Sitting Still

don't think, just type

Hi! How y'all been?

Busy here, of course, though that's the lamest ass excuse in the book. Truth is, I've had plenty to write about but got out of the habit of writing and the longer I waited the more I felt like I had to write something good rather than the meaningless navel-gazing I usually indulge in here, and so I waited and waited and before I knew it, it had been a few weeks and I still hadn't thought of anything provocative to say. So I decided to just login and spew some randomness and get it out of the way, in hopes that TOMORROW I might get all insightful, though it ain't likely, as obviously it hasn't happened in three weeks, and who am I kidding?

So, anyway. How y'all been?

Lots happening here. Big things. Let's take it slowly, and with fewer run-on sentences:

Claire is finishing up her preschool year. This year, she only went three mornings a week. Next year, if she stays at the same school, it will be every morning, and then (gulp!) kindergarten. She's currently obsessed with High School Musical and can sing the soundtracks from both movies. Her gymnastics class finished up last Friday with a demonstration and awards ceremony, and she got a trophy. Then today she had her dance recital, which was awesome and hilarious, and she got another one. She could not be more pleased. 

Gage is being kind of a pain-in-the-ass, which is out of character for him. I think it's teething -- either that or he's got an unusual taste for his own fingers and an overactive salivary gland. I'm hoping those suckers are all busting through simultaneously because he seems miserable. He also takes after his father and his father before him in that the least amount of discomfort is cause for much bellering and carrying on. High drama -- it's a family tradition!

I am actively looking for a job and had an interview last Friday that seems promising. I'd love to be part-time, working into full-time as Gage gets a little older and Claire heads toward kindergarten. It's hard to figure out what to tackle first -- a job or childcare -- and I spent a few days chasing my tail until I decided I had to get a job first. I'm also sewing again. First I tackled an insane yardage of pink spandex and blue sequins to make dance costumes for the recital. Next I'm going to whip up some hand-crafted baby gifts to put in a friend's indie gift shop. We'll see if they sell. There's also a chance I'll be in Greece at the end of September for a much-coveted vacation alone. More on that later.

Ron is finishing up his training, and in about a month gets elevated from "overworked trainee" to "sugar daddy." KIDDING. But this is a real job, with a schedule of his own and an office and everything, so it's a pretty big deal. He's surfing again. Oh, and planning to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro sometime in the next few years.

We've had some visitors and some vacation time and some family adventures, including a kayak trip (Ron and I), a visit from my MIL and her friend Laura (much wine), a trip to AZ (me and kids), and time back at the beach (all of the above). Charleston is awesome this time of year, and the Spoleto festival begins this weekend. Ron got me tickets to see Monkey: Journey to the West this Thursday, and I'm looking forward to it. I might even ask him along, if he behaves between now and then.

dealing with the ego

Hi, yeah, so.

There's no easy way to talk about this, and I've been thinking about it all day, so let me just say it:

I got fired.  From blogging. I know people have gotten fired FOR blogging, but it takes a special kind of person to get fired FROM blogging, and I'm just that lucky.

Out of respect for professionalism, I won't go into any details, but suffice it to say that if my job at ParentDish were a relationship, the break-up went sort of like "It's not you, it's us. It's just not the right time and not the right fit."  Which is fine, of course, but still a blow to the ego to be rejected just when you thought things were going so well and this could be the one.

I can say nothing but good things about the experience of writing everyday for a wider audience and about the team of bloggers I had the privilege to work with during my time there. I really truly mean that.

I spent yesterday and today wrestling with the messy end, then I had a couple of beers with girlfriends and came home tonight and talked to Elaine while she cleaned out her pantry. As we talked, I settled into a resolution. We hadn't gotten used to the income, so the money is not a huge loss. It doesn't stop me from writing online OBVIOUSLY. The only thing truly hurt is my ego.  Egos do not, on the whole, like getting bruised, but they after they get done turning lovely colors and ranting about the injustice of it all, life goes on.

The good news is that I'm back here, writing about whatever the hell I want to write about, with free use of curse words and fewer weirdo commenters. And that's alright with me.

a collection of VERY short stories, by me

Sometimes people restore my faith in humanity:

It started on the way to preschool.  I was waiting behind a gentleman -- him turning left, me right -- onto a busy main road.  There was just enough room for me to squeeze next to him and turn, but it would've made it hard for him to see.  For once, we weren't running late, and so I just waited.  Another car came along behind us, pulled around BOTH of us, and made a right turn in a huff.  I flipped that car off.  So did the gentleman.  Then he rolled his window down, and I rolled mine down, and we commiserated briefly about stupid unsafe drivers.  I wished him a good day, and we headed our different directions.  Somehow, sharing the idiocy with a stranger made it dissipate quickly. 

Sometimes I amuse myself:

After dropping Claire off, I headed to the grocery store.  As I walked down the aisle to grab a gallon of milk, I passed the pregnancy tests.  I thought, "Wouldn't it be funny to buy JUST a pregnancy test?  Walk up, obviously VERY pregnant, and act all nervous about buying a test." 

In other random news, I recently upgraded my cell phone, where by "upgrade" I mean "bought a phone made since 2000."  I realized that this phone was capable of downloading ringtones, which meant that I could make it play any song I wanted for a small fee.  Since stress and emotion are running high here lately -- what with a baby on the way, Christmas, big job decisions, and the like --  I chose appropriately.  If you call me, know that the song alerting me to your presence is Gloria Gaynor's disco hit, I Will Survive.  In fact, I think you should call just to make that happen.  Also, to make Claire dance.  It's an excellent combination.

Sometimes other people amuse me:

I also hit the coffee shop this morning.  Two young, cute police officers were sitting at the bar.  One smiled at me.  While I'm not silly enough to think he found my tired, pregnant self attractive, and he was probably smiling at my new shirt, I WILL TAKE IT WHERE I CAN GET IT PEOPLE.  The barista and the cops were cracking up over a job application the shop had recently received.   Apparently the applicant had listed his experience at a fast food chain; under "title" he wrote "cooking food".  Not cook.  Not food preparation.  "Cooking food."  His reason for leaving that job, and apparently one other?  "Girlfriend."

what do you deserve?

I had a rough day yesterday.  Just one of those days.  You know the ones I'm talking about.  The kind of day where you can't wait for the sun to go down so that you can go to sleep and wake up and have a new day.

Today was that new day.  And when I woke up, cheeks still salty from unwashed tears, I said to myself, "Today I am going to be kind to myself."

That meant a new journal and some new pens with which to fill it.  A chai latte.  A reassuring phone call with a friend.  Time well spent laughing myself silly with Susie, even though the dishes needed to be done.  Some belly butter rubbed all over my itchy, stretchy middle by Claire.  A bouquet of flowers.   Wearing my new polka dot maternity shirt.   Lighting a yummy scented candle.  Allowing myself to enjoy the sunshine that surprised us today, feeling like more like spring than fall.

Walking into the florist, the lady greeted me with a simple "how can I help you?"  and all I could muster was that I wanted some flowers.  Not an arrangement.  Not roses.  Just some flowers.  Despite my complete lack of coherence, she gently guided me to the back.  I selected a hydrangea, one of my favorite flowers because they grew all along my walk to work in England during my summer abroad.  She helped Claire choose some other stuff -- miniature daisies, green leaves, stems with tiny green pods --  and I left with a gorgeous bouquet for $10.

I think she knew I needed a little bit of grace in the form of blooms.

I can't remember the last time I indulged so many whims in a single day.  The practical me says that I need to limit trips to Starbucks, that I have chores to do instead of chatting with friends, that cut flowers are a waste. 

I will say those things to myself, but I would never tell them to a good friend.  Instead, I would tell her that she deserves some beauty, however she wants it.

You deserve it.

What do you want?  What would make you smile just a little more today? 

Here is your permission slip.  Go get it, or do it, or be it.

Today is that day.

some days are like this

some days you wake up and wish

you could go back in time

or somehow move forward

but instead you just get up

and stumble in circles for a bit

disoriented, confused

and then you talk to a friend

who understands

who brings the fuzziness just a bit closer to focus

who tells you to put one foot in front of the other

and then you walk out the door to find

two other friends, headed out for a walk

and you realize that

sometimes

if you take a step

and then another

you can move.

sleepyhead

Clearly, I was not meant to complete participation in NaBloPoMo.  Two nights of the last three, I've gone to put Claire to bed with the intention of coming back to the computer to write and play with my friends on IM.

Instead, I've fallen asleep.

Gestating is tiring, y'all. 

Last night I had a dream that Jamie took me with her to go see a house she and her husband were considering buying.  The people currently living in the house were there, and they had WAY too much crap -- so much that you couldn't even see parts of the house.  And bunkbeds, for the whole family.  Plus, there wasn't a roof and the house was sinking into a swamp and needed foundation work.  Still, I had a hard time telling Jamie that I didn't think it was such a great deal, and for some reason, she didn't come to that conclusion on her own.

As if all that weren't crazy enough, I asked her if she was going to have another child, and she sheepishly said, "Maybe."  Then I shouted, "Are you pregnant?!" and she told me that she was "late" but hadn't taken a test yet.

Right now, Jamie is praying to the good Lord that this is just a psycho pregnant woman's dream and not a prophecy.

Claire and I are headed to Asheville, NC today to go enjoy Dan Zanes' wacky hair and funky kids music.  We're meeting a bunch of friends from Charleston there, some of whom have been camping already and others who are going to camp this week.  I don't camp.  My excuse is that I don't have the hair for it. 

We're doing it the cushy way and staying the night at The Sweet Biscuit Inn, where I will get a shower, a warm bed, and a delicious breakfast.

currently reading

I had been waiting for Anne Lamott's latest book, Grace (Eventually), to come out in paperback.  That never happened, and my patience wore out, and I sprung for the full price hardcover version.  I adore Anne Lamott, and though I'm finding that I don't connect quite as well with this collection of essays as much as I did Traveling Mercies (my favorite), there are certain passages that hit me with that special recognition of someone who just gets it, and has the gift of putting it into words. 

"This is the reason most first children get born: By the time it's too late to back out, you have already fallen desperately, pathetically in love with them.  For too long, I had imagined holding him, smelling him, watching him grow; teaching him and reading to him, and walking and studying and resting and splashing around in the ocean with him, and comparing notes with him on the mean children in the park.

I loved him intimately, sight unseen.  Yet when he lay on my chest for the first time, part of me felt as if someone had given me a Martian baby to raise, or a Martian puppy.  And I had no owner's manual, no energy, no clue as to what I was supposed to do.

The other part of me felt as though I were holding my own soul."

While I can't confirm this for certain just yet, I think many of the same reasons apply to why second children are born, except that you also get to dream about the two of them playing and teaching one another, fighting and learning to make up.  As much as I long to hold my son and behold the miracle of a new life, I am also anxious to witness the special new relationship that will begin when Claire walks in the door to greet her new brother for the first time.

bits o' honey

1.  Have you ever seen one of those nature documentaries where the bear cub harasses its mother -- jumping on her, biting her neck, swatting at her body?  And at some point, the mama bear just WHACK! throws up a paw and snarls and growls and makes the little one cut it the fuck out? 

Yeah.  Today I understood why I share much of my genetic make-up with that mama bear.

2.  Why do they make skinny jeans in maternity?  And who thought it would be a good idea to put a large round woman in a T-shirt with horizontal stripes?   Suddenly, that muu muu ain't looking so bad.

3.  We've decided to set up the crib in Claire's room (now dubbed "the kids' room), and I've cleared out space in the dresser for some more blankets and such for the little one.  I think we'll add another bar across the closet, and he'll be good to go.  I thought I had been very careful to save all the pieces to the crib, but Ron and I found out Saturday that we are in possession of a very large wooden puzzle.  Putting that thing back together took some cooperation -- me as the brains, him as the brawn.  We seem to be missing two of the pieces required to make the front side slide up and down.  Anyone have any ideas where I put them?

4.  I have been obsessing just a tiny little bit about how to decorate a room shared by a 3-year-old girl and a baby boy.  The problem is that her reasonably new bedding set is pink and purple with butterflies.  I spent too long (waaaay too long) searching for new sets online, and finally threw up my hands and decided to get a plain green and yellow set to blend.  Thinking that I could decorate it with fabric appliques or stamps, the MOST BRILLIANT solution dawned on me this afternoon: caterpillars.  Get it?  Caterpillars and butterflies.  He's younger, less mature, and (if current rolls and kicks are any indication) a wiggle worm.  I am a genius.  Someone notify Martha.

5. We are spending the weekend in Fresno.  Ron has started interviewing for his first real job.  Anybody, by chance, in or around Fresno?  Anyone know anything about it that I can't get from Google?

6.  Should I spend tomorrow's precious three hours of preschool time sewing, or should I go to Nia? 

just right

There are still times when Claire looks at me and says, "Mama, I want to go back to Nashville."  She misses her friends, her school, our house, the parks we used to visit.  While she's also having a good time here, she is definitely feeling the loss of her first sense of place. 

Her best friend there, Jordan, had been her friend since they learned to crawl.  They were a perfect match: both adorable and precocious and very, very verbal.  When the time came to move them up a room at the daycare, they always went together, because the teachers knew that one didn't do well without the other.  They liked the same kind of play.  They liked to argue and make up.  They both tried to wear as much purple as possible.  They were, at three years old, best friends.

One night last week Claire was having a particularly sentimental evening.  She got out her photo album from Nashville and looked at all the pictures we took of her friends before we left.  Ron was putting her to bed that night, and he came out after about 10 minutes and looked stressed.  My husband is as even-keeled as they come, but Claire's laments about missing her friends were killing him.  I had to take a turn.

Claire started in again with me about missing her friends.  We talked about how our first and oldest friends are always special, but that we always have to make new friends, and those new friends are great too.  We talked about the friends she's made here, and she begrudgingly acknowledged that they were pretty nice.  But in her mind, no one would replace her old friends.

Sniffling, with big, tired eyes, she said to me, "Mama, my old friends were just right.  They were just right for me."

And that?  That was the sound of my heart breaking into a thousand pieces at her honesty, her insight, and her hurt.

In the last two months we've had visits from four families that are some of our oldest and dearest friends.  One couple goes back to high school, and the others are from our time in Michigan during grad school and the early years of my career.   We knew each other when we had zero kids, little money, fewer pounds and fewer wrinkles.  While years sometimes pass between our visits, it doesn't take long to pick up again with conversations about stuff that matters.

At this point, I have more good friends in Pennsylvania and North Carolina and Texas than I do here.  I'm meeting people, for sure, and already have a circle of folks that I call casual friends.  But none of these people know my maiden name, or were bridesmaids in my wedding, or have seen me drunk or emotional (or both, as is sometimes the case).  Phone calls and e-mails and the US Postal Service keep me in touch from a distance, but there are certain exchanges that can only happen in person, and part of me misses having those with each of my friends on a regular basis.

But the other part of me is thankful  every day for the opportunity to have these people in my life, and I'll hold tight despite the frustrations of busy schedules and e-mails that don't get returned.  Because Claire's observation is true: there are some friends that are "just right."

it dawned on me in the midst of domesticity

I've actually been making my bed lately, every day.  Most mornings, Claire will stand on one side of the bed and help me pull up the sheets and the comforter, then climb on the bed to fix the throw pillows.  If she's feeling feisty, and she usually is, she'll then stand up and give it a few jumps just to rumple the smooth covers.  I like the effect -- tidy but imperfect.

Today, however, I realized that I make the bed the same way every day.  I've got six pillows, a sheet and a reversible comforter to work with, and yet every morning I move through the same motions with mostly the same result.

Such is the trap of routine.  Mindlessly pulling myself through the day.  Doing things the same way I've always done them simply because it's the way I've always done them. 

This morning I went nuts and flipped the comforter over: stripes instead of a floral print.  Then I looked in the guest room and thought I might switch the orientation of the beds in there.  And suddenly the rest of my life looked like it could do with some small shake-ups as well.  Perhaps shopping for a shirt that I'd otherwise never consider, or visiting a new restaurant for lunch alone, or browsing iTunes for an undiscovered (for me) band that rocks my socks.

Change wakes up my soul.  While the last few months have contained several huge transitions, sometimes its the little things that matter more.

What are you going to do differently today?