So last night, at around 2 a.m., when I was up with Eleanor for the seventhish time, and had just gotten Hammie back to sleep, I had a great idea for a blog entry, which I of course did not write down, since the last thing I want to be doing at 2 a.m. is searching around the house for a pen and paper (okay, the second to last thing, the LAST thing I want to be doing is getting up with my kids for the I-do-even-know-how-many-ish time that night) and this morning, though I could remember that I had a really awesome idea, I have no idea what it was. Typical. My brain is full of half ideas these days like, "I should take some time to do something nice for myself! But I have no idea what I want to do" or "We should have something yummy and easy to make for dinner! But I have no idea what that might be" or "I should murder my children and run away to Fiji! But where would I hide the bodies?"

Anywho, since I have no brilliant and/or amusing plan for the blog today, here is my not brilliant nor terribly amusing summary of what has been going on in McBeth land this October. We had friends come to stay over Columbus Day weekend, which was lots of fun, aside from the fact that Hammie kept calling Eva, their daughter, "Lily" his cousin's name. She didn't seem too offended though, which was good, since Bob likes tractors a whole lot, and Chessy always makes me laugh, so they are one of the few couples that Andy and I both look forward to hanging out with. Perhaps for that reason we promise them that our next house (in the event we ever actually move) will have a guest room with a queen size bed so they don't have to sleep in the boys' twin beds with firetruck and construction vehicles comforters when they come to visit. (And let that serve as a warning to anyone else who might be crazy enough to consider coming to stay with us.)

I have also been re-reading the book "Buddhism for mothers" this month, which has been very enjoyable. I highly recommend it (author is Sarah Napthali) to all mothers. I first read the book when Fraser was a baby, and found it interesting. When I re-read this month I found it absolutely incredible. Many days now I find it hard to find other adults that I feel really "get" what my life is like these days. Even other mothers of young children don't have exactly the same experience, because we aren't exactly the same people, nor are our children, spouses, pets, or homes exactly the same. When I read this book I think "Now here is a woman, or perhaps an entire religion, that really gets me."

Fraser and Hammie have been taking swim lessons at the YMCA (I know this seems like a totally different topic, but bear with me). They are both in Level 1. Fraser has been in level 1 with another boy, Mark, for a long time. Last week the teacher handed out their certificates. Fraser's shows check marks next to the skills he has mastered, and nothing next to the skills he still needs to work on before he can move to level 2. Mark got a certificate saying he had graduated level 1. I saw his certificate and had a very intense feeling of, "Oh no! Fraser must need to work harder!" I basically freaked out a little. But, as advised by the book, I took a step back and examined my feeling. What was this feeling? Where did it come from? And I realized that what I was feeling was fear. I worry frequently that Fraser, or any of my children, will fall behind the expected learning curve in any area, will be left out, will fail at something. And there it is, the first Noble Truth of Buddhism, There is suffering. They will fall behind in some things, they will fail. My attachment to my wish that they should never hurt in any way leads to my own suffering, because it isn't possible to keep them from all hurt, all fear, all sadness. That may sound ridiculously obvious, but these days it does come as a somewhat painful revaluation. ("Could there be any better way to get my nose rubbed in the truth of impermanence than to love a child in a jagged, careless world?")

The book also focuses on the idea of being mindful, being present for our children instead of occupied with other things when you are with them. There are no better teachers of mindfulness in the world than children. When they are building with blocks they are fully focused on building with blocks, and aren't actually thinking about what we will have for dinner, or whether the oil in the car needs to be changed, or how they will pay for college. I have been trying much harder to give them my full attention when we are together, and it often isn't easy. Usually at music class I tend to space out a bit, and think over my to-do list since Hammie and Eleanor are pretty well entertained by the teacher. But in class this week I made a concerted effort to remain totally focused on them, and the class. I think they really noticed the difference. Hammie and Eleanor were both more involved in the class, and all three of us had a lot of fun. So, on the up side I got to fully enjoy some time with my children, on the the downside I still need to find time to go over my to do list before I miss a doctors appointment, forget to pick up the dry cleaning, or my kids are all still wearing shorts in January.

Still, I think the practice of Buddhism, with it's emphasis on patience and equanimity and the need to avoid acting out of anger, can provide helpful guidance for me in this crazy job of mothering. If nothing else, I think Anne Cushman's description of a conversation with Fu Schroeder give me plenty to reflect on for the present moment:

"As mothers, what can we make of that story of the Buddha leaving his family in the middle of the night?

I asked Fu Schroeder. 'Oh, but he wasn't the Buddha when he left his child. He was a young prince, in terrible pain,' she answered.

'If you're awake, you don't leave your child. Where would you go?'

Fiji Fu...Fiji.

(Come on, it is important to keep a sense of humor you know. Isn't that why the Buddha is always smiling?)