The Girl Who Danced in the Bathroom

(I wrote this post for my work blog, http://stmartinsgander.blogspot.com)

You’ve seen the move. It is Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music; Belle in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast.  Arms wide, twirling, face to the sky.

My daily commute has me transferring trains at 30^th Street station twice each day. One evening recently on my way home I was in the ladies room. On my way out the door, paper towel in hand, I glimpsed something which made no sense, but changed the rest of my evening.

Pure. Unbridled. Joy.

This young woman looked younger than me – though I’m no good judge of age – and for some reason on her way into the ladies room, in the midst of the mundane exchange of people coming in and going out, she twirled. Her face and eyes smiling; her body posture open.  What a peculiar and beautifully joyful sight.

Now, I’m no psychiatrist like some at St. Martin’s and no Energy Medicine Specialist like my friend Barbara, but something real happened. A psychic energy transfer. We talk about emotions being contagious, we talk about energy flow. It was as if this woman’s cup of joy was overflowing and the energy of that needed to get out. She couldn’t contain it lest she burst. It went flying out in all directions and landed on me.  And I was filled with it.

I know nothing of this woman, but she transferred to me powerful energy in that moment. Being present to her joy was palpable, even in the few seconds it took to walk by on my way out the door.  I keep thinking of her now, close to a week later. How beautiful the joy. And the energy of that lingers when I think of it.

I’m conditioned to see this and speak of God. Of the Holy Spirit working in and moving through us in these moments of energy exchange. Of God blessing one and that blessing so filling an open heart that it can do nothing but increase exponentially and spread outward.

I had another experience just Tuesday. Given to me this time not by a person, but the sky.  Out the train window I looked up from my smartphone and what met my eyes was brilliant. The sky was pink, blue, fuchsia, red, and orange; and changing each moment I watched. The clouds were mixed diagonal lines to the right and leopard spots to the left. And the buildings black shadows against the canvas.  I was nearly frantic with excitement from the energy of its beauty. I desperately tried to take a photo but, especially through the window, the camera couldn’t capture the vibrancy of the colors that my eyes blessedly can discern.  I stared hard at it hoping to fuse the image onto my brain. Full of awe and wonder, “The Sky!” I wanted to shout, “Quick, everyone look at the sky! See its brilliance!”  Not one to want to look crazy or make a scene on a train full of strangers, I impotently posted to Facebook.

It all makes me wonder – what other joys am I missing? What have I not looked up to see, to feel? And how have I shared my overflowing cup when I have been so filled with joy? What has brought you joy recently? How have you shared that joy? How have you returned to God the blessings and beauty that God has bestowed upon us and shares through each of us?

Where is your girl dancing in the bathroom? What is your brilliant sky? I want to hear about it. Share the joy.

- Natalee Hill

A related video worth watching, from TedxSF.

Hospitality Lessons from a Preschooler

It was a typical evening coming home with my son. It was a day that we were headed home just the two of us, my husband working a late shift.  As we approached home, the initial request came, "I want to go see Alex." Alex is the high school freshman girl who lives across the street from us and with whom my son is enamored. "Okay," I say, "let's go home, put our things down, and we can go say hi for a few minutes while dinner cooks in the oven."  He agreed, and he very cooperatively waited while I got out the fish sticks, sweet potato fries tossed them on a cookie sheet and into the oven.  I set a timer on my phone for a couple minutes shy of the oven, and off we went across the street.

We spent a lovely 12 minutes in our neighbors' home, he on the sofa chatting and watching some TV with Alex, me by the door chatting with her mom.  When my timer went off and I declared it time to go home for dinner, he was ready. But we exchanged that "we should do dinner sometime" thing that you do. You know that - you mean it, sort of.  But when I got home, suddenly I was called to account.

"I want Alex to come over for dinner."

"Yes, sweetheart, I said we'd do that sometime soon."

"NO. I want Alex and her family to come over to dinner right NOW!"

I began thinking how unreasonable his request is. The house is a mess; I haven't vacuumed up all the cat hair. Do they have allergies? I only made enough fish sticks and fries for two, maybe with preschool sized leftovers. Nate isn't home. I don't know what their dinner plans are. I don't know what they eat. 

I offer a perfectly reasonable alternative. "How about Friday?" Yes, Friday is perfect. Several days to get ourselves together. Nate will be home. No choir rehearsal or other things on the evening agenda.  Perfectly reasonable.

"But I want them to come over for dinner TONIGHT."

Now, I know there was some typical preschool impulsiveness at play here. But I was suddenly struck by the insistence for radical hospitality that he demonstrated. I heard Gospel in my son's frustrated words.

I actually stopped in my tracks and considered for a moment: Isn't that what we're called to - relationship, in the here and now, immediate?  Isn't that part of what Jesus was trying to tell Martha when she complained about her sister Mary not helping to get ready for the guests?  Come. Sit. Be with people. Yes, it is important to have food. Yes, it would be great if the floor was cleaner. But don't let it get in the way of the relationship that is so much more important. Why should I worry so about the food? Did not the loaves and fishes multiply to feed everyone the two times in the Gospel that the crowd needed feeding? When we are together in Christ, there is enough to go around and all are fed. Fed not only by the food, but by the gathering and the sharing of the meal.

Jesus showed us how to invite anyone, everyone to our table; tax collectors, fishermen, the poor, the rich, the sick, the healthy, sinners, and saints. Jesus showed us how to sit with them; to be with them. It is amazing how presence alone is healing. And, indeed, Jesus invites all into his presence and to the table each Sunday morning.

So, why should a little cat hair in the carpet and a handful of fish sticks stop me from inviting over people I already know a bit? What's stopping me from showing a tiny fraction of the radical hospitality that I've been taught?

Flowers from our neighbors.

I failed that night. I failed as an example of Christ to my son, and I failed my call. I heard it, but I ignored it and did the "reasonable" thing. I invited them over for dinner on Friday. My son was thrilled - he told everyone he saw on Friday about our dinner plans. Our neighbors came, and we had a lovely time. Just the other day, Alex's mom came over to deliver flowers in thanks for dinner. I'm glad we had them over. I'm glad we were all there. It was a blessing. And I hope I made up for not following when first called.

I'm blessed that I'm forgiven, and that I have a chance to try again anew.

So, what's your hospitality challenge? Do you have a story of failure or success of your own? What tiny fraction of a difference could you add to your faith journey? Add your thoughts below!


(cross-posted to StMartinsGander.blogspot.com)

Vegetable Horror Stories

Or: Dinner with my 3 and a half-year-old

If you've ever had or known a toddler, pre-schooler, or really any young child, you'll know how difficult it can be to get them to eat anything resembling a healthy meal.  So, any number of tricks, schemes, cajoling, sweet talking, negotiation, and playing may be necessary to get the job done.  In our house, we employ the full spectrum depending on the situation.

Recently it all seems to be play. My son has been very interested in family units recently. Most of his play is about Mommys, Daddys, brothers, sisters, and babies. There also seems to be a lot of pretending people are dead and then coming back to life.

When applied to vegetables at the dinner table, I was finding meal time to be rather morbid and actually a bit horrific.  Take the following for example:

As he eats a carrot: "Oh no, Mommy carrot! The shark ate my skin!" And now I'm imagining the peeling process entirely differently.

Then, there was the broccoli family. He kept having me play the mommy broccoli.  The daddy broccoli was telling the mommy broccoli that the baby broccoli had been eaten by a fire man.  So, I made mommy broccoli cry.

Him: "It's alright Mommy broccoli, we're going to get another baby!"

Me: "Oh really, from where?"

Him: "The other trees (another term we use for broccoli) are giving us a baby."

Me: "Oh! My dear sweet baby!"

He then takes this small bit of broccoli from me and eats it.

Him: "Oh no Mommy broccoli! The fire man ate the baby again!"

This process went on for a bit including missing babies that turn up eaten instead of just being eaten outright.  That daddy broccoli totally sucks at child care and supervision. But then, his head was repeatedly dunked in ketchup and sucked clean again. That has to mess with you, right?

They say that the way kids play is just the way that they process life.  That generally it is harmless. I know that the Mommys and Daddys and everyone tends to come back to life when he plays. There's a bit of that "pretend I'm dead Mommy" to which I pretend to cry and then he jumps up and says "I'm alive again!" Or "I cut off your head!" "Okay, tape, tape, tape, (pretending he's wrapping it in tape) I fixed it again! You're okay!" These examples prove that it will all be okay again. I heard an NPR story about this (boys play) on the radio this morning, but darned if I can find it online...

So, if it weren't for the fact that he also plays Phillies (today I was Carlos Ruiz and he was Cliff Lee) and Camden Riversharks and other less horrific imaginings, I'd be worried.  As it is, he has changed the way I look at my vegetables forever.

I mean, after meals like the above, I guess I'm glad he doesn't want to play with the fried zucchini.

Why One-Third Sucks

Today is day 7 into my new running self.  It's also day 7 waking up at 5 a.m. Today for my run I moved up a step - from 2 minute runs followed by 3 minute walks to 3 minute runs followed by 2 minute walks. Not a big difference at first - but it made a huge difference in my time per mile. As I was running, and feeling pretty tired by this last week, I began thinking about something that one of my train buddies had mentioned. He made note that there's a study out there (which I have failed to go verify, so we'll go with hearsay) which says that it takes 21 days to create a new habit. Well then. So I'm one third of the way through starting two new habits - getting up early and running. Oh, and blogging I guess. That's a lot of new habits at once.

Apparently, within those 21 days that it takes to form a new habit, at any time one is at risk of back-sliding and needing to start over.  That almost happened the other day for my husband and I. It was his day to run, but since he had to pick up the car from the shop, he thought he'd run after I got up and out with our son. So, when the alarm went off at 5 he didn't get up to run. My mind said, "You still have to get up to write, Natalee! You didn't finish your thoughts from Monday!" My exhausted body said, "Just give me another 15 minutes, please!" Well, that 15 minutes turned into 60 and I almost panicked when the clock radio turned on.

So, here at 1/3 of the way into my new habits, I'm feeling proud to get this far, but kind of overwhelmed by the idea of what's still to come.  I noticed that I've been feeling similarly at about 1/3 of my way into my run.  My route is just short of a 5K (well, probably a bit shorter still because I "hug the inside" by running on the near sidewalk instead of the far one or in the street).  At that one mile point I've found myself thinking each week "Really? I'm only this far? I still have to do twice that again? I'm already wanting water and why is my Achilles tendon/shin/foot/whatever aching?"

That one third is the toughest part.

I would think that the last third would be toughest - but finishing seems like a joy in comparison to hitting the one mile mark. I mean, by then most of the work is behind you. It's only a bit further then. And for me, since I do a loop, I have to get all the way around to get home for water and a shower. Even the second mile is easier. There is something psychologically different I think because within the second mile I cross the halfway point also. It's just starting, getting going and making it to and only just past that first marker - that first third - that is so hard for me.

But I do push past it and then I'm at 1.5 miles, I'm half way. And then comes 2 miles and I've already done two thirds and the last third is easy. Let's see if I can beat the playlist! Will I be farther along today than two days ago when X song comes on? Even though I always find myself home drenched and tired - looking first to sit and second for water (and third for a stretch and a shower) I feel good when I'm done. My quads and calves have gotten used to the distance already. I don't have the unstable, wobbly feeling going down a flight of stairs that I did after Day one. Now I just need to push on the rate of speed.

So, if I'm able to push past that one third, I should be able to push past others. Getting up at 5 a.m. Writing consistently here. Pushing hubby out of bed to do his running... We'll see. If I'm still in the 21 days, I still have a ways to go. I'm still at risk of falling behind. But something tells me that it will get easier from here. I'm working on that halfway point now - I see it up ahead.

How about you? Have you tried to form any new habits recently? How is it going? Do you have the same experience as me with that first third? Let me know!

Photo:
http://www.prlog.org/10788157/1

Sweet mispronunciations

For fun, and so that I don't forget when he grows out of this adorable-ness, here are a bunch of words and phrases that my son mispronounces.  Thought this was a nice way to start the week.

Lightning Mit-a-queeen

Just my belly

Okay, this isn't a mispronunciation so much as a sweet phrase all his own for being shirtless. This one has already departed from common usage, and I miss it. So, I am paying it tribute here - my husband has it memorialized as his fantasy-football team name.

Hippo-pa-mun-us

Rally-rolly

Phana-kg-ic 

(I actually cannot mispronounce this the way he says it. Some how he manages to put a k and a g together where the t should be...it is the most baffling and sweet of his mispronunciations and he is thisclose to loosing it and finally saying it right. I discourage this.)

I'm sure there are more, but these are the ones that have stuck out recently. I'll update as they come to me.

Do you have a child in your life who speaks sweet mispronunciations? Tell me about your favorites!

New one 8/30/13: Oopsie-daisily!

Review of an enchilada dinner

This was the dinner hubby cooked for us last night:



Mmmm...looks delicious, right? He loves to cook, and he loves to "plate" the food like a Food Network Star.

It smelled SO delicious as he cooked up the rice and chicken - adding spices like cumin and some Penzey's something-or-other-9000.

It tasted like cardboard.

Okay, that's not actually a critique on my husband's cooking here - it had nothing to do with the food, and everything to do with the environment.

Did you know that it is nearly impossible to taste your food with a preschooler screaming and crying and pulling on your arm? I didn't.

You see, we knew the little guy wasn't going to eat this meal. So my very thoughtful husband made him this instead:

It was served on a plate, it ended up on the napkin because my dear son didn't WANT cheese on quesadilla bread. He wanted cheese on peanut butter and jelly bread.  So, we went through quite a while trying to calmly reason with my son while he had a complete breakdown over the exact carbohydrate upon which was melted his cheese.

I tried nearly everything:

• I told him I couldn't understand his crying and whining voices and to use his regular voice when he was ready.
• I told him that it was bread, just different bread.
• I carried him upstairs to see if he wanted to sit up there for a bit to rest until he felt calmer.
• I told him not to pull on my arm while I tried to sit at the table ignoring the crying and eat some of my meal (I had gotten up at 5 to run, and it was already 7:30 p.m. - a long day and I was really hungry.)
• I even told him a story about how one time I had to eat something I didn't like ("When you were little, Mommy?", "Yes, when I was little") and regaled him with the story of Great-Aunt Louise and the Pimento-Loaf, lacy swiss cheese, and mayo sandwich.

His responses:

• More crying and grabbing my arm.
• Crying that included "I love you Mommy" - you are breaking my heart you manipulative little darling.
• Grabbing and holding onto me as if the world would end if he let me go.
• Throwing himself on the floor.
• After the story about how, "I ate that sandwich Aunt Louise gave me because she made it for me because she loved me - don't you want to do the same for Daddy?" His reply: shaking his head sadly with a (brutally honest) "No."

Now, I forgive my son. He is only three and a half. He was clearly over-tired. He hadn't napped at daycare and had apparently woken up all his classmates too. But he needed to calm down so that we could both eat.

Finally, Super-Daddy stepped in after sitting there observing all my attempts and failures and first shows the little guy the tortilla bread and give him a tiny taste of it. Watching the bread flop around and fold up finally calmed him.  Then, when my son still didn't want the quesadilla, he acquiesced to the request to put the quesadilla on "peanut butter & jelly bread".

Like this:

Yeah. 

So, the little guy happily ate about four bites of this with a small handful of grape tomatoes and we called it a day.

Oh, and the enchiladas hubby made for dinner? They stopped tasting like cardboard when the little guy settled down.

Needs more salsa.

Your turn! What kinds of crazy things have you given up and let your kids eat? Tell me in the comments.

Running in the Dark

This morning I got up early. This is not like me. But I had a goal.

I decided a while back that I wanted to start running, just because it was an easy, cheap way to stay in shape and I should probably get into that habit. My husband also has a goal of running - but in particular he'd like to do a triathlon. Then, the other day I came across a fall Vineyard 5K series and I thought, "Okay, if anything will get me running, this will."

So last night I got hubby to give me the ipod and show me his Couch-to-5K playlist and tell me the route he was using to train before good intentions wore out. And this morning, pretty excited by my intentions really, I jumped out of bed at the alarm at 5 a.m. to get dressed and get out.

5 a.m. on a morning in mid-late August.

Do you know how dark it is outside at 5 a.m. in mid-late August?

This dark:

I took this photo out my front window - that's the moon up above, the streetlight to the left and my neighbor's door light in the middle. Okay poor photo quality notwithstanding, this is dark.

I'm all ready to go, but I'm a little scared.

Yup. Young. Female. Long ponytail. Running alone. In the dark. Without her cell phone.

You tell me, should I be scared?

Even here in the burbs?

Even though I'm a 30-something wearing a t-shirt and long pants instead of, say, an 18-year-old in a sports bra and spandex shorts (not that that person should feel afraid either).

Well I am. And that's the ugly face of systemic, societally-ingrained oppression.

In a society that would lay blame to me running alone in the dark IF something did happen to me.

There is NO WAY IN HELL that my husband would've said to me when he woke up to do this "Wow, it's really dark out this early. Do you think I'll see anybody else out there?" No. If he wanted to do this, he would've just gotten up and gone without a second thought that there was anything unreasonable about his behavior, or potentially unsafe about what he was about to do.

But I am a woman. And women can't afford to think that way.

Even when I know I'll actually be fine and my fear is unfounded. PLENTY of women do this same thing. That's not the point.

I've now already wasted* a good 20 minutes waiting for it to lighten up outside a bit before I start. And it is still summer, and light earlier. My schedule really does require me to do this in the morning. By about 6 I have to be back home to clean up and help get myself and my son ready for the day. And by the time I get home this evening, there are all kinds of other things that need doing - and besides, dark is yet again not far off.

So, scared or not, the time is now. Off I go. With only my ipod strapped to my arm, and my phone at home.

I'm sure I'll be just fine.

But I shouldn't have had to give it a second thought at all.

UPDATE:

As expected, I'm just fine.

But I did ponder finding a friend to run with or changing up my route now and again so that I don't end up with a "predictable pattern".  That's the stuff you ponder when you're a woman.

PS: What it looks like through that same window when I got home.

*I really shouldn't have called that 20 minutes wasted. I did use the time to write this after all.

Did I Quit? Am I a Failure?

I read this blog post by a dancer and was moved by this woman's experience of having her career questioned.

Whether we come to the question ourselves, or are confronted by it from others, anyone who has studied in one field and ended up with a career path that looks drastically different has wondered this.

It seems to me to be particularly true for anyone who studied in an artistic field. I read this article recently where a mother was pleading for parents not to dismiss their children's artistic pursuits in college. There exists a fear that one can't study the arts because it will make you a starving artist. But if you DO choose to study the arts, then you have to keep practicing them outside of college your whole life or you're a quitter or a failure. I think in part, the second reaction is fueled by the fear in the first.

Why is this?

We have the hardest time justifying the value of the arts despite everyone loving some aspect of the arts or another (you may not like theatre, but chances are you love music). We cannot justify it despite studies that demonstrate that kids excel in more academic areas when they also study the arts. It is also true that artists find themselves successfully in many other fields. Why then this fight for arts in school, for funding of our most important cultural assets, for continuing to instill fear of failure in every high school graduate who wants to go on to study the arts even if they don't know yet where that study will take them?

Did the money I spent on voice lessons in college go to waste? I sing in my church choir every week. You ask them if the confidence I gained from those lessons was worth the expense. At the very least this article about the health benefits of choral singing would suggest that I've made an investment in preventative healthcare.

From studying the arts (particularly theatre) I learned about hard work, how to do tedious work, persistence though repetitive work, producing consistent work, organizational skills, a sense of people including body language as communication, and I found myself better in touch with people, with humanity.

Certain things are habit forming. Practicing creativity is habit forming. Suddenly you think creatively about everything. You are able to function within a box as directed, but also to imagine what may exist outside that box - the "what ifs". You can drill down into a singular moment and zoom out to see the big picture the pattern woven. You find that sometimes mistakes are opportunities and you learn to course correct on the fly - improvise. Or, you learn how to scrap something you worked hard on and start over again - frustrating, but a part of life.

So, if I'm not onstage or backstage each day - did I quit or fail? No. I used the myraid skills I learned and adapted them to other interests and pursuits. I may take the stage again or not. I will keep singing. I will pick up the paint brush, if only to paint some giraffes for my son.

Quitter? Never.

UPDATE 8/22/13 - I just found this article from Monday, August 19th on Huffington Post about the value of the arts to business. Thought you might enjoy it.

Dinner for One

Or as the food blogger in me wanted to call it:
"Pesto Gemelli with Garlic Zucchini and Parmesan."

(This "food blogger me" staged this photo with that tomato for a pop of color and the unrealistically small sprinkle of parmesan. The real me added lots more cheese prior to eating this. More cheese is always a good idea.)

So, how did the wife and mother-of-a-3.5-year-old manage dinner for one? It involves a gift from Gramma and a scheduled late work night for hubby. The little guy is with my mother up in CT for the week. We came home to return to work, but it is nice to have the evenings just the two of us. Or, like tonight, just the one of me!

So, here I am with an evening to myself. So what do I decide to do with my new found freedom?

Laundry

Dishes

Dinner

Paint

And start a blog...

"On Shuffle" is inspired by my iTunes. We have a large selection of music of all sorts, and generally I listen to it on shuffle so that I get a little of this and a little of that. That's pretty much what you can expect from me here. I'm still working to find my voice, so in the meantime, I may write about my family, food (I love food), my faith, or whatever other topics come to mind or get me thinking. Let me know what you like, what you don't. You'll help me feel out what works.

So tell me, how do YOU spend a little unexpected time to yourself?