Seven years of blogging. Sounds like a good number to go out on. This space has served its purpose, I think. It gave me a creative outlet, a place to grieve, express myself, find new friends and explore a world of craft, art, photography.
It was a huge part of my life and helped me cope with life and celebrate the ordinary.
Somehow I don't feel like I fit in this place anymore. In fact, it makes me profoundly tired. I've outgrown it, I guess.
Time to explore new possibilities, new ideas.
Maybe I'll start a photoblog. That's one thing I never seem to get tired of.
I'll add a link here at some point if I decide to head in that direction. In the meantime, I'll always be posting to flickr. Can't stop me. It's like a disease.
Thank you to all my loyal readers and commenters for keeping me going as long as I have.
Showing posts with label ramblings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ramblings. Show all posts
4/19/2012
3/08/2012
Medical history
In my closet today I found a lined piece of paper folded up inside a book. Nothing profound, just some notes I had jotted down during my OT internship living in Providence. I was trying to keep a more personal record of my everyday interactions with patients. Something more human than the treatment plans I labored over every night.
I'm glad I found these. I remember each of these patients clearly.
January 21:
Portuguese, 91 years old--constructional apraxia. This morning he put his straw in his pancakes and leaned over to take a sip. I had to redirect him 2x. The confusion in his eyes made me want to cry for him. How hard to grow old. Later, we laughed together over the language barrier.
Walking down the hall with a patient we heard E, a little old African American woman, legally blind, twisted and shriveled in her chair singing, "Amazing Grace", her head tilted to the side. Beautiful voice. When she finished, everyone at the nurses station stood up and clapped.
January 22:
The therapist I was shadowing said he was her hardest patient yet. An Asian man who insisted on watching Good Morning America during ADL's and refused to sit while grooming or dressing. He kept referring to the differences between The East and The West as excuses for everything. I could barely stifle my laughter the whole time especially at his comment while dressing, "I'm too intellectual for this nonsense!"
And, on the back of the paper, a poem, which as weak and rough as it is, brings back a visceral anxiety, remembering those three months:
Every week I face my fears
and pick them up
and put them on. I wear them
like a sweater
all week long.
Til Friday comes
and gasping, I can
throw my fears aside.
They sit there in the corner
and watch me all weekend long.
I'm glad I found these. I remember each of these patients clearly.
January 21:
Portuguese, 91 years old--constructional apraxia. This morning he put his straw in his pancakes and leaned over to take a sip. I had to redirect him 2x. The confusion in his eyes made me want to cry for him. How hard to grow old. Later, we laughed together over the language barrier.
Walking down the hall with a patient we heard E, a little old African American woman, legally blind, twisted and shriveled in her chair singing, "Amazing Grace", her head tilted to the side. Beautiful voice. When she finished, everyone at the nurses station stood up and clapped.
January 22:
The therapist I was shadowing said he was her hardest patient yet. An Asian man who insisted on watching Good Morning America during ADL's and refused to sit while grooming or dressing. He kept referring to the differences between The East and The West as excuses for everything. I could barely stifle my laughter the whole time especially at his comment while dressing, "I'm too intellectual for this nonsense!"
And, on the back of the paper, a poem, which as weak and rough as it is, brings back a visceral anxiety, remembering those three months:
Every week I face my fears
and pick them up
and put them on. I wear them
like a sweater
all week long.
Til Friday comes
and gasping, I can
throw my fears aside.
They sit there in the corner
and watch me all weekend long.
1/23/2012
Grandpa
This morning, for no particular reason, I remembered the last conversation I had with my Grandpa S. He was about to leave his home in New Hampshire for a nursing home in Florida. Florida, with the palm trees he despised.
Keith and I were getting ready to move in and rent his house. I went over the night before he left to say goodbye. We stood, down in a dusty corner of the basement as he attempted to entrust his very particular home maintenance into my unskilled hands. He showed me the fuse box and how to empty the lint trap in the dryer.
We both acted as if he was just going on a short vacation. I think a part of him believed this. Cruel time put a lump in my throat. I tried not to let him see my tears.
Independent, stubborn, prickly, a fierce perfectionist, able to make us laugh until our faces hurt. I often see him in myself. A hard man to love. Loved deeply, nonetheless.
Keith and I were getting ready to move in and rent his house. I went over the night before he left to say goodbye. We stood, down in a dusty corner of the basement as he attempted to entrust his very particular home maintenance into my unskilled hands. He showed me the fuse box and how to empty the lint trap in the dryer.
We both acted as if he was just going on a short vacation. I think a part of him believed this. Cruel time put a lump in my throat. I tried not to let him see my tears.
Independent, stubborn, prickly, a fierce perfectionist, able to make us laugh until our faces hurt. I often see him in myself. A hard man to love. Loved deeply, nonetheless.
1/10/2012
File this under useless information
So, I've had this pomegranate that I picked up with a rare spirit of adventure sitting on my counter for a couple weeks, mocking me.
I remember having some of this fruit as a girl and liking it. But I also have a more recent memory where I tried to reproduce this childhood experience and something wasn't right. I wasn't sure if my trouble was cutting into the fruit, or just with the taste.
Either way, I thought I'd try again.
Believe it or not, there is a correct way to cut these and it makes a difference.
Cut vertically through the stem (core?). Also, it might be good, if you value your clothing, to wear an apron or possibly an entire hazmat suit. This baby is messy. Lucky for me, I have no clothes that aren't already covered with stains and holes. It's my signature look.
Make another vertical cut and then pull the seeds away from the membranes by hand.
One tip I read was to drop the seeds in a bowl of water and the membranes should separate and float to the top. Kind of a scam but worked some of the time.
My kitchen looked like a violent crime scene by the time I'd finished.
After all that, I didn't find the seeds that wonderful. Love the flavor but hate the chewy texture. They taste just like those berries you know you probably shouldn't sample while wandering around in the woods. The kind where someone yells, "Hey, don't eat those!" That kind.
But, you know who really did like them?
Innocent little children. They devoured those seeds and screamed for more.
I remember having some of this fruit as a girl and liking it. But I also have a more recent memory where I tried to reproduce this childhood experience and something wasn't right. I wasn't sure if my trouble was cutting into the fruit, or just with the taste.
Either way, I thought I'd try again.
Believe it or not, there is a correct way to cut these and it makes a difference.
Cut vertically through the stem (core?). Also, it might be good, if you value your clothing, to wear an apron or possibly an entire hazmat suit. This baby is messy. Lucky for me, I have no clothes that aren't already covered with stains and holes. It's my signature look.
Make another vertical cut and then pull the seeds away from the membranes by hand.
One tip I read was to drop the seeds in a bowl of water and the membranes should separate and float to the top. Kind of a scam but worked some of the time.
My kitchen looked like a violent crime scene by the time I'd finished.
After all that, I didn't find the seeds that wonderful. Love the flavor but hate the chewy texture. They taste just like those berries you know you probably shouldn't sample while wandering around in the woods. The kind where someone yells, "Hey, don't eat those!" That kind.
But, you know who really did like them?
Innocent little children. They devoured those seeds and screamed for more.
1/02/2012
Kids keepin' it real
It just might have something to do with the fact that I'm their mother, but I'm fascinated by the pictures my kids take. I had way too much fun going through our little camera today, deleting most shots and finding a few keepers from as far back as October.
They pose for each other in different ways than they might for me:
.
I love seeing the world they choose to frame and the items they find important.
There were more than a few hideous shots of me in various degrees of Bad Hair Day. I reserve the right to edit in this case.
I realized while clicking through the shots: these blurry, gritty moments are a truer representation of my life than the carefully cropped, often edited bits I choose to show.
Because the truth ain't always pretty. The truth has a lot of bad hair days in this house.
Just in case you were wondering.
They pose for each other in different ways than they might for me:
.
I love seeing the world they choose to frame and the items they find important.
There were more than a few hideous shots of me in various degrees of Bad Hair Day. I reserve the right to edit in this case.
I realized while clicking through the shots: these blurry, gritty moments are a truer representation of my life than the carefully cropped, often edited bits I choose to show.
Because the truth ain't always pretty. The truth has a lot of bad hair days in this house.
Just in case you were wondering.
12/11/2011
Plans
What may or may not be included in this day:
::Christmas projects
::Decorating giant gingerbread man (Trader Joe's was sold out of the house kits)
::Homemade pumpkin spice latte (info here)...without pumpkin puree
::Comforting sick, fussy baby
::Skipping soccer
::Christmas projects
::Decorating giant gingerbread man (Trader Joe's was sold out of the house kits)
::Homemade pumpkin spice latte (info here)...without pumpkin puree
::Comforting sick, fussy baby
::Skipping soccer
12/09/2011
Back on the grid
Snow is falling, the kids are playing quietly for the moment, and both of our computers are back in working order. Finally.
Computer trouble began last week with my geriatric laptop, It hobbled, stumbled, crashed and burned. For years now its use has generated enormous energy just short of puffing smoke so I really wasn't surprised by its sudden refusal to function.
The PC was another story. It's a fairly recent acquisition and the most accessible, used unit in the house. Completely fried.
Keith scrambled around and managed to get the laptop up and working(for now) and backed up the PC before eventually installing a new hard drive. Amazing and a little scary how we missed it.
So, that's my excuse for no Friday photo last week.
But, I've got one today!
There are quite a few things I will not be sad to see my children grow out of. Sprawling block creations are not one of them.
Computer trouble began last week with my geriatric laptop, It hobbled, stumbled, crashed and burned. For years now its use has generated enormous energy just short of puffing smoke so I really wasn't surprised by its sudden refusal to function.
The PC was another story. It's a fairly recent acquisition and the most accessible, used unit in the house. Completely fried.
Keith scrambled around and managed to get the laptop up and working(for now) and backed up the PC before eventually installing a new hard drive. Amazing and a little scary how we missed it.
So, that's my excuse for no Friday photo last week.
But, I've got one today!
There are quite a few things I will not be sad to see my children grow out of. Sprawling block creations are not one of them.
12/01/2011
The forest in spite of the trees
The foolish man seeks happiness in the distance, the wise grows it under his feet.
-James Oppenheim
I've been struggling lately with my own tendency toward discontent. I see my own feelings mirrored in the whining of my oldest son, so much my clone.
When Ethan reports in an aggrieved tone that so-and-so in his class has a new ipad and this other one went on a cruise, I don't react well. I become annoyed at him, angry at the entitled brats, and exasperated at myself. Five minutes later, I find myself wishing I could buy him an ipad.
I've been feeling a desperate need to teach him how to be content. But how can I model this, when apparently I haven't learned it myself?
Thanksgiving, I thought. That will do the trick. We'll count our (many!) blessings. We'll name them one by one! We'll feel better! We'll all get some perspective here.
We tried.
I try. I purpose to put aside all whiny, unattractive behavior. The seal breaks off the dishwasher (again) and through clenched teeth I mutter my mantra, "Give thanks". The little things become so heavy, unrelenting. My resentment stacking up like falling snow. A lack of cupboard space reduces me to tears.
Three things helped me a little this past Sunday. A Fernando Ortega song, better than any sermon. An article I read after googling for help. Is there anything more pathetic than trying to save your child's soul with Google?
This rather random article was full of so many good reminders. Once again, I'm measuring my success by the wrong standards. Money and possessions. Comfort and ease. Sometimes it is all I can see.
Contentment is not gratification. We don't have to have everything we want. It is finding satisfication in what we do have. In savoring what is ours.
Sunday night I turned on 60 minutes and there was a segment about homeless children in Florida. They interviewed a girl who lived with her brother and father in a truck. Every morning they try to find a new gas station bathroom in which to brush their teeth before heading off to school. Her spirit was so strong and hopeful in spite of her circumstances. I was ashamed.
So, here I am. Surrounded by good things, a recipient of so much grace. Getting my focus back on those savor-worthy moments whenever they arise.
-James Oppenheim
I've been struggling lately with my own tendency toward discontent. I see my own feelings mirrored in the whining of my oldest son, so much my clone.
When Ethan reports in an aggrieved tone that so-and-so in his class has a new ipad and this other one went on a cruise, I don't react well. I become annoyed at him, angry at the entitled brats, and exasperated at myself. Five minutes later, I find myself wishing I could buy him an ipad.
I've been feeling a desperate need to teach him how to be content. But how can I model this, when apparently I haven't learned it myself?
Thanksgiving, I thought. That will do the trick. We'll count our (many!) blessings. We'll name them one by one! We'll feel better! We'll all get some perspective here.
We tried.
I try. I purpose to put aside all whiny, unattractive behavior. The seal breaks off the dishwasher (again) and through clenched teeth I mutter my mantra, "Give thanks". The little things become so heavy, unrelenting. My resentment stacking up like falling snow. A lack of cupboard space reduces me to tears.
Three things helped me a little this past Sunday. A Fernando Ortega song, better than any sermon. An article I read after googling for help. Is there anything more pathetic than trying to save your child's soul with Google?
This rather random article was full of so many good reminders. Once again, I'm measuring my success by the wrong standards. Money and possessions. Comfort and ease. Sometimes it is all I can see.
Contentment is not gratification. We don't have to have everything we want. It is finding satisfication in what we do have. In savoring what is ours.
Sunday night I turned on 60 minutes and there was a segment about homeless children in Florida. They interviewed a girl who lived with her brother and father in a truck. Every morning they try to find a new gas station bathroom in which to brush their teeth before heading off to school. Her spirit was so strong and hopeful in spite of her circumstances. I was ashamed.
So, here I am. Surrounded by good things, a recipient of so much grace. Getting my focus back on those savor-worthy moments whenever they arise.
11/16/2011
How to spell Thanksgiving
I've been looking forward to the Thanksgiving season. It's good for my mental health. Actively replacing all my natural discontent and worry with the reality of what's good. So many good things.
We plan to do the ol' listing of blessings at some point, whether I find an original way to do it or not. In fact, we do a daily version of this but it does become pretty rote.
Recently I came across the word "Obrigado" in a book and it brought back a flood of mostly-repressed memories from intern days in Rhode Island. A time when I carried around Portuguese flashcards in my scrubs, hoping to communicate with patients. Really, it was my supervisor I should have worried about. Sadly, there were no flashcards to help me speak petty tyrant.
This, with another post I'd seen recently using pasta letters to make name-cards, gave me an idea.
A banner with "thank-you" in several different languages. Good for the fine motor skills, pre-reading skills and more!
We plan to do the ol' listing of blessings at some point, whether I find an original way to do it or not. In fact, we do a daily version of this but it does become pretty rote.
Recently I came across the word "Obrigado" in a book and it brought back a flood of mostly-repressed memories from intern days in Rhode Island. A time when I carried around Portuguese flashcards in my scrubs, hoping to communicate with patients. Really, it was my supervisor I should have worried about. Sadly, there were no flashcards to help me speak petty tyrant.
This, with another post I'd seen recently using pasta letters to make name-cards, gave me an idea.
A banner with "thank-you" in several different languages. Good for the fine motor skills, pre-reading skills and more!
9/27/2011
I heart technology
I have finally entered the modern world of smart phones. And just in time.
I'm most excited about experimenting with the various phone apps right now because I have to take a break from the Nikon. I managed to damage some of the nerves in my right hand using that very heavy camera.
Strange but true.
Iphone to the rescue.
I'm most excited about experimenting with the various phone apps right now because I have to take a break from the Nikon. I managed to damage some of the nerves in my right hand using that very heavy camera.
Strange but true.
Iphone to the rescue.
9/09/2011
Dont worry, be happy now
I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought,
and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.
G. K. Chesterton
I'm feeling less than thankful at the moment. Really kind of sick to my stomach over some bad news today. Not earth-shattering-someone's-dying kind of news, just car-trouble-money-stressfulness. An ideal time to focus on other things. And hope that it helps.
Around noon today, the sun poked out. I assumed it was fleeting and ran to get my camera.
Trying to keep ahead of Sadie's ravenous wailing (if I let her she would eat every food item in the house, perishable and non) and frantic signs for "MORE, MORE!", I snapped a few pictures of my favorite flower. Who cares if they're a little brown around the edges? They manage a cheerfulness I could never achieve.
After getting Adam settled at the table with food, the sun was still around so I snapped a few more pictures of my latest knitting obsession. The boy hat. So far, so good. And the yarn (Malabrigo) is just right.
I'm looking forward to making a couple of these, maybe even three if I can stretch 2 skeins that far.
Even though I'm still getting the occasional tomato out of my own garden, it was nice to get 3 gorgeous, ripe ones all at once, along with some peppers, from a friend of Keith's.
Salsa came to mind and I tried this recipe, via Smitten Kitchen. It was perfect.
(A food photographer I am not)
Because we somehow had an excess of milk (that never happens), I made some yogurt today. It's really just a few minutes of stirring and keeping it warm for a few hours after that. Believe me, it tastes a lot better than it looks here.
Drew was supposed to have his first soccer practice on Wednesday but it was canceled and rescheduled twice since then because of rain. It is several miles away and I wouldn't even have attempted it myself without a car but Keith was home today and decided he could do it. By bike. With all the boys. He is braver than I.
I'm glad I recently finished my custom safety flag for our bike trailer.
Sadie and I hung out at home and listened to her cry for a couple hours. Idyllic. Like in the movies.
But I did manage to get a photo of her boots in the three seconds that she wore them.
Now I'm sitting here trying not to bite my nails as it gets darker and darker and the boys aren't home yet. Back to square one.
and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.
G. K. Chesterton
I'm feeling less than thankful at the moment. Really kind of sick to my stomach over some bad news today. Not earth-shattering-someone's-dying kind of news, just car-trouble-money-stressfulness. An ideal time to focus on other things. And hope that it helps.
Around noon today, the sun poked out. I assumed it was fleeting and ran to get my camera.
Trying to keep ahead of Sadie's ravenous wailing (if I let her she would eat every food item in the house, perishable and non) and frantic signs for "MORE, MORE!", I snapped a few pictures of my favorite flower. Who cares if they're a little brown around the edges? They manage a cheerfulness I could never achieve.
After getting Adam settled at the table with food, the sun was still around so I snapped a few more pictures of my latest knitting obsession. The boy hat. So far, so good. And the yarn (Malabrigo) is just right.
I'm looking forward to making a couple of these, maybe even three if I can stretch 2 skeins that far.
Even though I'm still getting the occasional tomato out of my own garden, it was nice to get 3 gorgeous, ripe ones all at once, along with some peppers, from a friend of Keith's.
Salsa came to mind and I tried this recipe, via Smitten Kitchen. It was perfect.
(A food photographer I am not)
Because we somehow had an excess of milk (that never happens), I made some yogurt today. It's really just a few minutes of stirring and keeping it warm for a few hours after that. Believe me, it tastes a lot better than it looks here.
Drew was supposed to have his first soccer practice on Wednesday but it was canceled and rescheduled twice since then because of rain. It is several miles away and I wouldn't even have attempted it myself without a car but Keith was home today and decided he could do it. By bike. With all the boys. He is braver than I.
I'm glad I recently finished my custom safety flag for our bike trailer.
Sadie and I hung out at home and listened to her cry for a couple hours. Idyllic. Like in the movies.
But I did manage to get a photo of her boots in the three seconds that she wore them.
Now I'm sitting here trying not to bite my nails as it gets darker and darker and the boys aren't home yet. Back to square one.
4/21/2011
Happenings
I haven't reported about the syrup experiment because it was largely a failure. I'm really not sure what went wrong. We knew we wouldn't get much sap because it was late in the season. I was hoping it would be a good practice run for next year.
We had a little less than a gallon to boil and figured from research that it would produce about half a cup of real syrup. When it boiled down to that amount, I tested the syrup. It was sweet and starting to turn brown (a definite improvement over the sap itself which Ethan declared "tastes like watery tree") but still quite watery so I let it boil a little longer. Too long, in fact. It became impossibly thick.
The real tragedy is that, thick or thin, the syrup had a strange aftertaste and just didn't taste very maple-y. Sweet but strange. Maybe we have the wrong kind of trees or maybe they are diseased? I don't know. Disappointing.
In other news, we have started the process of getting Sadie evaluated for early intervention services. If she qualifies, she will receive services for free in the home, so, in spite of all the red tape, it's worth a try. Since my initial call to the program a couple weeks ago, she is rolling over and becoming slowly more mobile. We've been working hard with her.
Next Friday is her evaluation and really I'm not sure whether I want her to qualify or not.
Yesterday, Sadie clapped for the first time. For Ethan. She was sitting on the kitchen floor and Ethan was playing with her as I raced around throwing food together for dinner. Ethan called out, "She's doing it! She's clapping!" Drew and Adam came running and we all surrounded her, clapping along and exclaiming. Sadie screamed and gurgled with delight. One of those moments that makes you happy to be right where you are.
We had a little less than a gallon to boil and figured from research that it would produce about half a cup of real syrup. When it boiled down to that amount, I tested the syrup. It was sweet and starting to turn brown (a definite improvement over the sap itself which Ethan declared "tastes like watery tree") but still quite watery so I let it boil a little longer. Too long, in fact. It became impossibly thick.
The real tragedy is that, thick or thin, the syrup had a strange aftertaste and just didn't taste very maple-y. Sweet but strange. Maybe we have the wrong kind of trees or maybe they are diseased? I don't know. Disappointing.
In other news, we have started the process of getting Sadie evaluated for early intervention services. If she qualifies, she will receive services for free in the home, so, in spite of all the red tape, it's worth a try. Since my initial call to the program a couple weeks ago, she is rolling over and becoming slowly more mobile. We've been working hard with her.
Next Friday is her evaluation and really I'm not sure whether I want her to qualify or not.
Yesterday, Sadie clapped for the first time. For Ethan. She was sitting on the kitchen floor and Ethan was playing with her as I raced around throwing food together for dinner. Ethan called out, "She's doing it! She's clapping!" Drew and Adam came running and we all surrounded her, clapping along and exclaiming. Sadie screamed and gurgled with delight. One of those moments that makes you happy to be right where you are.
4/11/2011
Just in time
"A little madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King"
We finally got a prolonged taste of sunshine and warmth yesterday. Like moles blinking in the sunlight, we emerged, pulled out patio furniture and basked. Ah. It felt good.
It's probably a little premature but nothing could hold back the flip-flops, shorts and bubble soap.
And, of course, the mud.
Is wholesome even for the King"
We finally got a prolonged taste of sunshine and warmth yesterday. Like moles blinking in the sunlight, we emerged, pulled out patio furniture and basked. Ah. It felt good.
It's probably a little premature but nothing could hold back the flip-flops, shorts and bubble soap.
And, of course, the mud.
2/28/2011
Milestone
All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence you know.
-Hemingway
It's hard to believe I've been blogging for six years this month. Six years! (Not seven as I alluded to in an earlier post. Um, oh yeah, math.)
I just looked back to my earliest posts to remember. Which, please people, I'm not recommending. Kind of like reading an old diary. From adolescence. When ellipses covered all my punctuation needs. Blerg.
Seems a bit self-congratulatory to throw oneself a blogiversary. But that's what we bloggers are. Just a wee bit self absorbed, right? And six years is a lot of blogging.
Thanks to Lindsay for inspiring me. Yours was the first blog I read by someone I actually knew.
Having just moved far from home, I was feeling isolated and, for a number of reasons, rather sad. I hoped to chronicle my adventures as a mother and keep in touch with family.
Three children, ten hundred braggy craft projects and a million photographs later, here we are.
It's hard to describe my feelings about blogging. There have been a lot of off times, facebook stole many of my readers (yeah, that's what happened!) as well as much of my own energy and focus. Yet, I find myself coming back here to create, express and even still, connect.
Thank you to those who have come along with me for the ride.
-Hemingway
It's hard to believe I've been blogging for six years this month. Six years! (Not seven as I alluded to in an earlier post. Um, oh yeah, math.)
I just looked back to my earliest posts to remember. Which, please people, I'm not recommending. Kind of like reading an old diary. From adolescence. When ellipses covered all my punctuation needs. Blerg.
Seems a bit self-congratulatory to throw oneself a blogiversary. But that's what we bloggers are. Just a wee bit self absorbed, right? And six years is a lot of blogging.
Thanks to Lindsay for inspiring me. Yours was the first blog I read by someone I actually knew.
Having just moved far from home, I was feeling isolated and, for a number of reasons, rather sad. I hoped to chronicle my adventures as a mother and keep in touch with family.
Three children, ten hundred braggy craft projects and a million photographs later, here we are.
It's hard to describe my feelings about blogging. There have been a lot of off times, facebook stole many of my readers (yeah, that's what happened!) as well as much of my own energy and focus. Yet, I find myself coming back here to create, express and even still, connect.
Thank you to those who have come along with me for the ride.
1/01/2011
Starting with a bang!
I'm feeling depressed and dazzled by all of the day's opportunity for resolve. Dazzled is a little strong but there is something about hanging up a new calendar. A fresh start, another chance to meet those goals, lofty and mundane. I WILL run a 5K! I WILL clean my bathroom before mold grows in the toilet!
Something is telling me, a good place to start is the Christmas tree. Maybe it's the spider who has made his home in its branches. Or, the fact that much of the tree has migrated to the floor.
I've been noticing the 365 Project popping up in various forms all over the internet and can't help but feel the pull. This year, though, I am staying strong, standing fast against inspiration. I only made it 43 days last year and I am still mad at myself.
Instead, I plan to aim low. I do still want to improve my photography and love the photo challenges so, here's to more manageable goals on a monthly basis.
First, I bring you, "A Month of Bumbos". Because nothing says transformation and strength of character like a daily Bumbo shot.
Something is telling me, a good place to start is the Christmas tree. Maybe it's the spider who has made his home in its branches. Or, the fact that much of the tree has migrated to the floor.
I've been noticing the 365 Project popping up in various forms all over the internet and can't help but feel the pull. This year, though, I am staying strong, standing fast against inspiration. I only made it 43 days last year and I am still mad at myself.
Instead, I plan to aim low. I do still want to improve my photography and love the photo challenges so, here's to more manageable goals on a monthly basis.
First, I bring you, "A Month of Bumbos". Because nothing says transformation and strength of character like a daily Bumbo shot.
8/18/2010
7/21/2010
The TV helped me write this
My blog. Like a good friend who I keep meaning to email, (no really, I mean it) it's been on my mind. As I rip a comb through my hair, throw on a t-shirt from the ground where I threw it the night before, a sentence pops into my head. Something I might use on my blog!
Then I'm changing a diaper and my only thoughts are what needs doing next. My only scheming, how I might catch up on life. I'm frantic with just the tedium of the day to day. I wonder how people possibly do more than what is basic.
All of this with the backdrop of constant, really I'm almost not exaggerating, screaming. Whether it's the baby who is unhappy in spite of being fed and changed, or the boys fighting over WHO HAD THIS FIRST or WHO LAUGHED AT ME or WHO HAD ONE MORE COOKIE or WHO GOT TO SIT THERE. I mean it. It's endless. Only consolation that it has to be temporary. I know it will be easier when Sadie's needs are less intense.
In the meantime, I'm losing my mind. I forgot my pin number, or part of it anyway, for the first time the other day. It always just comes to my fingers automatically, I've had it, um, forever, and I couldn't remember the first digit. After punching in the wrong number at the store, I gave myself some time to think and it did come back to me. Senior moment or sleep-deprivation?
I'm so tired. Lay-my-face-directly-on-a-sizzling-stove-top-sleep-for-hours-kind of tired. Of course, that's normal and nothing new. Just bone weary by the end of the day and utterly without one shred of patience. I hope my poor children have their memories wiped clean of this summer.
Yes, we've done some fun projects and Ethan is really lucky to have two good friends in this neighborhood who he visits almost daily. He can ride to their houses on his bike and they to ours so it's pretty ideal. I keep taking pictures and hoping to blog about them. Soon enough.
I certainly shouldn't be surprised by any of this. I've done it before. I'm always wagging my head in amazement when I speak to other mothers and we say to each other, "You really forget how hard it is!" But, mercifully, you do.
Then I'm changing a diaper and my only thoughts are what needs doing next. My only scheming, how I might catch up on life. I'm frantic with just the tedium of the day to day. I wonder how people possibly do more than what is basic.
All of this with the backdrop of constant, really I'm almost not exaggerating, screaming. Whether it's the baby who is unhappy in spite of being fed and changed, or the boys fighting over WHO HAD THIS FIRST or WHO LAUGHED AT ME or WHO HAD ONE MORE COOKIE or WHO GOT TO SIT THERE. I mean it. It's endless. Only consolation that it has to be temporary. I know it will be easier when Sadie's needs are less intense.
In the meantime, I'm losing my mind. I forgot my pin number, or part of it anyway, for the first time the other day. It always just comes to my fingers automatically, I've had it, um, forever, and I couldn't remember the first digit. After punching in the wrong number at the store, I gave myself some time to think and it did come back to me. Senior moment or sleep-deprivation?
I'm so tired. Lay-my-face-directly-on-a-sizzling-stove-top-sleep-for-hours-kind of tired. Of course, that's normal and nothing new. Just bone weary by the end of the day and utterly without one shred of patience. I hope my poor children have their memories wiped clean of this summer.
Yes, we've done some fun projects and Ethan is really lucky to have two good friends in this neighborhood who he visits almost daily. He can ride to their houses on his bike and they to ours so it's pretty ideal. I keep taking pictures and hoping to blog about them. Soon enough.
I certainly shouldn't be surprised by any of this. I've done it before. I'm always wagging my head in amazement when I speak to other mothers and we say to each other, "You really forget how hard it is!" But, mercifully, you do.
4/23/2010
Hold the fort
We seem to have a near-obsession with the fashioning of "forts" in these parts. Let us define fort: a collection of random objects (toys, a dirty sock, pillows, books) gathered together into four loosely determined boundaries. Systematic destruction of the living space taken to a new level.
And woe to him (or her, really) who mistakes this madness for a pile of junk. Any attempt to tidy up the eyesore is met with a warning scream, "That's my FORT!" I don't have the heart to stamp out this activity because it is probably a great creative outlet and can keep Adam and Drew occupied for some time. But, the clean-up!
As the forts migrate and the building materials add to the general litter of the household, I must decide if each little piece of something is worth bending over to retrieve. I could get stuck down there. Which brings to mind this post, without the neck pain.
Enter dear husband with the perfect gift: a long-handled-reacher of my very own! I haven't been this excited about a daily living aid since my stint working in rehab. These should be standard issue at every baby shower.
Totally unrelated note: I found a new granola recipe which I've tried a few times now and really like. The great thing about it is there is no oil required. Seemed strange to me but it's as tasty as ever. I add some form of dried fruit, usually raisins, when available.
Inspired by a memory of a baby blanket I'd seen some time ago, I attempted my own version with some fabric favorites I've had hanging around (thanks, Joanne's). Nothing fancy, just two pieces of fabric sewn together.
And woe to him (or her, really) who mistakes this madness for a pile of junk. Any attempt to tidy up the eyesore is met with a warning scream, "That's my FORT!" I don't have the heart to stamp out this activity because it is probably a great creative outlet and can keep Adam and Drew occupied for some time. But, the clean-up!
As the forts migrate and the building materials add to the general litter of the household, I must decide if each little piece of something is worth bending over to retrieve. I could get stuck down there. Which brings to mind this post, without the neck pain.
Enter dear husband with the perfect gift: a long-handled-reacher of my very own! I haven't been this excited about a daily living aid since my stint working in rehab. These should be standard issue at every baby shower.
Totally unrelated note: I found a new granola recipe which I've tried a few times now and really like. The great thing about it is there is no oil required. Seemed strange to me but it's as tasty as ever. I add some form of dried fruit, usually raisins, when available.
Inspired by a memory of a baby blanket I'd seen some time ago, I attempted my own version with some fabric favorites I've had hanging around (thanks, Joanne's). Nothing fancy, just two pieces of fabric sewn together.
12/12/2009
9/24/2009
Riddle me this
This morning I set out for a nearby sale. I arrived fifteen minutes early and joined the line already forming outside the door. Of the ten or so people in front of me, I would guess that only two were younger than seventy. We waited. I checked my cell phone, changed it to vibrate, deleted messages. I checked my watch. The woman next to me took out her cell phone and turned off the ringer. The elderly man in front of me pulled out his phone and fiddled with it. I glanced at my watch.
The line grew and turned the corner behind us. People walking by stared. An older lady near the front of the line talked non-stop.
A minute before ten o'clock, a woman came out and stood before us. She was there to establish some ground rules. "Once you are inside it gets a little crazy. Because of this, we ask that you do not bring in boxes or stack items on the floor. Instead, fill up your bag, purchase your items, deposit them in the reserved spot, take your receipt, and if you wish, go back inside to purchase more."
She then moved down the line to make this announcement one more time.
The doors were then opened and we made our way into the large room. I crossed over to my favorite section where children's items were set up. I began to sort, search and fight my way into corners, working around people who sat on the floor. I stumbled over whining kids.
I stood shoulder to shoulder with other shoppers. An elbow dug into my back. I was prodded, bumped and squished. I worked my way around the room, squeezing between silent pillar people, craning my neck.
After an hour, I had filled my bag and went up front to pay. I spent seven dollars and took away fourteen items.
Where was I?
The line grew and turned the corner behind us. People walking by stared. An older lady near the front of the line talked non-stop.
A minute before ten o'clock, a woman came out and stood before us. She was there to establish some ground rules. "Once you are inside it gets a little crazy. Because of this, we ask that you do not bring in boxes or stack items on the floor. Instead, fill up your bag, purchase your items, deposit them in the reserved spot, take your receipt, and if you wish, go back inside to purchase more."
She then moved down the line to make this announcement one more time.
The doors were then opened and we made our way into the large room. I crossed over to my favorite section where children's items were set up. I began to sort, search and fight my way into corners, working around people who sat on the floor. I stumbled over whining kids.
I stood shoulder to shoulder with other shoppers. An elbow dug into my back. I was prodded, bumped and squished. I worked my way around the room, squeezing between silent pillar people, craning my neck.
After an hour, I had filled my bag and went up front to pay. I spent seven dollars and took away fourteen items.
Where was I?
