Drifting off to sleep last night, my thoughts were this:
I am so lucky.
I am so blessed.
What a life this is.
And the images that went through my head were these:
Of Nolie and Addie and their friends bouncing in the bouncy castle we rented for Nolie's third birthday, on a whim, while we drank margaritas with our friends on the back porch.
Of Addie, dancing in her pink lyotard, with chopsticks in her air, at her first ballet recital. So proud, focusing so hard, looking so graceful.
Of Nolie, doing forward rolls at her first gymnastics mini-meet.
Of dinner out, with Eric, celebrating seven years together, each one in which I find I love him more, no joke.
Of cheering on Nancy, who--bright, funny, smart--nailed a public talk on Machiavelli at the Museum of Contemporary Art.
Having old wedding rings made new (pics to come)...
And this is all just in the past few days! This week begins the march of contractors in and out of the house as skylights are replaced, acoustic texture scraped from our ceilings, and our countertops (remember the corn fritters? REMEMBER?) measured. Most important of all, a little family is on its way to us, and we are SO excited.
I have a lot of writing to do for work, but also sewing for visitors and birthday girls, so off I go...check back soon for more pictures.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Nolie and Three
I wish this was more of a love letter, to Miss Nolie at three. But, to be honest, we are in the throes of one heck of a "stage," in which Nolie doesn't want to eat, sleep, be pleasant, or otherwise do anything asked of her. Though she turns three today, she seems fairly rooted in those most terrible of twos. Which maybe is a fiction, anyway. Terrible seems to know no age.
Tantrums and hitting and yelling abound. But worst of all, what triggers me most of all, is the whining. Incessant and piercing, that whiny voice. My rejoinders:
"I can't hear that voice, Nolie."
"That voice is not okay, Nolie."
"You'll need to use your big-girl voice, Nolie."
None of which works, and then I lose my shit and one of us ends up in a time-out.
But here's what I will also try to remember about Nolie, on her third birthday:
- The feel of her in my arms last night, as she shivered with fear, thunder booming overhead, shaking her little bones.
- Her taking my cheeks in her hands and saying, "I really yike you, Mommy."
- The look of her little body: naked, fresh from the bath; jumping on the bed; rolling in and out of my lap.
- Her words, silly and funny (the Aunties are still laughing about how Nolie entered the dining room at Charmyr and, waving her arms wildly, demanded, "Hey! All you Monsters! DANCE!").
- The way she wants to help, to be seen ("she lives for those words of praise from you," one of the Aunties commented, in the kindest way), to be loved.
Mostly, I'm thinking about how important these phases are, about my responsibility for helping Nolie move into the next stage of her life. Or, at least, that I should move out of the way more. Let her be who she is, at any given moment. I have the power to ease her way and model grace-giving, patience, and love. Or I have the power to lose my shit.
Maybe I can work on more of the former. So, this is a love letter after all, to one of my greatest teachers, Magnolia Jade. Happy Birthday, baby, big girl, little bug. And to many more to come.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
This Week's BEST THINGS IN THE WOOOORLD!
I'm tempted to wax poetic about my new Dyson vacuum cleaner. I hate vacuuming more than anything, except maybe vacuums themselves. And I never thought I'd spent over $400 on a vacuum, that's for dang sure. That kind of spendin's for rich folks. But we're getting new carpets soon, and our old vacuum was dying, in the loudest way possible. Something was profoundly broken in there, and it sounded more like a lear jet than a domestic tool. So we bit the bullet, bought the Dyson, and there you have it. I'm in love.
But enough about vacuums. There are more important things to think about. Like this gorgeous flower, not from our garden, but who cares?:
Or this denim-pocket wall-hanging craft organizer, upcycled from stuff around the house, now hanging in the office/guest room/sewing lair:
Or the notes Ms. Addie leaves around the house, like this little invitation for a movie night, to her friend Sadie:
Or, newly sewn cushions for old chairs:
Or, these wacky, off-kilter papier-mache bowls, made by the Schneider clan from a recipe in Amanda Soule's new book Handmade Home (love it, love it). Get it, and then you, too, can upcycle your brains out.
But enough about vacuums. There are more important things to think about. Like this gorgeous flower, not from our garden, but who cares?:
Or this denim-pocket wall-hanging craft organizer, upcycled from stuff around the house, now hanging in the office/guest room/sewing lair:
Or the notes Ms. Addie leaves around the house, like this little invitation for a movie night, to her friend Sadie:
Or, newly sewn cushions for old chairs:
Or, these wacky, off-kilter papier-mache bowls, made by the Schneider clan from a recipe in Amanda Soule's new book Handmade Home (love it, love it). Get it, and then you, too, can upcycle your brains out.
Not Exactly Julia and Julie, But Good Enough
In the past, I've resisted having the girls help to much in the kitchen (except for baking--there's always room for three when baking). I like the quiet time of preparing a meal by myself, plus I'm not a very good cook, and it usually requires some concentration on my part to pull it off. Then, we've been cautious about the girls around sharp knives and hot stoves and stuff. Your average parenting worry.
But Nolie is relentless about asking to help at mealtimes. She's also incredibly whiny if she's not fed immediately when we get home from school. Having her help in the kitchen (put cut vegetables in a bowl for sauteeing, measuring pasta, etc.) solves both problems. And, to my surprise, I enjoy having her there with me. She's much more likely to try new foods, too, if she had a hand in making them.
This big girl turns three tomorrow, which is a mind-blower. More to come on that...
The Little Guys
One of the premises of the Science of Mind spiritual teachings can be summarized as follows: change your thinking, change your life.
Sound familiar? The premise has a lot in common with the positive thinking movement, cognitive psychology, self-help literature, Buddhism, transcendentalism, and other major philosophies and religions. It's been called the "golden thread" that unites most major thought traditions.
It can also be oversimplified and made trite. As in, "Just look on the sunny side of things, and you'll be fine." Or, "You can positive-think your way out of that dilemma." There's lots more subtlety to the premise than this, I think, and much is lost by oversimplifying and then dismissing it.
And at the same time, the funny thing is that it is simple. I think we expect things to be hard in life. I know that was a mantra in my family for most of my childhood: "Life's tough." "Things are really hard right now, and there's nobody who said life would be fair." "Nobody said things would be easy." That sort of stuff. I mean, cynicism, sarcasm, and expecting the worst were practically in my DNA for most of my life. They still appear now and then, without my permission.
All this is chatter by way of saying that as I think more about my thoughts, and observe them through meditation and just trying to be a little more conscious, I've noticed two patterns:
1) Throughout the day, a running stream of apocalyptic scenarios run into my head. They appear unbidden, are usually completely outrageous, and I tend to dwell on them. For example: I was out running in the rain the other day, and into my mind popped the notion that I could be struck by lightning. Totally unlikely in that moment, but a friend had recently told us the story of how he had been struck by lightning, and so there the thought was in my mind. And I began to worry about it. All of a sudden, the world seemed unsafe.
2) Throughout the day, a running stream of imaginary conflicts run through my head. They appear unbidden, are usually completley outrageous, and I tend to dwell on them. For example: I have an argument in my head with Eric about how loud the vacuum cleaner is and why we need a new one. In the argument, he's obstinate and won't listen to my reasons. The argument ends dark and stormy, with each of us wondering why we married the other. All of a sudden, the world seemed to be a little less loving, and I a little more alone.
Catastrophic thinking, in both cases. And totally imaginary.
The thing is, I can't really control whether or not these things pop into my head. They appear automatically, and it would be exhausting to police them all day long.
What I can control is whether or not I dwell on them. But just telling myself not to dwell on them wasn't working. So here are my tricks:
When the first kind of thinking appears (the lightning-strike scenario), I imagine a tiny little winged pig sitting on my right shoulder. As soon as the apocalyptic thought enters my consciousness, the little pig slowly, elegantly takes flight. I get an inward grin from this. Getting struck by lightning? When pigs fly. You get the idea.
When the second kind of thinking appears, I imagine one of those toy clattering-teeth thingies on my left shoulder. As soon as I start the imaginary dialogue, off go the teeth. Yadda-yadda, they say. Conversation not really happening.
The funny thing is, as I've imagined these little guys, the thoughts have become less frequent. Funny how that works.
So. This is probably much more than you wanted to know about my inner life. I realize I sound a bit nutty. I've just gotten some nice inner peace, and inner giggles, from my two new shoulder-friends. If you see me talking to them some time, you'll know what's going on.
Sound familiar? The premise has a lot in common with the positive thinking movement, cognitive psychology, self-help literature, Buddhism, transcendentalism, and other major philosophies and religions. It's been called the "golden thread" that unites most major thought traditions.
It can also be oversimplified and made trite. As in, "Just look on the sunny side of things, and you'll be fine." Or, "You can positive-think your way out of that dilemma." There's lots more subtlety to the premise than this, I think, and much is lost by oversimplifying and then dismissing it.
And at the same time, the funny thing is that it is simple. I think we expect things to be hard in life. I know that was a mantra in my family for most of my childhood: "Life's tough." "Things are really hard right now, and there's nobody who said life would be fair." "Nobody said things would be easy." That sort of stuff. I mean, cynicism, sarcasm, and expecting the worst were practically in my DNA for most of my life. They still appear now and then, without my permission.
All this is chatter by way of saying that as I think more about my thoughts, and observe them through meditation and just trying to be a little more conscious, I've noticed two patterns:
1) Throughout the day, a running stream of apocalyptic scenarios run into my head. They appear unbidden, are usually completely outrageous, and I tend to dwell on them. For example: I was out running in the rain the other day, and into my mind popped the notion that I could be struck by lightning. Totally unlikely in that moment, but a friend had recently told us the story of how he had been struck by lightning, and so there the thought was in my mind. And I began to worry about it. All of a sudden, the world seemed unsafe.
2) Throughout the day, a running stream of imaginary conflicts run through my head. They appear unbidden, are usually completley outrageous, and I tend to dwell on them. For example: I have an argument in my head with Eric about how loud the vacuum cleaner is and why we need a new one. In the argument, he's obstinate and won't listen to my reasons. The argument ends dark and stormy, with each of us wondering why we married the other. All of a sudden, the world seemed to be a little less loving, and I a little more alone.
Catastrophic thinking, in both cases. And totally imaginary.
The thing is, I can't really control whether or not these things pop into my head. They appear automatically, and it would be exhausting to police them all day long.
What I can control is whether or not I dwell on them. But just telling myself not to dwell on them wasn't working. So here are my tricks:
When the first kind of thinking appears (the lightning-strike scenario), I imagine a tiny little winged pig sitting on my right shoulder. As soon as the apocalyptic thought enters my consciousness, the little pig slowly, elegantly takes flight. I get an inward grin from this. Getting struck by lightning? When pigs fly. You get the idea.
When the second kind of thinking appears, I imagine one of those toy clattering-teeth thingies on my left shoulder. As soon as I start the imaginary dialogue, off go the teeth. Yadda-yadda, they say. Conversation not really happening.
The funny thing is, as I've imagined these little guys, the thoughts have become less frequent. Funny how that works.
So. This is probably much more than you wanted to know about my inner life. I realize I sound a bit nutty. I've just gotten some nice inner peace, and inner giggles, from my two new shoulder-friends. If you see me talking to them some time, you'll know what's going on.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Changing Things Up
I've felt like one of the keys to success for me the last year or so has been that I've committed to a kind of 9-5 work schedule. I mean, I still check email in the evenings sometimes, and on the weekends, and I have some travel. But mostly, really, I did my work during typical work hours. This helped me focus on work while at work, and focus at home while at home. The whole "balance" mirage seemed just a little more attainable this way.
But, now, with Eric's new work schedule, I think I'm going to have to change things again. I've tried and tried but I just can't get up at 5:30am and start working. My body may be able to arise out of bed, but my brain is mush. And I usually need my brain, like most folks, to work effectively.
Also, E has this elbow injury that is not going away, so now he's going to physical therapy twice a week in the early mornings. Which means I couldn't be working then anyway. Then there's the 6-9pm class I'll be teaching Wednesday nights. Which already stretches my tired old body as it is. Switching to a morning schedule would truly be disastrous for having any sort of coherence in a late-night class.
So, it looks as if I'm going back to a split schedule, where I get up and start work around 7, and go until 3, when the kids will need to be picked up. If I take a shower and get ready, have lunch, or work out or run errands, then there just won't be enough time in the day.
At least, I think there won't. And that means working a few more nights a week, or some half-days on the weekend.
I know, wah-wah. I know, I've posted about this already. But it's worrying me, this shake-up in schedule, I'm worried about swinging out of balance again, and I know how much misery that causes.
Too, I've got in my head a little voice that says maybe that much work is enough, that I can get it all done in that time frame. My favorite and most productive mode of working these days is to set myself a limited number of tasks, and when I finish those, I'm finished for the day. No need to push on to infinity with the to-do list. So maybe 7 hours of good work a day will do it.
[The Chronicle of Higher Education suggests I should not admit to such things on a public blog. That such admissions will be held against me. I know this, and still feel like these are honest calculations academics (especially parents) make. So here they are].
I do know that when I woke up this morning and realized I would have an extra hour or two tonight to finish the day's work (with Eric's blessing), I felt a weight lift. Maybe I'll need it, maybe I won't. I'll let you know.
But, now, with Eric's new work schedule, I think I'm going to have to change things again. I've tried and tried but I just can't get up at 5:30am and start working. My body may be able to arise out of bed, but my brain is mush. And I usually need my brain, like most folks, to work effectively.
Also, E has this elbow injury that is not going away, so now he's going to physical therapy twice a week in the early mornings. Which means I couldn't be working then anyway. Then there's the 6-9pm class I'll be teaching Wednesday nights. Which already stretches my tired old body as it is. Switching to a morning schedule would truly be disastrous for having any sort of coherence in a late-night class.
So, it looks as if I'm going back to a split schedule, where I get up and start work around 7, and go until 3, when the kids will need to be picked up. If I take a shower and get ready, have lunch, or work out or run errands, then there just won't be enough time in the day.
At least, I think there won't. And that means working a few more nights a week, or some half-days on the weekend.
I know, wah-wah. I know, I've posted about this already. But it's worrying me, this shake-up in schedule, I'm worried about swinging out of balance again, and I know how much misery that causes.
Too, I've got in my head a little voice that says maybe that much work is enough, that I can get it all done in that time frame. My favorite and most productive mode of working these days is to set myself a limited number of tasks, and when I finish those, I'm finished for the day. No need to push on to infinity with the to-do list. So maybe 7 hours of good work a day will do it.
[The Chronicle of Higher Education suggests I should not admit to such things on a public blog. That such admissions will be held against me. I know this, and still feel like these are honest calculations academics (especially parents) make. So here they are].
I do know that when I woke up this morning and realized I would have an extra hour or two tonight to finish the day's work (with Eric's blessing), I felt a weight lift. Maybe I'll need it, maybe I won't. I'll let you know.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
A Few Very Good Things
There were some rough spots on the trip, that's for sure. The mosquitoes, for one thing. Vile little nanobots, they are. Also, I struggled the first few days with feeling like I'd made a mistake, watching my friends relax on the dock, jumping in the lake, playing in the boats while I tried to keep my children from drowning, which I was sure was going to happen at any time.
And then, the ten-hour car rides, bracketed by flights on either side. I got home and felt like my back had been an accordion in a traveling hobo music show. I still want to sleep 12 hours a night, not because I need it but because the memory of exhaustion still lingers. 8 days of watching my kids, without E, felt like too much at times.
But then, release. The "Aunties," as they came to be called, came to my rescue, and my children's. Without a word, without negotiations, they stepped into the breach, and I got to breathe, to run, to swim, to experience solitude.
With that, I realized what family means. Family means that folks are there for you, in a real sense of the word. There was no obligation, no worry about paybacks. They somehow read my needs, and the girls, and just appeared! An entire village. The Aunties held my girls, held me, and rocked us into relaxation and the routine of a new place, so that we really did have a vacation, and soaked up the beauty of Stoney Lake and the love of our extended, adopted family.
There are a million great pictures to share (many on the cameras of the various Aunties), but here are a few that invoke the spirit of that week for me:
Nolie's first big-girl ice cream cone. She's almost three, you know, and gets to do such things.
The bliss of building, and destroying, sand castles on the "beach." Our amazement that the water in a lake could be so warm and inviting. It was even warmer after rainstorms, which we weathered by cozying up in front of the fire Meghan would make for us almost every morning. My absolute favorite moments were diving into that water, and resurfacing. I wanted to stay in forever.
The delight of trips on the boats, especially when we would go fast, fast over the wakes of the other boats, floating high, suspended for a moment, before gravity forced us back down, splat, onto the surface of the lake.
And then, the ten-hour car rides, bracketed by flights on either side. I got home and felt like my back had been an accordion in a traveling hobo music show. I still want to sleep 12 hours a night, not because I need it but because the memory of exhaustion still lingers. 8 days of watching my kids, without E, felt like too much at times.
But then, release. The "Aunties," as they came to be called, came to my rescue, and my children's. Without a word, without negotiations, they stepped into the breach, and I got to breathe, to run, to swim, to experience solitude.
With that, I realized what family means. Family means that folks are there for you, in a real sense of the word. There was no obligation, no worry about paybacks. They somehow read my needs, and the girls, and just appeared! An entire village. The Aunties held my girls, held me, and rocked us into relaxation and the routine of a new place, so that we really did have a vacation, and soaked up the beauty of Stoney Lake and the love of our extended, adopted family.
There are a million great pictures to share (many on the cameras of the various Aunties), but here are a few that invoke the spirit of that week for me:
Nolie's first big-girl ice cream cone. She's almost three, you know, and gets to do such things.
The bliss of building, and destroying, sand castles on the "beach." Our amazement that the water in a lake could be so warm and inviting. It was even warmer after rainstorms, which we weathered by cozying up in front of the fire Meghan would make for us almost every morning. My absolute favorite moments were diving into that water, and resurfacing. I wanted to stay in forever.
Everywhere we went, Addie built habitats for bugs and fairies. A real estate boom.
The delight of trips on the boats, especially when we would go fast, fast over the wakes of the other boats, floating high, suspended for a moment, before gravity forced us back down, splat, onto the surface of the lake.
Also, there is nothing better than life jackets. I felt a loosening in my chest when Auntie Meghan said, "Jen, if I can make a suggestion? Put them in those life jackets, and leave them in there all week." Ah, yes. Breathing again.
I don't know. Ponytails. Big eyes. Little noses. Smelling my girls' heads over and over and over again. The weight of their sun-tanned legs on mine. Their little bellies in swimsuits.
And, ever-present, the Aunties. Keeping us all safe. Pouring love over our heads, anointing us. Always a hand, holding on so that we could fly a bit.
Getting to drive the boat, in the arms of Auntie Meghan!
Relaxing with Auntie TT, who tirelessly read kids' stories, listened to the Dora the Explorer CD over and over again as we got lost around Toronto (twice), and made the ten-hour car drive to and fro in the kids' car, all the while nursing a wicked leg injury. Never once did a harsh word come from her mouth, and she kept me laughing the entire way.
Nolie and Auntie Millicent, who proved to be both patient and hilarious. A new Auntie and friend for us, for forever.
Auntie Sandy, always watching, making sure everyone was taken care of and safe. Quietly capable, smart, funny, beautiful. Mama Hen, in the best way.
Yeah, I know this post is a bit treacly. Sorry. I just had a big softening of the heart that happened around this trip and had to share it. Biting sarcasm back tomorrow.
I don't know. Ponytails. Big eyes. Little noses. Smelling my girls' heads over and over and over again. The weight of their sun-tanned legs on mine. Their little bellies in swimsuits.
And, ever-present, the Aunties. Keeping us all safe. Pouring love over our heads, anointing us. Always a hand, holding on so that we could fly a bit.
Getting to drive the boat, in the arms of Auntie Meghan!
Relaxing with Auntie TT, who tirelessly read kids' stories, listened to the Dora the Explorer CD over and over again as we got lost around Toronto (twice), and made the ten-hour car drive to and fro in the kids' car, all the while nursing a wicked leg injury. Never once did a harsh word come from her mouth, and she kept me laughing the entire way.
Nolie and Auntie Millicent, who proved to be both patient and hilarious. A new Auntie and friend for us, for forever.
Auntie Sandy, always watching, making sure everyone was taken care of and safe. Quietly capable, smart, funny, beautiful. Mama Hen, in the best way.
Yeah, I know this post is a bit treacly. Sorry. I just had a big softening of the heart that happened around this trip and had to share it. Biting sarcasm back tomorrow.
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