Circus

We took the wee ones to the circus today. It was not the PETA-approved vegan cruelty-free circus, Alec Baldwin take mercy on our souls. But we didn't rob any banks or park in any handicapped spots en route, so? Does that make us carbon neutral? The circus is not what Loverpants or I remembered. And by that I mean we were not in peanut heaven straining our eyesight (over the whirring of those light sabers that all the spoiled brats lucky kids won't put down) so that we can sort of see maybe somewhere down on that expanse of a floor there is a microscopic clown with a molecule of pie and a trampoline doing something funny or cool.

It seems that live performances these days are righting the wrongs of all peanut heaven plebeians and reducing the audience size and embiggening the stage OR SOMETHING and going largely and in chargely with the intimate stage setting.

I am a very big fan of the acrobatics and trapeze and sequins and general clowning and now I know my Baby Girl is, too. They were also both oddly entranced with the motorcycle cage. It came at the way end of the P.T. Barnum show and you'd think my kids would have started getting all feral in the aisle and stealing some kids' light sabers after a couple hours of cotton candy-infused mania but they were cool customers.

Say what you will about Pixar and Steve Jobs and other modern wizards supplanting the wonderment of actual live performances for Kids These Days, but I spent the afternoon at UTC McKenzie Arena and I'm pretty sure the greatest show on earth is still ranking pretty high.

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I loved this lady and her costume. I like this photo of her waiting in the wings, even though it's all grainy. I love her stance. She reminds me of a character from that wonderful "Checkers" painting by Norman Rockwell.

I believe these snow cone novelty cups were $42.

Not Finding, Not Looking

I've been not looking for something for a while now. And the upside of not looking for something is finding something different and maybe even better in its stead.

I have been not looking for balance for almost two years now. A sweet and wise friend told me after I had my son (when life really began for me as a juggling mother of two) to stop trying to seek the balance. To cease this vain search for something that would forever prove elusive and possibly non-existent.

She told me instead to try and find a rhythm that would jive with me. To recognize the erratic ebb and flow of life and to accept that some days are just going to be Too Honking Much for One Woman and then let us hope for several days of peacefulness henceforth.

That thought, that simple principle of abandoning this ommmmmming yogi who keeps all things centered in lotus position, in exchange for BRING ON THIS MESS because cleaning up spills is good exercise for my core? This is what is working for me.

When I seek the balance, I am looking to myself and hoping that I don't tip over.

When I seek to find a rhythm, I am looking God-ward, asking for increased strength to weather the choppy notes, and lifting up thanks for those rare gifts of grace notes.

***

The past two weeks, my winter depression has been trying to steamroll me. I feel the depressed feelings in my very cheekbones; my face is achey.

I have been quite good at preparing for my classes and staying on top of trends and reports in my field.

But that? That is all.

I know this rhythm, though. I know where the notes on this scale resume after this breve, after this rest.

***

I received a voicemail from Baby Girl's teacher last week. I retrieved this message after lunch was over. After, specifically, the lunch where I was supposed to show up as a lunch guest. The lunch guest appointment that I should have written down in my planner when it was assigned in September.

I spent about 5 seconds self-examining WHAT KIND OF PARENT DOES THIS? WHO AM I? I DON'T DESERVE TO EAT OR BUY NEW LOAFERS EVER AGAIN!!!

I know this rhythm, though. I know that Baby Girl will forgive me and that sweeter notes are on the next bar.

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In other hair-raising news, Little Man is a photo stahh. Stay tuned for more from Inspired Magazine.

H is for happy

I wonder when I first learned the word "happy." I assume I learned it relative to a picture of a smiling face. See that? That face is happy. Say, "hap-py!" Happy. From where I stand, the first knowledge of the word happy is probably ages after most of us learn the meaning of happy. That is irony to me, that we first identify something from its exterior, when we've known it for awhile on the inside.

*** Today I felt happy. I had played with Little Man all morning: cars and playdough and hide n' seek. I had changed bedsheets and held a warm little boybot on my lap while eating cereal. I took a wee disco nap and then ran on the treadmill for 30 minutes and afterwards my organs felt very gooshy. I got to pick Baby Girl up from school and be the first reporter to hear the account of her day. I even got goodish news from the Boston realtor which never happens.

By mid-afternoon, I knew I didn't just feel happy, but that I had known happiness on this day.

And what of it? What was extraordinary about this day, its happenings? Perhaps that they were all backlit by gorgeous sunlight was an extra big boon to my spirits. Still, if any one of these activities was isolated from the mosaic of the others, I cannot be sure I would be waving the happy flag by lunchtime. In fact, on many days, I've gotten to do these things, with these people, in this place, and by day's end I didn't feel victorious. In fact, I probably felt one of many of the following: bored, sorry for self, envious of others.

Today, I was happy on the outside, while knowing happiness on the inside. What is clear from today is that my happy smile will surely fade, but the knowledge of this happy feeling will remain. The knowledge that even the most pedestrian of days at home, being a wife and a mother, can well up whole buckets of happiness within me. As I've learned time and time again, these sweet privileges of loving and serving my family give me such incomparable joy, joy that cannot be delivered in a package from Sephora, or found while scanning someone else's vacation album on the Faceplace. The inner happiness and utter joy of this life, this life and its duties and chores that I am so often begrudging.

Do you hear me? The happily ever after is so happening right now and it is unfolding on the inside. Whatever it is that you are called to do, whether it is to teach or coach or write or help or heal, whether it is to look at tiny worms under a microscope or skywrite a message across a big blue expanse, seek to find the joy. Don't look at what others are doing or how much they're receiving or how much easier they've got it. Just consider the blessings of today, all the things that have gone right and all the things that you've learned from that have gone utterly wrong today. Count it all as joy, writes Paul.

I just completed a study with our women's ministry called "Stuck," written by jennie allen. A couple of times, toward the end of the study, she reminds us to "Run our guts out." I just love that. And that's how I felt today after I got off the treadmill. Like my guts were bound to spill out of some open seams.

This world is so broken but I believe we can do so much good if we embrace even the smallest of ministries to which we are called and run our everloving guts out.

My prayer is that our eyes would be open and our hearts would be discerning as we recognize and know, truly, this elusive thing called happiness.