Like crushing grapes
I feel myself doing the same thing I always do. Like a rodeo pony at the gate, my entire being bucks up against the process of sitting down to write about the things that matter most to me: about trying to make a life. Invariably this work always takes me to the brink of what I know—and pushes me over, to where I plummet wildly into the unknown.
As I sit down to write about things that matter: about my father dying, about the gunman at school, about fighting with my husband, or loving my son fiercely, and I know that I will be changed by the act of writing. It is the act of putting words on the page that defines the reality of the world I inhabit. And so invariably, I resist because I am terrified that the act of delving deeply into this material will bring me face to face with my own small self and demand that I become more pliant. That I take risks or grow in ways I cannot yet fathom.
When I force myself to write like this my heart feels trampled like grapes becoming wine: something comes from the crushing that is sweet and heady and intoxicating, but also, there is the stain of broken skin and the pulp of the fruit that was once a different shape.
10 random things
1) This reminded me how much fun it is to write an utterly random list.
2) Things I am into this month: pomegranates, this soap, making homemade granola, Scrubs on tivo, hearing my son giggle, and remembering to make time for the stack of books on my nightstand.
2) Sitting down and beginning anything—a manuscript, a book, my to do list—is the hardest part.
3) When we ripped out a wall in the bathroom upstairs, we found a Dr. Pepper bottle from 1976. It sits on the windowsill in my studio now.
5) I am procrastinating about working on a manuscript right now.
6) I love Tahitian vanilla ice cream.
7) I’m adore this orange infused dark chocolate. Dark chocolate can do no wrong anyway--but with a hint of orange? Reminds me of driving through southern California as a kid and smelling the heady scent of orange blossoms on the breeze.
8) I almost always choose wine by the label.
9) Violence towards women is something I have become deeply angry about, and I want to do more to affect change.
10) Even in winter, I like having bare feet. Radiant heat makes me happy, and so do my clogs.
Your turn. Write 10 random facts about you, right now—here or on your blog. If you post on your blog, leave your link here so I can check 'em out.
Preparing
Bean and I spent the day outdoors under wintry skies. Alternately stacking wood and lying supine, our faces soaking up sunlight as it shone through torn clouds. Bean loves to lie like this, head to head with me, watching the clouds pass. The trees at the edge of the meadow made a crown of twigs at the periphery of our sight. Then we rolled down the hill, listening to crows call overhead.
Later, when we were hungry, I brought out a thermos of milk, graham crackers, peanut butter and honeycomb and we made sticky sandwiches and ate them on the grass. Bean tiped his head all the way back to drink from the tall flask, milk dribbling down his chin; a mustach of white spreading wide with his grin.
We’re hosting thanksgiving this coming week, and Bean and I dragged fallen branches from the woods and heaped them high in the upper meadow—for a bonfire with friends and family gathered round. DH does most of the cooking around our house—because he has that innate sense of which flavors go together, and can work calmly in the kitchen under pressure, without a recipe. I’m content to be the sous chef, watching him wield knives.
What are you planning for thanksgiving? Any good recipes or traditions to share?
Joy
I talked tonight with a writer who was also my advisor throughout college. We haven’t talked in five years, and when I emailed her, I didn’t know what to expect. But there, suddenly on the phone was her soft southern drawl, her kindness, her wisdom traveling over the wires to me, and afterwards I just lay back on my bed and grinned. It feels so good to talk with someone you admire. She said, “As I’ve lived I’ve learned that it’s all about asking good questions. Ask what you can learn from this situation. Ask what is good about this situation. Ask how you can learn.â€
And she said, “You will learn something from this that you can’t learn any other way.â€
And she is right.
** I open the door and joy rushes in, an unexpected guest, a urchin with a clever grin. Nothing to do but to bow down now, and place alms in the bowl of gratitude.
Grinning
I won a door prize today at the school book fair. And I never win things. Just another good thing that’s come my way recently, as though a corner has been finally turned…and then I realized, all the good stuff started to happen just after the democrats were voted in. A coincidence? I’ll take it.
Good vibes
Whenever I'm contemplating big ideas or changes for my life, I sort of send out a universal query, before I wholly commit. Then I wait to see what the universe says. In this case, I got a big YES from four different sources yesterday, and that made me feel good. So good. So I'm trusting that I'll get all the pieces figured out and get the applications sent in on time. Trusting that my life will take me where it needs to go.
It's been the first time in a long while that I've felt like things were going to be okay. And therein lies the lesson: let go just a little and trust. See what happens.
Sunday Doing List
* Had my first-ever Aveda facial today. 1 hour of pure relaxation with yummy aromatherapy and massage. Ooh la la! * Loving having my sister in town. So much fun to spend time with someone you like as much as a friend, but love more, because you're related.
* Wrote the words: REMEMBER, IT'S NOT PERSONAL at the top of my day planner, in preparation for tomorrow's parent-teacher conference with difficult parent A. Must survive conference without getting sucked into her negativity.
* Enjoying the handful of bright yellow tulips my mom brought buy. I love flowers, especially in winter.
* Feeling slightly, and ashamedly sore from a leisurely three mile run with my sister. Must get back into the fitness routine!
* Have started reading Oriah Mountain Dreamer's book What We Ache For, and am drinking it up.
* Making a new commitment this week to really taking care of myself, rather than beating myself up over all the things I don't get done and invariably feel overwhelmed by.
* Getting excited that this is the last week before Thanksgiving!
* Getting ready for bed, right now. I think half my problem most of the time is that I don't get enough sleep.
What did you do today? What are your plans for the week?
Two kinds of prayers
Praying
It doesnt have to be the blue iris, it could be weeds in a vacant lot, or a few small stones; just pay attention, then patch
a few words together and dont try to make them elaborate, this isnt a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which another voice may speak.
__Mary Oliver
Wringing a dry sponge, and therefore some photos
This NaBloPoMo thing is kicking my bootie. It was a totally uneventful day, and I'm still sickish so I don't have a whole lot of energy, and certainly have no ardent desire to write carefully crafted sentences. So instead I thought I'd take you on a random picture tour of yore (in other words, the only old pictures I could locate on MY hardrive. All the good ones are on DH's computer, since his hardrive is so much bigger than mine.) I'll begin by presenting you with a picture of the one and only time I've gone cross country skiing. I fell like nine-hundred times, from a near stand still.
I
Here is one of my favorite pictures of me EVER. It was my first snowy Christmas since I was oh, FOUR, and I was with DH's family in a teeny tiny cabin in the middle of the Northeast Kingdom. We went dog sledding and bought our Christmas tree lights from Ames, and made gingerbread cookies as ornaments. Definitely one of the best Christmasses ever.
This is a picture of me freezing my tail off in Quebec for New Years that same year. Look! I still have my vampire teeth from the days of yore (really, that's what the kids I taught called them. You get a thick skin when you're a teacher. Nothing like sweating profusely during a high-stakes evaluative observation and having a kid say, "Ms. C why do you have wet circles under your armpits? Anyway...) DH and I spent a few days there, drinking hot chocolate from huge bowls, ice scating at the outdoor public rink in the middle of the town square, and poking our heads into quaint little shops and restaurants. If you haven't been, Quebec is a lovely place to go. Everyone speaks French and drives very, very fast. It was also the first place I ever ate snails.
Not exactly sure of the date on this one. Way before we were engaged. Still in college maybe. Totally enamored. Can't you tell. (I know, that should be enough sappiness to last you a good long while. But just wait. I have more!)
And finally, the most cheesy, sappy, totally tacky and yet utterly sincere picture I could find of us about 5 minutes after DH proposed. We were camping. I was wearing some sort of sarong over my bathing suit (really!) Oh yes, and I had just died my hair--the one time I've ever boldly done that--RED. You like?
I do hope you've enjoyed this.
Self portrait: standing at the back door
I’ve spent the past three days doing nothing. I keep bringing my mind back to now again and again, asking of myself only to heal. My body is weak from the fever I’ve had, and as I left or right, my eyes ache from the sudden sharp movement. My body feels fragile like a porcelain doll’s.
I can tell that I’ve been pouring too much energy out lately, and have been doing nothing to fill up my inner well. I look in the mirror, and see once again, I’ve aged. I step on the scale, and though the pounds haven’t changed, the percentages have—I’ve lost muscle recently. Lost muscle, and courage too.
So I spent these past three days lying mostly still, watching the light change, folding laundry, making simple food. I don’t feel ready to go back to work yet, but at some point, today or tomorrow, I know I will. It isn’t a choice. So I try instead to imagine a different outcome. I try to envision strength and boldness and verve. I call a therapist and make an appointment. I feel heat rising up in my body as I talk to her on the phone. It is so hard to admit to needing help.
I’ve been so damn independent my whole life, and always, I was that girl who everyone else came to when they had problems. It’s hard to be in the passenger seat now, fumbling for words, for tools, for anything to give context to this new vantage point.
I stand at the backdoor watching the rain fall in dark splotches on the smooth slate threshold. The sky is the color of crushed violets and ashes. I put on my boots and go for a walk.
Fever induced nostalgia
It is amazing how a day on the couch has made me wax utterly nostalgic. I don’t think I’ve had this much time doing nothing since, oh, a really long time ago. Today I had time to trawl blogs I’d long forgotten… and found, oh gloriously, Catherine Newman’s relatively new blog! Now this woman is almost single handedly responsible for my belief that one can parent a child lovingly and firmly while still having an occasional good laugh at his expense, and for this I am eternally grateful. Catherine used to post at babycenter.com, and it was her weekly essay there that made my pregnancy bearable.
I was terrified that I was pregnant, and DH was oh, at least eighty times more terrified than I was, that I was pregnant. We were not convinced that a baby could ever grow up to be anything more than a baby—which, according to most of our friends—ruined your sex life, your sleep, and your social life, and that was pretty much it as far as perks went.
Then I started reading Newman’s essays aloud to DH over breakfast, and we started laughing, and the terror gradually started easing. This essay was our all time favorite, because I do believe Ben has finally and forever gotten to the bottom of why the Grinch is so grinchy. But back then, neither of us could really believe that anything so astute could come out out of the mouth of something that came into the world via a birth canal. We had so much to learn.
Only a slim 20 months into this whole parenting thing, it's a whole different story. Granted, Bean may not yet be making such insightful literary references, but still, he’s doing his part at keeping us entertained. (Sitting in the bath the other night he let one rip, and looked at me wide eyed in surprise. He then spent the next ten minutes trying to SEE exactly where that small eruption had come from, by first craning his neck around and trying to look behind him; and then by standing up in the bath and peering with determination between his legs.)
It seems so funny to me to remember myself there, at the kitchen table in a different state, in a different house, anxiously surfing the internet for information about what to expect from the cashew sized Bean in my belly. I didn’t know about blogs. I had no idea I’d find friends through the internet, and if you had told me that, I most certainly would have told you how utterly creepy and ridiculous and lame that sounded. Because honestly, when you put it that way, it does sound just a tad lame, doesn’t it?
But it’s not. Oh, no. It’s been so fabulous to find blogs, to find YOU. To be able to lament to other mamas about the latest perils and pains of toddlerdom, and best of all to ask, and to receive answers. My “real life" friends who know about this blog think I’m kindof ridiculous when I admit that I get most of my parenting advice from a bunch of moms I’ve never met in person—but it’s because of people like you, and people like Catherine, that I’ve stayed sane these past 20 months and also, remarkably, fallen in love with being a mom.
You’ll have to forgive me for the ramble-on quality of this post. Like I mentioned, I’m feverish, and before I put him to bed, Bean spent his entire bath trying to hold on to either one or the other of his buttocks. I know you'll understand.
Sunday List
* As I feared, by bedtime I was running a fever, and spent the night alternately hot and shivering. * Spent Sunday in bed, mostly, watching the light travel across the room, and dreaming bizzare dreams.
* Ate the best soup ever for lunch--made my DH. Just the kind of soup you long for when your sick, light, brothy, with just enough salt.
* Felt my heart expand with amazement as Bean kept coming over to me, wanting to kiss me, or just be close.
* Wrote some last minute lesson plans, and called in sick. Crap. I hate doing that. I feel so responsible for the little rascals I teach.
* You may officially declare this a useless post. Thank NaBloPoMo.
Exhausted
* My best friend showed up on Thursday, and like usual, she made me smile THIS WIDE, knowing just exactly what I mean...offering the best cup of coffee, perfectly sweetened...and waking up at a cheery 6:29am when Bean hurtled down the hall and let himself into her bedroom calling her name with glee. * Bean slept through the night last night (thank god) but I still woke up in the worst mood ever, and had to lie in bed staring at the sky changing from soft pink to blue for a very long time before I was certain I would not bite anyone's head off. I took a nap later, and it didn't help. I still felt like I was trailing myself by a good two yards until noon.
* This afternoon we hosted a get-together for a half-dozen newish friends with toddlers. We sat on the floor. People brought snacks. None of the kids cried. There was lots of chocoalte cake and beer and laughter. The floor was scattered with toys. People stayed for hours. And when they left, we were smiling, but I felt like an eighteen wheeler had run me over.
* I am now certain I'll be sick tomorrow. I'm not much of an extrovert, though I love to be with people. I need down time, re-charge time, quiet time. Anyone want to come to the mytopography house to be my stunt double for a week while I escape to Canada for somenonstop solid alone time? Life has been kicking my butt lately. Even though it's sweet, and full of moments like these:
Sleep deprived and feeling it
This is winding up to be the fourth night of inconsolable wailing at bedtime, and then again in the middle of the night. The fourth night of rocking until my but is sore, until I’ve sung every song I know, twice. The fourth night of staring blearily at the green lights on the clock at 12:30am, at 12:36am, at 12:48am, and so on until about 2:03pm. The fourth night where DH or I ends up in a compromised sleeping position with a small foot to the jaw. I’m exhausted. And totally at a loss. At first, I thought Bean was teething—and his incisors are coming in. Then I thought it was because he was sick—and he did have a fever. But then his fever went away and his teeth seem fine and he’s still a terror at night—and he’s never been like this. Usually, we have a great little routine: a bedtime story or two, a bath, a warm sippy cup of milk, and then we rock until he falls asleep which is usually about 10 minutes into the program. But for the past week he’s wailed ferociously whenever I move to put him down—stirring from what seems like a deep sleep to protest the transfer from my arms to his crib. And he’s been acting like this for everyone, not just me (for his Gran at nap times, and for DH if he’s the one to rock Bean to sleep.)
I’m not sure what to expect at this age (20 months). I know he’s become suddenly more verbal, and also more exploratory in his defiance (he climbed INTO THE FIREPLACE yesterday which resulted in his first ever time out), but somehow I haven’t quite been able to connect the dots. The fact that I’m sleep deprived hasn’t helped that any, either.
So I’m turning to you yet again, internets—what should I be expecting at this age? I'm at my wits end right now. And. Must. Get. Sleep.
What matters?
The day of Halloween was warm and clear. Sun filtered through the classroom window at an angle, falling in big rectangles of brightness across the carpet and children’s heads as they read. Later, they used orange and black construction paper to make decorations for the classroom, and exchanged small handmade gifts; like Valentines on Halloween. It was one of the few days since September, where I stopped pushing academics and just let the kids be kids. It felt good to watch them cut and paste paper bats and ghosts, to hear their childish voices rising up with laughter, and to settle down in the reading corner with a picture book while most kids were working, to read with a few kids who are usually acting out. It’s hard to do this in the classroom today, with the No Child Left Behind standards based national “accountability†push.
Earlier and earlier kids are being pushed towards the brittle analytical material that numerals and letters make, and away from the things that matter to small children—imaginative play, paint, singing, learning to be kind to one another. I hate having to make this choice each day—between what I know will nurture their souls, and what I must teach so that they can get by with facility in the world of test scores and top-down administrations.
I often ponder the purpose of public education (as a standards based approach to learning whatever is deemed necessary to learn.) Sometimes it feels so much like a very intentional training program to prepare children to become good followers as adults; to think inside the box, to play fair and square and wait their turn, to not shine any brighter than the next kid over.
Sometimes the push to teach six year olds to type, to write whole pages, to read chapter books seems foolhardy. It can be done of course. But why? Is there any research that shows concrete evidence that early mastery of these basic skills is any type of indicator for later success? I don’t know of any, and my own experience speaks to the contrary. I went to a school (Waldorf) where kindergarten and first graders were given space and time to play, to imagine, to paint big pictures, and to wonder. Where fairy tales, and treehouse building went hand in hand with learning the alphabet and how to count. I didn’t learn to read solidly until third grade. Did that stop me? Did it somehow limit my potential? I think not.
Today, after two nights with only 5 hours of sleep (Bean is either going through a bout of separation anxiety or teething—or both, but he’s been inconsolable often throughout the past two nights), I felt my patience wearing thin. I was trying to teach consonant-vowel-consonant-vowel patterns to a group of kids, while somehow, expecting the rest of the kids to be self directed—and they were not (could not be). So when I felt my patience slipping I decided to take them outside instead of getting angry (it was not their fault, they were trying, the stuff is hard to grasp.)
They burst out the door with sheer abandon. And then I watched them revert from being anxious students to care free children.
They built sand box houses for their stuffed animals; they pretended to be driving a space ship; they pumped high on the swings and squealed with pure joy. They were kids. And so often I forget how little they really are—I forget that they imagine their stuffed kittens to be real; or that a tree can become a space ship—and instead I focus on the fact that they need constant remindings to be sitting still at meetings, to be listening, to be writing neatly, to be following directions.
I want to know tonight—what was your first grade experience like? What did you learn? How do you think it affected who you are today? And how (if you elementary school age kids) is your child’s first grade experience different than yours was?
NaBloPoMo
Because I cannot NOT take the bate, and because my stubborn mind-over-matter brain has managed white-out the very important fact that I have thismuch extra time in the day, I have decided to participate in NaBloPoMo ’06. Apparently, I like the idea of having my ass kicked. That, or some terribly pathetic part of my writer’s soul hopes that this will be the needed discipline I need to produce a manuscript for an MFA program by the end of the month.
Either way, I’ll be showing up at the page every day slightly more regularly than I have been; even if it is only to post the indistinguishable string of consonants and vowels is the direct result of pressing one’s forehead into the keyboard in despair.
Advice, please
So, here's something about me: I'm shy on first meeting. No one believes me when I tell them that, but it's painfully true. After the first introductions, I'm great. Anyway, why you needed because: down the road a short distance live two teenage girls who I occasionally wave to as we drive past each other, or once in a while, pass running. They look like very nice girls--and definitely potential babysitters. And we NEED a babysitter. Like yesterday. Also, I've talked to their parents once or twice already (and mentioned that we'd love to have their daughters babysit--but nothing came of that casual suggestion.) So here's my question--how should I go about approaching them about babysitting? Call? Stop by? When?
And also--what is the going rate for high school age babysitters? How late can you ask one to babysit? And in general, please provide any other babysitter tips you may have, oh Internets, I implore you.
A Sunday list
... French toast with local syrup ...Freezing rain & sleet
....The power is back on (yesterday it was out nearly all day--a tree down at the end of the road)
...Reading Vanity Fair cover to cover
... Re-reading the underlined parts in favorite books
... Writing lesson plans for the week
.... Hibernating
What are you doing today?