Grandma

My Grandma passed away this weekend and I am not able to go home to her funeral. Permit me to celebrate her here.

Of Peonies and People
by Jennifer Philpott

My grandmother passed away today
and my mother was there and I was not.
My children and I were outside to play;
stomping puddles and muddy garden plots.

I tell my son we will plant peonies
when we find our home and by that I mean
the boozey flowers that sagged under trees
and sun on my grandmother's farm and dreamt
of waking from the next winter, too. Tough
ants crawled on the waxy blossom heads
coaxing them open, their scent thick enough
to betray my fort making in the flower beds,

Grandma scolded, “Stay out! You let them grow!”
My girl asks, “Peonies? How do you grow?”
I tell them what Grandma knew of peonies and people too:
You stand back. You let them grow. Don't let anyone mess with you.

disclipline part 2

I also find it hard to discipline because G refuses either a) to dress or b) remain dressed in the same outfit or c) remain dressed at all. This evening I said, "Gg! In our family, we help each other out. Your brother needs help setting the table. Please help your brother." Go ahead, say this outloud. In the time it takes to say that, she stripped naked and said, "Okay mum," and proceeded to stomp out of the kitchen, naked, with silverware in hand as if nothing had happened. What? Oh that's right, I didn't specify. I didn't say, "...we help each other out whilst wearing standard garments."

long time, no post

Okay, so when I don't post because of (among many other things) moving to our 5th house in 18 months, 3/4 family birthdays happening within 4 weeks and big M traveling like mad again, I get a little stuck. I get a little gun shy. What to post? What would be interesting to know? I decided to just post what I like and not fret about the picture this time.

I find disciplining my children difficult. Certainly for the standard reasons of the modern mum. No one likes to say no. It always takes a lot of time and energy to do it right and often disciplining needs to happen when you don't have time and energy. Blah. Blah. Blah. But I also have difficulties disciplining my children because I often I can't figure out with whom I'm exactly dealing. For example, the other night G gets in and out of bed, stuffs the the toilet full of toilet paper, picks an owie so it bleeds and she HAS to get out of bed to get a bandaid, the list is so long I've forgotten all that she was doing when she should have been sleeping. Finally, I summoned the time and energy to discipline her, "Big girls go to bed. They don't run around and pick owies and wake brothers up and say hi to the elderly neighbors dangling from the window. Big girls know when to go to sleep. Big girls go to bed and have a nice breakfast with their mummies in the morning. Big girls stay in bed!" To which, she flops away from me and says, "I am not a big girl. I am a panda!" uhm? What to say to that? I said, "Pandas go to sleep too." She said, "I am now a killer whale!" She then blew air from her spout and fell asleep as all good killer whales do.

on homesickness

It is no news that I have been quite homesick for some time. With this in mind, another round of friends decided to uproot the gentle hum of their lives and meet me half way in NYC last week.

Add up the following:
1 hour for mass transit time limitations
1 hour for my generally high-strung travel state
1 hour for my exuberance to see my friends
2 hours as the recommend time you arrive prior to an international flight.
What you get:
Me! Arriving a terribly prepared 5 hours prior to take off. There is nothing to do when you are 5 hours early for a flight except to attempt check-in. Usually airline security won't allow check-in 'til 3 hours before the flight. I was early enough to explain to the airline attendant that the mass transit time table isn't really my fault but a monolithic governmental agency's fault. I also had time to explain that my neurotic and happily-high-strung travel state isn't really my fault but more a product of growing up in Minnesota under the tutelage of my mom. The very kind gate keeper checked in me and my bags. He smiled and said, "You must make good friends."


I do. I do make very good friends. I have made friends with my siblings and my parents and even people that were once strangers. It is these friends, who were once strangers, that flew last week over a continent and survived a New York City bomb scare to heal my homesickness. They left flu-ridden children, overworked spouses, and really great weather just to care for me.

It is these friends whose lovers and partners and husbands know that it is best to help us go and do the work of friendship. They know that when we get together, for an hour or a day or a week, we all return as better people.

Due to my husband's work, we have lived all over the states and even a different country. Home is where I grew up, Rochester. But it is also Seattle, San Francisco, Wilmington, and Madison.
This bright morning I took my questionably dressed children to the park. There I met friends who were once strangers in this foreign country. I found myself needed in a whole new place on this earth. As I stood there, I realized that I am not homesick. I am home-abundant. We are halfway through our tenure here. While I do not know where we will land next, I now most certainly know that I will find a home.

making Scotland work

That's me breathless from dancing "strip the willow" at a ceilidh on Saturday night. The ceilidh was filled with Scots who could dance, Scots who couldn't dance, men in kilts who could whirl me silly, and one particularly crusty old guy who just liked the polka bits of all the dances. The band leader taught the dances as best he could til he gave up and berated us all in good fun. "That's not really dancing," he said to me on the mike for all to hear, "but you can stay to keep the numbers even."

I'm reading "Einstein's God," and I'm surprised at the fundamental understanding my son has of Einstein's groundbreaking rules of the universe. The other day on the walk home, he said to me, "Time goes faster when you're moving. I don't like waiting. Waiting is slow and boring." "Yes indeed Einstein," I said. He said, "I'm not an Einstein. I'm just your son." I'm not saying my son is a genius. I've got proof of the contrary such as when he started to make fart noises on his arm on the walk home to make time go faster.

We danced til midnight and then had popcorn with our sitter and her mum til 1 am. New friends and a good sitter also make time go faster and I'm not smart enough to turn that into a rule of the universe, though I do have hair worse than Einstein's. We're very thankful that great people seem to find us where ever we land. I'm off to NYC for a few days with other good friends that have found us along the way. Time is sure to fly...