1. My days must contain fewer hours than the days of some other people.
2. Our babysitter thinks all we ever eat is mac and cheese.
3. My sewing machine is secretly trying to commit suicide by getting me to kill it (you know, like on the cop shows when the bank robber won't put his gun down and makes the officers shoot him because he just doesn't believe he has any other choice).
4. There are at least four different ways in which I cannot afford to continue with this back-to-school idea.
5. The Universe is relieved I am finally picking up its messages.
Showing posts with label me me me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label me me me. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Nothing ventured, nothing gained; Or, heaping high the plate and hoping for the best
NaNoWriMo 2011 starts in just over 12 days. While it is true I completely flamed out in 2010 and never wrote beyond week two (I blame the moving), and it is also true that my participation in Camp NaNoWriMo this past August was largely an imaginary endeavor, the third truth is that I for sure will not write anything if I don't sign up at all. At this point I would rather take the hit to my pride and admit I didn't finish my 50,000 words than not attempt it at all.
So, put the coffee on and warm up the laptop. I'll be doing NaNoWriMo again this year.
(And put some beer in the fridge, too, okay?)
Thursday, September 29, 2011
The trouble with the buffet
I talked with my mom on the phone this morning, trying to sort through the difficult choices and dilemmas that life has been sending my way lately, and she said that maybe the Universe is sending me a buffet of choices so that I can better understand what I really like to do.
I can see the wisdom in this. But I still kind of wish I had a continental breakfast menu and was choosing between the bagel and the sweet roll.
Of course, sometimes a buffet is not as broad a choice as it seems. A seafood buffet, for example, would still probably only be offering me two choices that I would be interested in. Or, you know, sometimes you look at the buffet and wonder how long that food has been sitting there.
Don't you love how the further you extend the metaphor, the more ridiculous it becomes?
I remember when Cora was around three years old and, faced with two choices and wanting neither, she would cry, "These are NOT my options!"
I can see the wisdom in this. But I still kind of wish I had a continental breakfast menu and was choosing between the bagel and the sweet roll.
Of course, sometimes a buffet is not as broad a choice as it seems. A seafood buffet, for example, would still probably only be offering me two choices that I would be interested in. Or, you know, sometimes you look at the buffet and wonder how long that food has been sitting there.
Don't you love how the further you extend the metaphor, the more ridiculous it becomes?
I remember when Cora was around three years old and, faced with two choices and wanting neither, she would cry, "These are NOT my options!"
Monday, September 19, 2011
Possibly both waving and drowning
When things get very busy, I start to feel a little panicky. A little like the walls are closing in and all my chances to do anything important to me are fast vanishing.
Maybe it's the two part-time jobs, the part-time going to school, the full-time mothering and wife-ing and general holding-the-homestead-togethering, combined with having a kid who is in school full time for the first time in her life.
She comes home and she wants to spend time with us. She has an agenda for us, an imaginary play game that she cares very much about playing. After being on my feet for a full day of work, then taking care of emails and work for online clients, bolting down a dinner, I do still want to have the energy to be Ms. Flower the art teacher for a 20 minute bout of coloring.
But I also want to take a nap. To lie down and stare at the ceiling. To read a grown up book. To knit for a little or do some sewing or maybe even catch my mental breath enough to try to write something worthwhile.
Maybe it's the two part-time jobs, the part-time going to school, the full-time mothering and wife-ing and general holding-the-homestead-togethering, combined with having a kid who is in school full time for the first time in her life.
She comes home and she wants to spend time with us. She has an agenda for us, an imaginary play game that she cares very much about playing. After being on my feet for a full day of work, then taking care of emails and work for online clients, bolting down a dinner, I do still want to have the energy to be Ms. Flower the art teacher for a 20 minute bout of coloring.
But I also want to take a nap. To lie down and stare at the ceiling. To read a grown up book. To knit for a little or do some sewing or maybe even catch my mental breath enough to try to write something worthwhile.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Fish Quilt (finally)
Saturday, April 2, 2011
2011: taking stock of the first quarter
I made some resolutions in January. I made them in keeping with my philosophy that this works best when I resolve to do things I really want to, but need a little extra motivation to do. Here's my new twist: reviewing my progress once a quarter. So, here we go.
Dye sock yarn with Kool-aid and knit socks: I've gathered all the supplies, but the time to do this has been hard to come by. I no longer have any long days without a smallhamperer helper. This means I have to plan well for a day when nothing else really needs to be accomplished in the four hours I have in the morning.
One new recipe a week: At least 17 new recipes already made this year. I think it has actually been more, but I've been lax about writing them down. A lot of these have been curries, some breads, and things found on the internet.
Write more. Publish more: I have been writing more, but prose. I've been publishing short pieces on food and cooking online at Simple, Good, and Tasty. I've been sending poems out to magazines and competitions. I've written a couple poems, but not quite enough to be happy with.
Make and send birthday cards: A near total fail. I used to be very good at remembering to send cards to family and friends and I enjoyed doing it. But in the last four years I have had a hard time remembering - or, more accurately, remembering at the right time.
Read more: My goal for 2011 is 60 books, which is a fairly modest goal for me, but I am still losing ground. I find that when my emotions dip, so does my desire to read. I've read eight books this year. (Though, to be honest, I have read a ton of picture books, cover-to-cover browsed several cookbooks and knitting books, and read a lot of magazines...but, the goal is about books.)
Make a quilt, start to finish: Because I have not made a quilt in about five years. In the past three months I have finished a top, a smallish top for a wallhanging, but I think I am going to count it. Next up is to piece together some batting for it.
Finish four unfinished projects, one per season: In February I took an abandoned stub of a knit scarf and turned it into an earwarmer/headband for Cora. It turned out pretty well, and she was thrilled.
Whew. OK. On with the second quarter.
Dye sock yarn with Kool-aid and knit socks: I've gathered all the supplies, but the time to do this has been hard to come by. I no longer have any long days without a small
One new recipe a week: At least 17 new recipes already made this year. I think it has actually been more, but I've been lax about writing them down. A lot of these have been curries, some breads, and things found on the internet.
Write more. Publish more: I have been writing more, but prose. I've been publishing short pieces on food and cooking online at Simple, Good, and Tasty. I've been sending poems out to magazines and competitions. I've written a couple poems, but not quite enough to be happy with.
Make and send birthday cards: A near total fail. I used to be very good at remembering to send cards to family and friends and I enjoyed doing it. But in the last four years I have had a hard time remembering - or, more accurately, remembering at the right time.
Read more: My goal for 2011 is 60 books, which is a fairly modest goal for me, but I am still losing ground. I find that when my emotions dip, so does my desire to read. I've read eight books this year. (Though, to be honest, I have read a ton of picture books, cover-to-cover browsed several cookbooks and knitting books, and read a lot of magazines...but, the goal is about books.)
Make a quilt, start to finish: Because I have not made a quilt in about five years. In the past three months I have finished a top, a smallish top for a wallhanging, but I think I am going to count it. Next up is to piece together some batting for it.
Finish four unfinished projects, one per season: In February I took an abandoned stub of a knit scarf and turned it into an earwarmer/headband for Cora. It turned out pretty well, and she was thrilled.
Whew. OK. On with the second quarter.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Looking for strength
Thursday, as Cora and I walked from the garage to the house, she said to me, "You know, Mommy, just because a person doesn't do karate doesn't mean that person isn't strong."
Inside the house she showed me the karate moves she learned at school. Clearly, someone at school is taking karate and there has been much discussion and debate about these lessons. Cora is still more interested in getting into gymnastics lessons and swimming lessons, which also require you to be strong and to practice, but it has been interesting over the last couple days to see this fascination with martial arts.
A few days ago she wore all pink to school - pink leggings, pink socks, pink shoes, pink long-sleeved shirt - and declared herself the Pink Ninja. We talked about her cousins and aunt and uncle who all take tae kwon do. We talked about how her uncle is getting close to being a black belt, and how it takes a lot of work and practice to be really good at something. I suspect there is no pink belt, but don't tell Cora. Last night we all watched Kung Fu Panda for family movie night. She asked me to search for ninja videos on YouTube this morning, and we found some pretty amazing stuff. We emailed her favorite one to her uncle.
And then Cora wanted me to take her picture doing her best ninja move.
We talk about the ways you can be strong - in your muscles, in your heart, in your brain. She consistently blows me away with the strength of her will and her emotions. And with how she already knows that it can be hard to be strong, to have strength, fortitude, endurance, tenacity. It strikes me that those are all words that also take some time to say. Even though "strength" is a single syllable, it moves your mouth around.
Yesterday on the phone a friend mentioned that she has always envied my strength, my ability to deal with the challenges of the past couple years, and that she has found it useful to see how I do that. But she also said that seeing me at times when the challenges nearly overwhelmed me has been useful, too, to see how strength can be overwhelmed and how it can rally.
I found this comforting and surprising. I have not felt particularly strong of late. I have not felt particularly adept at dealing with challenges. I have been slow to rally on many fronts. But, when I think about it, I can see where my strength has gone to, which fronts it has been fighting on, and that it is still there, after all. Just not where I am used to seeing it. And here is something a good friend can do for you: remind you of who you are, even when it might look a little different.
I don't take karate, but I am still strong.
Inside the house she showed me the karate moves she learned at school. Clearly, someone at school is taking karate and there has been much discussion and debate about these lessons. Cora is still more interested in getting into gymnastics lessons and swimming lessons, which also require you to be strong and to practice, but it has been interesting over the last couple days to see this fascination with martial arts.
A few days ago she wore all pink to school - pink leggings, pink socks, pink shoes, pink long-sleeved shirt - and declared herself the Pink Ninja. We talked about her cousins and aunt and uncle who all take tae kwon do. We talked about how her uncle is getting close to being a black belt, and how it takes a lot of work and practice to be really good at something. I suspect there is no pink belt, but don't tell Cora. Last night we all watched Kung Fu Panda for family movie night. She asked me to search for ninja videos on YouTube this morning, and we found some pretty amazing stuff. We emailed her favorite one to her uncle.
And then Cora wanted me to take her picture doing her best ninja move.
 |
| The pink ninja strikes with a smile. |
We talk about the ways you can be strong - in your muscles, in your heart, in your brain. She consistently blows me away with the strength of her will and her emotions. And with how she already knows that it can be hard to be strong, to have strength, fortitude, endurance, tenacity. It strikes me that those are all words that also take some time to say. Even though "strength" is a single syllable, it moves your mouth around.
Yesterday on the phone a friend mentioned that she has always envied my strength, my ability to deal with the challenges of the past couple years, and that she has found it useful to see how I do that. But she also said that seeing me at times when the challenges nearly overwhelmed me has been useful, too, to see how strength can be overwhelmed and how it can rally.
I found this comforting and surprising. I have not felt particularly strong of late. I have not felt particularly adept at dealing with challenges. I have been slow to rally on many fronts. But, when I think about it, I can see where my strength has gone to, which fronts it has been fighting on, and that it is still there, after all. Just not where I am used to seeing it. And here is something a good friend can do for you: remind you of who you are, even when it might look a little different.
I don't take karate, but I am still strong.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Imagination to Real Object
I find that when I have frustration and turmoil in one part of my life, I most often compensate for that by making things: cooking, baking, sewing, knitting, etc. It is a good time for Cora to decide her dollies need a throne, because I will find a way to make one. It is a good time for Bon Appetit to declare they have the best-ever brownie recipe, because I will try it out. It is a good time for mutter paneer cravings!
Last weekend, I made progress on a couple sewing projects, and some knitting ones, and even some writing ones. But one in particular was special. I have a little muslin, drawstring project bag for knitting that I really like. But I tend to work on more than one project at a time, and I kept thinking maybe I should buy another one. Then I decided that was ridiculous, because I have muslin. Surely I could make something myself?
So, then I thought about how it would look if the lining were rolled down over the outside muslin, for extra color and to set off the ribbon. And what if the bottom of the bag was the lining fabric?
And then I made the bag. The process wasn't perfect and one corner is a little goofy, but I love my project bag. I love that I figured out how to make it. I love the way it came together, from thinking about buying something, to making my own, better version. I love that I had the time available and that most of the materials were ones I've had for years, just waiting for the right project. Very satisfying!
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| Red onion and friends - ready for curry! |
I tend not to examine this too closely. I know it has something to do with control and satisfaction and compartmentalization. It works for me. So, I have been in a frenzy of making for about a month now, you may have noticed.
 |
| Another dog. |
Last weekend, I made progress on a couple sewing projects, and some knitting ones, and even some writing ones. But one in particular was special. I have a little muslin, drawstring project bag for knitting that I really like. But I tend to work on more than one project at a time, and I kept thinking maybe I should buy another one. Then I decided that was ridiculous, because I have muslin. Surely I could make something myself?
 |
| Hat from Noro Silk Garden yarn - love it! |
And then I started thinking about how plain muslin is, and what could I do to enliven it? I remembered this beautiful poppy ribbon I bought, oh, maybe eight years ago, and never could bear to use. So I went upstairs and found the ribbon and the muslin and sketched out a pattern. Then I thought it could use a lining. I looked over at the bins of fabric, and there was a fabric, pressed up against the side of the bin, just the perfect fabric!
 |
| Once again neglected to take process photos - having too much fun to go downstairs for the camera. |
 |
| The colors are not a perfect match, but I like that. |
 |
| Noro sock yarn in the bag - but I've ended up using size 0 dpns instead of the single circular. Socks take me a long time. More on that later. |
Saturday, February 5, 2011
A good afternoon
This afternoon I
It felt good to make so much, and for it all to go so well. While I sewing in my little nook, Cora played with her dollhouse and watched some NickJr shows, and Chris made pizza for dinner. I'm looking forward to finishing the stuffy tomorrow, and posting a picture, and to hunting through my bins to find a backing for the quilt. It is wallhanging size, so I believe I also already have batting.
A very good afternoon, indeed!
- finished putting a quilt top together,
- made binding for the quilt,
- made a cover for a pillow form I bought three months ago, and
- started a new stuffy for Cora, one she has been requesting for two weeks.
It felt good to make so much, and for it all to go so well. While I sewing in my little nook, Cora played with her dollhouse and watched some NickJr shows, and Chris made pizza for dinner. I'm looking forward to finishing the stuffy tomorrow, and posting a picture, and to hunting through my bins to find a backing for the quilt. It is wallhanging size, so I believe I also already have batting.
A very good afternoon, indeed!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Oh. Hi. Um....
My mom pointed out to me recently that it has been over a month since my last update. But I can explain! (Not that I need to...)
We had a very nice Christmas season (as Cora likes to say, as in, "is it still the Christmas season?"). Chris was home for three weeks, and after a "storm and form" first week we settled back into something like our old routine. I know the old routine will never really come back - but I would like parts of it to revive themselves once we are all together all the time again. Because of the weather - a Christmas Eve blizzard makes for a pretty winter scene, but can also disrupt plans - we ended up staying home Christmas Eve (which also explains why we don't actually have photos of Cora in her Christmas dress and Swedish braids - perhaps a dramatic recreation will be staged at some point), and basically holing up for three days. I loved it.
The day after Christmas, of course, I worried that it would be a big letdown for Cora that there were no more presents to unwrap. But, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that the Advent calendar was done. No more doors to open. No more morsels of chocolate. No more little verses about woodland creatures decorating a tree. She asked after that calendar until New Year's. Something to anticipate next year.
New Year's came and went. I found that this year I am feeling incredibly resistant to the idea of evaluating the last year, let alone the last decade. Likewise, I've had very little interest in contemplating the new year or the new decade. Things feel stagnant to me, with less than satisfactory times behind and before me. 2009 had its bright spots, but the last few months have, over all, just been really freaking hard. And, let's face it, there's more of the same for the next five months.
Still, the drive to resolve something at the beginning of a new year is strong. So, here's the one resolution I am prepared to make: To spend more time with friends this year. I feel like over the course of the last few months I'm moved to the margins of some of my friendship circles. A lot of this has to do with my need to hunker down and figure out how to be a solo parent, to make a routine and reinforce it so we don't completely drown in chaos. There are a lot of things that I have, in the past, depended on for my sanity and equilibrium, and I don't have time for those things now. So I had better make time for friends.
OK. Next time, photos.
We had a very nice Christmas season (as Cora likes to say, as in, "is it still the Christmas season?"). Chris was home for three weeks, and after a "storm and form" first week we settled back into something like our old routine. I know the old routine will never really come back - but I would like parts of it to revive themselves once we are all together all the time again. Because of the weather - a Christmas Eve blizzard makes for a pretty winter scene, but can also disrupt plans - we ended up staying home Christmas Eve (which also explains why we don't actually have photos of Cora in her Christmas dress and Swedish braids - perhaps a dramatic recreation will be staged at some point), and basically holing up for three days. I loved it.
The day after Christmas, of course, I worried that it would be a big letdown for Cora that there were no more presents to unwrap. But, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that the Advent calendar was done. No more doors to open. No more morsels of chocolate. No more little verses about woodland creatures decorating a tree. She asked after that calendar until New Year's. Something to anticipate next year.
New Year's came and went. I found that this year I am feeling incredibly resistant to the idea of evaluating the last year, let alone the last decade. Likewise, I've had very little interest in contemplating the new year or the new decade. Things feel stagnant to me, with less than satisfactory times behind and before me. 2009 had its bright spots, but the last few months have, over all, just been really freaking hard. And, let's face it, there's more of the same for the next five months.
Still, the drive to resolve something at the beginning of a new year is strong. So, here's the one resolution I am prepared to make: To spend more time with friends this year. I feel like over the course of the last few months I'm moved to the margins of some of my friendship circles. A lot of this has to do with my need to hunker down and figure out how to be a solo parent, to make a routine and reinforce it so we don't completely drown in chaos. There are a lot of things that I have, in the past, depended on for my sanity and equilibrium, and I don't have time for those things now. So I had better make time for friends.
OK. Next time, photos.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Still alive
Sometimes I have something to write about. And then I think, "I could just call my mom and talk to her about it." And then that is what I usually end up doing.
Or I think, "Maybe I should hold that thought until I can get the photos downloaded from the camera." Which inevitably leads to the realization that the camera needs new batteries and/or that I don't have time to go upstairs and wrestle with the camera.
Or I think, "Maybe I should keep that to myself."
At the same time, I'm not ready to close up shop here. Just suffering from a paucity of time, material, and motivation. Luckily, the semester is wrapping up in the next couple of weeks. It has been a hard one, as one class developed a really unpleasant collective personality (and the work habits to match), and so teaching has not been the energizing experience it usually is and has instead been a serious drag on my resources. I'm hoping for better this spring. I haven't had the time for making things as a way to recharge, and ditto for cooking. Ditto for most reading. If the semester weren't coming to a close, and we weren't so close to having Chris home for a good long stretch, I would really be worried. As it is, I am riding it out as best I can.
Which is all a very long way of saying...maybe there will be photos in a week or two!
Or I think, "Maybe I should hold that thought until I can get the photos downloaded from the camera." Which inevitably leads to the realization that the camera needs new batteries and/or that I don't have time to go upstairs and wrestle with the camera.
Or I think, "Maybe I should keep that to myself."
At the same time, I'm not ready to close up shop here. Just suffering from a paucity of time, material, and motivation. Luckily, the semester is wrapping up in the next couple of weeks. It has been a hard one, as one class developed a really unpleasant collective personality (and the work habits to match), and so teaching has not been the energizing experience it usually is and has instead been a serious drag on my resources. I'm hoping for better this spring. I haven't had the time for making things as a way to recharge, and ditto for cooking. Ditto for most reading. If the semester weren't coming to a close, and we weren't so close to having Chris home for a good long stretch, I would really be worried. As it is, I am riding it out as best I can.
Which is all a very long way of saying...maybe there will be photos in a week or two!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Struggling with vocabulary
I don't know what to call what we are doing. What is it when you're still married, but one of you lives and works elsewhere, and not in the military?
What term do I Google when I am wondering if we are doing this right, with the least damage to our lives, our marriage, and our daughter?
How do I find the blogs by other solo-mommies in the same spot? (Or, good lord, are we the only ones doing this? Surely not.)
I consider myself a pretty skilled and creative searcher and I'm not coming up with anything. I'm used to being able to reach out through the keyboard and find some semblance of advice, community, and knowledge, whether it is about bring pregnant, dealing with knitting problems, figuring out what to do with a bunch of fresh hon tsai tai in the CSA box, potty-training a toddler, surveying what grade percentage other professors assign to participation in freshmen English classes, or researching cities we might have ended up living in.
So it is a new and frustrating thing to be stumped. Another new and frustrating thing.
What term do I Google when I am wondering if we are doing this right, with the least damage to our lives, our marriage, and our daughter?
How do I find the blogs by other solo-mommies in the same spot? (Or, good lord, are we the only ones doing this? Surely not.)
I consider myself a pretty skilled and creative searcher and I'm not coming up with anything. I'm used to being able to reach out through the keyboard and find some semblance of advice, community, and knowledge, whether it is about bring pregnant, dealing with knitting problems, figuring out what to do with a bunch of fresh hon tsai tai in the CSA box, potty-training a toddler, surveying what grade percentage other professors assign to participation in freshmen English classes, or researching cities we might have ended up living in.
So it is a new and frustrating thing to be stumped. Another new and frustrating thing.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Being happy
Oh come on, what more can I really say about Mother's Day that isn't being said, photographed, or blogged by hundreds of other people?!
I suppose not too many can also be saying Happy Birthday to their moms! There have been times in the past when it has seemed a kind of cheat for my mom to have to have her birthday on Mother's Day every couple of years. But more often, it just seems right that the two should coincide.
On the one hand I want to say that this is because she was so clearly born to be a mother - so gifted with love and patience and empathy and creativity. But on the other hand I have a feeling that, had the chips of life fallen elsewise, she was also born to have become any number of other things. My mother would also be (has also been - the vocation of motherhood encompassing so many other careers) a wonderful teacher. A compassionate doctor. A thoughtful mentor. A passionate artist. A dazzling cook and pastry chef (oh those castle cakes! That Easter bonnet cake! all the other crazy cakes she let her children choose out of her book!).
More than anything else I have to say that my own experience of motherhood has impressed upon me the wonder of PARADOX. Mainly in the sense that something could simultaneously circumscribe and enlarge your life. I don't think I am (any longer) breaking any codes of sisterhood to say that - I know for a long time it was all about just talking about the enlargements and not the limits. But they coexist, often in the very same moments, and in the best of circumstances one is more than warranted by the other. At least, I find it to be so, which bowls me over because I didn't expect it to be the case.
So, this was my day today. I woke to find Chris had gone to get us donuts for breakfast; we all had donuts and homemade lattes (yes, even Cora). A couple gifts: an ABBA CD from Cora (clearly she has ulterior dance party motives) and a Marie Curie biography from Chris (she is still my hero, 30+ years after I first learned about her life). We went to church and then out to breakfast where Cora refused to eat anything except grapes (frustrating) and shouted hello at everyone that walked past (mostly endearing). Then home to naps. I fell asleep almost immediately - woken up here and there by Cora's interactions with her dad (reading books...refusing a diaper change...alerting him to her "friend" in the room - a wasp...more talk about the wasp as he trapped it...screaming for a diaper change...and finally falling asleep). Later in the afternoon Cora and I watched ballet videos on YouTube (American Ballet Theater's Swan Lake, Paris Opera Ballet's Sleeping Beauty), I tried to explain the phrase "keel over" to her ("but why she wanna fall down? but why she so tired?"), then she and her dad played Legos and watched a video of the Little Women opera. Then we had dinner...homemade bread, mango and strawberries, crackers, and FIVE KINDS OF CHEESE! (Guess who was left in charge of the menu?). A nice fume blanc (this meal Cora opted for the more age-appropriate milk). A good day. A happy day, despite the frustrating parts, the tantrum (hers) before the nap, the usual spills and falls.
I'm happy to be a daughter; I am so lucky to have the mother I have.
I'm happy to be a mother; I am so lucky to have the daughter I have.
I suppose not too many can also be saying Happy Birthday to their moms! There have been times in the past when it has seemed a kind of cheat for my mom to have to have her birthday on Mother's Day every couple of years. But more often, it just seems right that the two should coincide.
On the one hand I want to say that this is because she was so clearly born to be a mother - so gifted with love and patience and empathy and creativity. But on the other hand I have a feeling that, had the chips of life fallen elsewise, she was also born to have become any number of other things. My mother would also be (has also been - the vocation of motherhood encompassing so many other careers) a wonderful teacher. A compassionate doctor. A thoughtful mentor. A passionate artist. A dazzling cook and pastry chef (oh those castle cakes! That Easter bonnet cake! all the other crazy cakes she let her children choose out of her book!).
More than anything else I have to say that my own experience of motherhood has impressed upon me the wonder of PARADOX. Mainly in the sense that something could simultaneously circumscribe and enlarge your life. I don't think I am (any longer) breaking any codes of sisterhood to say that - I know for a long time it was all about just talking about the enlargements and not the limits. But they coexist, often in the very same moments, and in the best of circumstances one is more than warranted by the other. At least, I find it to be so, which bowls me over because I didn't expect it to be the case.
So, this was my day today. I woke to find Chris had gone to get us donuts for breakfast; we all had donuts and homemade lattes (yes, even Cora). A couple gifts: an ABBA CD from Cora (clearly she has ulterior dance party motives) and a Marie Curie biography from Chris (she is still my hero, 30+ years after I first learned about her life). We went to church and then out to breakfast where Cora refused to eat anything except grapes (frustrating) and shouted hello at everyone that walked past (mostly endearing). Then home to naps. I fell asleep almost immediately - woken up here and there by Cora's interactions with her dad (reading books...refusing a diaper change...alerting him to her "friend" in the room - a wasp...more talk about the wasp as he trapped it...screaming for a diaper change...and finally falling asleep). Later in the afternoon Cora and I watched ballet videos on YouTube (American Ballet Theater's Swan Lake, Paris Opera Ballet's Sleeping Beauty), I tried to explain the phrase "keel over" to her ("but why she wanna fall down? but why she so tired?"), then she and her dad played Legos and watched a video of the Little Women opera. Then we had dinner...homemade bread, mango and strawberries, crackers, and FIVE KINDS OF CHEESE! (Guess who was left in charge of the menu?). A nice fume blanc (this meal Cora opted for the more age-appropriate milk). A good day. A happy day, despite the frustrating parts, the tantrum (hers) before the nap, the usual spills and falls.
I'm happy to be a daughter; I am so lucky to have the mother I have.
I'm happy to be a mother; I am so lucky to have the daughter I have.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The Ballerina and Me
I'm not sure exactly when I started taking dance lessons, but I do remember my mom picking me up after school in our old yellow station wagon. This was my grade school, so I must have been seven or eight. I would sit in the way back (without a seat belt!) and change into my tights and leotard as she drove me to ballet class. I added tap classes later on. Dropped tap after a few years. Added jazz and then modern dance. Eventually dropped ballet (jr. high brought the harsh reality that I would never have a "ballet body") and added more modern dance classes. At the height of my dance "career" I was probably taking three or four classes at a time. Plus the occasional workshop in new and exciting dance techniques like, um, breakdancing.
Well, as much as I loved dance, I was never really best in class (most flexible, yes), and it would never have been a real career. A big family move, high school, and a spectacular knee injury eventually pushed me into different fields, too. But, I really loved dance. I would spend hours in my room choreographing dances to my favorite songs and I devised a kind of shorthand with which to notate my choreography. I know I spent weeks on one dance to a medley of Fine Young Cannibals songs, at least. (That coupled with the breakdancing should enable you to pinpoint the year of my birth with near lethal accuracy.)
Sure, I loved the costumes and the French vocabulary and the studio crowd and the various fashion and social aspects of dance. But now, looking back, what I most remember is that I had a much better opinion of and relationship with my body. I knew what it could do. I could make it do it. I had a kind of confidence in my legs, especially, and my sense of balance and muscle memory. I still have really good muscle memory. I don't have a great sense of balance if I'm moving (though I can still stand on one leg for a while). I have almost zero confidence in my legs. Partly I think this is traceable back to the knee injury, and part of it is due to that flexibilty. Can you take much pride in your flexibility when it turns out you just have spaghetti tendons? I liked having the belief that my body was a thing of power and capability in action.
I've been thinking about all this again because Cora is moving into the next stage of ballerina love. The Nutcracker - the Clara music - is still part of her nightly bedtime ritual, and she still watches one of the movies once a week or so. And there's the tutu fetish. And the developing slipper fetish - sometimes she has a hard time deciding if she wants to wear the "glass slippers" (her good white shoes) or the "ballet slippers" (a pair of red Robeez). And then she started tripping merrily in a circle, on the balls of her feet (demi-pointe) with her arms in a near perfect second position.
And that's when I hunted up a video that would show her the positions, of feet and arms, and some simple steps. I found one at the library, called "The Ballerina and Me". We put it on last night. It was an aged video, the sound quality was awful, the video quality shaky, the overall production values painful to an adult, but she was transfixed. She tried to do the positions, the arms, the steps. She had me demonstrate them. We tried to get Daddy to do a plie. She used the arm of the glider as her barre. She tried to say the French words. She was wearing a diaper, a tutu, a pink long-sleeved shirt, a Cinderella dress-up shirt, and a constantly changing variety of footwear.
It made me yearn to dance again.
Well, as much as I loved dance, I was never really best in class (most flexible, yes), and it would never have been a real career. A big family move, high school, and a spectacular knee injury eventually pushed me into different fields, too. But, I really loved dance. I would spend hours in my room choreographing dances to my favorite songs and I devised a kind of shorthand with which to notate my choreography. I know I spent weeks on one dance to a medley of Fine Young Cannibals songs, at least. (That coupled with the breakdancing should enable you to pinpoint the year of my birth with near lethal accuracy.)
Sure, I loved the costumes and the French vocabulary and the studio crowd and the various fashion and social aspects of dance. But now, looking back, what I most remember is that I had a much better opinion of and relationship with my body. I knew what it could do. I could make it do it. I had a kind of confidence in my legs, especially, and my sense of balance and muscle memory. I still have really good muscle memory. I don't have a great sense of balance if I'm moving (though I can still stand on one leg for a while). I have almost zero confidence in my legs. Partly I think this is traceable back to the knee injury, and part of it is due to that flexibilty. Can you take much pride in your flexibility when it turns out you just have spaghetti tendons? I liked having the belief that my body was a thing of power and capability in action.
I've been thinking about all this again because Cora is moving into the next stage of ballerina love. The Nutcracker - the Clara music - is still part of her nightly bedtime ritual, and she still watches one of the movies once a week or so. And there's the tutu fetish. And the developing slipper fetish - sometimes she has a hard time deciding if she wants to wear the "glass slippers" (her good white shoes) or the "ballet slippers" (a pair of red Robeez). And then she started tripping merrily in a circle, on the balls of her feet (demi-pointe) with her arms in a near perfect second position.
And that's when I hunted up a video that would show her the positions, of feet and arms, and some simple steps. I found one at the library, called "The Ballerina and Me". We put it on last night. It was an aged video, the sound quality was awful, the video quality shaky, the overall production values painful to an adult, but she was transfixed. She tried to do the positions, the arms, the steps. She had me demonstrate them. We tried to get Daddy to do a plie. She used the arm of the glider as her barre. She tried to say the French words. She was wearing a diaper, a tutu, a pink long-sleeved shirt, a Cinderella dress-up shirt, and a constantly changing variety of footwear.
It made me yearn to dance again.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Square One: in which bad news and good news are received mere hours apart
So, we know one place we're definitely not moving to this year. (Bad news)
Chris has another phone interview this week. (Good news.)
I know, I know. Maybe it isn't bad news! Maybe the good news is that we're not moving to TX this year, because it would have been disastrous. Who knows but that the universe has spared us misery and sunshine in the interests of something much better still to turn up. It is supposed to be a comforting idea, and it is, really. Most of the time.
The rest of the time I can't help but think about those poor characters in novels who really suffer some drastic setbacks and misery, while the novelist toils away toward some happy ending, or some meaningful ending, or just an ending that could have been worse, so we decide it is happy. You know what I mean?
If my life is a novel, I hope it is more along the lines of Jane Eyre, say, than The Road.
I really, really hope my life is not a postmodern novel.
Chris has another phone interview this week. (Good news.)
I know, I know. Maybe it isn't bad news! Maybe the good news is that we're not moving to TX this year, because it would have been disastrous. Who knows but that the universe has spared us misery and sunshine in the interests of something much better still to turn up. It is supposed to be a comforting idea, and it is, really. Most of the time.
The rest of the time I can't help but think about those poor characters in novels who really suffer some drastic setbacks and misery, while the novelist toils away toward some happy ending, or some meaningful ending, or just an ending that could have been worse, so we decide it is happy. You know what I mean?
If my life is a novel, I hope it is more along the lines of Jane Eyre, say, than The Road.
I really, really hope my life is not a postmodern novel.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Forgot to mention...
That I'm also weirdly excited about the upcoming changes in our lives. I mean, there's the heartbreak and sadness of leaving people and places we have come to think of as home, but at the same time there is excitement and pride in Chris's accomplishments and the thrill of learning a new place.
Do you know the tarot card the two of pentacles? The image on the card has been popping into my head a lot in the past couple weeks - the holding of two things and finding the balancing point between them has been my task, not just careening from one emotion to another. I'm striving for flexibility and fluidity, rather than the squelching of either emotion.
But, perhaps the sadness end has been given freer rein in my speech and writing, because when I drove Chris to the airport for his interview on Wednesday and said something about being excited, he was surprised. It is hard to keep both in my mind, let alone my mouth, but they are both there. He came home late last night, full of positive feelings about the class he taught as a demonstration of his professorial style, his meetings with various important people, and his interactions with students and faculty.
So now, we wait with fingers crossed for a phone call, for an official offer. It seems likely to be coming, but of course nothing is certain, and we are a little afraid to put too much conviction into it quite yet.
Do you know the tarot card the two of pentacles? The image on the card has been popping into my head a lot in the past couple weeks - the holding of two things and finding the balancing point between them has been my task, not just careening from one emotion to another. I'm striving for flexibility and fluidity, rather than the squelching of either emotion.
But, perhaps the sadness end has been given freer rein in my speech and writing, because when I drove Chris to the airport for his interview on Wednesday and said something about being excited, he was surprised. It is hard to keep both in my mind, let alone my mouth, but they are both there. He came home late last night, full of positive feelings about the class he taught as a demonstration of his professorial style, his meetings with various important people, and his interactions with students and faculty.
So now, we wait with fingers crossed for a phone call, for an official offer. It seems likely to be coming, but of course nothing is certain, and we are a little afraid to put too much conviction into it quite yet.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Connect the Dots
1. I feel compelled to MAKE things, these days. Knitting is what I have space and time for, so that is what I am doing every spare moment I have.
2. I feel compelled to BURROW IN and stay home and do my own bizarre form of nesting.
3. I PLAN dinners that are really too much effort for the time and energy I have for them.
4. I look around the house and DESPAIR of ever getting this place into presentable shape.
5. We are probably MOVING this summer. But we don't know for sure yet.
2. I feel compelled to BURROW IN and stay home and do my own bizarre form of nesting.
3. I PLAN dinners that are really too much effort for the time and energy I have for them.
4. I look around the house and DESPAIR of ever getting this place into presentable shape.
5. We are probably MOVING this summer. But we don't know for sure yet.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Sick again! No fair!
After finally beating the mammoth illness of post-Thanksgiving through days before Christmas, I thought I was free and clear. Surely teaching without a voice for a week brought me some good health karma? (Incidentally, several students mentioned that the two things they would remember most from my class was when I got sick and lost my voice, and when my daughter was sick and came to class with me. Uh huh. Totally what I was hoping for.) But, alas, no. Here I am sick again, completely exhausted by standing up for 45 minutes while Cora ran circles around me lost in a free-association miasma of Wonder Pets, fairy tales, and ballet. Or, I was lost, she knew exactly what she was talking about.
I'm not as good at being sick as I used to be. I can't really read much. I'm not up for knitting. Don't even think about writing. I watched the Golden Globes last night, mesmerized by sparkly dresses and edgy hair-dos, but I really can't tell you much about the winners.
But, just before I got sick, I'd started reading Sara Paretsky's book Writing in an Age of Silence. It's been a while since I read one of her mysteries, but on one of my nomadic searches for inspiration at the library, this book caught my eye. It is part memoir, part historic look at Chicago in the 60s and now, and part meditation on writing. Early on, in the introduction, she says:
"[This] book deals with the dominant question of my own life, the effort to find a voice, the effort to help others on the margins find a voice, the effort to understand and come to terms with questions of power and powerlessness."
This sentence just snapped her other books into an entirely new light for me and made me eager to go back and reread some of them. It also led me to ponder (something I have time for when I am sick, but not much ability to hold onto a chain of thought) what I would say is the dominant question of *my* own life, and how is it (if it is) reflected in my writing. I haven't a lot of insights on this right now, but I am finding it interesting to think about. Once I have a better idea, I'll come back to this topic.
***
I know - it has been awhile for pictures. I will download and post some soon!
I'm not as good at being sick as I used to be. I can't really read much. I'm not up for knitting. Don't even think about writing. I watched the Golden Globes last night, mesmerized by sparkly dresses and edgy hair-dos, but I really can't tell you much about the winners.
But, just before I got sick, I'd started reading Sara Paretsky's book Writing in an Age of Silence. It's been a while since I read one of her mysteries, but on one of my nomadic searches for inspiration at the library, this book caught my eye. It is part memoir, part historic look at Chicago in the 60s and now, and part meditation on writing. Early on, in the introduction, she says:
"[This] book deals with the dominant question of my own life, the effort to find a voice, the effort to help others on the margins find a voice, the effort to understand and come to terms with questions of power and powerlessness."
This sentence just snapped her other books into an entirely new light for me and made me eager to go back and reread some of them. It also led me to ponder (something I have time for when I am sick, but not much ability to hold onto a chain of thought) what I would say is the dominant question of *my* own life, and how is it (if it is) reflected in my writing. I haven't a lot of insights on this right now, but I am finding it interesting to think about. Once I have a better idea, I'll come back to this topic.
***
I know - it has been awhile for pictures. I will download and post some soon!
Thursday, January 8, 2009
More stuffing
The Lake Isle of Innisfree, by William Butler Yeats
The description of his little cottage is so idyllic, so evocative, so detailed and divine (that "bee-loud glade" and those "veils of morning" - everything sounds shimmering and opalescent), that it seems it must exist. But, it is all what he will and shall do, one day, when he can escape the grey. Like many of us city-dwellers who do yearn for a simple life (or what we believe would be a simple life), growing something tasty, living among natural beauty, the low sounds of waves our new soundtrack.
You can hear Yeats read it - in a high and incantatory way - over at poets.org. It isn't the way I read it, or hear it in my head, but it's his way.
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,I've actually stopped teaching this poem, because I can't stand to read another paper about how this is *just like* grandpa's cabin up north. I mean, on the one hand I do appreciate that students love this poem and that they feel such a strong connection to it and it brings them pleasant associations. But, for me, one of the most poignant parts of this poem is that this place does not yet exist for the speaker. It is a place he plans and goes to in his imagination, in his "deep heart's core" while surrounded by grey pavement.
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
The description of his little cottage is so idyllic, so evocative, so detailed and divine (that "bee-loud glade" and those "veils of morning" - everything sounds shimmering and opalescent), that it seems it must exist. But, it is all what he will and shall do, one day, when he can escape the grey. Like many of us city-dwellers who do yearn for a simple life (or what we believe would be a simple life), growing something tasty, living among natural beauty, the low sounds of waves our new soundtrack.
You can hear Yeats read it - in a high and incantatory way - over at poets.org. It isn't the way I read it, or hear it in my head, but it's his way.
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