Category: love

Smells Like Vacation

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“Only a child sees things with perfect clarity, because it hasn’t developed all those filters which prevent us from seeing things that we don’t expect to see.” – unknown

I love words. Use them all the time. But every once in a while, something happens to remind me that perhaps I’m using too many.

The other day my kids and I were driving an hour to get to the Washington State Fair. It wasn’t a vacation, or bay-cation as Mr. D says, but it was a special day. And my kids are great in the car – they generally get along and are happy to be there.

So, there we were, sunnily driving down the road. Mr. D, who Vicki (from the Victoria Ponders blog and my partner on the HoTM blog and podcast) refers to as a poet, pipes up from the back seat,

“I can smell bay-cation. It smells like orange mixed with rainbow.”

What do your vacations smell like?

If you are going on a road trip or just want some great listening around the house, check out the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast with author and blogger Pete Springer on our latest episode: Episode 36: They Call Me Mom with Pete Springer

Do You Listen to Your Pain?

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“These pains you feel are messengers. Listen to them.” – Rumi

I originally published this on 9/21/2022. Heads up – you may have already read this.

A couple of weeks ago, I took both my kids to the doctor’s office. When it came time for the flu shots, the tech asked me to pick which child should go first. I picked my 3-year-old son. He reacted with an “ouch” and then was on to the next thing.

My 7-year-old daughter went next and probably because her brother didn’t cry out, she didn’t scream or cry when she got the shot but spent the next 20 minutes telling us how much it hurt. Then she saw her grandmother and started in on the spiel all over again.

My kids have completely unique reactions to pain. That’s even with taking into account gender and birth order differences that may exist despite my best efforts to treat them the same. It makes me think – we all express our pain differently.

This brings to mind some observations I read from animal behaviorist Temple Grandin about how animals mask their pain. In her book, Animals in Translation she talks about how sheep are the ultimate stoics – she’s witnessed a sheep that’s undergone an excruciating bone procedure return to the herd and blend totally in. Because of course for prey, that’s the point to make sure you aren’t distinguishable to predators based on weakness.

And another example she told was the story of a bull being castrated, who when left alone was writhing on the ground in utter agony. And yet when a researcher walked up, he jumped up and pretended nothing was wrong.

We all mask our pain, physical and psychological, whether its nature or nurture. As Plato said, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” It just might not be observable.

And perhaps pain is most dangerous when we mask it so much that we forget to listen to it. I have a spot behind my left shoulder blade that is incredibly knotted and tense from too much time spent in front a computer. I’ve had it for so long that for the most part I just tune it out which seems like an effective strategy until it hurts so badly that I have to get a massage. At which point my massage therapist, who has been my massage therapist for 25 years and is ultra-patient, asks “Are you ever stretching?” Duh – if I tended to it, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad!

And I won’t even get started on my examples of psychological discomfort because we’d be here all day. I’m just saying, pain is instructive. It tells us what not to do and it also shows us where we need to heal. When we listen to our pain, we can create a relationship with it and maybe even start a dialogue – something different than just ignoring it.

“Our bodies often give us messages we fail to pay attention to. Ironically, we are all so aware of pain, can hardly ignore it, but we rarely hear what it has to say. It is true that we may need to withstand great pain, great heartache, great disappointment and loss in order to unfold into the rest of our lives. But our pain may also be showing us exactly where we need to change.”

The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo

That day in the doctor’s office, I picked the order of the shots for my kids knowing that my son would have the smaller reaction. I didn’t want him to learn from his sister all the demonstrativeness. More than that, I didn’t want to endure the pain of having two kids crying.

But I think now I was wrong – I would much rather bear witness to their short-term outburst than to long-term suppressed agony. It’s one of the hardest things that I have to do to lead by example, to unmask my own pain and make it both visible and instructive. But I’m hoping that by working on it, it helps both of my kids know that exhibiting pain will gain one comfort, at least from your mom.

I’ve written a related post on Wise & Shine: Loving and Learning

(featured photo from Pexels)

Patiently Yours

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“Maybe happiness is this: not feeling like you should be elsewhere, doing something else, being someone else.” – Eric Weiner

We were snuggled into my bed for bedtime stories the other night, under the covers to fend off the late summer night chill, when I started a story about an attempt to fish when I was a kid by saying that I’m not a very patient person.

I’d only gotten that one line out when Miss O stopped me and said, “You are a super patient person with us, Mom!”

Oh boy, I had a parental drop-the-mic moment. I thanked her for saying that and walked away from bedtime stories with a little glow of my own.

I want to interject here to tell you of the many moments that I’m not patient, just as a reflex of polite conversation. It’s true that I’m still not very patient about waiting for life to unfold; it drives me crazy to wait for the pot to boil, the light to change, and the paint to dry. But brushing it off would be disingenuous because I’ve also done a great deal of work to become more patient with people.

So, Miss O’s words sparked some reflection about how I’ve come so far for it to be noticeable by my kids. Because let’s admit, kids are a tough audience where patience is concerned because they require a lot and have very little.

All of our major wisdom traditions speak to how to love others. For me, it’s a mix of those traditions and the way they’ve helped me to accept myself as a basis.

In the language of my father, I’ve embraced my role as a sinner and the grace of God. From a Buddhist perspective, mediation has helped me to find peace and loving-kindness. Listening to podcasts with psychologists has given me the perspective of self-compassion. And becoming a writer has helped me tell my story again and again until I’ve come to love it, and be infinitely curious and more compassionate about the stories of others.

In short, I’ve been able to slow my roll with others because I’ve learned to be patient and compassionate with myself.

I’m keeping this post about patience short. Just saying. Anyway, I’ve got to go watch a pot boil.

So if you want more and aren’t too impatient, I’ve written more about letting things unfold in others in my Heart of the Matter post: When Will They Learn?

(featured photo from Pexels)

Let’s Not Be Grabby

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“Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.” – Dalai Lama

The other evening, I was out walking with my little family. We’d managed to get our puppy Cooper to walk a whole block in a semi-efficient fashion before we ran into some friends and it became a puppy love fest. Then more friends pulled up in their car and the whole family piled out after a three week road trip, with that day being a seven-hour stretch. Their three kids got into the puppy/kid mix and it was an excited muddle of energy.

Amidst all the noise and excitement, I heard Miss O trying to help the 6-year-old neighbor girl get the juggling balls from the girl’s older brother.  Miss O advised the girl, “If you ask nicely, maybe he’ll just give them to you.”

This thing is something we’ve worked on again and again in my family – the practice to ask for something from someone else instead of just trying to grab it or take it because you fear they are going to say “no.”

Watching my kids has made me connect with how strong an impulse it is to just take something. The way I experience it, it’s an incredibly powerful fear that if you ask that you’ll just get turned down so it’ll be better to craft another way by force or trickery to get what you want. Is it the beginning of vulnerability?

When I was telling Miss O and Mr. D stories at bedtime the other night, I told them the story of when I was in preschool and found some brand-new erasers in a box. They were absolutely beautiful – never used and had the alphabet on them. I wanted them so badly, so I filled my pockets with them. And then to create a back story, I dropped the erasers on the way home from school and pretended to find them. Yep, my mom didn’t buy it, and I had to give them back.

 But I feel it even now when I’m working with others. I’m inclined to forge a path that doesn’t involve having to ask someone else, mostly because of impatience. When I’m working with Vicki Atkinson, on the Heart of the Matter blog, I find myself having to consciously slow my roll to run something by her before making a decision or sending out an invitation to someone we want to podcast with. Thank goodness she is so incredibly smart and fast in responding because both reinforce the wonderful benefits of collaborating.

Given my own inclinations, I’ve worked and worked with my kids to ask before they take something from each other – even if it’s just goldfish crackers. And then our rule is that we have to abide by that answer, even if we have the strength and power just to take it. I’ve noticed that if they just ask straight off, the answer is often “yes.” If they ask after they’ve already been tussling about it, the answer is frequently “no.”

It is so hard to fight against the fear we won’t get something that we want. But hearing Miss O advise our young neighbor to ask made me think we’re making some progress. And guess what? The girl asked nicely and her older brother happily handed her the balls she wanted.

Now if I could just get Cooper not to nip when he wants attention.

When You Want to Give it Back

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“The strongest of all warriors are these two – Time and Patience.” – Leo Tolstoy

The other night as we were getting ready for bed, Miss O asked me, “Mama, with the dogs you’ve had, did you ever wish you didn’t have them?”

Oh, oh, oh, my heart. This was after a tough evening of puppy training with Cooper. He had been nipping at the edges of shorts, knees, and feet, the kids were running from him which he thought was a game. There wasn’t an ounce of calm to be found.

When everyone got settled down to watch a little bit of the Cars movie before bed, there were a few minutes when Miss O got to calmly pet Cooper when he was being good, but it wasn’t enough to heal the tiredness and irritation that come with getting chewed on and chased.

As we headed up the stairs to do the kids bedtime routines, I pondered Miss O’s question and the follow-on that led from it: Is there a gift in this world that doesn’t come with a downside or a moment when we wish we didn’t have the gifts we’ve been given?

I absolutely adore, treasure, and love my kids, but there are occasions when I’m flat out exhausted or sick, and don’t have the sense of humor to understand why they think sitting on my head is the right choice and funny. It’s fleeting, but I certainly long to only take care of myself in those moments. But thank goodness, I always bounce back after I get some sleep, or even just a moment to myself.

Any other gifts that we don’t momentarily doubt? Job? A new car? The place where we live? Our family?

All I could think to say to Miss O is that the work put in on the front end of relationships usually results in great dividends.

With a puppy, training pays off in spades when they are 7 times their original size.

With romantic relationships, authenticity and vulnerability allow true intimacy.

With friendships, when we keep looking for people with whom we can let down our hair.

With kids, when we create secure attachments.

It was just two weeks ago when I overheard Miss O’s mic drop moment in the car bringing the puppy home and explaining to him, “And you are something called my new best friend.” The problem with her new best friend is that he can’t automatically understand when she wants to play and when she wants to snuggle.

Funny how much I relate to wanting all my friendships to be effortless, only to discover that they grow when effort is applied. I suspect that for Miss O and Mr. D, learning that through raising a puppy might be one of the best gifts of all.

The Wisdom of Dogs

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“Dogs do speak, but only to those who know how to listen.” – Orhan Pamuk

When my beloved dog, Biscuit, was alive he was one of the wisest creatures I knew. That is a bold claim to make about a golden retriever who loved people so much that when his favorite ones came over he’d start running at one end of the house, and then end up sliding the last ten feet before gently slamming into them. Not really the image of wisdom that is tip of mind when the word is uttered, but I just think of that as part of his charm.

Because his wisdom showed up in other ways. Loving people being one of them. Also the ability to be excited about life wherever it took him, even if he wasn’t in the driver seat, and he embodied the Carl Jung quote, “Please remember, it is who you are that heals, not what you know.”

I’d put signs on him and take pictures and while it seemed like I was the one doing the work, I swear it was just some observational connection to what he was telling me.

I say goodnight to dear departed Biscuit on my way to bed every night. I go into the living room, pick my way past the toys on the floor in the darkened room lit only by the street lights outside, to touch the cherry wood box that holds his ashes, and simply say “hi” or “love you” or a sentence about my day.

On the night before we were to pick up the new puppy, Cooper, I delivered the news to Biscuit and to my great surprise, he answered back. I know, it sounds like a Peanuts cartoon, but I swear the thought just came into my head, “Okay, you’ve gotten a new dog sooner than you’ve found new love.”

Yikes! In the six and a half years he’s been gone, that has never happened before. Of course, the effect was much more impactful since that’s the case. If I thought I’d been talking to my dead dog for all these years, I wouldn’t have much listened.

So what was Biscuit teaching me in this instance?

My observation about life is that life follows our intention, even for things like love that aren’t in our control. It reminds me of a podcast with Mark Petruska where he explained being a master manifester – really picturing what we want, clearly setting the intention, and then participating in the way things fall in place.

I think dear Biscuit was pointing out that my intentions have been ambivalent where romantic love is concerned. I haven’t spent much energy on it, and every time I try to imagine it in the life that I have now, I waver a bit.

When I went back to talk to him the next night, he was silent so I can only guess he’s said as much as he’s willing on that subject. Like all the wise ones, he knows not to talk too much and let the listener fill in their own blanks. Okay, my wonderful dog, I’ve hear you.

Speaking of podcasts, and listening, Vicki and I are doing a two part series about what we’ve learned so far about starting a podcast. This first part is about what we’ve learned about trying from doing a podcast: Episode 31: Trying Podcasting Part 1 with Vicki and Wynne. Check it out if you’re interested!

Photos of the Week: Aug 12

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“A Joyful face is always a beautiful face.” – Sadhguru

Meet Cooper! And thank goodness a picture is worth 1,000 words because I’m too tired to write anything.

In fact, the whole getting a puppy thing has been so monumental this week that I pretty much forgot that we also did other things this week like going to IKEA and building a loft bed, an outing on my brother’s tugboat to see the Blue Angels perform, and other usual fun until I looked at the pictures. So here are two pictures from SeaFair.

The sign and the heart of the week (raspberry cookies from IKEA) as demonstrated by Miss O.

Hope you all have had a great week!

Gratitude Over Fear

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“Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe. We are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt the best deal man has ever made.” – Roger Caras

It’s our day to go pick up our new puppy. I’ve found myself feeling tight and nervous, unable to plan out all the things of how this will play out with a puppy and two kids in the mix. So, I’ve indulged my brain by writing out two lists: my fears and my gratitude.

Here are the things I’m afraid of:

I won’t have time to pay attention to my kids

The puppy will be a distraction from my work

That this will be my undoing when I finally find that I’ve pushed it too far and I end up exhausted

That we collectively won’t be good puppy trainers and dog owners

That the puppy will find a box of crayons and a box of Cheez-Its, eat both, and leave rainbow throw up all over the house.

That Mr. D will be displaced as the baby of the family and won’t get some focus, not yet identified, that he needs

That I’ll have to get better at asking for help.
Or that I’ll have to let something else that I personally love go in order to support this bigger collective

I fear Mr. D’s beloved stuffy, Bun Bun, will be torn to shreds.

I won’t be able to train the puppy to understand my morning sacred time

What I’m grateful for:

That we have so much love to give
That the default for my little family is to be willing to try

The excitement that comes with new family members
That my faith and my heart tell me we are ready for this, even when my head forgets.

For the ability of puppies and dogs to love, listen, and lean in.

That I’ve worked out many of my problems in life while walking my dogs.

For the melting way that puppies and dogs look at their owners to show loyalty and trust
That my kids will get to experience that from a young age

The way that dogs can lighten up almost any situation with a wag, a toot, or a yowl.
That my kids will get to experience what a loyal friend is as they maneuver through their own growing friendships.

That being a head of family has taught me that I don’t have to figure out all the details, just set people in the right direction

That tears, anger, and exhaustion lead to opportunities for repair.

That typing out this list has made me feel better.

As I put these down on paper, I find the gratitude is far more substantial on the scale of importance. Funny how big my fear feels until I actually write it down and find it’s really just uncertainty. But I have to give it its moment in the sun, as I did here, in order to fully let it go.

Post-script: I wrote this post before we went to pick up the puppy, Cooper. Then on the way home, Miss O had Cooper in a box on her lap. She was explaining the world to him – this is a car, that is a phone, and overhead we see an airplane. And then I heard her say, “And you are something called my best friend.” I’d already dispelled most of my fears by writing out my gratitude. Whatever remained was blown away by that.

For something almost as sweet and fun as that last comment, check out the latest Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast with the amazing writer and blogger, Cheryl Oreglia: Episode 30: True Grit with Cheryl Oreglio or search (and subscribe!) for Sharing the Heart of the Matter on Apple, Amazon Music, PocketCasts or Spotify.

Loving Our Differences, or at Least Understanding Them

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“Bless the people who see life through a different window. And those who understand their view.” – unknown

Sometimes the people closest to us see things differently. I’m throwing that out there as my opening line although I suspect that it surprises no one. But it is one of the conundrums that fascinates me.

Here’s an example. My 84-year-old mom and I were recently talking about the information I learned from the Ten Percent Happier podcast, The Science of Longevity with Dr. Peter Attia, a longevity specialist. Specifically, we were talking about exercise and how it really is the wonder “drug” of aging well. I shared with my mom the measures that I wrote about in my Healthspan post: that longevity research has found we should be doing both aerobic and strength training for the best outcomes. For aerobic fitness, VO2 max which measures lung capacity among other things, is the longevity predictor and grip strength is what they use for strength training.

About a month after that conversation, my mom told me that she’d been using a stress ball to increase her hand strength. Then she added she’s been working on lung capacity using the breath device they gave her after she broke her ribs in the ping pong accident when her competitive nature got the best of her common sense.

Huh, I marveled – she’s directly working to improve the two factors we’d discussed. As an aside, let me say that my mom exercises a lot – golf, bike riding, strength training – so these are not the only things she’s doing. But given the information from Dr. Attia, I would have never thought to work specifically on lung capacity and grip strength. Since they are indicators, I took the information to remind me that I should work out more, both aerobically and strength training, figuring that if I did that, it would affect the things they measure. Sort of the indirect method. In fact, as I type this, I realize that I think that it’s kinda cheating to affect the things directly as I worry that I’d miss the point of overall fitness.

Two people and two different reactions to the same information. Not only that, two people from the same family so it’s not like some different cultural bias is at play. It highlights a difference between my mom and I that I’ve often thought of as the forest and the trees. My mom is incredibly detail-oriented and often sees the details I miss.

I recently sent her an adorable picture of Miss O petting a bunny and her response was, “Do you think Miss O minds the hair in her eyes?” I had to go back to look at the picture to see the one wisp of hair out of place. (see featured photo) My reaction was, “Sheesh, Miss O’s hair was pretty tidy that day because usually it’s way worse than that!”

Because I’m a forest person. If most things are flowing towards the end result in a somewhat reasonable fashion, I’m happy. Picking out the details in a day or a project that are a little out of order is not something I’m good at. Really, I don’t really care if something is a little wonky. It would take a lot of energy for me to get worked up about it – so I don’t. To put it succinctly, my mom is a great line editor. I am not. But give me an idea you are working on, and I can contribute a lot of enthusiasm about the big picture.

Here’s where I appreciate aging. I have come to find that the truth of life is not my way or my mom’s way. I think we’re both right. I no longer feel like I have to convince anyone, especially my mom, that she needs to see it my way.

But I still find it absolutely fascinating how differently people see things and that it presents a challenge when communicating, to find a way to speak my truth and feel seen. Often that is much harder to do with my mom because it feels like she gets stuck on the details. That’s where I’m thankful that I’m a big picture person, because I can rest easy knowing she loves me dearly and given her exercise regimen, will probably be around to do so for quite some time!

At the Pace of Love

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“To lose balance, sometimes, for love, is part of living a balanced life.” – Elizabeth Gilbert

The last two weeks have been really busy. Traveling, birthdays, my 7-year-old is out of school – wonderfully fun things that have made it so I have to schedule time to breathe. It’s all good – I’m just setting up my excuse for what’s to come next.

Because when I get busy like this, I don’t want to take the time to teach or do things collaboratively. I just want to get things done and the extra time and patience it takes to direct small hands with inquisitive minds attached? I feel like I don’t have it.

For example, Miss O brought a little terrarium project home from school about six months ago. It only needs water once or twice a year but I noticed that the grass in it is all brown. Seemed like a good cue for adding water.

I know that it would be a bad thing to just do it. It’s not my project and we all need to learn sooner or later the steps to keep something alive. Right?

So I mentioned it to Miss O. She took one look and then started wondering about the calendar. She had it in mind that it wouldn’t need care until her classmate, Jonas G’s birthday and then she was off and running down that track of wondering when his birthday is and what to get him.

All that chatter and no watering. <groan> I just want to water the damn thing.

It reminds me that I often want to just do things for other people, grown-ups and kids alike. That way I can do it my way, in my time, and get it done. But that’s not the way that life works, is it?

This is when a particular phrase from my dad comes to mind. “We just need to love people where they are at, wherever that is.” It works for me because it slows me down to the pace of loving which is A LOT slower than my pace of doing.

What good is getting stuff done if we miss the opportunities to learn and love in the meantime? In weeks like this one, I’m tempted to answer that there’s a lot of good in getting stuff done…but then I grumble that I know that’s not the right attitude. After all, I’m teaching something to my kids whether I just water the terrarium myself or support them doing it. Maybe when I model what we need to do, I can also groove new habits for myself about slowing down to the pace of love.