Haven't written about writing in a while. Have you noticed? It's not that I haven't been writing. I have. On this blog, on a book I'm writing with colleagues, encyclopedia entries, book reviews. But, I don't know, it's felt less scary lately. Less loaded. Less fraught.
Now that I think about it, though, that's probably because I haven't worked on a real, full-length solo academic article in a while. I had some stuff come out this year, and I've been co-writing a lot, so I'm kind of far away from a solo project.
Until today. When I start writing a new paper. That I've been thinking about writing for years. And all the old anxiety and ooginess just comes to rest right in my gut, creeping its cold fingers up into my throat now and then.
Here's the difference, this time (I hope): This time, I know I can get published. I've done it before, and I'll do it again, and even if I fail a few times, it will eventually work out.
Also, I understand my process a little better. Martha Beck describes it pretty well in The Four-Day Win (H/T to Nanny for recommending it), when she says that sitting down to write a book makes her throw up and pass out. Sitting down to write a paragraph is okay.
So, I'm finally sitting down today to begin to write the article on No Impact Man, whose book and film will be released next month. But I won't think about the article yet. I'm just going to write some notes, maybe a paragraph. Then I'll throw up and pass out.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
new profile photo. so there.
anorexic turtle gone.
sewing mama on porch in its place.
hetero cliche? I think not.
sewing mama on porch in its place.
hetero cliche? I think not.
Vegan Schmeegan Farfanugan Boogan
Friends have been reading The China Study, which has been on my bedside table for a gajillion years now. They are going vegan, which seems strange and extreme to me, and so of course I had to find out why two reasonable, smart, wonderful people would make such a decision. I mean, seriously. Don't they know that going vegan means giving up CHEESE? ICE CREAM? Why would you DO such a thing?
Even thinking about it makes me feel dirty! Eating cheese is, like, a God-given right!
But then I read the stupid book. Or at least, most of it. I'm afraid there will be a chapter on beer in there somewhere. I don't know what I'll do if that happens.
Argh.
Soy cheese isn't that bad. Seriously.
Even thinking about it makes me feel dirty! Eating cheese is, like, a God-given right!
But then I read the stupid book. Or at least, most of it. I'm afraid there will be a chapter on beer in there somewhere. I don't know what I'll do if that happens.
Argh.
Soy cheese isn't that bad. Seriously.
Nolie's New Shtick
Mama: Nolie, what do you want for dinner?
Nolie: HahahahahaPOOP!
Mama: Okay, then. Chicken nuggets it is. Do you want to help me make dinner?
Nolie: HahahahahahahahPOOOOP!
Mama: Right. So, why don't you go play in the playroom while mommy gets things ready, okay?
Nolie:
Mama: Really, baby. Go on. You're hurting my toe now.
Nolie:
Mama: NOLIE!
Nolie: POOOP!
Mama (under breath): Stick it in your piehole.
Monday, August 17, 2009
clothesline?
There was MUCH to like about this last weekend: Eric's brother Steve came for a visit with our niece Gwen, who is incredibly adorable, imaginative, sweet, and sassy. It was so much fun, and so relaxed.
Then, yesterday, we got to go the Lyons folk festival, which I love because it's only an hour away, it's beautiful, and there is a little beach right along the St. Vrain where the kids can play in the water and build sand castles and generally frolic. The music is good, too, but we mostly go for the ambiance and the junk food and the lazy time with our kids.
So, I should be writing more about these amazing things.
But here's what I'm thinking about, this weird thing that happened on our way out of the park. It's convoluted and hard to explain, but here goes.
We left the festival around 9:15, because we were fading fast and the girls were getting a little crazy, and a thunder and lightning storm was heading toward us at break-neck speed. We got to the bus drop-off (you have to take a bus from the festival to the parking lot). But there was a different bus on duty by that point, and it couldn't fit all of us AND our tents, camp chairs, wagon, and cooler the way the first bus of the day had.
Freaking out a little, we decided that Eric should stay with our mountain of crap while I rode with the girls back to the parking lot. Then I would return to fetch him and the mountainous kidfrastructure.
Of course, Eric was the one who had actually parked the car earlier in the day, so when the girls and I got back to the parking lot, we couldn't really find the car. Because the parking lot was pitch black and still had a few hundred cars parked in it.
Up and down the 1/4-mile-long aisles we walked, Nolie on my shoulders and Addie holding my hand. We stopped once for Addie to pee in the weeds (I thank God my kids know how to do this) then kept searching.
I felt a little panicky, walking around in the dark with the girls, but mostly I felt like I had an opportunity to handle the situation well in front of them, and mostly I did. Not to mention the fact that they were incredibly heroic, helping me look and not whining or fussing, even after a long, crazy day.
Finally, after walking up and down three of the dirt aisles, I saw the Subaru (miracle!) one row over, and made a beeline for it.
Except, as we were walking the maybe 40 feet to the car, Nolie, who had been on my shoulders, lurched backward off of my shoulders with a choked gasp. She was basically laid out horizontal, and we were moving like an upside-down L.
I had hold of her feet, so she didn't hit the ground. But I had no idea what had happened. My first thought was that she had seen Lightning (her nemesis, second only to Thunder), had freaked out, and was trying to launch herself into my arms. But it wasn't that. In my memory, it was as if someone was pulling on her from behind. Her legs locked around my shoulders and her body was totally tense.
A second or two later, she's still making weird sounds, gurgling now, and I've managed to swing her around to my front, and I'm carrying her, wounded-soldier style, trying to just get to the car so I can see what's going on.
I get her in the seat and get the overhead light on and she grasping at her neck screaming that the "white rope" got her. Addie's also crying now, she says because she's so worried about Nolie. "You can have the best lollipop," she says to Nolie, over and over again.
Long story short: Nolie was, and is, fine. There's a nasty clotheline-looking burn on her neck. But who knows what caused it? I walked back a few rows once I had the girls calmed down and buckled in, and didn't see any wires or ropes suspended there.
But it freaked me out, the whole incident. Your kid's head being taken off and all. So here were the explanations that flashed through my head on the drive home, each ridiculous in its own way:
A bat flew into Nolie's neck.
Her jacket got caught on something behind me (?) and pulled her back.
She got hit by lightning (I know, redonculous).
Some idiot had strung something up in the car or parking lot that I just couldn't see, even after searching.
She was really, really tired, and maybe she hallucinated something. But that burn mark...
I don't know, obviously. But it would be fine with me if that whole episode never occurred again.
Then, yesterday, we got to go the Lyons folk festival, which I love because it's only an hour away, it's beautiful, and there is a little beach right along the St. Vrain where the kids can play in the water and build sand castles and generally frolic. The music is good, too, but we mostly go for the ambiance and the junk food and the lazy time with our kids.
So, I should be writing more about these amazing things.
But here's what I'm thinking about, this weird thing that happened on our way out of the park. It's convoluted and hard to explain, but here goes.
We left the festival around 9:15, because we were fading fast and the girls were getting a little crazy, and a thunder and lightning storm was heading toward us at break-neck speed. We got to the bus drop-off (you have to take a bus from the festival to the parking lot). But there was a different bus on duty by that point, and it couldn't fit all of us AND our tents, camp chairs, wagon, and cooler the way the first bus of the day had.
Freaking out a little, we decided that Eric should stay with our mountain of crap while I rode with the girls back to the parking lot. Then I would return to fetch him and the mountainous kidfrastructure.
Of course, Eric was the one who had actually parked the car earlier in the day, so when the girls and I got back to the parking lot, we couldn't really find the car. Because the parking lot was pitch black and still had a few hundred cars parked in it.
Up and down the 1/4-mile-long aisles we walked, Nolie on my shoulders and Addie holding my hand. We stopped once for Addie to pee in the weeds (I thank God my kids know how to do this) then kept searching.
I felt a little panicky, walking around in the dark with the girls, but mostly I felt like I had an opportunity to handle the situation well in front of them, and mostly I did. Not to mention the fact that they were incredibly heroic, helping me look and not whining or fussing, even after a long, crazy day.
Finally, after walking up and down three of the dirt aisles, I saw the Subaru (miracle!) one row over, and made a beeline for it.
Except, as we were walking the maybe 40 feet to the car, Nolie, who had been on my shoulders, lurched backward off of my shoulders with a choked gasp. She was basically laid out horizontal, and we were moving like an upside-down L.
I had hold of her feet, so she didn't hit the ground. But I had no idea what had happened. My first thought was that she had seen Lightning (her nemesis, second only to Thunder), had freaked out, and was trying to launch herself into my arms. But it wasn't that. In my memory, it was as if someone was pulling on her from behind. Her legs locked around my shoulders and her body was totally tense.
A second or two later, she's still making weird sounds, gurgling now, and I've managed to swing her around to my front, and I'm carrying her, wounded-soldier style, trying to just get to the car so I can see what's going on.
I get her in the seat and get the overhead light on and she grasping at her neck screaming that the "white rope" got her. Addie's also crying now, she says because she's so worried about Nolie. "You can have the best lollipop," she says to Nolie, over and over again.
Long story short: Nolie was, and is, fine. There's a nasty clotheline-looking burn on her neck. But who knows what caused it? I walked back a few rows once I had the girls calmed down and buckled in, and didn't see any wires or ropes suspended there.
But it freaked me out, the whole incident. Your kid's head being taken off and all. So here were the explanations that flashed through my head on the drive home, each ridiculous in its own way:
A bat flew into Nolie's neck.
Her jacket got caught on something behind me (?) and pulled her back.
She got hit by lightning (I know, redonculous).
Some idiot had strung something up in the car or parking lot that I just couldn't see, even after searching.
She was really, really tired, and maybe she hallucinated something. But that burn mark...
I don't know, obviously. But it would be fine with me if that whole episode never occurred again.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
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?
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Big Kid Stuff
There's lots of big-girl stuff going on around here, that's for sure.
Those of you who have stuck with this blog for a while might remember how, long ago, I wrote about kid "tipping-points." I'm too lazy to go back to the old blog and link to it, but I think the general theory I tried to put forth is that my kids seem to get into particular routines, which serve us all pretty well, and then they go through some developmental "phase" (usually miserable) which suggests they are outgrowing the old routine. When these phases hit, those are signs the kid is at a tipping point, and about to embark on a new routine.
It's quite the balancing act figuring your way through those points, because the kids and you aren't quite ready to give up the old routines, but you know they and you need to get on to the new routine. So you're all holding on to the old and paradoxically jumping into the new. It makes everyone a little crazy.
Nolie's headed toward a point right now, if not exactly balanced on the very end of the lever. She's not been sleeping well, and has been fussy, fussy, fussy during the day because of it. Like unbearably fussy. Needy, whiny, the whole bit.
The deal is this: pretty much her whole life, Nolie has slept in a quiet, pitch-black room. Any little light or noise, and she'd be up, wide awake.
Now? Big-girl stuff. Perhaps precipitated by the different sleeping arrangements on our trip to Canada, where Nolie got very used to sleeping with her sister, we've moved on to nightlights and soundtracks at bedtime. And it's working. She's sleeping better, for the most part, and seems less frightened and skittish, generally. But then, last night, she woke up at 3 in the morning, stayed awake listening to two cds while we pleaded with her to go back to sleep, and then finally conked out.
Kid tipping points.
Anybody want to guess what's going to happen when Addie starts Kindergarten in two weeks?
Lord.
Those of you who have stuck with this blog for a while might remember how, long ago, I wrote about kid "tipping-points." I'm too lazy to go back to the old blog and link to it, but I think the general theory I tried to put forth is that my kids seem to get into particular routines, which serve us all pretty well, and then they go through some developmental "phase" (usually miserable) which suggests they are outgrowing the old routine. When these phases hit, those are signs the kid is at a tipping point, and about to embark on a new routine.
It's quite the balancing act figuring your way through those points, because the kids and you aren't quite ready to give up the old routines, but you know they and you need to get on to the new routine. So you're all holding on to the old and paradoxically jumping into the new. It makes everyone a little crazy.
Nolie's headed toward a point right now, if not exactly balanced on the very end of the lever. She's not been sleeping well, and has been fussy, fussy, fussy during the day because of it. Like unbearably fussy. Needy, whiny, the whole bit.
The deal is this: pretty much her whole life, Nolie has slept in a quiet, pitch-black room. Any little light or noise, and she'd be up, wide awake.
Now? Big-girl stuff. Perhaps precipitated by the different sleeping arrangements on our trip to Canada, where Nolie got very used to sleeping with her sister, we've moved on to nightlights and soundtracks at bedtime. And it's working. She's sleeping better, for the most part, and seems less frightened and skittish, generally. But then, last night, she woke up at 3 in the morning, stayed awake listening to two cds while we pleaded with her to go back to sleep, and then finally conked out.
Kid tipping points.
Anybody want to guess what's going to happen when Addie starts Kindergarten in two weeks?
Lord.
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