tollipop

taking a cure

Dear reader, I've been under the weather lately.  I won't bore you with the details except to say it's nothing that would warrant a note from my mum requesting me to be excused from PE, carpool, or making dinner...although if anyone wants to forge that note it would be worth ten times its weight in gummi bears, if you know what I'm saying.

Just...sick.  

When I'm sick, I don't have many great ideas about getting better.  I sort of ignore the whole thing, if possible.  Yes, I drink more fluids.  Yes, I wash my hands.  Yes, I tell everyone I'm feeling fine.

But I do have one trick up my sleeve.  I do have one secret cure:

I still run.

Do you know what happens to a body that is feverish and racked with spasmodic coughs when you take it out for a run??

It shocks the living daylights out of it.  

As you take the first few steps, it looks at you and says, "Really? Is this your idea of a joke?"

But if you refuse to dignify passive aggression with a response, the body's insistence upon affliction will falter.  It gets befuddled.  It becomes confused.  A moment ago, it thought itself entitled to a morning of self pity and hot tea, yet now it finds itself in the great outdoors, engaging in activity that fairly reeks of good health.

So what does the body do? 

Why, it capitulates, of course.

The bold choice of running trumps the body's sick note, the audacity of exercise steamrolls its pathetic sniffles, its delerium and cough, and with every step it grows stronger, clearer, better.  

It really is the most amazing cure you could ever imagine.

But does it last?  

Is it rooted in sound medical knowledge or is it on par with the professionals of yore who believed a good bleeding was in order when a patient had the misfortune of remaining sick for too long?

Because why is it, as the day wears on, the fever and cough return with a vengeance? Why is it my body seems to take a perverse delight in making me feel ten times worse than I did before?

Is this its way of saying:

Take that, you crazy throwback to the Middle Ages!  

Take that, you deserver of maggots, leeches, and plagues!

Who thought she was too immortal to stay in bed today?

Who's gathering ye rosebuds now??

storytime salon

These are some of my happiest moments: when it's late, we are tired, the homework is done, and the girls find their way to my bed.  

It's time for a story.  

Sometimes it's a passage of scripture, accompanied by questions and discussion and the coziest feeling of love.  Sometimes it's a poem.  Usually there is a story.   

But that's not all.

Sometimes there is a request to braid someone's hair.  

Sometimes there is the offer of a manicure.

And sometimes someone else wants a turn to read aloud.

When the girls were little I spent many hours reading them stories, doing their hair, and painting their toes.  It seemed life would always be that way and I forgot to imagine someday they might grow up and learn for themselves and perhaps want to try these things out in return.

My imagination is usually way ahead of the curve.  So when something like this happens, when some moment goes beyond the loveliness of what I thought to envision, that's when I know I'm in a good place and this world is full of magic and how lucky I am to have made such a discovery.

saying goodbye to a street

This thought has been weighing on me lately.  I'm not especially sentimental; indeed, I may have a weird aversion to such emotions, but I've been thinking how these children were born and came home to this street, just months apart from each other.

He has been the perfect little neighbor and friend.  When I pick him up from school, it seems everyone in the world has something to say to him.  He talks sports to the grownups, high fives the older kids, has a nod or a what's up for everyone we pass.

And he's always had a special deference for Caroline. 

When we arrive home, he gets out of the car and thanks me for the ride about a zillion times.  Then he says, "See you tomorrow, Caroline."  If she doesn't answer right away, he'll stand there and repeat it until she does.

I don't know why, but this always touches me.

Maybe because it is childhood, pure and sweet.

We are not saying goodbye to these friends.  We will always be friends.  But the thought of not living across the street from them anymore...that is tugging at my heart.

just in case you were feeling inconsequential today...

I've been going in and out of rooms lately: sorting through things, narrowing things down.  Keeping, discarding, giving away.  

Getting easily distracted.

The other day I noticed an anonymous quote on Sophie's desk.  I read it over several times, deeply intrigued, wondering who could have articulated such profound and inspiring ideas.  I was touched such thoughts would resonate with my daughter so that she would take the time to copy them down.

"Your subconscious is vastly more intricate and expansive than even you yourself could possibly understand.  It extends infinitely beyond where your broadest dreams can register.  There is no way to comprehensibly describe the immensity of the world in your head.  Galaxies are as inconsequential as marbles because your mind creates time existing within time existing within time.

Realms throughout realms...there is so much that exists because nothing, in and of itself, does not, cannot exist.  There is simply too much to properly express in words, yet somewhere deep in the subconcious it is probably being done because someone believed it to be impossible.  

Knowledge, power, ability...these gifts are in such everlasting abundance within me that I must be a vessel.  No one can understand...they could only misunderstand or fall hopelessly short of comprehension.  I fall closer, but even I do not understand the enormity of myself..."

Sophie got home very late last night from an out of town volleyball tournament and as I visited with her this morning I finally remembered to ask her for the source of the quote.

She looked at me and said, "I wrote it."

Is there still time to up my game as a mother?  Because this is not the first time I've looked at Sophie and felt myself on shaky ground.

This is not the first time I've wondered who's raising whom.

Gratitude does not begin to describe what is in me when it comes to this girl.  How I wish the world could feel more deeply the application of her words. 

xo

gold star

Dear reader, was that a week that just went by?  Did I miss anything?  Did I forget to drop anyone off?  Did I forget to pick anyone up?

Is Caroline still waiting for me to help her practice?

Between my New Year's resolution to be more organized and packing up this house, I think my brain is about to fizzle.  It is so contrary to my nature to be organized.  It actually hurts my brain to be on the ball.   I've been keeping this vise-like grip on my thoughts lately and every time they start to wander, I zap them with a cattle prod.  

I guess that's one reason I love writing: it's a chance to sit down and mentally relax.  No vise-like grip.  No cattle prod. 

It's also why I love to run.  Sometimes a run is the perfect place to sort through one's thoughts.  Sometimes it's the perfect place to think about nothing at all.

The other day I went for a run and the most wonderful thing happened.  When I reached the summit, who should I encounter but a little old man!  

Can you believe it?

Sometimes they to turn up in the most unexpected places.

As luck would have it, he was in the company of two little old women and unbeknownst to me, they'd been watching as I ran from the bottom of the hill to the place where they were resting. 

They clapped and cheered as I approached, which took me rather by surprise but was nothing if not exhilarating.  When is the last time someone clapped and cheered for you?  

Take my word: it goes down like a new party dress, like a ticker tape parade, like gold stars all over your homework.

Of course I had to stop and talk for a minute.  Especially because they were all simply amazed by my speed and prowess and went on about it at great length.  

How strong I was!  How fast I ran!  

One of the little old women insisted I have a drink of her water.  I thanked her and said I felt fine.  She was not as convinced. 

Why did that feel so lovely?

I don't know what it is, but this much I've noticed: the sun and the moon could pass away but if some little old man thinks I'm a first rate runner, if some little old woman worries about the state of my hydration, if little old people want to dote and fuss over me in general, I will just stand there with a ridiculous smile, drinking it all in.  

Possibly not the water, mind you, but pretty much everything else.  

finishing school

Over the weekend I went to a place I've never been before in my entire life: Phoenix! 

I don't know about you, but my love of roadtrips in general spikes off the chart when it incorporates an entirely new road.  I get so excited.  The thought of looking out the window and watching the world change, of seeing new terrain, of having conversations and listening to good music and eating things from gas stations...it goes down like the perfect yellow cardigan, like a secret admirer, a handwritten note, and a tiny talking turtle.  

In other words: it doesn't get much better than that.

I don't know what I was expecting, but Phoenix sort of surprised me.  Based on my fleeting impression, if LA and Las Vegas were to have a baby, it would be Phoenix.  To be fair, I hardly had a chance to make Phoenix's acquaintance, although we did have dinner at a place called Citizen Public House and I can't get it out of my mind.

Oh, you world famous chopped salad.  Oh, you bacon fat heirloom popcorn.  Oh, you pan seared swordfish with roasted cauliflower fregula, charred tomato vinaigrette & tarragon butter.

Oh, you black and tan pudding.    

Instead, we frequented various athletic facilities cheering Sophie (#26) and her teammates in a marathon, three day volleyball tournament.

 

The girls did well, played some great volleyball, and made us all feel like kids again, laughing and cheering from the sidelines.  

As is often the case when it comes to raising children, I felt lucky to be along for the ride.

this moment

In case you didn't know, Amanda has a tradition each Friday wherein she posts a photo on her blog with no accompanying text, allowing the reader to come away with his or her impressions of the image.

Which is so calming, so zen, so at one with the universe, but which also drives me a touch batty (for myself, not her).  

Because I was so looking forward to telling you about the little old man I met out in the middle of nowhere on my run the other day, about the lipstick my sister recommended which makes you look as if you've been eating cherries and as soon as she said that I got so homesick for the Okanagan Valley I actually went out and bought some and smeared it all over my face, about this busy, upcoming weekend and how I fear I should set aside this blog for the next little while but I don't want to because while I am not a super chatty girl in real life, I certainly am in writing.

But all that defeats the purpose of this exercise, which is for me to take a vow of silence as you gaze upon the bucolic image of my little kitchen maids and think how pretty life must be in the Tollipop household, when in reality I'm quite sure they were chagrined with one another and only the tersest of confidences were being exchanged.

journey within the journey

Last week was a blur of practicing, lessons, rehearsals, recitals...all leading up to Izzy's performance at the MTNA competition on Saturday night.

Izzy's amazing teacher coached her through the entire experience.  

 

There were late nights.  A weary girl.  A tree in the room.  An indifferent cat.

The competition consisted of performing twenty minutes of repertoire for a panel of judges who hailed from across the country and even around the world.

It involved the hasty removal of blue nailpolish on the way to the event.

There were last minute warmups, waiting, gloves, and a good book to calm the nerves.

And then it was time to play.

How small she looked out there!  How alone!  

And yet I watched as my timid girl put the violin to her chin and set it on fire.  

She played with every ounce of passion that was in her body.  She brought every bit of hard work, of endless preparation to this moment.  She stood there and played like a lark soaring through the air, like a swan.  She took my breath away as she always does, she made my heart ache.  Watching her was like being drawn from the room and floating away with her beautiful, mesmerizing sound.

But she did not win.

She did not win because she was in a league that eclipsed any other competition she's ever experienced. 

Izzy was very good.  But the other musicians were astounding.  And they were better.

Forgive me, but that is the truth.  Parents who cannot be objective about their children make me nervous.

However, to me she was a true winner.  I watched a transformation occur in her playing and performance over the past several weeks.  

And I watched her accept the defeat with crestfallen grace.

I don't know how other parents navigate these moments, but it touched me deeply to see how much the competition mattered to Izzy.  She did not shrug it off or get over it immediately.  There were tears and requests for an explanation.  After a fun family dinner there was sitting on my lap, a good cry, and more requests for an explanation.  

Tears the next morning, too,

I guess I am realizing that sometimes, after all you can say and do, you are going to have to let your child experience some heartbreak.  You are going to have to watch her want something badly and not get it.  Or maybe she will.  Either way, you must understand while your support is essential, she is growing and reaching for things beyond your realm and sometimes all you can do is watch it unfold and wonder at the beauty and pain and the magnitude of it all.

accomplished young ladies

Once a week, usually on Monday nights, we spend time as a family doing something fun, something enlightening, something warm and cozy.  Last night the girls elected to have craft and story time...meaning they brought art supplies downstairs and sat around the table as I read to them from the scriptures as well as a book on Greek myths.  

That way it was fun, enlightening, warm and cozy all at once.

Caroline made one of her dear, leggy paperdolls with a belted skirt, matching beads, and stylish side ponytail.  Did you notice her tiny diary?  I wonder what secrets lay within?

Good thing it has a lock on it.

Izzy came to the table with a needle and fabric and set about making this pretty heart.

It is very sweet with its cherry red dots and ruffled ribbon.

Sophie's rendering was...well, somewhat more complex than the others' but nonetheless befitting that of an accomplished young lady. 

Note the debonair expression on the face of the gentleman, the cut and make of his garments, his aristocratic ways.  His lodgings have the air of old money.  Very old money.  Is that a molting albatross overhead or a phoenix rising from the ashes?  

Hard to say.

No doubt the layers of meaning in this piece, its symbolism and references demand a more serious study than I am able to offer at this moment.

But consider, for a moment, the detailed stitching on his trouser pocket and the outline of the mouse contained therein.

How awesome is that?

Listen, you can have your demure young ladies with their frozen expressions, their pretty poetry and painted tableaus.  I'm sure they exist by the dozens.  But someone who denotes not just a mouse in a pocket, but the evidence of its wiggling around?  

That's who I want to hang out with at teatime, at all the suffocating garden parties and the balls.

you know how it's good manners to remove your shoes in someone's house in case you end up standing in their sink?

Dear reader, I hope you don't miss out on the high times of removing old wallpaper some day because I'm pretty sure you can't say you've sucked the marrow from the bones of life until then.

I hope you don't notice, with growing consternation, how much your husband and brother have come to resemble one another over the years.

I hope you remember, when considering the glamor of swinging from chandeliers, the importance of having a good life insurance policy in place.

And I hope you know, when you're standing there staring at ten near identical shades of paint and an electrician passes by and says: I like the grey one, then walks off laughing, what he's really thinking is: I'm so glad you're not my wife.