The snow is so bright in the sun, it is hard to look at. The storm slated to slide south of us began yesterday shortly before lunch, and carried on well past dinner. The kids are disappointed that there has been an unpredicted substantial snowfall - yet again - on a weekend. Why not during the week, when we surely could use a day off in the doldrums of winter? But I don't mind.
Now it is Sunday, and the sky is crystal clear, bright blue. The children gather again from around the neighborhood to ride our hill. Excited squeals on the way down are replaced by groans and gasps on the way back up. Dads mull around at the top of the hill discussing potential J-bar set-ups to make the trudge easier.
I turn away from the window and can hardly see the kitchen with my irises still pinched tightly closed against the glare of the sun bouncing off the white, white snow.
--------------------------------------------------------------
I am watching J in the shower. She still struggles a bit with the water in her face. But mostly she is a happy humming automaton, now tipping her head back to rinse her shampoo, now drawing a smiley face in the steam clinging to my shower's glass wall.
Her enjoyment of being able to take a shower from time to time in my bathroom seems disproportionate to the event itself. Her face lights up at the prospect like I have told her she has won $1000, or a puppy. This is not unlike her reaction to hearing we'll have yet another fire in the fireplace during dinner - which involves skipping around the house for 10 minutes. A different kind of joy, more like deep contentment, manifests itself when she is faced with a yard covered in a blanket of snow ready to be marred by a trail of her footprints. She will clomp at first, making distinct marks, then drag her feet along making tracks like Ezra Jack Keats' hero, Peter. Either brand of happiness is a miracle of childhood, I say.
The shower continues. Water glistens on her skin and I see more muscle than pudge around her middle. She is more leggy than she used to be. She appears to have more of a mastery of her own self. More than proprioception, more like grace. Just like K at this age, though not as lean overall. She crouches down to pour water collected in a formerly empty bath gel bottle onto the shower floor, then pats at it to make a splashing sound, all the while singing a song recently learned in school about angels.
She is un-self-conscious - hair straggly and dripping around her face, knees bent, bottom close to the floor, hands busy. I am silent, drinking her in, even though she is so magnificent and beautiful she is hard to look at.
Like the snow in the sunshine.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
What else
I have been eating words lately. Lots of them. Why am I so hungry? The best ones, when strung together, wrap around my mind like a big blanket. Like my daughter's little arms clenched around my neck and her lavender hair tucked under my nose. Like my husband's softest sweatshirt when my face is pressed against his chest.
The longing is real and big. Luckily I have found lots of good words to read. What else is out there that I have missed?
The longing is real and big. Luckily I have found lots of good words to read. What else is out there that I have missed?
Friday, January 29, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
A Small Visitor
I was going to spend these last minutes before 'work' this morning reading a Wall Street Journal article on how President Obama is going to tout his effort on JOBS (you know, the 3-letter word Biden referred to on the campaign trail) during tonight's State of the Union, but I decided I couldn't take the spike in my blood pressure. Nope, not today.
Luckily, I was easily distracted by an incessant chirping coming from just outside the kitchen window. Why so distracting? Well, for one, it is January, and other than an occasional caw from a crow, there's not much bird song around. And B (joke for JBL), we don't normally have birdsong so close to the house, given our distinct lack of trees.
On the east side of the kitchen, however, there is a willow-leafed viburnum that has recently grown to a tree-like capacity. It started out, like many of the plants in my garden tucked in the southeast corner between the laundry room and kitchen, a modest-sized bush. But with all the sun and protection from the worst of winter's winds, I have had to hack it back to half its height (a good 6 feet tall this time last year) numerous times. Once the ornamental grasses and hydrangeas also exploded, I kind of gave up on the trimming. My regret (the viburnum now appears to be a dense bush with a mop of thin hair on top sticking straight up as though it had been frightened by a gun shot) is tempered by the fact that the bush now apparently is welcoming to small birds.
So this morning: chirp, chirp, chirp. I don't mean to be generic with my description. That's precisely what it sounded like, and I was intrigued. Hot coffee mug in hand, I eased quietly towards the window, and immediately saw the source of song, and was surprised. Small, reddish-brown, white stripe over the eye, speckled stomach, and a tail tilted upwards. A Carolina wren? Of course they are common in this area, but I think of them as birds frequenting heavily wooded areas.
This supposition is based on my childhood exposure to birds, which came from the backyard of my parents' heavily-wooded property. Mornings, afternoons, and evenings, every season of the year contained bird songs that are forever etched in my heart. Spring brought the occasional bob-white, cat birds, swarms of black birds, and of course the robin. Early summer found us straining to hear the first call of the brown wood thrush. Sometimes my dad would note the song of an oriole. We were delighted to catch rare glimpses of pileated woodpeckers, pheasants and turkeys. Fall was marked by Canadian geese flying overhead. My mother always noted with excitement the first juncos feeding on the bird seed sprinkled on our deck as harbingers of snowfall. Deep winter days exposed bright red cardinals and black-capped chickadees in hollies and yew bushes close to the house. The relentless call of the male cardinal, like a broken record, was tempered by the chickadee's more demure, giggle-like song. Some birds were ever-present, like mourning doves, blue jays, finches, titmice, hawks, nuthatches and the Carolina wren.
Typically, I committed to memory my cursory understanding of what I learned, proud of my knowledge, without attempting to research more deeply. Thus my surprise at seeing what I thought was a woodland-only bird outside my window. Come to find out wrens are happy in any underbrush or man-made structure that keeps them hidden and safe. Thank you internet, and my parents' old Field Guide to the Birds (copyright 1960).
I was also delighted by this visit, as it brought back to me a vivid dream I was having just before the alarm clock sounded. I was shopping in a jewelry and antique store with my mother. We were enjoying trying on rings, and admiring various things around the shop. My mom was relaxed and happy, and I was glad to be with her.
To see this little wren, though calling out in an unfamiliar communication compared to the chirpity-chirpity-chirpity-chirp I am accustomed to, made me feel like my mother was still with me. Who knows what it means....perhaps a needed hug during a time when I am on shaky ground, perhaps a gentle reminder to notice joyful things around me, or maybe just a prod to trim the damned viburnum already. In any event, he was a little visitor who brought a smile to my face.
Luckily, I was easily distracted by an incessant chirping coming from just outside the kitchen window. Why so distracting? Well, for one, it is January, and other than an occasional caw from a crow, there's not much bird song around. And B (joke for JBL), we don't normally have birdsong so close to the house, given our distinct lack of trees.
On the east side of the kitchen, however, there is a willow-leafed viburnum that has recently grown to a tree-like capacity. It started out, like many of the plants in my garden tucked in the southeast corner between the laundry room and kitchen, a modest-sized bush. But with all the sun and protection from the worst of winter's winds, I have had to hack it back to half its height (a good 6 feet tall this time last year) numerous times. Once the ornamental grasses and hydrangeas also exploded, I kind of gave up on the trimming. My regret (the viburnum now appears to be a dense bush with a mop of thin hair on top sticking straight up as though it had been frightened by a gun shot) is tempered by the fact that the bush now apparently is welcoming to small birds.
So this morning: chirp, chirp, chirp. I don't mean to be generic with my description. That's precisely what it sounded like, and I was intrigued. Hot coffee mug in hand, I eased quietly towards the window, and immediately saw the source of song, and was surprised. Small, reddish-brown, white stripe over the eye, speckled stomach, and a tail tilted upwards. A Carolina wren? Of course they are common in this area, but I think of them as birds frequenting heavily wooded areas.
This supposition is based on my childhood exposure to birds, which came from the backyard of my parents' heavily-wooded property. Mornings, afternoons, and evenings, every season of the year contained bird songs that are forever etched in my heart. Spring brought the occasional bob-white, cat birds, swarms of black birds, and of course the robin. Early summer found us straining to hear the first call of the brown wood thrush. Sometimes my dad would note the song of an oriole. We were delighted to catch rare glimpses of pileated woodpeckers, pheasants and turkeys. Fall was marked by Canadian geese flying overhead. My mother always noted with excitement the first juncos feeding on the bird seed sprinkled on our deck as harbingers of snowfall. Deep winter days exposed bright red cardinals and black-capped chickadees in hollies and yew bushes close to the house. The relentless call of the male cardinal, like a broken record, was tempered by the chickadee's more demure, giggle-like song. Some birds were ever-present, like mourning doves, blue jays, finches, titmice, hawks, nuthatches and the Carolina wren.
Typically, I committed to memory my cursory understanding of what I learned, proud of my knowledge, without attempting to research more deeply. Thus my surprise at seeing what I thought was a woodland-only bird outside my window. Come to find out wrens are happy in any underbrush or man-made structure that keeps them hidden and safe. Thank you internet, and my parents' old Field Guide to the Birds (copyright 1960).
I was also delighted by this visit, as it brought back to me a vivid dream I was having just before the alarm clock sounded. I was shopping in a jewelry and antique store with my mother. We were enjoying trying on rings, and admiring various things around the shop. My mom was relaxed and happy, and I was glad to be with her.
To see this little wren, though calling out in an unfamiliar communication compared to the chirpity-chirpity-chirpity-chirp I am accustomed to, made me feel like my mother was still with me. Who knows what it means....perhaps a needed hug during a time when I am on shaky ground, perhaps a gentle reminder to notice joyful things around me, or maybe just a prod to trim the damned viburnum already. In any event, he was a little visitor who brought a smile to my face.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Firsts
We are listening to the playlist from the first CD JBL ever made for me - It Takes Two. Over a decade old, but still rife with emotion.
J just announced, "Jake has a crush on me!" (Jake, of course, being a little boy in her class.) She said this with a gleam in her eye, head cocked to one side. Who knows if she even understands what a crush means, what it feels like. But that feeling of feminine power was evident on her little face. A first for my big almost-six-year-old.
That's my girl....
J just announced, "Jake has a crush on me!" (Jake, of course, being a little boy in her class.) She said this with a gleam in her eye, head cocked to one side. Who knows if she even understands what a crush means, what it feels like. But that feeling of feminine power was evident on her little face. A first for my big almost-six-year-old.
That's my girl....
Monday, January 25, 2010
Better Still
(Over pizza, with Cracker playing on the Squeezebox.)
"Momma...."
(I turn and give her a questioning look.)
"I'm still going to call you '39'."
"Momma...."
(I turn and give her a questioning look.)
"I'm still going to call you '39'."
Recovery
I am feeling a lot better now than I did this morning. I could say that my mood improvement is thanks to the strangely spring-like weather, or the fact that I took a big fat nap, but really I know the real reason: JBL is working from home today, and helped me through a Rough Patch this morning, and for that I am eternally grateful.
Man, it sounds lame that I can write about being at home, taking a nap, and having my husband home too to lean on. What exactly is it that I do around here? Well, I did some laundry, thanks. And I had exactly two business calls this afternoon. Hmmm, still sounds lame.
But we are in recovery from, among other things, J's first (and hopefully last for some time) UTI. It hit Saturday night at bedtime, and although I know we are fortunate that pain was the only real symptom (I understand there are worse cases, like fever and a more severe infection that leads to ORGAN DAMAGE), but at 2 a.m. when she was crying but unable to unclench enough to pee, things were looking rather bleak. Cajoling, back rubbing, and a (an?) Hannah Montana (thank you K and the Dollar Tree) ring/lollipop finally helped nature take its course. Several successful and pain-free bathroom visits occurred over the remainder of the weekend, and I think we are on the mend.
So now with my sunny disposition I will update a few process flows before heading to the bus stop. I would say hopefully the rest of the week will be even better, but I don't want to jinx myself. The throw-up virus is still going around, after all...
Man, it sounds lame that I can write about being at home, taking a nap, and having my husband home too to lean on. What exactly is it that I do around here? Well, I did some laundry, thanks. And I had exactly two business calls this afternoon. Hmmm, still sounds lame.
But we are in recovery from, among other things, J's first (and hopefully last for some time) UTI. It hit Saturday night at bedtime, and although I know we are fortunate that pain was the only real symptom (I understand there are worse cases, like fever and a more severe infection that leads to ORGAN DAMAGE), but at 2 a.m. when she was crying but unable to unclench enough to pee, things were looking rather bleak. Cajoling, back rubbing, and a (an?) Hannah Montana (thank you K and the Dollar Tree) ring/lollipop finally helped nature take its course. Several successful and pain-free bathroom visits occurred over the remainder of the weekend, and I think we are on the mend.
So now with my sunny disposition I will update a few process flows before heading to the bus stop. I would say hopefully the rest of the week will be even better, but I don't want to jinx myself. The throw-up virus is still going around, after all...
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Safe
I understand that I have been posting a lot lately. But anyway.
I am sitting here with the Australian Open on. Live, morning there, bedtime here. It looks summery hot there. Here? It is sleeting. And I am fine with that.
The house is still. J and JBL are in bed. I am kept company by the sound of the dryer finishing up the Darks, which are especially noisy thanks to J's winter coat. You know, zippers and all. I have the TV on mute. The laptop is keeping me warm as I sit on the sofa.
Otherwise, all there is to hear - besides the click-clacking of my typing - is the click-clacking of the ice hitting the windows and the deck behind them.
Hearing this, I want to do it sit curled-up on the sofa and absorb the peace of the evening. A song that seems to go with my mood now is this. Melancholy, hopeful, dreamy. Like me. Like tonight. Thank you God.
I am sitting here with the Australian Open on. Live, morning there, bedtime here. It looks summery hot there. Here? It is sleeting. And I am fine with that.
The house is still. J and JBL are in bed. I am kept company by the sound of the dryer finishing up the Darks, which are especially noisy thanks to J's winter coat. You know, zippers and all. I have the TV on mute. The laptop is keeping me warm as I sit on the sofa.
Otherwise, all there is to hear - besides the click-clacking of my typing - is the click-clacking of the ice hitting the windows and the deck behind them.
Hearing this, I want to do it sit curled-up on the sofa and absorb the peace of the evening. A song that seems to go with my mood now is this. Melancholy, hopeful, dreamy. Like me. Like tonight. Thank you God.
Take what I can get
A successful morning.
J was awake when I went in her room. "I'm revved up and tired at the same time!" she exclaimed. Clothes were fluffed in the Wrinkle Release dryer setting while pumpkin bread was consumed. Both girls got dressed and brushed their teeth and were ready to leave for the bus with time to spare. K had trouble finding her tennis shoes, but located them without too much delay. Both girls got on the bus smiling. J let me give her One More Hug, even though there were big kids around to see.
It's the little things, really.
J was awake when I went in her room. "I'm revved up and tired at the same time!" she exclaimed. Clothes were fluffed in the Wrinkle Release dryer setting while pumpkin bread was consumed. Both girls got dressed and brushed their teeth and were ready to leave for the bus with time to spare. K had trouble finding her tennis shoes, but located them without too much delay. Both girls got on the bus smiling. J let me give her One More Hug, even though there were big kids around to see.
It's the little things, really.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Grappling
I am grappling with things today - this is nothing new, really. But this time it is due to a book I just finished. The Shack. It is a book about faith and trust and relationships. It is a book about dealing with grief. It's a lot rolled into one.
I gave it a 5 out of 5 stars on my WeRead shelf, but I think now I would say 4 out of 5. It necessarily had to boil some things down, and left certain points under-addressed. But I think it had to in order to keep the reader really engaged. Otherwise, there was so much to digest, I am sure I will be thinking about it for days.
It took me longer to read than other books because I had to keep putting it down. I wasn't troubled by the discussions on faith and the usual blah blah blah religion/man's failings thing. It was the fact that the story centered around the loss of a child that killed me. It was beyond gut-wrenching. But in the end, the subject matter was handled so delicately that I found myself weeping uncontrollably, and grateful to have made the journey with the main character.
In response, I put the finished book down and did the two most soothing things I know of - cooking and running. Four and half miles later, and the pumpkin bread is still in the oven. I have time to finish up some work and hop in the shower before I get the girls from the bus. Then again, maybe I'll just stare off into space a little and let my mind chew on The Shack a bit more...
I gave it a 5 out of 5 stars on my WeRead shelf, but I think now I would say 4 out of 5. It necessarily had to boil some things down, and left certain points under-addressed. But I think it had to in order to keep the reader really engaged. Otherwise, there was so much to digest, I am sure I will be thinking about it for days.
It took me longer to read than other books because I had to keep putting it down. I wasn't troubled by the discussions on faith and the usual blah blah blah religion/man's failings thing. It was the fact that the story centered around the loss of a child that killed me. It was beyond gut-wrenching. But in the end, the subject matter was handled so delicately that I found myself weeping uncontrollably, and grateful to have made the journey with the main character.
In response, I put the finished book down and did the two most soothing things I know of - cooking and running. Four and half miles later, and the pumpkin bread is still in the oven. I have time to finish up some work and hop in the shower before I get the girls from the bus. Then again, maybe I'll just stare off into space a little and let my mind chew on The Shack a bit more...
Monday, January 18, 2010
Loss
Well, it finally happened. JBL's grandmother passed away Sunday shortly before lunchtime. It's hard to believe it's been almost a year since I began contemplating this event. Over this time, she very gradually faded away. At first she lost her ambulatory ability, then she lost interest in eating. Finally, she showed symptoms of senility.
Having lived through both a slowly-developing fatal disease with my dad, and a shockingly unexpected death with my mother, I can say that this type of loss is easier. For me anyway. Obviously there is still shock involved, and I understand that no matter how well-prepared you are, loss is always an unfamiliar landscape.
But I am here this time as a liaison. Nanny's journey was familiar to me, and the hurricane of emotions swirling in her absence is perfectly understood. For once I can be the strong one. It was wonderful, if that is not too effusive a term, to be able to see just what JBL's mom needed - to be told it was OK to let her mom go - and offer that support. It felt good to be able to hold JBL's grandfather as he wept by his wife's bedside, now containing only her vacant body. For just a moment I brought calm and relief. It is a role I am not used to, but will gladly play given the chance.
Earlier this week I spent a day cooking for JBL's family. I appreciated receiving home-cooked meals when I was grieving, and looked forward to offering the same support in someone else's time of need. But truth be told, this effort is as much for me as for what I am giving Lark and Grandy. Working with my hands, in the kitchen or in the garden, allows my mind to be calm for some reason. And creating something as a gift is a pure expression of my affection. I hope that is understood and felt by those receiving it.
I would say it has been a long time since I have been a source of peace, had a calm mind, and expressed pure affection, but that would be an understatement. I almost have to laugh at myself when I reflect on Grandy's description of his wife of almost 70 years. "She was truly a lady. I have always thought of her that way. You know, I don't think I ever heard her say a cuss word." His statements, his reverence, made me look inside with chagrin. But alas, one day at a time...one day at a time...
In the meantime, thank you God for Mary D. She was a true lady, a mother who had a hot meal on the table effortlessly every day for her family, a hostess always ready with snacks and margaritas, a friend who offered constant support and comaraderie, and a volunteer who gave freely and happily of her time. She gave to me from the heart when she had every reason to be wary, and lavished the girls with affection at every meeting. She will be sorely missed, and loved always.
Having lived through both a slowly-developing fatal disease with my dad, and a shockingly unexpected death with my mother, I can say that this type of loss is easier. For me anyway. Obviously there is still shock involved, and I understand that no matter how well-prepared you are, loss is always an unfamiliar landscape.
But I am here this time as a liaison. Nanny's journey was familiar to me, and the hurricane of emotions swirling in her absence is perfectly understood. For once I can be the strong one. It was wonderful, if that is not too effusive a term, to be able to see just what JBL's mom needed - to be told it was OK to let her mom go - and offer that support. It felt good to be able to hold JBL's grandfather as he wept by his wife's bedside, now containing only her vacant body. For just a moment I brought calm and relief. It is a role I am not used to, but will gladly play given the chance.
Earlier this week I spent a day cooking for JBL's family. I appreciated receiving home-cooked meals when I was grieving, and looked forward to offering the same support in someone else's time of need. But truth be told, this effort is as much for me as for what I am giving Lark and Grandy. Working with my hands, in the kitchen or in the garden, allows my mind to be calm for some reason. And creating something as a gift is a pure expression of my affection. I hope that is understood and felt by those receiving it.
I would say it has been a long time since I have been a source of peace, had a calm mind, and expressed pure affection, but that would be an understatement. I almost have to laugh at myself when I reflect on Grandy's description of his wife of almost 70 years. "She was truly a lady. I have always thought of her that way. You know, I don't think I ever heard her say a cuss word." His statements, his reverence, made me look inside with chagrin. But alas, one day at a time...one day at a time...
In the meantime, thank you God for Mary D. She was a true lady, a mother who had a hot meal on the table effortlessly every day for her family, a hostess always ready with snacks and margaritas, a friend who offered constant support and comaraderie, and a volunteer who gave freely and happily of her time. She gave to me from the heart when she had every reason to be wary, and lavished the girls with affection at every meeting. She will be sorely missed, and loved always.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Rainy Sunday
It's a quiet morning. Like many other Sundays, I am sitting in front of the computer with a steaming cup of coffee while TSF plays on the Squeezebox. J is working away silently at a Valentine's Day drawing. January, though waning, still stretches long before us, so we are ready for something festive.
It's raining and cold - it would be so much nicer if it were snowing. But the rain makes me think of warmer weather, and I smile inside. In fact, we have been very fortunate of late. The past two days have seen the thermometer reach 50 degrees or higher. I enjoyed a run outside yesterday without gloves or multiple layers. It's hard to imagine we have months to go before the crocuses and daffodils wake up. Maybe I am inspired, too, because I have yet to kill last summer's annuals:
J is now riding her scooter around the first floor. Although it is the little kid version, the fact that it is a Razor makes her feel like a Big Girl. It's smooth ride even over carpet is immensely pleasing, almost calming to her. She circles the stairs, always going in the same direction (dining room, foyer, living room, family room), dozens of times.
JBL is at a neighbor's, helping them with a computer issue. The house is dimly lit in the cloudy morning, and snuggly. J has moved on to hanging her decoration, and is badgering me to help her. I know I have a long run waiting for me, but I want this slow and relaxed rainy morning to last all day...
It's raining and cold - it would be so much nicer if it were snowing. But the rain makes me think of warmer weather, and I smile inside. In fact, we have been very fortunate of late. The past two days have seen the thermometer reach 50 degrees or higher. I enjoyed a run outside yesterday without gloves or multiple layers. It's hard to imagine we have months to go before the crocuses and daffodils wake up. Maybe I am inspired, too, because I have yet to kill last summer's annuals:
J is now riding her scooter around the first floor. Although it is the little kid version, the fact that it is a Razor makes her feel like a Big Girl. It's smooth ride even over carpet is immensely pleasing, almost calming to her. She circles the stairs, always going in the same direction (dining room, foyer, living room, family room), dozens of times.
JBL is at a neighbor's, helping them with a computer issue. The house is dimly lit in the cloudy morning, and snuggly. J has moved on to hanging her decoration, and is badgering me to help her. I know I have a long run waiting for me, but I want this slow and relaxed rainy morning to last all day...
Friday, January 15, 2010
Perks
Oh, I so miss my little daughter during the day.... what? When I make brownies and she's not here I get to lick the bowl? Hmmm. Juliet who?
Thursday, January 14, 2010
For this and many reasons
I may have mentioned this before, but there are tons of churches around us. In my meanderings to my common targets (various grocery stores, school), I pass no fewer than 9 churches. This shouldn't be surprising, but given how rural our area is, they seem more prominent to me than, say, when you're driving through the city and pass one every third block.
When we first moved here I longed to visit one of them. We used to go to church with JBL's family when we lived in Columbia, and I really enjoyed the community (and the singing). But I have since fallen back into my agnostic complacency, and am satisfied with my daily interactions with God such as they are. The good people who run these churches don't know this, however, and still seek to get me to come in. The signs posted outside their buildings are populated with regularly-updated pithy sayings that they hope will catch my eye. Some do, but not always for the intended reasons.
Jesus! The gift that keeps on giving!
Feed my sheep - free hot meal every Tuesday.
CH__CH - What's missing? UR!
There is one sign that consistently makes me chuckle and wonder. Is guilt the right way to get someone to join your church? Take this week's gem:
The lesser of two evils is still evil.
Must be a woman coming up with these signs... only women think this kind of tactic will actually work. In fact, she's probably a mother. I know, I know. But for this and many other reasons I am already destined for H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks.
When we first moved here I longed to visit one of them. We used to go to church with JBL's family when we lived in Columbia, and I really enjoyed the community (and the singing). But I have since fallen back into my agnostic complacency, and am satisfied with my daily interactions with God such as they are. The good people who run these churches don't know this, however, and still seek to get me to come in. The signs posted outside their buildings are populated with regularly-updated pithy sayings that they hope will catch my eye. Some do, but not always for the intended reasons.
Jesus! The gift that keeps on giving!
Feed my sheep - free hot meal every Tuesday.
CH__CH - What's missing? UR!
There is one sign that consistently makes me chuckle and wonder. Is guilt the right way to get someone to join your church? Take this week's gem:
The lesser of two evils is still evil.
Must be a woman coming up with these signs... only women think this kind of tactic will actually work. In fact, she's probably a mother. I know, I know. But for this and many other reasons I am already destined for H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
More than just a good read
Every Monday, J gets to visit her school's library. What a simple thing - but like many other kindergarten experiences, what seems simple to me is profound to her. J has her own library card (responsibility) and can pick whatever book she likes each week (independence). Knowing the pride she feels surrounding this process, I make sure to fawn over her every selection.
Mostly she has come home with seasonal books, along with the odd 'Arthur' story here and there. I wish I was a fly on the wall so I could see if she is following her classmates' lead, or if she is wandering the shelves of her own volition. This week, however, she noted sweetly that she made a choice for me. The Black Book of Colors.
This is a book we first discovered over the summer, and enjoyed reading it together. I would say she is wildly perceptive in picking up how much I loved the book, but I know I gushed about it. The obvious take is that it can prompt a discussion with your child regarding disabilities, but I just love that it requires more of the reader's imagination than other books. This reliance on touch and thought takes you places inside yourself you would necessarily go if the images were more clearly defined. And what does each color mean to you?
It is a nice juxtaposition to Vincent's Colors, which we gave J for Christmas. Any fan of art will tell you that Impressionists (and Post-Impressionists) saw colors in places where you and I may only have seen shadows or light. Vincent's book forces your mind to deconstruct what you are actually seeing when a street lamp's light reflects off wet bricks, for instance. But I digress.
Revisiting the Black Book of Colors is a wonderful reminder of where J and I are together right now. She is reveling in her independence, but still is out-of-her-skin happy when I surprise her by showing up at her school for lunch. She groans but complies when asked to set the table, taking great care to place the napkins and utensil precisely as I've instructed her to. She can't wait to get out of the shower to kiss me, so plants a wet soapy love on my hand from inside the shower curtain. And she leans her head into the crook of my neck as I read to her in bed - a book she brought home just for me.
And so I read. I use my softest sleepy-time voice. I ask her to run her hands along the braille accompanying the text. Her little fingers skim over the letters, then roam to the opposite page where black embossed strawberries or blades of grass wait silently against the black page. Her eyes light up. Does she agree that brown can crunch like leaves under her feet? That water is meaningless without light?
We are on a journey together, snuggled under the covers with our mutual love wrapped tightly around us. Life still delights J at every turn, and it surprises me when I thought there were no more happy surprises left. Kindergarten can last forever as far as I am concerned....
Mostly she has come home with seasonal books, along with the odd 'Arthur' story here and there. I wish I was a fly on the wall so I could see if she is following her classmates' lead, or if she is wandering the shelves of her own volition. This week, however, she noted sweetly that she made a choice for me. The Black Book of Colors.
This is a book we first discovered over the summer, and enjoyed reading it together. I would say she is wildly perceptive in picking up how much I loved the book, but I know I gushed about it. The obvious take is that it can prompt a discussion with your child regarding disabilities, but I just love that it requires more of the reader's imagination than other books. This reliance on touch and thought takes you places inside yourself you would necessarily go if the images were more clearly defined. And what does each color mean to you?
It is a nice juxtaposition to Vincent's Colors, which we gave J for Christmas. Any fan of art will tell you that Impressionists (and Post-Impressionists) saw colors in places where you and I may only have seen shadows or light. Vincent's book forces your mind to deconstruct what you are actually seeing when a street lamp's light reflects off wet bricks, for instance. But I digress.
Revisiting the Black Book of Colors is a wonderful reminder of where J and I are together right now. She is reveling in her independence, but still is out-of-her-skin happy when I surprise her by showing up at her school for lunch. She groans but complies when asked to set the table, taking great care to place the napkins and utensil precisely as I've instructed her to. She can't wait to get out of the shower to kiss me, so plants a wet soapy love on my hand from inside the shower curtain. And she leans her head into the crook of my neck as I read to her in bed - a book she brought home just for me.
And so I read. I use my softest sleepy-time voice. I ask her to run her hands along the braille accompanying the text. Her little fingers skim over the letters, then roam to the opposite page where black embossed strawberries or blades of grass wait silently against the black page. Her eyes light up. Does she agree that brown can crunch like leaves under her feet? That water is meaningless without light?
We are on a journey together, snuggled under the covers with our mutual love wrapped tightly around us. Life still delights J at every turn, and it surprises me when I thought there were no more happy surprises left. Kindergarten can last forever as far as I am concerned....
Monday, January 11, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
Keepsakes
J has now lost both of her bottom teeth. Those who know her may not find this to be monumental. She has been without one of her top teeth for years, thanks to an unfortunate meeting with a chair when she was two. She knows what being without teeth is like. I can't remember what she looked like when she had them all.
But still.
These two little teeth sit quietly together in her Tooth Fairy Box. I fashioned it myself after the chair incident, giving her something extra special to find beside her crib that sad morning after her top tooth had been extracted. It is simply a small round cardboard box, but I slathered it in pale blue glitter, and festooned it with clear plastic gems shaped like stars and moons. It's original contents were several blue/green plastic necklaces, a silver coin, and a handful of M&Ms. Not your average Tooth Fairy booty, but then again, this was no average tooth loss (did I mention she also fractured a bone in her face? Oh, the swelling and bruising! I might have cried more than she did...).
Now the box will hold all her baby teeth - a treasure for me. When she lost her first bottom tooth last weekend, I was excited to try the real Tooth Fairy deal - fishing a tiny tooth out from under J's pillow, to replace it with a magical coin, all without waking her. I didn't even have to worry about finding a tiny tooth - in anticipation of this event, I had purchased a little pillow with a fabric envelope and fairy on it for holding lost teeth, and had shown it to J earlier in the week when it was clear the Time Was Nigh. She would put the little pillow under her own, and voila!
Except that J didn't want the Tooth Fairy to take her tooth. Going through the bedtime routine, she seemed a little quiet. Then when we approached the bed with the little pillow, she started crying, "I don't want her to take my tooth!" This should not have been surprising, since K felt the exact same way. Though I was taken aback, I immediately assured her I could intervene on her behalf.
"She doesn't have to take the tooth, Sweetie. She'll leave it. I promise."
"How do you know?" she wailed. "Can you talk to her?"
"I can't talk to her [not a lie - why would I talk to myself?] - I'll just think about it, and she'll know."
In the end, J didn't even want the pillow at her bedside. Instead we settled on my nightstand. She ran excitedly down the hall and placed it just-so next to my water cup and stash of Advil. Little did we know that less than a week later, we would be retracing those same excited steps with bottom tooth #2. Both times she awoke flustered with anticipation, streaking down to my room to find a silver dollar and her little tooth still tucked snugly in the little envelope.
Both times, she fished out her tooth out with great care and reverence, taking it back to her Tooth Fairy Box for safe-keeping. The money was also appreciated, I was happy to note. She chose to put the coins in her 'savings' jar, "But I am never going to spend them!" she decried with a sober look.
Now the teeth sit together in their glittery container, the first teeth to have popped through her gums. Like every other sappy mother, I look at them and long for the baby they used to belong to.
Looking at this picture, my heart constricts, and I realize - truly - the brief gift I have been given. Every day I try to hold onto it, but I know it is a fluid thing. I may be left with only a glittered box full of tiny teeth. But I will always remember the soft cheeks, the sweet-smelling hair, the pudgy fists and sparkling eyes that made up my one and only baby girl.
Here is to milestones of all shapes and sizes - AMEN!
But still.
These two little teeth sit quietly together in her Tooth Fairy Box. I fashioned it myself after the chair incident, giving her something extra special to find beside her crib that sad morning after her top tooth had been extracted. It is simply a small round cardboard box, but I slathered it in pale blue glitter, and festooned it with clear plastic gems shaped like stars and moons. It's original contents were several blue/green plastic necklaces, a silver coin, and a handful of M&Ms. Not your average Tooth Fairy booty, but then again, this was no average tooth loss (did I mention she also fractured a bone in her face? Oh, the swelling and bruising! I might have cried more than she did...).
Now the box will hold all her baby teeth - a treasure for me. When she lost her first bottom tooth last weekend, I was excited to try the real Tooth Fairy deal - fishing a tiny tooth out from under J's pillow, to replace it with a magical coin, all without waking her. I didn't even have to worry about finding a tiny tooth - in anticipation of this event, I had purchased a little pillow with a fabric envelope and fairy on it for holding lost teeth, and had shown it to J earlier in the week when it was clear the Time Was Nigh. She would put the little pillow under her own, and voila!
Except that J didn't want the Tooth Fairy to take her tooth. Going through the bedtime routine, she seemed a little quiet. Then when we approached the bed with the little pillow, she started crying, "I don't want her to take my tooth!" This should not have been surprising, since K felt the exact same way. Though I was taken aback, I immediately assured her I could intervene on her behalf.
"She doesn't have to take the tooth, Sweetie. She'll leave it. I promise."
"How do you know?" she wailed. "Can you talk to her?"
"I can't talk to her [not a lie - why would I talk to myself?] - I'll just think about it, and she'll know."
In the end, J didn't even want the pillow at her bedside. Instead we settled on my nightstand. She ran excitedly down the hall and placed it just-so next to my water cup and stash of Advil. Little did we know that less than a week later, we would be retracing those same excited steps with bottom tooth #2. Both times she awoke flustered with anticipation, streaking down to my room to find a silver dollar and her little tooth still tucked snugly in the little envelope.
Both times, she fished out her tooth out with great care and reverence, taking it back to her Tooth Fairy Box for safe-keeping. The money was also appreciated, I was happy to note. She chose to put the coins in her 'savings' jar, "But I am never going to spend them!" she decried with a sober look.
Now the teeth sit together in their glittery container, the first teeth to have popped through her gums. Like every other sappy mother, I look at them and long for the baby they used to belong to.
Looking at this picture, my heart constricts, and I realize - truly - the brief gift I have been given. Every day I try to hold onto it, but I know it is a fluid thing. I may be left with only a glittered box full of tiny teeth. But I will always remember the soft cheeks, the sweet-smelling hair, the pudgy fists and sparkling eyes that made up my one and only baby girl.
Here is to milestones of all shapes and sizes - AMEN!
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
January
Snows come in the night. I see the hints of their visits in dusty coatings on the grass and moist driveways like a whispered reminder of things that happen while I am unconscious.
What else is happening beneath my radar? The planet has traveled halfway through its orbit since my July post opining about the glories of mid-summer. How many millions of miles have we flown across the galaxy, tethered only minimally to our sun? We think of gravity as so strong and powerful, and yet the force that holds us in our solar system isn't strong enough to keep me from standing up after swinging out of bed each morning.
Still, here we are, after having drunk in the warmth of summer and the cooling winds of fall, tilted as far away from the sun's life-giving rays as we can be. The trees sleep without my notice, drinking only gentle sips as the slowly melting snow trickles stingily through the frozen soil. Starlings climb and dive and swerve in groups over the hills behind the house. Their silent movements aren't easily detected through my tightly bolted windows. Geese sit in snowy cornfields among stalks broken and faded like bones. I pass them on the road and ignore their comings and goings. Have they flown 'south' for this? How they must be disappointed.
The forecast calls for high temperatures clamped down into the 30's as far as the eye can see. Winds continue to buffet the house, sitting atop a hill and unprotected by trees. Cloudy mornings remain dark till just about the time we leave for the bus stop. News arrives of first this friend, then that, being felled by seasonal illnesses. Night comes on quickly beginning at 4. Nothing seems to be changing in the depths of winter.
But still we are flying, coming around the sun again. Without my notice, each day has a little more sunlight than the last. January days will stack up on each other until we are able to see Valentine's Day just ahead in the calendar. I have begun contemplating seed purchases for the garden. No, I will not repeat last year's venture with melons and beans. Fewer tomato plants - and all plum this time. What then? More peppers? Spring lettuces? Better trellises (again) for the peas. Plenty of time for design.
But I will not wish away time. These stacking days are full of tiny miracles. Suddenly J is taller, and it occurs to me that she is almost 6. JBL grills quickly outside amidst the blustery night air, and we soak in the Christmas tree - up for just a few more days - while we eat at the coffee table. Cookies remain, to be consumed happily over steaming hot chocolate. Any excuse to have a fire in the fireplace is a good one, and the girls rejoice merrily as JBL brings armloads of firewood in from under the deck as though he is ushering in a private party just for the four of us.
These delights that happen inside the winter home do not go unnoticed. So as we make the long uphill climb to spring, let the trees and perrenials rest. Let the wind howl and the snow fall. Let us fly through space silently, with gravity carrying us across time to a place where we can play outside again. And in the meantime, January lives and breathes warm inside our home.
What else is happening beneath my radar? The planet has traveled halfway through its orbit since my July post opining about the glories of mid-summer. How many millions of miles have we flown across the galaxy, tethered only minimally to our sun? We think of gravity as so strong and powerful, and yet the force that holds us in our solar system isn't strong enough to keep me from standing up after swinging out of bed each morning.
Still, here we are, after having drunk in the warmth of summer and the cooling winds of fall, tilted as far away from the sun's life-giving rays as we can be. The trees sleep without my notice, drinking only gentle sips as the slowly melting snow trickles stingily through the frozen soil. Starlings climb and dive and swerve in groups over the hills behind the house. Their silent movements aren't easily detected through my tightly bolted windows. Geese sit in snowy cornfields among stalks broken and faded like bones. I pass them on the road and ignore their comings and goings. Have they flown 'south' for this? How they must be disappointed.
The forecast calls for high temperatures clamped down into the 30's as far as the eye can see. Winds continue to buffet the house, sitting atop a hill and unprotected by trees. Cloudy mornings remain dark till just about the time we leave for the bus stop. News arrives of first this friend, then that, being felled by seasonal illnesses. Night comes on quickly beginning at 4. Nothing seems to be changing in the depths of winter.
But still we are flying, coming around the sun again. Without my notice, each day has a little more sunlight than the last. January days will stack up on each other until we are able to see Valentine's Day just ahead in the calendar. I have begun contemplating seed purchases for the garden. No, I will not repeat last year's venture with melons and beans. Fewer tomato plants - and all plum this time. What then? More peppers? Spring lettuces? Better trellises (again) for the peas. Plenty of time for design.
But I will not wish away time. These stacking days are full of tiny miracles. Suddenly J is taller, and it occurs to me that she is almost 6. JBL grills quickly outside amidst the blustery night air, and we soak in the Christmas tree - up for just a few more days - while we eat at the coffee table. Cookies remain, to be consumed happily over steaming hot chocolate. Any excuse to have a fire in the fireplace is a good one, and the girls rejoice merrily as JBL brings armloads of firewood in from under the deck as though he is ushering in a private party just for the four of us.
These delights that happen inside the winter home do not go unnoticed. So as we make the long uphill climb to spring, let the trees and perrenials rest. Let the wind howl and the snow fall. Let us fly through space silently, with gravity carrying us across time to a place where we can play outside again. And in the meantime, January lives and breathes warm inside our home.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Don't call it hubris
How can I feel powerful and powerless simultaneously?
Crystal clear and utterly at a loss.
Desperately hopeful and terribly afraid.
Ready to run or fly, longing to bury my head under my pillow.
But I am sure, and I won't let fear stop me. One of my many flaws is my unequivocal confidence that I am right, but this time I really am. No more sadness. I would say it feels good to feel good again, but I don't actually recall feeling this before.
Now I just need a strong horse and a wagon, because I aim to take someone with me.
Crystal clear and utterly at a loss.
Desperately hopeful and terribly afraid.
Ready to run or fly, longing to bury my head under my pillow.
But I am sure, and I won't let fear stop me. One of my many flaws is my unequivocal confidence that I am right, but this time I really am. No more sadness. I would say it feels good to feel good again, but I don't actually recall feeling this before.
Now I just need a strong horse and a wagon, because I aim to take someone with me.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Indulgence
It's Saturday, and the end of our holiday vacation time. (Well, tomorrow is the end, but you know what I mean). We have one last Event tonight - dinner and an overnight at our friends' down in Virginia. J will be staying over with JBL's cousin.
Before we go I need to pick up some pottery J painted last week (to be given to said cousin), and hit the grocery for many things, including cupcake fixins. I hope to exercise, too. We'll see if it can fit in to the day's schedule. I'm not pressuring myself.
I had gotten so far off my regular routine that I worried I had lost a substantial amount of fitness - meaning workouts would have to be scaled back (in terms of speed or weight) until I could get back to ground zero. Yesterday, however, I hit the treadmill for 4.5, and was delighted to find my base 8:34 pace still felt comfortable. Earlier in the week I had done a Cathe Pyramid Upper Body video and was pleasantly sore subsequently. You know, as opposed to being incapacitated.
The rest of this weekend will still qualify as holiday, but next week I will set a new course with new goals. Maybe I'll mix back in speed work, though I know distance should be first on the list.
Also for the remainder of this weekend, holiday will mean indulging shamelessly in my family. For instance, I am watching JBL enjoy his breakfast with J closeby, climbing on him and pointing out pictures and words on his laptop. And now she's dancing to the song list JBL built for the morning on the Squeezebox.
She and I will make the cupcakes for tonight, using the rest of the Christmas baking decorations, and will laugh over cracked eggs and spattered icing. I will read to her and try to get her to nap. She won't nap, of course, but we'll try. She has a wet cough this morning that I hope will amount to nothing.
JBL and I will drop her with Dawn and Sam, and after staying for a drink, we will head down to Virginia. We will listen to music and hold hands the whole way. When we arrive, the music will continue. JBL and Mark will disappear downstairs to pick a wine to have with dinner. Carol and I will chat and gnosh on cheese and olives. There will be a fire in the giant stone fireplace. The food will be lush, the drinks free-flowing. I will fall asleep listening to JBL and Mark reminiscing downstairs.
Tomorrow we'll return, pick up J, and recover at home in time to watch the Ravens play Oakland. J will don her new Flacco jersey and grab her purple pom-poms. We'll all lay on the sofa and cheer. We'll have leftover smoked chicken for dinner (thanks to generous neighbors). We'll spend the rest of the evening staring at the world's most beautiful tree. And yes, I am biased, but come on:
Woops - I was just interrupted by J. I turned to see her standing under the mistletoe in the kitchen doorway, now smiling at me, now looking up meaningfully. Several dozen kisses later, she is back at her work table with her Barbie Fashion Plates. And I am here, writing about joy, peace and indulgence. Thank you God.
Happy new year...
Before we go I need to pick up some pottery J painted last week (to be given to said cousin), and hit the grocery for many things, including cupcake fixins. I hope to exercise, too. We'll see if it can fit in to the day's schedule. I'm not pressuring myself.
I had gotten so far off my regular routine that I worried I had lost a substantial amount of fitness - meaning workouts would have to be scaled back (in terms of speed or weight) until I could get back to ground zero. Yesterday, however, I hit the treadmill for 4.5, and was delighted to find my base 8:34 pace still felt comfortable. Earlier in the week I had done a Cathe Pyramid Upper Body video and was pleasantly sore subsequently. You know, as opposed to being incapacitated.
The rest of this weekend will still qualify as holiday, but next week I will set a new course with new goals. Maybe I'll mix back in speed work, though I know distance should be first on the list.
Also for the remainder of this weekend, holiday will mean indulging shamelessly in my family. For instance, I am watching JBL enjoy his breakfast with J closeby, climbing on him and pointing out pictures and words on his laptop. And now she's dancing to the song list JBL built for the morning on the Squeezebox.
She and I will make the cupcakes for tonight, using the rest of the Christmas baking decorations, and will laugh over cracked eggs and spattered icing. I will read to her and try to get her to nap. She won't nap, of course, but we'll try. She has a wet cough this morning that I hope will amount to nothing.
JBL and I will drop her with Dawn and Sam, and after staying for a drink, we will head down to Virginia. We will listen to music and hold hands the whole way. When we arrive, the music will continue. JBL and Mark will disappear downstairs to pick a wine to have with dinner. Carol and I will chat and gnosh on cheese and olives. There will be a fire in the giant stone fireplace. The food will be lush, the drinks free-flowing. I will fall asleep listening to JBL and Mark reminiscing downstairs.
Tomorrow we'll return, pick up J, and recover at home in time to watch the Ravens play Oakland. J will don her new Flacco jersey and grab her purple pom-poms. We'll all lay on the sofa and cheer. We'll have leftover smoked chicken for dinner (thanks to generous neighbors). We'll spend the rest of the evening staring at the world's most beautiful tree. And yes, I am biased, but come on:
Woops - I was just interrupted by J. I turned to see her standing under the mistletoe in the kitchen doorway, now smiling at me, now looking up meaningfully. Several dozen kisses later, she is back at her work table with her Barbie Fashion Plates. And I am here, writing about joy, peace and indulgence. Thank you God.
Happy new year...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
