Falling in to Family

…it’s that time of year when we think about who’s coming to town, who’s going to cook, and who’s bringing someone new to the table. But the table is where we all gather and there is something to be said about family time. 

So why do we wait for Thanksgiving and the winter holidays to gather everyone at the table? There are plenty of studies telling us that time at the table actually benefits everyone. Working parents let go of the office stress, kids connect with each other and eat healthier, and it establishes a daily ritual which is the foundation for family traditions. The table gives everyone a place to gather: it is a social networking site and that alone should have your kids texting BHS (yes, “be home soon”).

Recently, I read the rounds of mommy blogs bemoaning the lack of time to get everyone to the table for dinner. There was a lot of empathy and sharing of reasons why it’s just so hard today but no real solutions. Dare I jump in? Oh, I dare.

Breakfast! Why hasn’t anyone combined the important ritual of gathering family at the table with the most important meal of the day? Without even realizing it, my daughter and husband started this ritual the day she started preschool. He stayed to have breakfast and wished her a great first day. Then he stayed the next, and next. Now in sixth grade, she’ll get up at 5am in the morning and roll herself to the table for a bowl of Cheerios followed close behind by her younger sister for a “sunnyside up.” We laugh, we wish each other a good day, and then we scramble out the door.

As the winter weather gives us its first wink this week, and with the holidays just around the corner, it’s time to unwrap a tradition long put away with the holiday ornaments from our childhood. Breakfast or dinner, prepared or packaged, make it a resolution to get everyone to the table before the New Year and you’ll really have something to celebrate.

Just One More Time

It seems to be the motto this summer and reminds me of my own summer days as a child. My mother used to take us to the local pool and we’d spend all day long playing “Marco/Polo,” diving for rings, practicing cannonballs, standing on our hands, and doing somersaults underwater. By the time we arrived home our eyes were as red as Twizzlers and we smelled like chlorine. The days were full of laughter until it was time to exit the pool.

“Just one more dive” … “Just one more cannonball” … “Just one more somersault” …and then the pranks of “oops, I fell back in.” …It was funny until my mom’s lips grew tense, her eyes fixed sternly on us and her voice dropped low but sharp: “Just one more time.”

My five year old is a natural when it comes to pool antics, she manages to pull out all the excuses and “oopsies” and still get away with a trip to the vending machine. It’s hard not to resist when you’re living life and trying to set ground rules yet reminiscing about childhood at the same time. I find myself trying to be stern but turning and cracking up in a towel. I just can’t pull off that low growl my mother could do so well; it still sends shivers up my spine. When I was a child, if you defied the count to three you really did get pulled out of the pool …and by your ponytail, and nobody flinched or “tsked.”

I can feel triumphant that a little one …two …three magic does work when I mention “no mint chocolate chip ice cream if you don’t get out of the pool,” but I have to say I secretly look forward to the giggles and screams of “just one more time!”

Just One More Time

Everyone to the Table

That’s what my mother always hollered right before “Dinner is ready.” There was never any discussion, you got to the table; like it or not, and that went for the meal and the conversation.

I received a call from a Cutco Cutlery representative the other day and immediately flashed back to my brother standing in the kitchen wearing suit and bowtie as he set out for his first job. By the end of that summer every mom in town had a new set of steak knives on her table. I couldn’t believe the company still existed (60 year anniversary if you check out the site) so I said “yes” to a demonstration and a potential trip down memory lane.

A few days later, I opened the door to a young man looking like he had just come from surfing. No suit or bowtie, just a laid back expression and a bag of knives over his shoulder. I let go of nostalgia as he laid out his knives at my table and turned on autopilot.

“Do you own a set of knives, Mrs. Wilson?” “Yes, I do.”

“How often do you use them?” “Daily.”

“How often do you sharpen them?” “Rarely,” I said.

“I bet you like to barbecue on a day like today.” “I love to barbecue anyday.”

“What’s your favorite meat?” “I’m a vegetarian.”

He faltered momentarily then plugged a paring knife for my veggies before switching to autopilot again. The demonstration started to feel like the dull knives I apparently had in my drawers; that’s until he cut into something I can get fired up about. 

“How many meals do you prepare in a week?” 

“That’s a good question,” I replied.  “I’d say 14 or so.”

Silence, then “A week?”

“Yes, that’s right, at the table with napkins in lap.”

He stared stunned and I wondered if he was envisioning my entire kitchen being decked out by Cutco, or if he was imagining that many moments at the table with family.

The Annenberg Center for the Digital Future at the University of Southern California reports the average family spends about 18 hours a month together. From TV to technology, distractions are cutting into dinner and family time. But I’m not ready to scrap mealtime for computer time. I’ll take the occasional arguments and grumblings over the meal, or who got more ketchup. It’s the sharing of daily activities, jokes, and planning of weekend hikes that helps us circle our wagon to keep tabs on each other. It is both grounding and comforting, and expected now by our children even at a young age.

So while my Cutco representative frantically flipped through the pages looking for the bigger knife block to sell me, I sat contentedly knowing I get flustered about a lot of things throughout the day but not getting the meal to the table – even if it means breakfast for dinner.

Vista Point

My girls love visiting family so it’s not a farfetched idea for us to pack up spontaneously and drive the six plus hours to Los Angeles or Orange County to visit grandparents, cousins, and friends. With over 36 relatives within 45 miles of each other, my girls are ready to go. Most people think we’re crazy to drive the 5 freeway because, to them, “there is nothing to see.”

But springtime delivered us a picture perfect drive and we found ourselves tuning into music that had us belting out show tunes, Dolly Parton, and a little bit of Hannah Montana. Even when we broke down to put in a movie, the girls couldn’t help being distracted by the vast fields with poppies that continued to bloom all the way up hills and mountains.

When the road did become flat and seemingly desolate we were given the quintessential meaning of springtime: babies! We saw calves and baby lambs running free, chasing each other, nursing and sometimes just nestled next to their mothers. It was amazing to see such playful life out on the land so many just drive by without stopping to take a look.

I realized that every few miles there was a sign reading “Vista Point”. I wondered how many people pulled off to take a look and I was grateful for the people who paved the road years ago and were thoughtful enough to realize this was land that should be viewed.

Most of us are more likely to pull off at one of the pop up convenience exits and grab a Happy Meal, fill up, and hit the road again. It’s ingrained in me since childhood that we stop for gas, and snack from the provisions packed.  With my two girls singing in the backseat munching on the goodies packed we decided a new tradition would be to pull to the top of a Vista Point and for once just stop to enjoy the view.

This Day Rocks!

Though spring is officially more than a month away, the early time change and a welcomed break in the rainy weather seemed to lighten everyone’s mood today. Even after a wrong turn and no Garmen to show me how to get home, I chose to just go with the road while my girls kept worrying out loud over our predicament. That is until we came upon the most incredible playground alongside a marsh we’d never explored.

With dog in tow we took the path for a while hoping to see some of the birds mentioned on the welcome sign. Accompanied by Mallards and Mud Hens in the water, with incredible shape-shifting marshmallow clouds above, we followed the meandering path until we reached the far end of the playground. The girls immediately raced to this incredible apparatus, worthy of an Outward Bound course, full of kids swinging and dangling trying to get to the center of what looked like a spider’s web. One child hollered out “Como estas hombres” and I laughed at Avery questioning if the three year old had just called her a boy.

Dropping to the ground, Callie dashed to a section of the playground that seemed to be calling her name. She was immediately joined by another girl and I smiled at her mother, also pondering the instant connection. The girls, undeterred by the language barrier, simultaneously started digging. Callie suddenly screamed and lifted up her arm; her hand clenched tight in a fist. She raced over to me and opened up her wet, sandy hands. “It’s the most beautiful rock in the world,” she exclaimed. Frankly, it looked like a snail that had been crushed and rolled in sand and I cautiously touched it hoping I was wrong. I was.

Callie sat with her rock marveling at the “specialness” of it. Setting it on my bag, she dashed back to her new friend and knelt down to resume scooping. I cleaned up the rock and the few more that Callie brought with pleas of keeping them all. I sat next to the family of rocks so thoughtfully lined up and smiled at what looked like my Pet Rock collection from a craze that took over the country when I was a child. How ironic: my younger self had stormed like so many other kids to the stores searching for the same treasures my daughter had just uncovered in the sand, and in the company of a new friend.

This great serendipitous moment was not lost on my girls who proclaimed: “this day rocked” as we walked the path back to the car where my phone sat blinking with a text message from my husband wondering if we had found our way home.

The Monkey Bars of Life

“I did it!” My almost five year old exclaimed. “I reached, and I reached and I finally did it.” It was a milestone; that miracle moment when she discovered that by letting go, she would actually move forward. A child swings back and forth on the Monkey Bars anticipating what’s to come while so many of us dangle,  hesitantly, wondering what we might miss by not holding on.

Now more than ever is the time to reach out for what you’ve always dreamed of doing. Reach for the opportunity that will help you achieve a goal you’ve always wanted to achieve. Holding on so you feel safe won’t stop you from falling; and falling into complacency is the greatest let down of all. Believe in yourself and reassess what matters. Family and friends, and a good walk in the great outdoors should land pretty high on your list.

Reaching for what you want and what matters is goals achieved, but for just a moment see the world through the eyes of a child and go swing on those Monkey Bars of life.

Puzzled By 2009

It started with a 36-piece then moved to a hundred and finally a thousand tiny little obscure shapes covered the table as we made our way through the holidays. The hallway to the girl’s bedroom was covered, a wonderful landscape became the front door Welcome mat and the girls keep going.

The idea of sitting around a table with friends and family to do a puzzle isn’t new but I certainly hadn’t seen it for a while. And when I brought one out after Thanksgiving dinner I got “puzzled” stares until both my father-in-law and step-mother helped rally everyone to the table. It was hours of political and social conversation, family memories and jest as my father-in-law persevered to get a piece in: “If you push hard enough, it will eventually fit” I believe is what my brother-in-law kept saying. It continued through the holidays and we’ve just stocked up for winter.

 I did a little research and discovered that the “cutting” of puzzles goes back to the 1760s when a London mapmaker glued a map of Europe to a piece of wood and sawed around the nations. The popularity grew and, in America, it was the great depression that took puzzles mainstream as it was the most economical form of entertainment.

So with 2009 upon us I say let go of complaining about the economy, eliminate the confusion for what’s to come, dismiss the notion that there are still “Jones’” out there to keep up with and celebrate what Norman Rockwell captured so eloquently in his illustration “Freedom from Want”. Family and friends are clearly the most important “goods” in our lives for 2009. And if you’re so inclined, it’s available as a 1000 piece puzzle.

Once Upon A Time There Was A Bear

The holidays are here and it’s time to hunker down and embrace the chaos. …work and the whirl of parties: school, family, and those pseudo work/networking opportunities. While most kids look forward to holiday books, my oldest daughter always wants the story about the almost-holiday mishap: yes, the time we thought it was an all-ages Open House. I should have turned around and walked out the door the minute the host said my daughter was always so fun to be around. 

All was going well, but adult parties don’t end at 8pm. By nine-ish conversation was lively and laughter filled the room but my daughter had grown bored …until she discovered little figurines which I imagined had come from some far off land during a great adventure. I learned that night that museum putty only holds down objects in the museum if the kids stay behind the red rope. As I spoke to another guest I caught my daughter successfully prying a figuring from the side table.   

“Put that down,” I said in the most pleasant voice but with pleading eyes. She just stared, the person I was speaking to waited patiently. But the tension only mounted because when time is up for a child, time is up. So again, I smiled pleasantly but spoke with stronger persuasion “We don’t touch other people’s things so put that down.” She hopped off the sofa and waved the object in front of me; tauntingly I thought. Looking directly at her I whispered again, “We don’t play with other people’s things, so let’s put it down.”

Suddenly, she happily galloped the tribal figurine across the glass table making just the kind of noise that can stop a host cold in her shoes. I strained to smile and knelt down to whisper through gritted teeth: “Read my lips!” That was it! She stopped immediately and turned with an enlightened grin.

Clapping my cheeks in her hands she squeezed tightly and pulled my face close to hers. “Oh what do I do now,” I thought.  Pulling my squished lips close to her eyes, she read out: “Once upon a time, there was a bear ….now let me read your cheeks.” Before I could respond, laughter erupted; more people than I thought had begun to wonder how I was going to wiggle out of this situation. I wasn’t, so I had to embrace it. The life of a three year old can be quite literal. 

Family and life take patience. Work takes practice. And the two together are chaotic perfection. Embrace the chaos, it’s all good.