Life has become a war zone of possible threats - hardback books falling from shelves, plugs being pulled, lamps toppling over, etc. You guessed it. Crawling has begun. Now, no serious injuries have occurred and no actual glass has shattered. But, my perspective of my own home has shifted dramatically.
Once a peaceful sanctuary, it is now a minefield, with unsuspecting small poofs of smoke erupting at least once or twice within each half hour my son is awake.
For someone who has to work at staying calm while lounging on the couch, this brand new stage is somewhat unsettling. I am excited too at the challenge of coming up with creative solutions. Ways to make my home softer and more cushion-y. Books are being replaced on shelves with stuffed animals and baby toys, for instance.
Aside from the underlying threat of "imminent" danger, I love this stage. I love that Asher is forcing mom and dad to include him more in their lives. Piece by piece, we work on this puzzle, metal detectors out. And our home becomes more of his home, where he can feel a sense of sanctuary too.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Gravitational Pulls
So, I've been wondering about boundary issues again when writing in this blog. I've basically reset my own just because I can. Because, well, why not? Because, it's uncomfortable. Each time I find myself pressing "Share to Facebook", I hesitate. I think, 'this isn't something I do..." For that reason alone, I find it thrilling and meaningful.
The beauty of this blog so far is that I am redefining myself as I go. With the ever-present knowledge that others are reading. Strange. Being willing to be given a different name. To be willing to pull the inside out. All in front of witnesses.
I thank all of you who have been willing to witness this process. For this blog is so much more than it started out as. More and more, it is a creative outlet. But, it's also a risk-taking endeavor, even if only a small one.
It's the willingness and hope to connect. To start conversations. To find solidarity in a world that in some ways has become so much smaller for me. My home is my private universe that demands constant attention and care. It takes work to keep all planets in orbit, to maintain proper distance from one another, and to make sure one gravitational pull doesn't get too out of whack.
Now, each entry is part of what sustains gravity.
The beauty of this blog so far is that I am redefining myself as I go. With the ever-present knowledge that others are reading. Strange. Being willing to be given a different name. To be willing to pull the inside out. All in front of witnesses.
I thank all of you who have been willing to witness this process. For this blog is so much more than it started out as. More and more, it is a creative outlet. But, it's also a risk-taking endeavor, even if only a small one.
It's the willingness and hope to connect. To start conversations. To find solidarity in a world that in some ways has become so much smaller for me. My home is my private universe that demands constant attention and care. It takes work to keep all planets in orbit, to maintain proper distance from one another, and to make sure one gravitational pull doesn't get too out of whack.
Now, each entry is part of what sustains gravity.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Thanks, Ash
A few things Asher has reminded me of or taught me:
There are certainties in life. For instance, walls will not disappear, no matter how many times you touch them. They also stay hard and flat.
A good music album can help ease time alone in your "crib." It even makes the time enjoyable.
Staring at strangers is interesting and OK.
My own fingers and toes can provide enormous entertainment.
Imitating others is funny and can even get a positive response.
Screaming when dad gets home lights his whole stage afire.
While we're on screaming...when done in public, strangely, it can be overlooked and somehow understood.
Crying when meeting strangers gains attention and sets boundaries.
It's always a good time to wave hello to someone, even when you've already made this gesture five times in the past thirty seconds.
I could probably drink a diet of pure milkshakes if that were the only food I'd let people feed me. :)
There are certainties in life. For instance, walls will not disappear, no matter how many times you touch them. They also stay hard and flat.
A good music album can help ease time alone in your "crib." It even makes the time enjoyable.
Staring at strangers is interesting and OK.
My own fingers and toes can provide enormous entertainment.
Imitating others is funny and can even get a positive response.
Screaming when dad gets home lights his whole stage afire.
While we're on screaming...when done in public, strangely, it can be overlooked and somehow understood.
Crying when meeting strangers gains attention and sets boundaries.
It's always a good time to wave hello to someone, even when you've already made this gesture five times in the past thirty seconds.
I could probably drink a diet of pure milkshakes if that were the only food I'd let people feed me. :)
Saturday, February 12, 2011
The Vampire's Plastic Teeth
"Pretending to be myself again, imitating a person I've always been. Wearing the clothes that I always wear. Doing the usual thing to my hair...A bunny in a bunny suit. A vampire with plastic teeth." -Simone White
You know those songwriters who speak to you so well, it's like they have been your friend since third grade? Simone White is one of those singers for me. The line above is from "Bunny in a Bunny Suit," and it speaks so true to my experience of myself.
I'd say, at 38, my bunny suit might look tattered. It might still have a droopy ear, one glass eye, a partially intact arm, and so on. But, its zipper is broken. No longer does it come up to my neck. One foot is now free, bare and soft.
More and more, there are even times the whole darn thing comes off. And there I am. The person who's been going through Elizabeth's gestures, facial expressions, saying what Elizabeth typically says is now free. Her hair is cut. Her voice not a bit shaky. Her gaze, steady. She is embracing the morning's new bouquet of offerings. Taking deep breaths before going back under.
You know those songwriters who speak to you so well, it's like they have been your friend since third grade? Simone White is one of those singers for me. The line above is from "Bunny in a Bunny Suit," and it speaks so true to my experience of myself.
I'd say, at 38, my bunny suit might look tattered. It might still have a droopy ear, one glass eye, a partially intact arm, and so on. But, its zipper is broken. No longer does it come up to my neck. One foot is now free, bare and soft.
More and more, there are even times the whole darn thing comes off. And there I am. The person who's been going through Elizabeth's gestures, facial expressions, saying what Elizabeth typically says is now free. Her hair is cut. Her voice not a bit shaky. Her gaze, steady. She is embracing the morning's new bouquet of offerings. Taking deep breaths before going back under.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
The New Religion
Yesterday was quite a day, I tell you. You know those days where you're cruising along without many speed bumps or red lights, and then you just hit this ditch, and the whole car goes thud...? Sputter, sputter, cough, cough. Ugh, ugh.
And there you have it. There's no getting out of it until some massive crane operator happens to pass by. This person of course being my husband.
To explain in plainer terms, I just felt overworked, overwhelmed, and spread far too thin. I swore off any activity - Pilates, phone calls, walks in the park, moms groups, reading my seven different books. All of it seemed like too much. It was time to do nothing, and I mean for like an entire month.
I am a bit better today. Pilates, although results still cannot be seen, and meeting moms in the area, for instance, seem like not only reasonable activities but also necessary ones.
How is it that those same things that improve our sanity also make us crazy? Choc-full-o-nuts.
Reading books on spirituality, for instance. I've come to a temporary conclusion (as I have many times) that spirituality is definitely not in any church, ashram, or mosque - no matter how open or friendly those places might be.
Rather, spirituality is in mental health. It's in making a good cup of coffee. Cooking eggs really well. Watching my son discover the pattern in a blanket. Seeing his little face light up when he hears a song he likes. Listening to silence. Watching a hawk perched on a wooden fence.
It's time to get up now, and pick up my child off the floor, slowly and tenderly.
And there you have it. There's no getting out of it until some massive crane operator happens to pass by. This person of course being my husband.
To explain in plainer terms, I just felt overworked, overwhelmed, and spread far too thin. I swore off any activity - Pilates, phone calls, walks in the park, moms groups, reading my seven different books. All of it seemed like too much. It was time to do nothing, and I mean for like an entire month.
I am a bit better today. Pilates, although results still cannot be seen, and meeting moms in the area, for instance, seem like not only reasonable activities but also necessary ones.
How is it that those same things that improve our sanity also make us crazy? Choc-full-o-nuts.
Reading books on spirituality, for instance. I've come to a temporary conclusion (as I have many times) that spirituality is definitely not in any church, ashram, or mosque - no matter how open or friendly those places might be.
Rather, spirituality is in mental health. It's in making a good cup of coffee. Cooking eggs really well. Watching my son discover the pattern in a blanket. Seeing his little face light up when he hears a song he likes. Listening to silence. Watching a hawk perched on a wooden fence.
It's time to get up now, and pick up my child off the floor, slowly and tenderly.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Goodnight Holden
If I could write the book of my life, it would begin. Not sure how, but I know it would begin. I'm blowing off school work to write to you tonight, on this semi-stormy, cold January night.
You know when I said that much of my life was imaginary when I was younger...? Well, truth be told, my head still gets caught in clouds. Half in this world, half in another is how an old friend described me once. She had a postcard of a woman who looked almost ghostlike and said this reminded her of me. Even though an eery pause followed her comment, I agreed.
My feet are now more planted on this earth, mind you, particularly since meeting Eric almost eight years ago. Meeting him was when I truly stopped avoiding intimacy and dodging potentially serious, tragic rejection. I decided to commit myself to the fear and trembling that subtly erupted when he was in the room. Finally, I had found a man who was worth the insomnia, the bottles of Tums, and the perspiration. And by golly, there was just no falling in love without coming inside out in the process.
At any rate, now that another digression has passed...I still live much of life with pillowy cotton coming out my ears. (Even presently, when my eight month old son demands me to be in the here and now.) You may have noticed this already, since I have several different imaginary passions. As I've mentioned before, I envision myself as a grand cook, a published writer, and an accomplished something creative - aside from being a teacher, that is.
The beauty of all of this hypothetical talent or dream-making is that I am writing. And I mean, I am seeing more about what I can write and how - even though not all of it gets to the page or the cyber world. I actually feel OK about being a writer, without scoffing under my breath like Holden Caufield, muttering that I am some phony.
You know when I said that much of my life was imaginary when I was younger...? Well, truth be told, my head still gets caught in clouds. Half in this world, half in another is how an old friend described me once. She had a postcard of a woman who looked almost ghostlike and said this reminded her of me. Even though an eery pause followed her comment, I agreed.
My feet are now more planted on this earth, mind you, particularly since meeting Eric almost eight years ago. Meeting him was when I truly stopped avoiding intimacy and dodging potentially serious, tragic rejection. I decided to commit myself to the fear and trembling that subtly erupted when he was in the room. Finally, I had found a man who was worth the insomnia, the bottles of Tums, and the perspiration. And by golly, there was just no falling in love without coming inside out in the process.
At any rate, now that another digression has passed...I still live much of life with pillowy cotton coming out my ears. (Even presently, when my eight month old son demands me to be in the here and now.) You may have noticed this already, since I have several different imaginary passions. As I've mentioned before, I envision myself as a grand cook, a published writer, and an accomplished something creative - aside from being a teacher, that is.
The beauty of all of this hypothetical talent or dream-making is that I am writing. And I mean, I am seeing more about what I can write and how - even though not all of it gets to the page or the cyber world. I actually feel OK about being a writer, without scoffing under my breath like Holden Caufield, muttering that I am some phony.
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