Moving. Renting. Buying Killarney. (Or really hoping that somehow...) Els. Mary. Surviving dying without going crazy. (Not me) Burnout caregiving. (Not now) "Getting nailed into your own coffin." Babies holding babies: Just 70 years apart. Thoughtful aunts and generous cousins. My marraige match. Pregnant Jill. Swimming head full of wants of sleep. The love of leggings. Couscous. EVERYWHERE. "Hello moon. Hello Moon. Hello Moon." (DJ) The grieving process...and why do I have to be mad?? "Thats okay honey. Then you'll feel guilty. It is part of grieving. And then you come around and it is okay." (From a wise experienced woman.) Cleaning the house for a no show. Making it to school without homework done. No appetite...(I thought I was nursing!) Infant nuzzles. Liking B's long hair even if it is corporately unconventional.
This is today.
Good night.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
New Soul
I'm a new soul
I came to this strange world
Hoping I could learn a bit 'bout how to give and take.
But since I came here, felt the joy and the fear
Finding myself making every possible mistake.
See I'm a young soul in this very strange world
Hoping I could learn a bit 'bout what is true and fake
But why all this hate? Try to communicate
Finding trust and love is not always easy to make.
This is a happy end
Cause you don't understand
Everything you have done
Why's everything so wrong
This is a happy end
Come and give me your hand
I'll take you far away
-"New Soul" by Yael Naim
I came to this strange world
Hoping I could learn a bit 'bout how to give and take.
But since I came here, felt the joy and the fear
Finding myself making every possible mistake.
See I'm a young soul in this very strange world
Hoping I could learn a bit 'bout what is true and fake
But why all this hate? Try to communicate
Finding trust and love is not always easy to make.
This is a happy end
Cause you don't understand
Everything you have done
Why's everything so wrong
This is a happy end
Come and give me your hand
I'll take you far away
-"New Soul" by Yael Naim
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Celebrating Spring
It is BEAUTIFUL today. Warm. Sunny. Blossomy. Wonderful. The boys and I went on a "celebrating spring picnic," (after last week's "celebrating spring hot chocolate.")
We packed paper sacks with p&bs and chocolate easter eggs, and strolled to the park. I felt like a mother duck with a trail of ducklings. So in love. Benny slept in the stroller. Peaceful. Lou so chipper... saying "this is incwedible." DJ, a porcelin dolly, meandered along...trying to spot the 'Jungle Book' snake in every tree we passed.
We layed out the patchy quilt, and enjoyed spring...and grape jelly.
We packed paper sacks with p&bs and chocolate easter eggs, and strolled to the park. I felt like a mother duck with a trail of ducklings. So in love. Benny slept in the stroller. Peaceful. Lou so chipper... saying "this is incwedible." DJ, a porcelin dolly, meandered along...trying to spot the 'Jungle Book' snake in every tree we passed.
We layed out the patchy quilt, and enjoyed spring...and grape jelly.
Publish Post
Monday, April 20, 2009
"Washer Wonder"
Our washer is kind of old. Iit works, it cleans, and does what it is supposed to.
Sometimes.
I suppose the only problem it has is when I overloaded it. Literally. Sometimes I stuff way too many clothes in the barrel, trying to save myself "another load." What usually happens, however, is that it gets off balance. Then SKUWAMPUS. The weight of the water-logged clothes throw the spin out of balance, creating a shaking, stomping, grumbling monster. Thus, sending me down the stairs in a frenzy, to even things up a bit before it EXPLODES. Or breaks.
I suppose that is what happens. We are built to carry loads. Shake them, spin them, and then present them "clean...," ready for another.
But please...give me what I can handle!
Sometimes.
I suppose the only problem it has is when I overloaded it. Literally. Sometimes I stuff way too many clothes in the barrel, trying to save myself "another load." What usually happens, however, is that it gets off balance. Then SKUWAMPUS. The weight of the water-logged clothes throw the spin out of balance, creating a shaking, stomping, grumbling monster. Thus, sending me down the stairs in a frenzy, to even things up a bit before it EXPLODES. Or breaks.
I suppose that is what happens. We are built to carry loads. Shake them, spin them, and then present them "clean...," ready for another.
But please...give me what I can handle!
"Not Your Friend"
My children tease. They invoke eachother's tears with a simple, unrelentless banters of "Nuh uh, Uh huh's!" And "Yes, No, Yes, No's." They practically clobber eachother racing up the stairs for first grabs of Spiderman or Optimus Prime.
Yesterday at breakfast, I felt particularly annoyed. (Quite possibly related to the scanty hours of sleep from the previous night...or from the fact that it is quite annoying!) Lou continued to be "DJ's mother." Quite simply trying to implement rules as I would. (Which is always so very telling.) Finally, after too many empty pleas.. I found myself bark: "Louis, you are not his mother... you are his friend!"
Shocked by the irony of the statement, I laughed. A good hard laugh.
Is that really true? Can mothers be friends?
It is quite the controversy. My generation of mothers (and fathers) are often criticized for being their child's friend. "You are the parent, the only one they have...so act like it." Thinking it must surely be the reason for such "unruly, disrespectful, out-of-control children." At times, I put a little belief in this lie. Usually when I am at a dead end.
It doesn't make any sense at all. After all, what is a friend?
My experience of friendship is positive. Binding and loving. The consistency of Jill's warm fellowship, the loyalty of Audrey's acceptance, Mom's incredible support, and the unconditional love of my dear Brandon. A friend is interested. Accepting. Accepting you at the pace you are doing it, and loving you for it. Respectful. Patient with a greater perspective. Loving when your crazy and wrong. And if not loving, at least laughing. Right?!
As a matter of fact, my children respond to me best when I am a good friend. Keeping my mouth shut when I am tempted to gossip about their latest outrage. Keeping my heart open when they are experiencing toddlerhood- however irrational, maddening and confusing it may be...to the both of us. After all, they have no choice.
But I do.
I resolve to be a better friend. One of their best. I want and believe that's something we both need to survive. As a matter of fact, I'll be damned if I get all the way through parenting, (and they get all the way through childhood,) without it.
But what of this unruly, outrageous behavior? (Which my children aren't, thanks heavens, always exhibiting. But it certainly happens plenty.) Certainly it must be addressed. Otherwise we may all loose our minds. Me? I am becoming a believer with Beth. That this behavior stems from a lack of effective leadership. Effective parenting. Poor implementation of effective, positive authority. Which will be another, (or a few hundred) posts in itself. In the meantime, I know where I am headed. And it is bringing a balance and calm into my parenting and life. One I've been searching for for awhile.
So child, I am your mother. And your friend.
Yesterday at breakfast, I felt particularly annoyed. (Quite possibly related to the scanty hours of sleep from the previous night...or from the fact that it is quite annoying!) Lou continued to be "DJ's mother." Quite simply trying to implement rules as I would. (Which is always so very telling.) Finally, after too many empty pleas.. I found myself bark: "Louis, you are not his mother... you are his friend!"
Shocked by the irony of the statement, I laughed. A good hard laugh.
Is that really true? Can mothers be friends?
It is quite the controversy. My generation of mothers (and fathers) are often criticized for being their child's friend. "You are the parent, the only one they have...so act like it." Thinking it must surely be the reason for such "unruly, disrespectful, out-of-control children." At times, I put a little belief in this lie. Usually when I am at a dead end.
It doesn't make any sense at all. After all, what is a friend?
My experience of friendship is positive. Binding and loving. The consistency of Jill's warm fellowship, the loyalty of Audrey's acceptance, Mom's incredible support, and the unconditional love of my dear Brandon. A friend is interested. Accepting. Accepting you at the pace you are doing it, and loving you for it. Respectful. Patient with a greater perspective. Loving when your crazy and wrong. And if not loving, at least laughing. Right?!
As a matter of fact, my children respond to me best when I am a good friend. Keeping my mouth shut when I am tempted to gossip about their latest outrage. Keeping my heart open when they are experiencing toddlerhood- however irrational, maddening and confusing it may be...to the both of us. After all, they have no choice.
But I do.
I resolve to be a better friend. One of their best. I want and believe that's something we both need to survive. As a matter of fact, I'll be damned if I get all the way through parenting, (and they get all the way through childhood,) without it.
But what of this unruly, outrageous behavior? (Which my children aren't, thanks heavens, always exhibiting. But it certainly happens plenty.) Certainly it must be addressed. Otherwise we may all loose our minds. Me? I am becoming a believer with Beth. That this behavior stems from a lack of effective leadership. Effective parenting. Poor implementation of effective, positive authority. Which will be another, (or a few hundred) posts in itself. In the meantime, I know where I am headed. And it is bringing a balance and calm into my parenting and life. One I've been searching for for awhile.
So child, I am your mother. And your friend.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
The "Yellow House"
I loved our yellow house.
I loved the lavender lilac bushes that grew near the wood shed.
I loved the playhouse in the back that my father built.
I loved the "underground" trampoline that eventually lost so many springs, it split down the middle with one fatal jump from my brother Brock.
I loved our neighbors. The Nuchetelli's: An older couple whom I tried to say hi to once while eating a carrot. I choked on the carrot and never said a word. And dearest Ray..the woman with the glass eye and a self-playing piano.
I loved my pink, banana-seat bike. Once, while pedaling (and singing), I swallowed a butterfly...then coughed out the wet mound onto the sidewalk.
I loved the discoveries...like the bird buried in Annie's kennel. Tweeting all the time. It just didn't seem to be right, so one day, after much digging, I discovered crickets.
I loved the big tree. Climbing high to the skinny branches, feeling the breeze, and having tea parties with the birds.
I loved the yellow house.
I loved the lavender lilac bushes that grew near the wood shed.
I loved the playhouse in the back that my father built.
I loved the "underground" trampoline that eventually lost so many springs, it split down the middle with one fatal jump from my brother Brock.
I loved our neighbors. The Nuchetelli's: An older couple whom I tried to say hi to once while eating a carrot. I choked on the carrot and never said a word. And dearest Ray..the woman with the glass eye and a self-playing piano.
I loved my pink, banana-seat bike. Once, while pedaling (and singing), I swallowed a butterfly...then coughed out the wet mound onto the sidewalk.
I loved the discoveries...like the bird buried in Annie's kennel. Tweeting all the time. It just didn't seem to be right, so one day, after much digging, I discovered crickets.
I loved the big tree. Climbing high to the skinny branches, feeling the breeze, and having tea parties with the birds.
I loved the yellow house.
"Ants"
We had an anthill. hundreds or maybe thousands of small, amber colored ants spewed from the sandy tip. we often got "dangerously" close. intrigued. they were busy and focused. so intent on doing something specific. carrying a bit of leaf or another ant. venturing far away. coming all the way back. eating. finding. pinching and exploring. feeling their world. sometimes we'd pluck the legs from a grasshopper and toss it into the heart of the volcano, watching it get "sucked" into the hole. or, to our terror, discover a small army venturing up our laces. the movement was exciting. the intrigue and creepiness, captivating.
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