"You Can't Take Me, I'm Free"...or are we!?

 

"Horse Trailer", Photograph. Circa 1986, Janelle Jensen Fritz & her 6 days older cousin Leah.

At times, I can be a bit impetuous. On special occasions, I can even be considered impulsive. A couple weeks ago my 6-year old son and I were setting off on a Saturday afternoon/evening shopping excursion. I was fretting about our timing, and I felt anxious about whether we would be able fit in our itinerary. Costco, Toys-R-Us, Gas fill-up, your basic middle class Saturday, but with pizza back for dinner for the two-at-home. From the back seat, I hear, "MOM, hold your horses! We will get there." Smiling I said, "you are right, I'm probably just getting ahead of myself." To which he promptly responded, "Yeah, and did you know that you also have a bull you need to hold onto too?" 

Honestly, that one stunned me speechless. All of the sudden I realized that this was not just one of those "cute exchanges with my 6-year old".

From time-to-time this boy imparts hard truths. Ones that as a parent I'd rather not face, but ones that he is able to bring up in figurative language, nonetheless. It's an act of brilliancy blended with my own inner voice being re-projected through my son. The timing is always such that I can't deny it away coincidentally. Especially, as it has happened to me on several occasions, and, my husband can attest to this as well.  When I related the previously stated exchange to him, Johnathan stated quite accurately, when he replied, "Yes, I know exactly what you mean. It happens to me too. It's like your own inner monologue coming and striking you in the ass, but with the voice of your innocent loving child." 

"Out of the mouths of babes", INDEED. 

Thus...I suppose, I should give credence to Psalm 8:2  ...

"Out of the mouths of babes, and sucklings hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger." 

The thing with figurative language, is that when you apply it directly, the meaning is usually clear. Though, when you start to play around with the context? It can get shifty. 

I knew what he meant when he said it. I knew my bull, and the horses. I know my stampede, and there are definitely some wild feral mustangs in my herd. And that bull? That is dependent on my current state of litany. But, like I said, they are wild mustangs. And, if you don't have any of your own? Then realize, they are beautiful. Captivating, and  our country has some, as in our good ol' US-of-A.  If you are still in the dark and ambivalent? I invite you to live vicariously....or so catch a drift...with a pick from my 18-month old niece with "You Can't Take Me....I'm FREE!" This past summer she chose "You Can't Take Me" as her favorite song from the movie Spirit, about wild Mustangs that are being bound & broken by man. Love her. During the video, when "Spirit" (the mustang) is bound, the lyrics "I'm Free" ring out. Are the faculties holding hostage? Or is the rebel truly, "with out a clue"? In the video it is only when he is literally "free", that he truly makes the literal leap of faith across an expansive chasm.

CSNY stated it as an economic equation: 

find the cost to freedom
buried in the ground
mother earth will swallow you
lay your body down

"Steering."  Janelle Jensen Fritz. Sandy, UT circa 1986

Happy Birthday, Duck & Cover!!!

Are you familiar with those days, where the moment-to-moment seems to roll out chaotically, yet, when you package the whole of the experience together it seems a memorable gift? This is precisely the birthday present I gave my friend today.

For starters, I had her birthday month secured wrong in my head. Correct day, but I thought I had another month. Obliviously I called to see if she and her kiddos wanted to join P & I in feeding the ducks at the park. She talked me into hitting up a playgroup before the park. It was there that I foot-in-mouth inquired on her "upcoming" birthday. 

As we left the playgroup park-bound, in an act of redemption, I drove through and grabbed fast-food-fajitas (I figured Sonic wasn't conciliatory enough). Once at the park, we toddled towards the river benches. Cautiously guiding two 2-year-olds carrying fountain drinks, a 4-year old in 1/16 inch healed sandals, my 5lb dog Moo-shu, and arms full of Rosa's takeout. We were wary of the approaching geese, as experience had proven them aggressive. We were 5-feet from the bench when we allowed our misgivings to slack as we loosened our protective huddle. It was then that the crippled goose struck. I was setting the bags on the bench when a loud honking and child screeching pierced the air. I turned to see my friends 2-year-old boy being attacked in the stomach by the goose. Motherly instinct kicked in literally, as she kicked then chased the goose away. Quickly we hijacked it the hell out, taking cover behind a flag pole structure with a 3-foot protective wall. Geese & ducks from all directions advanced. As the children and I tossed them bread, in order to curtail their trespass into our refuge, my friend reverted from momma bear to animal-lover lamentations about kicking a crippled goose. Heart-sick she looked up Animal Control, and placed concerned calls on it's behalf. Miraculously, her little 2-year-old tossed his former attacker crumbs, and talked unaffected, as if an over-exuberant puppy had overtaken him. When we ran out of bread, we knew we only had a short window in order to make it away from the river and the ravaging fowl. "Okay kids, we have to race to the playground, run fast." 

We finally managed to set down a successful picnic, and enjoyed the sun & company. After lunch the children played wonderfully on the playground. We watched from a nearby bench, as we all but, shrink-couched our skeletons from their closets. Who says you don't need a good venting on your birthday!? But not too worry, before we delved too deep into realms best traversed by a paid professional, momma duty called. 

Bathroom bound with a potty training toddler, they didn't quite make it. (And might I add, who engineers the bathroom at a park a good football field distance away from a playground!?) Playtime over, she held his sopping, dripping shoes, and we rallied the troops for departure. In the 5 seconds in which she diverts her attention to call for her 4-year-old, and I gather up my 2-year-old in my arms while holding the leash in my hand, he strips. Bare butt and streaking. We exit, stage left. We leave our audience laughing as we make our way to the parking lot. I sing out a timely Happy Birthday, as we are just about in hysterics ourselves. At the car, she changes him, and we say our goodbyes. Suddenly, I look around panic stricken. "Where is P? I don't see him! Do you see where he went!?" To which she replied amusingly, "Ummm, Janelle? He is in your arms."

 Blame it on the sun-exposure....

The thick icing on her cake was a bright red sunburn which revealed late afternoon. A gift that just keeps giving. Fortunately, she loved the packaged experience for its amazing hilarity, and declined my promise to disengage myself completely next year with a simple card.

Button Pusher v. Paranoid Eye

Road trips with children are a been there-done that sort of realm in my book. During my growing up years, my parents, 5 siblings, and I would trek cross country in a round-trip van excursion from Michigan to Utah to California and back again every summer to visit family. I could write a chapter book on some of the stories from those weeks-on-the-road. Comic relief aside, I'll spare you the page turner synopsis for now...

Tonight I arrived back home from a round-trip Texas to Utah jaunt in the car with my boys. The visit for my sisters wedding was so wonderful, I really can't say the car-ride wasn't worth it. But, that doesn't mean it was perfect. 

Our favorite Z-ism's on the way to Utah started when we crossed over from New Mexico to Colorado. He had located the Four Corners on Google Maps. For you non-Western or non-American folks? This is the intersection between Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, and Arizona, in which the boundaries exist in orthogonal lines. Smartphone in hand, when he noticed we were not going directly from NM to UT he became convinced that we had deviated from our course. He didn't really make it a mystery that we "had no idea where we were going", "had made the wrong turn, "were driving in circles", "were going the wrong way", "had missed the turn to Grandpa & Grandma's house", and (my personal favorite) "were just driving in circles until dinnertime". These statements were repeated regularly from Colorado to my parents house. Yes son, because the joytime of being in the car for 2 straight days with small children and hubby...is my heaven-on-earth. TIC.

On the return trip Z's repeated phrase shifted, garnering the tone of one of his recent pre-springbreak declarations, "Everyone else has better siblings than me." Before I share his mantric repetition, I must admit, he got this from me, AND it rings of a stance that soooo many of us take against each other, all too often. Here is the text I sent out to my family, to which my siblings promptly responded with quotes from our own past:
:

Yes, the "Summer, stop breathing on me!" was exclaimed more than once by my own lips. Button pushing, reciporacal annoyance, or whatever you want to term it, is one of the common denominators in most families. My husband and I couldn't even roll our eyes in joint exasperation. We glanced knowingly at one another in joint acknowledgement that we too had just played out this scenario 30 minutes prior, and thousands of times before. For those of you that don't know us well? Johnathan is the self proclaimed "button pusher", and I'm the hypercritical "paranoid eye"...most of the time. If we really break it down though? When we get into these roles we are both playing out the "heart of conflict", "heart of war" battle. I think the Arbinger Institute explains these positions well in their promotion of changing our approach to others with a "heart at peace". In an article titled "Resolving the heart of conflict", James Ferrell of the Arbinger Institute states:

 "When I choose to see people as objects, I become invested in seeing them poorly, which investment invites them to respond poorly to me, which mistreatment I then count as justification. I end up valuing problems more than solutions and conflict more than peace. The grim truth is that whenever we start seeing others as objects rather than as people, we value justification more than results and find more advantage in war than we find in peace. In conflict, the heart of the matter is that our hearts have come to find advantage in conflict. Until we can escape this need for justification, we will continue to wallow (and find advantage) in the problems of the past. Until we can learn to acknowledge the obvious truth—that my coworkers, family members, and fellow citizens are as important and legitimate as I am—then my relationships will continue to be strained and our results together much less than they could be."

Well for now, at least our results together got us all home safe & sound, but that doesn't mean we aren't "Still Truckin" for the long haul. Though, we are blessed with some fabulous scenery for our journey.

Bend in the Four Corners, iPhoto. Janelle Jensen Fritz

A week in the life of BIG MALARKIES

It's Monday, it's a new week. I'm pretty sure our household is on the up & up now. But before I let last week settle in the dust, I have to give a shout out to my neighbor. Because my week, last week? Is pretty much, her week, every week. She's a pro, and doesn't let it get her down. I'm not exactly sure what her mantra's are. If I had to guess? They would somehow encapsulate the phrase: "You've gotta do, what you've gotta do.", or something to that effect. She's a great mom, and a lovely woman, and my role model for "rolling with the punches". To protect her privacy, I have affectionately named her "Big Malarkies". 

Instead of typing out the whole week I'll just give you the abbreviated version in equation form. 

Sunday+ 2 year old+ (Pink eye * Fever) = Urgent Care + Pharmacy + (a weeks worth of traumatic eye drops)

Friday+ 6 year old+ (Cold sore * nose sore * rash) = Pediatrician + Pharmacy + (Creams & Antibiotics for a week)

Friday+ Moo-shu+ (bladder issues) = Vet Visit + X-ray + Shot

Saturday+ Hubby+ (head cold * nausea * in bed & out of commission) = I'm healthy + I'm exhausted

Sunday + Sick Hubby+ 2pm church= NOT a Lazy Sunday

The total cost equals $325, just a little bit more than I had budgeted for our weekly breakdown...

I have to say, with my superstar "Big Malarkies" exemplar, the week rolled out better than what I would have conducted in the past. Attitude really is a make it-break it mentality. This is me, hoping with a positive attitude, that we all experience at least a notch up on the smooth-sailing-spectrum this week. But if not? I found this Backdoor Survival to Rolling With the Punches for us all.  
 

Saturday Morning Shuffle

Our Saturday mornings vary, but you can pretty much bank on the probability that we don't jump feet first into warp speed. Unless there is a soccer game. Then we can rally. 

Some of our low-key favorites include, Dad-made pancakes, or Dad-bought donuts. Movies, cartoons, and Lego extravaganza are also frequent favorites. The Lego spread is not a weekly tradition, but I'd say at least once a month or more, we end up with a family room full of Lego's. I think it dates back to my childhood. I vaguely recall Pee-Wee's Playhouse and a carpet full of Lego's on Saturday mornings. 

There was one Saturday where a specific request was made of me. It sounded simple enough. As in, reconstruct the disassembled Lightening McQueen and Mater Lego figures from Cars. I had the instruction booklets, but all of the pieces were mixed in with the two large buckets of individual or stray pieces. I still can't say what possessed me to acquiesce to this request. Cute little boys in pj's with rustled hair that offer hugs & kisses probably had something to do with it. I will never admit or acknowledge the amount of time it took me to sift, sort, and retrieve all the pertinent pieces, as well as assemble these two small Lego Cars figures. I recall my victorious emergence with both vehicles held in opposite hands, built in exactness. A quick glance at the microwave clock, and all semblance of success deflated, as I realized how long this assembly had actually taken me. Lets just say, that I will not be winning any speed records in Lego construction, EVER. My Lego engineering pace is definitely a slow shuffle.

Donuts, artwork by Janelle Jensen Fritz