Thursday Morning

Today I woke up with a bad case of “I want to play hooky.” Ongoing work stress is taking its toll and I once again steeled myself for the day over a cup of tea that, while strong, was not the Captain America level super serum that my day required. But I am a responsible adult and despite my misgivings about the day ahead, I moved forward with my morning. Ever onward.

My five year old’s Spidey senses must have been tingling as he laid curled up on top of his comforter. He wandered into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth and wrapped his arms around my legs in a tight hug. I stopped brushing and gave him a Good Morning hug and kiss. His rumpled hair and sleepy eyes are a good cure for whatever ails you.

As I resumed my preparations for work, he uncharacteristically sat down on the floor and leaned his head against my leg. Just when I started to worry that something might be wrong, my adoring love bug stealthily started tickling my bare ankles. I looked down to find his impish grin and couldn’t help but laugh. I’m sure we must have been a sight – me hopping around the bathroom, while he followed my feet like a frisky feline.

Once I was sufficiently tickled, groomed and ready for work, the tone shifted. Within moments, he went from “One more kiss, Mommy!” to sobs of “I don’t want Mommy to go to work!”  Me neither, kid. Me neither. My husband scooped him up and tried to console him, but ultimately the image of my son waving goodbye while his red face streamed with tears tugged at my heart enough that I drove away battling tears of my own.

Side note: I have been a working mom for the last three years and goodbyes like this are rare. We both know that he will have a fun day at school and before we know it, we’ll be making each other giggle again. But it is still hard to drive away from your child who is crying because he wants nothing more or less than his mommy.

I decided I needed a treat before work and made a stop at the family-run Bagel Shack near my house. While I was waiting for my bagel sandwich, I noticed six young men in military fatigues come in. They were friendly, talkative and in overall good spirits. As they chatted amongst themselves and looked at the menu board, an older woman approached the counter. She quietly handed her credit card to the young cashier, and gestured that she would like to pay for the young men’s order. The girl behind the counter nodded and the woman slipped away to an outside table where she resumed drinking her coffee. Another four soldiers came in and joined their comrades, and I hoped that the quiet benefactor was able to handle the additions.

“Rebecca, your order is ready!” was called before I had the chance to see any of the men place their order or realize what had occurred. I still wonder what the reaction was and if the cashier kept the identity of the woman a secret or if she tipped her hand.

What I do know is that I witnessed a tremendous act of kindness on this otherwise rocky morning. This sort of gesture was bound to be appreciated by the young men, and I’m sure that the Quiet Woman felt a sort of altruistic glow. The under-appreciated impact of these gestures of goodwill is how they affect the witnesses. In recognizing the Pay It Forward principle of a linear chain reaction of good deeds, we minimize the more burst-like impact our choices have. From the cashier to myself and other diners, that customer’s decision reminded us of the kindness that is still present in our cynical world of minimal eye contact. It grounded me in a way that I cannot quite describe, but I know that if not for the stress of work and the tears of my son, I would not have made the detour where I stumbled upon this inspiring act of humanity. And for that, I am thankful. 

Pay the laughter forward

They tell you that one of the best things about having children is getting to relive your own childhood. You get a front row seat to watch your amazing little one make many of the discoveries you made as a kid and ones you could have only dreamed about. (Facetime is about as close to the Jetsons as I'm ever bound to get, and it's just a part of everyday life for my son. Weird, right?)

On the weekends, I will sometimes treat Henry to a movie or longer show as we wind down toward bedtime. Tonight I chose a show that I've been wanting to share with him for a long time, and has been in the forefront of my thoughts for the last few weeks. The choice of a non-cartoon was met with resistance at first, but once he started watching, the giggles tumbled out, followed by almost immediate impersonation.

"I like Laverne best!"

"He has funny jokes, Mommy!"

"Watch, I can do that!"
And Henry promptly sat on his head.



The style of sitcom may be dated, but Mork's humor and quirks are intrinsically part of my own sense of humor, and I am rather proud of that. As a toddler, I would sneak back into the living room to watch "Nanu Nanu" with my parents and my mom bought me the first season on DVD when they came out many years ago.

I know there has been a lot written about the passing of Robin Williams. By all accounts, a talented and generous man. I didn't know him, but I know he's been making me laugh since I was very young. And laughter is one of those things we shouldn't take for granted.

While I watched Henry enjoy his new comedic discovery, I realized how grateful I am to be able to share these laughs that are 35 years old. Though there won't be any new Robin Williams material, it is a joy to pay the laughter forward with this new audience.

Nanu, Nanu!

Insta-puddle: Just add kindness

The Mama Grizzly protective instinct is a biological imperative.  Survival of the species and whatnot. As a mom and as someone who has even a basic comprehension of science, it is something that I understand pretty well.

What I cannot fathom, from any sort of scientific standpoint, is the similarly amplified feeling of gratitude when someone shows kindness to my child.  If you are nice to me, odds are you’ll get a toe in the dirt “aw shucks” kind of response. But if you do something nice for my son? I can go from dry-eyed to misty in about the same time it takes Henry to brandish those adorable dimples.

This past Sunday, I took my son to the theatre to see part of a musical.  I say “part” because while it is a jukebox musical with music that he loves, there are also a lot of book scenes.  Henry is bright and can be attentive, but he is also highly inquisitive, and I didn’t relish the thought of two hours of “what is he doing,” “why is that funny,” and “when are they going to sing again?”  So I arranged to bring him to the concert finale of Act 1.  Twenty minutes of music that he knows, then we are out the door.

He had a blast! Guitar solos, stand-up bass tricks and driving drumbeats had him smiling ear to ear and dancing on my lap.  All too soon, the lights came up and it was intermission. Nearby ushers complimented his dancing and his attention during the show. When the penny dropped that we were not staying for the second act, though, my young man was inconsolable.  Now this was partly due to the time of day, but there is something wonderful about a kid who cries because he can’t stay at the theatre. Maybe my bias is showing…

Anyway, I got him calmed down and we walked to the car.  Per the Parking Man’s instructions, we had parked obnoxiously close to the stage door. There, standing ever so close to our car were two members of the band we had just seen onstage. Let me dispel any notion you may have of this looking cool: we’re talking about two young men wearing white t-shirts, boxers, and wireless microphone packs who are taking a smoke break in between acts. Not sexy and not necessarily recognizable.  But Henry asks who they are and I tell him.  He goes super quiet, and tugs on my hand.

“Do you want to say hi?” I ask. He nods. (Talking to strangers is not my strong suit either, but we do things for our kids…)

I apologise for the intrusion and introduce us. I tell them that Henry has wanted to see the show for a month, and that we had seen the big concert and Henry loved it.  They both seem touched. The drummer smiles, comes around the car and offers Henry a big high five. Henry’s hand meets his with a shy smile.  The bass player quickly puts out his cigarette and follows suit. Both of the musicians give Henry huge smiles and thank him for coming before disappearing back into the theatre.

While Henry beamed in the backseat on the way home, I felt my eyes get misty. I had taken my son to a show at the theatre that gave me my Equity card, and the unsuspecting cast had treated him like gold. Sniff.

At the end of the day, Henry and I talked about everything we did:  we rode on a trolley, had lunch at the beach, saw the show. When I asked him what his favorite part was, he replied without hesitation,

“Getting high fives from The Crickets.”

Sniffle… Someone pass me a kleenex…

Magic

Small confession.

I am a wizard. Of sorts. That is to say I am parent, raised by magical parents.

I have never been to Hogwarts, but I’m pretty sure I was homeschooled when it came to all things magical. There were no robes or wands, just the understanding that my parents could do things. Now that I am a mom, I have found that I also possess certain skills and abilities that make my son look at me with wonder and amazement.

The first example is known by all parents and kids: Kiss it Better. My son is quick to point out that it doesn’t always work. That is when I bring in the big guns – The Band Aid. Where my kiss failed, a small plastic bandage with Ernie on it does the trick. Ta-Da!

Birthday decorations: I love birthdays!  Not just mine, but everybody else’s too. When my son is asleep on the night before his birthday (or his dad’s birthday) is when the decorations go up. There are no pretenses about elves or fairies. There doesn’t need to be. The look of awe on Henry’s face when he gets up in the morning is all the evidence I need to know that he has witnessed something amazing. When he went to sleep, the walls and doorways of our townhouse were bland and unadorned. And by morning, brightly colored streamers, spirals, and banners hang from corners, nooks, and chandeliers, announcing our festive intentions to whomever enters our home. Poof!

I won’t give away all my tricks, but last night, I discovered a new spell. My son had nightmares over the weekend and was reluctant to go to sleep yesterday because he didn’t want to have more bad dreams. While I am used to his declarations of “I don’t need to sleep tonight, Mommy,” there was a note in his voice and manor that conveyed genuine fear. As I towel dried his hair, I cavalierly told him that I would sing him a special magic song before bed that would make sure he had good dreams. His little face was intrigued. We settled into our evening rituals and I realized I did not know any magical Chase the Nightmares Away songs. Not even a poem. My son is smart – he will know if I am making up a story or song as I go, I told myself. He will also not forget that I promised him something special. I silently panicked while he snuggled next to me and watched Curious George. What am I going to do? I envisioned some other mom breaking out her guitar and quickly penning a song in the ten minutes before bedtime and cursed my lack of songwriting prowess. Then the glimmer of an idea took hold, and I crossed my fingers that I would not be struck down by the Copyright or Karma Gods.

My little boy laid his head on his pillow and looked at me expectantly. I held his hand and sang:

Close your eyes, have no fear

The monster’s gone, he’s on the run

And your Mommy’s here.

Oh beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.

Before you go to sleep, hold my hand.

Good dreams will happen to you while you’re busy making other plans.

Oh beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.

Darling, darling, darling, darling boy.

This “special magic song” earned me two sweet smiles and an uninterrupted night of sleep. 

I may not have gone to Hogwarts, but I know magic when I see it.

Haaave you met my friend Jami?

This is me being a virtual wingman for one of my oldest and dearest friends.  I clearly need to study more Barney Stinson moments to make it work right, but I think it has potential.

So here goes...
Jami is stunning...


















She likes to run races where she gets muddy...



And she is fan of cute furry things  (who isn't, really)...



She surrounds herself with creative, strong, interesting people.  Being one herself, it becomes an easy circle of love and mutual inspiration.

Jami is also the one who told me to write a blog.  Repeatedly, I might add.  So if you are finding yourself staring at the computer screen at this blog, wondering what happened to the last few minutes of your life, you can blame Jami. She linked my blog to hers (before I had written anything the least bit current), and it was the virtual equivalent of someone shoving me out of the wings and onto the stage without a stitch of clothing on. 

So here I fervently type, assembling a patchwork to somewhat cover my exposed self.  I won't lie, there's still a bit of a draft. But until someone sends the giant cane out to collect me, I will vamp and hopefully entertain.  And even if I play to a house of one, I know that one person will be cheering me on, encouraging me to succeed.

Because that's my friend Jami.