Creating Connection

It's been a good week around here for sure. And kind of fun too I must add.

First of all, one of my collaborative endeavors, Future Craft Collective, has garnered its first book contract. HOORAY! It's called Crafting to Connect; 24 family projects to inspire connection or something like that. Look for it in stores sometime in 2011. In the meantime, Kathie and I are excited to bring our proposal, our projects and the lessons we've learned to fruition.


On the newstands this week, right now as a matter of fact, sits the latest issue of Time Magazine. The cover story is about overparenting and there is quite a lovely mention in there of Slow Family Living, my other collaborative endeavor with Carrie Contey. I don't think the story is exactly a hit as far as Slow Family is concerned, but it still is a positive representation of what we do. The element that's missing however, in my view of the story, is the part about connection. Slow Family's tagline is slow down, connect, enjoy family life. That slow down is one part. The connect is the next and to me most crucial part. Followed by the enjoyment of course. But it's national press. And it's a start. And I know Slow Family will get their true center stage in another venue one day soon.

I feel lucky, and grateful too, to see my work about family connection being brought to big light. It's a favorite mission of mine - to find ways to build family connection - for now and for the long haul. It's what I grew up in. It's what I strive for now with my own children and partner. And, it's a work in progress every step of the way.

Money matters

My own childhood understanding of money was, well, just a tad bit skewed. At 7 I got a paper route - actually took a small piece of my brother's route, which was a piece of another brother's route, which had previously belonged to another brother that he split with yet another brother. No sisters in that deal until I came along.

So I got the paper route and the 10 or so customers I started with (at age 7. Did I say that already?) And the cool metal ring with all the customer cards and the little tabs you were supposed to pull off as their receipts. And I delivered everyday after school. And I collected every week. .75 cents for an entire week's worth of daily delivery. Usually they gave me a dollar and told me to keep the change.

Only problem was beyond that I don't think anyone really told me what to do with the money and it was the beginning of my "well, if I've got cash in my pocket, it must be disposable income." Which then led me to a long life of waiting tables and other sundry cash only jobs.

Lately, my own 12 year old has been earning more than just a little pocket change - babysitting for more than .25 cents a week. For a while it was crazy cash flow, if I've got it, let's spend it. Akin to my own youthful monetary exuberance. Just recently though we sat down together and created three small banks: SPEND. SAVE. SHARE. based on the piggy banks created by Moonjar. It's a great model, and though the purchased bank is quite pretty, we made our own using 3 different jars upon which we wrote SPEND. SAVE. SHARE. The idea being that each time she gets paid she puts a certain percentage in each one. She still feels rich and at the same time she's putting some away for those inevitable rainy days or flights to France and sharing some as well with whatever organization/group/person/cause/event she feels like giving. And I can see the wheels turning as she imagines just who she'll give the money to.

I love it. And she loves it. And I hope it's the first step in understanding the money coming in and the money going out.

Because it's amazing how those old habits just stick with us.

Don't get mad, get art

I got a bit annoyed with my 7 year old yesterday for her incessant mess of paper, pencils, scissors, glue, and piles of ideas and cast off drawings. I appreciate her creativity most of the time, but sometimes the reckless abandon that is her style of making said art is more than I can take.

Last night I got home late. Everyone was asleep. The table was cleared off, wiped off, clutter free. An unusual occurrence to be sure. There in the middle of the table was a hand drawn book, KIDS COLORS. Her desire to publish inspired no doubt by our friend Liz, who recently had a most amazing children's book published.

All day Esme had been shoving said book at me, READ IT. READ IT. LOOK. LOOK. I told her I wanted to look but each time she asked was in the chaos of some family necessity - dinner prep, diaper change, potty training, etc. I told her too that if she left it for me at a time when all was calm I could really take it in.

So, the middle of the table, in the middle of the night, was about the calmest there could be.

And take it in I did. Each page an explosion of ideas and colors and hummingbirds and butterflies and trees and abstract images and people and places and things of all shapes and sizes. All 20 or so pages.

As I read it I cried. Happy tears. And I promised I would try to in the future to see through the mess of her stacks of paper and glue and tape and pencils and crayons and more. I will try to see the art first. I will try to take the 2 or 3 minutes it takes to actually look. And I will try to find those calm moments too where I can actually take it all in.

A little order is nice. But a pile of amazing art is even nicer still.

I'm a liar

If you lie for a good cause, is that okay? Because I can't really think of a much bigger cause right now than making sure my children get enough sleep.

We didn't change our clocks this weekend until 10 o'clock on Sunday night. At 7:15 pm old time we started the bedtime process. At 7:45 the two youngers were in bed, lights out. Which was actually 6:45 but they didn't know or care and after a night of trick or treating and a full day of eating candy, they were kind of ready anyway. By 8:15 the two olders were heading to bed too - in bed, lights out by around 8:45 or so which was really 7:45 in the new time paradigm. The oldest even asked, "did you change the clocks already?" to which we bold face lied, "yes."

This morning they were all feeling good and well rested and chipper even as they woke up to daylight instead of darkness. And we parents were feeling sly and crafty. And for the first time I didn't mind the time change at all.

Until spring that is when we lose an hour. It is a funny system really with such a seemingly arbitrary method of keeping time.

Creative expression

This morning, the day before Halloween, my little first grade monkey was excitedly putting on her ears, pulling up her pants with tail affixed, and straightening out her furry belly. All these pieces we had created last night by the way when she reminded me that all the kids would be wearing their costumes to school. All this time by the way I was thinking I had all morning Saturday to get said pieces ready for Saturday afternoon. Nonetheless we did have a really good time making the pieces last night as she determined which brown fabrics would be appropriate and desirable for her said monkey costume. At bedtime she was psyched.

At face makeup time, less so. She started getting nervous and I could feel it in her twitching face as she continuously wrestled away from my face-paint clutches to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Then the exclamation followed by the tears, "I don't even LOOK like a monkey! Nobody will know what I am! EVERYONE else will have a store bought costume!!!"

We happen to go to a very creative public school, or at least a public school filled with creative parents, teachers and kids. I was 99% certain that the handmade costumes would outnumber the store boughts but there was no convincing her of that.

I went on about using our own ideas, skills, creativity, brains as opposed to buying something made with someone else's ideas, skills, creativity, brains. I pontificated about Halloween being a day for creative expression, costumes being renderings not exact copies. What she heard was "blah, blah, blah, no way in hell am I ever gonna buy a costume."

By the time she arrived at school we were already late, she was already flustered and nervous and, because she was the last one to arrive she got flocked. Cries of "what are you?" went up from the crowd. The tears, which had been resting just under her lids, now flowed and she ran out of the room and into the van. (this part I was told as it was actually my husband dropping her off, I was still at home drinking my coffee.)

As she walked back into the house she cried out, "nobody knew what I was, everyone else had a good store costume, I'm NOT GOING TO SCHOOL!!!"

I let her cry, felt the pain in my own heart and for just a minute I was 7 and running out of my first grade classroom. I hugged her and she melted into me. She sniffed the final cry and wiped away the last tears which smudged her face completely. I took her into the bathroom and wiped off her face with a warm washcloth and held her up to the mirror.

"Look at those ears. Look at that tail. Look at that furry belly. What are you?" I asked.

"A monkey. But nobody knew."

We talked about how everyone was excited, she was the last one in, she missed them doing it to everyone else. We talked more about store bought, her creative self, how much fun we had making the costume last night. I told her over and over, "Look at you. YOU made that costume!" She smiled a little monkey smile and said she wanted to go back.

In solidarity I put on some cat ears, drew myself some whiskers and drove her back to school. We arrived just as the class was lining up to walk to the senior center to share their costumes and a few songs.

The kids gathered round. All of them stating how much they LOVED her monkey costume. (apparently a little chat had ensued upon her initial departure)

I looked around and saw that at least half of the costumes were indeed handmade or mindfully assembled with random pieces. And, if you bought your costume, no offense intended, but those handmade costumes really did shine brighter than the store boughts. They were filled with love and creativity and time together and conversation and laughing, and maybe even a few screams and cries but what art doesn't come with struggle? (I also saw that store bought didn't necessarily mean instant recognition but who am I to judge?)

I will continue my quest to have my children see that handmade is the way to go for as long as I live. I want them to see, feel, know that our own creativity is more valuable than anything we could ever buy. And I want them to understand too that everything that is on the store shelves now started out as an idea in someone's brain. Every Batman, Power Ranger, every cartoon, movie, story, drawing, show. All of them came from someone's brilliant self. Somewhere, sometime, somehow.

The lesson may not be realized fully by the first grade monkey but I am of the firm belief that it will sink in drip by drip.

Halloween is coming

New Jersey c. 1971 Assemblage toy soldier

Now that we've gotten a couple of birthdays out of the way this past week, we can turn our thoughts to Halloween. We can determine who will be what and just what magical pieces of clothing/costume/cast off detritus we can use from around the house to make ourselves into the character of choice. We can sew, salvage and conjure up props from this and that to make ourselves the (choose one) fairies, zombies, monkeys, old ladies or made-up super hero that we long to be for that one special day.

We are not costume buyers around here. Rather we are all about assemblage. It goes back to my own childhood of digging through the family costume barrel to assemble what we could to make ourselves identifiable as some such thing or another. We had lots of good basic pieces from all the years my mom participated in minstrels and musicals at church. And other pieces too from dad's proclivity for theatrics such as his top hats and wool cape and suspendered knickers from a by-gone era.

For a few years in high school I would find favorite year round wardrobe pieces in that same barrel - such as the plaid green knickers from the 40s and the wool tuxedo pants from a similar time and my brother's gray striped West Point casual pants that I wore every chance I got. Costumes yes but for daily use.

We have assembled a bit of a dress up barrel here too partly due to a fondness for playing dress up and partly because some sentimental pieces are just too dear to let go of. Silk scarves and hoop skirts and top hats and, a favorite of mine, my brother's formal tails from West Point. Boy, did those military folks know how to make a good wardrobe piece! (And I might add I just saw the same jacket in a Gap ad stating something about declaring your individuality and I want to tell you here and now, I declared that same thing with that same jacket now for 20 plus years!)

And while I am not a costume buyer, neither am I a slave to the creation of any costume. I do still strongly believe in the assemblage approach to costuming - leaving a lot to the imagination and adding a few specialty pieces whipped up on the sewing machine: bunny ears, a special cape or the like. Improvisational sewing I like to call it.

Since Halloween is on a Saturday this year, I'm sure we will spend a better part of Saturday in the creation of our outfits. We'll be sure to have a high protein diet to build up our systems for the onslaught of candy. And then we'll hit the streets. I do love trick or treating and have many happy memories of running with a giant pack of kids, spending hours knocking on neighbors' doors begging for candy to fill our loaded down pillow cases. I love the ritual and the process. I just don't love the effects of all that candy in the house for weeks on end.

Every year past I've let the kids just have at their candy for a few days straight, living in the hell created by cheap chocolate, multitudinous dyes and high fructose corn syrup. This year though I have a new plan I'm going to try to implement. We're going to make up little packages to send here and there to relatives who no longer have access to the Halloween treats - Grandma, aunts and uncles, grown up cousins,etc. My plan is to decorate the boxes this week. Make it part of the holiday prep. Then we'll have them addressed and ready to mail. We'll fill them up with a few select pieces each and then send them on their way getting them out of the house lickety split and spreading the sweet goodness far and wide.

I'll let you know how it goes. One can never be sure how such new rituals will be received. And if are one of those relatives who live far away, keep your eyes on your mailbox for some sweet treats of your own.

Camp Goodness

Four days camping in a private site in a public park on one slow moving river with 15 adults and 16 children and 3 super mellow dogs and a canoe and a dozen or more shooting stars and a kayak and a cold spring at the end of the trail and absolutely zero cell phone signal equals, for me, pure and total bliss and presence and relaxation and joy and fun and comfort and satisfaction and pure, pure goodness.

This was our third annual such trip and each time it just gets better and better as we fine tune our needs and our wants and our location and streamline our cooking and our clean-up and maximize our fun and minimize our trash.

In the entire 4 days I was responsible for one meal created with a friend and it was up to us how it got done and what was in it. And all weekend long we ate like kings and queens around the campfire and the beautiful tables covered with beautiful cloths and surrounded by beautiful friends - adults and children alike.

If you're seeking a way to feel connected to yourself and your family and your friends, and you're in pursuit of knowing true presence, and you're in need of a little fun and relaxation, might I recommend you give a group campout with friends a shot?