Advice, please

Birthday party goodie bags. Yea or nay? Bean is turning 4, and aside from the fact that I am utterly dumbfounded by this fact, we have actually pulled off inviting a few friends to come play with him at our local lake aquarium for an afternoon. On Valentines day, because his real birthday is on Monday.

So anyway, we invited 5 friends and all five have said they're coming, but they've also not formally called and RSVPd. Additionally several have bigger or littler siblings who may or may not be coming. If it weren't for the siblings and the iffy RSVPs I'd be okay with doing goodie bags... but with the current situation I'm not sure what to do.

I miss the days of good old fashioned parties where kids came, played, at cake, and the birthday boy opened presents, said thank you, and everyone went home. Can I re-institute this, or would that be completely uncool.

I so need your help, Internets.

Unscheduled time

In the back yard animal tracks zig-zag the snow like hieroglyphs spelling secret messages of those that came before. The air is bitter cold. The windchill much below zero. But the light is perfect and golden against the snow; the shadows purple and long, making zebra stripes of light and dark at the edge of the woods. The light makes all the difference. Even from indoors, the light makes things golden and dappled and suffuse with goodness. On the picture windowsill indoors I'm keeping orchids. On the counter in the kitchen cyclamen. They glow. Hot pinks, decadent and delicate. They make me smile.

All week things have been making me smile. Making a mobile for above the baby's bed; walnuts and honey on toast; a new notebook for February; bringing a carrot cupcake to Bean when I pick him up from school; actually finishing a book.

Like unpacking summer clothes, I've been unpacking myself from the strange cramped quarters of stress that had taken over my days. I have a sense of humor, patience, and the ability to remember things. All this is remarkable, really, since before this week I felt like a deranged robot, going through the motions of every day, always on the verge of tears, exhausted beyond the point of... anything.

For the first time in years, I'm kind of in the mood for Valentines day. Maybe I'm just looking for a reason to celebrate.

Yippee

Done with work. Done. Soo happy.

Last night, beautiful dark snow squalls. Leaving work, it looked like a rainbow rinsed of color in the sky above the door. An arch of gray and white, the first fat flakes hitting my tear stained cheeks.

This morning, blue skies, blue jays plump against the cold in the lilac tree by the feeder, golden light on the bar branches.

Eating Irish oatmeal, cream and strawberries & making lists in this notebook.

Numbers

Yesterday was my birthday. I am 31. This terrifies me somewhat. Friday is the end of my work week--and the beginning of my leave. This excites me. Next Tuesday I'll be 37 weeks. Full term. Not sure what to think about this. I am on auto-pilot until then. Wishing I could just hit fast forward. Photo by M. Brott.

This love

Bean is sick. Since starting preschool it's been a nonstop barrage of sick all winter--for him, for me, for everyone in our family. It makes my heart ache whenever he's sick. I want to just wrap him up, snug him into a pocket like a kangaroo; keep him close. Right now he's next to me on the couch breathing faster than usual, eyelids heavy. My little boy. ***

On the way home he looked out the window at a passing church. "Who lives in that castle?" he asked.

"That's not a castle," I replied, "It's a church."

"What do they do there?" he asks, earnestly, his question empty of irony.

How do you answer this to a four year old who hasn't gone to church? It's not that I don't want to bring him--it's that I haven't found a place that feels right, that feels free and expansive and generous and un-dogmatic.

I grew up with so much faith in my house--my father was a minister in fact, in a small esoteric church whose brand of Christianity was at once both utterly progressive and utterly archaic. Religion saturated everything my family did in some way: from church on Sunday among a forest of adult knees and elbows; to the way we celebrated holidays, or said grace over meals, or prayers before bed.

On one hand this certain web of faith held me, buoyed me up, carried me through childhood with a certain cyclical rhythm that was satisfying and uncomplicated. On the other, it made me feel like a pushpin stuck into a map. You are here, this is the way--the right way--possibly the only way. Rigid, certain, definite.

As an adult, it didn't quite fit--nor did anything else. I feel closest to God in the middle of nature; when the sky is the color of melon and ice and opal; when the grass is wet with dew; when, sitting very still, I am witness to wild animals speaking to each other or shooting stars falling.

"They talk to God," I answer.

Bean is quiet for a moment. Then he says, "Do they see God there?"

"No," I say. But then I change my mind. "Maybe they do."

Who am I to say? Who is anyone? As Rumi says, 'There are a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the earth."

Bean nods. "God is in all of the churches."

Now it is my turn to nod. "You're right," I say.

"But I can't figure out if God is a he or a she," he says almost as a question. Then after a moment. "I think its a she."

I exhale. On the telephone wires above a faded red barn, pigeons, silhouettes against the paling sky. "I think you're probably right," I say.

*** We listen to Feist, side by side in a pale circle of light. His fever climbs. He falls asleep. All I want is to stay home with him tomorrow, to hold him close. He is fitful. Wakes. Turns to me, eyes glassy, lashes long. "I love you," he whispers.

This is the part you can't even begin to convey to someone who isn't a parent. This, this breathless wonder, this enormous love.

35 Weeks

I am enormous. Every time I bend over the baby resists with a sharp kick. I can feel the outline of his little feet, his rump, his determined knees. Because real estate in my belly is at a premium, he's taken up residence under my ribs. My groin ligaments feel like spaghetti. It seems beyond improbable that I have five more weeks. In theory. I have this gut feeling (no pun intended) that he'll be a couple of weeks early, like his big brother.

In the meantime everything feels like it's been taking place in slow motion. Everything takes effort: putting on winter boots, painting my toes (yes, I still can), vacuuming. Mostly I am counting the days--9 to be exact--until I am done with work. I am eager to be on leave. Eager to be home, nesting, puttering, blogging regularly. I know I've been a terrible blogger. I miss it, but I feel like I'm on energy saver mode, trying to get through these last couple of weeks at work where twenty-two kiddos are trying to devour me daily.

I need distraction. What are some new blogs you've been reading? Or some favorites (not already listed on my sidebar.)

Morning light.

Wondering:

Why are people compelled to say things like: "You had better enjoy the last few weeks with just one, because two is not the same. It's so much harder."

Looking.

Happy New Year...

I started the year off with a bang: in the hospital for a fluid drip after getting severely dehydrated from the most intense food poisoning/vomit/unmentionable sickness EVER. It struck in the middle of the night, after a demure and pleasant dinner out with friends. Way to start the year off with a bang, no?

Small good things:: Part 1

Small good things, right now, this morning as I'm eating toast & jam with damp hair and bare feet a the center island:

* Watching the chickadees dip and dive to the bird feeders out the dining room window.

* The heat of the wood stove and bare feet.

* My skin smelling like yummy new ginger sugar scrub.

* My Ruby Loves necklace--a gift from DH.

* New Years plans with only adults.

* Crisp green granny smith apples.

* A plan to go shopping this morning--by myself.

Our holiday in photos

I keep wishing that my thoughts could somehow be automatically transcribed here so that I could record all the good and delicious moments that have happened over the past couple of days. I am hoping a handful of photos will serve for the thousands of words that I could write, were I to be inclined (but am not.) Firstly, here is the Advent Box I made for Bean this year. Remember the one I made last year? This one was significantly smaller and at his height--so that he developed the ridiculously adorable routine of waking up and running downstairs first thing (dragging his blanket no less) to find out what the Advent Fairy brought. I made a note with a tiny little envelope and a vintage stamp for every day that came along with a small gift or treasure. Some major hits were: a Chinese Yo Yo, a small wind-up bulldozer, heart shaped post-it notes, a single large sugar-coated gummy candy, a music box that played The Pink Panther theme song, and a sparkly yellow pen with a little fluffy duck at the top.

Next, I achieved the unimaginable this year--and baked, from scratch, an entire gingerbread train--something Bean saw in a magazine and swooned over. All three of us decorated it together in the kitchen, getting frosting on our fingers. DH and I kept harping on Bean about eating the icing--but then we looked at each other and realized, who are we kidding? It's Christmas and the kid is decorating a freaking gingerbread train. He's going to eat the icing. DH made the heart out of candy canes on the caboose.

Bean got sick a few days before Christmas. Woke up with a blazing fever, and spent the day on the couch feeling rather miserable. Still, we did end up going out and cutting down a tree, and decorating it made his entire day. The way he oohed and squealed as he unwrapped each ornament made it almost as fun as Christmas morning. Then he quite artistically clumped all the ornaments together in arrangements of twos and threes on the lower portions of the tree.

Christmas morning Bean woke up later than usual. We were expecting not-even-light-out early, but he slept until about 7:30 and then came into our room (dragging his blanket again) for a snuggle before sitting straight up and asking, "Did Santa come?" We made him sit at the top of the stairs while we went down & turned on the tree lights. When he came downstairs, the look on his face was wide-eyed. I think it's the first year he's actually really gotten the idea of Christmas. We let him open his stocking while we went about preparing coffee and fruit salad and dried cherry scones to tide us over during the real business of unwrapping once the grandparents arrived. (Note his awesome pink bunny slippers--as per his specific request.)

By afternoon, we snacked on imported dried salami, fresh mozzarella, and aged vinegar and lounged. Bean was more than content to spend hours with his new remote control fire truck, which was his number one request from Santa.

I was also more than content to play with my goodies. DH was beyond generous and lovely this year, and spoiled me rotten. Soo many fun goodies, including a little Olympus Stylus 1030SW so that I can have a camera with me at all times. Not even close to replacing my beloved Cannon EOS20D, but fantastic to slip into my pocket and take along on trips downtown, or to document impromptu sledding adventure.

All in all, it's been such a good couple of days--and I'm off for several more, which thrills me to no end. I am nesting. Washing baby clothes and setting up the crib.

How was your holiday? What are five things that you loved?

Right Click

Trying to figure out how to use my new MacBook Air. Everything about it is so pretty I cried when I got it. It's as thin as a piece of toast; fits in my purse. Love it. Still--I have yet to figure out what to do instead of right-clicking on everything. I had no idea how much I relied on that feature. Mac lovers out there, help, please. :)

More to come, once I figure that out.

Here

I am here. Loving the snow, and the snug feeling of being curled with the cat on the couch. I've slipped away: to write, to decorate Christmas cookies, snuggle a feverish Bean, make Christmas cards, and do last minute shopping. A real post is in the making.

Getting back in the groove

Happy that the snow is falling. Hanging garlands and Christmas lights. Planning to make a gingerbread train with Bean. Writing. Making photo albums.

Feeling more like myself than I have in months.

*** What are you doing? I've missed you.

Big questions, small boy

Will the sun burn out?What about when we die, will it burn out then? Will our truck and our house still be here when we die? Is Rudolf real? Is there someone inside the computer that makes it do what you want it to do? How did the baby get inside your tummy?

*** Anyone have any ideas how to answer the last one in particular? I told him I'd get back to him tomorrow...

Thanksgiving

Thank you all for being here and listening and filling my days with little shreds of wonder and kindness and encouragement.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Blue

What would really like to know...(and perhaps too much information.)

Does going to the doctor actually makes you better? I mean this in the most innocent, unsarcastic way.

See the thing is I grew up with homeopathy and have, as an adult, veered towards for the most part. I like the route of least intervention. I like the idea of treating the whole person, rather than just a specific set of symptoms. I like the idea that your body can develop it's on strong defenses to most ailments. And in general, I've experienced that it can...

And I've also experienced some rather negative encounters with traditional doctors who mostly seem to be prescription writers for antibiotics... (again, this is just my experience.) I've discovered from these encounters that a) I get righteous and horrific yeast infections the minute I take any kind of antibiotic and that b) the doctor's solution is to then prescribe Diflucan which I am apparently violently allergic to (last time my lips burst out into blisters within hours of taking it and my chin and cheeks went numb.)

Not to mention, when I fell pregnant I thought I had a virus picked up in Spain so I went to my GP who told me she thought I had IBS. (Ick. Look that one up.) I sort of rolled my eyes and cocked my head and said, "any chance I could be pregnant?" to which she declared with much bravado, "Absolutely not."

So you see why I'm a skeptic?

But now, well, I'm in a bit of a predicament.

I feel like my natural immune defense is not winning anymore against the tide of germs coming my way from school--twenty odd kids with germy hands and Strep and Pneumonia and everything else they've been passing around...plus whatever Bean has been bringing back from preschool (which has resulted in his first ever double ear infection.) I've kind of reached my limit in fact. I've been sick to varying degrees since September. And before that I had morning sickness... so basically I've been affected by some form of malaise for the past 6 months and it's kindof affecting my will to do anything other than bury my head under several pillows and sob.

So I want to know: what do doctors actually do these days--other than prescribe antibiotics? Is there anything they can actually do to help me that will help as much as my mom stopping by to rub my feet and feeding me chicken soup?

Do you 'believe' in your doctor?

Orbit

Tonight my orbit is the cat's purr; my finger's contact with the ENTER key, the space bar, alphabet twirling.

Tonight my orbit is my sick son, now asleep, before in tears simply because the day was too much.

Tonight my orbit is the roundness of my belly where kicks disrupt my thoughts, where space is at a premium now, and over which I pull new woolly sweaters.

Tonight my orbit is the circling of my thoughts, dogging each other, nose to tail; feeling like gradually I've lost touch with my creative self, allowed myself to sink deep into a dreamy no-mans land of day to day.

Tonight my orbit is the scattered disks thoughts about tomorrows plans; a thirst for fresh water, an eagerness for bed and a longing to feel right now, the warmth of my husband's skin.