He's 4!!!

Liam, age 3 1/2

Or is he?  True to form, upon waking this morning, my little fire ball argued that he was not yet four years old.  Apparently, in order to graduate to the next age, one must blow out the candles on their birthday cake.  Candles on a birthday breakfast will not count.  No, turning four will happen when, and only when, the candles on a birthday cake served at your birthday party are blown.  My Liam has such a strong passion about this that I am now wondering if it is true (So, can I delay 38 by not allowing a cake or party? Or, better, I am I still 36 since my birthday cake was not served on my actual birthday? )   But, that is Liam,  a passionate and spirited debater.  This little tree's roots run deep in the soil of conviction.

Oooo, I can still feel weight, smell and sweetness when I see this picture

I have delighted in watching the intricacies of this little spirit unfold over the past four years.  With a little bit of experience in my parenting change purse (notice I did not use the words knowledge or skill), I see how a connection with a child grows with time.  No, I don't love Liam any more then the day he was born.  I do, in some ways love him more richly.  I now have a much stronger sense of who he is and how we as mother in child are together.  If I would have guessed who my child would become at his birth, I would have imagined a very different person.

A tiny cherub wearing the Schroeder family baptismal  gown

For one, I imagined that Liam would have been a little more mellow.  Maybe that was just a pipe dream, but that is what I saw when I looked ahead.  I would have probably pictured a more typical 3rd child.  One who goes along for the ride and is a little more clingy and needy then the older children.  While he is the biggest lover of my three and maybe a little more clingy he is so different from what I imagined.  When Liam stood at the fork in the road of survival he chose to WALK the path, he would NOT be taken along for the RIDE.  Rather, he would survive by letting his needs, thoughts, ideas, loves and hates known.  Every minute of every day, this soul demands to be heard.  Not just heard but listened to.  Should you chose not to give Liam your full attention, you may find him gently (or firmly) demanding it.  He has been know to put his arm around your shoulder and place his hand on your cheek turning your face to his.  Fierce blue eyes like lasers, just try to look away.  Try not to smile.

Master communicator by four, I now see that this soul is destined to take the lead of others.  Yes, I do see that most preschoolers are bossy and struggle for power.  No, I have never encountered one that is more convincing.  I have met few people who were as persistent and convincing as this little boy.  "No" doesn't faze him, it is just a delay on the journey to "yes".  This child can get anyone to do anything.

Hiking at Mt Rainier on Daddy's back

The day after his birth, I chose Liam's name.  I was aware that the name means "protector".  I thought that was odd and struggled to find a poetic way to make that fit who he was.  I thought, perhaps, he would grow to be an environmentalist.  No, he is what his name infers.  He simply protects people.  Liam will defend his brother and sister to the death.  Even when they have just been miserable to him.  I can't scold Jack for hitting or being rude to Liam without Liam coming to Jack's rescue (a loud commanding verbal rescue).  He protects his sister, the dogs or his parents just the same.

Liam age 1 1/2

Protective of his eggs on his 1st hunt

Third Birthday Short Stack

Never a Wallflower always a Sunflower

Above all the things I adore about this person is his ability to make you smile and his energy and freedom in love.  For the child who says it so often with such sincerity,

I LOVE YOU!

Dear Running, you are nothing but a pain in the meniscus.

When you are feeling broke, everyone else is getting promoted or going on vacation.

When you are watching what you eat, the rest of the world starts baking and indulging. 

When you are lonely and single, everywhere you look you see sickeningly happy couples. 

When you give up caffeine, every parent is sporting a starbucks cup at after school pick up. 

When your child throws an ugly fit in the library, you are surrounded by smiling, whispering, children.  

When you injure your knee in January, the entire planet decides that February and March are for running.  

It has been decided that these months are for running, happy running.  Not the type that leaves you scowling in the rain checking your time every 3 minutes.  Rather lovely, endorphin filled running that leaves you in love with life.  I want to be filled with endorphins, flying around the city.  Alas, I am walking dogs and trying to ignore the dull ache in me right knee.

I don’t know how this happened.  Maybe it was running, maybe it was another fitness adventure.  Blooming with the new year, a dull pain emerged in my outer right knee.  Naturally, I ignored it and relied on my bodies super healing powers to take over.  That didn’t work, so started icing after working it.  But, the irritation became mild pain.  Once I started (lightly) training for a ½ marathon at the end of January, it stubbornly dug in it’s heals.  I dug in mine too.  Knee postured. I stuck out my tounge.  Jab-cross-jab-hook-strike. OUCH!!!  

Post runs left me unable to walk down stairs with out clutching the side of the walls.  I couldn’t cross my legs when seated with out irritation.  Going from seated to standing was reminiscent of my arthritic grandfather rocking out of his armchair.  My knee threw up it’s arms in victory and started singing that horrible “We are the Champions” song by Queen.  I gave it a raspberry and put up my feet.

I woke up with remorse for my poor behavior.  But, it was too late.  Knee was giving me the silent treatment.  I think that I went too far this time.  I am not sure that we can ever trust each other the way we used too.  My doctor says that knee's affliction is an irritated meniscus.   It’s probably not a tear, but it won’t heal without rest.  In fact, it will get worse without rest.  Just to be sure I tested that out a couple of times.  He was right, athletic impact made it worse.  It has been over 4 weeks of nothing but yoga and other low impact activities, and still my meniscus is holding a grudge. 

Last week I celebrated my thirty-seventh birthday.    I think I have finally learned a lesson that I should have learned at twenty-one.  I’m NOT invincible.  Hurt happens, injuries happen, disappointment happens.  My body will age.    I hope to repair the damage I have done.  I suppose that leaves me to wait and listen.

I lied.

I didn't mean to, but I lied.  I lied thrice.

Lie #1
" I am a terrible sewer.  I am not a sewer.  It just wasn't meant to be" (July, 2011)

Here I am, six months later and totally committed to a massive undertaking.  I am in the process of planning, designing and SEWING a spring wardrobe for myself.  My machine is unpacked and I have staked out a nice little corner of our playroom for my mini studio.   I have started compiling designs and ideas into a design book and rekindling my love affair with fashion.  It turns out that it is as strong as ever.  It's probably a little stuck in 2000, but there none the less.


I am severely limited by funds.  Buying fabric and patterns is way more expensive then just buying the stinking garment.  Still...I have dreams that won't die.  In some cases, I will have to refashion thrifties and items that I already own.  But, recycling has it's merits too!


It turns out, I am not as horrible of a seamstress as my previous rants would lead you to believe.  Impatient? yes.  Over ambitious? yes.  Sloppy and rushed? YE-AH-SS!  Horrible?  Surprisingly.... no.


When I told my children about my crazy plan they were really encouraging.  Sometimes, I realize just how good I have it.  When I through out a seemingly unrealistic pipe dream at my kids, they always amazingly supportive.  I am so fortunate to have them as my sounding board.  At those times when I would kill to be having an adult conversation over breakfast rather then listen to random sports trivia that is being pelted at me like a paintball gun, I will remember this conversation.  Upon sharing my dreams to become a good seamstress.  Jack replied:  "Mommy, you ARE a good sewer.  Remember those pj's you made for us?  You can totally do it!"  Not a bad sounding board.

Lie # 2
"I'm kind of over running" (October, 2011)

Turns out I'm not.  In the past I have certainly been a "fair weather" runner.  Which, basically limits me to run between March and July, take a break in August and wrap up the year in September.  Our unseasonably warm winter break landed me back on the track and thinking about signing up for a race.  Oddly, the day after scouring the internet for the perfect race, a friend turned me on to an opportunity to run in the Seattle "Rock 'n' Roll" marathon while supporting a cause very dear to her heart and mine.  More on that to come......


I'm feeling good about completing the 13.1.  My fear is in finishing it s--u-p-e-r  s---l---o---w-----l-------y.  Like, you might as well have walked if you were going to clock in at that time.  So, my goal for now: focusing on my tempo runs while being very kind to myself.  More on that to come.....

Lie # 3
"I am leaving space to create in whatever capacity I am drawn to each day" (Dec. 2011)

Looks like that is going to be a bit hard to do as I sew and train while enjoying motherhood and wifedom.  I guess I will have to settle for being creative everyday without that freedom clause.  I kind of knew that this one was a lie.  But I did have good intentions.


I certainly won't be wishing the winter away this year.  I have a lot to get done before the Spring.

What are your passions this winter?

Gripping, loss and love.

December was an unusual month for me.  My world seamed to slowly tip on it’s axis while gently shaking me off to be at the mercy of the rest of the universe.  Although some of the changes were of my own doing, I still wrapped myself tightly around earth’s leg.  Like a mother to a toddler, she continued to shake me loose and gently back away.    

I gave up teaching for good last month.  Along with it, I gave up a major focus in my life.  I have opened up time, and space and creative energy for myself.  I have been terrified by the idea of adding anything back in.  The risk of, yet again, over scheduling myself and winding myself back up into claustrophobia has paralyzed me.  So, I am left with a space in my heart where music, children and teaching once sat.   I am clinging to this space.  Shake, shake.

At the end of the month, I had a wonderful week and a half with my children and husband at home.  We had time to spend together at our cabin in the woods and in our , more relaxed then normal, Tacoma home..  I woke up every morning to hot coffee, fed dogs and entertained children.  Totally amazing!  Still, I clung to the guilt of not being the wife and mother who wakes up and gets to work so that my husband can relax.   Basically, I couldn’t let go of how things normally are.  Shake, shake, shake.

I spent a lot of time focused on family this month too.  Yes, my life is always focused on family.  But, in December, that expanded beyond the nuclear.  We spent more time then usual with local family.  We also had visits from both my father and my mother and father in law.  Spending time with family is so dear.  I regret that all of my family is not in one place.  Nothing made this more clear then the sad passing of my lovely grandmother last week.  Here it is regret that I cling to.  The shaking continues,  and I tighten my grip.

As I write this, the Northen side my family is mourning the loss of my grandmother, Elvera.    A courageous, funny, lover of life, my grandmother will be dearly missed.  The mother of seven, this amazing woman lived a full life.  I did not know her well.  But, I am thankful for the time that I did get to spend with her.  In reflecting on her life, I see that her greatest gift to me is her example strength and playfulness. 

I was fortunate enough to visit my grandma in California when on a road trip a several years back with John Amelia, and Jack.  In her 80’s she was still full of life, love and strength.  The life that she lived was frequently visited by hardship.  Yet, when I see her in my minds eye, that is not what I see in her.  I see the face a women who knew joy and love.  Who, upon meeting her great grandchildren for the first time, loved them richly and playfully. 

I am at a loss for a really great way to wrap this up.  I suppose it is because we do not wrap up ones life with a ceremony alone.  Closure doesn’t come.  And, it shouldn’t.  I may not have known my grandmother as well as I would have liked, but she will always be a part of me.  She will always shine in my children.  Now that she has passed, I will look for her in their movements and in their laughter.  I will look for her strength in my own times of challenge.  I am inspired to do the same for the rest of my family.  When Jack raises his brows, just so, to momentarily become my father; hearing Liam yell “fooey!” in the voice of his grandmom Cotter; when Amelia escapes to her room to jump into a book as my grandmother Schroeder would have done, we are reunited.  They are there with us, if just for one sweet moment.  If I cling to the traditional concepts of being close to family, I lose.  But, if I unclench my hands and see that they are with us daily in so many ways I am shaken free.  Free to celebrate them, passed or living, near or far.