Thursday, August 25, 2011

Toddler Zen

So much is clouded by stress. It's times like this when I remember how fabulous and stress-free my everyday life is. "Everyday life" being life without a major change or transition on the horizon or in the foreground. Wait...is this ever my reality? Perhaps not, but I feel the camel hump at the top of the back and the fog behind the eyes more so now than at most times in my life.

As I've mentioned, the house is in that temporary, unsettled state of 'what might be' or 'what was.' When you can't find a pen or locate your taxes. When, your doctors' bills might be filed with your graduate school papers.

And despite the fact I am bumping into boxes in the kitchen and crossing off number thirty-three on my before-you-move-to-do-list, somehow my little son's world seems pretty much unchanged. I'll catch sight of his little blond head at the end of the kitchen isle, around the coffee table, in front of the window. What is he doing while all of this goes on? He's rambling on about something; he is humming; he is "talking" to Sky, my cat; he is picking up small balls and finding them new homes, such as the cap to a baby bottle or an empty shoe box.

In short, he's going about his life, like nothing has really changed. And, when I notice this, I smile (at least internally) at the miraculous being beneath my feet, reminding me how relative life is. My fourteen month-old is teaching me the art of Zen. That despite the craziness, there is a small world waiting to be experienced. Like the smell of dish soap, the texture of oatmeal, the crinkly feel of newspaper as I wrap yet another coffee mug (how many of these can one person own? Do I drink that much coffee?).

As I write this, I feel the chair underneath me and hear the ambient music I've put on while taking a moment to be with you. Thanks for the pep talk. Let's chat again soon. You really help keep me sane.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Littered with Pepto

Why does time drag its feet the hardest when you are waiting to hear important news? We waited for an entire week to finally learn our rental application on a townhouse in Frederick, Maryland was accepted.

Documents, phone calls, credit scores, oh my! We provided and provided and then still provided more. Yes, my husband has a job in Rockville; we just don't live there yet. This fact had to be shown or said in a number of ways by a number of people.

Alas, the ever-inflating balloon of my nerves was allowed to deflate on Friday evening. I lost about twenty pounds in the moments following the news: "The place is yours."

So now, we have just over a week before the movers come. And, my stomach feels like a hazardous zone, marked off for exploration. I am on the verge of sickness for much of each present day. This isn't the flu; it's just an upheaval inside my body. Excitement, nervousness, a lot of worry.

Our house is turning inside out as well. Contents of drawers and shelves are laying haphazardly in piles on the floor. Empty, full, partially full, and what-have-you boxes cover the downstairs like new tile ready to be installed.

Time. To go. To say good-bye. To begin anew. To take some of the Pepto found scattered in the debris of an old purse.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Fried Wings and All

Cicada carcasses cover my lawn like battled war victims. I read that the Chinese see these insects as a symbol of rebirth. How fitting, as my husband and I shed our southern skins, fried wings and all, for a sleeker northern coat.

Sometimes, it takes years for these creatures to emerge from underground, where they suck up food from plant roots. When ready, they emerge from the earth, eager to take residence in your front garden or neighborhood trees.

Eric and I have spent years hibernating, marinating in the juices of moving north. It seems it is now time for us to "uproot" and leave our shells behind. In actuality, there are things I am happy to leave behind: tornadoes, sloppy summers that miss their cue to exit, millions of "W" stickers, extremely limited vegetarian and/or organic restaurants, rednecks who complain about "rednecks," an entire population's love of barbeque, and so on.

I'd also love to leave behind my anxiety, the reality of 9/11, layoffs, undesirable neighbors, and superficiality, but I realize some things either can't be denied or abolished from my future - or past - with the wave of a wand (maybe with the shake of a stick or the drop of a hat...?).

My swan songs have begun, and they do resemble the cicada's. They are quiet at times, and then rise in volume and intensity when you aren't noticing. Are you noticing? They cling to me at night, as the sun fades, and the day takes off her kerchief.

But, they leave as my head hits the pillow, and a smile spreads wide across my face. A smile so wide, I could probably travel its length up to Maryland.







Saturday, August 13, 2011

Just OK

So, I am sitting here trying to write something clever, and all that keeps coming into my mind is: stillness. Do you have those days when life just begins to softly shift into place, like an airplane carry-on that's just the right size to fit beneath the seat in front of you? You wake up, and for some reason, you are bright; you are alert to the needs of your family, to the sun rays peering into your kitchen, and so on. It's like you took an energy drink in your dream, and you can even put that first cup of joe on hold. Wait in line, joe, my man needs some eggs before work. My baby needs some mommy play time.

I just knew that no worries were necessary today. That someone was working behind the stage. No studies lines were needed. No stage fright. No wondering how the audience would respond. Just OK.

And today...I think we rented our house.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Non-Stick Pan/Plan

I've been avoiding discussing my upcoming move to Maryland. But, my husband gave notice at work today, so I guess it's truly official! Eric got a job in Rockville, so homeward bound I am, in a sense.

Moving turns me so many colors. It conjures the best and worst of my emotions and past experiences. Today, I am a bluish-green with an aura of rosy-orange.The bluish-green is a vacancy inside, while the rosy-orange is simply elation.

I've "officially" crossed that boundary mark of not quite believing you're moving, of living in some fantasy bubble as if your life in your current home is just going to continue, and whatever the opposite of that is. Ok, I'll try harder.

The opposite of that emotion/experience would be...no man's land. Mmm...not really opposite, I suppose. I am quite certain, regardless, that I am in no man's land. A purgatory. Being neither here nor there, I feel my friendships quietly detaching without much resistance. There's a non-stick pan beneath my life, and it all seems to be uprooting without much trouble (brother Roger's family aside).

I feel the new town awaiting as if it's a vacation destination. I am about to pack up my belongings, including old stuffed animals my mother sent me years ago, plates I've had since college, a sunshine and moon couch blanket I've also had since college, a beat-up old sage green couch that sticks to your fingers it's so gooey and yummy, those birthday and greeting cards no one can seem to throw away (the unspoken, nostalgic retirement plan we all have), etc, etc. And, I am doing all of this, for some cool giveaway or something, like I am a contestant in Saturday Night Live's vacation sweepstakes.

When I get up there, my yard will have a palm tree (surely those grow in Maryland), Eric's family and my mother will bring us pies and flowers every other week, and groceries will be delivered to the door. Or...not.

All in all, this is no man's land. No reality quite fits. Nothing is really real. I can let go of all of it since none of it makes sense.

Ultimately, my home is in any house where my husband and son reside.

Monday, August 8, 2011

Nonfatal Flaw

Dear Book,

Forgive my fickle nature. I fall in and out of love with stories, as if I am a twelve-year old boy leaving his first crushes on the jungle bars. (Is twelve too young?)

So, what is it about me and books? I love reading, almost more than any activity. I love a character who can get into my bones and head. Who can read my mind, despite the long distance between us.

As I was saying, latest novel, I do like you - very, very much even. My cavalier nature is not your fault. I just have a natural ability to walk away and not look back. To stop feeling that initial urge to pick you up and open your pages. You're just not as novel to me anymore. (Oh God, was that really bad?)

(Side note for the readers at home: This is an actual "flaw" of mine. If we are going to know each other, then you must realize that every English teacher does not have a book attached to her hand. That even lovers of literature have the ability to fill entire bookshelves with unfinished books. This is true about me, even if it ruins your expectations of me and every other Englishy-type.)

What it comes down to, novel, is you'll just have to be OK with me putting less attention on you, unless you suddenly capture my heart again. I do believe you can surprise me, and I am still willing to give you a chance. For now, that is.

Fondly,
Elizabeth

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Leaping-logs

Close your eyes. Feel the tide inside, the low rumble of sadness and dirt. Back and forth, as if it might erupt from your tear ducts or pores. You can't always keep all of that debris inside once a hole is created. Here is a little bit of leakage.

I am starting to think this whole weaning process, this breaking Asher from nursing, is just as hard - or harder - for me. For months, I've wanted this beautiful boy to let go already. To not cry for mama so much. To be able to sleep without having his mommy time.

Well, my wish is coming true. Eric and I have been breaking him slowly for a while, but this past week, he's leapt over three logs and hasn't fallen in the water yet (a little "Frogger" reference from childhood). Mommy has been amazed, standing beside the river, cheering him on and drinking her spiked lemonade on the dry, grassy bank.

I guess what's really happened is I've realized he's actually ready to be weaned. He hasn't needed to nurse nearly as often as I thought he did. Or, maybe it's just come on quickly because he is walking. He's even wearing shoes. I mean, his voice might crack any day.

He's outgrowing mommy, or so it feels. And, happy, cheering mommy is now sad mommy. Is now feeling slightly like the giving tree. Take my limbs and take my pulp, dear wonderful son (and I mean wonderful); I'll be fine. Don't worry about me, boy. Take my heart and soul while you are at it. (This is an exaggeration of course, but it is what I sometimes anticipate for my future).

So, the first apron string is being cut. I know that wounds heal, but this is the first true step towards his independence. And, it feels more like a grown-up size step than a baby one.