"My cheeks are freezing! I need cheek mittens."
"There's something satisfying about cables and adapters."
I suppose you can guess who said what.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
I'm a Dodge Dart, you're a Lamborghini
JBL and I saw Kathleen Edwards last night, and she was just amazing. Witty and multi-talented, she joked about boobs and hockey (she's Canadian) as she played 3 different kinds of guitars, plus the violin. You know, not all at the same time. I was thrilled to hear the dreamy Goodnight, California, the punchy Back To Me, and the rollicking I Make the Dough, You Get the Glory.
The highlight of the evening was meeting Kathleen after the show. JBL bought a cool tour poster and we miraculously were first in line for autographs. We showed her J's picture, and told her what a big fan she is (truly - Lone Wolf is her favorite song), and Kathleen was kind enough to write J a note. Awesome!
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Saturday morning, after breakfast
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
I know I'll look back and laugh
Speaking of spirituality, it has become evident that the purpose of a child's existence in my life may simply be to test my basic nature. And part of J's job may be to gently suggest that I might look at the world a little differently. So far her efforts have been an exercise in futility.
Is it me, or is it unbearably frustrating to have toys co-mingled with other toys, rather than being stored away in their original containers? Not a day goes by when I am faced with things not only not put away, but spaced evenly throughout the basement in an almost perfectly combined state. I swear, it takes WORK to get things this messed up. Want to play pretend cooking? Sure, but half of the fake egg that velcros together is across the room in the Lego tub with one third of the marbles, two of the eight My Little Ponies, JBL's guitar pick, several puzzle pieces (from different puzzles), and three non-matching Polly Pocket shoes. (Note that there are no actual Legos in the Lego tub.)
Want to do crafts? Absolutely! But where are the kid scissors? We have no idea. They were last seen in one of the drawers in the apothecary-style coffee table in the family room, but have inexplicably disappeared.
I honestly try to clean up behind the girls, sometimes intra-day, sometimes in the evening after bed time. So how is it that K inevitably leaves something here every time she goes back to her mom's? Homework is left on the laundry room floor right next to where the backpack sat over the weekend. Her fleece jacket is in the basement inside the 'fort', with a lone sock turned half inside-out.
This lack of organization continues to make me absolutely insane (ask JBL), but I have neither lightened-up nor successfully helped the girls set up a process to clean up after themselves. Clearly there is a message for me in all this, but like a typical human I would rather have circumstances magically change themselves than to have to change myself.
So what is easier? Laugh it off in lieu of ripping my hair out, or go behind the girls constantly (in a kind way, of course) helping and encouraging them to clean as they go? Maybe I'll just sit here and surf the 'net awhile and see if anything better occurs to me....
Is it me, or is it unbearably frustrating to have toys co-mingled with other toys, rather than being stored away in their original containers? Not a day goes by when I am faced with things not only not put away, but spaced evenly throughout the basement in an almost perfectly combined state. I swear, it takes WORK to get things this messed up. Want to play pretend cooking? Sure, but half of the fake egg that velcros together is across the room in the Lego tub with one third of the marbles, two of the eight My Little Ponies, JBL's guitar pick, several puzzle pieces (from different puzzles), and three non-matching Polly Pocket shoes. (Note that there are no actual Legos in the Lego tub.)
Want to do crafts? Absolutely! But where are the kid scissors? We have no idea. They were last seen in one of the drawers in the apothecary-style coffee table in the family room, but have inexplicably disappeared.
I honestly try to clean up behind the girls, sometimes intra-day, sometimes in the evening after bed time. So how is it that K inevitably leaves something here every time she goes back to her mom's? Homework is left on the laundry room floor right next to where the backpack sat over the weekend. Her fleece jacket is in the basement inside the 'fort', with a lone sock turned half inside-out.
This lack of organization continues to make me absolutely insane (ask JBL), but I have neither lightened-up nor successfully helped the girls set up a process to clean up after themselves. Clearly there is a message for me in all this, but like a typical human I would rather have circumstances magically change themselves than to have to change myself.
So what is easier? Laugh it off in lieu of ripping my hair out, or go behind the girls constantly (in a kind way, of course) helping and encouraging them to clean as they go? Maybe I'll just sit here and surf the 'net awhile and see if anything better occurs to me....
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
What comes after
On the way home from lunch last weekend, we passed the retirement community where JBL's grandparents live. Both of them have had health issues over the past several years, and they have experienced a fairly significant decline over the past twelve months. JBL has made a point to see them more often, and to take the girls whenever appropriate.
It seems logical that J may have picked up on discussions occuring around her during these visits, but we were still shocked when, as we passed by the little community, she piped up from the back seat with, "Nanny's not doing very well, is she? I don't think she will be alive much longer."
Death is a challenging topic for every parent, I know. Whether relating to a family member, pet, or even a random animal on the side of the road, many of us feel we must Get It Right when discussing what happens at the end of life with our children. And the inevitable question of what happens to us after is just such a delicate topic. I have struggled with what to say since I am not 100% sure what I think about it, even after 39 years of consideration.
I have always loved strolling through cemeteries, reading over old headstones, looking at dates, figuring out how long people lived, and mostly wondering what their lives had been like. For each body lying here, I wonder, how many other lives were touched? What of these souls is remembered? What lives on?
I know what I want to tell the girls, and what I do tell them is about heaven. I tell them that we can do whatever we want, that we can be with everyone else who has passed away, and there is no body any longer - thus no cold, no hunger, no pain. And it's more than simply wanting that to be true. I know I am not alone in talking to my deceased parents in my mind when J does something funny or troubling. How could it be that my parents are not together now? How could it be that my spirit wouldn't follow J around for the rest of her life when my body no longer functions? It's a possibility my mind can't really contemplate. And yet...
My agnostic heart feels that what I should focus on, what matters, is not what comes after, but what happens now. The real way to live forever is to pass on good things, to your children, to other family members or friends. This is the real key - that we have free will, that we have the ability to do both good and bad. And we can choose to create love, security, contentment in others through words, and more importantly, actions. I have hardly lived up to my potential for doing good, but I am working on it.
So, when J then asked, "What happens if you die and I'm still little?" I wanted to really nail it. After all, everything a parent says or does can have a lasting effect, even when the topic is much less weighty than this one. I noted that she asked in a curious tone, as though asking about someone else, or about something in a movie. Even still, I was so taken aback, I blathered on about someone else taking care of her, and that my spirit would always be with her, but that she needn't worry since nothing is going to happen to me. She made no reply, and stared out the car window. I don't know if what I said even registered.
Later that night, I went into J's room to kiss her before my bedtime, as I always do. It's amazing to see her sleeping soundly. So still after all the activity of the day. So quiet. Little chest rising and falling slowly. One little hand draped off the side of the bed, the other solidly wrapped around Bunny's neck, holding her close under a little chin. I leaned over to brush my fingers along her cheek, to smell her scent. The thoughts came unbidden, that if I died I would be this close to her forever with my soul. Is it possible for a soul to breath in the scent of someone's hair, or to feel the softness of a tiny, shell-like ear?
I felt tears sting the backs of my eyelids as it occurred to me then that no, I might just be GONE. Heaven or no, it's entirely possible (likely, even) that I will not inhabit the woods near my home as I have envisioned so clearly in the past. I will not have the luxury of wrapping my spirit around my family wherever they are. I had better Get It Right, now. Only one thing is certain - it's the good I can do as a mom now that will help me stay with J forever. Tough thoughts.
It seems logical that J may have picked up on discussions occuring around her during these visits, but we were still shocked when, as we passed by the little community, she piped up from the back seat with, "Nanny's not doing very well, is she? I don't think she will be alive much longer."
Death is a challenging topic for every parent, I know. Whether relating to a family member, pet, or even a random animal on the side of the road, many of us feel we must Get It Right when discussing what happens at the end of life with our children. And the inevitable question of what happens to us after is just such a delicate topic. I have struggled with what to say since I am not 100% sure what I think about it, even after 39 years of consideration.
I have always loved strolling through cemeteries, reading over old headstones, looking at dates, figuring out how long people lived, and mostly wondering what their lives had been like. For each body lying here, I wonder, how many other lives were touched? What of these souls is remembered? What lives on?
I know what I want to tell the girls, and what I do tell them is about heaven. I tell them that we can do whatever we want, that we can be with everyone else who has passed away, and there is no body any longer - thus no cold, no hunger, no pain. And it's more than simply wanting that to be true. I know I am not alone in talking to my deceased parents in my mind when J does something funny or troubling. How could it be that my parents are not together now? How could it be that my spirit wouldn't follow J around for the rest of her life when my body no longer functions? It's a possibility my mind can't really contemplate. And yet...
My agnostic heart feels that what I should focus on, what matters, is not what comes after, but what happens now. The real way to live forever is to pass on good things, to your children, to other family members or friends. This is the real key - that we have free will, that we have the ability to do both good and bad. And we can choose to create love, security, contentment in others through words, and more importantly, actions. I have hardly lived up to my potential for doing good, but I am working on it.
So, when J then asked, "What happens if you die and I'm still little?" I wanted to really nail it. After all, everything a parent says or does can have a lasting effect, even when the topic is much less weighty than this one. I noted that she asked in a curious tone, as though asking about someone else, or about something in a movie. Even still, I was so taken aback, I blathered on about someone else taking care of her, and that my spirit would always be with her, but that she needn't worry since nothing is going to happen to me. She made no reply, and stared out the car window. I don't know if what I said even registered.
Later that night, I went into J's room to kiss her before my bedtime, as I always do. It's amazing to see her sleeping soundly. So still after all the activity of the day. So quiet. Little chest rising and falling slowly. One little hand draped off the side of the bed, the other solidly wrapped around Bunny's neck, holding her close under a little chin. I leaned over to brush my fingers along her cheek, to smell her scent. The thoughts came unbidden, that if I died I would be this close to her forever with my soul. Is it possible for a soul to breath in the scent of someone's hair, or to feel the softness of a tiny, shell-like ear?
I felt tears sting the backs of my eyelids as it occurred to me then that no, I might just be GONE. Heaven or no, it's entirely possible (likely, even) that I will not inhabit the woods near my home as I have envisioned so clearly in the past. I will not have the luxury of wrapping my spirit around my family wherever they are. I had better Get It Right, now. Only one thing is certain - it's the good I can do as a mom now that will help me stay with J forever. Tough thoughts.
Let's wrap this up
They are puffed up to guard against the cold, but they are abundant and singing loudly on my deck. Bluebirds and warblers. Come on spring....
Monday, February 16, 2009
Word of the day - Feb 16
Panoply. As in:
"a: a magnificent or impressive array b: a display of all appropriate appurtenances."
"a: a magnificent or impressive array b: a display of all appropriate appurtenances.
Friday, February 13, 2009
My work here is done
I am completing my normal morning routine, involving getting J's breakfast, making coffee and cleaning last night's wine glasses. J and I are chatting. In my mind I'm trying to minimize the number of trips to the far end of the kitchen where the trash can hides in a corner.
As I pass by for the 5th time on my way to the pantry, J remarks, "You could have gotten your Cheerios out when you got my straw."
My process-oriented heart swells with pride. Now that's just beautiful.
As I pass by for the 5th time on my way to the pantry, J remarks, "You could have gotten your Cheerios out when you got my straw."
My process-oriented heart swells with pride. Now that's just beautiful.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
The big number 5
J just turned five years old. FIVE. I consider this to be a milestone birthday, and it may be as much a milestone for me as it is for her. After all, this means I have successfully gotten her to school age without letting her die for one reason or another (a sentiment that made my mother-in-law look at me with politely concealed horror the other night). But you see what I am saying. I haven't colossally messed up with her up to this point.
As I sift through the memories of the previous year, I am struck with the relative subtlety of her development. Gone are the great leaps, like the ability to walk, or becoming potty trained. Four was a series of little accomplishments, paving a way for future independence.
Step stools and pull-ups were abandoned. Confidence was fostered through limit-testing, like swim lessons and new types of social interactions. Assistance with teeth-brushing and getting dressed is now disdained.
Mere mastery of language gave way to love of form and function, actual reading, and a recent interest in free-associating, song-writing, and poetry. Before breakfast is consumed, words on the cereal box, my computer, my magazines are identified, picked apart, analyzed.
Loathing for efforts related to writing morphed into a passion for creative expression. Everything seen, felt, experienced is documented with every tool a craft store can offer and then some. Signs are posted with letters backwards and words in no particular order, but with great feeling. Notes are written and sealed in envelopes. Puppets are made with all manner of household supplies. Collages of every description are crafted with cut scraps, stickers and glue. Bathroom supplies are stacked into sculptures in the moments it takes me to turn around to get her bath ready. After the relative mania of three, the focus of four has astonished me.
Four was also the year J changed from wanting to be with K all the time to wanting to be like K all the time. The confident glow is never brighter or stronger than when K shares and ear-bud so J can sing along with the latest pop hit, or when J has an outfit on that reminds her of her sister’s style. Along with this (I’m sure, common) desire to be BIG, J threw herself into the world of Girlie-Girls, loving make-up and jewelry, dresses and nail polish. Pretend games played while I slog on the treadmill often involve handbags and pretend cell phones. God help me.
Side note: I became aware that her knowledge popular culture can make her feel either isolated or comfortable in her peer group, and I have grappled with handling the doses appropriately. This issue came up much sooner than I thought possible.
A fondness for rhythm and analytical challenges first allowed J to conquer counting to 100 - by ones, then tens, then fives - as well as recognizing numbers up to 1000. After that, learning to tell time was relatively easy. Now I don't have to get up from the sofa when I want to know what time it is. Maybe next I'll teach her to open bottles of wine. Or not, as the case may be.
Her scientific mind continues to seek out new information. No longer satisfied with bath toys and mud pies, she wants to know bigger things. Is that Jupiter, so bright in the sky tonight? How does that bridge stay up? What happens if you die and I’m still a kid? (Yeah, that shocked me too.) I truly can barely keep up with her thirst for knowledge in every sense of the word.
The best things, however, have remained unchanged. The joie de vivre: Rolling in the sand. Running instead of walking. Biking instead of running. Playing wildly after dinner, wearing as few clothes as possible. Sadie is still her best friend. She still loves to snuggle profusely after bath time, and while reading/being read to. She still has marshmallow cheeks. She still wants Mommy to lay next to her and kiss her all night. And she still gives me a smile first thing in the morning, sometimes accompanied by a gentle, tiny hand stroking the side of my face.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Bad grocery song of the day - Feb 6th
It was a tie today:
Love is a Battlefield
Land of Confusion
I know you remember both of those videos. Don't deny it.
Love is a Battlefield
Land of Confusion
I know you remember both of those videos. Don't deny it.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Random thoughts
Reduced fat peanut butter tastes grainy.
I now understand how my mother could tell whenever I was lying when I was little. In short, kids are terrible at it. For example, I'd left a cough drop out last night. J happens to think they taste like candy. I heard her fake-coughing this morning from the kitchen, and could only surmise that she'd found said cough drop, and was looking to have an excuse to eat it. When she came in, coughing and holding out the cough drop, I was like, "Uh, no," even before she got the question out. I'm sure she was shocked at my brilliance. Moowahaha....
I always catch a cold after an airplane ride. I can feel one coming on now...blah.
I now understand how my mother could tell whenever I was lying when I was little. In short, kids are terrible at it. For example, I'd left a cough drop out last night. J happens to think they taste like candy. I heard her fake-coughing this morning from the kitchen, and could only surmise that she'd found said cough drop, and was looking to have an excuse to eat it. When she came in, coughing and holding out the cough drop, I was like, "Uh, no," even before she got the question out. I'm sure she was shocked at my brilliance. Moowahaha....
I always catch a cold after an airplane ride. I can feel one coming on now...blah.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Stacker of wheat
Ah, the windy city. So different was she in the winter than in my previous summer visits. Bustling and cold, brimming with life and commerce. Trains and bike messengers. Taxis and pedestrians. Ice on the river and lake. Silent fountains. Steam streaming from the tops of skyscrapers. Amazing architecture silently crouched amongst the grid of streets - sparkling glass towers adjacent to carved stone cathedrals. The warm glow of candles from within restaurants beckoning passers-by as they hustle down the sidewalks, pushed by the biting wind.
I met hard-working professionals, shop keepers and bartenders. Everyone working, moving, flowing above the unspoken worry of the failing economy. A beautiful city full of amazing people.
I also traveled outside the city, north and west. I saw the plains blanketed in snow. The farmlands, the richest soil in the world, flat and endless and very unlike the rolling hills of my Maryland home. I imagined what they'd look like in the summer, lush and green with heavy storm clouds overhead. Ripe with possibilities. But for now they are silent and still, waiting for the tilt of the globe to bring them closer to direct sunlight as the Earth continues its dance around the sun for another year. The snow blew, powdery, across the highway. All was white and gray under a piercing sun and blue sky. I stepped out of the car for moments at a time, and experienced what an 'arctic blast' can feel like on unprotected skin (it's not good - you can rest assured).
My boss and I shared a great experience, and laughed the whole way through. I am inspired by her courage and enterprise. I could not imagine stepping out of my comfort zone as she has, even to pursue a very possible dream of a blooming, successful business venture. I followed along in my comfortable role as support staff. I can only hope I offered something for the cause. One thing is certain, though. I was able to get out there and stretch my wings, and feel as though the work that I accomplish perched at my kitchen counter, peppered amongst my more intense efforts as a mother and (ack) homemaker, actually adds value. What a great experience.
I met hard-working professionals, shop keepers and bartenders. Everyone working, moving, flowing above the unspoken worry of the failing economy. A beautiful city full of amazing people.
I also traveled outside the city, north and west. I saw the plains blanketed in snow. The farmlands, the richest soil in the world, flat and endless and very unlike the rolling hills of my Maryland home. I imagined what they'd look like in the summer, lush and green with heavy storm clouds overhead. Ripe with possibilities. But for now they are silent and still, waiting for the tilt of the globe to bring them closer to direct sunlight as the Earth continues its dance around the sun for another year. The snow blew, powdery, across the highway. All was white and gray under a piercing sun and blue sky. I stepped out of the car for moments at a time, and experienced what an 'arctic blast' can feel like on unprotected skin (it's not good - you can rest assured).
My boss and I shared a great experience, and laughed the whole way through. I am inspired by her courage and enterprise. I could not imagine stepping out of my comfort zone as she has, even to pursue a very possible dream of a blooming, successful business venture. I followed along in my comfortable role as support staff. I can only hope I offered something for the cause. One thing is certain, though. I was able to get out there and stretch my wings, and feel as though the work that I accomplish perched at my kitchen counter, peppered amongst my more intense efforts as a mother and (ack) homemaker, actually adds value. What a great experience.
Monday, February 2, 2009
On the road again
Chicago. Tired. Cold - lots of walking the city today between meetings. Got lots of driving tomorrow to neighboring environs for more meetings. Watching The Closer in near-stupor. ZZZZZZZZZ.....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
