Nolie Love

Nolie, sprawled out across my lap:  "Mama, do you love me?"

Me:  "Oh, yes.  I love you just about more than anything.  You, and Addie, and Daddy."

Nolie, sitting up, smiling:  "Well, make sure you give some of that love to yourself!"

And Then I Was Bummed

First, I was happy, because my kid with the stomach problems is doing really, really well on the new program.  I mean, we don't need to get too graphic, right?  But things are really, um, flowing well.  Super well.  Super-duper...

You get the picture.

And then I was bummed, because some time in the last two weeks she developed the most rotten attitude I have ever seen.  It's like living with a reality show monster.  A teenage werewolf.  A snot-nosed brat.

I don't mean those things.

But, honestly, I maybe think them, just a little, in some far off corner of my brain, every time she snatches something out of my hand and rolls her eyes at my stupidity and then screams at me for loving every square inch of her six-year-old little know-it-all self.

Yeah, go ahead and chuckle, we get the kids we deserve, she's hoisting me on my own petard, blahdiblahdiblah.  Blah blah.  That just makes me mad at you, too.

None of my tricks are working, either.  We've tried points charts and time-outs and loving talks and extra attention and she still is just acting like funky mold in the pesto jar.

I need some help on this one.  I need some time for thought.  Some patience.  Extra love in my heart.  A new gimmick.

Maybe a mommy's night off.

Cause it just ain't working right now.  I'm about to ship this kid to I don't know where.

You know what I mean.

On the Walk

This child is still in my lap
legs forming a hard T, jutting
an unfamiliar hard line from and against mine.
But also resting her rounded cheek, no angles,
on my leg.

She looks up.
I look down.

The future lays out similarly before us.
Perhaps there is a cold front looming beyond the mountains, ready
to drop its cold winds in our midst.
Or there is the long flatness of a desert road
gondola rides in Venice
the rhythmic ecstasy of carnival
or, even, the curling up in soft grasses, hushed
by prairie winds and geese overhead.

I lay my head back on the pillow
close my eyes against what comes.
She grabs my own cheek, little hand on hard plane,
and whispers good morning, dear red bird,
good morning to you.

It's been longer than I expected since I last posted.  There have been so many days where I've thought, "I should write about that," and then something else comes up or it just feels so much better to fall in bed and sleep, or the dog needs a walk, or I just need to eat a bowl of ice cream and watch The Daily Show with E.  And, too, when you've been away awhile, you wonder why you write to begin with, and whether it wouldn't just be best to let things go.  But here I am again, compelled.

We've been facing some interesting challenges lately.  One of the ministers at unchurch uses that word "interesting" to describe anything that feels challenging or difficult or bad.  I think she uses it because it's sometimes better to avoid forming a story around an event that prohibits us from seeing the positive that can come out of it, or to label it in a way such that our story about it becomes worse than the event itself.  I like it.  It reminds me of Victor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning, wherein he finds that when people can find positive significance to hardship or tragedy, they are much more likely to live happy and full lives.  Calling things "interesting" also encourages me to be more of an observer of my life and less caught up in all its little ups and downs.

Things have been interesting.  I had a reaction to an allergy shot that landed me in the e.r.; we took Addie to the doctor for some tummy aches and found out she had bronchitis and a chronic stomach condition that requires some significant attention and changes on all of our parts; E's work is having some interesting cash flow challenges; my work is having some interesting personnel dynamics.

I have had my moments of freak-out.  Don't let me misrepresent.  But I've also been grateful for the extended autumn we're having, with the amazing colors, for the geese flying by, for the beauty of my family, for the peace of everyday work and chores, for the kindness people so often show one another, for parties, for laughter, for love.  Another reverend at unchurch saw a flock of geese fly outside our classroom window during an intense morning storm.  It was breathtaking.  She was silent for a moment and then said, "Oh thank you, geese, thank you."  Turning inward with gratitude, then projecting it outward, has helped tremendously.

And this, from Byron Katie's amazing book Loving What Is, which has been for me one of those books that comes along at just the right moment:

I can find only three kinds of business in the universe:  mine, yours, and God's.  (For me, the word God means "reality."  Reality is God, because it rules.  Anything that's out of my control, your control, and everyone else's control--I call that God's business).  

Much of our stress comes from mentally living out of our own business.  When I think, 'You need to get a job, I want you to be happy, you should be on time, you need to take better care of yourself,' I am in your business.  When I'm worried about earthquakes, floods, war, or when I will die, I am in God's business.  If I am mentally in your business or in God's business, the effect is separation.  

If you are living your life and I am mentally living your life, who is here living mine?  We're both over there.  Being mentally in your business keeps me from being present in my own.  I am separate from myself, wondering why my life doesn't work.

Ah, this clarified a lot for me.  Just noticing how awesome I am in other people's business, how often I fight with reality (so many "shoulds" in my brain!) has been a clarifying experience.  Honestly, I had started to worry that maybe something was wrong with me, that I couldn't be happy.  I was deeply confused.  But really, I was just separate from myself.  When I can inhabit my center, stay in my own business, and locate grace and gratitude within, I feel deeply satisfied and joyful.  So simple!  And so easy to forget.  The paradox of my spiritual life.

Here I am, though, back on the blog, and hoping to post more frequently.  Addie and Nolie are growing up so fast.  Addie makes me tell her stories about when she was a baby every night now (I'm going to run out soon!) and Nolie is on a vocabulary quest (mama, what does listless mean?  How about product?  How about contraption?).  What a blessing this crazy existence is.

Open Heart

Ah, these kids.  They've just been getting me where it counts, lately.

I changed the sheets on Nolie's bed the other day, and put new pillowcases on.  A couple of months back, Auntie S. had embroidered Nolie a new pillowcase, to help her sleep (remember that?  When we couldn't get Nolie to sleep for longer than five minutes at a time?  I get shivers just thinking about it).

Anyway, the embroidered pillowcase made it back into the rotation a few nights ago and onto Nolie's new big-girl bed (in her own room, mind you).  When she saw it, she positively gushed.  "THIS?  THIS?  This is the pillowcase AUNTIE S. made me!  Oh, mama!  It's SO special!"  And she proceeded to pet the embroidery until I physically made her shut her eyes and go to sleep.  She peeped her eyes open just once and said, "Mama?  Thank you SO much for letting me use my special pillowcase.  I love you SO much."

I mean, geesh.  Thank you, Auntie S.

And then there's Addie, who very matter-of-factly came into our room this morning while getting dressed, and asked, "Mom?  Have you heard about heartstrings?"  "Uh, no, Addie."  "Well, when you really love someone, there are invisible strings connecting their heart to yours."  "We must have tons of strings then, you and me."  "No," she laughed.  "But our string is the biggest of all!"  And out she went.

There you have it.  Heartbreaking sweetness around every corner.

Train Time

This is a very good way to spend a Friday night, sandwiched between two unpleasant experiences. The first, a cheesy (nonvegan) risotto casserole that bombed, and the second, my exhausted children fighting over who gets to put a piece of train track where (I love my kids, but they are NOT VERY NICE after their first week of summer camp has drained them of all energy and civility. Both were whisked off to bath pretty soon after these lovely pics were taken).

[Aside, have you noticed a theme here? That there are two things I am TERRIBLE at? Being photography and cooking? I'm sure there are more, but these are the two most obvious at the moment. My next post will examine this in more detail.]

On to the train saga.

Picture 1:



The girls playing nicely together, building a massive train track (thanks to Cate and Kevin for loaning us this cool, massive set. They have 3 boys, obviously).

Uh-oh. Trouble looms. Nolie is doing something on her own, without boss-lady Addie's permission.



Boss-lady Addie works on, not yet having noticed this transgression.



I build the train and drink a glass of wine, knowing this quiet bliss is soon to be rent by a tornado called boss-lady Addie and her bad post-camp exhaustion-inspired 'tude.



Uh-oh.



UH-OH.



This is not going to end well.



Nolie knows it, too.



The boss-lady tries to mug for the cameras (she knows all about good PR. She's like BP, that way). But everyone knows the jig is up.

Week in Review

Recipe for a Week without The Pants

1. Gather your ingredients:

One major league baseball game, where Nolie eats an entire ice cream the size of her head.

One housewarming party, where the parents don't watch their kids, so I have to.

One episode of Addie coming in the house, saying, "Mom! There's a poop in my hand! From my butt!"

Three minutes spent washing the dishes, during which time Nolie manages to slice the pink dress she is wearing into a million tiny ribbons. Using "safety" scissors.

Twelve seconds of Addie watering the garden with the hose before she manages to spray me full-on in the face.

One dead bird in the yard, which must be disposed of.

One case of doggie pink-eye; three people on allergy medications; one person on nebulizer treatments; one person on antibiotics; two people on inhaled nasal steroids; countless bumped heads and scratched knees.

Two nights of Nolie sleeping in her own room. By choice.

Three drop-dead gorgeous spring days.


2. Mix all ingredients well. Once soggy and lumpy, also add in chores: mowing the lawn, vacuuming the endless supply of pet hair, taking out the trash, doing endless loads of laundry, and organizing oodles of doctor, veterinary, haircut, playdate, and other appointments. Add in a dash of a full-time career.

3. Pop in the oven until sizzling.

Tips for success: As soon as the girls fall asleep at night, collapse into bed and watch on-demand episodes of Parenthood, Community, 30 Rock, The Hills, and The City. Also, get loaded up with nuclear arsenal of allergy meds, and discover that you haven't actually been breathing for the last ten years. Suck air in like it was, well, air. Silently thank goodness for some forms of Western medicine. And eat copious amounts of vegan coconut ice cream.

When is E. coming back?

Magic Words

Another magical thing about springtime: the words "Go. Play. Outside."

Ahhhhhhhhhh.

Sweet News

Feeling much better today, thank ye. Usually a head cold turns itself right into a sinus infection or bronchitis with me (especially during allergy season), but I think this one is going to just move right on through.

I'm superstitiously thinking this might be because I've started drinking homemade green smoothies--a huge one everyday. I've just been throwing whatever fruit is around in there, plus all that kale we've been having a tough time getting through from our Door to Door Organics box.

What do you think? Do you think it's helped with the cold? It is odd to be feeling so much better so quickly.

Or maybe it was just a punk-ass little germ and I kicked its sad little booty, green smoothies or not.

Either way, I'm glad to be feeling better, just in time for our weekend trip to



Oy.

Oh! And FABULOUS news. We had Nolie tested for allergies (yes, we were a teensy bit worried she might be allergic to Milo, which would have been the worst thing EVER). But she's not. We get to keep our dog and our kid. Sweet.

Maybe I Will

She hasn't written in a while. She must be going through some sort of crazy life transition. Or maybe she has a paper due. Or she's depressed. I'm sure she'll tell us all about it soon. Yawn. Ho-Hum.

Yeppers. All of the above, except the depression part. For once. Nia has pretty much nipped that in the bud for now. Thanks be.

Hey! Here's a picture of my sock puppet inner critic. She has loads of opinions, but doesn't tell you about them. She just makes this face, and you have to guess at what she's thinking, and what you imagine is always worse than anything that could really be:



My fabulous and inspiring friend LN had all of us hopeless creatives over for a recovering artist's night on Monday night. To celebrate her 40th birthday and our tragic artist wannabe-ness, we made sock puppets of our inner critics, those voices that tell us we can't do it, we're not good enough, nobody wants us to express ourselves, our butts are too fat (okay, that's my personal thing), that sort of thing.

Hey! And here's a picture of some homemade labels. On some upcycled clothes.



I'm pretending I might take some of my clothes into a little consignment boutique in Golden. I might not, but I'm pretending I will. Who knows? Maybe if that stupid critic will shut the fuck up, I may.

Or not.

We'll see.

Can I Get

an amen?

Here's what the universe has to say today:


Of all the things that matter, Jen, that really and truly matter, working more efficiently and getting more done is not among them.

Chill,
The Universe

Serious Nolie

My mom gets mad that I like black and white pictures. And I'm a fan of pictures of my kids smiling and laughing, for sure.

But sometimes it's the serious one that captures the spirit of your kid at a particular moment, you know? Where you get a sense that they have a sense of themselves?

My.

And I like the Paper Moon hat here, too.

At Last, the Teasing

Addie is most likely to tell me personal things about her life at school right at bedtime. This is a little annoying because I'm so ding-dang tired by that point and the kids are always pushing their bedtimes anyway. But I try to listen carefully because it's important that she's sharing this stuff with me. I don't have any sense of her life at school otherwise, except for little clues here and there.

I've been wondering when Addie would start to become aware of things like clothes, or being teased. She's been pretty much a free spirit up until now, but I'm noticing some things starting to change. She won't wear a hat she got for Christmas because the other kids laugh at her when she does (a year ago she would have rocked it, no matter what). She thinks things Nolie says are "embarrassing." She thinks things I say are "embarrassing." She has started only wearing plain t-shirts from her closet, and pants with the waist tops rolled down.

And there are the details I get directly from her. She told me a few weeks back about a girl who was making fun of her for a while, and we talked about how to handle it (my advice was multifaceted--try making friends, try saying "whatever," try using your words like an adult. I'm not sure what worked). Addie tells me that girl leaves her alone now, but that there's a different girl, P., who has started calling her "weird."

She whispered this to me last night, in her dark and quiet room, and my first thought was actually a feeling--a rock in the gut--as I remembered what it was like to be made fun of and excluded as a kid.

My second thought: take care of your kid. "Look at me Addie," I said. "You are not weird. You are wonderful. You're the farthest thing from weird that there is."

My third thought, which I didn't say, was, "Of course you're a little weird. You're a professor's kid, an engineer's kid, you're smart and a little gawky and beautiful. You're artistic. You're funny. You're tall. For a girl, all those things make you a little weird. But in the very best way, though you probably won't recognize that until you're almost 40."

But you can't say that, because that's how you see things and you know the other little kids and your kid see things differently, and it's unfair to ask a kid to wait 35 years for it all to make sense.

Granola Recipe

Nolie's school had a fundraiser at Applebee's yesterday morning called the "Sweetheart Breakfast." It probably should have been called the "Clogged Heart Valve Breakfast." For $7 per person, you could go to the restaurant and eat as many pancakes and sausages as you wanted, and drink as much Tang-like orange juice and coffee as you wanted.

It was supremely gross.

I don't usually eat pancakes for breakfast because you might as well shoot me up with qualudes and put me into a medical coma. They literally suck the life out of me. I was worthless for half the day, and was only roused from my listlessness by a kick-ass Nia jam (more on that later). But I do love breakfast. So...



Now this, on the other hand, I can get behind. I lerrrrrrve this granola recipe, adapted from the Working Parents' Cookbook (they make theirs with coconut, which makes me retch, so I add in other nuts and seeds instead):

Preheat over to 300 degrees.

In a small bowl, combine 3/4 cup raisins and 1/3 cup water. Let sit for about 10 minutes, or until the raisins are all plump.

In a large bowl, combine 4 cups rolled oats, 1/2 cup sesame seeds, about 1/2 cup nuts of your choice (I like pecans, but walnuts or almonds would also be yummy), and 1/4 cup other seeds or nuts (I used flax seeds) of your choice. Mix in 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon and 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg.

Pour in 1/2 cup canola oil (you can also use plain veggie oil, but I did notice an improvement in taste using the canola). Then mix in 1/2 cup honey (use the same measuring cup and the honey will slide right out).

Mix in the raisins and any remaining liquid. Once everything is nice and combined, you can spread the whole shebang out over a cookie sheet (I sprayed mine first with Pam for easier clean-up). Bake for about 35 minutes.

When it comes out, it will be soft, so let it sit until totally cool and it will harden up. Store it. Eat it. Love it. You can thank me later.

This might be my favorite thing to eat for breakfast, mixed in with some raisin bran. Yum. And it won't suck the life force out of you.

Sunday Stuff

This morning: three inches of new Valentine's Day snow:




A study in contrasts: snow outside, and little signs of spring, even if forced indoors. Cilantro, basil, tomatoes.



This morning, Addie has her first loose tooth and a mild case of pink-eye. The girls are still in their jammies, playing "mommy and baby"/making up plays. Addie keeps bringing me these handmade playbills, and I have to check the box if I want to see the play or dance she has concocted.

I always check the box.



I keep walking by the girls' playroom, seeing this guy out of the corner of my eye, and thinking, "What the...?" And then I think to myself I'm so glad we don't have a dog right now.

Coming Clean

I think it's helpful for me to write about my ugly parenting moments on this blog. First, there are a lot of parenting blogs out there that are pretty shiny, you know? Lives and objects seem beautiful, but you don't get a sense of what the underbelly looks like (and I guess I think there usually is an underbelly, though some of our underbellies smell a little more or less foul than others). There's a lot of shame that goes into our parenting fuck-ups. At the same time, there is little community mechanism for healing from them. The closest thing is reality t.v., and we all know how useful that crap is.

Second, it's good for me to bring some of this stuff to the light. It has less power that way.

Third, writing about it gives me clarity I don't get from just thinking about it in my brain, and then I can do better next time.

Big build-up, small story. I just got home from work the other night and was--snap--feeling tired and unfit for human companionship. Nothing particularly bad happened at work, I was feeling alright physically. I just think I probably needed a night to myself. I don't know how else to explain it. But from the minute I picked the girls up until bedtime, I turned into some evil disciplinarian, heartless and mean. More than anything, I think I wanted out, and wanted my kids to not bother me and be perfectly behaved. It was like that scene from The Great Santini where Robert Duvall's character treats his kids like troops, and he's the drill instructor. Ugh-ly.

So of course the kids were whiny and crying because I was being so mean, and I wouldn't let them have snack, and no t.v. show either, and they didn't like their dinner. By the time E. got home everyone was exhausted from the tension and fighting and tears and no food. Then he had a guitar lesson so I had to do bedtime too, and by the end of it Addie was sobbing on the floor of the playroom, and Nolie screaming from the bedroom that she needed her sister. My God. I was like some orphanage proprietess, Miss Hannigan without the funny songs.

What brought us out of it? Deep breath: Addie saying to me, through her sobs, "Mommy, I just feel like you don't love me anymore."

Spell broken. Heart cracked.

I wrote LOVE in big black sharpie letters on my hand the next day, a semi-permanent tattoo, small penance for evils wrought.

Of course, I just needed a night off. Of course, that excuses nothing. But I'm trying to walk through the shame and blame to the other side, and see the learning of it all--that I needed a reminder that love comes first with my kids, and discipline and order second.

Chillaxing

I had to post this, because Nolie is so completely scrumptious right now (that belly! that booty!) and is just such a big girl and also my baby all at once. A fleeting moment, I know.

And check out those tie-dyed socks, courtesy of the groovy Auntie Teeny.

Pretend I'm Your Puppy

As I'm sitting in bed on this below-zero morning, drinking a cup of the glorious elixir of life, I'm reflecting on two things:

1) Ways to loosen up things at work so that I experience more joy and more flow. I have some ideas that aren't suitable for sharing here, but I'm excited about them.

2) What a typical play period with Nolie is like right now. It goes something like this, with her delivering a monologue along these lines:

Pretend that I'm your puppy.

Pretend that I'm your sad puppy.

Pretend that I'm your sad puppy who knows how to do cartwheels.

Pretend that you're the puppy's mommy.

Pretend that I'm the kitty.

Pretend that I'm the kitty who has jumped into a pan of bluing [Editor's note: we don't use "bluing" in our house, nor does anyone in this country anymore, I'm sure. This is a detail from an old book from my childhood called Peppermint. So it's hilarious to hear Nolie say this].

Pretend that I'm your kitty-baby and you're my mommy.

Pretend that you're the mommy and you save me from the coyote.

Pretend that there's a bear.

Pretend that there's a shark.

Pretend that I'm a kitty that loves to dance but there's a coyote who's coming to eat me and you're the mommy who has to save me and rock me to sleep.

Pretend that I'm your puppy [aaaaand...repeat!].

Time with Addie is different. Though she still likes the pretend games, she's much more interested in putting on dance performances, or in playing board games, or reading, or making art. Not much has changed there. But she has changed. A lot. She's very much a kid now, and her feelings are easily hurt. She wants to be treated with kindness and respect, like an adult. She hates being interrupted. She wants things carefully explained to her. Being misunderstood drives her absolutely ape-shit. She has very strong convictions.

I don't know. I don't mean to imply that all children shouldn't be treated with kindness and respect--they should. But the tenor of my interactions with Nolie--which is still very much about modeling behaviors and setting boundaries--is very different from that with Addie, which is more about patience and reciprocity.

The problem is, I mess these up sometimes, and forget, and treat Addie like a preschooler, or expect Nolie to act like a kindergartner, which is very upsetting for us all, or I get control-freaky and just throw my will around, which is good for nobody.

The busier pace of everyone being back at work and school only increases the likelihood of this happening, so it pays to be extra mindful. But I miss target a lot.

It's an interesting time to be a parent.

On the Inside

Today is all about easing back into full-time work--the last round of reviews on manuscripts for the journal are all in, and I need to pen an introduction this week, among other things. But, a quick break to say:

My little one just went with her papa back to school, and oh, did I feel so sad at seeing her go. My big girl is still here at home with me today and tomorrow, thanks to some in-service days at her school, and she is reading quietly next to me in bed while I type. In the past, I've been ready to shoo these girls out the door at the end of vacation, so I could get back to my "real" work. Of course, I see now that there are multiple "real" works, and I have loved these last few weeks immersed in the mommy kind. I'm glad to be getting back to the paid kind, too, but will miss the long days with these kids.

I don't think I'm the only one feeling this way, over this particular winter break, but join a bunch of others who are wishing for a few more days, or a change in the overall rhthym and requirements of things that allow for more space, peace, quiet, family, all the time.

The frost is still on our balcony railing, the snow still on some branches, and geese are honking loudly overhead. It's only inside that things are changing.

Adios, Senor Popcorn

Friends, that acoustic-popcorn shit on our ceilings, the stuff I've been complaining about since we moved in to the house two years ago, is being scraped off our ceilings as I write this. I'm at work, and at home are two dudes, hopefully in masks and gloves, getting rid of that stuff. I can't tell you how glad I am.

No judgment on those of you who still have the popcorn, by the way. It's ubiquitous. Someone in the 70s made some serious dough spraying that stuff all over creation. I just couldn't stand it anymore, those dusty little nubs, and had to have it out. OUT.

On to more important news: I am making friends with my anxiety. Any time I feel that little tight nervousness in my tummy, or find myself wanting to spend money or eat brownies, I say, "Hey there, Little Anxiety! Whatcha doing? I welcome you into my life because when I feel you it's a reminder to take a big breath and chill out a little! It's a reminder to focus on spirit! Thanks for that!"

I still usually eat the brownie. I just do it with a little more peace and awareness.

Do you think that makes me crazy? What if I only say it inside my head? Still crazy?