Christmas Colors

"Give crayons." 

-- Dr. Sun Wolf

Crayons 12-5-14

"My childhood smells like a box of Crayola crayons."

-- Terry Guillemets

"Artists are just children who

refuse to put down their crayons."

-- Al Hirschfeld

Every year for Christmas I restock my little niece Sophia's art supplies.

Sophia is a true artist, and her voluminous output is pretty damned impressive.

She draws and paints and colors a lot.

Sophia's artistic fervor reminds me of myself, and I hope she never loses her delight, her need or her persistence in putting color to paper. (You can read about my personal love affair with art supplies here.)

Crayons 12-5-14

The world is a lot more colorful because of who Sophia is, and because of what she creates, and I want to be one of the people who encourages her to keep doing and creating and making her art.

So yesterday, as always, I went a little nuts at the art store and bought her a fresh supply of crayons, markers, colored pencils, paper and paint.

Sophia has come to expect this particular kind of gift from me. And I am OK with being a little predictable. I want her to know she can count on me. Sophia knows I'll get her art stuff just like her brother Marco knows I'll give him pickles and olives.

It's my thing.

And I happen to think it's a good thing.

A Good Dad

"My father gave me the greatest gift 

anyone could give another person -- 

he believed in me."

-- Jim Valvano

Lego William Shakespeare mini figure and "Li'l Will" Shakespeare action figure 10-18-14

"I believe that what we become depends 

on what our fathers teach us at odd moments,

when they aren't trying to teach us."

-- Umberto Eco, Foucault's Pendulum

"Be more than a father, be a dad.

Be more than a figure, be an example."

-- Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: 

Reflections on Life and the Human Experience

Picture it:

It's the night of parent teacher conferences.

My husband and I are walking down the hall to our son's first grade classroom.

All available surfaces -- the windows, the doors, the ceiling, the kids' lockers -- are decorated with artwork and projects displaying what the children have been up to.

It's Martin Luther King Jr. Day, or was earlier in the week, and the lockers leading up to our son's classroom all have little signs that say "I have a dream ..." at the top, with each child's big dream penciled in the space below.

"I have a dream ... to be an actress."

"I have a dream ... to be an astronaut."

"I have a dream ... to be a doctor."

"I have a dream ... to be a veterinarian."

"I have a dream ... to be a football player."

"I have a dream ... to be famous."

We read each one, looking for our son's, trying to imagine how Leo would answer the question, wondering just what his big dream might be. You never knew with this boy. He could be a loose canon.

My husband's sharp intake of breath let me know he'd found it. It was the only one of its kind.

"I have a dream ... to be a dad."

My husband was speechless.

To me, it made total sense.

The kids all wanted to be just like their heroes. They all wanted to be just like the coolest person they could imagine. They all wanted to be just like someone who they thought was greater than great.

Leo too.

Today is not Father's Day.

Today is not my husband's birthday.

Today is simply a regular old Saturday.

So why am I telling you this?

No special reason. I just felt compelled to let him know how lucky I feel.

My boys couldn't have a better man to pattern their lives after. He is a strong, tender, attentive, dedicated, patient, passionate, intelligent, invested, engaged, fun, interesting and way-beyond-capable father. He is the ballast in our family's ship, and without him, we'd have all floated adrift long, long ago.

Leo could have chosen anything for his first grade "dream."

He didn't just make a good choice.

He made the very best choice.

Me too.

Being A Mom

"Whatever life brings, we'll share," she says,

"and I can do no more than the best I can."

-- Carol Emshwiller, Carmen Dog

Mother and child 8-31-14

"Being a mother is learning about strengths you didn't know you had,

and dealing with fears you didn't know existed."

-- Linda Wooten

Life is plenty challenging already, and as my boys press their way into manhood they'll have to strive and try and work hard to impress others, and win the affections and approval and acceptance of others.

Fuck the others.

I'm their mother.

I give them that shit for free.

My own two boys would probably be the first to say that when it comes to mothering, I'm no kind of nurturer.

I'm not the soft, homey, touchy-feely tender type.

They'd probably say that sometimes I get it right.

They'd definitely say that sometimes I totally fuck it up.

No matter what they say, I just hope that in my care, such as it is, they'll always feel loved enough, and safe enough and important enough.

Mostly, I just hope they'll always feel that they simply are "enough."

The Kids Are Alright

"But the places that used to fit me cannot hold the things I've learned."

-- Sara Groves, "Painting Pictures of Egypt"

Sam's Radio Flyer 8-18-14

"Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths,

but the final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands."

-- Anne Frank

Saturday -- after spending the summer at home -- my oldest child moved his belongings into his very first, very own, apartment. 

He'll have the whole place to himself.

No roommates.

No rules.

He'll call his own shots.

He'll buy his own groceries.

He'll cook his own meals.

He'll make his own mistakes.

He'll be his own man.

He's so damn ready to fly this fucking coop -- this place that surrounds him with reminders of his childhood.

I'm not one of those "while you're living in my house you'll follow my rules" kind of parents. I only put the hammer down when one of my kids, or someone else, might get hurt.

Otherwise, I'm about the most permissive parent on the planet.

Still, after his freshman year taste of freedom and independence, this place, this house, this environment, is no longer "home" for him.

And it's not because he doesn't like it here. It's not because he doesn't like us. We get along swimmingly and have had a great, fun summer together.

He's simply outgrown this place -- like a bloom that has unfurled and can no longer reconfigure its petals back into the tight wrappings of the bud it once was.

What's that quote from Anais Nin? "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

And that's perfectly alright.

It's exactly as it should be.

It's good and right and the whole point of raising a child in the first place.

It's the natural progression of the growth of a young man who is ready to leave the mainland and set sail into the choppy expanse of his own adventure, his own story, his own life.

I'll stay behind and be a white flag on the shore so he can find his way back if and when he needs to.

I'll be a lantern in the lighthouse to illuminate the coastline.

I'll be ballast in his hull to help steady his ship in stormy seas.

I'll be a gentle breeze to fill his sails.

I just hope I'll never, ever be an anchor.

A Grown Up Lunch Date

"I'm not making art, I'm making sushi."

-- Masaharu Morimoto

Play Doh sushi 5-11-14

My, how times have changed.

When my son Sam was little, a "lunch date" usually meant a fast food kids' meal and a trip to the toy store.

Now that he's all grown up (he turns 19 tomorrow), Sam's tastes have matured, a lot. Yesterday, we had a perfectly lovely lunch date at a sushi restaurant (his choice), followed by some upscale shopping to replenish his work/school wardrobe.

He wears a suit and tie to work and classes nearly every day, so he needed some new dress shirts and shoes.

Way back when, he'd have balked at the merest mention of dreaded clothes shopping. Now he shops like a pro. He knows exactly what he needs, goes in and gets it, has membership benefits and coupons that slice the final tally in half and then shave 40 percent off that. I just tag along, try to keep up, stand back and watch him work, and help carry his shopping bags.

As for the sushi, of course there was a day when, like most little kids, he preferred hamburgers and french fries with a toy in the box. He wouldn't have touched raw fish with a pair of ten foot chopsticks. Now, he gets positively giddy over the prospect of yellowtail sashimi and a rainbow roll.

It's Mother's Day today, and while I do sometimes miss the days when my boys were little and wish I could pick them up and hold them one more time, I also love where they both are now -- young men, confident and capable and becoming who they're meant to be. Naturally, with growth comes change, changes in what they do, what they like, and even what they eat.

I'm not opposed to change. I'm intrigued by it, actually. And I hope I'm the kind of mother who'll never interfere with either of my boys "becoming." I'd much rather tag along as an observer and watch the fascinating metamorphosis unfold.

God forbid I should ever stand in the way of such a good and beautiful thing.

Making Sock Puppets With Cute Kids

"I like the things puppets allow you to do."

-- Julie Taymor

Sophia and her sock puppets Larry and Sally 3-31-14

"Children are more willing to learn when they are having fun,

and puppets are a gateway to opening up the mind and

inviting knowledge in."

--Christie Belfiore, 

"Puppets Talk, Children Listen: 

How Puppets are Effective Teaching Aids for Kids," 

TEACH Magazine

Guido, my sock puppet 3-31-14

I'm bending the rules a teensy bit and borrowing a good thing from my weekend for today. But it was a thing too good to pass up.

I brought sock-puppet supplies to a family gathering in my childhood home over the weekend. I have a cute little niece, Sophia, and two cute nephews, Marco and Matteo, and I thought it might be fun. And it was. We all spent part of the afternoon gluing eyes and ears and everything else onto fabric socks.  My super-big-kid Leo even joined his younger cousins and built a puppet of his own.

It was interesting how each puppet had a distinct personality that reflected the essence of the imagination of its maker. We all had a blast building our puppets. Sophia, however, was the only one who got to have fun playing with her puppets. It turns out that the littlest kid was the smartest puppet maker of us all.

While the rest of us tried to outdo and out-clever one another with how elaborate or outlandish we could make our puppets, while the rest of us glued on more and more accessories and discussed the hilarious puppet show we were going to stage later on, while my nephews competed for who-go-which hat, or lips, or mustache or who had the glue last, Sophia kept things simple and quiet.

As a result, Sophia's puppets were the only ones that dried fast enough to be played with. By the end of the day, while the rest of us were still waiting for the glue to dry, Sophia was having a ball with her imagination and her adorable new sock puppets "Larry" and "Sally." With just eyes and teeth and a single foam flower, Larry and Sally were loaded with personality. Sophia proved that elaborate does not equal artistic, that less is often more.

The puppet show never happened. Sad face.

My puppet wasn't fully dry until the next day (I had to re-glue some parts that fell off.) I made a little purse-snatching, wrench-wielding thug puppet named "Guido." 

I like my puppet, but what I'd have really liked was the chance to play with it, with Sophia.

But hey, I learned an important lesson from this wise, quiet little artist. 

Everyone talks about how much kids can learn from puppets. Maybe we should discuss how much we can learn from the kids who make the puppets. That'd be a good thing.

Playing Make-Believe

"They spent the first three years of school getting you to pretend stuff

and then the rest of it marking you down if you did the same thing."

-- Margaret Atwood, Oryx and Crake

Butterfly on flowers (spray paint on paper with pipe cleaner stems) 3-7-14

"Leaving the world of reality behind 

and disappearing into a world of make-believe and imaginations, 

is a solace you get from nothing else."

-- Sanhita Baruah, Uff Ye Emotions

One of the things I'm most grateful for in life is that at the ripe old age of 46, I still have custody of my robust, little kid imagination.

Paper, paint and pipe cleaners may be the standard art supplies of preschools everywhere, but that shouldn't make them off limits to big kids.

So yesterday I built a little world with them and, using my camera as an imaginary portal, took a brief vacation there.

And even though the big round thermometer on the fence says it's 25 degrees outside, and even though  the ground is still covered with snow and all the growing things are held captive by frost, inside my imagination it's sunny and warm, and the flowers are blooming and the butterflies are flitting.

I took this picture during my visit, just in case you don't believe me.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Which brings us the One Good Thing "Plea On Behalf of Imaginative Children Everywhere":

Please don't ever, ever, tell a child that they should stop pretending, or day-dreaming, or making-believe, or living in a fantasy world. Sure, children's imaginary lives are sometimes inconvenient for grownups to deal with. They can even be a little bit scary. But instead of fighting them, next time try spending the same amount of energy indulging them, or just leaving them the fuck alone. And for chrissakes please, pleeease, pleeeeeeease don't ever tell a child to be more like the other kids. Same old, same old children grow up to be same old, same old adults. And Lord knows the world has enough unimaginative, boring grown-up drones trudging around staring at their phones all damn day. Being a responsible grownup does not mean you can't still have an active, colorful imagination. It just makes being a responsible grownup so much more interesting and way more entertaining.

I once heard that children don't necessarily remember what you say to them, but they never forget how you make them feel. And if you make a child feel stupid, or flawed, or deficient, or pressured, or unacceptable, or unloved simply because you don't understand or won't understand their imaginary tendencies, then shame, shame on you.

Go ahead, spend your life like Sisyphus with your head down, eternally pushing a boulder up a hill. That's your boring choice.

As for me, when I exit this life, I'd rather go out like Icarus -- in a blinding flash, harnessed to a pair of homemade wings that I built out of art supplies, believing I might really touch the Sun.