Bang Your Head

For some time, John has insisted that he does NOT live in Boulder, Colorado.  None of us do.  That town is not this place.  It's in California.  There's no arguing this point.

On another front, someone has taken to shouting "Mom!" as her head is down, with sound-proof headphones on.  I might as well ignore it because she has no chance of hearing my response.  It's non-sensical.

However, to balance out the lack of sanity, John recently asked longingly when he'll be big enough to clean the toilets.

Ritual: Pizza

We are regulars at a local pizza place called Proto's.  Our visits there have earned "ritual" status because:

• We always go there on the weekend, after a North Boulder hike.
• We arrive around 3:00 and have the place to ourselves.
• The kids get to watch the pizza makers through a glass window.
• The pizza makers most always throw dough at the window.
• We always then go for dessert brownies across the street.

So many indulgences.  We count our blessings.  But, the greatest attraction is the pizza makers.  The chefs rival fire throwers, with their drama and their agility.  Only it's pizza. And you can throw it into windows, right at the gawkers' faces.  This and good pizza keep us coming back.

Off the beaten path

Parenting seems often to be on a beaten path.  Our lives revolve around so many rituals and routines, close to home.  There is an element of protection and shaping, but also of pure practicality.  We don't move with perfect agilely through the world, all six of us.  So, home is a nice place to be much of the time.  But, that's not to say that we don't break out.  

Recently, I took my girls up into the mountains, and the day turned out to be all quirk.  The birthday party that brought us there was at a surreal carousel, magically set up in a small mountain town.  Its very existence was spawned by a dreamer.   Then, during the party, Clara and I went to a used bookstore, coffee shop, ice cream parlor, jewelry store hangout across the street.  A heavy, mystical aura hung all around the place.  Along with the smell of books. We read funky sayings on the walls, picked out some treasures, patted the resident cat, read at a wobbly round table, licked ice cream and drank hot tea.

Thinking back, we could have been anywhere in the world.  And sharing that feeling brought us close together.

Haircuts Happen

I usually take on the haircuts in our household.  I am attached to the idea for numerous reasons:  It saves gillions of trips to the haircut place.  It saves money.  And it can be a sweet ritual at home.  

But recently, the haircut did not go so well.  I saw that it was not working, but did not immediately react...  I was sure I could just hold the trimmer differently, or hold his hair differently and make it right.  It took me a while to realize I'd forgotten to attach an essential part, without which the result is skinhead.  Sweet John sat there so innocently, looking out the window.  Clueless.  

I imagine two opposing motherly states of mind.  One is hyper-aware, alert to everything.  Sometimes painfully aware.  Reacting in a split second.  The other is a blindly persistent view, determined to forge forward, even through a sea of obstacles.  Next time, I'll be sure I'm in that first state before I pick up the trimmer.  We did get to enjoy some nice "Flock of Seagull" video comparisons out of the deal.