Write, Mama. Write.

Spread a little awe

I left early for pilates last night and stopped by the thrift store first.  There's this weird thing I get where I'll be dying to "get away" and then when I'm away I always miss my guys quite a bit.  (It makes me impatient with myself.)  Anyhow, I'm always finely tuned into kids when I'm out.  There were children everywhere in this shop, one crawling alone in a corner mouthing a ball as he pushed it along.  One in the toy aisle with an electronic book.  Two in carts trying to escape while their parents held conference calls on speaker phone through their head sets.  One kid was touching things from his seat in the cart (just like his mother was) and she kept screaming at him.  I won't repeat it all but he was referred to with, as my boy would say, a "poop"-related word.  He was just about the age of my little guy.

So it all just made me sad.  I wanted to tell the woman that the kid had better taste than she did, in what he was grabbing.  I want all of the cell phones gone and TVs off, whenever the kids are around.  I want to turn the people talking about how rotten their children are so their faces look at the child watching and listening down at their feet.  Obviously I'm living in the lap of parental luxury to escape in the early evening to something just for me while my husband takes care of the boy.  I don't want to be a judgmental jerk.  I know it's exhausting and kids can push your buttons like nothing else and I have times when I'm stuck inside reading 'The Little People Busy Town' flap book for the 100th time in a week and I'm just moaning a bit in my head. 

But, also, these kids are so absolutely amazing.  It's incredible what a child can do with just two years in the world.  The fact that they know how to push your buttons, when they were recently so utterly helpless, is astonishing to me.  Two is so much fun.  We get up in the morning and make smoothies together and run to watch the recycling truck out the front door ("Up, up, up wih da arm on da truck, Mama!").  I consider red saltwater sandals because if he's decked out in orange all the time ("ORAN! ORAN!"-- 24/7 color love for "ORAN!"), I could definitely use a splash of color too this summer.  He's so full of passion and excitement and energy and determination; it spreads to everything.  He shares it all with me and it seems to get more miraculous the older they get.  That kid we met months back who wasn't walking?-- Listen to him sing the "ABC's" now, while he runs!  The little one who was a cooing baby when we met?-- Using the big girl potty like it's no big deal.  It's a big deal!  I watch children we saw tucked away in a sling what seems like just yesterday fly down the big slide at the playground and I'm so filled with wonder and excitement every time.  Look at what they can do!  Did you see that?! 

Last night I wanted to ameliorate the sadness by spreading a little of that wonder everywhere.

What-ta doin', Mama?

If it's not "What-ta doin', Mama?" it's "What-ta doin' now?"  Or, after it's been discussed ad nauseum ("I'm still driving the car, Kiddo...") it's "Wheahr is it here?" ("Downtown")... "Wheahr in downtown?  What by?"  It is so thrilling to be at this stage and justalittlebiteversoslighlty annoying.  Also on the linguistic front he decided one day to (more often than not) call me "Mommy" and I'm not sure how I feel about that.  Um... I have a blog, Little One, that clearly says I'm the "Mama."  He secures his drama department hand-me-down to the tripod and click-click-clicks his way quite seriously through our day, documenting everything at a macro level (as in, camera to object: click).  Pencil to paper he writes a bit "A-B-LMNAZP-O-O" and declares we need "MEAT" at the store and it's top on our shopping list with "GUM" (two things we don't buy at the store, I might add).

He puts his slippers on by himself, moves the bar to the sliding door and slips out into the night to look for the moon.  Running back after inching away as far as we let him into the black he yells, "I don see da moon.  I see STAR an STAR an STAR!"  He insists on helping make the bed, make the coffee, make our day in his vision and suddenly he calms enough now to snuggle in the covers in the early morning with me, which he has never, ever done (from his gymnastic in utero tumbling to two, he hasn't slowed down much for a cuddly quiet moment).  We can lay there after the moon goes and watch the sun come up through the trees.  We talk about how the fog makes things look different and how we dreamed in the night.  I thought, when I looked at him as he was first greeting the world, that I loved him with everything; now I realize that my love grows, somehow, with every little thing I learn about who he is and who he wants to be and who he will be someday. 

 

Great, sunny weekend, made some bibs, parenting is tough and fun

We've had the most beautiful run of days, full of blue skies chased by an occasional sprinkle.  Things just seem lighter with windows cracked open and finger nails dirty from tending outdoor beds.  Driver, buff (plastic) arms doing the heavy lifting, navigates the dump truck from pile to pile outside (two year old providing true muscle).  We stomp in little puddles and our hippo umbrella tries to take to the skies.  A beautiful rainbow arched over the town yesterday and the boy couldn't quite see it.  We tried to show him.  We pulled over to show him.  We had to settle for rainbows in books though, which weren't half bad.  When your eyes aren't used to looking for something it can be difficult to see, even when it arches over you and encompasses your living space and lightens moods.  Spring is creeping in just like that.      

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I knocked out bib after bib after bib this weekend, orange for the boy and stripes for others.  I think our fabric bib lifespan is one year in this household.  It seems silly to make new bibs for this big, big boy just like it seemed ridiculous to buy a new diaper pail when our old one failed.  Then again, we still spill, we're still in the diaper phase and everything happens at a different pace for different people.  After a stretch of ease I'm a bit startled at the whole comparison thing popping up again.  You know how, when they're babies, everyone has an opinion or a glance or a question about what a child can and should do at any given time?  After they turned one it felt like people settled down.  I know I did.  There weren't as many mental milestones to tick off and well-child visits even spread out to two a year.  Since this second birthday I've noticed a gradual increase in the opinions or glances or questions.  There's an increase in comparisons and even, ever so slightly, in my doubts.  Now it's preschool and potty training and how much independence versus how much togetherness and how in the world does this all work when I don't really know what I'm doing? sprouting up again.  There are hard forehead bonks, tough negotiations, there's letting go and holding tight.  It's that parenting dance, making me dizzy, tossing me around with my head back laughing.  I remember a parent telling me first grade was going to make or break their child's chance at Harvard, and I remember my inner teacher reaction (something like: Oh my goodness!-- Chill out... They're six).  I want to remain very confident in my belief that we have the ingredients for raising a happy little boy.  We have puddle jumping, dirty fingernails, rainbows in books and our dizzy dance of give and take.  Oh my goodness!... He's two.

Somehow that little update all boils down to: Great, sunny weekend... Made some bibs... Parenting is tough and fun...

Mama meditation

Please be nicer to yourself.  It isn't easy to nurture a little soul with pep and style.  It's hard work and you're doing a really good job.  There is no such thing as perfect and really, think about what you want to model... Do you want your little one to feel he has to be perfect? 

If it all seems overwhelming think about what really matters.  Are the overwhelming things something you'll give thought to a week from now?  A month from now?  A year?  10?  Does it really all need to be done?  Give it some semblance of "tidy" and go play. 
Laugh. 
Explore. 
Model joy.

Have you had enough protein?  Water?  Are you sleeping enough?  Do you need to ask for some help?  Have you done anything for yourself lately?  Remember: that makes you a better mama.

Did you notice today?  Really notice?  Did you show him that he is important and that you respect him, his emotions and his brilliance?  I bet you did.  You know how muscles have memory?  Children will remember your intention.  Don't beat yourself up when it doesn't go the way you hoped.  Do things with love and it will matter.

Please be nicer to yourself.

'Cat'aloguing the developments, or lack thereof

We have stacks of wood on shelving between our house and the shed.  It's all under a roof, it's not ours (ahem) and it's on the other side of the wall from our bed's headboard.  This weekend all of the cats in the neighborhood, stray or no, decided it was a cat version of a Japanese love motel, lumberyard theme.  All through the night for two nights I ran outside hissing, water bottle as my spray defense, wielding a flashlight and just knowing there'd be a full-on attack.  Cats vs. me.  Terror.  Nobody appreciated my thoughts on how catastrophic the situation was and how catatonic we were after the lack of sleep.

Perhaps the lack of sleep led us to our inane, misguided attempts to get out and about.  It's a good thing we had breakfast on Saturday morning because it was downhill from there.  I think the house wait is this heavy cloud over us.  It settles over us adults, who unwittingly share it with the kiddo in little bits of worry and excitement and nervousness and frustration seeping through cracks.  It's complicated, but the essence of it all is that we don't know if we get to buy the house or not (still) and then, even if (pleaseohplease) it happens we don't know when we'll close because the bank (owner) has to have a little work done before closing.  There's nothing else.  We've been looking since October.  Our lease is up soon.  A 700 square foot rental in the winter with a busy two year old doesn't work well. 

It's the not knowing.  If I could mentally move on or mentally move in fully it would be fine.  I know it's a pretty good problem to have as far as problems go.  Moving is one of the most stressful life events though, according to those lists, and Not Knowing about Moving has got to be up there too.

Stinkarellibooboo, Kiddo, Sweet Boy, Wild Child or Stinkarelli (he actually smells quite nice) is a little wonder these days.  Last week we headed off to toddler gym to try it out only to find he's in KINDERgym now.  Last week he and I went to a preschool fair, just because I like to research and even if it's a long time coming (it is) I want to know what the options are.  Last week he "Ah-ah-ah'd" me.  When he was little, little he totally disregarded "No" so we developed a little "Ah-ah" sound that made him look and did the same thing without that word.  Now, along with telling me how to fix my hair, he "Ah-ah-ah'd" me. 

He knows what he wants to wear, where he wants to get dressed, precisely what we should do once we are dressed...  He thrills with talk of cookies, reading and adventure.  He yells, "Happy Birthday, Everyone!" all the time (quite randomly, with approximately seven extra syllables).  Last night our little "Goodnight Moon" routine where Daddy reads "Goodnight light and the red balloon" and then I echo "Goodnight light and the red balloon," etc., etc. was utterly different with Daddy reading and the boy echoing and tears of "Ohmygoodness... He's in Kindergym, someday he'll go to school, he's so capable-happiness" in my eyes.  He's growing up, so fine.

I just said we couldn't bring one of his toys with us to the Children's Museum.  He immediately yelled, "Hey, Dada!!" and then quickly realized Daddy was at work.  He ran off, rustled through every toy in his room and came back in with a toy phone held up to his ear.  Daddy evidently says it's OK to bring it to the Children's Museum and work is going well.

They're not all in the basket (phew!)

Oh, right.  So Kayte asked what the other wooden things were in the muffin tin: trees!  I think acorns are spreading across the country since this post, but I held off until Molly shared this incredible idea.  I used Christmas money to buy the acorns and eggs (which have been far more fun than I ever thought possible), and added the trees because I'd seen them here (wow!) and thought they'd round out our play.  It's so fun to have a mini-forest.  The eggs and trees are big enough so we don't have to tuck them away when little visitors come.  This all reminded me that I don't think I ever shared our nuts & bolts & keys & locks & stuff box.

It's a little depleted at the moment as things tend to migrate, but you get the idea.  We have lots more nuts and bolts-type items to round it out so there are parts you can move, put together, take apart, etc.  I made this for our summer trip when we stayed in a different house for a week or so.  It's so portable but also keeps a two-year-old's attention for a long time (at least our little two year old).  We line keys up by size, figure out which parts work with others...  You can also string keys.  I think I got the box at a craft store but I saw one in a hardware-type store recently for less ($3?).  Cases like this are nice as kids grow because they support those desires to collect/sort/categorize.  Our guy stopped putting things in his mouth at the baby stage but even still this is always an activity box we do together or with me watching close by (for safety).

I've had a post halfway written referencing the snow day we had on Monday.  Every day I change the words (from "today," to "yesterday," to "a couple of days ago...").  Pretty soon it's going to start, "Last week..." and I'll think "what's the point?" and delete it.  I'm defeated/depleted and I've decided it's because there's been very little time to do anything by/for myself lately.  Very, very little.  Do you ever run into this?  Especially with young children how do you (or did you) make time to get away and/or have creative outlets?  I have stacks of ideas to sew, to write, to create and I'd truly love to read a bit.  Barring a babysitter (we can't afford that and I'm so not ready for someone I don't know to watch the boy) how does it happen?  Our situation is complicated by the lack of space so I can't just go to another room and close the door (well, I could but it certainly wouldn't be effective).  I know I'm a better mama when I have a little time to "fill up," but I certainly haven't learned how to do that yet (effectively).  From 7 to 7/8ish there's a one hour nap to do freelance work, cleaning, etc.  After 7/8 there are dishes, getting ready for the following day and such, and I'm so tired.  I really don't want to start sewing at 9 or 10 because then I make stupid mistakes.  A big part of me always feels like I should take care of most of the household things because I'm the one here all day and it just makes sense.  Another part of me feels like because I'm here all day I never get away from the work part of it.  I think I need to do a better job of compartmentalizing or something.  I need little spaces for creativity instead of nuts and bolts.

What happened there?

That was weird.  I was doing this "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all" thing because goodness knows there wasn't any handmade coolness to show.  I felt like that Peanuts character with a heavy cloud of dirt poofing up around me, only the mess was just being tired and crabby and frustrated.  For whatever reason there's been no sleep around here lately and I do mean NO sleep.  That just makes everything hard, don't you think?  I keep up with these circular patterns, beating myself up in an argumentative spiral when really I'm just tired.  If we had a little sleep, or even if I had a little time when the boy wasn't awake, I could ground myself a bit.  This weekend I asked for a bit of help and that's gone a long way.  It's been dark and rainy too, so I'm making a concerted effort to keep things clipping along with:

~ pilates class two nights a week (ouch)
~ more friends & family over in the past two weeks than in the prior three months combined
~ lights on
~ cozy fires & candles (see above)
~ getting outside with the boy every day, rain or no
~ new songs thanks to some great suggestions

Anyhow, I'm here.  Sometimes mothering just kicks my ass.  It's not easy to harmonize goal directed inclinations with all of the little accomplishments that start all over once they're completed (hello, dishes, laundry, eating imaginary dinners cooked by the world's finest two year old chef).  Simultaneously I consciously, and always, realize what a blessed life I lead to be here with my love, while my other love brings in the dough to let me be here.  We have what we need and we are together. 

So lucky, so happy, so exhausted, so mind-numbingly tired of some of the routine, so blessed.  That's me.

Click, blur

I took the boy to Sears yesterday to get his late two year old birthday picture.  They were blurry, of course, because it's Sears, but I just can't get my head out of the place where you should go get a "portrait" taken of a little one when they're little... Even though this kid has had thousands of pictures taken of him and his cuteness is well documented and the photos I take aren't usually blurry.  There's no way I could justify money for a "real" photographer (apologies to the one or two serious Sears clickers out there).  Somehow it's on my "Good Mama" checklist.  Check.  Anyhow, I was watching him standing like a big kid on the backdrop; he was engaged as all get-out with the cute clicker and her "Aaa-choo"/oh-no-the-bear-is-
falling-off-my-head shtick.  Last year it was just a little too dangerous for him to sit on the big chair by himself and this year he sat up on his knees, propped his elbows on the back and grinned.  Two years ago I thought I was going to die with the crowds and the stress and the oh-no-he-needs-to-be-fed IN the studio RIGHT now and I am so not a breast-in-public person.  Just like that he's growing up.

We came home, had lunch, read our stories and tucked in for naptime with Elephant.  I sat and watched the squirrels run on the fence.  The clouds raced.  It's happening so fast and it's getting better and better all the time.  I'm so glad life has changed in a way that helps me appreciate the everyday moments more.  Or maybe I'm changing and growing up too.
   
This photo's blurry and mine but I like it.   

Mouse, house, stress... You know: Wednesday.

We have a mouse attacking a pipe in the wall that separates the boy's crib from the shower (have I mentioned this already?).  The mouse comes every seventh day or so, after he's lulled me into calm with his absence.  It freaks the boy out (clang! clang! clang! on the metal!) and our bed is hugely high.  It's the upper portion of an old trundle bed which makes for great storage (or the best indoor reading fort when you're ten) but seems alarmingly dangerous when the two year old comes to snuggle.  He's never been able to sleep with us, even as an infant.  He's always fine if you hold him on your chest, standing or sitting, but if you attempt to lay down with him it's chaos (so exciting! so much room to kick and toss and turn!).  I had visions of lazy naps, sleeping next to my child, and it's never, ever worked.  Instead, last night, I just laid there making sure there was no chance of him falling off our towering sleeping structure.   

In no particular order I wondered:

Why did I get a super-short haircut, and why did I let that lady give the boy a super-short haircut?

What do you call a counter offer to a counter offer?  A counter offer?  That's today, by the way.

How can I incorporate great traditions like these from Uncommon Grace (part one & part two), maintain a STRESS-FREE holiday season, stop the guilt about not getting/making the perfect something for everyone and just not worry about making everyone else happy?

Why did it take so long for the world to agree with me about Matt Damon?

Why can't I freakin' find time to craft gorgeous things and frolic in fall like other mamas out there?  How do people do all of that, run an Etsy shop, make delicious food, write a book, raise multiple kids, take beautiful photos...?  How?  Why can't I? 

How did I ever mistakenly buy duck eggs at the Coop last week and use them all without noticing the difference?

When in bloody h-e-double-hockey-sticks am I ever going to feel like I have my act together with a clean home, inspiring projects, a fun childhood for the boy, time for a fun relationship with my older guy?...

In reviewing my 3 a.m. musings I think I'm super-stressed. 

Cookbooks courtesy of my cupboard thanks to Grandma's recent sorting/gifting.  Maybe I need to bake a pie.

Who's steering this ship?

Me, him?... Us, together. 

I've had this totally weird sensation several times now.  T's been home sick (oh, this family!) so our weekly rhythms have been different (good, but different).  I popped into the grocery store the other day while the boys waited in the car and saw various mothers shopping with their children.  I had this moment of wistfulness, a time-slows-and-you-
"wish"-a-little moment somewhere deep down.  I wanted to be one of those mamas, home with their kids in the day.  The feeling has happened before in the middle of the week, when I've been off for an appointment or T's been home on vacation.  Each time it takes me a split-second to realize: that is me.  That's what I do.  I'm overwhelmed with contentedness and a bit of wonder, that something I want so deep down is something I have.  It's a moment of stepping outside to see my daily reality.  It's a moment of appreciation. 

Just what we needed

I dragged us to the lake on Friday, feeling sorry for myself.  Both of us were going a little crazy and I was so sick.  Any of my former employers or coworkers in previous jobs would have sent me off home to bed, but in this line of work my guy just wanted me to make LUNCH and TWIRL and read BOOKS and... MAMA!  You know how that goes, right? 

And then suddenly the sun was bouncing off the water, ducks swirling through sparkles.  The boy was running, moving gravel, changing the day.  The wind ruffled everything just a little.  There were KITES, and DOGS, A HEART and... MAMA!  It was a bit like that intense newborn period where we were lost to the world's rhythms and then slowly introduced ourselves to more as a family of three.  I remember walking up the long, railroad tie stairs from our cabin by the water not even a month from his birth, looking ahead into the woods.  The trees appeared in layers, as if in my grandparents' stereoscope viewer.  My eyes had forgotten about distance as we woke and fed and fell in love.  This time I'd forgotten bits of the overwhelming joy as we stayed inside and healed. 

There is nothing like being outside with this boy in the fall, wind ruffling, joy audible, bouncing, running, moving, changing.  It all comes into focus. 

Illness-imposed microcosm begets questions of what is more

I'm struggling with this.  I know I've written about it before but bear with me as I think through my fingers again.  I raked the backyard today, wind blowing fiercely and the boy yelling from the deck to let him "DOWN!" so he could help (he did for awhile but then we were having safety/listening issues and I decided a little non-Mama boundary would be good for a moment or two).  The wind made the job a bit of a folly, but once the majority of reds, yellows and browns were down the hillside I felt a moment of satisfaction.  It startled me a bit.  See, this is Day #12 of being stuck at home, the two of us fairly ill with, of course, no company.  I know, deep down, that all of the laundry and cooking and toddler entertainment I do here at home matters to the three of us.  When we have more of a normal existence, with playgroup and Children's Museum visits and long walks through the neighborhood, there's a happy rhythm to our days and the tedium of repeated acts is tempered by other parts of life (other people, other sights, new stimuli). 

In this illness-imposed microcosm of Mama/Toddler/ Housework though, there haven't been any discrete accomplishments.  See, even writing that doesn't feel right... I really do know that nursing a sick little boy through the night is a major accomplishment.  I know things like home-cooked meals are a success.  Most of the days and nights though are full of the type of thing that, once you finish it, needs to be done all over again.  I suppose there are lots of jobs where it feels like that.  Maybe that's just the nature of "work," even when it's deeply satisfying and meaningful work like this.  Even as a teacher my students' successes weren't products but rather the growth.  I know the often intangible growth and learning is important, and work that matters isn't always (or even usually) about a discrete result.

Maybe it's just a personality flaw because I get all of this on some level but I seem to desperately want concrete proof that what I did on a given day, as a Mama or just as a person living here in this moment, accomplished something.  I think this gets to the core of why it can be hard sometimes to work as a Mama at home.  There's occasionally this little touch of wanting so much to matter, in that way unique to yourself; it can cause me to race around trying to find something to satisfy that feeling of tangible "accomplishment" (without enough thought about whether that something really matters to me). 

I think being home with this little boy is the biggest gift and the most important thing in my life thus far.  There's no question of that.  The question is how to satisfy other parts of me, because there are other parts of me.  When I want more there's a little annoying voice that speaks up who often feels I'm negating the value of what is.  And what is the more?  If I did too much "extra" wouldn't it water down my efficacy in the Mama role (I'm good at juggling but I need sleep)?  How do people nurture that need for concrete "proof?"  Or is one of my current life lessons to learn that the concrete/discrete/product isn't necessary for an enlightened Mama?  Could I ever be an enlightened Mama?  Is it normal to love what I do and want some sort of tangible measurement of doing?

You'd think I'd be able to come up with a good metaphor for all of those boxes, wouldn't you?

A culture of creativity

I saw this post on earthchicknits about how people develop a culture of creativity with children.  It's such a good question.  How do you create a family life that nurtures the imagination and supports freedom to explore?  Our ingredients:

Deep down I believe that consistency/pattern/ritual and boundaries foster creativity.  You needn't feel anxious about details when you can predict; it reduces anxiety and opens your mind up to bigger things. 

I also really feel time is of an essence.  Time to wander, explore, dream, build.  Time to let your passions in one moment take you to the wonder of the next.  Time without media, without people telling you what to do.  Organized everything is the big thing these days in childhood.  The idea of preparing children for the inevitability of fitting in later seems ridiculous to me somehow.  Preparing them for a big schedule, a long day at school, adult structure, rules... I think this will come when it needs to, if it needs to.

You need to feel support.  Guidance with little steps close at hand, when needed.  Part of support is wanting to know others care when you feel success.  "I love your picture" doesn't do nearly as much as "I like how you mixed the oranges and reds together;" a detailed "notice."  Or, often: thumbs up, a knowing smile, a silent cheer from twinkling eyes.  When what we do matters, it's often important to us to know someone else thinks so too. 

Time outside every day. 

Access to tools and raw material for your baking, drawing, painting, building, wiggling, writing, thinking... For your creating dreams.

Value placed on active pursuit of joy and different ideas.

I think those are my personal essentials and what we try to create here for our boy.  Perhaps they're a little obtuse.  We are always engaged in (and modeling deep enjoyment of) creative arts through writing, graphic design, sewing... I think a creative life is what the boy knows and that makes me very happy.

Aim

These are our latest #4 efforts, welcoming my favorite season.

We have some fantastic photos of the boy ducking down, arms waving as if tangled in spider webs.  He's going for the dot-dot ball deep in a soccer net, retrieving his first goal of thousands.  The three of us were run-run-running in the grass and he moved in for that first big kick, taking determined aim in the vastness of the target (it is vast when you're almost two and inside the actual goal).  I tried to get some pictures and T said I should go behind the goal... Of course.  You get the tangle, the drama from the net's perspective. 

I think, when I look back at the pictures, of how many firsts have come, gone and how many more there are in our future.  I think of taking aim when you're tiny and when the goals are big-big, of how sometimes you don't realize you reached a goal until everyone around you claps and cheers and takes photos.  Then, too, it's still like that sometimes: we hone in, gear up for our intentions, appreciate a little validation and, more often than not, we end up accomplishing something.  We look at it from the net's perspective and see the tangle and joy of taking determined aim in the vastness of hopes, reality, goals, intention, possibility. 

I started a birthday crown yesterday for the boy.  Little felt pieces and pinking shears and buttons surrounded me during nap time.  After snuggling with my sleepy guy while he woke we tried on the crown.  He looked at himself in the mirror beaming with primary color satisfaction on his head.  I looked at him and somehow I slipped behind the goal.  I thought: this is a mama moment of everyone clapping and cheering and taking photos.  He's happy, smart and silly.  He's confident.  He feels safe and loved and proud.  Sometimes I spin as I take aim with the job of parenting but there are these bright moments when I know I'm accomplishing something big-big.

Mama Says Om

If you give a mama a topic... Ambivalence

Most of my ambivalence as a mama is feigned.  Having a little guy has made me more raw to the real and potential "awful" in the world, just as there is more clear beauty and color and magic now in my reality.  There's less "wishy-washy" and more "go for it."  The illusion of ambivalence is my filter when I lack trust, a smokescreen of casualness masking moments of fear, embarrassment or doubt.  If I shrug and act like it doesn't matter, chances are it might matter down into my core. 

Everything matters when you're a mama.  Examples of subjects from yesterday's feigned ambivalence include, but are not limited to: earthquakes, my little guy's language development, upcoming birthdays, a bottom that still doesn't fit back into 2001 pants, my husband's allergic reaction to bee stings and lost opportunities.  All of those things are really important on some level or another, all have implications.

I don't know if becoming a mama has made me more decisive, or if there's just an enhanced understanding of the importance of what really matters.  True ambivalence doesn't pop up much these days.  Don't get me wrong: I doubt, I hesitate, wait, watch, worry, I wonder and I do believe uncertainty and conflicting desires are a norm with people in general.  If I waited too long though, going back and forth with true nonchalance for it all to settle, nothing good would happen.  I wouldn't be the mama I want to be.  I wouldn't greet the future with hope.  Things aren't more black or white since the boy, I just don't want to waste time.  I want to act on what matters, letting what truly doesn't slide into my yesterdays.

MamaSaysOm

How long has it been since I've had a writing prompt?  I decided to try this... Love the idea of Mama Says Om.  The photo is apropos of... nothing.  If you're familiar with Numeroff and Bond you'll get why our moose ate a muffin for twelve hours today (well, he's still eating).  We busted up about twenty times just thinking about our moose and his muffin.  It was like Conan was hanging out on our kitchen table.

Upupupup, nounounounoun

Do you ever stop to look at your child and think he's the most beautiful, amazing thing in the world, renewing your faith in humanity and giving you a peaceful sense of trust in the rhythm and promise of life?  Then, within five minutes, the dishes, laundry, imminent need for creative cooking, a yelling and unhappy child, lack of sleep and time for simple personal hygiene efforts like brushing your hair, ringing phones and bills in the mail, piles closing in and the promise of free time so far away you can't see it for the five minutes you're drowning in work together to...? Well, you get the idea.  We've got lots of counting to a certain number (me, inside my head) moments going on around here.  The beauty is everywhere; this little guy is growing and changing by the minute, the blue skies and crisp air make this the most amazing season we experience in our area and as I grab a handful of dried apples and head to the sewing machine I think life is pretty good (up, up, up!).  Then deadlines come and go, our little dictator rears his monstrous, people-squashing side, plans fall through or others need a little too much and, flop, we're back to desperation (down, down, down).  Is this flip-flop normal, I wonder, or am I hopelessly useless at the mama gig?  There are lovely days when we hang out in our pajamas just the right amount of time, eat homemade muffins we bake together, wander in the sun and laugh at the same things, spontaneously hugging and running and blowing bubbles and...  It's (up!) bliss.  Then there are days when, well, do you ever have really crappy days at home with the kids?  Moods clash?  Life conspires to bring you down a few notches?  You can't go home and complain about your coworkers because they're right there demanding dinner and milk, no: water, no: a smoothie, no, it's always, always been milk and (heading down here) why can't you ever get things right... And, he adds with just a casual glance, Did you really think I would eat this?

Usually the lovely parts float to the top and I float right off with them to a new morning and new chances, but when things aren't balanced enough I sink right on down with the detritus of the day.  A good reminder, I suppose, for time alone to sit and write.  For sewing up little coats, for a glass of wine and for moments of quiet conversation with the elusive thing we like to call an "adult."  Five minutes or an hour to remind me about that peace and rhythm and trust in what can be, and in the wonder of that little boy (whether People Squasher or Happy Go Lucky Guy).  He loves to hold his arm out at attention, not unlike one of the most infamous of dictators, and he says "Upupupupupupup, Nounounounounoun" while moving his arm (yep, you got it) up and down.  It's the cutest thing ever.  Whether our days are upupupup or nounounounoun they're still better than my best days in any other thing I've done.  But some days really do me in.

I think Rhino's popped in here before.  He shows up peeking around the shower curtain in the bathroom or poking his horn towards me from on top the coffee pot in the morning.  Sometimes I think he just gets it, without me having to explain all about the ups and downs.  Probably another sign of a need for the aforementioned five minutes.

We're growing up, content

Suddenly his feet are huge and the winter/spring/ someday shoes are now fall shoes.  He has opinions about how I should wear my hair (if it's up: DOWN!, if it's down: UP!) and always wants to swing (WHEEE!).  In the mornings he wakes up with a diaper update ("oopa, Mama...") and we putter around the house, making toast and eating applesauce, with soy milk for the boy and coffee for me.  We can sit and sort buttons for an hour together, or read on the couch for longer.  We bake muffins and he pours everything, warning me that the oven is hot.  We often stroll in silence.  Sitting on the dresser we can watch the wild kingdom of squirrel chases and blue jay battles in the hazelnut tree.  We paint, putter, pick, shop, run and play together.  We get each other's jokes and experience joy, sadness, stresses, contentment and just happiness together.  Every day.  This little boy is growing up and it's such a happy time. 

I think it's taken me a long stretch to get to that quiet, gentle, happy puttering as a mama (though it's never really "quiet" with an exuberant toddler).  Embracing the right blend of pattern and freedom to our days has often been marred by "shoulds," as in "he should have the opportunity to do X" or "we should do Y" or "a good mama should do Z."  I suppose I'm growing up too.  There are lots of times when I'm really stretching for a way to get out of the house, when I know he needs to be with some other kids or when groceries or obligations await.  For the most part though, now, with the sun shining and the crisp air, with a toddler who talks to me all day long and clomps around the house in Daddy's shoes, with bread to bake and laundry to fold and just enough extra "me" stuff thrown in it's a happy time.  Schedules and weather and moods all change and sometimes I want to make up an errand and keep on driving away from tedium... exhaustion... needs.  Most of the time though we are wholly content.  Laughter races through the house, piles of books topple and he and I sneak crackers and caffeine, respectively.  I want to hold onto the way little drawings and animals sprinkle through our home, and to this peacefulness, this togetherness.  So I'm tucking it away here.

Between almost-one + almost-two

Last year we went to the same place.  We were two with a baby, negotiating breastfeeding in new environs and clapping with glee at our little guy's first steps.  This year we had a full-fledged boy, opinions and energy and decisions all his own.  I was worried he'd fuss and cry and reject hour after hour of his car seat on our drive but he read books for hours, played happily with toy offerings and, when all else failed, madly channeled Cookie Monster with animal crackers.  We decided the nearly-empty miles of paved bike paths were safe enough for our boy in a bike carrier and rented one.  I worried he would be scared of the enclosure or unhappy with the speed or... Instead he propped his legs up in a recline, popped sunglasses on under helmet straps, yelled, "WHEEE!" on the hills and somehow found more hidden cookies behind his seat (and dug in).  The giant tube slide at the hitherto disregarded playground (last year we glanced at it out the car windows)?: pure joy.  I wasn't sure about swimming because our last swimming lessons were a year ago (too expensive) but thought we'd just give it a try.  With swim diapers and the hot tub turned down to a (chilly) safe temperature, we gave it a shot and within moments he was dipping his head in and paddling his way back and forth between us, giggling and splashing.  Each morning around 6 o'clock he'd pop up and announce the day's agenda: WATER!  HELMET!  PLAYGROUND! (well, his approximation for such things in the language we three understand).

Everything new was thrilling.  We explored and celebrated and laughed and got too tired then cranky with one another (all with zeal).  I discovered blatantly what I knew in my heart... My boy is adventurous.  He jumps in and laughs about it.  He has an unheard of capacity for vacation enjoyment.  Instead of those first baby steps he now careens through hallways.  He climbs and makes forts and sets agendas and helps us see what we used to miss.  Whereas I tentatively dip my toe into the unknown and walk along the edges and worry about the what-ifs, he jumps in and makes it happen and looks back as if to say, "Come on, already!" 

Last year we were two with a little guy, bringing him along and slowly finding our way.  This year we are a family of three, our boy speeding into everything new and pulling us along. 

Toddler tango...

What he says: "NO!... No. NO!"  And what he means, clearly: "I would not touch that yellow shirt with a palm tree on it with a ten foot pole if it was the last shirt in the world and everyone else yearned for the same exact style.  Where do you get your complete and tragic lack of fashion sense?" 

Breakfast, lunch, dinner and snack.  Up, down, twirl and hop.  On, off, snuggle or complete independence.  We're in constant negotiation. 

What he says: "BOOTS!  Aucks (socks).  BOOTS!"  I try every run-around and persuasion, noting sweltering sun and Mama's sandals and then he wears me down (always) and we traipse around town, froggy boots afoot, orange polo and bright shorts.  We are a rainbow testament to toddler self assertion.

Target sent me a package of coupons.  It's designed specifically for me, as their creepy marketing and Big Brother Amazon collusion makes possible, and it's full of pull-ups and toddler "feel and learn" diapers, gimmicky hand soap and UNDERWEAR for kids.  Big business thinks we should be potty training, the boy thinks he should be in charge and I wonder if this is something I can negotiate... This whole growing up thing, can we possible slow it down just a little?

What he says: "Nana sticka more... No...."  And what he means, clearly: "No more stickers from Nana today."  One word or these new, four word phrases... He sighs, exclaims, demands.  He nudges and tests, and boundaries spring up or move around or disappear.  We dance a linguistic tango, with complexity and love, with the embrace and the theatrics.  The pace speeds.  I hold on tight.

I doubt he'd go for these.

 

You don't know what you're in for

I feel bad because I thought that, and then I repeated it here... A couple of people mentioned that they "don't know what they're in for" yet too and then I felt triply-bad!  When you haven't been out alone with your guy for half a year or so cynicism can seep in just a little, teeny-tiny bit and I don't like that.  Don't get me wrong, I'm full of cynicism; it just never really enters the picture when I think about this little guy.  That moment was about balance and me not doing a good job with it.  Really and truly the "you don't know what you're in for" thought is about how dramatically life shifts when you have a child.  We'd been hoping and planning and Little Researcher Me had been reading everything I could find for years before the boy came.  We felt pretty darn prepared!  Now almost (time flies) two years after we first met the little guy I find myself thinking that absolutely nothing about me is the same aside from my clothes.  Becoming a family of three was pretty easy (aside from the initial lack of sleep... I should have asked for more help and I should have pumped for some midnight Daddy bottle feeding) but I didn't realize how much I would change.

Physical changes, yes.  I mean, everything you wish was small is bigger and everything you wish was bigger is smaller but there's nothing about that a little more exercise and a better bra couldn't fix.  In my family growing up somehow we coined the phrase "midlife readjustment period" instead of a "midlife crisis."  I feel like I've had an ongoing early-life readjustment period since becoming a mama.  Maybe the stop to the wheel running of school to career, always with an overachiever bent, helped me stop and think about who I really want to be. 

I think it's that with the boy here it's so important to make the most of everything.  You can easily shuffle off fun to work in the classroom 'til midnight when your sweetie is there, cutting and gluing and stapling with you.  You can't shuffle off fun with a toddler though, or life is miserable.  You have to stop for cookies.  When you see something beautiful or fascinating or different you have to stop running errands and explore.  You want more than anything for them to be happy so you become more flexible and fun and you whittle down what really matters to you so you can share that with them too.  At least that's how it's been for me.  I always thought that Gerber ad line was brilliant: Having a baby changes everything.  Because it does.  It changed me. 

Now, some of the things it changed have to wind their way back in.  There doesn't need to be such a huge disconnect.  Other things I'm happy to have let go of, and new experiences and possibilities and dreams have all entered the picture.  I've written about it here before and sometimes I worry I'll chance becoming a broken record.  Being a mama is exhilarating, exhausting, confusing... I'm always looking to improve, to find balance.  It's always a new challenge.  In short, the best gig ever.  So broken record or not, this place helps me to go "AAAaaak!" or "Aaahhh" or "Look" or "Oh, crud" about the gig when I need to and that's important.  It's important because I didn't know what I was in for and I don't know where I'm going, and it's the best thing ever.

Oh, and the noodles: We bought the biggest rigatoni noodles we could find, divided them up into resealable baggies and dropped food coloring and a little water in the bags.  Shake them up, lay them out in the sun to dry and you have hours and hours of sorting, stringing, "cooking" fun.

Better for letting go

I always sort-of insist that we clean up our toys when we're done playing.  I try not to be neurotic but it's a little house and it drives me nuts when there are toys everywhere long after the play is over.  We had lots of fun outside yesterday and ran out of "oomph" for clean-up.  I got up early, early to get a little work done before everyone else woke and saw a lovely scene this morning.  Early morning light highlighted the color and shadows of our forgotten toys and it was so much better for the letting go.  I'm choosing to see a bit of a lesson in that moment.

Summer trick to make you feel you have more money than you do

This rhodie is right outside my kitchen window and the laptop is usually on the kitchen table.  Whether I'm doing dishes, dinner, playing or writing inside I can easily look out to early summer. 

Oh, right.  Here's one of my favorite tricks to make me feel like I have more money than I do.  It's the Pacific NW, after all, and there's coffee around every corner (T used to work in a building in Seattle that had three Starbucks in the building).  When we found out the boy was on the way we gave up buying coffee, for the most part, out and about in the world.  We drink copious, embarrassing amounts at home (Starbucks beans from the local wholesaler) but we usually forgo this treat while out and about.  Summer time makes me really, really want to blow a couple of bucks a day on Starbucks iced Americanos though so I figured out this wonderful trick two years ago: Ask for iced water.  It's triple-filtered, by the way, so you can pretend you're really doing it up lux.  They'll give you ice and a straw and everything and you can sip to your heart's content, refreshed and content for the money you've saved even if you have a twinge of regret about the lack of caffeine.  Seriously... Try it.  The boy and I have lots of half hour dates while out and about, sipping our waters and indulging in a snack or two (from my purse).  We people watch and have a grand time, and nobody working in the gigantic retail chain has ever been bugged by it in the least (and the people that really make money off of our coffee purchases are making plenty, in my book, so I don't feel bad about it). 

There you go.  Sometimes they ask if I want lemon.

Edited to add: By my calculations in two years I've saved roughly $780 (if I'd had three of the cheapest drinks a week).

Gucha gucha

It still strikes me as fascinating that when you learn a new language you think in that language.  There become things you want to say that you can't say "just right" in your native language, because the concept and the word(s) for it exist in that newer space.  I've been feeling like things are all gucha gucha lately and that term's the best way to explain it.  This site translates gucha gucha as "just a mess" and I guess that's the closest thing in English: messy... chaotic (and how cool is that to find your one-stop shop for Japanese surfing lingo?).   

I'm so not in a summer groove yet, though we're hopping in and out of the little pool on the grass daily now.  I suppose it's OK because with teaching summer never really happened 'til July so I'm not totally behind the ball, but everything seems blah and gucha gucha.  It's time to reorient, have a little fun and chill out.  I have so many fun ideas for things to do as a family, for things to create for us and for the little shop.  I want to buy new flip flops.  I want to finish some rompers for the boy to romp in.  I need about ten more hours in the week (well, ten more boy-is-sleeping-peacefully hours) and I need a margarita and nachos. 

And just because this is what I think about when I run errands in the car: Isn't that one of the most fascinating things there is to think about... How language, thought, and culture develop?  How those concepts and words are formed and how the space for that development happens.  What comes first?  If you think differently with new words for things, how do toddlers cope with the incredible number of new happenings in their minds?  Yesterday the boy just started using the word "in."  He wants us to go in the car or in the store, and he wants elephant to go in the bathtub.  He also has us go through everyone we know when things come up.  For example, if I mention that I like cookies we have to go through everyone to determine whether they like cookies or not.  He gets this über-concentrated look and squinches up his whole face, and I can tell he's learning about classification and grouping and how to negate something with our linguistic structure and who knows what else.  Maybe he just really wants to learn about who likes cookies or not, but I think I can actually see those synapses forming in his brain.  It sort-of makes you want to run out and learn something new.

What's with the photo?  The sun has graced our house and yard (the town too, I guess) for, like, four days in a row.  It's amazing!  I love that the light changes how you see everything, and I had this vintage goodness sitting out the other morning.  Texture, detail, old and new...  Perhaps the sunshine will help me think in a new, sunshine way.  A newer conceptual space to clear the gucha gucha feelings, to make way for sandy toes and easier laughter.

This long weekend

We've been playing and working, and it's sort-of hard to tell which is which.  Those are the best sorts of weekends.

Two Barcelona skirts?  Check.  The pattern review'll post later this week.  Two real-life, grass + blanket picnics?  Check.  Fun with Daddy?  Visits with grandparents?  The final episode in our three month long West Wing marathon (sad, because my fictional political life was lovely)?  Pajamas all around 'til three?  Check, check, check, check. 

Zippers, zippers... This weekend was all about zippers.

Embrace the banana bread

Thanks, everybody... I feel better about humanity now!  And while I'm at it I'll offer up a blanket apology for the email you get from me about an average of three weeks after you've commented.  It's about two weeks and six and a half days past you caring about my response (probably) but I'm slow.  My "Happy Spring" cards with a cute picture of the boy bundled in a warm coat and hat are officially one season late now, sitting next to me here at the computer.  At least I'm consistent. 

The boy is just fine.  After I wrote about our BAM yesterday he woke up and started yelling, "Mama! Mama!" from his crib.  I opened his door and he yelled, "NIUak, NIUak!!" (yesterday's version of "picnic") while pumping his arms in the air.  It was time for our first picnic of the day and time for me to stop worrying about his head.  He's fine.

So, the other day in our little parenting class the topic was nutrition again.  The teacher mentioned something about how you can really put any veggie in a banana bread recipe and someone turned to me and asked if I made banana bread.  It was one of those moments where I thought the person sort-of meant, "Get a load of this... She thinks we have time to sit around baking banana bread."  I think the woman who asked me is really cool and down-to-earth and has a great take on lots of things so a part of me wanted to be able to respond in what I thought she would think was a cool way.  You know, "Oh, yeah... Really...  Like there's time for that."  I wanted to connect with her as a busy, cool mama.  Only T knows how utterly hilarious it is that she asked me if I make banana bread because there is almost always a loaf or two on our kitchen counter.  It's a good way to use up dying veggies and the boy's still on his banana strike but he loves the bread.  I keep buying the darn things and they keep turning brown/black.  I won't touch them if they have a single spot of brown so the banana burden's all T's unless I bake. 

I really do like baking too.  It's calming, nurturing, satisfying (keep in mind my hard and fast distinction between baking and cooking).  I offered up platitudes: "Well, I'm home you know, and we're always trying to save money... And..."  Let's face it though, I bake banana bread all the time.  Through the discussion I thought a lot about how much people go out to eat and how, even when they're home, a lot of food people "make" is processed meals heated in the microwave.  We're just all so busy and everything seems to take so long.  When things can be easy we like to accept the easiness.  I've thought about that banana bread moment several times throughout the week and decided it's just one more step in my never-ending effort to grow up and accept my totally uncool nature.  I'm outside the norm.  I can list out just about every single ingredient we eat each day because I combine them all.  I cook and bake for my family every meal, every day.  I sorta, kind-of like doing it.

I guess these days I'm all about passing on my lack of hipness to the next generation.  Some new, small aprons debuted during nap time today and I like the stripes.  A little one could wear this and bake banana bread to his heart's content.  Cool. 

Domesticity + a fall

We got a little carried away with cleaning and sorting yesterday and by we, I probably mean I did and the boy decided it'd be just fine to tag along.  I think I often feel like we have to do things for him or go places when, really, he wants to be involved in the real jobs of family life.  He helped me put eight cups of flour in the big bowl for a recipe from that collection I found (I'm dubious... Eight cups? But I'll let you know how it turns out).  We did lots of laundry and went through my closet, the dresser, under the big trundle bed (minus the trundle there's lots of space to accumulate under there) and through all of the crafty-type stuff in this house.  He organized my shoes and I know he felt important.  He's a "big boy" as he tells me all the time now and I'm a "big girl" and we did some big work.

Then we had a fall.  I'm not talking about a figurative fall from domesticity or some such thing but a flat-out fall on the sidewalk downtown.  After the "bagel store" we were on a busy section of the sidewalk so I held the boy sort-of in front of me.  Then, all of a sudden, we were crashing straight forward onto the ground.  T kept saying over and over last night as I cried that it was just an accident and accidents happen.  Then I would say, "But I should have been paying better attention" or "Maybe I had too much coffee" or "I should only look down at the ground when I'm walking with him" and T would just say, "It was an accident and accidents happen."  The boy's OK and I really think it's stunning what instincts do for you because there was no time to think it through.  I'm pretty sure I took the brunt of it on my knees and elbows, scooted my hand up his back to his neck, and then his head hit but I don't think, now, that it was too much of a hit.  He did bite his tongue so blood was everywhere.  Not to gross anyone out or anything but my pants were completely sliced up and blood really was everywhere on both of us and nobody stopped to ask if we were OK or if they could help.  You would have stopped, right?  I'm trying not to think of it because it makes me sad. 

After I determined that the boy didn't need a 911 call (um, who would have called?... It was so weird that everyone kept ignoring us) we crossed the street to a little restaurant that had closed.  I just barged in and asked for water because it was the only thing I could think of to make the boy feel any better.  I have to say that the young guy in there was very nice, though I'd just dripped blood all over his freshly mopped floor, and said he had little brothers and sisters and knew what it was like.  The boy and I just sat on the curb with our water until I felt like I could walk and then drive.  There was a little pinkish/red spot on the boy's head where it made contact but no swelling so I'm pretty sure that part wasn't too bad and it makes me sort-of sob to think about how close it was to being pretty darn bad.  The consulting nurse I called said to check on him every two hours to make sure he was responsive in his sleep so I've done that now and he seems fine, if in pain from his tongue. 

I don't know why I've written all of this out because it certainly isn't cheery and who really cares, but it's probably some sort-of therapy to convince myself that T's right (it was an accident and accidents happen... I'll just keep repeating that) and the boy's OK.  He is.  I'm still freaking out at times from the choking incident a few months back so now here's another reminder about how absolutely human we all are and how unbelievably scary being a mama can be and about how much I love this little boy.  I love this little boy.  His retelling for you would be a sad, sort-of wistful and cute look.  He'd shake his head back and forth and say, "Mama...  BAM!"

Splat mats, a pattern review, writing and some custom orders (how cool is that?!) complete the creative mess around here.   I've never made a pink mat before... 

There was a deer in our little patch of front lawn this morning and we've never had a deer here (too many coyotes in the woods behind our house, I've assumed).  I feel a bit out of it from waking up so regularly to check on the boy so was out of sorts this morning when I saw the deer and it felt dream-like.  T mentioned that Gabriel Garcia Marquez saw a deer on a subway or bus or some such place and was convinced of its reality and of his need to write.  Interesting. 

Back to our regularly scheduled crafty, happy home and mama musings tomorrow, I hope.  I'm off to email the city about a dangerous two inch difference in sidewalk height downtown.

Nyuik nyuik!

It's been raining constantly but we had nine full-fledged picnics this weekend.  The rally cry of "Nyuik nyuik!" precedes a big parade of blankets, food, Tupperware, spoons and stuffed animal guests.  For some reason Giraffe always needs to wear mittens to a picnic.  If T and I are lucky, we're invited too.

A thinking, interesting, smart, conversationally-adept adult

Yesterday was one of those days where we didn't have anything much to do.  Don't get me wrong...  We did a lot.  We did laundry and played outside for hours and played inside for hours.  We read lots of books and built things for the animals out of blocks.  We had fun, but I really didn't talk much to adults all day and evening long.  I didn't get to read anything and I didn't even listen to the radio. 

Lately I feel a little like I'm constantly negotiating with someone who speaks some strange dialect of a language I don't know.  The stakes aren't missal crisis high, but major meltdowns occur with the slightest accidental protocol gaff.  Even when things are going swimmingly at the summit I'm oftentimes really confused.  Yesterday the boy and I had a ten minute conversation where the only words he said was, "Nana"  and "No."  He was in his booster seat eating lunch and there were bananas and banana bread out on the counter.

The Boy: Nana
Me: Do you want some banana?
B: No, no, no.
M: Banana bread?
B: Nana.
M: You want some banana bread?
B: No, no.
M: Do you mean "Nana" like the Nana you call on the telephone? (Grandma?)
B: No.
M: I don't know what you want. 
B: Nana, nana, nana.
M: OK.
B: NO! NANA! (pointing to bananas)
M: OK, you want some banana?  Every time I give you banana you don't eat it lately.  Do you really want some?
B: No.  No Nana.  No.

You get the idea.  Ten minutes.  At the end of the day I felt a little brain-dead and even when I talked to other adults during the day it didn't feel natural.  I felt like I had to try to remember how to do it.  If you're home all day with little one(s) how do you manage to stay a thinking, interesting, smart, conversationally-adept adult?

The most creative thing I did yesterday was finagle the boy from dinner to playtime to bath to bed in under an hour, and that was with T's help.  I did lay down for about two minutes in the grass under the trees and that was fairly restorative. 

Smockeduo + space to take little, rounded-down steps

We had an ambitious, new music teacher one year and a first grade performance of The Twelve Days of Christmas.  Lack of practice and lack of any visual cues led to this incredibly disastrous show where the kids could have been singing Old McDonald's Farm for all the audience could tell.  I still cringe a little inside when I think about it (performance #2 was redeemingly parent-grandparent-audience-worthy...  Phew!). 

I feel a little like that lately.  I'm not a visual learner/rememberer like my husband but I do feel like there's a list lurking around out there that's "Twelve Days of Christmas" long of things I need to do, say, feel and remember.  Luckily this weekend we crossed some good stuff off the list I need to write; listening to the thud of the invites in the mailbox for the big June bash was nice.  While the boy napped yesterday T and I just sat sipping coffee, talking about life.  Somehow in that space it was easy to think about the next five years or even ten.  Our business was thriving, our family's schedule clicked in a happy though busy fashion, our new home was looking good and the studio was in the works.  We were traveling.  We were creative.

That space is so important.  We need time to dream and plan and sit in a still room with our thoughts, together.  Somehow I need to find that for myself too.  A laundry list of projects and hopes probably won't do it but a little structure/reminder can be a good thing  (oh, jeesh...  You can't even see the couch for the laundry right now).  I always round up or down in the most conservative fashion.  Like if a bill is $122 I'll mentally think of it as being $200.  I'm a dramatic mental rounder.  This means that if there's stuff lurking out there that needs to get done it naturally becomes a million bits of stuff in my mind. 

So I'm trying to have the space for the planning and dreaming and start small too.  It's a fine line because I do like to be busy but I don't like to feel too overwhelmed.  I want to run on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays with T and the boy.  I want to drink less coffee.  I will finish one custom splat mat, two Mother's Day presents and a pair of booties this week.  I'll clean the bathroom and organize the shelves above the washer and dryer.  I'm going to try to buy socks for T and the boy, write at least one interview and mop this floor.  I will laugh, sing, dance, explore, draw and read with the boy. 

Maybe I can cut the fabric for Smocket #3 and the new bag I've planned out.  I do like Smocket #2.  I'd never, ever have thought of myself as someone who'd choose an orangey look but, as my sister said in the fabric store the other day, maybe what I like is changing.

Oh, and Illustration Friday is "Neighbor" this week and my submission is beautiful (in my head).

Is that small?  It leaves out all of the mundane stuff (like dinner).  I think I can pull it off without sounding like there's a "Baa, baa here and a baa, baa there."    

Happy toddler days

• Painting
• Playing (with the Little People, trucks, stuffed animals, blocks, kitchen, balls, shakers, pop-ups, rollers, Tupperware...)
• Enjoying
• Twirling
• Laughing
• Dancing
• Listening
• Running
• Falling
• Sleeping (we all fell asleep at 8 o'clock last night!)
• Drawing
• Washing
• Folding
• Reading
• Talking (he said, "Bih buh nah, Dada"-- "Big book down, Daddy!")
• Cooking
• Chasing

• Happy