Finding the Silver Lining

School commenced this past week, and my Pocket Rocket started kindergarten.

I love him to pieces, but I'm also a little relieved he's out of the house for three and a half hours a day. In a way, he reminds me of a border collie that has to be kept constantly busy, or else it starts eating shoes and furniture. When my puppy starts devising ways to amuse himself, nothing good ever comes of it.

For instance, several weeks ago, I was lying in bed, trying to get the baby to sleep when I heard my husband yelling at the top of his lungs. I raced downstairs, and then I freaked out, too.

The entire family room was caked with greasy, white, melty globs of coconut oil. It covered the floor, the couch, the air conditioner, the media center, clothes I had just ironed, pillows, tables, toys... The place looked like a snow globe that had settled. Indeed, that was just what our Whirling Dervish had planned. With its solid, snowy appearance and moldable texture, coconut oil seemed like the perfect medium for starting "a snowball fight." And from all appearances, he flung it with much gusto at his elder sibling. (At least my older son had the good sense not to participate.)

The kicker is that the little stinker didn't seem at all abashed -- not even while my husband and I were chastising him. Quite the opposite, rather. He was so pleased with his new game that he was still trying to demonstrate to us exactly how it worked.

He's the complete opposite of my oldest child who maintains a healthy appreciation for law and order. No, from the very beginning, my second child has been Shiva, the destroyer of worlds. The first clue came when he was just a little over six months old and he removed all the knobs from a dresser in a hotel in under four minutes. This marked the start of a career in demolition and destruction.

So now my mischief-maker is in kindergarten, and I've been concerned for months that he might not do well in a more regulated setting.

"How was your day?" I asked, when he came home on his very first day of school.

Delightedly he enthused, "Awesome!"

"What did you do today?"

He happily replied, "Oh, nothing." Then after a few moments, he continued quite proudly, "Guess what?! I got to yellow today! But I didn't get to red! Isn't that great?!" (Note: Yellow is a disciplinary warning for misbehaving kids. Red is real trouble.)

I sympathize with his teacher. Truly, I do. In a hundred years, I don't think she'll ever meet another child capable of creating as much chaos as mine.

At the same time, though, I couldn't help but think how nice perspective can be. Only my kid would see the sunny side of being disciplined. I had to smile at his self-confidence. Whereas other kids might be mortified or discouraged, his self-esteem had only been boosted by the event. Being able to find the silver lining is a lovely quality. I hope he never loses it.

Piracicaba by Tiago Hoisel
http://tiagohoisel.blogspot.com/2011/01/piracicaba.html
I know I've linked to this image before, but I really think this is my kid.

Bullfrogs and Butterflies

The first warm day of the first spring in our new house, I bounded outside to work in the garden. Then I promptly contracted Lyme disease and had to swallow antibiotics for nearly a month.

The second spring in our house, I was pregnant and deathly afraid of ticks bearing dreaded diseases. I knew antibiotics could have terrible effects on the tiny life in my belly. So this time around, my well-meaning husband put some kind of granule-type Ortho insecticide on the lawn. It completely wiped out all the ticks. It also wiped out all the fireflies, bees, butterflies, crickets, ladybugs -- you name it. It killed everything. For three years!

Worse still, the frogs in our backyard exhibited terrible deformities. Half-formed legs. Weird lumps. Missing eyes. Stumpy feet. They were ghastly.

Lately, the fireflies have been back and the frogs are looking healthy again. But now we have a toddler, and this year, my husband started worrying about ticks and mosquitoes again for her sake.

Looking at the frogs, though, I don't think we could ever put that nasty stuff down again. Tacitly, we've reached an understanding. No measure of peace of mind (or trying to avoid dosing a screaming, kicking baby with medicine) is worth missing out on nocturnal light shows or croaking amphibians. We'll just have to exert extra caution outdoors and slather on more bug-repellent.

Ladybugs, butterflies, lightning bugs, dragonflies, frogs -- they're small and plentiful and often go unnoticed -- until they're gone. Then one realizes how large a hole they leave.

I never thought I would grow attached to some frogs, but I have. I feel these little ones need me. More importantly, I feel that I need them, too.

I didn't have to use a zoom.

They sat so still. I was inches away.

Doesn't he have an awesome smile?

Sound and Silence

"Music consists of sound and silence."

A musician spoke those words to me many years ago. Little did he know how profoundly he'd impact my way of thinking about life in general. The words seem so simple, but they apply to so much.

The sound part is easy to get. We all hear the melodies, the harmonies. It's kind of hard to miss noise. Silence, though, is a little trickier. It's the full, quiet space that blooms around the notes.

Silence is what defines sound. It provides those necessary breaks that create rhythm and texture, tension and release. It provides rest, time to breathe. Without it, sound is reduced to relentless, unending droning.

I share a chatty (and maybe slightly narcissistic) tendency that I find common among writers. (Can I consider myself a writer just because I have a blog?) We seem to love stringing words together. Because everyone wants to read them. Because what we have to say is important. [Obviously. ;-) ]

Sometimes, though, it makes more sense to take a break. To be quiet and let the voice of another fill the space that we've been taking up. To simply listen and let something grow out of the silence.