someone else's motivations, I'm going to think of cats in a swimming pool, and hope that it recalls to me that we never know what is going on in other people's minds.