The Down Vest (my armor)

Fall is here and so is my vest. I love my vest. It's a thick black down vest with giant pockets.The pockets are so big I could fit a newborn or litter of kittens in each one. My mother wears a robe around the house, I wear a vest. It is not the fashionably fitted cute kind most moms wear. It's boxy, roomy and perfect.

Some days I sleep in it, other days I remove it prior to climbing into bed and hang the lofty friend off the bed post. It is my armor.

The vest was a Christmas present. In those first weeks of acquaintance, the vest mostly hung  in the closet. I was unsure where it fit into my life. Slowly, I started wearing it on short trips to the grocery store, then to volunteer at school. I decided the vest was a good thing. I did not have to carry a purse when I wore it. My wallet, phone, sunglasses and keys all fit with ease in the voluminous pockets. When I wear the vest, I can turn the thermostat down a few degrees. A box of tissues even fit into the pocket which is helpful during flu season. My daughter needs a rubber band for her ponytail, I probably have one in my pocket. The house phone rings, it's in my pocket. My cell phone buzzes, it's in the other pocket. My husband calls the vest my uniform.

I love the warmth the vest offers. Warmth is security. You never hear of someone who is hot and scared, it is always cold and scared. Being too hot indicates ill health. Being warm is perfect. Like the intuitive baby bear in the Goldie Locks fairy tale, warm is just right. I do not fight with my kids or husband when I wear my vest. It makes my home life easier.When I'm warm, all is right.

A couple of years ago my husband and I were invited to a Christmas party. At the end of the night the guests grabbed their jackets and coats and emerged into the cold winter night. We were the last to leave. I found the coat closet, picked up a lonely down vest and kissed the hosts good-bye.

As we drove home I noticed my vest felt a little bigger than usual. I let the thought pass as my husband drove on.

At home I walked straight to our room. I removed my vest to sling it over the bedpost and suddenly stopped. There was already a vest hanging on the bedpost. I picked up both vests and compared the labels. They were the same brand and color, but different sizes. Obviously I had grabbed the vest by mistake (and oddly had forgotten I didn't wear the vest to the party in the first place).

I e-mailed the hosts to alert them about the wayward vest. No reply. I saw the hosts again for New Year's Eve and I mentioned the vest. They said nobody had claimed the orphaned vest. The conversation ended.

I now own two vests. They keep each other company on the bed post on those days and moments when I am vest free. Perhaps the universe knew I needed the armor and sent a back-up.

Fast and Slow

Fast and slow, is there an in in between? I am trying desperately to find it. This morning was the perfect example of why I need to discover it.

I awoke to a near flooded pool after a night of heavy storms. I needed to drain the pool off...but also needed to pack lunches, wake my children, feed them, deliver them to two different locations, shower and get the car to the shop for a re-scheduled maintenance appointment. I had 90 minutes to complete the feat. I stood in the kitchen sleepily slurping my coffee making my short-term agenda in my head. Ready...go!

I rushed to wake my kids, but the dark day outside reminded them that they did not want to get up. I ignored them and proceeded to make their breakfast, hoping that the wafting scent of hot buttered toast would encourage them to rise.

The hungry dog

The dog begins to bark loudly, reminding me that she too is hungry. I amend my mental schedule to fit feeding the dog into the morning haste.

I move to packing lunches, then soon realize my children have yet to appear at the table. I leave the lunch box assembly line to check on the kids. I find both of them fast asleep and begin to yell...I am exhausted retelling this story. The bottom line is I rush, rush, yell , rush then I suddenly find calm and wonder what the urgency was all about.

My morning craziness is over and now I sit at the car dealer with a cup of coffee and bundles, oodles of time and no where to be and no expectations, just calm and slowness. I feel like I go through this drill daily. Is it necessary to the human condition to go fast than slow?

Noise

When the river is deepest it makes least noise -Italian Proverb

There is noise in my life; noise of a busy family. The dog barks, the kids cry and complain, and television blares competing with public radio, which runs endlessly in the kitchen. I am fighting to write and complete the book that I have started, but the noise keeps seeping in distracting me from my task. I know my muse is here and waits for me to sit and write, but the noise keeps her away.

The noise from the television shows my daughter chooses are all the same. It does not matter which show is on, the sound and tempo are identical. Today I had had enough, I asked her to turn off the TV, I needed to cut the noise. She turns the screen off and runs outside. The noise does not stop, but changes. I now hear her screaming and giggling with the neighborhood kids as they jockey over shared bicycles, trikes and wagons.

My son is too old to run with the neighborhood kids; he is in his room. The room is at the end of the hallway on the other side of the house from where I sit. It would seem that this separation could provide the silence I need, but he too makes noise. He clicks away on his computer while using face-time and Skype to chat with his friends. I hear each computer stroke. The cadence of his tempo is not as fast as the television show that eluded me before, but his activity bursts unexpectedly jarring my muse and frightening her away.

I need quiet. I need calm. I need the noise in my life to slow so that I can bury myself in the world my muse and I created. The world of Lovelost. I will busy myself with dishes now, in hopes that when the evening falls, the household will head for a long night of slumber and I will revel in silence to write and create.

Vote with your Kids

Since the day my kids were born, I've brought them with me to the ballot box. When they were infants, I handed them off to my husband and we would take turns in the voting booth. Then they were toddlers and jumped with joy when handed the "I voted" stickers to plaster to their chests and car seats. Now my kids are in middle school and have begun asking numerous questions as campaign season rolls into high gear. They ask about the political ads they see on TV, they ask about the yard signs we pass in our neighborhood, and they ask about who I think should be president and why. 

Whether my political leanings are correct is not the point. I'm raising kids who I want to be interested and engaged citizens. I take them to the polls with me because I want them to grow up knowing that they can have a say in what is happening in our city and our country. The right to vote should not be taken lightly.

Today, to my delight the JCP Sunday insert had a beautiful image of a mom with her young son in a voting booth. While all the clothes I may see in the ad are "on sale now", I still found it encouraging that this retailer was glamorizing voting. It is chic and should always be. I also like that JCP was using the weekend before the election about the election and not the holiday season. 

Many friends and acquaintances now vote by mail, while voting by mail may be preferable someday, as long as I have children in tow I will take them with me to the polls. 

Please vote. And if you have kids, make it a field trip.