Movie Review

In what I think was a very impressive act of bravery, Ray and I took all four kids to see Horton Hears a Who this afternoon. We even shared popcorn and lemonade amongst the six of us. And the review?

The movie was very cute. It was a likable interpretation of Dr. Seuss, as opposed to the bizarre and somewhat frightening versions of The Grinch and The Cat in the Hat. Jim Carrey and Steve Carrell both delivered, predictably, strong comedic interpretations of Horton and the Mayor of Whoville. As usual, jokes for grownups peppered the script. It was quite a stretch, as far as plot, but I guess it's not easy turning a 20 page picture book into an 83-minute feature film.

My children loved it, especially Mitzi and Cooper, who were more able to follow the plot and slapstick than were the little girls. Ellie kept to her seat very well overall, and seemed to understand most of the action and dialogue. Joanna wandered between Ray and I, on either end of our group, and eventually fell asleep on Ray's lap. From a not-quite-two-year-old, that is perfect behavior.

I don't want to reveal how long it's been since Ray and I have been to the movies (my last film was Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix), but we were appalled at how much the matinee cost for us. Ouch.

So, thumbs up from our house. Our first movie outing as a family. Victory!

Solitude

Everyone else in the house is asleep. Well, Ray, the latest victim of our house-wide cold epidemic, might be awake due to his fitful coughing. But it's quiet. Other than the taps I make on the keyboard, the only sound I only hear is the distant rumbling of our dishwasher, and the occasional cough or sneeze from one recovering child or another.

It is silent, the heartbeat kind. I don't feel alone, or lonely. What I feel is energy in the peace of solitude.

I love being awake, active, while the rest of the house slumbers. Early or late, I like the stillness, the possibility of peace. Unfortunately, now that I'm not smoking, I don't find myself up early or up late as much as before. I don't know if it was the need for nicotine that roused me by six each morning, or just the habit that got me going, but these days I linger in bed until Ray reminds me that he actually has to go to work so I have to get up, please. It's the same at the other end. I no longer need to stay awake for that last smoke, so I can get to bed and read before another vain attempt at 8 hours of rest.

But on nights like tonight, I remember what I also loved about early rising, late retiring. It's the peace. The sense that all is right, while the kids are asleep, my husband dozes in our bed while listening to the news or ESPN. Uninterrupted, I can write or indulge in a full hour of yoga or answer emails or watch ridiculous mind-sucking television of my choosing (VH-1's 80s countdowns and the Lifetime Channel come to mind). I can have a cup of coffee or tea and watch the news, flip through catalogues. Being alone in a houseful of people is one fine feeling.

It's ironic that if I had this quiet all the time I would feel oppressed, depressed. Often I long for this ear-numbing stillness. Seventeen times during each chaotic day I fantasize about being by myself for days on end, with a white-sand beach endless before me, a stack of books and a week of sunny skies, a fantasy of being left alone, for god's sake.

And yet, as I confided to my CVS pharmacist this evening, when it is quiet, when the kids are out with Ray or it's late or I'm actually out in the world, on my own, I feel restless. It's disquieting. I am not myself. I feel like I left a limb behind. I eventually shake the feeling, during the course of my Me Time, but the truth is, early rising, late retiring, the solitude of my quiet house, is often all I need to balance my spirit. I don't have to leave my parenting behind to find peace.

So I can't escape my Momminess. But a beach vacation is on the top of my to-do list. Some day. Until then I'll have to pay more attention to my alarm clock when it faithfully buzzes at six a.m., and hope that my life continues to be more alluring than nicotine.

Hooray!!

Let me take a moment to brag about my oldest's latest accomplishment! Mitzi and Cooper have both been participating in the elementary school's "1000 Book Club" program. It challenges preschoolers and kindergarteners to read -- or listen to -- one thousand books before first grade, the number of books one must hear in order to read independently. The program lets the kids borrow bags with 10 books in each, one bag at a time, until they finish the program. The kids are awarded prizes along the way for 25, 50, 75 and 100 bags.

Today, Mitzi officially finished, and received the final prize, this wonderful trophy. One thousand books. In just over one year. And she is just six years old. I'm very swollen with pride!

Riding the Wind

The rain stopped mid-morning. Winds picked up, but mild temperatures remained. The three girls and I explored our yard, as if it were new terrain, a magnifying glass clutched in each of our hands. We spied a ladybug (though she sadly expired before Mitzi could capture her for further observation). Small green shoots are rising from the ground where I planted bulbs last fall. Though I can't remember what they are (crocuses, daffodils, tulips, among others, I seem to recall), seeing them heartened me, thrilled the girls. Spring is on the way. The trio chased each other, arms outstretched, palms up, smiles wide, circling the lawn, riding the heavy gusts of wind. In my mind's eyes, my little girls could rise, fly, coast to the horizon where anything is possible.

We spent a lot of time outside today, breathing, noticing changes within as well as without. Joanna can now climb the big-kid ladder of the swing set; Ellie maneuvered the monkey bars as easily as her brother does. Today, I'm reminded of the truth of time's passage. I'm sure we'll see at least one more storm before this winter finishes with us, but today I saw the future, in more ways than one. And I liked what I saw.

Like the Weather

Today all the snow in my yard melted. I am extremely grateful. This past winter of snow and freezing temperatures, staying indoors with my four rambunctious, wonderful, frustrating, loud, energetic, crazy kids has really tested my mothering skills. Stretched my sanity, my ability to cope. If spring doesn't arrive soon I may have to take a self-imposed exile to a Caribbean island for a few months. The doctors suggest yoga, sleep, relaxation for my stress. I suggest a glass of wine and a bubble ba†h.

Spring is around the corner, I remind myself (just look at the calendar). But here in New England, all bets are off until May. In May, tulips and daffodils will have opened, and the likelihood of more snow will have passed. April, as T.S. Eliot reminded us, is the cruelest month, especially up here. March is another story, especially early March, where we are.

Temperatures today in the mid-50s. Breathing outside felt great. But I am a stoic New Englander. I am still hunkered down. And grateful we bought that small, dangerous, one-child-at-a-time trampoline for the basement. Great for energy-busting. Bad for Mommy's worry-o-meter.

Tomorrow is another day of cool rain. I hope the saturated soil can make room for additional liquid or my basement may be in jeopardy. But if the temperatures stay mild, maybe I'll let the kids play outside anyway, regardless of the rain. Mental health is more important than cleanliness. After all, mud washes off.

And winter never lasts forever. It just seems that way, sometimes.