Mrs. Amazing and the Seed

by Julie Lavender

  For what seemed like forever, when Faye tried to help them Wonder, the kids were often sour, self-centered, and pretty “stinky” with one another. Being bright and inquisitive children unused to repressing themselves, they could turn any well-intentioned afternoon into a riot of drama and discontent.

  During her life review, Faye relived one afternoon that stood out to her. It was back when her oldest, Constance, was around twelve, her twin boys, Chance and Charleston, were about nine, and the baby, Chief, was just a little sprout.

  While suffering through one of their mom’s latest exploratory schemes, an outdoor “stretching and sketching” activity, the older kids sat on the grass tearing tiny corners from their sketchbooks and creating spitballs to lob at each other while bemoaning their fate.

  “I hate when she makes us try to be deep. Can’t Mom ever just let us be? She always has to try and make stuff happen,” Constance groused as she sucked on a blob of paper and watched her mom wander out of sight.

  “I know, she gets so into her Wonder thing, but I’m just not feelin’ it today,” Chance, the firebrand, agreed as he spewed an especially soggy wad out of his mouth with a gratifying thhhuuupp!

  “I justh wanna watch Burbey the Brontothaurus. I mithed the last thow!” little Chief whined as a spitball hit his forehead. He burst into tears and shouts of indignation as the rest of the gang began to lay blame.

  Faye came running to squelch the din and was discouraged to discover that even the usually affable twin, Charleston — with his overgrown vocabulary and generally mature outlook — was not making things easier:

  “Mother, are you sure you have taken into account all of the constants and variables involved in preparing our activities? Things do not seem to be going as you anticipated. Perhaps you should recalculate our trajectory.”

  Faye frowned as she recalled the episode. It seemed to her to typify many a failed effort on her part. She probably should have lightened up about a lot of things. Had she pressured her kids too much? Had she forced them to try and imagine? Had her pushy passion killed Constance’s? Faye was second-guessing her every parenting choice.

  She remembered how frustrated they all felt at the time, and how desperate she was to find a way forward. Frank thought that maybe they needed to ensure that family activities were more enjoyable for their children, so they tried to anticipate each of their little Faultsoms’ every need and provide more “positive enrichment” games and enjoyments; in essence, cajoling them into cooperation.

  “Now, children,” they would say in their most lulling tones, “Mother and Father want to help you to be your best, most-fulfilled, and activated selves. We want to enrich your lives today with positive opportunities to grow. Wouldn’t you like to participate with us in this process so we can all be successful together?” This just made things much worse.

  It didn’t take too long for Faye and Frank to realize that the door to Wonder was shut tight when their children were caught up in themselves, or when they, as parents, focused only on pleasing them. Entertaining the children and satisfying their whims left Constance, Chance, Charleston, and Chief disgruntled and dissatisfied — far from Wonder’s threshold.

  One afternoon in the family van during a particularly discouraging attempt at togetherness and discovery, Faye gave her “thankfulness speech” for the umpteenth time that week. From her own experience she just knew that an attitude of gratitude was essential or they would never find their way into Wonder. She felt right then and there that she must be raising the most spoiled and ungrateful kids in the whole world.

  “Children you are driving me batty! Can’t you just find something to be thankful for instead of whining and bellyaching? Without a huge helping of thankfulness, you will never find the Wonder that is waiting for you — for us!” Her lecture did not yield its desired results.

  Just as she was about to give up entirely and turn the van around and head for home in retreat, Faye suddenly found herself singing…The Song. She didn’t even know where it came from. It just appeared in her head and demanded to be sung. So she gave it a whirl and sang it for the very first time, shocking her kids into silence. Faye did not like to sing.

  Nevertheless, sing it she did, and over time, the song grew and grew, as if it had a mind of its own. New verses would flow into Faye’s mind and out of her mouth until they began to fill the kids’ daily lives and alter their world. But oh, how the kids groaned when they first heard it. During frustrating times together, Faye would croak out her infamous melody much to her kids’ dismay. When things were going downhill with them she would contain her own peevishness and begin to sing. Somehow her squeaking, cracking voice would prevail over the din.

  “Awwww, NOT, that song!” the kids would shriek. “Why does Mom have to go on and on singing that song”?

  Secretly, Faye reveled in their torment as she belted it out with great abandon:

  You little rotten scoundrels!

  Was it something that you ate?

  That made you so uncouth, unkind,

  Unable to appreciate —

  All that lies before you

  In the fabric of your days?

  Your attitude is stinky and

  You’d better change your ways.

  You Potty-Snot Nose Miners,

  You are in a sorry state

  A lovely day’s been served to you

  Upon a silver plate.

  You’d rather lick a dirty floor

  Than taste the yummy stuff?

  It’s like that when you are a bore

  ’Cause nothing’s good enough.

  You little Rug Rat Sillies,

  You’re just moments from relief

  Or days and days from joy

  if you keep wallowing in grief.

  It will come right back to you

  With lots more with crud and trauma,

  So turn your attitudes around and

  Let’s avoid the drama!

  You Dastardly Despoilers,

  Oh how, I do love you so!

  No matter what you say or do,

  I simply can’t say “no”

  To what is best for you, and you,

  Oh even if you hate it.

  Give up your nasty, rotten ways

  So trouble is abated.

  Thankful, Thanky, Thankers

  That’s just what we need to be

  Even for the stuff that stinks

  Like trash or rot or pee!

  For see, there’s always something

  That is hidden in our woe,

  That can open up a door to Wonder—

  Where we want to go!

  Be Jolly, Jaunty Voy’gers!

  Let’s avoid a conflagration

  As we find our happy hearts

  And sing for joy with admiration

  Of the many little marvels

  That deserve our cogitation.

  Then the Wonder door will open

  And we’ll leave this desolation!

  Faye learned to sing The Song with the authority of an imperious major general and a buoyant good humor that she refused to surrender despite her kids’ worst behavior. As a result, a most miraculous change began to occur. The children actually learned to stop and give thanks for what they saw and experienced, or else, you see, they would have to listen to more of their mom’s crooning. Secretly, The Song, with all of its rude impishness, won them over. Begrudgingly, they would begin to snicker, and then murmur and mumble, then speak out, and finally shout out the things they were thankful for.

  They even learned to give thanks for the stuff that they disliked the most. It was hard work but back then, the usually responsible firstborn, Constance, would lead the way for the rest of the kids, who would eventually join in, much to her parents’ relief. It was in these times of appreciation in the most annoying and difficult situations that the family first noticed the atmosphere around them began to change, and they would begin to feel a little inkling of hopeful anticipation.

 
; Over time, they moved from self-absorption, to another kind of absorption which was transforming. Most of the time it began as a drab process of just stopping to look deeply, listen carefully, or serve faithfully. But always, it was a time when they were grateful and thanked heartily in the midst of whatever came their way.

  As they continued to do this, there would be magnificent little bursts of “twinkle” interrupting the ordinary. One child or another would follow that twinkly feeling into what seemed to be Wonder’s entrance hall, and then he or she would sense something extraordinary, or perhaps hear a sound or see something that was curious and beguiling.

  These experiences were like puzzle pieces that the Faultsoms laid out on the family’s kitchen table. Day by day, across the weeks, and months they spread out the bits of mystery they retrieved and cobbled together a doorway here, a window over there, a crack or crevice buried in plain sight — those longed for portals into Wonder.

  The faultsom family was made up of six distinctive individuals with energy and personality to spare. Since they were very different kinds of people, it was in very different ways and at different times that they each reported that they’d sort of left themselves behind and glimpsed another dimension. Bumbling at the threshold of transcendence, they attempted to “get their sea legs under themselves” as they waded into the waters of Wonder. As one or the other attempted to describe their experiences, the others would nod their heads with eagerness, as if the next word or phrase they heard could unlock their own clarity or bring into their world the reality of the other realm that was becoming so real to them.

  Faye and Frank grew to experience the edges of Wonder most often in the eyes of their kids and in the sounds of their voices — when they weren’t yelling with glass-shattering peels and shrieks, that is. Often they would find themselves caught up in what touched their childrens’ hearts, and this quickly propelled them back, time and time again, to the mysterious encounters they had had as kids but didn’t dare speak openly of when they were young.

  Franklin Farnsworthy Faultsom found that when he championed his wife and his children’s sensitive spirits, something in him came alive. He could feel himself growing larger inside as he protected and mentored his children, and in stooping to serve, he often had his most profound sense of Wonder’s nearness. He regularly tended to many household chores that needed doing so that Faye could fling her cloak of creativity across the arc of any given day, and his gallant service somehow made space for his own hidden quests. When he was immersed in the rhythmic sameness of a simple household task such as folding the laundry or drying the dishes, a smoky campfire smell would encompass him and he would feel as if he were being summoned to join the counsel of a great tribal leader. Sometimes his eyes would even burn and tear up as if he sat before an open fire in a longhouse speaking with a sacred council about matters of great importance. As he stacked the dishes, noble longings would fill him.

  Faye Andoria was a soaring and youthful spirit. She didn’t feel truly alive unless she was leaning out over a yawning canyon of possibility. She would often dangle herself past the edge of propriety just enough to be prepared in case a sudden draft of Wonder might carry her away on its wings. This was a marvel in and of itself, for Faye was prone to motion sickness and actually had quite a shy side. But that was Faye — jumping into the thick of things no matter what and determined that everyone else should be jumping in as well. Nothing thrilled her more than to catch sight of a beam of insight penetrating one of those little Faultsom’s skulls she so intently shepherded. Wonder seemed to often follow in her wake, even if she didn’t realize it was there.

  For the ever spiffy, tucked-in, combed-over, and wire-rimmed twin brother, Charleston Chaucer Faultsom, his first foray into Wonder’s vestibule was like moving through a filmy, silky curtain of vanilla pudding that wasn’t at all sticky. One day while he was playing his cello, he noticed that a kind of lilt and longing was welling up inside him, and as it did, a little slit appeared in the air around him. This happened several times, but each time the feeling faded and the slit disappeared. Then one day, as he was engrossed in his music and full of thankfulness, the slit opened up and what he called a knowing enveloped him in a misty pool of sweetness. With each movement of his bow, it was as if he were rowing a boat, and he moved in and around in a swirl of music, fragrance, and light. He even had the power to change where he was and how fast he moved by what and how he played on his cello. Then the mist evaporated, and he was left back in the family music room with a lovely, lingering melody ringing in his ears and an aloof aroma teasing his nose.

  Charleston’s somewhat shaggy and obstreperous twin brother, Chance Chandler Faultsom, was catapulted headfirst all the way into Wonder one day when he lit the fuse to his homemade stink-bomb chain as he hid under the back deck of the house. Chance lit the fuse and watched with glee and scientific satisfaction as the incendiary stench releasers began to spark and sizzle, emitting their pungent odor. He was filled with appreciation for the laws of chemistry as a whiff of smoke smacked his olfactory nerve and sent a thrill right to the center of his cortex, causing his hair to stand on end — which was not at all unlike its usually unruly state.

  Utterly absorbed by the epic stink and chaotic wallop of it all, Chance was oblivious to the dire consequences of his stunt as he was suddenly and completely absorbed in Wonderment. The smash-and-crash stimulation of this new world was like a roller coaster, a rocket to the moon, and a bungee jump off a canyon precipice — all at once. He could see and hear the sounds of a kind of elemental fusion that produced an energy source unknown in our world. He understood in an instant how it all worked, although for the life of him, when he returned to earth he couldn’t quite describe it.

  In the meantime, the family’s youngest child, the self-appointed family manager and policeman, Conrad Chamberlain Faultsom, aka Chief, with his frizzy red hair, freckles, and toothless grin, discovered Chance’s hiding place when he figured out that the cause of the chaos in the family’s backyard was coming from under the deck. Sure enough, when Chief crawled underneath the structure, there was Chance, wide-eyed and transfixed. Chief poked at him and breathlessly exclaimed,

  “Chancey….you willy did it thith time! Ma is cwazy mad and you betta come up wight now! You betta, or I’ll tell her where you are hidin’!”

  Chief continued to poke and prod, but there was no getting Chance, whose pupils were dilated and whose mouth was hanging open, to respond. He sat there staring into space sort of whimpering, until all at once he rasped out loud, “This is so cool! This is SO coooooolllll!”

  Well, that was enough for Chief, who figured Chance was caught up in Wonder. Naturally, the little boss simply would not be left out of anything noteworthy that either of his older brothers got into, so he turned to look at what had captured Chance’ attention, screwed up his little “believer,” and somehow followed his big brother all the way into Wonder on the fumes of those old stink bombs.

  When Chance and Chief were finally plopped back into the aftermath of the stink-bomb experiment in the Faultsom backyard, the rest of the family was too upset to listen to the excited reports of their time away in Wonder. This event was the perilous climax to a season when everyone was crossing into Wonder more and more.

  Everyone, except Constance.

  Willowy, brown-eyed constance calantha faultsom, with her perfectly coiffed ponytail of thick dark hair and square spectacles, had always been in the center of everything that unfolded in the Faultsom Family. As the oldest child she was the first to be favored and delighted in, and soon became the first responder to the “four-alarm fires” set by her younger brothers and their floppy hound dog, Cornelius.

  Through her growing-up years, Constance had had her own Wonderamas along the way, but they seemed to her to be nothing as special as those experienced by her other family members. With grave sincerity she worked hard to be attentive to all that happened around her so that she might be able to find her own ways into Wond
er World as frequently and as fluidly as the others seemed to, but she always felt that she came up short somehow.

  As her frustrations simmered into fears, she began to ask herself why her parents so were intense about this whole Wonder thing. Why couldn’t her mom, in particular, just let them — let her — be? Over time Constance began to stiffen under a growing weight of expectation. The more Faye pressed onward in her quest to make Wonder real for the family, the more Constance felt pressured and deficient in some way.

  She did her best to be a good sport when others reported the sights, sounds, and smells of this new dimension, which often seemed distant from her. Dutifully Constance would take up the slack and keep things in the “real world” running smoothly when the little kids were a handful or when school and chores were interrupted by the others’ jaunts into the netherlands of the extraordinary. Frank and Faye could always count on Constance to hold down the fort when things went wonky or when Wondering interrupted their normalcy.

  The Faultsoms’ eldest did have a deep sense of the realness of Wonder, and harbored a space inside her that was filled with hope and possibility about it. Constance reveled in the snippets and anecdotes her family members shared about the feelings, images, textures, and revelations they, to one degree or another, experienced on Wonder’s outskirts. But why did she feel more and more like she was on the outside looking in?

  Constance felt her experiences were a drip here and a drop there compared to the more detailed and multilayered tales of her family members. Their stories created a longing in her for more than she encountered, and somehow this made her feel increasingly left out. This longing grew into a wistful melancholy that became a kind of wishyness that began to take the place of any real hope of ever being fully encompassed in true Wonder.