ever in the world

Little M used to say "ever in the world" a lot. I thought he had confused the phrases "forever" and "best in the word" as he would use this "ever in the world" phrase to indicate very big things in his heart. He would tell me that I was "ever in the world" when I pointed out a crab that matched the sand scuttling away from his curious self. He would call a great day with sister on the beach "ever in the world." It was an adorable phrase and I thought I had lost it undocumented in time's tides changing far too fast for a mom like me.

But, as usual, I was wrong on both counts. Firstly, I was wrong on the meaning. "Ever in the world" is a phrase unique to him alone. It does not mean best and it does not mean forever. Loosely defined, as far as I can gather, "ever in the world" is his marker of moments and people that he realizes are threads woven in the fabric of him. Secondly, I did not lose it undocumented. Certainly, not now as I am documenting. But less obviously, I did not lose it to kid whose language use is naturally maturing. He simply doles this marker out much more wisely and judiciously as he ages. Tonight we had a rough night at the outdoor concert. It was his first outdoor concert, he was tired, he wanted to run and scream, and I wanted to scream, "SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP! NO ONE CAME TO THIS SUMMER CONCERT TO HEAR YOU!" But I didn't. Instead, I was a good parent that calmly and steadily butt heads with my tired, sweating, and limit-pushing son. Finally a few songs into the set, he figured out what this outdoor concert thing was. He then put his over-heated face on my shoulder, pecked my cheek, and whispered, "You are ever in the world." Then, he sat down on my lap and we sweat listening together eating pistacios and watching the world go by. It was the first time he had said this phrase in a long while and I don't mind a bit how hard I had to work for it.

as wide as it is deep

Yesterday we spent the day with some dear friends from Seattle. They drove down to say howdy and spread a bit of love. It was lovely. It was so lovely that the children and daddies, who have not seen each other in three years, simply slid right back into the way things always were. Conversation was easy. Laughter was even easier and even the tears over sad-happenings-to-be-caught-up-on were shed in comfortable manner. It was so comfortable and easy that when our dear friends pulled out some stripey-dotty-monkey socks for G and she put them on promptly to wear in the pool, no one blinked an eye. No one wondered or tried to co-erce her into a sock-free pool dip. No one glanced at me as a way for clarification or to see if I would mind. No one tried to teach her that socks in the pool, especially cotton stripey-dotty-monkey socks, have never been worn in the pool. No one tried to teach her such unspoken social rules outloud. The kids didn't blink or laugh. The adults didn't wonder or even comment on her crazy pool attire. We all knew that if we just let her wear the stripey-dotty-monkey socks in the pool we would have a great time and not because we avoided a tantrum. We knew we would have a great time because we adored each other just as we are...and as G is, this includes wearing whatever one wants to wear in the pool.
I have many friends like these littered over the globe. They truly pop out from bushes like woodland fairies in the most necessary of times. Some think that this fact is sad, my world-wide friends. And, it is sad to miss people. But, I also find it as evidence that my friendships are as wide as they are deep. We are readying ourselves to grow a new batch of friends here to add to their good company. Also, thanks to the D's, we have enough socks for everyone we meet along the way. The water's warm an we're ready for a dip!

I love surprises

Nothing raises my ire more than others boxing my children in. I hear that G "WILL BE AN ARTIST." Yes, she drew pictures wombside. Yes, she feels called to score her world with permanent marker when the rest of the world sees a wall, or a sofa, or 3/4" cedar siding. Yes, she sleeps with her pictures and "Fifi" when other children sleep with blankets or stuffed animals. But, she might end up being a politician with an appreciation for the arts or a scientist with an understanding of the artistic nature of the nanoscopic world that advances our society's well-being to unheard of heights. Or, she might even be a waitress that enjoys daydreaming about weather patterns. Maybe, none of these at all. No matter what, she is a kid that likes to draw. Nothing more just yet. And, no need to shove her identity around in my playbook.

Little M on the other hand, has only recently succumbed to pen and paper. Really, only in the last 2-3 months tops and without fanfare. I would call him eccentric rather than artistic. Case in point: the picture above. Here, he is eating what he calls "alien brains" and made me take a photo to send to his pal A in Glasgow.

Recently, we were at the Enchanted Palace (http://www.hrp.org.uk/KensingtonPalace/stories/palacehighlights/EnchantedPalace.aspx) off the Kensington grounds in London. The kids found a guide who took us under her wing for an hour and showed us the grounds. She led them in a lullaby to Queen Victoria and then pulled down a journal in which they could leave the Queen a message. G dictated a note via me regarding the specialness of her "Fifi" and that Queen Victoria might find one like hers helpful when falling asleep. M drew a picture of the Queen as a girl playing with wolves in a winter forest...what? A picture? Of winter? In a forest? And wolves? And a young Queen? It was so thorough and surprising that even the guide broke character and called over her colleague to take a look- as proud and impressed as I was stunned and busy amending my childrens' identities in my heart. She found it inspiring enough to sing a wee bit of an operetta.

Wrong me. Humbled me. I shoved M in a little un-artistic box and was happy to leave him there. I did exactly what raises my ire. Thankfully, we are open to wide adventures as a family that will wake me up the next time I make such a terrible mistake. My deepest apologies Little M. Grant me patience and I just might surprise you, too.

lesson number three hundred-n-some from the book of G

G's life has been busy and dictated mostly by others in the past few weeks. She has moved from the only home she remembers, took her elder brother to the ER for anaphylaxis in London, toured London, toured Portland, ate lunch in the car or on a bus or on a train or in a taxi because we have an anaphylactic family member and safe food is best found in a home made lunch while we are leaving Glasgow, touring London, touring Portland, or house hunting. She has also been housebound most mornings in a boring apartment in Portland because her younger brother is napping. Oh yes, almost forgot, she had her 4th birthday in amongst the chaos. -That's her eating at Yo Sushi! on her birthday in the picture above. It was her favorite place to eat in Glasgow.


In addition to her crazy schedule was her crazy introduction to Portland. Due to jetlag she fell asleep in the car en route to the temporary apartment where we are staying. She woke at 3 in the morning Portland-time and thought that America was the pits. It was dark, not her own bed when this was to be "home," and there would be no friends or school the next day. To her, it seemed that all we did in America was try to get her to sleep in a permanently dark world with us scowling and stumbling into strange apartment corners. Was America a place where you could only sleep? she wondered. She didn't believe that the sun just hadn't had a chance to shine. She wailed, "I want my nursery school! I want my friends! Where is my bed!? Where is my bed?" With 3 hours of patience, she happily discovered that daylight shone on this part of the globe too. Despite her schedule and worries, she has imparted another lesson. While talking about our cross-Atlantic move, she said, "I will not see my friend H in Portland, but I will always like her in Portland." Ah yes, G. How right you are about friends. I wonder what other little nugget of heart-smarts she has tucked up her sleeve...right up past that cute little elbow of hers...

No Venus

Today we went to the Tate Modern and what should I discover there but this sculpture! Michelangelo Pistoletto "Venus of the Rags." This sculpture embodies exactly how I feel in the middle of a move - mind you this is #6 in 2 1/2 years (read posts from a year and some ago for the affect of the economic downturn on rental properties in Glasgow). Also, keep in mind that tonight is the second night of drilling against the shared wall with a start-up at 9pm and we will most likely move our hotel room tomorrow. I want the moving pain to end but I think the UK has it in for me. The worst thing about moving is figuring out where to put clothes. The kids grow out of clothes and wear out clothes faster than I can pack, unpack, wash/dry, and find a reasonable spot to put them. I have found whole boxes between moves -forgotten and filled with clean and folded laundry that the kids could have used but have outgrown. I even gave up in the last house and just let the clothes multiply in their child-chosen, mold-growing corners. Even my writing of late feels jumbled and messy - rag-like, if you will. And then, there is G! She who wears everyone's clothes at some point during the day because that is a part of who she is - a random clothes wearer. The best part is that "Venus" was sculpted by day laborers in Italy and the rags were sourced and placed in the mound before her by people Michelangelo hired to create his vision. Even the artist did not sully his hands in creating this masterpiece declaring my inner pain. But I calmed myself as I thought that at least I had the added benefit of exercise with all of this moving and laundry and stuff. But no, apparently not even my post-partum-mid-move-#6 bum looks as good as Venus'. Little M even told me so when I said, "This is exactly how I feel!" and he said, "But you don't look like her..." Then again, maybe Little M was commenting on her vacantly peaceful expression on the other side of this sculpture. Peaceful about the whole affair? I am surely no Venus.