Today I’ll be writing about irony.  My husband got a scratch/scrape/invisible hurt of some kind on his arm and it was a whole big thing.  I needed to look at it; no under the light.  What should he put on it?  Did I think he should go to the doctor?  Finally our little one appointed herself his nurse, slathered on something (possibly toothpaste) and then crowned it with all the pomp and circumstance of a queen bestowing knighthood.  She even doled out one of her beloved Hello Kitty band-aids for such a serious occasion.  I will say it takes a secure man to sport little pink cats on his arm, and frankly I think he wore it well.  But did I think it was it healing?  Could I just look at it again?  Did it look better?  What did I think it was?  Should he spray something on it?  Meanwhile it turns out I have been running around on a broken shoulder with nary a peep for an entire week.  I am wearing a big black sling and can barely lift my arm.  Last night Burk sent me a text asking if I’d brought home the wolfies’ 80 pound bag of bison vittles.  Really?!  I told him between working for 12 hours, dressing and taking our daughter to and from school, seeing not one but two doctors, and hauling in three heavy bags of groceries one-handed I had not.  Sadly, the sarcasm was lost.  The orthopedist to take it easy for two months and I have to have a CT scan on Monday to make sure it does not require surgery.  (If you are reading this please pray it does not!)  American Olympic gold medal gymnast Shawn Johnson said, “Injury taught me I need to learn how to face challenges.”  I really like that quote.  Now my real challenge will be to get my husband over his grievous ailment and not relapse.  I would throw my arm dramatically over my eyes … but I can’t.

While other people were looking at enormous portraits in Versailles I was exclaiming over door locks, finials, and drawer pulls.  I have always been a details person.  In the petit appartement de la reine there is a drawer pull in the shape of a double-headed eagle.  For me the little things matter and my eyes often fall upon them.  I found this sweet, quirky cat on a drawer in my client’s kitchen the other day and was instantly charmed.  Instead of a regular handle here was this whimsical piece of hardware that made me grin every time I saw it.  There are of course big picture people and we certainly need them as well.  Just look at Le Notre, the landscape architect of Versailles.  He had a grand vision people still visit in awe by the thousands everyday.  My eyes, though, cannot help but take note of the fountains and statuary — the turn of a muscle, the fold of a gown, or strands of hair carved painstakingly out of marble.  I suppose the downside to noticing details is I always straighten other people’s pictures, and price tags — even on cleaning supplies under the sink — make me crazy.  Paramount Pictures CEO Brad Grey said, “I learned no detail was too small.  It was all about the details.”  I happen to agree.  Not a lot of people see our little master bathroom,  but if they do they immediately notice the giant silhouette of a wolf pausing mid-walk with the sun behind him on our shower curtain.  I remember someone once called it a “statement curtain”.  That may be politesse for nuts.  Only one person that I can recall has ever gotten past it long enough to notice the hooks, which are also wolves.  I may be the only lunatic to have wolf shower curtain hooks but they make me happy; it’s all in the details.

May I just say how proud I am of my little girl?  Inside the May edition of Suburban Parent it reads, “COVER MODEL Maris 4 1/2  Maris may be young, but she already has 6 belts in karate.  She also has plenty of pets (2 wolf hybrids, 4 cats, 1 mouse, 2 turtles and several koi).  Good practice for being “a doctor for animals” when she grows up.  Until then, she likes painting seashells, collecting rocks, and playing in the park.”  I think I’m beginning to understand the pride my parents had in me for my accomplishments.  American author John C. Maxwell said:

“There are two kinds of pride, both good and bad.  ‘Good pride’ represents our dignity and self-respect.  ‘Bad pride’ is the deadly sin of superiority that reeks of conceit and arrogance.”

My father taught me about both kinds of pride.  He lived the good kind, never letting others define him with their own bad kind.  Maris has already had more advantages at the tender age of four than I had in 36 years before marrying.  It is imperative to me that she REALLY understands (good) pride tempered with humility and self-respect without the fallaciousness of “better than” or arrogance.  I am proud of her for the person she is becoming and I love everything she does — from her crayon scribbles to karate kicks.  I remember my daddy was SO proud in that TV audience when I was in the Miss Texas USA pageant.  I wondered why he didn’t seem as proud when I won first place in the state for news writing, or when I got first place in solo singing competitions every year.  I do not believe he was any less pleased, I guess it was just the only time I got to see him there and was able to observe it.  Anyway, forgive a proud mama for indulging.  Her daddy went out and swept up every copy he could find so I know he is proud, too.  I also know how thrilled my mother would be for her namesake.  I am so glad they did not remove her Stella Maris necklace that she always wears.  How fitting that my Marian child would make the cover in the month of May.  So, my precious angel, with my mother’s name and my father’s birthday, here’s to many more accomplishments.  Soar high my darling.  Achukma hoke.

Today, May 3, is officially National Teacher Day.  The National Education Association describes it as “a day for honoring teachers and recognizing the lasting contributions they make to our lives”.  The teacher who had the most impact on my life was my fourth grade music teacher Mrs. Martin.  I already loved to sing but it was she who encouraged me to try out for the Dallas Girls’ Chorus.  My first concert I performed at SMU and that very night I KNEW where I wanted to go to college.  When I think of all the things that have happened in my life because of one woman’s encouragement it simply cannot be measured.  A lifelong Methodist, ironically I became Episcopalian at Southern Methodist University.  The Episcopal church I would join some years later would lead me to meeting the most handsome man I had ever seen besides my daddy.  That same sweet, incredibly intelligent, impossibly handsome man, a cradle Episcopalian, would propose to me to me one year later.  We would marry in that church and have our precious baby girl christened there as well.  It is with no small amount of shock that as I write this I realize because of the interest one remarkable woman took in me at the age of 10 I would declare my alma mater which would lead to my church home, finally finding the man of my dreams, and, by the grace of God, having our precious miracle child.  It is mind-blowing thinking about it … God’s plan, how it works, and how He uses others to guide and shape our lives in ways we do not always even know.  I have very few regrets but how I wish my beloved Mrs. Martin were still here so I could tell her and thank her.  I kept up my singing until college and I still sing for pleasure.  My little one is starting to sing and she seems to love it, too.  Today Maris will carefully sign her name to cards chosen with thought for the teachers in her life.  I feel the cards and flowers just do not seem adequate.  We as a society must place more emphasis and recognition on our teachers, nurses, fire fighters, and more who so generously give of themselves to help others every day.  At one time education was for the elite and in some countries it still is.  We must pay our educators more.  But we cannot do that until we truly value and appreciate them and all that they do.  My daddy always told me the one thing no one could ever take away from me was my education.  That is what I am trying to instill in our daughter.  American journalist Henry Brooks Adams said, “A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.”  I know that to be true.

According to Chinese astrology I believe last year was the year of the sheep.  However in our house it was the year of the mouse.  Meet Rosie Twinkletoes Murchison, officially and duly named by my little one when she turned four.  She doesn’t know this, but the inquisitive, smart, sweet little mouse was just about to be lunch for some punky teenage boy’s snake.  I just couldn’t bear it.  It was the best $4 I ever spent in my life and Rosie is a joyful addition to our family.  She loves to be held and rolls around in her clear ball deftly dodging cats.  Our little one was having her birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese and I adore a good theme.  I was pretty darn proud of myself coming up with “Ratatouille”.  When I was a kid Chuck E. Cheese was a cigar smoking rat.  They’ve changed his image over the years and now he’s supposed to be a mouse — a thin one of course.  But I digress.  My rodent theme went over the top after I presented my little one with Rosie.  I will never EVER forget how delighted she was as she kept asking, “Is she really mine, Mama?!”  Rosie Twinkletoes Murchison lives in Maris’ bathroom — with the door shut.  Once it was open and we found her surrounded on two sides plus on her roof by our cats; poor little thing.  She was chattering at them telling them to leave and not hiding at all.  All animals have value and I am so thankful I could at least save her.

Every animal has his or her story, his or her thoughts, daydreams, and interests.  All feel joy and love, pain and fear, as we now know beyond any shadow of a doubt.  All deserve that the human animal afford them the respect of being cared for with great consideration for those interests or left in peace. ~ President of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals Ingrid Newkirk

There is a mouse in our house … and we couldn’t be happier.

I realize she is my child, but I have honestly never seen anyone look more beautiful in sleep.  Of course I have watched her sleeping since the moment she came out of me.  And she has always been beautiful.  I remember the nurses going in and out of my room around 3 a.m. and I got concerned because there were really quite a few of them.  Convinced something was wrong, I finally asked what they were checking for.  I think I sort of startled them because they’d assumed I was asleep.  After they assured me nothing was wrong one woman said that in the over sixteen years she had been a delivery nurse she had only seen one other baby get a perfect 10 on their Apgar test.  After I learned what it stood for I KNEW IT!  And I was so incredibly proud!  It was irrational but after everything I went through and all the scares and warnings about “advanced maternal age” it was both a gratifying blessing and tremendous relief.  I got to thinking recently about Disney’s “Sleeping Beauty” and how the three fairy godmothers each got to bless Princess Aurora with a single gift.  The first was the gift of beauty, the second, the gift of song.  We will never know what the third would have been since it had to be changed in order to save her from Maleficent.  Going back to the beginning the feminist in me was never too sure about the whole princess thing and needing to be rescued by a man.  Fortunately times have changed but I do see redemptive qualities in each of the characters with which I would like to gift my daughter.  I see kindness in Snow White as she cared for the dwarfs and never looked upon them differently than any one else.  I see determination in Ariel, “The Little Mermaid”, to make her own life.  In Belle from “Beauty and the Beast” I see a love of reading and also a great compassion.  In Jasmine from “Aladdin” I see someone not concerned with social constraints or financial boundaries.  In Pocahontas I see a real woman who respected the earth and all its creatures.  In Mulan I see courage and honor as she fought in her father’s place for China.  In Tiana from “The Princess and the Frog” I see someone with dreams working to make them come true.  And of course in Cinderella I see the happy ending of true love the romantic in me cannot help but want for my Baby Doll.  Maris has beauty, kindness, determination, compassion, inclusiveness, a love of God and nature, courage and honor, and she is already a hard worker with dreams of her own she wants to fulfill.  I pray she will continue to strengthen these qualities AND find true love.  American psychiatrist David Viscott said, “To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.”  Someday some guy is going to feel the warmth of her sun and know he simply cannot live without her.  If he is lucky, she will feel the same.  And they will live happily ever after.

Yesterday I got a lovely note from my little one’s teacher thanking me for being the “room mother” this year.  It made me feel great that she took time out to tell me she appreciated all I did and thanked me the most for sharing my child with her.  I had yet to write a corresponding note when, to my frozen dread, I received another note in my little one’s cubby today.  Only this one was a student referral signed by her teacher and the Head of School saying my child had been making horrendous noises during circle time and essentially refused to stop.  Her voice carried so loudly down the hall one of the poor women in the office had to take headache medicine.  I just stood there holding the note thinking how very different this one was from the other.  I had Maris apologize to the woman with the pounding headache and felt my eyes bulge as I told my misbehaving one we would discuss it in the car.  Once inside I told her she would have no “screen time” for the rest of the day and then the crying set in.  For the record screen time connotes anything with a screen — a television, iPad, iPhone or Leap Pad.  As tears of belated remorse streaked down her face I decided to not take the old school road my parents took, which would have been a serious spanking.  Instead I thought about why we’d chosen a Montessori school and tried to emulate that approach.  I told her she could continue to wail about her punishment or she could quietly accept it.  If she continued wailing her punishment would be extended.  If she accepted it and tried to move forward, with a sincere resolution not to do it again, we could still have a happy weekend.  (Either way I was silently preparing to open a bottle of wine.)  To my surprise and delight she made the good choice and simply accepted she was on punishment.  After about an hour I was able to praise her for turning her day around by choosing to make a better decision.  She seemed surprised I wasn’t yelling.  I told her I was proud of her but that if this happened again things would not go so easy.  AT ALL.  This is yet another time when I miss my folks so much.  I miss their wisdom, their gentleness, and their strength.  They managed to discipline me while championing me at the same time and I never resented them for it.  American author Steven Pressfield said:

“Long-term, we must begin to build our internal strengths.  It isn’t just skills like computer technology.  It’s the old-fashioned basics of self-reliance, self-motivation, self-reinforcement, self-discipline, self-command.”

I certainly hope I am setting her on the right path; I am still working on all of those myself.

It started out like any other day.  I’ve been trying to start jogging again and I was actually enjoying running with the wolfies.  Then out of nowhere I tripped and landed with all my weight on my shoulder, proceeding to skid a few feet on the cement for good measure.  More than my pride was hurt; I could not move my shoulder.  So I finished my run home holding the wolfies’ leashes in one hand while trying not to get blood from the other onto Burk’s undershirt.  Here is where I start counting my blessings:  Burk was off work and saw me so he was able to drive me to the doctor’s clinic.  They were very thorough and gave me 11 X-rays to check everything out, including my humerus bone which I thought was funny.  One nurse speculated maybe I had dislocated my shoulder because I was really in a lot of pain — and I have a VERY high tolerance.  The radiologist said I had “massive contusions” and I told the doctor I was a little embarrassed for coming but I just wanted to be sure everything was OK.  He told me he’d seen football players wearing pads have the same injury and cry.  I felt a lot better hearing him say I would have been crazy not to have come in.  For varying reasons I have always had a general rule that unless I’m profusely bleeding (heaven forbid) I just tough it out and don’t see the doctor.  However as I have gotten older this has not applied to check-ups and/or health screenings.  Another blessing:  nothing was broken!  Yet another blessing:  being able to have health insurance thanks to my husband’s job.  American moral and social philosopher Eric Hoffer said, “The hardest arithmetic to master is that which enables us to count our blessings.”  So I realized I was blessed to be suddenly slung in a sling.  Instead of trying to quantify my blessings I have tried to put some of them into words; they are too numerous to count … and too beautiful to adequately express.  I bet you will find the same.  Be blessed this day and all others.