Life's Lessons in Action

There are times in life that I can look back and remember a very distinct moment where a very valuable lesson was learned. Other times, I believe lessons are learned gradually with the help of mistakes and age. This week two opportunities to came up for me to put into practice one lesson I learned from my mother in one instant many years ago.

When I was in my early teenage years, I was sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter talking on the phone. I leaned back and knocked one of my mother's wedding glasses off of a shelf on the wall. They were the glasses her and my dad gave their first toast with, crystal, probably one-of-a-kind from Ireland or something like that. I knew they were special to her because they were arranged on a shelf in front of a picture of her and my dad, arms entwined, drinking champagne on their wedding day (it might have been sparkling cider since neither of  them were of age ;) The picture was a pencil drawing of my dad's.

When the glass fell and shattered, my heart sank. I felt horrible about doing it and feared the wrath of my mother. She was present when it happened and as soon as our eyes met, she said, "It's okay." Two simple words spoken over twenty years ago that have changed the way I deal with similar situations now. I tried to tell her how sorry I was and that I knew the glass was special to her and so on and so on. But she said this, "It's only a thing, don't worry about it." Her calm attitude left such an impression, that for someone who admittedly doesn't have a great memory, I can remember that moment like it was yesterday.

This week, in my household, I discovered two things that were meaningful to me, broken. In my last post, I mentioned how I am not a very sentimental person and I don't have many things that I consider precious to me. Well, I guess I did have a few things. One was my wooden St. Francis statue that we picked up in Assisi on our honeymoon, and another was an oval wooden box that locked/unlocked in a secret way. I got the box from the original carver when spending two weeks in New Mexico while on a fire assignment with the Department of Natural Resources. The things themselves weren't valuable, but the memories attached were priceless.

St. Francis, (almost) as good as new.

While dusting, St. Francis' head fell off because it had been balanced there mysteriously well like I'd never notice it. Samuel was standing nearby and he heard the disappointment in my voice upon the discovery. I felt his guilt like sticky humidity on a hot August day. My first instinct was to separately interrogate each child until the guilty party tearfully announced his shame and begged my forgiveness on hands and knees. But that memory of my own mother sprang instantly to mind. I put it aside and figured I could glue it back together.

Today, while cleaning the girls room, I discovered the box, also put nicely back together as though I'd never discover it (my kids must think I am quite the idiot). I did announce my disappointment and instantly Benjamin announced his guilt (kudos to him for his honesty). It was harder to bite my tongue this time, since it was the second time in two days, but I managed. (By the way, Ben's excuse was..."Well I couldn't open it!", I wanted to smack my head on a wall).

My dad always told me that if something can be destroyed, kids will find a way to do it. He was right. But my mom taught me that people are more precious than any worldly possession and the words we choose to use can make a difference in the lives of others. She was right too.

Side Note: The move I mentioned in my last post....it's going to happen, wish us luck :)

Greener Grass??

It has been so long since I logged in to write a post that I had forgotten my password and had to go through the ever so annoying process of setting up a new one. The truth is, I haven't written in so long because living hasn't left me room in my life to contemplate or reflect. I have missed that. However, with the Lenten time upon us, due to activities I have given up for the next 30 days, I have some time to "catch up".

I guess I thought that I no longer had an audience since my blog had become stagnant, but according to Blogger, people are still checking in, so I thank you for that.

I feel like my life is on the brink of change. My family is on the fence about something that would change our lives dramatically. Actually, my family, is not on the fence...I am. Everybody else has hopped the fence and is running free where the grass appears greener. I am standing there, sceptically looking at that green grass and wondering if it was sprayed with green chemicals to make it look luscious and inviting.

A few months back, my mom brought to mind the idea of finding a multi-family house to rent that would be big enough for the kids and I and her and my dad. I thought it over and the more I looked online at available houses, the more it seemed this was a plausible possibility. Those houses included; two kitchens, multi-levels, separate entrances, many bathrooms and a nice big fenced-in back yard with puppy possibilities.

Then my mother found a house, fell in love, and all but packed the moving vans! The only thing is...we haven't been in this house yet, and some of the things I thought would be necessary for it to work, aren't there.

There are so many concrete pros to moving into this house (at least if it is laid out exactly as it was described to me) that it almost doesn't make sense not to do it. The kids and I would have four bedrooms instead of three allowing for Samuel to finally have his own room, the backyard is HUGE with get this: a tree fort and a playhouse (boys vs. girls), the kitchen, though not separate, is supposedly large and newly remodeled, it's just as close to school/work as we are now, and I would be saving quite a bit of money a month. Seems like a no-brainer, right?

So why is it weighing so heavily on my heart? The answer is two part, and it lies within my past.

When I moved out to be on my own at 19, I discovered my love of anonymity, liberty and independence. Nobody had to know where I was at all times, I had the liberty to come and go as I pleased...wherever that was, and I had the independence to chose whether or not I would do the dishes at night, what color curtains I put up and how loud and frequently I listened to the soundtrack of O Brother Where Art Thou.

When I got married, I gladly gave up some of that in exchange for the duties of my chosen vocation.

When I was on my own again, I rediscovered that love of freedom, though it was a different kind of freedom. "Popcorn for dinner?" "YAY!!", "We are going camping today!", "YAY!" "Go outside and play so I can have some peace and quiet." "YAY!" "We're going to Mass in 30 minutes." "But it's Saturday, why do we have to go to Mass today?" "BECAUSE I SAID SO".

The choices that need to be made are mine to make and I haven't had to share that responsibility for almost 5 years. That, although sometimes burdensome, is freedom to me.

The second part of the answer has to do with the house we live in now. I had no idea about this part until I spoke to my mother about my reservations about moving and in one sentence she almost had me in tears. She spoke about how it might be difficult to move on account of my sentimental attachment to our house. Every fiber of my being wanted to refute this idea. I never considered myself a very sentimental person. I love getting rid of stuff and there isn't much that I own that I would be sorry to lose. I have no desire to own my own house because I never want to be so attached to anything or anyplace.

I left that conversation with a heaviness on my heart. When I got home that day, I walked through my front door and suddenly my house seemed to give me one of those big understanding sympathetic hugs that break down the floodgates and force the waterworks to flow freely. I sat down and so many memories came pouring into my conscience mind, memories that I didn't realize I associated with our home.

This house was here to greet us on the sunny morning of July 1, 2008. It's doors opened wide like welcoming arms. It was as though it was saying, "I know you are broken and imperfect, but so am I, we will do just fine together." My four kids and I moved in and the house kept us all together at a time when I felt I was falling apart. A month later, I brought Cecelia home from the hospital to this house and the six of us settled into our new life.

The furniture has been rearranged so many times in hopes to find the most space efficient arrangement and the scratches in the hardwood floors have stories to tell. The walls have literally been climbed, and every square inch has been lived in to the fullest. So many times I have cursed this house for its cramped quarters, it's noisy furnace or the persistent moles that have mansions under the lawn. But the truth is, this house has been good to us. It has been good for us.

As of right now, I don't know if we are moving soon or not. It will take some adjustment in my way of thinking, and acceptance of the sacrifices that will have to be made. The grass may be greener on the other side, but at what cost?

 

Not much from the outside...but with the love of a family, it's home.