Leadership Kills

The following realization on my part took place in just the few short hours it took to run household errands today, unlike the other lifetime-achievement awards I seem to be bestowing on myself most recently. I should admit- I'm not usually the grocery-shopper of the family (thank you, husband, who has a nasty cold today) and it probably could have taken a lot less time. We had just a few stops (Stanley's, Trader Joe's) but I was enjoying the time alone with my daughter, and I think the feeling was mutual, so we both seemed to be making gestures to make it take a little longer. While the daily spirited inquiry into my child's day at school is usually met with the "nothing" and "I don't know" brand of answer, today the conversation blessedly led to the topics to which I wish I had daily access (as often happens when we have the time to just be with your child.)

Today my daughter shared with me that she really needs to "do something" about the desk assignments in her class. Reportedly, the new arrangement has left her with table-mates that interfere with her ability to focus. Being the leader that she already is, she is ready to take action and approach her teacher with an alternative suggestion. And being the leader that she is yet to be, she is becoming frustrated with the reactions of her daily neighbors that refuse to cooperate with her attempts to make peace. We talked about the growing pains that accompany learning leadership skills, whether they be about doing the leading or learning to work as a team and follow another's lead. As if a new academic topic isn't enough of a challenge for the day, my daughter is actively testing out her burgeoning skills and feeling the burn. Ooh, leadership kills.

Feeling very parental, I reminded her that every moment of conflict is an opportunity to practice being the best person she can be, and that she ought remember to practice "leadership" in sticky classroom situations. An hour or so later, a funny thing happened. It was seamless. As we unloaded the grocery bags from the car, she suggested a game-plan for moving the many bags from our parking spot to the entrance of our building in order to be most efficient. Without even responding, I followed her lead. I would have normally at least acknowledged her, but today I was in awe. She then took action to begin moving the bags toward the elevator. Without complaining about the bag's weight! Without whining about how something hurt and therefore prevented her from participating in a household chore! As our immediate task neared completion, she called out to confirm that I had the last bag so that she could initiate the next step in this assembly-line. What is going on here? My little leader led me- quite directly, so confidently and most naturally. Maybe my job here is done.

Deft-Jam

No, I'm not writing about rap music (though coincidentally I did learn on my drive today that my 6 year-old son clearly understands the distinction between rap and rock, and that he has a fierce preference for the latter, perhaps more pronounced since his adventure at The Hideout barbecue for Bloodshot Record's anniversary last night.) Really, I want to ponder on deft jam, or rather, the deft hand one must use when picking raspberries. I've loved this berry's delicate flavor since first encountering an amazing framboise dessert at a "fancy dinner" with my parents in Newport Beach. And I have admired, sometimes from afar, the prices at our ginormous Whole Foods. But today I discovered a different kind of value in this fruit.

After picking apples (and surviving a don't-let-me-do-that-again Haunted House) at Jollay Orchards, we decided to try our hand at picking what was left of the raspberries. (Full disclosure would tell you that I was actually trying my shaky hand and that I did jump when another berry-bush limb climbed up the back of my shirt to say "boo".) Picking apples is manly sport- climb up a ladder and grab that ripe fruit with a full, muscular hand. But raspberry picking is an altogether different experience. Pull too hard and the very acceleration from stem to basket yields a berry-bloody mush. Once I established my technique, however, my green papier-mache basket runneth over. If you're willing to hunch down and lift up the prickly, low-lying stems you can hit the jackpot. But don't get too zealous or your prizes won't even make it to the basket (well, many of them didn't make it to the basket, but that's because I needed to test them and make sure their tasty quality rendered them worthy of the patient thigh-burn workout required for the process.) The deft hand and yoga-like balance required to select and pick these ripe raspberries was another "SLOW" road-sign....which makes at least two weeks in a row of the universe throwing me this hint.

Earlier this week at the workshop we were remarking on hard-walkers (if you live in a multi-level home or apartment, you probably know if you have one above you or not.) Is someone a hard-walker because they are in a hurry? Because they are just heavier, working harder against gravity? Or because, rather than be present in the moment and their bodies, they are flopping along to the their next task? Think about how you're sitting as you read this- are you holding your body in a way that engages your muscles (and maybe thereby prevents some sort of backache later?) When you approach a chair to sit, do you flop on in, or do you control the bend of your legs and the contact of your bum with the seat? A smart and inspiring man once showed me the power of capturing this presence, and I have to admit that I lose that presence too often. He taught me to look for cues that I could use to remind me to breathe, find center, relax, repeat. And then off I went rushing to my next deadline. So thank you, raspberries, for showing me today the calming power of a deft hand in preparation for a def jam.

The Drive-By

Oh, the irony.  As the owner of a business that encourages folks to slow down and enjoy the intellectual and emotional benefits of crafting, I am rarely slow.  I talk fast, I sew fast, I eat fast..I would even sleep fast if I knew how.  It has been this way for most of my adult life so I cannot blame it on the life of an entrepreneur.   And I am self-aware enough now to know that it is not that my computer is too slow....it's me.  I wanted to see Graceland once when in Memphis, and took my souvenir photo from the sunroof of our moving vehicle.  But this weekend I experienced something different.

My husband and I decided to take the kids to the Brookfield Zoo.  A normal trip for me anywhere for tourism usually involves methodically mapping out the highlights and then planning the most efficient route through.  (If you have ever been to Disneyland with me and seen my approach to leveraging the FastPass queue system, you know what I mean.)  For whatever reason (maybe some recent acupuncture), I just didn't feel like controlling the visit this way.  We strolled in leisurely, took in a few sights, rode the entire tram ride, took in more sights.  And I actually read the informational signs posted for my education.   As the "good parent" that I like to consider myself, I have always encouraged my children to read the signs, aloud or to themselves.  But admittedly I would sometimes use this technique just to check-in with my child's reading progress-  Can they read that word?  Do they use the phonetic hints to figure it out or is this word really now a part of their vocabulary?  But, I never read the signs.  Really.  Never.  (I am sorry Zoological Societies of the world.)  This time I did, and I started to notice subtleties in this zoo's approach to animal habitats.  Very different from "zebras-check, giraffes-check, elephants-check."   Hmmmm, note to self.

On another recent trip to the zoo (Lincoln Park Zoo this time), I was impressed how a friend of mine would share interesting facts about the animals that we had just viewed.  She had read the signs!  And it was interesting stuff.  Now if she was just sharing it with me to gently hint to me that I needed to slow down....I wouldn't have detected because I was off to the next habitat.  But maybe now I'm starting to get it.

You have probably noticed before how different a place is when you walk through it rather than drive through it.  And I know that it's true for our lives as well.  (There are lots of handmade crafts, some better than others, that tout the same.)  I don't know why this day was different, but it was.  And it was another good reminder.   Even the root-beer float tasted better. 

Yo Grabba Grabba

I promised it would be more fun. How many of you grown-ups have been entranced by the show "Yo Gabba Gabba!" on Nick Jr.? Anyone that loved Deee-Lite back in the day will know what I mean when I say that this show is fabulous. But this isn't about the TV show- it's about a young friend that we made at the workshop over the summer and to whom we refer as "Yo Grabba Grabba". Yo Grab reminded me of something important, and it's something about which all parents might want to remind themselves. You see, Yo Grab had a little "collecting habit" at the workshop. It started out with a little sequin here, a small ball of clay there. Some days it was something sparkly and new looking. Other days it was a peculiar piece of plastic packaging, or even just a twist-tie. Nothing too significant. But what this child was doing was building her own workshop full of little inspiring supplies that cost her nothing.

Sure, we kept our eye on Yo Grabba Grabba. And with every little glance her way there was a subconscious reminder being sent up to the big mommy-headquarters above my shoulders- not all junk is junk, not every mess is a mess and the best art supplies are everywhere to be found for free. Yo Grab reminded me of the power and the beauty of creating something from nothing. At the workshop we teach lessons about reuse and of using less. But because it is what we do every day, we have to keep our adult eyes out for those special moments of random inspiration that come from the least likely of places.

Luckily it does still happen to me like it happened to Yo Grab this summer- an irresistible flash of creativity. (Most recently it was the small clear plastic cover on a new stick of deodorant- two of those and what a magnificent pair of eyes for some creature.) But what if you're not wired like Yo Grab? You might see junk and you might see a mess. Can you learn to be randomly inspired? Can you learn to see beyond what is visible and evident? And then can that skill be applied in areas of your life other than craft-time with the little ones? I think you can and I think it's good for all of us. Next time you move to throw something away, or even to throw it in the blue bin or bag, give it a second glance through Yo Grabba Grabba's eyes. See what spark a little junk can generate, and if it's not in that moment (this might take some practice), squirrel it away in a random little collection of small, silly (but clean) stuff for that cold day, that we know is not so far off, when you can practice. Maybe throw a little Deee-Lite on for good measure.