Day Fifty-Four: Pumpkins, Gray Hair & Jacob

Jacob

And His

Photographic

Face

Jesus Christ!!! This mother thing is absolutely killing me!

I decided to take in a neighbor's son to add to our own brood when they closed the school on Friday. (See Day Fifty-Three: It Takes A Village.) It also happened to be October 30, the day that some brilliant bureaucrat decided it should be our town's Trick-or-Treat night. The night before was the annual Pumpkin Stroll at the elementary school, so I got the bright idea to go back to the school and get the kids' pumpkins for the onslaught of candy hounds. Sounds logical, festive, a good mother sort of thing...WRONG!!!!

I parked the van at the trail head a short distance from the school and got all five kids out to find our carved pumpkins. The four older boys ran ahead and Jacob stayed with me. One by one, all the kids returned to us near the start of the trail with their pumpkins. That is, all but Jack. My poky Jack. Everyone but Jacob deposited pumpkins at my feet and ran off to get him. Jacob looked up from poking a gushy, rotting pumpkin and declared he wanted to go too. No, I told him, stay with me. "But Moooommmm....I wanna go tooooo." Okay, okay. So go. At that exact moment the little voice in my head (the one I swear always knows what's what) said clearly, "This is a bad idea."

A few minutes pass and all four boys arrive at the van just as I do. No Jacob. This trail is a circle, so I just figured he stopped to torment another gross pumpkin. I sent the boys back the way they came and I turned around. No panic, just annoyance. We meet and still no Jacob. PANIC. I run the entire trail screaming his name, full throttle. No Jacob. In my head I'm chanting, as if in prayer, "He's already back at the van. He's already back at the van." I found all four boys back inside the van as directed. No Jacob.

As I scan the van and realize he is not inside, my stomach drops about 40 floors and my mouth fills with the metalic taste of pure terror. I grab my cell phone and with shaking hands dial 911. May I remind you that I am in the woods in New Hampshire. Granted, I am only about 12 miles from Portsmouth, Route 95 and civilization, but I am still in the woods. I don't get to talk to someone at a local police department, I get the New Hampshire State Police. There is no direct dispatch to Madbury Police. I supposed I am lucky there is even a Madbury Police. My head is screaming "this is taking too long!" I am directed to stay at the van where an officer will meet me in three to five minutes. Are you fucking kidding me? I am going to stand by the van and wait?! I sent Jack and his friend to the school to get help, screamed at the other two to wait for the police and I ran off once again.

Now I am running again around the trail and screaming Jacob's name so loud I think my lungs will burst. No answer. I'm thinking, "this is NOT good." There reason I am thinking this isnot good because Jacob is, bar none, the loudest child I have ever encountered. He sets off the dog bark deterrent when he is playing outside. His wailing whine can shatter glass. He cares not for quiet time, whispering or even talking at a reasonable volume. If he is in earshot, he should be able to answer me and be heard. I hear nothing except the eerie sound of songbirds flocking before heading south for the winter, just beyond trail. I am also thinking that the weird bird noise is a bad omen. This thought frightens even more.

By now I am running through branches, vines, thorns, mud, puddles; anywhere searching to see if he fell after he wandered off the trail. I am completely out of my mind on the inside but my body has taken over. I am running and screaming. I don't stumble, feel out of breath or even contemplate stopping. Horrible images are flashing through my mind- he fell and drowned in a pool of water; he was snatched by some psycho we didn't see on the trail; he fell and hit his head on a rock and he is dead. How do I tell my husband our baby is dead? How do I get a search team with a rescue dog here in 30 seconds? What the hell kind of mother lets her 3 year old out of her sight on a wooded trail? This is God's way of punishing me for complaining that I have too many damn kids..on and on and on. Minutes are ticking away.

As all this is screaming is going on inside my head, I faintly hear my name in the distance from the direction of the van. "Terri....We Got Him!" I looked up and saw a woman I didn't know heading toward me. "We got him." I collapsed in sobs. I couldn't stop shaking. I thought I was going to throw up. She had to half carry me out of the woods. Then I see a police car. It becomes clear to me that Jacob is inside. I jog to the backseat, open the door and there he is. Right as rain. Not a care in the world. He doesn't look upset, he is not crying nor does he look like he has been crying. He does looks a bit concerned that I am crying though. This little guy is going kill me for sure! I know his guardian angel needs a long vacation after this little escapade. I kept thinking, "He's alright. He's alright. Look again. He's alright."

It turns out that my independent minded 3 year old took off down the trail, then off the trail in a perfectly straight line directly onto the side of Route 155, which is by no means a safe road. A kindly mother (in a minivan carrying her own children, of course) spotted Mr. Independent coming out of the woods near the roadway. She stopped, grabbed him before the worst could happen and called 911. That is why it took so damn long for the police to arrive at the trail; they got a call about Jacob and went and picked him up before coming to see me. When I heard where he was found, I swear, I almost fainted. I have never fainted and have never come close to fainting, but I did when I thought about him being hit by a tracker trailer truck that has been known to barrel down that road at 50-60 m.p.h.

That was the longest most agonizing 15 minutes of my life. I wouldn't wish those 15 minutes on my worst enemy. I lost about 10 years off my life and gained about 10,000 gray hairs. Now have a life-long aversion to pumpkins, jack-o-lanterns and Halloween in general. Those damn pumpkins will be squirrel food next year. I sure as hell am not going to get them. Not next year, not ever again.

I bet the mom who I was doing the "favor" by watching her son is psyched that I decided to help her out on this particular day. I wonder if he will be allowed over to my house again. I'm sure I will see some counseling bills to remove the scaring for life that was provided with my babysitting service. As I say, it takes a village...

Great Cub Scout leader- I can't even keep my own kid on a pumpkin trial 1000 feet away from an Elementary School. I guess I should cancel the Mount Washington hike...

Moral of the story: Listen to your inner voice! It is always correct. I believe it is your best, smartest self or God's individual guardian angel. This voice speaks to us all when we most need to hear it. (Examples: "Don't buy/sell/eat that." "Don't say what you think you want to say right now." "Don't date/marry/sleep with him or her." "Yes, it makes you look fat/cheap/tacky." "Don't take that job/extra helping/chance." "Don't let your kid/pet/significant other out of your sight.") This voice is all to often ignored. If it not ignored, then it often cannot be heard over all the noise in our lives or all the noise in our head or both. When you do hear it, don't ever ignore it. This is a lesson I will NEVER, EVER forget. Learn from my mistake. Listen and hear what the voice tells you. It is always right. That really was a bad idea.

Oh, yah, go give a hug to the most precious people in your life RIGHT NOW. Life can turn on a dime. No joke.

Day Fifty Three: It Takes a Village

It is a cool, cloudy Friday, the kind that would be perfect to take a nap. Alas, the elementary school has water problems, so school is unexpectedly closed. No nap today. I am fortunate to have only that disappointment. I don't have to be anywhere, so I don't have to worry about child care. Some of my friends and neighbors are not so lucky. So, in keeping with my theme, I have offered to take in one of the boys' friends for the day. In doing so, I realized that it really does take a village to raise a child.

So many people have an impact on the upbringing of our children. The parents, of course, but there are so many more. In our family the list is virtually endless: grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, family friends, neighbors, teachers, school staff, coaches, cub scout leaders, babysitters, bus drivers and our pediatrician all have contributed to the little people my children now are who they will evolve into in the future. So far, I have had wonderful luck in that each and every person that has spent quality time with my children have made a positive impact. I have had no cause for concern or worry, at least not yet.

I am sure that the village concept will take on a whole new meaning when my children are older. Teenage boys are notorious for their unwillingness to communicate with parents. The monosyllabic responses, the closed bedroom doors, the moody silences will all drive me to distraction. That's when I am sure I will be grateful for the eyes and ears of the community we have built around us to clue us in to the influences of which we will need to be wary. It will also be a time when teachers and coaches can have greater immediate sway than parents. It is the influence of peers that I dread the most. The trends, the experimentation and temptations are enough to turn my hair white just thinking about it. As they say, "buckle up!"

Until that time, I am very content with our village. My boys are boisterous, inquisitive, bright, exasperating, active, funny, annoying and rambunctious children. In another words, they are completely normal. We are all doing our best to insure their educational and moral growth continues on the right path while keeping them as safe as possible. I am very thankful for all in our village and I hope my contribution has been as welcome as that of on the others around me. Remember to be mindful that it really does take a village to raise a child. No matter your age or parenting status it only takes a minimal amount of effort to make a lasting impression.

Day Fifty-Two: The Dangers of Multitasking

As I was running errands today, I was caught behind a driver who I was sure was drunk at ten o'clock in the morning. As I got around the car, I shook my head in disbelief. The driver, a twenty-something idiot, was texting. That is taking multitasking to the level of insanity.

I am a multi-takser. I have to be with four boys to raise. I often cook, answer the phone, referee, clean and listen to my ipod every night while making dinner. Just try and call me around five p.m. and you will know what I'm talking about. I'm positive you will be sorry you called. Sometimes multi-tasking is a good thing, but mostly it is not.

I have noticed of late that I when I am doing two things at once, neither gets my full attention. When it really becomes a problem is when I do it with my kids. The hours between four and eight p.m. are crazy around here. Dinner, homework, baths, reading stories, cleaning up and anything else that needs attention all takes place in those four very short hours. I often become impatient because I can't concentrate on helping just one child at a time. My second and third graders need a bit of help and attention to complete their homework, and my three and six year old just do not understand the concept of playing quietly in the next room. I have finally realized that I cannot do more than one thing at a time during homework and that entails my husband being home from work to run interference. That isn't always possible. As a consequence, since school started again, I have been more exhausted than I have been in years; it is rivaling the exhaustion of having a baby that doesn't sleep through the night!

I must admit, I haven't done any bodily injury to myself or others while multitasking, at least not yet. I have been known to try to clean off the dust on the dashboard or trying to read the mini screen on the ipod to find the song I'm looking for while traveling down the highway at a speed slightly above the speed limit. That amounts to the same stupidity as drunken texter. I have tried to read a child's cartoon type drawing while slicing vegetables and chaos is unfolding around me. That is definitely an accident waiting to happen. I even vacuumed the hallway while kids were in the tub taking a bath. After hearing that a two year old drowned while his mother was doing exactly that, I have never taken the vacuum cleaner out during bath time again.

The lesson for us all- the drunken texter, the bath time vacuuming mother and me is that it doesn't help any of us to do two or more things at once. Nothing is done as well as it could be and something is always missed. Oprah spent a great deal of time last year touting the virtues of living in the moment. This is part of what she must have been talking about. We all do too much. We need to slow sown, take one thing at a time, one day at a time, one breath at a time. I am sure we will all be much happier keeping this mantra in mind. I don't want to learn this lesson the hard way like that mother did that fateful evening at bath time. I surely wouldn't want you to either.

Day Fifty-One: The Irony of Stranger Danger

I have expended a great deal of effort in my quest to undertake random acts of kindness in the hope that I can make some small dent in the negative atmosphere in which we seem to be drowning. All in all, I find that the love you give is equal to the love you get. I have also found that it is true that you reap what you sew.

No matter how much kindness we collectively put out there, it is still a fact of life that evil lives and breathes. A rash of horrible stories have flooded the airwaves this past month all dealing with women or children who have been lured in by a stranger and then murdered. As a parent, I can think of no fate more horrible to contemplate. It gives me chills to even let my mind go in that direction, let alone actually think about it. Nevertheless, it is a real threat no matter where we live. As such, it must be addressed.

It is a terrible juxtaposition; as a person and as a mother, I am trying give kindness to whomever is receptive to it. But, as a person and a mother, I must both be wary of strangers and teach my children to be wary as well. I am not sure that there is any way to explain the irony. This is a life lesson that only comes with experience. I think I have a very good sense of people. My first impressions are rarely wrong. If I get the feeling that there is something not quite kosher about someone, odds are I have hit the nail on the head. This is not 100% fool proof, as I have judged someone in a negative light and come to find that they are perfectly lovely, despite my initial impression. All in all, I'd rather err on the side of caution. Yet, a voice in the back of my mind questions the fairness of such judgment given how alienated, angry, suspicious and intolerant we have become as a society.

I will be sitting down with my children tonight and review the real dangers of strangers. I will try to be honest about any questions they have without upsetting them or scaring them for life. Again, its a fine line. I will also take the time to review these safety lessons with the 8 other boys I have in my Cub Scout Den. I can't think of a more timely or important issue to revisit with the children around me. They are all so young, so trusting and so vulnerable. It is wonderful that they live in this secure area with so many caring adults. It is also the biggest reason why I worry that they won't really get the message they need. They have no idea that the world can be a very cruel and dangerous place.

I have made note that the victims of these abductions and murders have been consistently women and children. Certainly children are the most vulnerable members of our society and that is exactly why these sick people go after them; they are easy targets. I am more puzzled as the aspect of women as victims. Eight-two years have passed since women gained the right to vote. Forty years have passed since the beginning of the radical women's movement. Regardless of all the progress, women are still vulnerable in a way that men are not. Physically weaker? More trusting? More desperate to find a mate? Less testosterone combined with more estrogen? I don't know the answers, but I do know that this is a good reminder for all women and especially mothers of little girls-girls need to grow into mature, confident, healthy, happy women. The emphasis cannot be on physical looks, finding "catch" to marry or cute naivety. It must be on self acceptance, self fulfilment and self esteem. Wow, by the looks of t.v., music, movies and magazines, we have a very long way to go indeed.

Until I feel that my random acts of kindness no longer serve any positive purpose, I will continue to serve them up whenever the opportunity arises. I will not let the horrible acts of sick individuals darken my spirit or dim my love of humanity. I will let these acts serve my common sense and proceed with optimistic caution. I hope my children understand the lesson and will thus to do the same.

Day Fifty: Feminism Then and Now

Who was it that told me I had to do everything and I had to do it well? I want to track them down and beat them to a bloody pulp. I have a feeling, however, I could search high and low, and there would be no one to blame but myself. I don't recall anyone telling me that I had to do it all. I do, however, recall reading that I "could have it all." I tried. What a load of crap that turned out to be.

I consider myself a card carrying feminist. That, and $4.75 will get me a cup of over priced nonfat, steamed mochachino. For all that I have gained from the study of the women's movement, for all the inspiration I have garnered from the hard fought victories in the voting booth, the workplace and the classroom, I must now admit that feminism has, over the course of my life, let me down. More accurately, my interpretation of what feminism was let me down. I heard the call to be all I could be loud and clear. I went to law school. I practiced law. I married well after establishing a career, sewing my oats and seeing a bit of the world. I didn't change my name. I didn't stop working after having children. I was mentally and physically exhausted by the effort. I couldn't do it anymore.

I have learned that the feminism that I loved as a young woman is not the feminism that sustains me as an older, stay at home mother. Feminism means a lot of things to a lot of people, both good and bad. What it meant to me was never accepting that I could be less than any man, that I would never be worth less than any man and that I should be as ambitious, driven and successful as any man. This was a very upsetting message to revisit after the decision to stay at home with my, then, three children. The very message that moved me to great heights was dragging me into a well of deep depression.

I have learned the hard way that no one, man or woman, can have it all. There are choices to be made in this life and we each have our own deeply personal reasons for making them. Feminism to me now means that a freely chosen path should be the goal for us all, men and women alike. The decision to build a career and not to have children should be as valued as one to stay at home and raise the children we decide to bear. The decision to have children and carry on with a career should be as guilt free as choosing to stop working and stay at home. The older version of feminism somehow put all these women and their differing choices at odds with one another. It reminds me of the war strategy of "divide and conquer"-maybe some medieval thinking man put this stupid idea out there and it caught on.

I can't tell you how liberating it was for me to finally realize that I was no less of a successful woman, no less of a feminist because I chose a more "traditional" road. I spent years aching for the loss of my other self without allowing myself to enjoy any of the fruits of my new, unimagined life. Yes, I still want to go back to work, but it is because I want to feel that sense of power that comes from earning and sustaining an income. Let's face it, money is both the root of all evil and it makes the world go 'round. I also want to work to feel creative and connected. What I don't now feel is the need to work just to validate myself as a worthy person. I recall many times making excuses or jokes about the fact that I was a stay at home mom to those in the working world. I felt inferior to them, like I had nothing to contribute to the conversation anymore. Now I realize that my conversations are much more diverse, interesting, tolerant and respectful with the addition of my new world perspective.

I know that there are thousands of women out there that feel the same as I do. Most women who believe in all the ideals of gender equality, pay equity and equal parenting would never dream of calling themselves feminists because of all the negative baggage that term now carries. Well, I am still a feminist and I am still proud of it. I will work hard to pass on my views of feminism to my four sons: that all people are worthy of respect and consideration no matter what their gender, color, class, religion or orientation; that anyone can be whatever they want to be with enough hard work and determination; and that freedom means choosing the path that is right for you, not being forced down a path by virtue of someone else's idea of gender roles. Feminism in its old form with my old perspective may have let me down, but ultimately the ideals of feminism in applied to my newly evolved self has pulled me from the depths and allows me to celebrate all of my choices.

I can't have it all. That is clear. I don't want it all. As Stephen Wright would say, "where would I put it?" I have more than enough. There is both peace and grace in that realization. I hope you feel the same. After all is said and done, isn't that what this is really all about?

UPDATE: After I posted this, my brother-in-law passed on the October 26 edition of Time Magazine. The cover story is The State of the American Woman: A New Poll Shows Why There are More Powerful- But Less Happy. I guess I was on to something. I highly recommend checking this out. There are two commentaries that especially interesting. One by Maria Shriver entitled The Unfinished Revolution and one by Nancy Gibbs entitled Who Am I to You? Going by Ms. was once a statement. What does it tell us if it's now become a matter of convenience. So much intellectual stimulation, so little time...

Day Forty-Nine: Ahhh, Autumn!

Red Maple Tree in Full Color: My Favorite!

Fall Cub Scout Hikers, Madbury, N.N.

Jacob Jumping in the Leaves

Ahhhh. It's Autumn in New Hampshire. This is my favorite season. I love when the air has a hint of cold crispness; you can just image the winter that is on its way. The colors are breath taking. The reds, yellows, oranges, golds, greens and browns of the forest create a scenery right out of a watercolor painting. The warm wool and cotton sweaters out of the cedar chest, the clank of the pipes when the heat comes on for the first time, the cozy glow of the fireplace on a now dark, early evening all evoke a sense of contentment for me. The season is far too short, as the cold of a nor'easter will attest. I do love the very first snow, but not the months of subsequent snow shoveling. It's the fall I love. These are the sounds and the smells that make me so very glad I live in New England.

Today, I was struck at the change in my mood and disposition as soon as I came in from the outside. I had been inside for most of the morning doing various household chores. The windows let in the bright sunshine of an unusually warm October day. I went outside to do something quick, I can't even recall what it was. When I returned inside and closed the kitchen door I immediately felt the change in the air. The air outside was warm and breezy, but not in a spring or summer kind of way. There was an undercurrent that held the smell of the fallen leaves, the damp earth after the evening's rain and the intangible essence of fall. By contrast, the air in the house felt stagnant. This is the first time I can recall that I actually stopped in my tracks to take in the change in the air. I had a flash of insight as to why the long, closed-up winter can be so hard. It is definitely something in the air.

I was fortunate enough to lead my cub scouts on an easy hike along some University of New Hampshire trails. They were beginner trails but because I am by no means an expert, we lost the main trail in the fallen leaves. We ended up on an side trail, but we got to see great boy things like snakes, slugs and assorted bugs we would have otherwise missed on the more traveled main trail. It was very gratifying to share my love of the fall woods with those bright, eager faces. We identified trees and tracks while learning the importance of taking care of the natural surroundings. The boys loved the mud on the trail from the previous night's rain the best. The squish of their feet and bubbly laughter was contagious. I felt really happy taking them all out on such a beautiful, warm fall day.

I can't imagine ever giving up the change of seasons by moving out of New England. Sure, the winter is long and cold, but the ensuing spring is worth the wait. I can't picture Christmas without evergreen trees and snow. I wouldn't want to miss the first really warm breeze of summer. The smell of spring lilacs in bloom is something I look forward to all winter long. But what I would miss the most would be all the colors of fall; that first time it hits my eye that the trees are a kaleidoscope of color. I have so much to be thankful for. My home in New Hampshire, with all the promise of new beginnings each change of season brings with it, is one of my favorite blessings.

Do yourself a random act of kindness. If you are lucky enough to live here, get outside and enjoy the beauty of fall in New England. Go for a walk in the park. Kick some crunchy, dry leaves. Pick out a pumpkin at the local farm stand and carve into a silly or scary face. Take a moment and breathe in the clean, crisp air. Don't take this season for granted. It will be gone in the blink of an eye.