Me: "Cole, you have a letter in the mail."
Cole: "Is it from China?"
And, no, it was not from China, but, almost as cool, it was a letter from his soon-to-be first grade teacher. Hand written. I think this is gonna be a pretty good year for our Cole.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
You are not your stuff
That whole 'Fight Club' speech Tyler gives.... well, the other Tyler.... about your stuff starting to own you and how you are more than what you accumulate was running through my head today. Right there next to Betty Friedan's argument about the sexual sell. Which leaves me, once again, reeling with the implications of.....
Well, it's all still coming together. I've decided that I'm approaching one of those 'changing gears' portion of life. Three out of my four are going to be starting school in a few short days. And I'm realizing that, really, I am becoming less necessary in their continued purely physical survival. I mean, given the absolute need, they are totally capable of making their own peanut butter and jam sandwiches. And of dressing themselves. They even look both ways before crossing the street without so much as a reminder from me. Which I remind them of anyways, because, apparently, habits die hard.
So, my brain is coming to grips with this. That I am really becoming less needed in the day to day busy work of their days. They comb their own hair. They wash their own parts. They can ride their bikes and jump off things and roll in the dirt and make their own beds and pour their own milk. And this is good. This is the natural order of things. And haven't I been just chomping at the bit to get two seconds where they aren't needing me for every little thing, every little moment and accomplishment needing my two cents--- which, honestly, I don't mind..... until I'm into the tenth hour of 'yes, hon, that is aweome!'--- then, it becomes something of a 'Iswearyouaskmeonemoretimeandiamgoingtoscream'. There's something to be said about constantly affirming everyone else's life except your own. Because after a while, when everyone really important in your life is counting on you for everything, you start to lose sight on what that even means: to have your own life. Your own thoughts. Your own, dare I say it, agenda. Plan.... whatever.
I once had a plan. I'm sure we all do, and I still tend to think they are great places to start. For me, it was to get through school as quickly as possible, with a degree that would yield an actual income, mostly because I knew I wanted a family with, you know, kids, and I was damned if I was going to do that without some kind of actual proof that I could be doing something else other than... well, you know, kids.
At that time of my life, I don't know that I thought of having kids as a choice, I just thought of it as the next step. College, marriage, kids. There wasn't a discussion of 'humm, I wonder if now, that we're in the process of educating ourselves to be productive members of society, if maybe we really should have kids at all'. It was always a matter of when, not if. Which I don't regret. At all. My boys are incredible and have expanded my world in a million and one ways. In a lot of ways, they've made me whole. And I include ALL my boys in that statement. But, how cool would it have been if I could have said, I not only think I should do this, but I want to do this. And again, maybe it was better that way. Maybe, given the time, I would have chickened out. Cause having little people...is hard. And awesome. And closes your reality to a very narrow existence of having to live with yourself and your shortcomings and the little people's shortcomings in a world that becomes virtually yours and theirs alone.
I love Mike to the ends of the world, and even he can't fully understand the implications of that sacrifice. To put yourself aside to raise someone helpless and completely dependent. And not destroy yourself or them in the meantime. Maybe it's just a necessary step to finally growing up. You have to take that leap, of caring for someone more than you could ever dare to care for yourself. And maybe... maybe, if you're very careful and do it right, maybe, then, after all that.... you can learn to take care of yourself. The full circle and all that.
I have plenty that I want to do with my life. First on the list is not cleaning the bathrooms, having another baby, or going back to school. Nothing that serious. I just want to be able to be recognized at my place of employment, instead of the whole 'who are you? and how long have you been working here?' followed by the less standard 'you have how many kids?!' (not so common anymore... the novelty is wearing off.....) ANYway, just little things. Like people outside of the five people I kiss goodnight every evening (four of which I had to create to get, by the way) to know me outside of 'that girl who says she works here'... you know, as a person. With interests. I want to work more with the birds out at Raptor Rehab. I want to finish writing my book. I want to learn Spanish. And then I want to speak Spanish. I want to run a 10k. I want to finish another sweater. And most of all, I want to sleep. I want to meditate and do yoga and see London and not have to explain or justify any of it.
I just want to be more than someone's mother. Or mommy. Whatever. I guess I get to figure out what that means.
Well, it's all still coming together. I've decided that I'm approaching one of those 'changing gears' portion of life. Three out of my four are going to be starting school in a few short days. And I'm realizing that, really, I am becoming less necessary in their continued purely physical survival. I mean, given the absolute need, they are totally capable of making their own peanut butter and jam sandwiches. And of dressing themselves. They even look both ways before crossing the street without so much as a reminder from me. Which I remind them of anyways, because, apparently, habits die hard.
So, my brain is coming to grips with this. That I am really becoming less needed in the day to day busy work of their days. They comb their own hair. They wash their own parts. They can ride their bikes and jump off things and roll in the dirt and make their own beds and pour their own milk. And this is good. This is the natural order of things. And haven't I been just chomping at the bit to get two seconds where they aren't needing me for every little thing, every little moment and accomplishment needing my two cents--- which, honestly, I don't mind..... until I'm into the tenth hour of 'yes, hon, that is aweome!'--- then, it becomes something of a 'Iswearyouaskmeonemoretimeandiamgoingtoscream'. There's something to be said about constantly affirming everyone else's life except your own. Because after a while, when everyone really important in your life is counting on you for everything, you start to lose sight on what that even means: to have your own life. Your own thoughts. Your own, dare I say it, agenda. Plan.... whatever.
I once had a plan. I'm sure we all do, and I still tend to think they are great places to start. For me, it was to get through school as quickly as possible, with a degree that would yield an actual income, mostly because I knew I wanted a family with, you know, kids, and I was damned if I was going to do that without some kind of actual proof that I could be doing something else other than... well, you know, kids.
At that time of my life, I don't know that I thought of having kids as a choice, I just thought of it as the next step. College, marriage, kids. There wasn't a discussion of 'humm, I wonder if now, that we're in the process of educating ourselves to be productive members of society, if maybe we really should have kids at all'. It was always a matter of when, not if. Which I don't regret. At all. My boys are incredible and have expanded my world in a million and one ways. In a lot of ways, they've made me whole. And I include ALL my boys in that statement. But, how cool would it have been if I could have said, I not only think I should do this, but I want to do this. And again, maybe it was better that way. Maybe, given the time, I would have chickened out. Cause having little people...is hard. And awesome. And closes your reality to a very narrow existence of having to live with yourself and your shortcomings and the little people's shortcomings in a world that becomes virtually yours and theirs alone.
I love Mike to the ends of the world, and even he can't fully understand the implications of that sacrifice. To put yourself aside to raise someone helpless and completely dependent. And not destroy yourself or them in the meantime. Maybe it's just a necessary step to finally growing up. You have to take that leap, of caring for someone more than you could ever dare to care for yourself. And maybe... maybe, if you're very careful and do it right, maybe, then, after all that.... you can learn to take care of yourself. The full circle and all that.
I have plenty that I want to do with my life. First on the list is not cleaning the bathrooms, having another baby, or going back to school. Nothing that serious. I just want to be able to be recognized at my place of employment, instead of the whole 'who are you? and how long have you been working here?' followed by the less standard 'you have how many kids?!' (not so common anymore... the novelty is wearing off.....) ANYway, just little things. Like people outside of the five people I kiss goodnight every evening (four of which I had to create to get, by the way) to know me outside of 'that girl who says she works here'... you know, as a person. With interests. I want to work more with the birds out at Raptor Rehab. I want to finish writing my book. I want to learn Spanish. And then I want to speak Spanish. I want to run a 10k. I want to finish another sweater. And most of all, I want to sleep. I want to meditate and do yoga and see London and not have to explain or justify any of it.
I just want to be more than someone's mother. Or mommy. Whatever. I guess I get to figure out what that means.
Friday, August 19, 2011
p.s.
And it's long enough to be a dress.
My sweater, I mean. My sweater that I made that will look less like I made it---given time. I hope.
Meantime, I have a brand new sweater-dress, or as it will be fashionably called when this trend of mine catches on: the sweatress.
On a bright note, I do think it does wonders for my caboose.
Yes, I said caboose. On the internet.
My sweater, I mean. My sweater that I made that will look less like I made it---given time. I hope.
Meantime, I have a brand new sweater-dress, or as it will be fashionably called when this trend of mine catches on: the sweatress.
On a bright note, I do think it does wonders for my caboose.
Yes, I said caboose. On the internet.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
this one's for the books
I have finished a sweater. That I started in a time forgotten. But I have finished it.
Last time I tried to crochet a sweater, Adam was still in diapers, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out the sleeves, even though I tried it several different times, the sleeves always ended up not fitting over the darn shoulders. And Adam was a little guy.
I started a sweater for myself a good year ago. I got to the 'assembly' part, and I put it away in a basket, telling myself that I'd finish it soon. And then I promptly started other projects. Anything that wasn't the assembly of the darn sweater. I finished a mat for the front porch (my first foray into jute), a blanket for Cole, and two 'draft' blankets for my bed (I think I finally have the color scheme I want. Really).
I finally pulled it out tonight, and decided I'd just take a stab at it. And I had some interesting thoughts as I was going through the steps of 'assembling'. I was avoiding finishing it, because as long as I didn't, it still had the potential of being a good sweater. Once I finished it, it would either be still good or not so good. I don't know if anyone else spends their free time looking at free crochet patterns on line, but the other day when I was browsing, I noticed several patterns that definitely had that 'amateur' look. I want a sweater that I made for myself, but I don't want a sweater that looks like I made it for myself, if that makes sense. But, if I'm gonna learn anything, I have to make more than a few mistakes along the way. There's almost just no way around it.
BTW, the sleeves totally fit. A year down the road, five minutes of consulting experience and that mysterious sense of developing spatial relationships, and I got it.
Last time I tried to crochet a sweater, Adam was still in diapers, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out the sleeves, even though I tried it several different times, the sleeves always ended up not fitting over the darn shoulders. And Adam was a little guy.
I started a sweater for myself a good year ago. I got to the 'assembly' part, and I put it away in a basket, telling myself that I'd finish it soon. And then I promptly started other projects. Anything that wasn't the assembly of the darn sweater. I finished a mat for the front porch (my first foray into jute), a blanket for Cole, and two 'draft' blankets for my bed (I think I finally have the color scheme I want. Really).
I finally pulled it out tonight, and decided I'd just take a stab at it. And I had some interesting thoughts as I was going through the steps of 'assembling'. I was avoiding finishing it, because as long as I didn't, it still had the potential of being a good sweater. Once I finished it, it would either be still good or not so good. I don't know if anyone else spends their free time looking at free crochet patterns on line, but the other day when I was browsing, I noticed several patterns that definitely had that 'amateur' look. I want a sweater that I made for myself, but I don't want a sweater that looks like I made it for myself, if that makes sense. But, if I'm gonna learn anything, I have to make more than a few mistakes along the way. There's almost just no way around it.
BTW, the sleeves totally fit. A year down the road, five minutes of consulting experience and that mysterious sense of developing spatial relationships, and I got it.
Monday, August 15, 2011
why I hate my job sometimes
The truth is, I will go home tonight, throw my scrubs in the hamper, change, hugs my boys, laugh at some mediocre sitcom, and never again have a thought of you enter my head.
To be physically incapacitated, fed through a tube, tied to a hospital bed for your own safety, to have years of poor care and rough living seep their yellow tell-tale mark over the whites of your eyes, the very skin of you tired and heaving and helpless.... this I will not dwell on. I am a nurse, but there are things even medicine can't fix. Some things medicine shouldn't try to fix, shouldn't try to prolong. So, I will fuss over the timing of medications, replace electrolytes and call the doctor when a critical calcium threatens to throw the whole precarious balance over the cliff's edge your body is hanging onto, but I will not cry for this. You were once somebody who knew themselves, and I refuse to see this reduction as my chance to play savior.
You will not remember my hand in yours, an gesture I can't help, even given what I know. That this will kill you. That this is killing you. And that it never should have been this that killed you.
You are 52, younger than my mother. Thirty years plus into my future. And the truth is, I can't forget you, but not because I ever knew you., but only because, some time in the future, I know my memory will bring you up, and I will relay to a younger, greener nurse what hepatic encephalopathy looks like.
To be physically incapacitated, fed through a tube, tied to a hospital bed for your own safety, to have years of poor care and rough living seep their yellow tell-tale mark over the whites of your eyes, the very skin of you tired and heaving and helpless.... this I will not dwell on. I am a nurse, but there are things even medicine can't fix. Some things medicine shouldn't try to fix, shouldn't try to prolong. So, I will fuss over the timing of medications, replace electrolytes and call the doctor when a critical calcium threatens to throw the whole precarious balance over the cliff's edge your body is hanging onto, but I will not cry for this. You were once somebody who knew themselves, and I refuse to see this reduction as my chance to play savior.
You will not remember my hand in yours, an gesture I can't help, even given what I know. That this will kill you. That this is killing you. And that it never should have been this that killed you.
You are 52, younger than my mother. Thirty years plus into my future. And the truth is, I can't forget you, but not because I ever knew you., but only because, some time in the future, I know my memory will bring you up, and I will relay to a younger, greener nurse what hepatic encephalopathy looks like.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
And this, to the left here, is the one strawberry from my garden that escaped my three year old, and therefore lived to maturity. Photo credit to Mike of course. Hence, the arty-feel to it. I generally do not like what I look like when I know I'm being photographed. I have this "I know you can see me and it makes me uncomfortable" smile, and it drives me nuts. Here, is what I look like when I instead have the "did you get the strawberry in the frame? How bout now?"-look.
In short, a portrait I don't feel half bad about.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
without you
Between last Thursday and now, I have worked 32 hours, vacillating between day and evening shifts, while my family has been in Spokane having fun without me. Actually, it was kinda nice to have some time to myself, just to rest or catch up on MY projects, sleep when I wanted to..... generally, just be completely selfish for a few days.
But, then a funny thing happened. I got really lonely for my boys.
I know! Nutty. Somewhere between getting my garden spruced up (finally...), picking 18 pounds of blueberries, finishing up a zombies vs plants blanket for Cole, and enjoying a luscious 2 hour coffee break with a co-worker on my day off, I really really started to feel heart sick for my boys.
I missed them so much, I ended up making mac n cheese with ham, fresh blueberries on the side (yes... I shared my blueberries) for dinner. I really don't care for mac n cheese, and tend to hold the philosophy "you get what you get and you don't throw a fit!", but I made an exception for tonight.
Tomorrow, we'll get back to the black bean burritos and cucumber dill salad, but for tonight.... it was just nice to see them. Talk to them. Smell their dirty feet. Just, everything feels better now. The balance of the universe is back on par.
Although, some day, with a lot of practice, I could see myself getting used to the late mornings and quiet evenings.
Just not yet.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
the great safe guard of society was that opinions were not acted on.
I've been returning to my childhood/adolescent passtime of reading things waaaay over my head, this time in the form of Middlemarch by the great George Eliot. I have a feeling I will be milking my way through this one for a while.
I stole one of her lines there for my title today. Very clever. And kinda pertinent to where I am in my life right now. The rest of the quote goes like this: "Sane people did what their neighbors did, so that if any lunatics were at large, one might know and avoid them."
The one thing that people we meet and get to know tell me and Mike is that we are "interesting", which usually means that we end up saying things or doing things that people aren't expecting us to say or do.
Anyway, good or not, that quote really hit with me. And made me laugh. Cause, crap, but if I'm not the lunatic.
And..... I about killed myself with my three mile run this afternoon. It's really gotta stop being so darn hot! Except, not really, because my second round of peas and beans need to finish and give me lots of happy vegetables.
I stole one of her lines there for my title today. Very clever. And kinda pertinent to where I am in my life right now. The rest of the quote goes like this: "Sane people did what their neighbors did, so that if any lunatics were at large, one might know and avoid them."
The one thing that people we meet and get to know tell me and Mike is that we are "interesting", which usually means that we end up saying things or doing things that people aren't expecting us to say or do.
Anyway, good or not, that quote really hit with me. And made me laugh. Cause, crap, but if I'm not the lunatic.
And..... I about killed myself with my three mile run this afternoon. It's really gotta stop being so darn hot! Except, not really, because my second round of peas and beans need to finish and give me lots of happy vegetables.
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