This Is The Engine That Mom Built

 
   Hi!  You should know that as I write this, I am having a romantic evening with myself.  It's not as kinky as it sounds.  Mr. C went camping and decided to take PG at the last minute, and 9 has been in Sacramento learning the wily ways of our state legislature.  This has left me with 2 littles, which I thought would be a breeze.  Turns out it was not the cake walk I had anticipated.  No sir.  That 5 year old of mine?  He's a chatty dude.  Like, he never stops talking.  It's mentally exhausting.  Plus, he was sick for the first day and a half.  And here's something I thought I'd never complain about- the 3 year old is overly affectionate.  After explaining for the 15th time that "it's not hugging if it hurts", and "my body is not a jungle gym for you to climb on",  I feel as if I may lash out viciously at anyone who dares approach me from behind.
     That is why tonight, after I put the kids to bed, I lit candles, dimmed lights, poured a glass of wine, and now, here I sit: me, the laptop, and peaceful quiet.
      By the way, it just occurred to me that 10 years ago, I would've labeled exactly what I just described as "another depressing Friday night at home". The irony.  It's not lost on me.
     Anyway, this is the season when Mr. C is gone a lot, and in my years of being home with the kids, I have learned that on weekends such as these, it is best to plan, plan, plan.  Fill those days up with activities and friends and party, party, party because otherwise you run the risk of letting the children turn you into a Candyland playing, Nick Jr. watching  zombie.  That is why I decided to take them on Saturday to the Children's Discovery Museum.
     We have a great Discovery Museum out here.  The kids love it, and I was excited to see a new wing that had opened up a few months ago.  I had heard that it was geared towards older kids, but as we walked into it, I could see that there was plenty of interesting stuff for us to do.  We spent a full hour in the first room, which contained a lie detector and a safe-cracking activity. Here I learned that my kids are smooth liars and have potential in the criminal arts (and also made me wonder if the exhibit itself wasn't designed by a criminal).

Then we walked into the second room and there it was.  A sizable race track and a station for building your own motorized race car.

Uh oh.

I need to tell you something about myself.  I am a right brained person.  I am also pretty much a girly girl.  This means that I don't usually possess a natural and logical understanding of how things work.  In fact, I don't care how things work, as long as they do work.  If they happen to be pretty too, then that's all the better.   Building cars= not pretty, therefore it's not something in my realm of interest OR understanding.  Sure, yes, there were a few years in the mid-90's when I tried to be interested in cars, but that was only because I was dating a .....gear head?  Grease monkey?  I don't even know the right lingo.  What I do know however, is that from that relationship I acquired the lifetime knowledge of being able to tell the difference between a big block and small block engine.  I have no idea what these engines are capable of, or what their differences are beyond their looks, but by God, lift the hood of any hot rod, and I can tell you if it's a big or small block engine.  And that knowledge my friends, I will hang on to for the rest of my life, because it is the extent of any and all knowledge that I possess about car engines, period.

Unfortunately, on this day in the museum, the teeny tiny motors that were sitting in the bin of the assembling station didn't resemble either a big block nor a small block engine, so any hope of my being saved by my pathetic pool of background knowledge was lost.   Also my excited 5 year old informed me that he didn't only want to build a race car, he wanted to build the fastest race car there.  The pressure was on.

So I sat down with the kids at the building station.  I looked at the little bins of materials that were available.  They were labeled with parts like "wheel locks", "clamps", "rods", "gears", "pistons", and various other vocabulary that made my brain shut down in protest.

 Then I looked at the laminated mat of instructions- only 24 little steps.  I gave myself a little pep talk about how I've built LEGO sets with more steps.  I got this, I thought to myself.

And so I started.

Then I messed up, so I restarted.

Then I messed up again, and I restarted once more, this time with little beads of sweat forming on my brow.

While I was struggling with building that one car, a happy, loud, boisterous family came in and the dad swiftly built two cars for his kids while his wife sat back and watched with what I personally thought was just a bit too much of a smug expression.

(It's possible I was just projecting my insecurities at that point.)

The whole time, my children sat there patiently watching me while I tried very hard not to curse.

You know that feeling when you're trying to do something, and it's taking too long, and the longer it takes, the more you start to panic and the worse you get at whatever it is you're doing?

That was happening to me.  And by the way, there was a museum docent sitting not even 5 yards from me.  I know for a fact that they are placed around the museum to be of help when they see people who need it, yet I'm pretty sure that she made a conscious decision to not see me.  She just sat there picking at her cuticles the whole time.

See?  There she is.

I hate her.

Anyway, I finally FINALLY completed all the steps.  We took the race car over to the track and set it down where, much to J's disappointment and no surprise to me, it didn't work.  So I heaved a great sigh, hoping that the kids would say something like "That's okay mom.  Let's just do something else.", but of course, they didn't.  J said, "What's wrong with it?"  And I said, "I don't know."   So I pretended to tinker around with it some more, like I had any kind of idea of what I was doing.  And they waited and waited.  I couldn't believe how patient they were being.  (These were not the same kids who wake me up at 6:30 and ask at 6:35 when they're going to have breakfast.)

Finally, we walked it over to the track again.

And this is the part of the story where you'd think I could end with a statement about never giving up, and how patience will always see you through.  Maybe you're thinking that the car will finally work and I'll be a hero in my children's eyes.  Or, perhaps it's in your mind that the art docent would have finally gotten off her butt to lend a helping hand.

You'd be wrong on all accounts.

The car still didn't work.  So I turned to the kids and I said "Guys.  Here's the thing.  We can either stay here and wait for mommy to fix this, which may take a really, really long time.  OR we can get out of here and go to Red Robin for lunch."  To which Roo replied, "Red Robin!"

J said "Well, mom."  (By the way, he really talks like this- like a lawyer presenting his case) "You're giving me a hard choice, because I really want to see our car work.  But you're taking a long time and I'm getting really, REALLY hungry."
   
I said nothing and continued to look at him until he heaved his own sigh and said, "Red Robin."

Ladies and Gentlemen, what I present to you tonight is not a lesson about patience, perseverance, gender roles, or even hope.  No.  This is a lesson about accepting the limits of your loved ones.  My children gracefully accepted that their mother is useless when it comes to mechanical things, much in the same way that I accepted that the teenage art docent was determined to be a completely useless lump of living furniture.  Tough lesson, but one that is handy in life.

And it turns out that it was nothing a burger and milkshake couldn't make better.

Logging Off

Sometimes the internet makes me cranky.

Like, when a friend of mine posts something and I see a rude comment underneath by one of their friends.     Here's an example that I've been carrying around for a few months: a friend of mine posted "This is the only bad part about having a live Christmas tree.", and then she posted a picture of the mess of pine needles left on her carpet.  Funny, right?  Because it's relatable to people- especially house fraus like me- who understand the annoyance of finding pokey little pine needles embedded in the carpet months after the holidays are over.  But then a friend of hers posted underneath "That never happens to us!  Did you water it????"

Just like that- with 3 question marks- "Did you water it???".   I wanted to take those three question marks and beat that obnoxious person over the head with them.

Instead I just logged off.  Big girl points for me.

Then yesterday another friend of mine posted a picture of some really cute homemade valentines that she and her daughter made.  Someone commented "Wow.  Who has the time?" And I wanted to comment underneath, "Well, she does.  Obviously.  She made the time.  And there's nothing wrong with that, you rude RUDE insecure person!"

So, again, I log off.  More big girl points.

Then I click on over to Pinterest, and I try so hard to just look at the pretty pictures but sometimes, sometimes  I'll let some of the comments catch my eye and then I get sucked in.  It's amazing what people will find to argue about on Pinterest.  If someone puts up a pin of Tebow, you'll find a slew of mocking and derogatory comments from the Atheists.  When someone puts up a pin of a tattoo, there's likely some preachy and judgmental comments from the Christians.  Put up a pin of a fit girl, and you'll be lectured by the feminists about body image.  Put up a humorous pin of a baby, and someone'll find something in it that is disturbing or offensive to them.

It's ridiculous.  So I log off.

Then there's the blogs.  If you ever want to weep for humanity, read through the comments on some of the most popular ones.  You'll first be astonished at the variance of opinions a random sampling of society can have over the most mundane things, and then you'll be sad because you'll realize as you read through everyone arguing over why their point of view is right, that we'll never all get along.  Our individuality may be the core of our existence, but it's also the bane of our existence.

I think we've all had that point in our lives when we realize that the public, in general, is just stupid. For me, it was when I was waitressing. (Nothing like pouring endless cups of Sanka for cranky old people in Palm Springs to teach a girl that lesson. Someday I'll write a post about it.) The thing is, we used to have to leave our houses and go out into the world to experience that stupidity. Nowadays, it's at our fingertips.

Anyway, I'm sure some of you as you've been reading this are thinking "Girl just needs to get off the internet.  Sounds like she's on there too much."  And you're right.  Sometimes I am on too much.  I know that when I start to feel like an irritated, snappish, ball of nerves that I've been in front of the computer too much.  And you know how I get that way?  Because I've been reading comments written by people who were also irritated, snappish, balls of nerves.  I absorbed all their crappy energy.  So I look over at my kids who are happily building some legos or running off to play at the park next door, and I know that that's the kind of energy I need.

And so then I log off.  

Happy Pants

Hey there.

 I'm in the midst of reorganizing/cleaning the kids' rooms. I'm also in the midst of wondering if my kids perhaps might be future hoarders. In going through their drawers, I'm finding Happy Meal Toys made of characters from movies that came out years and years ago. These toys do nothing. They do not sing, dance, move, bend, teach, or entertain in any way. However, toss it into the garbage pile, and my children will immediately begin howling and insisting that this rodent figurine from Ratatouille is indeed, one of their favorite toys, and yes they do play with him! and do we have to throw it out? Then I say "Guys, you have to acknowledge when it is that the addiction is talking. And when it is talking to you, you can talk back to it." (I learned that from watching Hoarders. Thank you, TLC for the psuedo psych degree.)
Then they say, "Huh?"
And I say, "Never mind. It goes in the garbage."
And they say, "Wah, wah, whine, whine, whine, meanest mom ever, blah blah blah."
And I say, "FINE! You can keep it."
Then I wait for them to go to school and I throw it out anyway. And as I slam the lid on the garbage can, I yell "SUCKAs!"
And then I am smugly satisfied.

Anyway. (Would you believe that I actually sat down to write a kind of thoughtful, reflective post? Never woulda guessed from that intro, right?)

The reason we're cleaning and organizing is because Roo is getting her big girl bed. The crib that has occupied our home and slept our 3 littles for the last 8 years in getting moved to the garage and put on Craigslist. Don't worry. I'm not going to get sentimental to you guys about that. I am though, going to get a little weepy though about these pants:

These are Roo's Happy Pants. That's what she calls them.  I'd say that you def have to be of the 5 and under set to pull this look off.  What do you think?  To be honest, if I was speaking purely through the mommy goggles, I could in fact go on and on about how well she pulled off this look- how cute her little legs and butt were all wrapped up tight in the stretchy smiley faces- but I'll spare you that.  I do however, want to tell you why even though she doesn't fit into these leggings anymore, I'm planning on keeping them forever and ever.

You know how your kids go through different phases- some you remember fondly and some you'd rather forget?  Like, maybe you'll cherish how your child used to ask "Mama, can I hold you?" when they wanted to be picked up, but you'd rather forget the phase when they wanted to experiment with the idea that maybe poo and chocolate carried other similarities besides color?

(I'm not speaking personally.  Just throwing random ideas out there.)

Anyway, this "happy pants" phase with Roo is one that I want to remember.  First of all, she named them the Happy Pants all by herself.  No one thought of that for her.  The first time I heard her call them that this bubble of delighted laughter just rose up in me right from my gut.  I love that she came up with that.  And when she put them on, she became.....well, happy!  She just loved the way she felt and looked in those pants and so she ran with it.  It was pretty inspiring to see.

While watching her strut around in her happy pants, it occurred to me that this was one of those idyllic moments where your kids teach you something, rather then the other way around.  When was the last time just putting on a certain item of clothing made me feel like I could conquer the world?  I mean yes, us adults tend to rely our inner sense of self for confidence rather than a piece of clothing BUT..... sometimes a good pair of happy pants can point you in the right direction.  And really, it doesn't even really have to be a pair of pants per say.  It could be anything.  Like this, for example (this clip makes me laugh everytime I see it):



                                                                                                                                                      See?  If you're Amy Farah Fowler, a tiara=happy pants.   If you're me, then I don't know.... now I'm rethinking this whole post because I'm realizing that I don't necessarily want a piece of clothing to make me happy.  For me, I think true happiness would come if I could only do karate kicks anywhere in public at anytime I want.  Not on people- just into the air and stuff.  Like, if I could hi-ya around while in line at Target and the bank?  I think that'd bring me a lot of joy.

Allright, I know that I'm just getting silly.  But my point is that we should all spend a little bit of time thinking about what made us happy when we were kids and ask ourselves why we don't do it anymore.  If the answer is "because society would think us crazy", then I think we should take a lesson from Jimmy Buffet, who himself seems like a pretty relaxed and happy guy. He says- "If we weren't all crazy, then we would go insane."

By the way, out of curiousity, what would your happy pants be?  

Idiotic Conversations Mr. C and I Had Before We Had a Ton of Kids

If I had a time machine at my disposal, I would go back in time to 2003.  2003 is when this house was being built.  2003 is also when Mr. C and I had the following idiotic conversation:

Me:  Ooooooh!  We have money for a little upgrade!  What should we do?
Mr. C:  How about we tile the entire great room area?
Me:  Fabulous!  What color should we get?
Mr. C:  White!  That won't be hard to keep clean at all!  And that empty field of dust that is behind our property?  I'm sure it'll never blow dirt into our home!  Plus, our future children will be born with a special gene that will prevent them from carelessly dropping food or questionable matter all over the floor! You won't ever have to sweep 3 times a day!
Me:  I love it!  And you know what?  I bet our future pets will probably never shed all over it!  Also, if we have a particularly hateful feline in the future, tile is an exceptionally wonderful choice for us because when she pukes up hairballs, I'm sure she'll be polite enough to do it on the tile where it's easier to clean!
Mr. C:  I just thought of something else!  If by chance our future dogs happen to be drooly animals, we'll never slip or slide in puddles of it all over our tile floor!
Me:  Oh my gosh!  You're right!  We are so smart for choosing to cover over half of our home in ceramic white tile!  I was thinking about maybe using the upgrade money towards classy granite countertops in the kitchen and bathroom, but this is a much smarter choice!

Okay, obviously that's not how the real conversation went, but you get my point.  We weren't just stupid.  We were like, Snookie stupid.

However, I believe that I may have discovered a way to gain back my sanity and keep the floors clean:

Have you seen one of these before?  Aren't they cute?  It's a robot- (like Jetson's style) officially known as a Roomba.  I'm sure you've seen them.  They've been around a while.  And ever since my friend informed me that she loves hers so much that she'd name her next kid after it, I want one.  I want one bad.  I want one so bad that I even did some math to figure out exactly how much my life would improve if I had one of these.

So the tile floor space in my home is approximately 900 square feet.  Each tile itself is 1 square foot, so that means I'm sweeping/mopping over 900 tiles a day.  Then you have to add in the approximately 400 square feet of tile that is in the kitchen area that is getting cleaned an additional 2 more times a day, which means that I am cleaning about 1700 tiles a day. Now, say that every time I sweep, I feel 50% annoyed, 20% bored, 30% frustrated.  (Which could be how you're feeling right now reading this).  It would follow that each individual tile is responsible for .058% of my negative energy.   From that I came up with the following formula:

Let x= the number of tiles and y=hours spent cleaning the floors

y(.058x)= grumpy annoyed mother

However, with a Roomba, y=0 because I personally would not be spending any hours cleaning my floors.  Therefore, 

y(.058x)= delirioiusly happy mother who now has time to spend on Pinterest.com 

You can see that mathematically, my happiness factor increases when I have a Roomba.  

(Now would be a good time for you to forget that I am a tutor.  No one check my math please.  Also, for you nerds out there, I am aware that if y really did equal 0, the answer to the equation would be "no solution".  But that didn't work with what I'm doing here, so go stick it in your pocket protector.)

Also, Mr.C read over this and suggested that I square the second half of the inequality to represent his happiness factor because you know what they say.... when mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.  

And a Roomba would make this mama happy.   

Have a good day!

P.S- I think internet laws require that I mention that no one from the Roomba company is paying me to write this.  I do not own a Roomba, nor am I endorsing them.  I am merely stating that if I don't come into possession of a Roomba sometime soon, I will be in danger of fallen into a deeply depressed state.)

*disclaimer #2- I realized that me hating the floors in my well-insulated, electrically-outfitted home that comes with plumbing is a first world issue.  I assure you that, despite my rant, I am grateful for what I have- although to be honest, a home with a dirt floor doesn't sound half bad.  

  

Oh, calm down!  I'm kidding!  

Kind of .  

Seriously, though.  At least I wouldn't have to keep it clean!

KIDDING!  I'm going now.  

Bye.

   

On Her 8th Birthday

Dear Gracie Kay,

     Tomorrow when you wake up, you will be 8 years old.  It follows then, that when I wake up in the morning, I will have been a mother for 8 years.  How we got here together is by one of the many puzzling dichotomies that is parenting: How can it be that I feel like I've been your mama since forever and still feel like these last 8 years have lasted as long as the flash on my camera?  
By the way, I'm using my college words today.  I guess I should tell you what "dichotomy"means, in case you read this before you go off to college.  A dichotomy is when something is twofold- it's one whole part, but it can be divided into two seperate and often conflicting truths.(And if you're reading this after you've gone to college and you still didn't know what a dichotomy is, then I'm sorry.  That would mean that you're probably got stuck at a state school because your daddy and I couldn't afford to send you anywhere else. Sorry 'bout that.)  

     Anyway.  Dichotomies.  Parenting is full of them- that and cliches.  It's the best job I've ever had, it's the hardest job I've ever had.  It fills my heart with joy, it fills my heart with fear.  The days are long, the years are short, and man how we've loved watching you these last 8 years!  Your world is getting bigger and it's coming at you fast, baby girl.  You've been handling it beautifully.  But this last year, I've seen a bit of a change in you- a hesitation.  A little bit of your confidence seems to have gone and I wonder what part of the big bad world did that to you?  Was it a friend?  A teacher?  Was it me?  You see Gracie, this is the kind of thing that will keep me, your mama, awake at night.  Because of everything, everything, that I want for you to have intact when you go out and give life on this crazy blue marble a whirl, your confidence is absolutely the biggest, most important thing.
 

     I know this is a cliche (I told you, parenting is filled with them), but if I could have anything for you, I would wish that you could see yourself the way that I see you.  You are such a unique individual.  I love your sense of style.  You are vintage classic all the way, from your love for black and white movies to your obsession with obtaining a crystal chandelier for your room.  How many other little girls are that cool that young?  When you were around 2, your daddy and I started calling you our voodoo princess because you found a bracelet made of skull beads that belonged to your brother.  You put it on and wore it for a month straight. And girl, you owned that look!   You wore it with skirts and ruffle socks one day, and then with denim and a t-shirt the next.  How'd you know how to do that- to put a feminine spin on non-girly stuff? We were in awe, and still are.

     Here's another thing we love: how creative you are in creating little minature worlds- remember last year when you drew plans for you dream house?  You worked on it for months- taking the same worn piece of paper out and sketching on another room or garden whenever an idea struck you.  That's perseverance!  Don't lose that.  And another thing, when you were little you took the cutlery and cups from your play kitchen, lined the cups up outside your door, stuck silverware in the cups, and hung colorful teacups upside down on them.  That was your garden, you informed us.  We weren't to move it because you wanted to keep it pretty outside your bedroom door.  So we didn't.  We let your "garden" stay there for weeks, shaking our heads and marveling at your imagination.

     But of all your gifts: beauty, intelligence, creativity, I think perhaps the greatest is your gift for empathy to others.  You are incredibly thoughtful towards other's feelings- human and animals alike.  I think this gift is what is going to help you make your mark on the world- but I'll leave that to the future to decide.  For now, I just want to tell you that I'm proud of this kindness you possess.  No one else in our family but you can actually make me feel bad for my negative attitude towards the cat.  That's the bar you set- and truth be told, when I soften my attitude towards the evil kitty, it's not for the kitty's sake, it's for yours.  I'm just trying to rise to your expectations and abilities.  (Er, most days I try. Some days I don't get there, but we can blame the cat for that.  She's just so mean sometimes.)

Now.  The future You may read this and try to deny it- deny how wonderful and amazing you are.  Don't do that.  Every word I say is true and I can say this because I know you.  I know you because it's been you and me, from the moment I learned of your existence and began going about my days with you in my constant thoughts.  I held my breath in traffic so I wouldn't inhale car fumes, for goodness sake. And I'm only confessing to that kind of crazy behavior to make my point, which is from the moment I knew you were with me, I've put you in my heart and tried to make the best decisions for both of us.  Tomorrow I'll light the 8th candle on your birthday cake and when you close your eyes to make your wish, I'll close mine and make one too.  This is what it'll be:  May you always know how beautiful you are, inside and out.  Don't ever forget it.  Own it.  If the world tells you otherwise, then the world is wrong.  Know yourself,  know how wonderful you are, and cloak yourself in that wonderfulness.

Listen to your mother.

You are my heart.

Mom.

You Scream, I Scream, We All Scream For The Procrastination Queen

Hi.

Not really sure what I'm doing here right now.  I'm bored, and though my options include paying bills or cleaning house, I have decided that none of that will get done as long as I have these stupid little mini-post like thoughts bumping around in my head.  Can I just share them with you so that I can clear them out and move on?  Yes?

Thank you so much.  I always appreciate friends who enable my need to procrastinate.  (Honestly, I do.  I wasn't even being sarcastic.  Any person who feels the need to point out my priorities or resonsibilities is no friend of mine.)

So, here's the first thing.  Yesterday I took the kids to the park and was half watching them, half reading a book.  I relish this age they're at- where they can play on their own at the park without my having to hover over their every move.  For too many years, I would be the parent gazing longingly at the group of mommies with older kids who were able to sit on the perimeter of the park and socialize with each other while I had to follow my tots around to make sure that they didn't fall off the play structure/run into the parking lot/eat woodchips.  So now that I'm able to keep half an eye on my kids and engage the other half of my brain on something less mind numbing than pushing them on the swing for an eternity, I love it.  Except for yesterday.  I didn't love it yesterday.

Yesterday, my peace and happiness was ruined by 3 teenagers who walked past me and one in particular who felt the need to loudly proclaim "WHO WOULD GO TO THE PARK JUST TO SIT AND READ A BOOK?" to which I could have said so many things, but didn't.  And that's when I realized that the rest of my day was going to suck.  It was going to suck because, while their comment didn't really bother me so much, the knowledge that I would spend the rest of my waking hours trying to think of the perfect witty comeback, just pissed me off.

That ever happen to you?

(By the way, I still haven't thought of anything good.  I had one comeback, but it included the word 'doy!' and you don't really hear people say that word anymore.  We should, though.  We should bring 'doy' back.  There is a certain level of satisfaction one feels after saying it in the appropriate context.)

Anyway, the second thing I wanted to tell you was a joke my kid told me.  I don't know if it's really that funny, or if I just think it's funny cuz I'm his mom.  In any case, here's the joke:

J: Knock knock.
Me: Who's there?
J: Hoo.
Me: Who hoo?
J: A lion!
Me: That doesn't make any sense, J.
J (thinks for a minute and then says):  Okay then.  A lion who ate an owl!

I just like that he figured out how to make the joke work.  It's one of those little signs that mean he's getting bigger and smarter.  I hang on to those signs, because on days when I catch him trying to bury a piece of my jewelry in the cat's litter box because he's pretending it's treasure, it's good for me to remember that on the inside where I can't see it, his brain is in fact, developing.

The last thing is that I got PG's birthday coming up in a few weeks.  This year I told her she can have a party.  We don't do parties every year for our kids, not because I'm afraid of spoiling them, but because I am a psychotic freak when it comes to planning parties.  I've written about this before.  The last time PG had a party, she was turning 5.  What started off as a small party at the park next door turned into a huge carnival themed extravaganza in which I hired volunteers to come and run 6 different booths.  There was also a jumpy house, a popcorn machine, cotton candy, face paining, and 50 of those ice cream cone cupcake deals with marshmallow frosting.  It was insane.  I was insane.  That was when I realized that I kind of had a problem.

So this year, we are keeping it simple.  She's having a sleepover with 7 of her friends.  I'm ordering pizza and we'll do an ice cream sundae bar.

Except.

When I was researching, I found this on the internet:

And now I can feel myself sliding back into my party planning psychosis.

So, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go find a downloadable "old fashioned ice cream parlour" font.  And I also need to hit up the dollar store for some cute sundae dishes.  While I'm at it, I need to also hunt down some empty ice cream containers to send home party favors in.  And.....

Hey, look at that!  Looks like housecleaning and bills will have to wait for another day.  I've got too much party planning to do!  You all have a good weekend!

Sincerely,

Tacy, expert connoisseur in the art of procrastination

Salvation Mountain

Happy New Year, everyone!

Two days ago Mr. C and I took the kids for a short road trip out here to the Salton Sea. Now, before you ask what in the world is out there that we'd want to show our kids, let me answer- there's PUHLENTY of weird stuff. Like, a beach where the "sand" that crunches under your feet is made up entirely of sun-bleached-broken-up-fish bones. And a supposed "Fountain of Youth". And a man-made technicolor mountain.

Yep.  Lots of weird stuff.  In fact, there's a whole post worth of which I have aspirations for writing later on in the week.  For now I just want to write about one little piece of the trip because I think it pertains to the New Year.  At least, I think it does.  Maybe not.  Maybe this is just what happens when I drive out to the middle of the desert and start trying to think deep thoughts.  Or maybe this is what happens when I stay up late to celebrate the New Year and try to write something serious the next day.

Maybe this'll all be a load of bunk.  I don't know.  Just stick with me.

Okay.  So.  Out in the middle of the desert, off the shores of the Salton Sea near this weird place called Slab City, there's this other weird place called Salvation Mountain.  You may have heard of it.  The guy who built it was in a movie made back in 2007 called "Into the Wild" (Good movie, by the way.  It's not about Salvation Mountain, but the character in it stopped there in his travels, and so you meet the real Leonard Knight, the creator of the mountain, in the context of the movie).  There's also been a few documentaries done on Mr. Knight and his mountain.  Those, I haven't seen.  However, for the few minutes of screen time that I did see of Mr. Knight in Into the Wild, I can tell you that he comes off as very gentle, very loving, but also slightly um.... batshit.  That's okay though.  That's about what I would expect for someone who lives out in the middle of the desert and builds a monument to God from cement and window putty, all on $242 a month.  (I'm not sure if the desert attracts people who are already a little nutso, or if it turns them that way once they're there, but it sure does seem like these spots are full of people with eccentric personalities.)

At any rate, the mountain itself is a pretty impressive sight.  The story is that Leonard Knight stopped there for a few days in the 80's after a failed attempt to launch a massive hot air balloon with the words "God is Love" on it.  He decided instead to build a small monument to God, which turned into Salvation Mountain.  The first mountain actually crumbled a few years after he started it, so he started the whole thing over again from scratch.  He lived out of his truck, worked with the sun (except in the summer when it was too hot- then he'd work from dawn to 10 and take the rest of the day off), and relied on donations of paint from people who supported his cause.  (And once word got out about what he was doing, people started coming by the hundreds.)

The end result is what you see here:

I had 2 different perspectives while at Salvation Mountain.  When I first arrived there, I was just viewing it as a massive piece of folk art.  Leonard Knight was by no means a serious artist, he was simply a devoted artist.  When you walk around the mountain you can see that he poured the paint on thick, thick, thick, not minding where spatters and splatters flew.  It's folksy, it's impressive, but I wonder if most people don't look at it and think, "Well, what a wonderful wacky little piece of weirdness done by some religious yahoo. He really must have had too much sun. "

Honestly, that's kind of what my first impression was.

Then, however, we noticed that some members of the community were kind of sitting around- almost like they were keeping vigil.  One guy was sitting next to Mr. Knights' truck, another was sitting in a folding chair near a patch of used paint cans.  Brushes were just sitting on top of the cans, like they were waiting to be taken in hand and used again.  I picked up on this feeling- like I was at a wake, and this prompted me to pull out my phone and do some quick research on Mr. Knight.   I learned that he had died on Dec. 13th, just over two weeks prior to our visit.  So, his friends were, in fact, there at the mountain keeping vigil.

Now I know this kind of makes me shallow- to change the way I look at something just because death has touched it in some way, but I think I've always been pretty honest with you guys when it comes to my short comings.  So I don't feel too bad confessing that this new knowledge made me look at Salvation Mountain as more than just a piece of folk art.  Knowing that Mr. Knight had been working on his mountain just 3 short weeks ago and would never come back to it again, caused me to think about the mountain in terms of its creator's life.

This guy had a message that he wanted to share: Love is Universal and God is Love. Wether you agree with his message or not, aren't you impressed that for the last 30 years of his life, he devoted himself completely to sharing that message?  When he was awake, he was mostly working on his mountain.  He didn't take vacations.  He gave up almost all worldly goods.  He had no water, gas, or electricity.   He lived out of his truck, and yet he also managed to create this community around his mountain- people who saw his message, saw his devotion, and supported him.  Twice, the vision for his message failed-when the hot air balloon rotted and when the first mountain crumbled.  Each time he just started over, simply thanking God for showing him his failure so that he could do it better.  He was 100% devoted to his passion.  Was he a little nuts?  Maybe.  But maybe not.  It takes a lot of courage to give up conventional society.  He was living his truth.  When you think about it, that's kind of....... marvelous.

As we drove away from Salvation Mountain, I found myself grateful to be given the opportunity in the last few days of the year to see an example of someone living exclusively for their own passion.  What if we all were able to do that?  Of course, I don't believe that we should all take it to the degree that Leonard Knight did- I love hot showers and kettle chips too much to do that.  But it was so good to be reminded in time for the New Year, with all its promises and new beginnings and fresh starts, of what can be waiting for us when we strip away things like finances and stress and society.  I may not be able to build a physical mountain like Mr. Leonard Knight did, but in this new year I'm hoping to keep in mind a metaphorical mountain- a truth that I can devote time to for no other reason than to feed my own soul.  I think we should all do that.  Personally, my mountain would probably take the form of this blog.  Or maybe it would just be my kids.  Both these things feed my soul. (Although there are days when it feels like the kids are actually eating my soul....but those are the bad days and I'm trying to be positive here, so forget I even brought that up.)

At any rate, I encourage you to ask yourself what your mountain would look like and then start building it.  I bet what you end up with will be wonderfully weird.  Or weirdly wonderful.

Just like Salvation Mountain.