Dear Mr. ___,
I think you are an asshole. I'm writing that partly to be totally honest that this letter may not be unbiased, but also because I have seen you around town a couple of times in the 15 or so years since I was your student, and I get the impression that you don't have any clue that you're an asshole.
And I don't even think that because of the way you treated me, which was abhorrent. Instead, I'm writing on behalf of this girl in our class whose name I don't even remember and who I've never seen since I left your school. Now that I think of it, I don't think I'd even recognize her if I saw her.
She was not very nice to me. She excluded me and generally capitalized on my unpopularity to maintain some semblance of the same among the rest of the class. You remember me, right? I was fat, awkward, and smart? Well, she wasn't really any of those things.
One day when we were in sixth grade and preparing for your beloved science fair, you visited our classroom and we all raised our hands with ideas for experiments. She wanted to do an experiment testing whether shampoos really do change the structure of hair like in commercials which show two drastically different close-ups of the hair treated by a competitor's shampoo and by the advertised shampoo. I thought that was a pretty cool idea.
You shot it down very unkindly. I remember. I think she probably went home and cried. You said that there was no way to really test that, that the results were too subjective, and you went so far as to imply that she was a typical dumb blond for thinking it up. I remember there was chuckling between you and another teacher. It was horrible. You are horrible.
I just wanted you to know that. You were so mean that I remember 16 years later how you crushed someone ELSE's feelings. Even someone I didn't really like.
Jen
ps - I still really like science, despite you.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Christmas Eve Letter to My Son
Dear Andrew,
You are 5 and a half, it's your sixth Christmas, and you believe in Santa Claus. Despite my best attempts at honesty, you recoil aghast when I say, "Well, it's fun to pretend that Santa is real, but we know that it's not really possible for him to really, in reality, honestly, visit all those houses in one night. It's just a fun story." Perhaps fortunately, you choose to believe your father, your grandfather, and pretty much everyone else you know. Over me. No, I'm not hurt. Too much.
I just don't want to lie to you. I don't want to spend time explaining gravity, inertia, and friction to you while I push you on the swing, and then throw it all out the window when a jolly guy in red comes along in December. I don't want to teach you about evolution and creationism, and why one is based in physical observation and one is based in Biblical literalism, and then agree that somehow that fat dude gets down the chimney each night. How? Magic!
But that's really only part of what I want you to know. Sure, I want to teach you about science, and about blind faith, and I want you to choose science. Of course, because it's the way of thinking that is based on actual facts, and that has the highest likelihood of helping you make decisions throughout your life. Good, solid decisions that have nothing to do with being "nice" so you can get presents. Or go to heaven. I want you to be you, nice because you ARE. Have these qualities because they are intrinsic to your nature: generosity, honesty, compassion, tenacity, bravery, clarity, free thought. Not because you think you'll get a Powerminers Lego set from the big guy (You are getting one, by the way, but not until your birthday. Sorry. We thought you would like a Mater racetrack more.).
The really important thing, beyond goodness for its own sake, is that these ideas: science, faith, Santa -- they're all really only stories. None of them is reality itself. I'm telling you this in a letter because I don't think you'll understand it now. They are like glasses that you put on and through which you can see the world. And there are BILLIONS of them. Sure, you can see the world through a scientific lens, and I would be proud. But it would still only be one way of seeing, and incomplete. You could also walk around looking at everything through the lens of the Santa story. But it would be totally ridiculous. What? Somebody has cancer? Santa must have given them that because they were naughty. You see my point?
My point is, don't take belief too seriously. For me, that's the real message of Christmas. At least this year. Ask me again another year. I'll probably believe something different.
Love,
Mom
You are 5 and a half, it's your sixth Christmas, and you believe in Santa Claus. Despite my best attempts at honesty, you recoil aghast when I say, "Well, it's fun to pretend that Santa is real, but we know that it's not really possible for him to really, in reality, honestly, visit all those houses in one night. It's just a fun story." Perhaps fortunately, you choose to believe your father, your grandfather, and pretty much everyone else you know. Over me. No, I'm not hurt. Too much.
I just don't want to lie to you. I don't want to spend time explaining gravity, inertia, and friction to you while I push you on the swing, and then throw it all out the window when a jolly guy in red comes along in December. I don't want to teach you about evolution and creationism, and why one is based in physical observation and one is based in Biblical literalism, and then agree that somehow that fat dude gets down the chimney each night. How? Magic!
But that's really only part of what I want you to know. Sure, I want to teach you about science, and about blind faith, and I want you to choose science. Of course, because it's the way of thinking that is based on actual facts, and that has the highest likelihood of helping you make decisions throughout your life. Good, solid decisions that have nothing to do with being "nice" so you can get presents. Or go to heaven. I want you to be you, nice because you ARE. Have these qualities because they are intrinsic to your nature: generosity, honesty, compassion, tenacity, bravery, clarity, free thought. Not because you think you'll get a Powerminers Lego set from the big guy (You are getting one, by the way, but not until your birthday. Sorry. We thought you would like a Mater racetrack more.).
The really important thing, beyond goodness for its own sake, is that these ideas: science, faith, Santa -- they're all really only stories. None of them is reality itself. I'm telling you this in a letter because I don't think you'll understand it now. They are like glasses that you put on and through which you can see the world. And there are BILLIONS of them. Sure, you can see the world through a scientific lens, and I would be proud. But it would still only be one way of seeing, and incomplete. You could also walk around looking at everything through the lens of the Santa story. But it would be totally ridiculous. What? Somebody has cancer? Santa must have given them that because they were naughty. You see my point?
My point is, don't take belief too seriously. For me, that's the real message of Christmas. At least this year. Ask me again another year. I'll probably believe something different.
Love,
Mom
Friday, November 26, 2010
From the past, to the future
I was rooting around in my hope chest today, looking for some inspiration. I found so many things. Not the least of which was an old journal I wrote for a college class in 1999. On the very first page is an ineloquent diatribe about the senselessness of separating mother and baby after birth. I didn't read the rest, and I have no idea why, at 17, (2 years before I found that book in the library that supposedly inspired me to midwifery) I was writing about the motherbaby bond.
Nevertheless, there it is. Apparently, my obsession with birth has already gone on more than ten years now. Did I mention I finally took the plunge, admitted to myself that I really do want to go back to midwifery, even though it's terrifying, even though it will probably be another ten years before I finally make it? No? Everything is terrifying now. I'm so dramatic.
Andrei's decided he has his own career he wants to pursue now, after his retirement in a year and a half: teaching elementary school. We're a couple of money-makers, aren't we? I was hoping he'd find something that would at least allow us to make the same amount of money we do now, not less. But I was hoping even more that he would genuinely find something to do that he really loved, that was meant for him. And I just wasn't sure that was it.
But he found something in the hope chest, too: an ad for a dating website (answered by yours truly, I might add), circa 2003, in which he claimed he wanted to be a teacher and work with kids. Now, as much as I'd been longing for some certainty, something solid to carry us through this scary transition, this rite of passage, it seems like we've found it, in the form of messages from our former selves, each singing the same tune even from beyond that whole shaking-the-boat rite of passage, having children.
Nevertheless, there it is. Apparently, my obsession with birth has already gone on more than ten years now. Did I mention I finally took the plunge, admitted to myself that I really do want to go back to midwifery, even though it's terrifying, even though it will probably be another ten years before I finally make it? No? Everything is terrifying now. I'm so dramatic.
Andrei's decided he has his own career he wants to pursue now, after his retirement in a year and a half: teaching elementary school. We're a couple of money-makers, aren't we? I was hoping he'd find something that would at least allow us to make the same amount of money we do now, not less. But I was hoping even more that he would genuinely find something to do that he really loved, that was meant for him. And I just wasn't sure that was it.
But he found something in the hope chest, too: an ad for a dating website (answered by yours truly, I might add), circa 2003, in which he claimed he wanted to be a teacher and work with kids. Now, as much as I'd been longing for some certainty, something solid to carry us through this scary transition, this rite of passage, it seems like we've found it, in the form of messages from our former selves, each singing the same tune even from beyond that whole shaking-the-boat rite of passage, having children.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Halloween
Handing out Halloween candy to trick-or-treaters is one of my very favorite traditions, and not just because I get to eat some while the kids are out. I love the no-rules fun of the night, the attitude of abundance I feel when I get to let go of my normal ideas about what are the "right" and "wrong" things to eat. I love urging the hesitant little ones to get an extra piece, and helping the greedy ones find the special pieces at the bottom of the bowl.
And that's when I notice something, well, perhaps spooky. It's the parents. They scoff, they scold, they laugh uncomfortably, they even yell at their littles about the missteps they make. One girl pauses on the way up to my door. "Run!" her dad tells her, "hurry up!" and laughs a little, uncomfortable that she's making me wait. Some parents remind them to say "thank you," but some say it in a way that makes me cringe, with a tone of voice I know they'd never use on me or someone they respect.
Kids know that, too. They hear that it's important that they don't bother me, that they don't take too long, that they say things just right, and if they don't, it's clear what's most important in that moment to the parents.
And in between knocks on the door, I'm enjoying a rare (um, extremely rare) moment without kids, without dishes or laundry or other chores to do, and I find myself tidying up. Some silly bands left around (okay, everywhere), some Duplos on the play table, a stuffed animal napping in the corner, playsilks strewn about.
Wow, I think, I could do this every night if the kids would just go to sleep on their own, at a decent hour. And then I could enjoy these moments, the quiet dark, I like to call it. The clock ticking in the silence, the house easy to tidy up with no little hands pulling on me or pulling out more toys. And maybe they would even go to sleep early, on their own. I hear there are ways to make your kids do that.
Ve have vays of making you talk.. I don't even know what that's from, but we said it as a joke so often.
And I think, these things are connected somehow. There's a sense of deference that we still, strangely, have for adults, for adult things. For bedtimes and tidiness and not lingering before a scary front porch on a dark night while a grown-up waits to give you candy. Reverence for independence even in sleep, for letting someone shine a flashlight in your face and tsk-tsk over the candy you've smeared on it.
I know, though, that one day I'll be tidying up my house in the quiet dark and wishing that just once I could go back, step on a duplo, have the dishes so many people used in the sink, stay up lying in between two warm little bodies listening to them breathe, wake up to them pulling on me in the morning.
It must be that most people think that the purpose of children is to become adults. I wonder if the purpose of adults is to support children, to hold them sacred and respect them and love them.
And that's when I notice something, well, perhaps spooky. It's the parents. They scoff, they scold, they laugh uncomfortably, they even yell at their littles about the missteps they make. One girl pauses on the way up to my door. "Run!" her dad tells her, "hurry up!" and laughs a little, uncomfortable that she's making me wait. Some parents remind them to say "thank you," but some say it in a way that makes me cringe, with a tone of voice I know they'd never use on me or someone they respect.
Kids know that, too. They hear that it's important that they don't bother me, that they don't take too long, that they say things just right, and if they don't, it's clear what's most important in that moment to the parents.
And in between knocks on the door, I'm enjoying a rare (um, extremely rare) moment without kids, without dishes or laundry or other chores to do, and I find myself tidying up. Some silly bands left around (okay, everywhere), some Duplos on the play table, a stuffed animal napping in the corner, playsilks strewn about.
Wow, I think, I could do this every night if the kids would just go to sleep on their own, at a decent hour. And then I could enjoy these moments, the quiet dark, I like to call it. The clock ticking in the silence, the house easy to tidy up with no little hands pulling on me or pulling out more toys. And maybe they would even go to sleep early, on their own. I hear there are ways to make your kids do that.
Ve have vays of making you talk.. I don't even know what that's from, but we said it as a joke so often.
And I think, these things are connected somehow. There's a sense of deference that we still, strangely, have for adults, for adult things. For bedtimes and tidiness and not lingering before a scary front porch on a dark night while a grown-up waits to give you candy. Reverence for independence even in sleep, for letting someone shine a flashlight in your face and tsk-tsk over the candy you've smeared on it.
I know, though, that one day I'll be tidying up my house in the quiet dark and wishing that just once I could go back, step on a duplo, have the dishes so many people used in the sink, stay up lying in between two warm little bodies listening to them breathe, wake up to them pulling on me in the morning.
It must be that most people think that the purpose of children is to become adults. I wonder if the purpose of adults is to support children, to hold them sacred and respect them and love them.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Stolen Moments
Every once in a while something happens which reminds me that all of these moments, even the ones I hate, are stolen moments.
A while ago (3 years and 3 months, actually), I almost died. Well, I wasn’t really in danger of dying, but the thing that stuck with me was that I could have. I would have, in fact, if not for modern medicine. I was pregnant. Or, I thought I was. What really happened was that I won the genetic lottery (1 in 2,000 chance of winning!) and what was supposed to turn into a baby turned into a growing mass of pre-cancerous cells that put out the HcG hormone that pregnancy tests look for, and I spent 2 months happily thinking I was pregnant.
And much of it bleeding and lying down trying not to. And then there was a blur of doctors, ultrasound machine, sterile white rooms, and that chilling moment when I said, “So will we hear a heartbeat...?” and the doctor said nothing. Just stared at the monitor. Looking somewhat taken aback.
And then I learned that I had a molar pregnancy, a rare condition wherein, well, bad stuff happens. And if my body didn’t spontaneously abort this “pregnancy” completely, I would have bled to death slowly. That is, only if it had happened before the development of the dilation and curettage procedure. Or perhaps some part of it remaining in my body would have metastasized to my lungs or heart and killed me even more slowly.
While I’m sure this is gruesome to contemplate (especially for my mother), at the time, wrapped up in that morbid attitude that surrounds tragedy wherein the most frightening things become light, even funny, I was buoyed. These are stolen moments, I thought, stolen from death. Everything from here on out is something I was never supposed to have. Every time I kiss my son, every sunrise, every splinter, every dirty dish. I realized that all these things I would now see, my son getting married, my husband growing old, the rest of my life, were a bonus.
Also, perhaps less romantically, it gave me a new appreciation for medical care. Sure, for most of the conditions for which I’ve sought care (pregnancy, muscle aches, depression, sinus infections) I have been happier with the treatments from alternative practitioners (midwives, chiropractors, massage therapists, acupuncturists), not to mention the benefits of preventive care offered by alternative medicine.
But life-threatening monster grape-clusters of pre-cancerous cells in my uterus? They were ON IT. And they kicked its ASS.
A while ago (3 years and 3 months, actually), I almost died. Well, I wasn’t really in danger of dying, but the thing that stuck with me was that I could have. I would have, in fact, if not for modern medicine. I was pregnant. Or, I thought I was. What really happened was that I won the genetic lottery (1 in 2,000 chance of winning!) and what was supposed to turn into a baby turned into a growing mass of pre-cancerous cells that put out the HcG hormone that pregnancy tests look for, and I spent 2 months happily thinking I was pregnant.
And much of it bleeding and lying down trying not to. And then there was a blur of doctors, ultrasound machine, sterile white rooms, and that chilling moment when I said, “So will we hear a heartbeat...?” and the doctor said nothing. Just stared at the monitor. Looking somewhat taken aback.
And then I learned that I had a molar pregnancy, a rare condition wherein, well, bad stuff happens. And if my body didn’t spontaneously abort this “pregnancy” completely, I would have bled to death slowly. That is, only if it had happened before the development of the dilation and curettage procedure. Or perhaps some part of it remaining in my body would have metastasized to my lungs or heart and killed me even more slowly.
While I’m sure this is gruesome to contemplate (especially for my mother), at the time, wrapped up in that morbid attitude that surrounds tragedy wherein the most frightening things become light, even funny, I was buoyed. These are stolen moments, I thought, stolen from death. Everything from here on out is something I was never supposed to have. Every time I kiss my son, every sunrise, every splinter, every dirty dish. I realized that all these things I would now see, my son getting married, my husband growing old, the rest of my life, were a bonus.
Also, perhaps less romantically, it gave me a new appreciation for medical care. Sure, for most of the conditions for which I’ve sought care (pregnancy, muscle aches, depression, sinus infections) I have been happier with the treatments from alternative practitioners (midwives, chiropractors, massage therapists, acupuncturists), not to mention the benefits of preventive care offered by alternative medicine.
But life-threatening monster grape-clusters of pre-cancerous cells in my uterus? They were ON IT. And they kicked its ASS.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
6 interesting things I learned about oxytocin and pitocin today
1. Oxytocin, which among other things regulates uterine contractions in labor, is produced by the hypothalamus in the brain.
2. The oxytocin produced in the brain is delivered to the receptors in the uterus in WAVES, not in a steady stream.
3. Pitocin, the artificial chemical used to simulate oxytocin to induce labor in about every 1 in 5 births, is delivered in a steady stream, not in waves.
4. Oxytocin, that natural hormone, is the "love hormone" and is part of the mix of hormones that induce mother-baby bonding.
5. Oxytocin does not cross the blood-brain barrier. It affects the brain, goes out through the hormonal system, and doesn't come back in.
6. Pitocin, when delivered in an IV to induce labor, recreates the effect that oxytocin has on the uterus, but not on the brain. Thus, no "love hormone" sensation.
Interesting.
2. The oxytocin produced in the brain is delivered to the receptors in the uterus in WAVES, not in a steady stream.
3. Pitocin, the artificial chemical used to simulate oxytocin to induce labor in about every 1 in 5 births, is delivered in a steady stream, not in waves.
4. Oxytocin, that natural hormone, is the "love hormone" and is part of the mix of hormones that induce mother-baby bonding.
5. Oxytocin does not cross the blood-brain barrier. It affects the brain, goes out through the hormonal system, and doesn't come back in.
6. Pitocin, when delivered in an IV to induce labor, recreates the effect that oxytocin has on the uterus, but not on the brain. Thus, no "love hormone" sensation.
Interesting.
Friday, August 27, 2010
I may not be able to take a whole day, but...
"Every person needs to take one day away. A day in which one consciously separates the past from the future. Jobs, lovers, family, employers, and friends can exist one day without any one of us, and if our egos permit us to confess, they could exist eternally in our absence.
Each person deserves a day away in which no problems are confronted, no solutions searched for. Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us. We need hours of aimless wandering or spates of time sitting on park benches, observing the mysterious world of ants and the canopy of treetops.
If we step away for a time, we are not, as many may think and some will accuse, being irresponsible, but rather we are preparing ourselves to more ably perform our duties and discharge our obligations.
When I return home, I am always surprised to find some questions I sought to evade had been answered and some entanglements I had hoped to flee had become unraveled in my absence.
A day away acts as a spring tonic. It can dispel rancor, transform indecision, and renew the spirit."
from Wouldn't Take Nothing for My Journey Now, by Maya Angelou. Bantam, 1994.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Budget
This post is just for me. I've been feeling SO STRESSED OUT about our budget, and we finally got to sit down and talk about it today. I've been feeling a lot of scarcity, negativity, frustration, urgency, and guilt -- and globalizing it all. After going over our YNAB budget with my husband, re-committing to spending only the money we have allocated in our budget, and really looking at how much less we're spending than we're making, I am starting to feel more positive.
Our second house will sell this upcoming week, and we will finally be living in one house and owning one house. That is, paying one mortgage in its entirety and only that mortgage and no portions of any other mortgages or rents. After owning two and living in neither for two years - let me rephrase that: after owning two homes, paying a portion of their mortgages out of pocket, and paying our own rent on the house we lived in, I can say with completely certainty that these are the home proportions that are best for me: own one, live in one.
Writing this down will also help:
We are saving $605 a month for future vacations, holidays, our children's college, our retirement, emergencies, and home repairs.
We are investing $270 a month in our health through chiropractic care, acupuncture and oriental medicine, massage, vitamins, and eyeglasses.
We are investing $750 a month in our health by buying fresh, organic, all-natural food.
We are investing $565 a month in our child's education for school, supplies, and extracurricular activities.
There. I said it. I would definitely like to spend less on clothes, dining out, household junk, and car stuff, but I can live with it and work on it slowly. The above amounts though? I'm totally happy with.
Thanks for that little bit of budget therapy, blogosphere.
Our second house will sell this upcoming week, and we will finally be living in one house and owning one house. That is, paying one mortgage in its entirety and only that mortgage and no portions of any other mortgages or rents. After owning two and living in neither for two years - let me rephrase that: after owning two homes, paying a portion of their mortgages out of pocket, and paying our own rent on the house we lived in, I can say with completely certainty that these are the home proportions that are best for me: own one, live in one.
Writing this down will also help:
We are saving $605 a month for future vacations, holidays, our children's college, our retirement, emergencies, and home repairs.
We are investing $270 a month in our health through chiropractic care, acupuncture and oriental medicine, massage, vitamins, and eyeglasses.
We are investing $750 a month in our health by buying fresh, organic, all-natural food.
We are investing $565 a month in our child's education for school, supplies, and extracurricular activities.
There. I said it. I would definitely like to spend less on clothes, dining out, household junk, and car stuff, but I can live with it and work on it slowly. The above amounts though? I'm totally happy with.
Thanks for that little bit of budget therapy, blogosphere.
Monday, August 16, 2010
God
Andrew: There's no God in the sky.
Me: (going on and on) We know scientifically that the only things in the sky are clouds, planes, birds, the atmosphere...
Andrew: And helicopters!
Me: Yes. God is in each one of us.
Andrew: Yeah, God is everybody. God isn't in the sky. I'm going to tell everybody that.
Me: Well, people can believe that if they want to. You don't get to decide what other people believe, only what you believe.
Andrew: Well. They just THINK that it's God, but it's really a Bakugan. But you can't see it.
Me: (going on and on) We know scientifically that the only things in the sky are clouds, planes, birds, the atmosphere...
Andrew: And helicopters!
Me: Yes. God is in each one of us.
Andrew: Yeah, God is everybody. God isn't in the sky. I'm going to tell everybody that.
Me: Well, people can believe that if they want to. You don't get to decide what other people believe, only what you believe.
Andrew: Well. They just THINK that it's God, but it's really a Bakugan. But you can't see it.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Summertime!
This is what we've been doing this summer:
Making red tea:
Eating fresh corn on the cob from the farmer's market (and watermelon, canteloupe, tomatoes, cherries, blueberries...)
Going to the botanical gardens with Kota B (and watching the planes fly off before we leave).
And going blueberry picking with Uncle Lloyd.
I hope to have some pictures of us doing something with Daddy sometime soon, but his ship just docked yesterday, so he's logging some extra long days and even an all-nighter to unload all the gear and the jets. Maybe this weekend. :)
Making red tea:
Eating fresh corn on the cob from the farmer's market (and watermelon, canteloupe, tomatoes, cherries, blueberries...)
Going to the botanical gardens with Kota B (and watching the planes fly off before we leave).
And going blueberry picking with Uncle Lloyd.I hope to have some pictures of us doing something with Daddy sometime soon, but his ship just docked yesterday, so he's logging some extra long days and even an all-nighter to unload all the gear and the jets. Maybe this weekend. :)
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Liliana
I know, I post a lot about my big boy, but it's time for that baby!
She is so beautiful. She loves to buckle anything. Her car seat, her stroller buckle, a backpack buckle... "Buck! Buck!" she says. She doesn't sign much, like Andrew did, but she talks a lot. She does love to make the sign for poop (THANKS, Uncle James!), and she says, "poop," but I'm pretty sure that means "butt" because she points to her parts and says it. She says, "shy" and "boppy" for nursing, (not sure why), "da-ee" for Daddy, says "Mommy" of course, and even once she said, "dyoo" which I was pretty sure meant Andrew.
She loves to look up at me with her big gorgeous eyes and tap her chest, saying, "baby," and then tap me saying, "mommeee" over and over again as if just that simple statement were the coolest thing in the world. And, really, it is. Baby. Mommy. Baby. Mommy. And the connection between.
She says, "feet," but it sounds like "wheet," and "ears," but it sounds like "ee-oo." She can point to her feet, knees, legs, toes, noes, hair, belly, eyebrows, and on and on when prompted.
She is ornery! She's started throwing fits. If I'm using a writing utensil, she wants to use it too, and won't give up. I need to find some crayons for my purse because she loves to color! That's a whole new world. Andrew still rarely likes to color. My dining room table legs show proof, and thank goodness it washes off of skin because she has been every color of the rainbow now.
She eats everything. Soup, salad (only the soft bits, like cheese and tomatoes), sandwiches, and fruit fruit fruit especially blueberries and watermelon. Gotta go, time to feed her!
She is so beautiful. She loves to buckle anything. Her car seat, her stroller buckle, a backpack buckle... "Buck! Buck!" she says. She doesn't sign much, like Andrew did, but she talks a lot. She does love to make the sign for poop (THANKS, Uncle James!), and she says, "poop," but I'm pretty sure that means "butt" because she points to her parts and says it. She says, "shy" and "boppy" for nursing, (not sure why), "da-ee" for Daddy, says "Mommy" of course, and even once she said, "dyoo" which I was pretty sure meant Andrew.
She loves to look up at me with her big gorgeous eyes and tap her chest, saying, "baby," and then tap me saying, "mommeee" over and over again as if just that simple statement were the coolest thing in the world. And, really, it is. Baby. Mommy. Baby. Mommy. And the connection between.
She says, "feet," but it sounds like "wheet," and "ears," but it sounds like "ee-oo." She can point to her feet, knees, legs, toes, noes, hair, belly, eyebrows, and on and on when prompted.
She is ornery! She's started throwing fits. If I'm using a writing utensil, she wants to use it too, and won't give up. I need to find some crayons for my purse because she loves to color! That's a whole new world. Andrew still rarely likes to color. My dining room table legs show proof, and thank goodness it washes off of skin because she has been every color of the rainbow now.
She eats everything. Soup, salad (only the soft bits, like cheese and tomatoes), sandwiches, and fruit fruit fruit especially blueberries and watermelon. Gotta go, time to feed her!
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Can I just take a moment here to mention one, small thing about this summer? I am NOT having fun. I'm not going blueberry picking, leisurely reading ANYthing, spending any time in the sun or even much outdoors, and I'm hating that.
Just thought I'd mention that. In theory, yes, I like the idea of dragging my kids all around town on great adventures, like I thought I would when I was way back in Pensacola. But now? The idea of just packing the Both Kids All Day bag leaves me longing for the remote and a reclining position on the couch.
I took them both to the chiropractor today, and let me just say, GRAMMY WE MISS YOU. A half liter of water was spilled, a fit or two was thrown (who is this toddler?), buttons and switches and knobs that were not supposed to be pushed were pushed (and pushed, and pushed, and pushedandpushedandpushedandpushed...)... phew.
There is a lot that I personally want to do this summer. See the beach (okay, maybe not so much see it as lay on it and enjoy the sun and a good book HA HA HA like that happens EVER), hike through First Landing State Park, pick some good local produce and can it, and perhaps most of all just sit. Just sit. Outside. And watch the trees. I'll let you know how it goes.
Just thought I'd mention that. In theory, yes, I like the idea of dragging my kids all around town on great adventures, like I thought I would when I was way back in Pensacola. But now? The idea of just packing the Both Kids All Day bag leaves me longing for the remote and a reclining position on the couch.
I took them both to the chiropractor today, and let me just say, GRAMMY WE MISS YOU. A half liter of water was spilled, a fit or two was thrown (who is this toddler?), buttons and switches and knobs that were not supposed to be pushed were pushed (and pushed, and pushed, and pushedandpushedandpushedandpushed...)... phew.
There is a lot that I personally want to do this summer. See the beach (okay, maybe not so much see it as lay on it and enjoy the sun and a good book HA HA HA like that happens EVER), hike through First Landing State Park, pick some good local produce and can it, and perhaps most of all just sit. Just sit. Outside. And watch the trees. I'll let you know how it goes.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
This afternoon I was lying in Liliana's uncomfortably tiny bed (nursing her... why else would I lie there?) thinking deep thoughts about motherhood and the meaning of life, the universe, and everything (no, not "42") and I wrote about 3 great blog posts in my head. Hey that rhymes. What? You want to read them? HAHAHAHA! I have totally forgotten them!
But I have this instead:
I hate Chuck-E-Cheese, and pretty much everything resembling it: crowded indoor place populated with noisy ingratiating people with bad parenting skills (often so frighteningly terrible that they send me into existential fits about the meaning of life) and lots of unpleasant, dissonant noises ... you get the picture.
ANYway, we've returned to our beloved chore chart system, the Accountable Kids board (the board goes on the wall not on their bottom. If that's what you thought, see above parenthetical note about terrible parenting skills.), and after Andrew does all of his chores for about 10 days, and accrues the accompanying star stickers, he gets to go on a "Special Date!" with mommy or daddy.
And it's pretty much anywhere he chooses. You can see where this is going, right? In the car (once again):
Andrew: "Mommy, do you know whyyy I want to go to Chuck E Cheese's for my special date....? Hm...?"
Me: "Why?"
Andrew: "Because it's with you."
Me: getting annoyed. "Andreww.."
Andrew: "...and because you HATE Chuck E Cheese."
Me: more annoyed. "ANDrew! You want to take me to Chuck E Cheese because I hate it! I know you better than that, that's a malicious thing to do and I know you're not malicious."
Andrew: "I want to take you to Chuck E Cheese's because it's SO cool! You hate it, but they have all this cool stuff inside.. rocketships, games, and stuff, and you'll see, and then you'll like it!"
Whoa. He totally schooled me. Does that whole interchange make sense? I was thinking he was being mean, and he was really just wanting me to get it, to like the place, because how could I not if I went in such a cool place?
Anyway, that's all I've got. Night.
But I have this instead:
I hate Chuck-E-Cheese, and pretty much everything resembling it: crowded indoor place populated with noisy ingratiating people with bad parenting skills (often so frighteningly terrible that they send me into existential fits about the meaning of life) and lots of unpleasant, dissonant noises ... you get the picture.
ANYway, we've returned to our beloved chore chart system, the Accountable Kids board (the board goes on the wall not on their bottom. If that's what you thought, see above parenthetical note about terrible parenting skills.), and after Andrew does all of his chores for about 10 days, and accrues the accompanying star stickers, he gets to go on a "Special Date!" with mommy or daddy.
And it's pretty much anywhere he chooses. You can see where this is going, right? In the car (once again):
Andrew: "Mommy, do you know whyyy I want to go to Chuck E Cheese's for my special date....? Hm...?"
Me: "Why?"
Andrew: "Because it's with you."
Me: getting annoyed. "Andreww.."
Andrew: "...and because you HATE Chuck E Cheese."
Me: more annoyed. "ANDrew! You want to take me to Chuck E Cheese because I hate it! I know you better than that, that's a malicious thing to do and I know you're not malicious."
Andrew: "I want to take you to Chuck E Cheese's because it's SO cool! You hate it, but they have all this cool stuff inside.. rocketships, games, and stuff, and you'll see, and then you'll like it!"
Whoa. He totally schooled me. Does that whole interchange make sense? I was thinking he was being mean, and he was really just wanting me to get it, to like the place, because how could I not if I went in such a cool place?
Anyway, that's all I've got. Night.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Andrew, Andrew, Andrew
Yesterday we were in the car and he came up with this: "Mommee? Can you DO this? If you had a pick-up truck, and you could tie a knot that wouldn't come undone, could you tie yourself to the rope and go rollerskating with the truck?" Yes, he meant what you think he meant. That is MY SON! Yeah!
Today we had Just You and Me Time. It was awesome. We read this adorable book Grampa got for him about grannies who go to a beauty salon that's taken over by aliens and then all the food they cook comes alive with homicidal intentions. Then we ate some ice cream and told each other jokes. "What kind of dancing do you do on a trampoline?" "Hip hop!"
And yesterday when we went to check out his new dance studio, he cracked up the teachers. One asked him what his last name was, to which his usual response is "andrewbodhichendea," and she said, "You're gonna have to spell that for me."
He started, "ch.. ch..."
And I said, "What two letters make the sound, 'ch?'"
And he said, "Oh! I have a joke about that! Why don't the letters 's' and 'h' talk to each other? Because together they make the sound 'ssh!'"
Hahahah!
Also, the fourth of July was AWESOME!
Uncle Lloyd and I rolled down the steepest spot we could find at Mt. Trashmore, and then I sat down while the world spun around me and he rode a borrowed (long) skateboard down said hill. Phew.
He also bought Andrew a light saber, of course. Liliana was adorable. Even Andrei was in a good mood!
Today we had Just You and Me Time. It was awesome. We read this adorable book Grampa got for him about grannies who go to a beauty salon that's taken over by aliens and then all the food they cook comes alive with homicidal intentions. Then we ate some ice cream and told each other jokes. "What kind of dancing do you do on a trampoline?" "Hip hop!"
And yesterday when we went to check out his new dance studio, he cracked up the teachers. One asked him what his last name was, to which his usual response is "andrewbodhichendea," and she said, "You're gonna have to spell that for me."
He started, "ch.. ch..."
And I said, "What two letters make the sound, 'ch?'"
And he said, "Oh! I have a joke about that! Why don't the letters 's' and 'h' talk to each other? Because together they make the sound 'ssh!'"
Hahahah!
Also, the fourth of July was AWESOME!
Uncle Lloyd and I rolled down the steepest spot we could find at Mt. Trashmore, and then I sat down while the world spun around me and he rode a borrowed (long) skateboard down said hill. Phew.
He also bought Andrew a light saber, of course. Liliana was adorable. Even Andrei was in a good mood!
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Andrew
On Andrew's part, there has been quite a bit of honest, meager crying. Yesterday Grammy and Grampa left, and then he found some pictures his teachers sent from his old school of him and his buddies in his classroom. "Everything is just PHOOEY. It's just so phooey." Which would be a lot cuter and even funny if it weren't so darn sad.
Today we found out we overpayed on our water bill by TWO DECIMAL PLACES (yes!), and as were discussing where we might find $8,000 to cover us until we get paid back, Andrew rushed off to his room, saying, "Okay! I'm going to have to get down my piggy bank.."
Later he was heard singing, "we are the champions" in its entirety. When he drifted into singing "I'm a Gummy Bear," (if you haven't heard this song, be grateful and DO NOT under any circumstances look it up on YouTube and for the love of all things holy, don't let any child you know listen to it or you will NEVER ESCAPE its evil), Uncle Lloyd, in an effort to reset his singing, drummed out and hummed the refrain of "We are the Champions," suddenly there was quiet drifting down the hall, and at last, "weeee'll keep on fiighting... to the end! Duh-nuh-nuh.."
Oh yeah, also, this morning, I told him (as per usual) to empty his cereal bowl into the sink and put the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. He said, "You know! It would be more environmental to pour the milk in a cup to save it." Which is what he then did. :)
Today we found out we overpayed on our water bill by TWO DECIMAL PLACES (yes!), and as were discussing where we might find $8,000 to cover us until we get paid back, Andrew rushed off to his room, saying, "Okay! I'm going to have to get down my piggy bank.."
Later he was heard singing, "we are the champions" in its entirety. When he drifted into singing "I'm a Gummy Bear," (if you haven't heard this song, be grateful and DO NOT under any circumstances look it up on YouTube and for the love of all things holy, don't let any child you know listen to it or you will NEVER ESCAPE its evil), Uncle Lloyd, in an effort to reset his singing, drummed out and hummed the refrain of "We are the Champions," suddenly there was quiet drifting down the hall, and at last, "weeee'll keep on fiighting... to the end! Duh-nuh-nuh.."
Oh yeah, also, this morning, I told him (as per usual) to empty his cereal bowl into the sink and put the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. He said, "You know! It would be more environmental to pour the milk in a cup to save it." Which is what he then did. :)
Thursday, June 24, 2010
a poem (not by me)
Entering The Kingdom
by Mary Karr
As the boy's bones lengthened
and his head and heart enlarged,
his mother one day failed
to see herself in him.
He was a man then, radiating
the innate loneliness of men.
His expression was ever after
beyond her. When near sleep
his features eased towards childhood,
it was brief.
She could only squeeze
his broad shoulder. What could
she teach him
of loss, who now inflicted it
by entering the kingdom
of his own will?
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Moving in.
..has been total chaos for us. I am sitting in a house full of mis-arranged stuff, clutter everywhere, and wondering how long will it take to get back to normal? Months? Christmas? Okay, I'm probably exaggerating here, but barely.
Boxes were packed with stuff for five different rooms, and labeled, "d-cor" (decor?) with no room on the box. After stuff was moved in, much of it had to be moved around again once we discovered what was inside. The movers left boxes on the lawn in the back yard, left furniture strewn about rooms in the wrong places.
I'm just glad it's over. Except for the rest of the unpacking. Ugh.
Boxes were packed with stuff for five different rooms, and labeled, "d-cor" (decor?) with no room on the box. After stuff was moved in, much of it had to be moved around again once we discovered what was inside. The movers left boxes on the lawn in the back yard, left furniture strewn about rooms in the wrong places.
I'm just glad it's over. Except for the rest of the unpacking. Ugh.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Moving
Moving is stressful. It really really is. Letting go of friendships that are sustained mostly by day-to-day sharing of space; facing the reality of how rarely I clean my house; preparing to change the physical surroundings... it's all just stressful.
However, this time around, I've found some true beauty in it. Inspiration. I found and cracked open some old, old paper journals and was... surprised. I wrote that when I was 20? Wow, I was insightful. The lists of qualities I was searching for in a man were particularly funny.
I guess it's a time to reassess, to stir up my inner life and let things resettle, see what is permanent and what will simply be forgotten.
It definitely has inspired me to be tidier, to have less junk. Or perhaps to go live in a cave.
However, this time around, I've found some true beauty in it. Inspiration. I found and cracked open some old, old paper journals and was... surprised. I wrote that when I was 20? Wow, I was insightful. The lists of qualities I was searching for in a man were particularly funny.
I guess it's a time to reassess, to stir up my inner life and let things resettle, see what is permanent and what will simply be forgotten.
It definitely has inspired me to be tidier, to have less junk. Or perhaps to go live in a cave.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Mixing Clay
I recently discovered these awesome 60-cent tiny boxes of modeling clay, which are great for my 5-year-old (5!).
He was mixing two of the colors in the back seat today while we drove around. What is it about being about to move that means we spend so much more time in the car?
And he remarked about how he loves mixing colors. And I said, yeah, I used to do that too.
Andrew: "YOU used to mix colors? Whoa.."
Not sure why that was a surprise.
Me: "Yeah, your Aunt Sam taught me."
Andrew: "Whoa. She's awesome."
Yeah, she's pretty awesome.
Thanks, Aunt Sam, for spending your week with us!
He was mixing two of the colors in the back seat today while we drove around. What is it about being about to move that means we spend so much more time in the car?
And he remarked about how he loves mixing colors. And I said, yeah, I used to do that too.
Andrew: "YOU used to mix colors? Whoa.."
Not sure why that was a surprise.
Me: "Yeah, your Aunt Sam taught me."
Andrew: "Whoa. She's awesome."
Yeah, she's pretty awesome.
Thanks, Aunt Sam, for spending your week with us!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Mixed emotions
This is such a bittersweet time for us. I'm trying to nudge it towards "bittersweet" and away from simply "sad."
This week is Andrew's birthday, and next week is that emotional process of packing up all our things, from the books and the shelves to the bed and its sheets to the spoons and forks we use every day.
And so, I'm going about the business of closing out utilities accounts, buying paper plates, changing addresses, making cupcakes. All mixed up into one big, sad soup.
Way back when we first bought the VA house, when I was still nearly a total wreck, I walked into the empty, echoing thing and checked it out, with my huge roly-poly 3-month-old boy, a new mom with a new house and a husband out to sea. I remember sitting alone in the empty house in the sunshine, on the floor of the living room, then carpeted in khaki-colored low-nap carpet, nursing Andrew. I was leaning against the wall and staring at the fireplace and the ceiling and the kitchen and feeling hopeful. But thinking, "Wow, we're really doing it! We're finally nursing okay and even with no pillows on the floor like this. Maybe we can make it." After all these years, it seems impossible that I ever felt that nursing while sitting on the floor felt new and strange. But it did.
That was before our strong, generous family came and moved all our stuff in one day, before our gorgeous coral and white couch, before we remodeled the kitchen, before I lost my next pregnancy under terrifying circumstances, before Sam came and spent Christmas and January with us there, before Lily, before I started gardening. Before so much, in that empty house, just me and my boy.
Who is now five. And a big brother. This is making me cry.
I just think of that moment in that empty house, holding him, and how GONE that moment is, how mostly I can't really even remember what it felt like to hold him. How these moments are slipping away.
But I also remember how miserable I was then, how everything was a struggle, how much pain was ahead of me. All the fights with my husband, all the loss and confusion. And how much we've gained, how we've filled our lives with beauty and joy and good food and singing.
In the end, I think it's not so bad that that cuddly baby grew up to be this boy with too many elbows who still wants to fly on the trapeze of my shins, who hugs his sister in the morning just because he's glad to see her, who can already ride his bike without training wheels. It's not so bad that we lost Lily the first time, because then we somehow got her again, managed to birth again so beautifully. It's not so bad that we filled up our empty house with laughter and friends and furniture and tears and little dirty feet.
This week is Andrew's birthday, and next week is that emotional process of packing up all our things, from the books and the shelves to the bed and its sheets to the spoons and forks we use every day.
And so, I'm going about the business of closing out utilities accounts, buying paper plates, changing addresses, making cupcakes. All mixed up into one big, sad soup.
Way back when we first bought the VA house, when I was still nearly a total wreck, I walked into the empty, echoing thing and checked it out, with my huge roly-poly 3-month-old boy, a new mom with a new house and a husband out to sea. I remember sitting alone in the empty house in the sunshine, on the floor of the living room, then carpeted in khaki-colored low-nap carpet, nursing Andrew. I was leaning against the wall and staring at the fireplace and the ceiling and the kitchen and feeling hopeful. But thinking, "Wow, we're really doing it! We're finally nursing okay and even with no pillows on the floor like this. Maybe we can make it." After all these years, it seems impossible that I ever felt that nursing while sitting on the floor felt new and strange. But it did.
That was before our strong, generous family came and moved all our stuff in one day, before our gorgeous coral and white couch, before we remodeled the kitchen, before I lost my next pregnancy under terrifying circumstances, before Sam came and spent Christmas and January with us there, before Lily, before I started gardening. Before so much, in that empty house, just me and my boy.
Who is now five. And a big brother. This is making me cry.
I just think of that moment in that empty house, holding him, and how GONE that moment is, how mostly I can't really even remember what it felt like to hold him. How these moments are slipping away.
But I also remember how miserable I was then, how everything was a struggle, how much pain was ahead of me. All the fights with my husband, all the loss and confusion. And how much we've gained, how we've filled our lives with beauty and joy and good food and singing.
In the end, I think it's not so bad that that cuddly baby grew up to be this boy with too many elbows who still wants to fly on the trapeze of my shins, who hugs his sister in the morning just because he's glad to see her, who can already ride his bike without training wheels. It's not so bad that we lost Lily the first time, because then we somehow got her again, managed to birth again so beautifully. It's not so bad that we filled up our empty house with laughter and friends and furniture and tears and little dirty feet.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Liliana, 14 months
Something is happening to you.
You play games with me now. Little, horrible, independent games. We nurse in bed and you roll over, crawl out of bed, stand up, wave your little hand at me, and toddle out of the room on your fat bowl-legged legs. Far too adorable to tolerate, but also torture. "Bye-bye? Already?" I think.
I realized today that I can't even remember the last time I wore you in the sling. This is the saddest thing that's happened to me in a long time.
I put your hair in a ponytail today. On top of your head. It stood straight up like an exclamation point.
You say, "Up!" and "No!" very often now, and "Buh!" which means book, ball, and many other things.
You give kisses.
You follow your brother around and you make us laugh. Something about you is very, very funny. I don't know what it is, but you make us laugh a lot, and it seems intentional.
You love dirt. LOVE it.
Often, when I pick you up, or just when you're nursing or very happy, you kick your legs just for fun. It's adorable.
Also when you're nursing, you often smile and laugh. It's hard to nurse while grinning. Now we know.
You play games with me now. Little, horrible, independent games. We nurse in bed and you roll over, crawl out of bed, stand up, wave your little hand at me, and toddle out of the room on your fat bowl-legged legs. Far too adorable to tolerate, but also torture. "Bye-bye? Already?" I think.
I realized today that I can't even remember the last time I wore you in the sling. This is the saddest thing that's happened to me in a long time.
I put your hair in a ponytail today. On top of your head. It stood straight up like an exclamation point.
You say, "Up!" and "No!" very often now, and "Buh!" which means book, ball, and many other things.
You give kisses.
You follow your brother around and you make us laugh. Something about you is very, very funny. I don't know what it is, but you make us laugh a lot, and it seems intentional.
You love dirt. LOVE it.
Often, when I pick you up, or just when you're nursing or very happy, you kick your legs just for fun. It's adorable.
Also when you're nursing, you often smile and laugh. It's hard to nurse while grinning. Now we know.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
CHAPTER BOOKS!
I have been waiting for this night for 5 years! FIVE YEARS! And it happened all of a sudden, with no preparation. Bam!
I read my son a chapter book! Yay! It may sound silly, but I have been itching to read chapter books with him since he was a tiny baby (okay, he was never a tiny baby, but you know what I mean) sitting in my lap paging impatiently through Goodnight Moon.
After that, when I weaned him that first night, I sat him facing out from me on my lap instead of cuddled in the crook of my arm and we read board books.
Every night since he was about 6 months old, I (or Daddy or Grammy or Grampa) have read him stories. Picture books. Yes, they're fun, and some of them I don't mind reading over and over and over.
But the holy grail of bedtime reading has been the chapter book. A different chapter each night! It's the beginning of a whole world I get to share with him. A world full of Madeleine L'Engle, J. R. R. Tolkien, The Princess Bride, maybe even Nancy Drew.
A few days ago, I picked up a copy of The Magic Treehouse at Target because I saw it there as I was walking by, it was cheap, and I had been eying it online for months. I'd heard they were fantastic books to start on.
But my little bundle of energy ... well, I wasn't sure he would be up for a book "with no pictuurres!" as he liked to whine.
Tonight I lay down in his bed next to him with three books in my lap. Richard Scarry's Camping Out, Goodnight Gorilla, and The Magic Treehouse #1: Dinosaurs Before Dark. I was pretty sure that he wouldn't want to read the book "without pictuuurres.." and he didn't.
But after we read both other stories, I said, "So, we can turn out the lights now and go to sleep... OR we can read a chapter in this book." Yes, I am that mom.
So, we started reading (what a great book!) and thank goodness there are great pictures on every other page. After the first chapter, he wouldn't really admit it, but he did want to read another one. So, we read chapter two. But I insisted it would be the last chapter.
Then, when I read: "And it was a REAL Pteranadon!" He quietly hissed "yes!" under his breath. OH MY GOD I cannot tell you how happy that made me. I almost had to stop reading to catch my breath.
So we read chapter three. And that really was it. But he said, "Pleeease?" Sorry, Andrew. It will have to wait until tomorrow night.
When you will be the proud owner of your very first bookmark.
I read my son a chapter book! Yay! It may sound silly, but I have been itching to read chapter books with him since he was a tiny baby (okay, he was never a tiny baby, but you know what I mean) sitting in my lap paging impatiently through Goodnight Moon.
After that, when I weaned him that first night, I sat him facing out from me on my lap instead of cuddled in the crook of my arm and we read board books.
Every night since he was about 6 months old, I (or Daddy or Grammy or Grampa) have read him stories. Picture books. Yes, they're fun, and some of them I don't mind reading over and over and over.
But the holy grail of bedtime reading has been the chapter book. A different chapter each night! It's the beginning of a whole world I get to share with him. A world full of Madeleine L'Engle, J. R. R. Tolkien, The Princess Bride, maybe even Nancy Drew.
A few days ago, I picked up a copy of The Magic Treehouse at Target because I saw it there as I was walking by, it was cheap, and I had been eying it online for months. I'd heard they were fantastic books to start on.
But my little bundle of energy ... well, I wasn't sure he would be up for a book "with no pictuurres!" as he liked to whine.
Tonight I lay down in his bed next to him with three books in my lap. Richard Scarry's Camping Out, Goodnight Gorilla, and The Magic Treehouse #1: Dinosaurs Before Dark. I was pretty sure that he wouldn't want to read the book "without pictuuurres.." and he didn't.
But after we read both other stories, I said, "So, we can turn out the lights now and go to sleep... OR we can read a chapter in this book." Yes, I am that mom.
So, we started reading (what a great book!) and thank goodness there are great pictures on every other page. After the first chapter, he wouldn't really admit it, but he did want to read another one. So, we read chapter two. But I insisted it would be the last chapter.
Then, when I read: "And it was a REAL Pteranadon!" He quietly hissed "yes!" under his breath. OH MY GOD I cannot tell you how happy that made me. I almost had to stop reading to catch my breath.
So we read chapter three. And that really was it. But he said, "Pleeease?" Sorry, Andrew. It will have to wait until tomorrow night.
When you will be the proud owner of your very first bookmark.
Friday, March 19, 2010
5 things I'm grateful for today:
1 - The very nice man who helped me unload my shopping cart while I had a wiggly toddler in the sling. That was awesome, Very Nice Man. Then Andrew helped him unload his cart. :)
2 - Organic cotton sheets at Target for $40.
3 - Nursing Liliana after her shots this morning, and everyone in the waiting room being very sweet about that and the fact that both my kids were all over the room and not quiet. And Andrew not freaking out when Liliana sobbed over her shots. And when he gave me one of the two suckers that the nurse gave him. Hello, generosity!
4 - Carrying a very heavy boy around to run errands after dinner. Nice treat, something we don't do often.
5 - Leaving the dishes, the laundry, and the sundry untidiness alone and surfing the internet this evening. It is Friday night, after all. The best way to deal with Sisyphean tasks is to just let them go every once in a while. Right?
1 - The very nice man who helped me unload my shopping cart while I had a wiggly toddler in the sling. That was awesome, Very Nice Man. Then Andrew helped him unload his cart. :)
2 - Organic cotton sheets at Target for $40.
3 - Nursing Liliana after her shots this morning, and everyone in the waiting room being very sweet about that and the fact that both my kids were all over the room and not quiet. And Andrew not freaking out when Liliana sobbed over her shots. And when he gave me one of the two suckers that the nurse gave him. Hello, generosity!
4 - Carrying a very heavy boy around to run errands after dinner. Nice treat, something we don't do often.
5 - Leaving the dishes, the laundry, and the sundry untidiness alone and surfing the internet this evening. It is Friday night, after all. The best way to deal with Sisyphean tasks is to just let them go every once in a while. Right?
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Trying to Blog More
Can you tell?
2 main subjects today:
Andrew. Apparently, when he’s puked his guts out and retched yellow stomach acid all over the place (the washer was running nonstop today), he is a tame little kitten.
“Mommy? Daddy? You take such good care of me.” It’s pitiful how meek and tired he sounded, sitting slumped over, wrapped in a blanket and watching a movie.
“I love you to the moon and back and to the moon and back AGAIN.”
“I just want to cuddle up with you...”
SO worth the horrible retching and the laundry. Bad mommy.
AND green changes I’m making and/or contemplating:
I finally have given up the Dobie sponge addiction. I’ve been really inspired by the blog “Fake Plastic Fish,” which is at once overwhelming and inspirational. I am not going to be able to remove all plastics from my life, like she does, but I am now painfully aware of my plastic usage. I can’t help but picture all those deteriorating plastic Dobie sponges, as well as straws, bottle caps, and many other plastic things in my life, in the belly of a baby albatross, or washing up on the shores of a Hawaiian beach. I tell myself that MY plastic trash gets largely recycled, and probably ends up in a landfill, not washing away into the ocean. But is that really a consolation?
So, I tossed my last Dobie (my husband was so relieved), and I bought Skoy cloths, which are AWESOME and work way better than a Dobie ever did (and even from Amazon, came wrapped entirely in paper and cardboard, no plastic!). Mostly, however, I bought them to replace the dishrags we keep using up and throwing out.
And for those extra-scrubby moments with the dishes, you’ll never believe what I’m using! Plain old, $2 loofahs! I bought one in the bath section of my health food store (unfortunately it came wrapped in plastic), cut it lengthwise and crosswise into 4 sponges, and I am loving it. Totally plant-based and totally compostable!
Also, I’ve found a crack in one of the plastic lids of my Pyrex dishes. Hm. The dishes may be glass, but the lids are plastic, and don’t last forever. So, I’m on the hunt for solutions. Of course, I have a set of those old-fashioned glass-lidded dishes, but I need something cheap, fast, easy, and sealable for travel. I’m thinking I’ll start saving jars from pasta, etc., and use them for leftovers. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Also along those lines, I bought my very first bottle of milk in a glass jar! Very exciting! I had to call my dad to figure out how to deal with the cream on top. This is all part of another endeavor, to stop buying the plastic quarts of yogurt.
That is all!
2 main subjects today:
Andrew. Apparently, when he’s puked his guts out and retched yellow stomach acid all over the place (the washer was running nonstop today), he is a tame little kitten.
“Mommy? Daddy? You take such good care of me.” It’s pitiful how meek and tired he sounded, sitting slumped over, wrapped in a blanket and watching a movie.
“I love you to the moon and back and to the moon and back AGAIN.”
“I just want to cuddle up with you...”
SO worth the horrible retching and the laundry. Bad mommy.
AND green changes I’m making and/or contemplating:
I finally have given up the Dobie sponge addiction. I’ve been really inspired by the blog “Fake Plastic Fish,” which is at once overwhelming and inspirational. I am not going to be able to remove all plastics from my life, like she does, but I am now painfully aware of my plastic usage. I can’t help but picture all those deteriorating plastic Dobie sponges, as well as straws, bottle caps, and many other plastic things in my life, in the belly of a baby albatross, or washing up on the shores of a Hawaiian beach. I tell myself that MY plastic trash gets largely recycled, and probably ends up in a landfill, not washing away into the ocean. But is that really a consolation?
So, I tossed my last Dobie (my husband was so relieved), and I bought Skoy cloths, which are AWESOME and work way better than a Dobie ever did (and even from Amazon, came wrapped entirely in paper and cardboard, no plastic!). Mostly, however, I bought them to replace the dishrags we keep using up and throwing out.
And for those extra-scrubby moments with the dishes, you’ll never believe what I’m using! Plain old, $2 loofahs! I bought one in the bath section of my health food store (unfortunately it came wrapped in plastic), cut it lengthwise and crosswise into 4 sponges, and I am loving it. Totally plant-based and totally compostable!
Also, I’ve found a crack in one of the plastic lids of my Pyrex dishes. Hm. The dishes may be glass, but the lids are plastic, and don’t last forever. So, I’m on the hunt for solutions. Of course, I have a set of those old-fashioned glass-lidded dishes, but I need something cheap, fast, easy, and sealable for travel. I’m thinking I’ll start saving jars from pasta, etc., and use them for leftovers. I’ll let you know how it goes.
Also along those lines, I bought my very first bottle of milk in a glass jar! Very exciting! I had to call my dad to figure out how to deal with the cream on top. This is all part of another endeavor, to stop buying the plastic quarts of yogurt.
That is all!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Fives of Today
5 things I want to do when my baby weans:
1. get Lasik eye surgery
2. go on herbal meds
3. wear lots of dresses
4. take a vacation, sans enfants
5. what was the other thing? Start remembering stuff again?
5 wonderful things from today:
1. my husband pouring boiling water into my bath. Twice!
2. Andrew, helping to clean up after dinner
3. fat, naked Liliana, warm and wet from her bath, hoisting one fat leg over the wall of the bathtub and hurtling toward me, grinning.
4. Liliana, stubbornly refusing to make the sign for “milk,” and instead grabbing rudely at my shirt and saying, “NAH! NAH!”
5. Playing tag with Andrew, who moodily insisted that every time I was “it,” the whole playground was base, and every time he was “it,” the only base was way down at the other swingset.
6. Swinging. God, I love swinging, the rush of air and adrenaline when you fall, fall, fall, swing!
5 things I would like to do better, and am totally and utterly failing at:
1. Meditate. Every day. Without fail, at the same time, in sickness or in health, at dusk, for at least 30 minutes. Dreams, anyone?
2. Do yoga. Every day. With my children happily following along. Well, we’re dreaming here, right?
3. STOP RUSHING! Stop hurrying through the folding of the diapers and start appreciating the gorgeous colors of the fabric, the soft creases under my fingers. Stop thinking about writing it down, remembering it, getting it all done, and s l o w d o w n to just enjoy it.
4. Breathe.
5. Write letters. Blog more. Write down what the kids do.
6. Sing more with the kids. Really working on this one!
7. Improve my french. HUGE SIGH. Some things just have to wait.
5 things I would like to do better, and sometimes actually manage:
1. Stop losing my temper with Andrew and remember to think of his perspective, get down on his level, slow down when I give him instructions. Doing really well with this!
2. Make time to read. I would still like to enter the bazillion books I’m “right in the middle of!” into Google Books so I can remember what I’ve read, but at least I’m reading.
3. Work on LLL leadership (shh! don’t tell anybody!). Going very well, I’m learning tons!
4. Get dinner on time. Okay, not so much on time, but at least I’ve had a better plan lately, and it’s not been horribly late. This has helped with bedtime.
5. Spend some time on something I’m creative about. Passionate about. I’ve been taking my pottery class each Saturday, and while my skill is coming along at a snail’s pace, I’m also drawing, which I’ve never really done and am discovering that I LOVE to draw my kids. I LOVE it. It’s the best journal I’ve ever kept.
5 things I smelled today (weird, I know, but it really makes you think about your day, doesn’t it?)
1. Yeasty, gaggy, disgusting yelllow teething poop. (sorry!)
2. The fresh needles of the pine tree on the way to the park.
3. Liliana’s breath.
4. Olba’s oil, in my bath, soothing my head/neck/backache.
5. The sweet tangy laundry detergent, the liquid Andrei bought.
1. get Lasik eye surgery
2. go on herbal meds
3. wear lots of dresses
4. take a vacation, sans enfants
5. what was the other thing? Start remembering stuff again?
5 wonderful things from today:
1. my husband pouring boiling water into my bath. Twice!
2. Andrew, helping to clean up after dinner
3. fat, naked Liliana, warm and wet from her bath, hoisting one fat leg over the wall of the bathtub and hurtling toward me, grinning.
4. Liliana, stubbornly refusing to make the sign for “milk,” and instead grabbing rudely at my shirt and saying, “NAH! NAH!”
5. Playing tag with Andrew, who moodily insisted that every time I was “it,” the whole playground was base, and every time he was “it,” the only base was way down at the other swingset.
6. Swinging. God, I love swinging, the rush of air and adrenaline when you fall, fall, fall, swing!
5 things I would like to do better, and am totally and utterly failing at:
1. Meditate. Every day. Without fail, at the same time, in sickness or in health, at dusk, for at least 30 minutes. Dreams, anyone?
2. Do yoga. Every day. With my children happily following along. Well, we’re dreaming here, right?
3. STOP RUSHING! Stop hurrying through the folding of the diapers and start appreciating the gorgeous colors of the fabric, the soft creases under my fingers. Stop thinking about writing it down, remembering it, getting it all done, and s l o w d o w n to just enjoy it.
4. Breathe.
5. Write letters. Blog more. Write down what the kids do.
6. Sing more with the kids. Really working on this one!
7. Improve my french. HUGE SIGH. Some things just have to wait.
5 things I would like to do better, and sometimes actually manage:
1. Stop losing my temper with Andrew and remember to think of his perspective, get down on his level, slow down when I give him instructions. Doing really well with this!
2. Make time to read. I would still like to enter the bazillion books I’m “right in the middle of!” into Google Books so I can remember what I’ve read, but at least I’m reading.
3. Work on LLL leadership (shh! don’t tell anybody!). Going very well, I’m learning tons!
4. Get dinner on time. Okay, not so much on time, but at least I’ve had a better plan lately, and it’s not been horribly late. This has helped with bedtime.
5. Spend some time on something I’m creative about. Passionate about. I’ve been taking my pottery class each Saturday, and while my skill is coming along at a snail’s pace, I’m also drawing, which I’ve never really done and am discovering that I LOVE to draw my kids. I LOVE it. It’s the best journal I’ve ever kept.
5 things I smelled today (weird, I know, but it really makes you think about your day, doesn’t it?)
1. Yeasty, gaggy, disgusting yelllow teething poop. (sorry!)
2. The fresh needles of the pine tree on the way to the park.
3. Liliana’s breath.
4. Olba’s oil, in my bath, soothing my head/neck/backache.
5. The sweet tangy laundry detergent, the liquid Andrei bought.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
2010 March
Today Liliana walked all the way out to the curb, with my by her side but not holding her hand. I could feel the pure determination, excitement, exploration coming off of her. She is amazing. Have I said that yet?
I also had the strange, wonderful, joyous experience of pretending to nurse both my children! I was lying down on the bed and Liliana curled up in the crook of my arm to nurse, and Andrew crawled up and started slurping on my chest, pretending to nurse. I was looking down at two gorgeous little brown heads and we all thought it was wildly funny. Did you know it’s not possible to nurse while laughing? A small chuckle, sure, but all out giggling? It’s like trying to whistle while smiling, I think. I’d like to get Liliana’s nurse/giggle on video sometime.
Andrew sat at the dining room table today, snacking, sharing with his sister, and singing this song: “Light a candle for peace, light a candle for love. Light a candle for you, light a candle for me. Sing for peace all around the whole world, light a candle for peace, light a candle for love.” Precious.
Plus, I found this picture from June 13 of last year. What’s more to say?
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Andrew
I had a really neat time with my son today. He came to the pottery studio, and actually walked in all by himself while Daddy stayed in the car with Liliana. I showed him the wheel I'd been using and my tools, and let him push his thumbprint into the first piece I'd made last weekend. He looked in the (brand new!) kiln, used the wooden rib to scrape the clay off every wheel he could find, and asked for some clay for himself to play with at home (hooray!). I showed him a wet pot, the shelf of greenware, the bisqueware, the teacher showed him some that had been glazed but not fired, and he saw some shiny finished pieces.
Had he been older, we would have had the unique opportunity to talk about temperatures and the chemical actions in the kiln in depth, because there was a whole shelf of semi-fired pottery that didn't quite get the glassy sheen from the glazes because the old kiln died in the middle of a firing. It's probably just as well, because I'm a little rusty on that chemistry myself.
But then, because the baby was still sleeping in the car with Daddy (who was a little grumpy, to be honest), we went off on our own in search of some ice cream. We wandered around the Palafox and Garden streets intersection for a while, learning about traffic lights and pedestrian lights, and popping in the delis to see if they had ice cream. Andrew peeked his little head over the tall counter and asked, "Do you have iyth cweam?" That lisp is getting less and less detectable. Then we took the long walk down to Plaza de Luna to what we hoped would be some ice cream. I wasn't sure if De Luna's would be open, but thankfully they were.
First we headed over to the French Bakery, one street over, which is no longer there! Ack! I was pretty bummed about that, as I loved to get a yummy croissant or a quiche every once in a while. But Andrew was pretty much okay with that, since he was fairly sure they didn't have ice cream there. Then we wandered through the parking garage for the Saenger Theatre, which apparently was a marvel of modern architecture for a four-year-old. I'm not sure that even now, he understands the principle of the thing, one side having a level drive and the other side having a slope, making a spiral up to the top. When we got to the second level, and turned the corner, he was shocked to see a whole new floor instead of the continuation of the floor below us. This only elicited in him a deep curiosity about what might happen if we keep going... Guess what? We got to the top!
Along the way up, we found on the pavement a small black marble, a collection of plastic beads identical except for their color and the amount of plastic that was peeling off of them, a nickel, and a dime. Each new find was met with, "Wow! This really must be our lucky day!" Ah, simple joys.
We pressed on through Plaza Ferdinand, where Andrew walked on the walls, I picked him up to have him fly to the next wall, we found a dead frog, and talked about what happens when you die. We held hands. We laughed and chased each other around, took our time, peeked into some courtyards where we were pretty sure we were not allowed, and then sat, at long last, on a bench overlooking two huge ships with cranes on board (one with a helicopter landing pad!), eating our chocolate ice cream sloppily and sitting very close together. We laughed when we both felt a little guilty about expressing our pleasure at being free from "that crazy baby!" He ran through every crosswalk when the light turned white (for pedestrians), and then said, "I win every time!" My fingers will still crusted up with clay. It was a very sunny, warm day.
It was perfect.
Had he been older, we would have had the unique opportunity to talk about temperatures and the chemical actions in the kiln in depth, because there was a whole shelf of semi-fired pottery that didn't quite get the glassy sheen from the glazes because the old kiln died in the middle of a firing. It's probably just as well, because I'm a little rusty on that chemistry myself.
But then, because the baby was still sleeping in the car with Daddy (who was a little grumpy, to be honest), we went off on our own in search of some ice cream. We wandered around the Palafox and Garden streets intersection for a while, learning about traffic lights and pedestrian lights, and popping in the delis to see if they had ice cream. Andrew peeked his little head over the tall counter and asked, "Do you have iyth cweam?" That lisp is getting less and less detectable. Then we took the long walk down to Plaza de Luna to what we hoped would be some ice cream. I wasn't sure if De Luna's would be open, but thankfully they were.
First we headed over to the French Bakery, one street over, which is no longer there! Ack! I was pretty bummed about that, as I loved to get a yummy croissant or a quiche every once in a while. But Andrew was pretty much okay with that, since he was fairly sure they didn't have ice cream there. Then we wandered through the parking garage for the Saenger Theatre, which apparently was a marvel of modern architecture for a four-year-old. I'm not sure that even now, he understands the principle of the thing, one side having a level drive and the other side having a slope, making a spiral up to the top. When we got to the second level, and turned the corner, he was shocked to see a whole new floor instead of the continuation of the floor below us. This only elicited in him a deep curiosity about what might happen if we keep going... Guess what? We got to the top!
Along the way up, we found on the pavement a small black marble, a collection of plastic beads identical except for their color and the amount of plastic that was peeling off of them, a nickel, and a dime. Each new find was met with, "Wow! This really must be our lucky day!" Ah, simple joys.
We pressed on through Plaza Ferdinand, where Andrew walked on the walls, I picked him up to have him fly to the next wall, we found a dead frog, and talked about what happens when you die. We held hands. We laughed and chased each other around, took our time, peeked into some courtyards where we were pretty sure we were not allowed, and then sat, at long last, on a bench overlooking two huge ships with cranes on board (one with a helicopter landing pad!), eating our chocolate ice cream sloppily and sitting very close together. We laughed when we both felt a little guilty about expressing our pleasure at being free from "that crazy baby!" He ran through every crosswalk when the light turned white (for pedestrians), and then said, "I win every time!" My fingers will still crusted up with clay. It was a very sunny, warm day.
It was perfect.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Andrei
You know those posts where I write something cute about my kid and leave it at that, because it's just so awesome it needs no explanation? Okay, once in a blue moon, I write one about my husband. Um, well, this would be the first time.
After I put Liliana to sleep, I'm tidying up the house (read: checking out Google reader. shh.), and I decide to head back and see if I can peek in the bedroom to see if I can sneak in and cuddle with Andrew and read him a book. Backstory: we had kind of a rough moment or two today, as it is now time for Andrew to achieve total potty independence (meaning NO I WILL NOT WIPE YOUR BUTT! only, you know, kinder than that.) ... (why doesn't ANYbody else mind wiping his butt?), and there was a lot of histrionic screaming and crying during the 15 minutes or so that it took for him to buck up and actually do it himself (no, it wasn't me screaming, it was him).
Plus, we are, thanks to Andrew's teacher's advice, remembering to be more strict about the, um, histrionic screaming and crying. Also, there was some unauthorized splashing in the bathtub for which he was punished and none to gently removed from the bathtub.
SO, enough backstory for this little anecdote? I hope.
Well, Andrei told me when I went into the bedroom tonight that they were talking about something and would come get me when it was time for a story. Uh..? Yes, I wanted to linger by the door and listen. No, I didn't.
Apparently, Andrei asked him to name one good thing he did today. He couldn't name anything, so Andrei listed some things for him and then Andrew thought of one himself: he went to the potty all by himself and wiped and everything. Andrei explained to me that he just wants him to know that he can do good things, instead of all the time just being punished for bad things. He said that he told him when Mommy or Daddy tells him to do something like stop splashing in the bathtub, he should think about how he can do those other good things too, and think, "I can do it!"
And this is when my jaw hit the floor, and he jauntily skipped back to Andrew's room. Now, I guess it would be more in context if you had ever heard me whine and complain (histrionically scream and cry?) about my husband, you would understand. But who hasn't, really?
After I put Liliana to sleep, I'm tidying up the house (read: checking out Google reader. shh.), and I decide to head back and see if I can peek in the bedroom to see if I can sneak in and cuddle with Andrew and read him a book. Backstory: we had kind of a rough moment or two today, as it is now time for Andrew to achieve total potty independence (meaning NO I WILL NOT WIPE YOUR BUTT! only, you know, kinder than that.) ... (why doesn't ANYbody else mind wiping his butt?), and there was a lot of histrionic screaming and crying during the 15 minutes or so that it took for him to buck up and actually do it himself (no, it wasn't me screaming, it was him).
Plus, we are, thanks to Andrew's teacher's advice, remembering to be more strict about the, um, histrionic screaming and crying. Also, there was some unauthorized splashing in the bathtub for which he was punished and none to gently removed from the bathtub.
SO, enough backstory for this little anecdote? I hope.
Well, Andrei told me when I went into the bedroom tonight that they were talking about something and would come get me when it was time for a story. Uh..? Yes, I wanted to linger by the door and listen. No, I didn't.
Apparently, Andrei asked him to name one good thing he did today. He couldn't name anything, so Andrei listed some things for him and then Andrew thought of one himself: he went to the potty all by himself and wiped and everything. Andrei explained to me that he just wants him to know that he can do good things, instead of all the time just being punished for bad things. He said that he told him when Mommy or Daddy tells him to do something like stop splashing in the bathtub, he should think about how he can do those other good things too, and think, "I can do it!"
And this is when my jaw hit the floor, and he jauntily skipped back to Andrew's room. Now, I guess it would be more in context if you had ever heard me whine and complain (histrionically scream and cry?) about my husband, you would understand. But who hasn't, really?
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Thoughts on the Movie Avatar
Yes, of course, it was visually fascinating. I mean, 3D! And it was a really neat movie, a pretty classic plot re-done well, good acting, etc. But beneath my typical criticism that it's a man's story with only ancillary female characters (yawn), I've been bothered by another problem I have with the movie.
It really exemplified this idea that our (Western, dualistic, exploitative) culture is worthless, whereas indigenous (noble savage) cultures are rich with meaning, beauty, and interconnectedness. That is to say that that humans in the movie represented our Western culture and the Navi represent the indigenous cultures of our planet, and as such it serves a rewrite of history, such that the indigenous cultures "won," in the movie. Whereas in reality, the indigenous peoples of our world are crippled at best, and their rich cultural history scattered. So what we're then left with as we come back to reality from the movie is a world in which the people "who have destroyed their mother (planet)" have "won," and they have no rich cultural meanings, no interconnectedness with their planet like the fictional Navi, and presumably the indigenous people of our world, do. This is a myth, and a sad one.
We are all humans, we all have an immense capacity for love, for beauty, for joy. Look at this painting for a moment: Van Gogh's Mulberry Tree. Maybe it's just me, but when I look at this painting, I can't help but rejoice for the beauty of our people. We may not have some fictional "soul tree," but we have mulberry trees. And we have the capacity to see in them what Van Gogh saw, the vitality, the soul put on paper.
I speak only for myself when I say that the movie brought alive to me the need for the arts. Social criticism has become a national obsession. We are greedy, treating the environment poorly, with soulless entertainment on TV... the refrain goes on. But that's only one way of looking at it, and James Cameron's movie, if seen as allegory, exemplifies that view of ourselves. Maybe its true. But it's also not true.
One more painting: Crayon Box II by David Brega.
It really exemplified this idea that our (Western, dualistic, exploitative) culture is worthless, whereas indigenous (noble savage) cultures are rich with meaning, beauty, and interconnectedness. That is to say that that humans in the movie represented our Western culture and the Navi represent the indigenous cultures of our planet, and as such it serves a rewrite of history, such that the indigenous cultures "won," in the movie. Whereas in reality, the indigenous peoples of our world are crippled at best, and their rich cultural history scattered. So what we're then left with as we come back to reality from the movie is a world in which the people "who have destroyed their mother (planet)" have "won," and they have no rich cultural meanings, no interconnectedness with their planet like the fictional Navi, and presumably the indigenous people of our world, do. This is a myth, and a sad one.
We are all humans, we all have an immense capacity for love, for beauty, for joy. Look at this painting for a moment: Van Gogh's Mulberry Tree. Maybe it's just me, but when I look at this painting, I can't help but rejoice for the beauty of our people. We may not have some fictional "soul tree," but we have mulberry trees. And we have the capacity to see in them what Van Gogh saw, the vitality, the soul put on paper.
I speak only for myself when I say that the movie brought alive to me the need for the arts. Social criticism has become a national obsession. We are greedy, treating the environment poorly, with soulless entertainment on TV... the refrain goes on. But that's only one way of looking at it, and James Cameron's movie, if seen as allegory, exemplifies that view of ourselves. Maybe its true. But it's also not true.
One more painting: Crayon Box II by David Brega.
Monday, January 18, 2010
So much has happened!
Last week, Liliana took her first step, but like her signs, it has disappeared again. She also has started pointing and saying what sounds like "bayoh," which is of course adorable.
Andrew has been tremendous, keeping up his evening routine and getting dressed for school and sometimes making himself cereal all by himself.
Last week, Liliana took her first step, but like her signs, it has disappeared again. She also has started pointing and saying what sounds like "bayoh," which is of course adorable.
Andrew has been tremendous, keeping up his evening routine and getting dressed for school and sometimes making himself cereal all by himself.
Monday, January 11, 2010
New Year's Resolutions Should be Revisable
So, my New Year's Resolution has already gone the way of the sad, browned hydrangea on my porch.
Evenings, I have been falling asleep with the baby, sitting up talking to my husband, bustling in the kitchen.. anything but sitting in my comfy chair each night, taking deep breaths, reading poetry, writing in my journal.
Yesterday, my dear son asked me, "Mommy, please do things slowly."
From the moment I'm up, I rush a little. Throwing clothes in the washer. Balancing a stack of dishes and a baby. Fixing a lunch, soaking beans, eating breakfast, wearing the baby, and somehow trying to talk to my son.
So this is my new resolution. To please do things slowly. One at a time. To fill a cup with water and watch it twinkle. To push eggs onto my son's plate and delicately steal one, with a wink. To dance with the baby, even though it's the 47th time we've heard this song this morning. To wipe down the table. To appreciate the beauty of our things, our moments.
To do things slowly so my children will do things slowly.
Edited to add: It occurs to me, maybe this is also a meaning of, "What does it profit a man, if he gains the world and loses his own soul." What does it profit me if I get everything done (or at least look like I'm trying to get it all done), and never actually remember doing it? "The tao does nothing, nothing goes undone."
Evenings, I have been falling asleep with the baby, sitting up talking to my husband, bustling in the kitchen.. anything but sitting in my comfy chair each night, taking deep breaths, reading poetry, writing in my journal.
Yesterday, my dear son asked me, "Mommy, please do things slowly."
From the moment I'm up, I rush a little. Throwing clothes in the washer. Balancing a stack of dishes and a baby. Fixing a lunch, soaking beans, eating breakfast, wearing the baby, and somehow trying to talk to my son.
So this is my new resolution. To please do things slowly. One at a time. To fill a cup with water and watch it twinkle. To push eggs onto my son's plate and delicately steal one, with a wink. To dance with the baby, even though it's the 47th time we've heard this song this morning. To wipe down the table. To appreciate the beauty of our things, our moments.
To do things slowly so my children will do things slowly.
Edited to add: It occurs to me, maybe this is also a meaning of, "What does it profit a man, if he gains the world and loses his own soul." What does it profit me if I get everything done (or at least look like I'm trying to get it all done), and never actually remember doing it? "The tao does nothing, nothing goes undone."
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
So, my friend Lauren (over at the Momnivore) has inspired me to talk a little bit about how I plan meals. Plus, my baby, after a morning of being in my arms and nip-napping for a reeeally long time, has a sudden interest in being away from me. So, while lunch cooks:
For a while, I did the Saving Dinner program, and then for a long time, my own variation of it, which basically is 6 meals, preplanned, with the accompanying ingredients in a shopping list on a one-page document already sorted by group (dairy, produce, dry goods, etc.).
Then, I made a radical decision to do something I've always wanted to do: Go plan-free. Eek!
This was a couple of months ago, and I'm really loving it, even though it means that sometimes my husband comes home and whips up dinner after a long day at work, because I've forgotten to do it. Or because the baby held onto me all day.
The plan-free plan is basically three parts:
1. A repertoire of recipes that we use over and over and love.
2. A full pantry list that gets purchased once a month (I check the pantry, fridge, and freezer to see what we need, then circle it on the list).
3. A weekly plan for our meals that goes like this:
Monday Mexican
Tuesday Veggie Burgers or Patties
Wednesday Quiche or Casserole
Thursday Soup (Salad in the summer)
Friday Stir Fry
Saturday Pizza
Sunday Pasta (or leftovers, but they mostly get eaten for lunch)
The key to making this work was going through all of our recipes, making 6 or 7 categories for them and then dividing them up so that I could serve one kind each day of the week. Then, recording ALL the ingredients in all of the recipes (plus the recipes for things we like for breakfast and lunch and snacks) and putting them all in one document, with some space to add the odd extra need.
It looks like this.
And then I wing it. Like yesterday, which was Mexican night, I decided to try a new recipe, Tex-Mex Pot Pies, which I was going to partially make up and partially copy from a website, but then time ran out. And my husband threw together some delicious bean and cheese quesadillas with corn soup.
Okay, that didn't work out so well. But he swore he didn't mind. And mostly, it works out great, and allows me to save leftovers by using them up at the last minute instead of being locked into a meal plan.
Anyway, it's only one way to do it, and there are many great ways, but that's what works for us. Thanks Lauren for the idea!
For a while, I did the Saving Dinner program, and then for a long time, my own variation of it, which basically is 6 meals, preplanned, with the accompanying ingredients in a shopping list on a one-page document already sorted by group (dairy, produce, dry goods, etc.).
Then, I made a radical decision to do something I've always wanted to do: Go plan-free. Eek!
This was a couple of months ago, and I'm really loving it, even though it means that sometimes my husband comes home and whips up dinner after a long day at work, because I've forgotten to do it. Or because the baby held onto me all day.
The plan-free plan is basically three parts:
1. A repertoire of recipes that we use over and over and love.
2. A full pantry list that gets purchased once a month (I check the pantry, fridge, and freezer to see what we need, then circle it on the list).
3. A weekly plan for our meals that goes like this:
Monday Mexican
Tuesday Veggie Burgers or Patties
Wednesday Quiche or Casserole
Thursday Soup (Salad in the summer)
Friday Stir Fry
Saturday Pizza
Sunday Pasta (or leftovers, but they mostly get eaten for lunch)
The key to making this work was going through all of our recipes, making 6 or 7 categories for them and then dividing them up so that I could serve one kind each day of the week. Then, recording ALL the ingredients in all of the recipes (plus the recipes for things we like for breakfast and lunch and snacks) and putting them all in one document, with some space to add the odd extra need.
It looks like this.
And then I wing it. Like yesterday, which was Mexican night, I decided to try a new recipe, Tex-Mex Pot Pies, which I was going to partially make up and partially copy from a website, but then time ran out. And my husband threw together some delicious bean and cheese quesadillas with corn soup.
Okay, that didn't work out so well. But he swore he didn't mind. And mostly, it works out great, and allows me to save leftovers by using them up at the last minute instead of being locked into a meal plan.
Anyway, it's only one way to do it, and there are many great ways, but that's what works for us. Thanks Lauren for the idea!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)