Jet-lagged. 
12.24.2009
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12.22.2009
Spontaneity
I am currently sitting in a lovely bedroom community outside of Houston staying with friends. It was a last minute trip and I'm loving it. I used to do things like this a million years ago before I was married and had a child and I've learned that it's not completely out of my reach even now.
The kids here are 8 (soon to be 9) and 11 (going on 25) and they adore Hollis and Hollis is over the moon. It makes me realize he really, really needs to be around more children. He follows Logan everywhere and looks to Emma for help and they play with him endlessly, selflessly, and happily. And I will be meeting another friend's little girl (also 8, soon to be 9) later today and I imagine it will be much the same scenario.
I'm leaving tomorrow morning with some great grown-up conversation and interaction under my belt and a new perception of myself: I'm limited only by my own imagination. I'm like Dumbo with a feather, I just needed an excuse to believe it could be different.
::
If you want to read a different sort of writing from me check out Hobo Mama and my guest-blogger post. I write about lying-in in with your new baby and its benefits.
The kids here are 8 (soon to be 9) and 11 (going on 25) and they adore Hollis and Hollis is over the moon. It makes me realize he really, really needs to be around more children. He follows Logan everywhere and looks to Emma for help and they play with him endlessly, selflessly, and happily. And I will be meeting another friend's little girl (also 8, soon to be 9) later today and I imagine it will be much the same scenario.
I'm leaving tomorrow morning with some great grown-up conversation and interaction under my belt and a new perception of myself: I'm limited only by my own imagination. I'm like Dumbo with a feather, I just needed an excuse to believe it could be different.
::
If you want to read a different sort of writing from me check out Hobo Mama and my guest-blogger post. I write about lying-in in with your new baby and its benefits.
12.21.2009
Who needs a Santa hat?
Hollis' great-grandmother sent him a pair of fuzzy and silky baby-blue rabbit ears this past Easter. He loved them for one day, then promptly forgot about them... until a couple of days ago when he rediscovered them in a toy box.
Since then it's been rabbit ears all the time everywhere.
I don't know if you know what happens when a rosy-cheeked toddler in an argyle cardigan and Yoda t-shirt wears blue rabbit ears in public, but I do: people wave from cars, they smile in restaurants, and their faces generally split into a wide grin as they whack the person next to them to "Look at that!"
I don't bring this kind of cheer into the world, I don't even know how. And I am beyond proud that on any given day I have in my hand a smaller, warmer one which belongs to someone that does.
I'm thinking this little guy is gonna be just like his cousin when he gets older, too.
Since then it's been rabbit ears all the time everywhere.
I don't know if you know what happens when a rosy-cheeked toddler in an argyle cardigan and Yoda t-shirt wears blue rabbit ears in public, but I do: people wave from cars, they smile in restaurants, and their faces generally split into a wide grin as they whack the person next to them to "Look at that!"
I don't bring this kind of cheer into the world, I don't even know how. And I am beyond proud that on any given day I have in my hand a smaller, warmer one which belongs to someone that does.
I'm thinking this little guy is gonna be just like his cousin when he gets older, too.
12.15.2009
When rocks are feathers
Texas weather has been blissful lately. Cold, gray, and requiring gloves and a hat. On one of these days I took Hollis to the park where we had the run of the place. It was cold enough to see my breath, but not so cold that I couldn't sit idly by on the swing to watch my dark blond-headed baby run hither and thither.
And so I sat on the black strip of rubber and let my body swing gently back and forth, the bite in the air reddening my cheeks and lifting my spirits. Hollis clamored onto the kiddie playscapes, cautious as ever, but emboldened by new found coordination and strength. He found a piece of dark construction paper, a little hand traced in white chalk with the word "please" on it, and climbed to the top of two steps and let it slide down a big tube. He'd jump down, race around to the bottom of the slide, grab the paper and yell, "Gain!" to himself and do it all again, over and over.
Soon enough, his attention was drawn to a pile of limestone rocks outside of the bark box, beside a giant oak. He first walked a circle around the pile, then gingerly put his hand on one within easy reach. Next, he bent low, butt to the ground, and wrapped his arms around one and stood up. Obvious to only his little brain, he decided to bring me the rock, and run off for rounds 2, 3, 4, and 5.
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Oak trees were dark silhouettes against the bright gray sky and Hollis' peals of laughter curled up through their branches and faded away in bursts of toddler zeal. This afternoon felt like balm on my crunchy, aching heart and despite the temperature outside, I felt warm and fuzzy. I had a pile of rocks on my lap pressing me into the swing, but I felt like I could leap tall buildings in a single bound.
"This is what I'm here for," I thought. "To cradle rocks for him." And for all the oddness of that statement I couldn't put it in better words than that. As I struggle with my own issues and feelings of helplessness Hollis has helped to anchor the other half of me, the mothering half, just by virtue of his existence.
I also wondered what other moments might be occurring in that same moment with other parents and children elsewhere, what magic might be connecting two souls? And I'm curious to know what that looked like for them. Was it a quiet moment like mine? Was it more obvious? A carefully scribbled note to mommy like for Maria at Bored Mommy? Or an overall feeling like what Loukia at Loulou's Views often feels when she's with her sons? Or a moment of deep admiration and reflection like Amity at The Noble Savage?
It's a testament to the uniqueness of this life that they come in so many packages, perfectly wrapped just for us and no one else. And so, I have to ask, What have your magical moments been like? What happened? Where were you? And how did it affect you?
And so I sat on the black strip of rubber and let my body swing gently back and forth, the bite in the air reddening my cheeks and lifting my spirits. Hollis clamored onto the kiddie playscapes, cautious as ever, but emboldened by new found coordination and strength. He found a piece of dark construction paper, a little hand traced in white chalk with the word "please" on it, and climbed to the top of two steps and let it slide down a big tube. He'd jump down, race around to the bottom of the slide, grab the paper and yell, "Gain!" to himself and do it all again, over and over.
Soon enough, his attention was drawn to a pile of limestone rocks outside of the bark box, beside a giant oak. He first walked a circle around the pile, then gingerly put his hand on one within easy reach. Next, he bent low, butt to the ground, and wrapped his arms around one and stood up. Obvious to only his little brain, he decided to bring me the rock, and run off for rounds 2, 3, 4, and 5.
.jpg)
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.jpg)
.jpg)
Oak trees were dark silhouettes against the bright gray sky and Hollis' peals of laughter curled up through their branches and faded away in bursts of toddler zeal. This afternoon felt like balm on my crunchy, aching heart and despite the temperature outside, I felt warm and fuzzy. I had a pile of rocks on my lap pressing me into the swing, but I felt like I could leap tall buildings in a single bound.
"This is what I'm here for," I thought. "To cradle rocks for him." And for all the oddness of that statement I couldn't put it in better words than that. As I struggle with my own issues and feelings of helplessness Hollis has helped to anchor the other half of me, the mothering half, just by virtue of his existence.
I also wondered what other moments might be occurring in that same moment with other parents and children elsewhere, what magic might be connecting two souls? And I'm curious to know what that looked like for them. Was it a quiet moment like mine? Was it more obvious? A carefully scribbled note to mommy like for Maria at Bored Mommy? Or an overall feeling like what Loukia at Loulou's Views often feels when she's with her sons? Or a moment of deep admiration and reflection like Amity at The Noble Savage?
It's a testament to the uniqueness of this life that they come in so many packages, perfectly wrapped just for us and no one else. And so, I have to ask, What have your magical moments been like? What happened? Where were you? And how did it affect you?
12.09.2009
Would you like some wine with your cheese?
I have finally been initiated into that parenting club otherwise known as, Kids Say the Darnedest Things.
I admit, my first story is really pretty tame, but I'm sure it's just a warm up (I'm legendary in my family for telling my grandfather, "Foktar, Papa!" when he wouldn't stop tickling my knee as a 2 year old).
We were in the grocery store the other day, checking out. Hollis was saying, "Hi" to everyone who was upright. In other words, people were paying attention to my squirrel-cheeked little boy when he decided to start shouting, "Poo! Poo!"
Now, I knew immediately he wasn't talking about poop. Instead, I had a feeling there was a big island of impulse buys somewhere nearby consisting of cheesy poofs and sure enough, all I had to do was turn around and there it was. A 15x15x4 foot mountain of cheesy poofs. And Hollis, bless his little I'll-talk-coherently-whenever-I'm-damn-well-ready butt, was calling for them, "Poo! Poo!"
I chuckled and looked at the cashier and bagger and said, "Oh, he's saying 'poofs'..."
"Uh huh," the bagger quipped, "Sure he is."
I laughed, Hollis continued to shout "Poo!" and I left, with nary an impulsively bought bag of poofs.
Also, over the weekend, Anthony was mortified in a much more subtle manner. This kid is a mastermind, I tell you.
He and Hollis were at the grocery store, Hollis riding along happily in the cart, content to go wherever Daddy took him and shouting out words of things he recognized. On this particular trip, Daddy needed to stock up on wine. So, imagine his discomfit when his two year old son started shouting, "Wine! Wine!" and making a popping noise like a cork.
Like I said, the kid is subtle.
I can't wait till someone hears him trying to say, "truck," which is a perfect rendition of another word that conveniently starts with the letter F and ends in - you guessed it - UCK.
I admit, my first story is really pretty tame, but I'm sure it's just a warm up (I'm legendary in my family for telling my grandfather, "Foktar, Papa!" when he wouldn't stop tickling my knee as a 2 year old).
We were in the grocery store the other day, checking out. Hollis was saying, "Hi" to everyone who was upright. In other words, people were paying attention to my squirrel-cheeked little boy when he decided to start shouting, "Poo! Poo!"
Now, I knew immediately he wasn't talking about poop. Instead, I had a feeling there was a big island of impulse buys somewhere nearby consisting of cheesy poofs and sure enough, all I had to do was turn around and there it was. A 15x15x4 foot mountain of cheesy poofs. And Hollis, bless his little I'll-talk-coherently-whenever-I'm-damn-well-ready butt, was calling for them, "Poo! Poo!"
I chuckled and looked at the cashier and bagger and said, "Oh, he's saying 'poofs'..."
"Uh huh," the bagger quipped, "Sure he is."
I laughed, Hollis continued to shout "Poo!" and I left, with nary an impulsively bought bag of poofs.
Also, over the weekend, Anthony was mortified in a much more subtle manner. This kid is a mastermind, I tell you.
He and Hollis were at the grocery store, Hollis riding along happily in the cart, content to go wherever Daddy took him and shouting out words of things he recognized. On this particular trip, Daddy needed to stock up on wine. So, imagine his discomfit when his two year old son started shouting, "Wine! Wine!" and making a popping noise like a cork.
Like I said, the kid is subtle.
I can't wait till someone hears him trying to say, "truck," which is a perfect rendition of another word that conveniently starts with the letter F and ends in - you guessed it - UCK.
What are some of the things your kids have said to humiliate you??
12.04.2009
A worthwhile post...
Every once in a while I read a post that really hits me. It might make me think, or make me feel hugged. It might even make me feel ridiculous, smart, or not alone. But whatever it does, it's worth a second glance and definitely worth sharing.
I'm going to add a sidebar feature under "And The Marquee Says..." which will read "A Worthwhile Post..." My hope is that I will spread some blog love and give due nods, props, and high-fives to the writers I stumble across without having any rules or strings attached.
If I ever feature your post, please feel free to grab a "This is Worthwhile" button. There's no obligation whatsoever. Do whatever floats your awesome writer's boat. My feelings won't be hurt if you don't use the button.
I'll also do individual codes for each blogger, because I want anyone who clicks on this button to come directly to the post that says why I think it's worthwhile.
So, in that vein, I give you my first featured post, Cup, written by Brie at Capital Mom. Simple, touching, and straight-shooting it grabbed me on a day when I felt aimless and empty.
I have worked hard to see it as half full.
Today it feels like someone drank all the milk.
I blame the kids.
It isn't just them, of course.
It is me too, but
The reluctance to nap when she is obviously tired,
The incessant, uncontrollable crying for twenty minutes
Where nothing I do comforts him,
The scene in Bridgehead because I won't let her out 0f the stroller
And the high pitched screaming that accompanies our immediate departure,
The lengthy talk out on the sidewalk about appropriate behaviour
And the importance of listening.
All that, plus the feeling that somehow I am doing everything wrong.
Those moments have drained my cup.
I am trying to refill it.
Back at home, help on hand,
I can pause and pour better moments into my cup.
The loving cuddles with the boy these last few days.
The joy they obviously take in playing with each other.
Her attempts to learn from those teaching moments we have together.
My cup was empty today.
Tomorrow it may overflow.
Filling it up, emptying it out.
These are my days.
.................................
Other Worthwhile Posts:
I'm going to add a sidebar feature under "And The Marquee Says..." which will read "A Worthwhile Post..." My hope is that I will spread some blog love and give due nods, props, and high-fives to the writers I stumble across without having any rules or strings attached.
If I ever feature your post, please feel free to grab a "This is Worthwhile" button. There's no obligation whatsoever. Do whatever floats your awesome writer's boat. My feelings won't be hurt if you don't use the button.
I'll also do individual codes for each blogger, because I want anyone who clicks on this button to come directly to the post that says why I think it's worthwhile.
Capital Mom's code:
So, in that vein, I give you my first featured post, Cup, written by Brie at Capital Mom. Simple, touching, and straight-shooting it grabbed me on a day when I felt aimless and empty.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Cup
I used to be a glass half empty kind of girl.I have worked hard to see it as half full.
Today it feels like someone drank all the milk.
I blame the kids.
It isn't just them, of course.
It is me too, but
The reluctance to nap when she is obviously tired,
The incessant, uncontrollable crying for twenty minutes
Where nothing I do comforts him,
The scene in Bridgehead because I won't let her out 0f the stroller
And the high pitched screaming that accompanies our immediate departure,
The lengthy talk out on the sidewalk about appropriate behaviour
And the importance of listening.
All that, plus the feeling that somehow I am doing everything wrong.
Those moments have drained my cup.
I am trying to refill it.
Back at home, help on hand,
I can pause and pour better moments into my cup.
The loving cuddles with the boy these last few days.
The joy they obviously take in playing with each other.
Her attempts to learn from those teaching moments we have together.
My cup was empty today.
Tomorrow it may overflow.
Filling it up, emptying it out.
These are my days.
.................................
Other Worthwhile Posts:
A worthwhile post...
What's this?
Every once in a while I read a post that really hits me. It might make me think, or make me feel hugged. It might even make me feel ridiculous, smart, or not alone. But whatever it does, it's worth a second glance and definitely worth sharing.
I'm going to add a sidebar feature under "And The Marquee Says..." which will read "A Worthwhile Post..." My hope is that I will spread some blog love and give due nods, props, and high-fives to the writers I stumble across without having any rules or strings attached.
If I ever feature your post, please feel free to grab a "This is Worthwhile" button. There's no obligation whatsoever. Do whatever floats your awesome writer's boat. My feelings won't be hurt if you don't use the button.
I'll also do individual codes for each blogger, because I want anyone who clicks on this button to come directly to the post that says why I think it's worthwhile.
12.02.2009
Obviously, I'm in a funk
I don't think it'd come as a surprise to anyone who cares to read this that I'm in a funk. I have been since mid-summer, probably before that, too, but I distinctly remember thinking, "Holy shit. I'm not cool," somewhere around August.
I've struggled with the concepts of my marriage and reconciling them with who I am and who I used to be, being a stay at home mother, boredom and balance, exhaustion, loneliness, how much I hate Texas, getting some time to myself, giving myself a break, feminist mothering, and that [never really mentioned] infertility issue.
I can't believe that even ONE person has continued to read what I've written. What a freakin' downer I've been.
Thanks for hanging around, really.
Every once in a while someone writes a blog post saying, "I don't like posting sad/depressing/upsetting things because you can find that anywhere and I want to put positive things out there," and I think, "Gee. That's never even occurred to me."
I don't know if I'm selfish or if my craving for interaction is such that I am forced to put myself out there in all degrees of mood. I don't really care. I just try to be as real as I can without betraying my marriage or Anthony or any of my close loved ones. Everything I ever put here I've already said out loud to someone else; it's my insurance that no one will be surprised (Mom, really, I'm doing fine - please don't talk to me about any of this.)
Today's been odd. I feel aimless and my head is killing me. Tomorrow morning I catch an early flight out to Phoenix for my grandma's memorial. Truth be told, I'm not really going for the memorial. Those are for the living and she's gone, so what would be the point? I'm going to help my uncle and family friend go through her things; all her precious things she'd collected over the years and ensure that someone who appreciates them gets them. It'd have broken her heart to know that her treasures were sold at a rummage sale. If my aunt wants everything in her apartment, then I will happily box everything up for her. I expect to leave with nothing, but am hopeful that I will be able to save some of her things.
Anthony asked me the other day if I was nervous about going. I'm not. I don't feel anything about it. This will be the first trip I've made in years without my sister and I will be alone with our extended family. I've got a job to do and I'm going to go do it. Period. I was thinking earlier that I can count on both hands how many times I've seen each of them. My dad was close with all of them, but it didn't extend to either me or my sister.
Sure, we got cards and random gifts from some of them over the years, but our lives were never involved. I imagine it was a product of their relationship with my father rather than anything my sister or I ever did - of course, we were just children - but as adults, we've left our relationships as they started: no where, really. And I'm ok with that. It's difficult talking to them anyway when they always bring up these rainbow-and-puppies memories of my dad, so different from my own. I've never felt it was my position to correct them and explain to them why we were such "bad daughters" to him, so the happy Rob stories continue.
At some point, I will have other things to talk about than my own ennui. I'm sick to death of it. I really am. So, here, to cleanse your palette of my bitching, here's a couple of pictures Anthony took the other night of us on our walk with Hollis. A neighbor's lawn ornaments entranced Hollis for minutes on end. I gotta say, the skiing polar bear is pretty amazing.
I've struggled with the concepts of my marriage and reconciling them with who I am and who I used to be, being a stay at home mother, boredom and balance, exhaustion, loneliness, how much I hate Texas, getting some time to myself, giving myself a break, feminist mothering, and that [never really mentioned] infertility issue.
I can't believe that even ONE person has continued to read what I've written. What a freakin' downer I've been.
Thanks for hanging around, really.
Every once in a while someone writes a blog post saying, "I don't like posting sad/depressing/upsetting things because you can find that anywhere and I want to put positive things out there," and I think, "Gee. That's never even occurred to me."
I don't know if I'm selfish or if my craving for interaction is such that I am forced to put myself out there in all degrees of mood. I don't really care. I just try to be as real as I can without betraying my marriage or Anthony or any of my close loved ones. Everything I ever put here I've already said out loud to someone else; it's my insurance that no one will be surprised (Mom, really, I'm doing fine - please don't talk to me about any of this.)
Today's been odd. I feel aimless and my head is killing me. Tomorrow morning I catch an early flight out to Phoenix for my grandma's memorial. Truth be told, I'm not really going for the memorial. Those are for the living and she's gone, so what would be the point? I'm going to help my uncle and family friend go through her things; all her precious things she'd collected over the years and ensure that someone who appreciates them gets them. It'd have broken her heart to know that her treasures were sold at a rummage sale. If my aunt wants everything in her apartment, then I will happily box everything up for her. I expect to leave with nothing, but am hopeful that I will be able to save some of her things.
Anthony asked me the other day if I was nervous about going. I'm not. I don't feel anything about it. This will be the first trip I've made in years without my sister and I will be alone with our extended family. I've got a job to do and I'm going to go do it. Period. I was thinking earlier that I can count on both hands how many times I've seen each of them. My dad was close with all of them, but it didn't extend to either me or my sister.
Sure, we got cards and random gifts from some of them over the years, but our lives were never involved. I imagine it was a product of their relationship with my father rather than anything my sister or I ever did - of course, we were just children - but as adults, we've left our relationships as they started: no where, really. And I'm ok with that. It's difficult talking to them anyway when they always bring up these rainbow-and-puppies memories of my dad, so different from my own. I've never felt it was my position to correct them and explain to them why we were such "bad daughters" to him, so the happy Rob stories continue.
At some point, I will have other things to talk about than my own ennui. I'm sick to death of it. I really am. So, here, to cleanse your palette of my bitching, here's a couple of pictures Anthony took the other night of us on our walk with Hollis. A neighbor's lawn ornaments entranced Hollis for minutes on end. I gotta say, the skiing polar bear is pretty amazing.
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