Hockey Love

Loving hockey is like loving that misfit family member that demands all of you and smells bad.

This blazing hot Southern week has been spent in the confines of an ice rink. Despite the bad fluorescent lighting and high stink factor of the locker rooms, I have counted myself blessed to freeze my hockey mom buns off. Rather, more blessed to see my son in love with something like hockey.

Now I have had my share of “discussions” with other friends about the violence of hockey, how it teaches kids to fight, how the injuries are beyond belief. But I can see more violence on their video game shelves and the TV shows they watch. I understand that hockey requires a great deal of aggression to be any good. But so does life.

The thing about hockey is it’s really hard. Not only is it physically demanding, but it requires strategy, discipline and serious teamwork. It has become a metaphor for all the tough things in life. For us, the lesson of hockey is that to get really good at something, you have to work. Not only work hard, you have to work your buns off and be good to your team along the way.

Hockey has become the teachable reference for math, for learning something new, for doing the difficult things. It teaches them at an early age that team is everything --- if you’re a jerk to your team, no one’s going to give you the puck. For a kid to know early on what it’s like to work through something hard as a team means they have a true appreciation for when they succeed, win or fail.

Watching my son circle around and around on the frozen rink is really boring, and stinky. But he loves it and he shows up every day with a good attitude, ready to work hard – because hockey is something he loves. I adore that he is gaining a valuable life lesson that he can carry with him the rest of his life. This lesson will go with him to his future job, perhaps his marriage and putting his talents to work. For that great reward, I can handle a little stink along the way.

Wild and Precious Life

Since it is now officially summer, it's a great time to ponder a true "Summer Day."

With that said, here's a beautiful poem I found that reflects on this notion of life being like a summer day. Gorgeous and lush in fullness in a moment and gone the next. Take a read and then consider, what will you do with this "one wild and precious life?"

The Summer Day
By Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Birds, Bees and Me

Every summer, I take a little time to have "a talk" with my son.

I was inspired by a dear friend who shared how she used to have "grown up time" talks with her son each summer as he grew through the years. She started simple with a very basic "bees" talk, that continued to expand. I loved this idea -- it sounded very warm and encouraging. A special bonding time to be had with mom and son.

Every year since he was 7, we have had our little "talks." Some may think 7 is way too young, but I want my son to hear the words from me, not some trashed up version from friends or the media. I didn't want my son to have it like I did, never from my parents, mostly from slumber party conversations among girlfriends. As a young girl, my wisdom was given in bits and pieces -- found in the library books all the other girls checked out, gossiped about in secret, giggly conversations.

I wanted my son to "know" from a wholesome standpoint that all of this life, sex, puberty stuff was completely normal, natural and the way God has gifted us. But more importantly, to know in a way that honors things, not shames it up or makes it feel weird or guilty.

Recently, I took a trip with my son, now almost 9, to North Carolina's Outer Banks. We were walking along the majestic sand dunes of Jockey's Ridge, one of the largest naturally occurring sand dune along the East Coast. The beauty of the moment must have inspired me as I thought this would be the perfect opportunity for this year's "talk."

So I immediately launched into "important discussion mode" -- reeling off facts, information, details about the human body and things I felt like he needed to know. He listened patiently for awhile, nodding his head like a serious scholar. He didn't say much, but waited until I was done with my monologue. I paused and he took his chance to say, "Okay mom, that's enough. You can stop talking now."

The moment stunned me. Busy with all of my reasons, facts, details, I never stopped to wonder if he really wanted to know. I told him because it's what I wanted as a child, but he did not. Yet. I realized he was okay with not knowing all the grown up stuff. In that precious moment, I was grateful my son wished to remain a little boy for another year.

Waking the Grateful Dead

I've been working on a grateful experiment lately.

Garbage in, garbage out was how it got started. I was stringing together too many days of negative attitude and something was beginning to stink (me). So I decided to start thinking differently. I'm always telling my son "use your mouth to speak blessings" -- it was time to walk my talk.

It started small. Little things that made me thankful, small ways people were a light to me, and kindnesses I could bestow -- anywhere I could find a chance to express gratitude, I did it.

Here's a few examples:

--The school band at the art festival -- I wrote them a note to thank them for their beautiful music and inspiring youth.

--The farmer's market co-op -- acknowledging them for doing such a good job in supporting local farmers and bringing me amazing treasure week by week.

--The friend you can count on -- thanking her for always being there and reminding her of all the radiant qualities that make me glad she is in my corner.

--My husband -- writing a note to express gratitude and adoration for planning a fun date night.

--My son's teachers -- celebrating them for the love they lavish on all the kids, including mine.

The response I got -- in a word: shock.

Most people are knocked over when you take a moment to notice them in their gifts. To stop and truly see how people are making your little world a more wonderful place requires a different way of seeing. My encouragement is to try out the "grateful experiment" for yourself. I did it for selfish reasons, but the reward I received was a surprise. I was done with the garbage. Grateful in, grateful out was a much more fragrant way to operate.

Go On, Smell the Honeysuckle

Have you ever time travelled? I tried it out this week during my morning walk.

Trudging along my typical path, I got this overwhelming hit of honeysuckle, now blooming like crazy in North Carolina. All of the recent rains and quick humid weather have flushed out this tropical gem.

Inhaling deeply I was transported back to the 1980s. There I am, 10 years old and watching my older sister getting ready for prom. She wore a heavy perfume that was all the rage back then, Jungle Gardenia – which happens to smell just like our honeysuckle. I watched her in awe, donning makeup, putting on her amazing dress and wondering if I would ever look that beautiful or go to the prom.

That honeysuckle whiff sent me tumbling back to childhood – I am 12 and stealing mists of my mom’s perfume. Then transported again to visiting family in Puerto Rico -- exotic flower blooms mingled with my aunt’s rice and beans. Next, I’m in high school at my brother’s wedding – listening to my mother’s too loud laugh as she donned a corsage of tropical flowers. So much emotion and wonder and dreams and delight wrapped up in the power of smell.

People always talk of stopping to smell the roses. But if you ever cared for anything beyond a shrub rose, you know it’s complicated. You know about the endless rounds of chemicals and fertilizers and pruning and fuss fuss. On top of all that, most roses don’t really smell all that much.

For me, honeysuckle is the true beauty. It grows naturally on it’s own without much trouble. You come around a bend and it surprises you. Just as summer begins to unfurl in full dramatic stride, honeysuckles demands your notice. With it’s heady lushness, you close your eyes, breathe deep and are transported again.

Bad Mommy

I was a bad mommy this week. I actually sent my son to school without lunch, without snack and without his schoolwork. Why? Because it’s his responsibility, not mine.

I know, I know, he’s only a child, he can’t keep up with all these things all the time. But my thought is, why not? I think he should be able to remember without 16 reminders. Furthermore, am I doing him any favors by giving him 16 reminders?

The “mommy to the rescue” approach was not building any worthwhile qualities in myself or my son. After all, the school years are truly about teaching children preparedness for life. Planning ahead, problem solving and the consequences of forgetting your backpack are also part of the learning.

Lately I have been noticing all the little ways I have made myself a slave to my child’s needs. I was doing things for him that he can very well do himself. The greater mommy lesson is I was robbing my child a learning opportunity by doing everything for him. Snowplowing my child’s path wasn’t contributing to his sense of confidence or independence.

As I dropped my son off empty handed and he tried bravely to wipe away his tears, my heart broke for him. To face a full day without his schoolwork, without a snack and lunch might seem pretty scary to him. But I was confident that it would take only take one time of forgetting for this lesson to take hold.

I knew the school wouldn’t let him go hungry. I knew his teachers would help him along. But I wanted him to know certain things are up to him. If it takes the bad mommy to show my son how capable and smart and wise he is, so be it. Because I know he is. And now he does too.

Defunkify Thyself

I've been in a funk lately.

I'm not sure why or what it is about. Call it post-break blues or pollen brain. Whatever the name, for some reason I have been struggling with my attitude and spark for life. I can't even blame it on anything good like Seasonal Affective Disorder or the winter blues. I just feel funky.

So in an effort to defunkify, I have decided to make a list of good ideas to improve my cause. In other words, I'm trying to write myself out of my funk. We'll see if it works. Maybe you have some suggestions too -- please pass them along. Hopefully this too shall pass.

My Best Ideas to Get Out of a Funk

Move.

Walk, run, bike, anything. Even if it's a walk around the yard, movement is key.

Get the junk out.

Clearing away the outside clutter is a nice way of also clearing away inside clutter. Set a goal to get rid of three things a day for a week.

Change.

Literally. Try doing everything different for awhile. Take a new route home, say yes if you always say no, find a new hangout, wear different clothes.

Eat Really Well.

Your mom called, she said to eat your vegetables.

Treat Yourself.

What would be a small thing that would make you smile? For me, it's firecracker pops. You know, those red, white and blue popsicles that everyone eats for the Fourth of July? I just ate one yesterday with the neighborhood kids on the back porch on a sunny day. I felt like I was 12 ready to take a spin on my 10-speed bike.

Hang out with people that love you.

These are the kind of friends that you can say "tell me three things that you like about me right now." Everyone should have at least one person who can give you real encouragement. If you don't have that, imagine your Creator whispering in your ear and reminding you of your gifts and talents.

Laugh.

Go ahead, rent your favorite movies that make you laugh. I love watching When Harry Met Sally or Pretty Woman or even The Sound of Music. Renew your happiness quotient with your favorite funnies.

Be a Slug.

A "do-nothing" day can do wonders for the soul. A day where you get to stay in your jammies, eat pizza or whatever you love. Read the entire paper, get lost in a book, meditate, pray or lay around. The day is your gift. Give yourself permission to do whatever you want, even if it is absolutely nothing.

Do Something You Really Love.

What makes your heart sing? Do that thing. Maybe it's gardening, golf, painting, going to exotic restaurants, having a lovely cup of coffee while staring at art. Whatever your fancy, commit to finding time for that one thing you love every day. Even if it's just scheduling it, thinking about it, reading or learning more about it. Keep your passions alive, they are what define your soul.