I hate that I am one of those bloggers with five posts asserting that they are going to start blogging more frequently (promise!!). That said, I am srsly going to start blogging again. Or maybe I won't. That's just how I roll.
Deal with it.
Sunday, May 20
Friday, February 24
signal test
oof! It has been AGES since I have blogged.
I am jumping back in with both feet. I am working through The Artist's Way with a fantastic group of creatives and I keep coming back to the fact that I MISS blogging. A lot.
So a few notes - I'll get all caught up with the news from my life, but I feel I should warn everyone that there will be talk about my "inner artist" and "flow" and "synchronicity" "artistic recovery" and other new-agey (and not very Kate-sounding) stuff. It's still me in here, but there's also all this new and blossoming stuff coming up, too. [For those out there who are already convinced I am a dirty hippie, this will all serve to reinforce that perspective].
My blog will follow both my creative journey as well as my journey as parent to two exceptional humans. We're giving unschooling and unconditional parenting a go (see note above), so you may find yourself shaking your head wildly as we navigate these waters. Bear with me, or don't.
More to come as I resume semi regular blogging.
<3 kate
I am jumping back in with both feet. I am working through The Artist's Way with a fantastic group of creatives and I keep coming back to the fact that I MISS blogging. A lot.
So a few notes - I'll get all caught up with the news from my life, but I feel I should warn everyone that there will be talk about my "inner artist" and "flow" and "synchronicity" "artistic recovery" and other new-agey (and not very Kate-sounding) stuff. It's still me in here, but there's also all this new and blossoming stuff coming up, too. [For those out there who are already convinced I am a dirty hippie, this will all serve to reinforce that perspective].
My blog will follow both my creative journey as well as my journey as parent to two exceptional humans. We're giving unschooling and unconditional parenting a go (see note above), so you may find yourself shaking your head wildly as we navigate these waters. Bear with me, or don't.
More to come as I resume semi regular blogging.
<3 kate
Monday, December 13
what a difference a year makes
I took a long, unintended sabbatical from writing and blogging.
Life, as it does, got much too far ahead of me. Funny, thing, though - as I think back, I have trouble remembering what went on that had me so busy.
Raising, playing with, making a home for and loving my kids has been the most time-consuming and draining-yet-gratifying thing I have been doing lately. Rigby, my smart and charming daughter, is now THREE and Sebastian, my clever and curious son, is FIVE (and a half!). No longer tiny and incoherent, my children are now incredibly engaging and self-sufficient.
I suppose the other thing that kept me busy was preparing to move from Vancouver, BC to London, England. Kind-of a big deal. The process was all kids of difficult and uncertain - Andrew (aka, my husband), had been working on the Vancouver 2010 Olympic games and was offered a short-term position here in London, in essence to see if he and his team would come over semi-permanently or be replaced by locals. The decision was not made until very late - so I spent a lot of time packing, unpacking, repacking, wondering, wishing, hoping and missing Andrew. We also moved to the basement suite of our rental house to save some money.
When we finally got here, our expectations were a wee bit overblown. Andrew had not been parenting for nearly six months and I had gotten into some unfortunate habits being alone with the kids (like screaming at the top of my lungs). So, we adults had/have some serious learning and re-learning to do. The kids were also so excited to move here, and the reality of living in a flat (no yard), in a new city (no friends), during the winter (no sun) has taken a toll. One month and a bit in, however, and some of our original excitement is returning.
We are incredibly lucky to know another home-learning family nearby and to have other wonderful adult friends a short walk away.
On the subject of home-learning, I am still on the fence a little - I have not sent either child to preschool and we have subscribed to to idea of unstructured, child-led learning. If you look at my children and their various interests and skills, this is obviously something that works for us. BUT - here's where I sit on the fence, school could be a great place to make friends AND would give me some child-free time.
We will see.
Life, as it does, got much too far ahead of me. Funny, thing, though - as I think back, I have trouble remembering what went on that had me so busy.
Raising, playing with, making a home for and loving my kids has been the most time-consuming and draining-yet-gratifying thing I have been doing lately. Rigby, my smart and charming daughter, is now THREE and Sebastian, my clever and curious son, is FIVE (and a half!). No longer tiny and incoherent, my children are now incredibly engaging and self-sufficient.
I suppose the other thing that kept me busy was preparing to move from Vancouver, BC to London, England. Kind-of a big deal. The process was all kids of difficult and uncertain - Andrew (aka, my husband), had been working on the Vancouver 2010 Olympic games and was offered a short-term position here in London, in essence to see if he and his team would come over semi-permanently or be replaced by locals. The decision was not made until very late - so I spent a lot of time packing, unpacking, repacking, wondering, wishing, hoping and missing Andrew. We also moved to the basement suite of our rental house to save some money.
When we finally got here, our expectations were a wee bit overblown. Andrew had not been parenting for nearly six months and I had gotten into some unfortunate habits being alone with the kids (like screaming at the top of my lungs). So, we adults had/have some serious learning and re-learning to do. The kids were also so excited to move here, and the reality of living in a flat (no yard), in a new city (no friends), during the winter (no sun) has taken a toll. One month and a bit in, however, and some of our original excitement is returning.
We are incredibly lucky to know another home-learning family nearby and to have other wonderful adult friends a short walk away.
On the subject of home-learning, I am still on the fence a little - I have not sent either child to preschool and we have subscribed to to idea of unstructured, child-led learning. If you look at my children and their various interests and skills, this is obviously something that works for us. BUT - here's where I sit on the fence, school could be a great place to make friends AND would give me some child-free time.
We will see.
Sunday, August 16
Taking Stock
Recently, I got out of an abusive relationship. One designed by circumstance, by chance, perhaps by a naieve blindness. When we moved into our new home, we knew there was a young family living in the basement suite. This felt like a good thing, the daughter was about my daughter's age and from our brief talk, the couple seemed nice.
A few weeks after moving in, during which it was necessary to de-skeeve the home formerly occupied by drug-users and sellers, as well as stare at the piles of belongings ad trash that were very, very slowly making their way off the property, the couple parted ways. She found a new place to live and he found a new sense of freedom. Soon, we were not only listening to his obnoxiously loud music, but our yard was regularly overrun with his equally obnoxious and loud friends.
We were good sports, we also were clear about our expectations and boundaries - we know from experience that living underneath an active young family can be a unique and not always pleasant experience. We did our very best to open the lines of communication and picked our issues mindfully. Things got better - briefly.
Then the 'others' moved in - people who would couch-surf, or simply crash at the neighbour's place. People whose names and faces we did not know, people who often appeared intoxicated and spoke with a vulgar and sometimes violent flair. People who smoked inside the house then lied about it. People who threatened us with physical violence. People who not only knew where I lived, but had easy access to my home and intimate knowledge of my comings and goings.
I felt trapped and frightened.
Calling the cops was an option, but what would happen when the police left? What about my kids? Was it really as bad as I imagined, the nights I lay awake listening to them party? Was it just me being paranoid?
We complained to our landlord, as did a neighbour. Another neighbour called the cops. The landlord, who is forever trying to help people out of difficult situations, finally evicted basement-dude. It was only then that I realised how frightened I'd become.
Now that he (and company) were at the end of their time here, what was going to happen? Would there be a last act of retaliation? Were we safe?
The month of July was difficult and largely sleepless - I feared every night that something terrible might happen to us. When I left the house I wondered what I might come home to. When we went away for a week, I lost my head with worry.
They moved away over two weeks ago, but have left a pile of stuff and have therefore been back a dozen times. Every time, I get the same tightening in my chest, the same anxiety, the same sad fear. Sadness for the man whose life temporarily ruined mine - he's a sweet guy, but his judgement stinks. We hope that his new life will be a good one and we are happy to wash our hands of him and his friends (mainly his friends).
And now that my life is mine again, no more fear, I am taking stock. How did I get so wrapped up in these remote possibilities? How far does my mama-bear protectionism go? Did I do enough? (I believe I did, WE did - I can not ever discount my husband's role in looking out for our family). How would we handle the situation differently? What did we learn?
And how do we get balanced when we're so mired in our inability to control anything?
A few weeks after moving in, during which it was necessary to de-skeeve the home formerly occupied by drug-users and sellers, as well as stare at the piles of belongings ad trash that were very, very slowly making their way off the property, the couple parted ways. She found a new place to live and he found a new sense of freedom. Soon, we were not only listening to his obnoxiously loud music, but our yard was regularly overrun with his equally obnoxious and loud friends.
We were good sports, we also were clear about our expectations and boundaries - we know from experience that living underneath an active young family can be a unique and not always pleasant experience. We did our very best to open the lines of communication and picked our issues mindfully. Things got better - briefly.
Then the 'others' moved in - people who would couch-surf, or simply crash at the neighbour's place. People whose names and faces we did not know, people who often appeared intoxicated and spoke with a vulgar and sometimes violent flair. People who smoked inside the house then lied about it. People who threatened us with physical violence. People who not only knew where I lived, but had easy access to my home and intimate knowledge of my comings and goings.
I felt trapped and frightened.
Calling the cops was an option, but what would happen when the police left? What about my kids? Was it really as bad as I imagined, the nights I lay awake listening to them party? Was it just me being paranoid?
We complained to our landlord, as did a neighbour. Another neighbour called the cops. The landlord, who is forever trying to help people out of difficult situations, finally evicted basement-dude. It was only then that I realised how frightened I'd become.
Now that he (and company) were at the end of their time here, what was going to happen? Would there be a last act of retaliation? Were we safe?
The month of July was difficult and largely sleepless - I feared every night that something terrible might happen to us. When I left the house I wondered what I might come home to. When we went away for a week, I lost my head with worry.
They moved away over two weeks ago, but have left a pile of stuff and have therefore been back a dozen times. Every time, I get the same tightening in my chest, the same anxiety, the same sad fear. Sadness for the man whose life temporarily ruined mine - he's a sweet guy, but his judgement stinks. We hope that his new life will be a good one and we are happy to wash our hands of him and his friends (mainly his friends).
And now that my life is mine again, no more fear, I am taking stock. How did I get so wrapped up in these remote possibilities? How far does my mama-bear protectionism go? Did I do enough? (I believe I did, WE did - I can not ever discount my husband's role in looking out for our family). How would we handle the situation differently? What did we learn?
And how do we get balanced when we're so mired in our inability to control anything?
Tuesday, May 26
the mistakes we make
Every day, every single one of us makes a ton of mistakes. We speak out of turn, we cut a guy off, we forget to be gentle, we leave our travel mugs at home, we do any number of little things that we might wish we'd done differently.
Some of us have an easier time of mistake making than others, I am one of the others. Small mistakes linger in my head, taunting me with their un-do-able-ness, I worry long after the repercussions are past. This is a part of the mental illness that I take medication for (OCD), but it doesn't need to be as powerful as I allow it to be.
I am slowly (and deliberately) learning how to make mistakes with grace, but it feels so counter-intuitive. Somehow I've got it in my head that if I am going to do something, I must do it flawlessly. This backwards thinking paralyzes creativity, because it leads me to believe that there is one "right" answer and many "wrong" ones. It is nearly impossible in creative ventures to know if I've got something "right" until it is completed, so if I consider that the chances of getting it "wrong" far outweigh getting it right and I won't do it unless I know I'll do it flawlessly, you end up here - where I barely do anything.
And when you further consider that I am a very creative person, you can better understand why I've spent so much time unhappy.
That voice of wrong is the main reason I have so many UFOs in my studio, it is also the main reason I have had an empty Etsy shop for as long as Etsy's been in existance (I shit you not), it is also why I feel ineffective as a parent. I fear doing things wrong.
Last night I made a small something for my son, a felt and fleece eye-patch for his wandering eye. I was down to three sticky patches and was tired of the battle to get them on, tired of the daily layers of waxy paper trash they create, and tired just thinking about sourcing the neat-o printed ones he likes in our new city. I did a little research and found a lot of uggo patch styles before finding the style I went with, it was easy, so I styled it up with an embroidered rocket ship and blanket-stich border.
It wasn't perfect, but I remided myself of its purpose (to cover the eye) and that it would be the first of many and decided I'd done well enough. It took me an hour to get to that point of acceptance, but I did!
Today, I sewed my son a skirt from old curtains, at his request. It had been so long I had forgotten how to use my sewing maching (thank Maude for manuals) - and even though I could list every little imperfection, I am doing a decent job of letting them go. He loves it and wore it all day, even to the park!
And tonight I am writing this, it could be full of errors (I have decided not to proofread it because my battery is almost dead) but I am posting it anyways.
Take that, perfectionist mentality!!
Some of us have an easier time of mistake making than others, I am one of the others. Small mistakes linger in my head, taunting me with their un-do-able-ness, I worry long after the repercussions are past. This is a part of the mental illness that I take medication for (OCD), but it doesn't need to be as powerful as I allow it to be.
I am slowly (and deliberately) learning how to make mistakes with grace, but it feels so counter-intuitive. Somehow I've got it in my head that if I am going to do something, I must do it flawlessly. This backwards thinking paralyzes creativity, because it leads me to believe that there is one "right" answer and many "wrong" ones. It is nearly impossible in creative ventures to know if I've got something "right" until it is completed, so if I consider that the chances of getting it "wrong" far outweigh getting it right and I won't do it unless I know I'll do it flawlessly, you end up here - where I barely do anything.
And when you further consider that I am a very creative person, you can better understand why I've spent so much time unhappy.
That voice of wrong is the main reason I have so many UFOs in my studio, it is also the main reason I have had an empty Etsy shop for as long as Etsy's been in existance (I shit you not), it is also why I feel ineffective as a parent. I fear doing things wrong.
Last night I made a small something for my son, a felt and fleece eye-patch for his wandering eye. I was down to three sticky patches and was tired of the battle to get them on, tired of the daily layers of waxy paper trash they create, and tired just thinking about sourcing the neat-o printed ones he likes in our new city. I did a little research and found a lot of uggo patch styles before finding the style I went with, it was easy, so I styled it up with an embroidered rocket ship and blanket-stich border.
It wasn't perfect, but I remided myself of its purpose (to cover the eye) and that it would be the first of many and decided I'd done well enough. It took me an hour to get to that point of acceptance, but I did!
Today, I sewed my son a skirt from old curtains, at his request. It had been so long I had forgotten how to use my sewing maching (thank Maude for manuals) - and even though I could list every little imperfection, I am doing a decent job of letting them go. He loves it and wore it all day, even to the park!
And tonight I am writing this, it could be full of errors (I have decided not to proofread it because my battery is almost dead) but I am posting it anyways.
Take that, perfectionist mentality!!
Tuesday, May 19
it is what it is
I used to be so angry. I was like a bomb, ready to go off at any sign of life not fulfilling my innate sense of entitlement and when I went off - oh man, I can only imagine what it would have felt like to be on the other end.
That was 10 years ago, since then I have quieted my anger with compassion and perspective. I still get riled up over things, but now they tend to be the things a person should get angry about - world hunger, the systematic poisoning of our planet, green-washing - as opposed to the occasional tomato on my sandwich when I am 100% positive that I requested none.
My life is better. It is nicer, calmer, happier when I stop keeping score and make the sometimes difficult decision to drop the rope and let people worry about themselves. I still prefer to be right, but as my wise old man put it, the trick is to realise that being right doesn't make everyone else wrong.
This isn't how I grew up. My parents were angry for most of my childhood. They'll deny it, but I remember the tantrums, the snide remarks and most of all the feeling that there was no way I could ever be right enough or do well enough. I spent my twenties working through that and will likely spend a lot more time convincing myself that I am capable of more than I feel I am.
I went to the mall the other day to renew my license. I took the opportunity to window-shop, checking out trends in both fashion and marketing, because evil or not, it is a huge part of who I am. Something I also checked out, though somewhat involuntarily, were current trend in public parenting. Basically, I witnessed a whole lot of grown-ups treating a whole lot of kids like shit. I didn't witness any overt abuse, instead I saw parents treating their kids like disobeying puppies. Kicking them with words and looks and loud sighs. As I broadened my scope I saw people all over doing this to others, to partners, to staff, to strangers. And I went one step further and though of my own recent behaviour, came up with a few examples of my being cunty to my kids, to Drew and to the world at large - where did it stem from?
Believe it or not, I am not judging any of the parents I saw - I am a firm believer that it is rare that we can get the whole picture from witnessing an isolated interaction - I reserve judgment for myself. Do I generally treat people well and where could I stand to improve?
Generally, yes, I am a nice person. A little narcissistic and impatient, for sure, but I am a benefit-of-the-doubt type and a see-a-need-fill-a-need type. So where can I improve? It almost always comes down to compassion. Compassion for the person who makes an ignorant remark, compassion for the person shooting me an angry glare, and compassion for myself, a woman who is trying very hard to do right by her kids and who is mothering without a map.
With that compassion I can cut everyone else slack and truly let things go. This gives me the mind-space to look at what I am feeling that is manifesting itself as this bitchiness and what I can I change? Often, reflecting is hard. So hard that I have done as little of it as possible this past year. I do the easy stuff, like ensuring I get enough sleep, eat well, de-clutter, get a little exercise and drink my water - and then I stop. It has been a band-aid solution, but it worked while it worked.
And here I am today. Full of compassion and optimism like I haven't felt in ages. It will take some work and time to train my brain away from negative thinking, but I am ready for the challenge.
That was 10 years ago, since then I have quieted my anger with compassion and perspective. I still get riled up over things, but now they tend to be the things a person should get angry about - world hunger, the systematic poisoning of our planet, green-washing - as opposed to the occasional tomato on my sandwich when I am 100% positive that I requested none.
My life is better. It is nicer, calmer, happier when I stop keeping score and make the sometimes difficult decision to drop the rope and let people worry about themselves. I still prefer to be right, but as my wise old man put it, the trick is to realise that being right doesn't make everyone else wrong.
This isn't how I grew up. My parents were angry for most of my childhood. They'll deny it, but I remember the tantrums, the snide remarks and most of all the feeling that there was no way I could ever be right enough or do well enough. I spent my twenties working through that and will likely spend a lot more time convincing myself that I am capable of more than I feel I am.
I went to the mall the other day to renew my license. I took the opportunity to window-shop, checking out trends in both fashion and marketing, because evil or not, it is a huge part of who I am. Something I also checked out, though somewhat involuntarily, were current trend in public parenting. Basically, I witnessed a whole lot of grown-ups treating a whole lot of kids like shit. I didn't witness any overt abuse, instead I saw parents treating their kids like disobeying puppies. Kicking them with words and looks and loud sighs. As I broadened my scope I saw people all over doing this to others, to partners, to staff, to strangers. And I went one step further and though of my own recent behaviour, came up with a few examples of my being cunty to my kids, to Drew and to the world at large - where did it stem from?
Believe it or not, I am not judging any of the parents I saw - I am a firm believer that it is rare that we can get the whole picture from witnessing an isolated interaction - I reserve judgment for myself. Do I generally treat people well and where could I stand to improve?
Generally, yes, I am a nice person. A little narcissistic and impatient, for sure, but I am a benefit-of-the-doubt type and a see-a-need-fill-a-need type. So where can I improve? It almost always comes down to compassion. Compassion for the person who makes an ignorant remark, compassion for the person shooting me an angry glare, and compassion for myself, a woman who is trying very hard to do right by her kids and who is mothering without a map.
With that compassion I can cut everyone else slack and truly let things go. This gives me the mind-space to look at what I am feeling that is manifesting itself as this bitchiness and what I can I change? Often, reflecting is hard. So hard that I have done as little of it as possible this past year. I do the easy stuff, like ensuring I get enough sleep, eat well, de-clutter, get a little exercise and drink my water - and then I stop. It has been a band-aid solution, but it worked while it worked.
And here I am today. Full of compassion and optimism like I haven't felt in ages. It will take some work and time to train my brain away from negative thinking, but I am ready for the challenge.
Wednesday, April 29
this post is hardly worth reading
In two and a half weeks, I am turning thirty. After some reflection I came to the realisation that I am not as calm about it as I outwardly project. My anxiety doesn't stem from the expected sources, I am happy with my body, happy with my family and really falling in love with many aspects of my life. My major anxiety comes from the memory that keeps popping up of my friend who killed himself last year, right after he turned thirty.
This will be a tough birthday, it coincides with our 5th wedding anniversary and bring up all these mixed-up memories. Sean introduced Andrew and I, Sean was Andrew's best man, Sean was Sebastian's favourite uncle and his godfather, Sean was thirty. At times like these, I still get so angry that he wouldn't consider how his death would taint every special moment for me (am I selfish, or what?).
This will be a tough birthday, it coincides with our 5th wedding anniversary and bring up all these mixed-up memories. Sean introduced Andrew and I, Sean was Andrew's best man, Sean was Sebastian's favourite uncle and his godfather, Sean was thirty. At times like these, I still get so angry that he wouldn't consider how his death would taint every special moment for me (am I selfish, or what?).
Friday, December 26
To do.
Chrismas albums for the grandparents. (One down, two to go)
Unpack.
Blog post.
Post sock monkey instructions.
Thursday, December 25
holiday gratitude
On this night, in this place, I am grateful for so many things. Like so many things lately, our plans this Christmas were complicated by forces out of our control. Vancouver got a dumping of winter like none we had seen. Canadians to the east of us laugh when we're forced to show how ill-equipped we are to deal with weather the rest of the country calls a season, and we are so ill-prepared. When it snows the city shuts down - when it snows a lot, we Vancouverites go a little crazy. We take our sports cars out and spend more time stuck than not1. We trudge three kilometres through mostly un-shovelled neighbourhoods, pushing a bored toddler in a weather-inappropriate stroller2. We spend hours being "good samaritans" and shovelling our neighbours' walks, our only reward being a full body workout and lots of wet pant legs3.
We do all that and we have a ball. I am so grateful to live a life where no amount of bullshit can keep us from looking out for one another.
Other things I am grateful for:
- BC Ferries and portable battery packs
- dala
- our neighbour shovelling us out this morning as we left to catch a ferry
- my amazingly tolerant and adorable children who have rolled with every change in direction with as much grace as I could ever hope for, despite both feeling less than great (two words: snot city)
- my incredibly determined father who wouldn't let a little thing like 50cm of snow stop him from bringing dinner and family (two of my younger sisters) to his much less determined daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren, even though it took two hours to make it 3.2km
- my three wonderful, beautiful younger sisters who get all the fallout (and benefit) of my missteps, mishaps and random acts of rebellion
- my patient, loving, amazing husband who spent his days off work keeping our neighbours' sidewalks as clear as our own
- my generous in-laws, who showered us in food, love and gifts and who kept the faith that we would make it here eventually
- my faith that there is nothing out there we can't handle
- my mother, who always told me that there was nothing out there I couldn't handle
- and finally figuring out that being able to handle things doesn't mean I handle them alone.
2. that was me after the first big dump - after we got home I unearthed our pull-behind baby sled. The only issue now is figuring out who gets to ride in it.
3.see #7
Sunday, December 7
looking backward
Oh man, is there really anything left to say?
I went through a bunch of my unfinished posts, there's some good stuff in there. Most of the stuff that made it up onto the blog consisted of proving that I am still alive and reasonably sane.
My life's been like that, too - just seeing people enough that they know I'm still here. And boy am I here - I've gained a load of weight since July... plus I was drinking too much and smoking ½ a pack a day. I've been miserable.
Having Andrew home all the time was more trying than freeing, mostly because I am pretty Type A and having him home threw what was already household chaos into a thrilling, but exhausting exercise in the unknown.
We were contemplating both working, or me working, or him working, or not working at all, and when the dust finally settled, Andrew will be the main bread-winner and I will try and contribute as much as I can. I don't want to get him canned by talking about anything (you never know these days) - but this is a pretty effing awesome job. There is some guarantee that the position will last until Winter 2010; the pay is less than market*, but it's a high-profile gig that'll look wicked on his CV; and we'll get benefits after 3 months.
I have postponed the possibility of paid work, but Sbux liked me enough to want me to call them back when we know that we could swing some kind of child-care arrangement. It is good, I wasn't sure we'd make it work as a two-job family. I have a feeling my kids would attach pretty strongly to the people in their lives not stressed out and irritable. Besides, I was really rocking this homemaker gig until Sean died.
Yeah, it is still bothering me.
Back to my rocking. I have been working hard on a few things, like a control binder, based on the FlyLady zone system, but adapted to our family and printed up nicely in a pretty binder (even the section tabs are lovely - this has been a year-long labour of love). I've also been thinking about a curriculum for my intrepid explorer - he is not in preschool, yes, we will likely put him in next year, (if we can afford to - that's the one bit I leave off when talking to the parents at the playground) - I want to dedicate an hour a day to "school" which will be a time to discuss the things we've seen on our trips out (every day), do crafts, practice writing & reading, et. cetera.
Oh and, we've been eating all kinds of crapola - so that's another bit I'm working on. Meal plans, I always start out with the best of intentions - luckily, we are WAY broke, so it is home-cooking or nothing.
Speaking of broke - let me tell you how much I loved Circle Craft this year. I got most of my gifts, or what I need to make gifts, at the fair this year. I spent (very) modestly and had a great time. Plus I feel warm and fuzzy about my purchases.
Hmm... I guess that sums things up.
Mom, if you're reading this, send money!!
*or it would have been a few months ago, with all those lay-offs I suppose we don't have a clue what the market is going to look like going forward.
I went through a bunch of my unfinished posts, there's some good stuff in there. Most of the stuff that made it up onto the blog consisted of proving that I am still alive and reasonably sane.
My life's been like that, too - just seeing people enough that they know I'm still here. And boy am I here - I've gained a load of weight since July... plus I was drinking too much and smoking ½ a pack a day. I've been miserable.
Having Andrew home all the time was more trying than freeing, mostly because I am pretty Type A and having him home threw what was already household chaos into a thrilling, but exhausting exercise in the unknown.
We were contemplating both working, or me working, or him working, or not working at all, and when the dust finally settled, Andrew will be the main bread-winner and I will try and contribute as much as I can. I don't want to get him canned by talking about anything (you never know these days) - but this is a pretty effing awesome job. There is some guarantee that the position will last until Winter 2010; the pay is less than market*, but it's a high-profile gig that'll look wicked on his CV; and we'll get benefits after 3 months.
I have postponed the possibility of paid work, but Sbux liked me enough to want me to call them back when we know that we could swing some kind of child-care arrangement. It is good, I wasn't sure we'd make it work as a two-job family. I have a feeling my kids would attach pretty strongly to the people in their lives not stressed out and irritable. Besides, I was really rocking this homemaker gig until Sean died.
Yeah, it is still bothering me.
Back to my rocking. I have been working hard on a few things, like a control binder, based on the FlyLady zone system, but adapted to our family and printed up nicely in a pretty binder (even the section tabs are lovely - this has been a year-long labour of love). I've also been thinking about a curriculum for my intrepid explorer - he is not in preschool, yes, we will likely put him in next year, (if we can afford to - that's the one bit I leave off when talking to the parents at the playground) - I want to dedicate an hour a day to "school" which will be a time to discuss the things we've seen on our trips out (every day), do crafts, practice writing & reading, et. cetera.
Oh and, we've been eating all kinds of crapola - so that's another bit I'm working on. Meal plans, I always start out with the best of intentions - luckily, we are WAY broke, so it is home-cooking or nothing.
Speaking of broke - let me tell you how much I loved Circle Craft this year. I got most of my gifts, or what I need to make gifts, at the fair this year. I spent (very) modestly and had a great time. Plus I feel warm and fuzzy about my purchases.
Hmm... I guess that sums things up.
Mom, if you're reading this, send money!!
*or it would have been a few months ago, with all those lay-offs I suppose we don't have a clue what the market is going to look like going forward.
Sunday, November 23
the long and winding road
I am pretty psyched to see the end of 2008. It has been a thrilling, incredible year, but there is so much that I would like to put a bit of time ahead of. A chance to get some perspective.
A long-standing project of mine has been to go through our old photographs, delete the crap and then back it all up. I finally made the decision to just get it done last weekend and today I finished. It was fun, especially stumbling on old videos of Sebastian. It was also a lot of work - I can see the upside of going through your photos as soon as you take them off the camera.
The very hardest part, however, was seeing how happy we all looked - even as the wheels started to come off our little family wagon. I am heartened by how resolutely we have stood together. I have renewed faith in myself and in all the choices I have made. It was hard because I don't really remember much of it. A lot of that is because I've been pretty withdrawn. Thankfully, I can change that with some work. Always with the work... heh.
It is pretty late, but I've finally managed to upload a bunch of pictures to flickr:
A long-standing project of mine has been to go through our old photographs, delete the crap and then back it all up. I finally made the decision to just get it done last weekend and today I finished. It was fun, especially stumbling on old videos of Sebastian. It was also a lot of work - I can see the upside of going through your photos as soon as you take them off the camera.
The very hardest part, however, was seeing how happy we all looked - even as the wheels started to come off our little family wagon. I am heartened by how resolutely we have stood together. I have renewed faith in myself and in all the choices I have made. It was hard because I don't really remember much of it. A lot of that is because I've been pretty withdrawn. Thankfully, I can change that with some work. Always with the work... heh.
It is pretty late, but I've finally managed to upload a bunch of pictures to flickr:
Friday, November 7
tiny moments
I know I haven't been around much, my life has kept up its breakneck speed - throwing challenges and choices all over the path.
Sunday, September 28
my crazy-person vacation
It isn't the first time, nor will it be the last that I have reminded myself that this parenting thing is hard. Really hard. It also isn't the first time, and I hope it isn't the last, that I remind myself that this parenting thing is wonderful.
I spent the last week in Whistler, BC, with my mum, step-dad, husband and children. Our accommodations were ample and comfortable. We were close enough to spit on the village and had the joy of leaving our car to collect dust for a full six days. Many good times were had, drinks were drank, laughs were shared, many interesting topics were covered and my children were showered with love.
It was a break I needed. It gave me a chance to gain some much-needed perspective.
It also broke me of the habit of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, though that one took some time. The close quarters encouraged us to take advantage of the free childcare, we walked, we swam in the hotel pool (late-night marco polo was especially fun), we played cribbage in the hotel lobby and we laughed.
Life with my parents was really neat. I think the neutrality of the space allowed me to shed my old habit of reverting to the age of fifteen. I held intelligent and informative conversations with my politically passionate step-father, we listened to one another. My mum and I built puzzles while sharing ideas and stories. My husband was a picture-perfect son-in-law, shining in his role of go-to parent. One morning I awoke as Andrew, Sebastian and my mum were leaving on an adventure. I puttered for a while before walking into the village with Rigby for a coffee and secret cigarette. When I met up with the explorers, they shared tales of giant creatures* and feats of daring**. Sebastian was beaming with pride and brimming with excitement.
I was sad to leave yesterday. I didn't feel ready to slip back into my regular life, but I knew that if we stayed one more day we would have stayed one day too long. We put off leaving for as long as we reasonably could, but after lunch we said our goodbyes and hit the open road. The kids howled in harmony for a few kilometres, but both fell asleep before the half-way point. Once we got home we had to deal with the chaos we'd left in our haste. We'd prepared ourselves for the worst, so were content that we could breathe the air and nothing had been stolen. But it didn't take long for my irritation at having to get so much done before we could even cook dinner to boil over. My husband, to his credit, kicked me out of the house until I cooled off.
We put the kids to bed and Andrew went out to run some errands - Sebastian stayed up for two hours playing in his room. He seemed so happy to be back in his own bed after sharing a room with his entire family. I shared his joy, snacking in my underwear while watching internet TV.
Today was more re-entry. Andrew and Sebastian spent the day hanging out - they went to Andrew's office, they cleaned his room, they built train tracks on the old bed/new train table/birthday project, that Andrew set up during quiet-time. I spent much of the day comforting poor Rigby who is cutting many teeth and going about the business of catching up on things like e-mail and I didn't even touch my phone. Neither saw much use last week, which was strange and a little wonderful. Though I feel bad that I didn't really tell anyone where we were going.
I still feel like I'm not really ready for tomorrow, my first day alone with the kids in ten days - but I miss my life, and it isn't really like I have a choice. I have things I've been putting off for too long and I can't afford to keep doing it. Tomorrow will be fine. I have a second errand to run before going to my support group, so I can take the car in clear conscience.
Speaking of tomorrow, if I don't get myself to bed I'll be setting myself up to have a short fuse. And I need my wits about me as I get the kids (and myself) off vacation time.
*slugs and a dog large enough to be initially confused with a bear.
**according to witness accounts, Sebastian scaled many rocks.
I spent the last week in Whistler, BC, with my mum, step-dad, husband and children. Our accommodations were ample and comfortable. We were close enough to spit on the village and had the joy of leaving our car to collect dust for a full six days. Many good times were had, drinks were drank, laughs were shared, many interesting topics were covered and my children were showered with love.
It was a break I needed. It gave me a chance to gain some much-needed perspective.
It also broke me of the habit of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, though that one took some time. The close quarters encouraged us to take advantage of the free childcare, we walked, we swam in the hotel pool (late-night marco polo was especially fun), we played cribbage in the hotel lobby and we laughed.
Life with my parents was really neat. I think the neutrality of the space allowed me to shed my old habit of reverting to the age of fifteen. I held intelligent and informative conversations with my politically passionate step-father, we listened to one another. My mum and I built puzzles while sharing ideas and stories. My husband was a picture-perfect son-in-law, shining in his role of go-to parent. One morning I awoke as Andrew, Sebastian and my mum were leaving on an adventure. I puttered for a while before walking into the village with Rigby for a coffee and secret cigarette. When I met up with the explorers, they shared tales of giant creatures* and feats of daring**. Sebastian was beaming with pride and brimming with excitement.
I was sad to leave yesterday. I didn't feel ready to slip back into my regular life, but I knew that if we stayed one more day we would have stayed one day too long. We put off leaving for as long as we reasonably could, but after lunch we said our goodbyes and hit the open road. The kids howled in harmony for a few kilometres, but both fell asleep before the half-way point. Once we got home we had to deal with the chaos we'd left in our haste. We'd prepared ourselves for the worst, so were content that we could breathe the air and nothing had been stolen. But it didn't take long for my irritation at having to get so much done before we could even cook dinner to boil over. My husband, to his credit, kicked me out of the house until I cooled off.
We put the kids to bed and Andrew went out to run some errands - Sebastian stayed up for two hours playing in his room. He seemed so happy to be back in his own bed after sharing a room with his entire family. I shared his joy, snacking in my underwear while watching internet TV.
Today was more re-entry. Andrew and Sebastian spent the day hanging out - they went to Andrew's office, they cleaned his room, they built train tracks on the old bed/new train table/birthday project, that Andrew set up during quiet-time. I spent much of the day comforting poor Rigby who is cutting many teeth and going about the business of catching up on things like e-mail and I didn't even touch my phone. Neither saw much use last week, which was strange and a little wonderful. Though I feel bad that I didn't really tell anyone where we were going.
I still feel like I'm not really ready for tomorrow, my first day alone with the kids in ten days - but I miss my life, and it isn't really like I have a choice. I have things I've been putting off for too long and I can't afford to keep doing it. Tomorrow will be fine. I have a second errand to run before going to my support group, so I can take the car in clear conscience.
Speaking of tomorrow, if I don't get myself to bed I'll be setting myself up to have a short fuse. And I need my wits about me as I get the kids (and myself) off vacation time.
*slugs and a dog large enough to be initially confused with a bear.
**according to witness accounts, Sebastian scaled many rocks.
Thursday, September 18
okay, i think i am starting to get it
The news is depressing. Television, in general, is depressing. That's just how it is - life isn't all baskets of puppies.
I've taken a lot of alone time, recently. I've been pretty focused on the going's on in the world and it has just occurred to me that I am missing the good stuff. I've been dismissing the puppies and wringing my hands over events that are worlds away. Sure, this shit effects me - it effects* all of us. But worrying about it is taking up valuable head-space. It is crowding out the sections of my brain responsible for things like planning meals, nurturing a teething baby, and keeping up with a million-km/h curious and brilliant small boy.
Tomorrow, I will make a conscious effort to concern myself primarily with the things in my own life that I have influence on. I have the weekend ahead to finally sit down with the family and talk about how we'll share space before we run off to Whistler to spend then week with my mom and step-dad. I am hoping to use some of the free time I assume I will have to do a bit of goal-setting and planning. The number one thing I can control is how I use my life. I want to do great things, but have thus far been unwilling to do the leg-work. I keep laying blame for everything on those around me. But while living with other people is guaranteed to produce obstacles and conflicts, I am the one who writes them off as insurmountable. It is an easy way to avoid failing.
The dichotomies of my life are so stark to me. I feel like I'm always trying to reconcile opposing ideas and ideals. The funny part is that I know I do it, I know it is generally thought to be unhealthy, but I find it invigorating. Trying to figure some of this stuff out is pretty fascinating. Like - I am frugal and stylish, but also a mother of young children who has little time, do I spend a day at the thrift store, corralling kids and exposing myself to a case-lot of allergens, or do I spend the money I do have on clothes I hope will last and that I hope will stay reasonably un-stained and fashionable until the next wardrobe re-vamp. This time around I bought new, I got some quality** pieces that are classic and un-trendy. I am going to go to the mall and get a few casual tops from that store that rhymes with mold gravy. I am also finally going to replace my swobe, it no longer stays buttoned and smells like the back of my car (because that's where it lives "for emergencies").
Wow - did you see that paragraph take off? From deep philosophizing to swobes.
Life hasn't stopped, as much as I have been wishing it would (just for a few days while I catch up). But tonight instead of pretending to do work, I went over to a friend's where we drank cheap wine and ate cheap Chinese food. We watched Stop-Loss - an alright movie with some pretty wonderful bits and some pretty asinine bits. We talked and laughed, it was fun. I want a life that is more fun than anxiety - and I think that accepting that the anxiety will always be there, as it should be, and then setting the anxiety aside,when appropriate... well, I do believe that that is how to shift things.
*trying to remember high school English class... effect vs. affect, I think I got it right
**I hope
I've taken a lot of alone time, recently. I've been pretty focused on the going's on in the world and it has just occurred to me that I am missing the good stuff. I've been dismissing the puppies and wringing my hands over events that are worlds away. Sure, this shit effects me - it effects* all of us. But worrying about it is taking up valuable head-space. It is crowding out the sections of my brain responsible for things like planning meals, nurturing a teething baby, and keeping up with a million-km/h curious and brilliant small boy.
Tomorrow, I will make a conscious effort to concern myself primarily with the things in my own life that I have influence on. I have the weekend ahead to finally sit down with the family and talk about how we'll share space before we run off to Whistler to spend then week with my mom and step-dad. I am hoping to use some of the free time I assume I will have to do a bit of goal-setting and planning. The number one thing I can control is how I use my life. I want to do great things, but have thus far been unwilling to do the leg-work. I keep laying blame for everything on those around me. But while living with other people is guaranteed to produce obstacles and conflicts, I am the one who writes them off as insurmountable. It is an easy way to avoid failing.
The dichotomies of my life are so stark to me. I feel like I'm always trying to reconcile opposing ideas and ideals. The funny part is that I know I do it, I know it is generally thought to be unhealthy, but I find it invigorating. Trying to figure some of this stuff out is pretty fascinating. Like - I am frugal and stylish, but also a mother of young children who has little time, do I spend a day at the thrift store, corralling kids and exposing myself to a case-lot of allergens, or do I spend the money I do have on clothes I hope will last and that I hope will stay reasonably un-stained and fashionable until the next wardrobe re-vamp. This time around I bought new, I got some quality** pieces that are classic and un-trendy. I am going to go to the mall and get a few casual tops from that store that rhymes with mold gravy. I am also finally going to replace my swobe, it no longer stays buttoned and smells like the back of my car (because that's where it lives "for emergencies").
Wow - did you see that paragraph take off? From deep philosophizing to swobes.
Life hasn't stopped, as much as I have been wishing it would (just for a few days while I catch up). But tonight instead of pretending to do work, I went over to a friend's where we drank cheap wine and ate cheap Chinese food. We watched Stop-Loss - an alright movie with some pretty wonderful bits and some pretty asinine bits. We talked and laughed, it was fun. I want a life that is more fun than anxiety - and I think that accepting that the anxiety will always be there, as it should be, and then setting the anxiety aside,when appropriate... well, I do believe that that is how to shift things.
*trying to remember high school English class... effect vs. affect, I think I got it right
**I hope
Monday, September 15
survival of the fattest
My doomsday worries have lifted only slightly - so far the LHC at CERN has not created the end of the universe, but I think most of us are reeling after today's financial crisis. On top of that I have friends displaced by Hurricane Ike, as well as folks who have lost power, and are facing home and garden damage.
I don't want to alarm anyone, but I'm pretty certain that there is an economic collapse coming. I am now wondering how we'll survive if costs keep rising and jobs become more uncertain. It isn't even about the "what ifs" - the chance that Andrew may lose his job because of corporate failure isn't something I am willing to entertain right now (we can always find work in the service industry - and until 2010, the construction industry here will keep going). My worry is how we'll make do on what we have.
And it pisses me off to no end that even the heads of failed institutions are getting bigger severance packages than what my family will likely make WORKING for the rest of our lives. It is such bullshit for CEOs to be making obscene wages while losing other people's money.
I don't want to alarm anyone, but I'm pretty certain that there is an economic collapse coming. I am now wondering how we'll survive if costs keep rising and jobs become more uncertain. It isn't even about the "what ifs" - the chance that Andrew may lose his job because of corporate failure isn't something I am willing to entertain right now (we can always find work in the service industry - and until 2010, the construction industry here will keep going). My worry is how we'll make do on what we have.
And it pisses me off to no end that even the heads of failed institutions are getting bigger severance packages than what my family will likely make WORKING for the rest of our lives. It is such bullshit for CEOs to be making obscene wages while losing other people's money.
Friday, September 12
overheard
"You're a great cook when you're crazy."
In response to a meal I threw together between bouts of languishing on the couch and trying to follow my erratic trains of thought. It consisted of pasta, veggies, two types of cheese and an egg. I think I put salad dressing in there too. I'll never re-create it, but boy was it delicious!
"Surrender to the goat."
Read yesterday in Mommy Mantras - it means surrendering yourself to the banal things that excite and engage your kids.
"Mom, this chair is warm. You warmed it up for me with your bum."
Sebastian and I share a love for the ratty green chair that resides in our living room. Mainly because it is soft and comfortable, but also because it is the one thing in our shared space that he is encouraged to jump and climb on. We found it in an alley back in Calgary, it has an assortment of stains and rips and is the colour of baby poop - at this point it has become a kind of experiment in longevity, if it makes it to Rigby's fifth birthday, we'll celebrate by either getting it re-upholstered or putting it out of its misery.
In response to a meal I threw together between bouts of languishing on the couch and trying to follow my erratic trains of thought. It consisted of pasta, veggies, two types of cheese and an egg. I think I put salad dressing in there too. I'll never re-create it, but boy was it delicious!
"Surrender to the goat."
Read yesterday in Mommy Mantras - it means surrendering yourself to the banal things that excite and engage your kids.
"Mom, this chair is warm. You warmed it up for me with your bum."
Sebastian and I share a love for the ratty green chair that resides in our living room. Mainly because it is soft and comfortable, but also because it is the one thing in our shared space that he is encouraged to jump and climb on. We found it in an alley back in Calgary, it has an assortment of stains and rips and is the colour of baby poop - at this point it has become a kind of experiment in longevity, if it makes it to Rigby's fifth birthday, we'll celebrate by either getting it re-upholstered or putting it out of its misery.
Wednesday, September 10
meet the newest forsyth
Meet Chet - he's a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll, and was finished this evening just in time for books and bed.
During the last bedroom re-org, I stumbled upon a bag containing the Secret Government Sock Monkey Project (SGSM-P). Abandoned in 2006, SGSM-P remained classified and mere lore until late 2008. Speculation of a secret project of this type bounced about the internet, but sketchy accounts paled in comparison to the true size and scope of SGSM-P.Chet here took me more than two years to complete. In fact, I still have a bag full of socks in various stages of transition to primates and had long been contemplating one for Rigby. Because she's wee, I embroidered all of his features. My favourite are the eyes, which I dove into without a plan. The tattoo on his back (not pictured) took me for-f*cking-ever and is still not to my liking. I'll go back in and touch it up, but for all intents and purposes, Chet is ready to play.
----------------
09/11/2008
When Sebastian was small I was a toy-snob. Even before I was aware of how harmful plastics are I was wary of it. Not just because of all the chemicals, but because so much of it was terribly tacky. Most of the things we got then and continue to get now, are better products than much of what is out there. We're lucky in that we have friends who naturally gravitate to the cooler stuff that's out there (likely because so few of us are willing to leave behind our youth and style), but I would donate/exchange the occasional gift because it wasn't something I could imagine seeing, cleaning up, or listening to it for any length of time.
Over the years, my standards have softened. For example, we used to have a *no licenced apparel/toys* - well, now that Sebastian knows this stuff exists, it is harder. He sees kids in Spiderman/Dora/Cars merchandise and he's made comments, but generally he's content to wear underoos with Spidey or Mater on them. He has a Thomas back-pack and a Nemo fanny pack, and I'm okay with it.
My feelings about plastics hasn't softened, however. I am more concerned about the chemical composition of the products around me than I was in 12th-grade Chemistry. We have reduced our intake of petrochemicals, but recently we'd also reduced our turnover, so plastic is piling up a bit.
This week Andrew and the kids sorted the outside toys and filled a large bin with toys to give away. Today, I extended the cull to Rigby's toys, keeping only what we use/think is cute/was given by someone very special/does not require batteries. One day soon we will do Sebastian's toys, but there are so many to go through. For now I am simply happy to put unused/irritating toys in the closet to keep his room manageable.
-------
later
The kids are both tucked in with bellies full of our current favourite dinner - brinner. We tried bacon-flavoured turkey slices and thanks to the high levels of sodium they were delicious (though not nearly as heart-cloggingly delicious as the thick-sliced back-bacon I'd been eyeing). I almost successfully made an omelet - a little melted cheese hid most traces of my ineptitude.
Andrew will return from a post-dinner walk shortly, at which point we're going to watch Infest Wisely, a lo-fi sci-fi film that Suzanne at juiceboxdotcom reviewed earlier today. Not only does it sound really interesting, it is free - which fits our budget perfectly.
It's been another beautiful week out here on the west coast, it is really nice to see all the Vancoucerites outside enjoying it. We all know, but won't say out loud, that this is the end of summer and that we'd better use it before we lose it. Think I'll make cinnamon loaf and rice crispy treats on the weekend. Hit a farmer's market for the ambiance and some pie fruit.
wednesdays with nie nie
I was reading about Stephanie Nielson, writer of the nienie dialogues and recent victim of a private airplane crash. Her story brought me to her very lovely blog and introduced me to a woman in love with motherhood. It got me thinking about my own calling to motherhood.
Getting pregnant was one of the most incredible and magical things that has ever happened to me. And now, here I am with a brilliant, charismatic boy sitting on the cusp of school and all that comes with that transition. The second time I got pregnant happened without the intent of my first insemination, but it was just as magical. Now I have a beautiful daughter with a blossoming personality. My children are fun and loving - laughs and cuddles are a regular part of any given day. They are beginning to enjoy one another's company - freeing me for brief moments to be alone... and in that solitude I resent them. I resent my loss of freedom, my necessary dedication to things like housework, I resent them for their constant needs and demands and I resent the world for not being a safe and happy place.
How sad is that? Last night, as I lay awake wondering if the LHC would bring the apocalypse, it hit me... it doesn't matter. I read this quote from Tuesdays with Morrie on a poster last week:
"'Everybody knows they're going to die, but nobody believes it. If we did, we would do things differently,' Morrie said. 'So we kid ourselves about death,' I (Mitch) said. 'Yes, but there's a better approach. To know you're going to die and be prepared for it at any time. That's better. That way you can be actually be more involved in your life while you're living. . . Every day, have a little bird on your shoulder that asks, 'Is today the day? Am I ready? Am I doing all I need to do? Am I being the person I want to be?... The truth is, Mitch, once you learn how to die, you learn how to live... Most of us walk around as if we're sleepwalking. We really don't experience the world fully because we're half asleep, doing things we automatically think we have to do... Learn how to die, and you learn how to live.'" -- Tuesdays with Morrie
I hadn't given death much thought until recently. I had given it the cursory concern - diligently checking sleeping children for patterns of breath, but beyond that? I have been content to roll about in my bubble of denial, resentment and misery. Being depressed gives us an extra level of fear about death and thinking about death. Being depressed brings the spectre of suicide, that decidedly backwards human condition that nullifies our instinct to survive. So the bubble became not just accepted, but encouraged, with thoughts of death willed to the back of my mind for fear of where that path may take me.
But suicide's not for me. Never has been, seems like a big, fat, selfish waste. What if we die and there's nothing? That's like buying a $40 cheesecake and throwing it out after a few bites. To keep on the cheesecake metaphor, what most of us are doing with our lives amounts to letting that delicious dessert rot in the fridge, or get burned in the freezer - waiting for the day we'll take it out and enjoy it.
The end could be nigh, chances are you and I won't know until it's too late. I don't live everyday like it could be my last, but I would like to start. Which brings me back to my calling to motherhood. I chose to stay at home because I didn't want to miss anything. I felt like my parents got a raw deal, both working and leaving my primary care in the hands of others. I also stayed home because I carry resentment for growing up in what is now a typical family, but was still unusual in the 80's.
But is having a mother who grudgingly attends to their basic needs really any better? What happened to my promise to them? My promise to take care of their budding minds?
Besides, I like my kids, they're cool and fun. I like being a mother. I just happen to have had a rough year - thankfully, kids are resilient and they will be just fine. I have been terribly hard on myself this year, I'm done. Things may not be perfect and that's okay.
Saturday, September 6
drowning, not waving/waving, not drowning
I was going to write about a really cool music video we watched last night, but Andrew has left to do laundry and I haven't got a clue where to find it to show you. So, for now enjoy this:
Music video made of paper. Svelte: 'Grind Your Bones' from Svelte on Vimeo.
I feel dull, but I am starting to realise that it isn't true dullness. It is rather the dullness brought by the shock of overwhelm. As though my brain is trying to protect itself by slowing down, as a body submerged in frigid water might. Rather than fight for shore and tire half-way, my best chance is to kick determinedly, but gently, towards dry land, using the current to advantage as best I can.
It isn't something I would need to think about at length, as my limbs became heavy and numb, it would become natural to think in terms of "breathe, kick, stay alert, breathe, kick, stay alert" - just as it has become natural to me now to eat, sleep and breathe. A way to pass through a time of fear and despair, a way to make it back to shore, where the cold currents will quickly blur in memory.
The shock of landing, the comfort of knowing that regardless of what just happened you made it. A time after which life is irrevocably changed, yet strangely just the same. A period of adjustment, fingers stretched out, grasping the familiar, exploring the new.
My period of adjustment is frustratingly ongoing. Lately is has really felt like fate has been mocking my desire for normality. All this anxiety is both invigorating and exhausting. It reminds me that I am alive, that life is amazing and still so unknown, it illuminates my creativity in such a powerful way. It is exhausting for the same reasons - life is amazing and there is so much life on the planet, each of us has so little control over our collective fate, each of us has a unique mind and that is both brilliant and frightening... any number of things could bring about the end of civilization, of life, of the planet, of the universe. Any number of things could happen at any time.
I don't really "believe" in God. That isn't to say there isn't a God, or a few - I just don't believe we can ever understand or speak for God. I certainly don't think there's a bearded guy in the sky passing down judgment and absolution. What I believe in is the first law of thermodynamics - I believe that in all things there is balance. So the end of civilization, of life, of the planet or of the universe would simply be the beginning of something else. Everything we do is a tiny step along some grand process of conversion and change. In depressed times I interpret that as saying that individual and even our collective lives have no meaning. But normally I take it to mean that this opportunity we have, to be alive, to create, to grow spiritually and intellectually, is something that shouldn't be squandered. We are one part of the culmination of a grand event. Our lives are unique in the vast universe. Hitler, Hiroshima, Egypt, Beck, plastic, fashion, Palin, CERN, children, poverty, air-conditioning, cheesecake... all unique, all amazing.
Not one will change the ultimate fate of the universe, just as my ultimate fate would not change if I were to die tomorrow or in 63 years. If I do die tomorrow, that's alright - not that I want to, but if it happened it would happen; if I die at 92, that's alright, too. Either way, it won't matter much that I was correct more times than I was incorrect.
Life is pretty sweet, especially when you have cheesecake. Since the universe might end in a few days, I think I am going to make sure we have some cheesecake for dessert this week.
Music video made of paper. Svelte: 'Grind Your Bones' from Svelte on Vimeo.
I feel dull, but I am starting to realise that it isn't true dullness. It is rather the dullness brought by the shock of overwhelm. As though my brain is trying to protect itself by slowing down, as a body submerged in frigid water might. Rather than fight for shore and tire half-way, my best chance is to kick determinedly, but gently, towards dry land, using the current to advantage as best I can.
It isn't something I would need to think about at length, as my limbs became heavy and numb, it would become natural to think in terms of "breathe, kick, stay alert, breathe, kick, stay alert" - just as it has become natural to me now to eat, sleep and breathe. A way to pass through a time of fear and despair, a way to make it back to shore, where the cold currents will quickly blur in memory.
The shock of landing, the comfort of knowing that regardless of what just happened you made it. A time after which life is irrevocably changed, yet strangely just the same. A period of adjustment, fingers stretched out, grasping the familiar, exploring the new.
My period of adjustment is frustratingly ongoing. Lately is has really felt like fate has been mocking my desire for normality. All this anxiety is both invigorating and exhausting. It reminds me that I am alive, that life is amazing and still so unknown, it illuminates my creativity in such a powerful way. It is exhausting for the same reasons - life is amazing and there is so much life on the planet, each of us has so little control over our collective fate, each of us has a unique mind and that is both brilliant and frightening... any number of things could bring about the end of civilization, of life, of the planet, of the universe. Any number of things could happen at any time.
I don't really "believe" in God. That isn't to say there isn't a God, or a few - I just don't believe we can ever understand or speak for God. I certainly don't think there's a bearded guy in the sky passing down judgment and absolution. What I believe in is the first law of thermodynamics - I believe that in all things there is balance. So the end of civilization, of life, of the planet or of the universe would simply be the beginning of something else. Everything we do is a tiny step along some grand process of conversion and change. In depressed times I interpret that as saying that individual and even our collective lives have no meaning. But normally I take it to mean that this opportunity we have, to be alive, to create, to grow spiritually and intellectually, is something that shouldn't be squandered. We are one part of the culmination of a grand event. Our lives are unique in the vast universe. Hitler, Hiroshima, Egypt, Beck, plastic, fashion, Palin, CERN, children, poverty, air-conditioning, cheesecake... all unique, all amazing.
Not one will change the ultimate fate of the universe, just as my ultimate fate would not change if I were to die tomorrow or in 63 years. If I do die tomorrow, that's alright - not that I want to, but if it happened it would happen; if I die at 92, that's alright, too. Either way, it won't matter much that I was correct more times than I was incorrect.
Life is pretty sweet, especially when you have cheesecake. Since the universe might end in a few days, I think I am going to make sure we have some cheesecake for dessert this week.
Tuesday, September 2
if nothing else...
... the events of the past weeks, especially today, have served to show me that I need a life of my own.
I have a new etsy store (sans the baggage) - when it has something in it I will share the link.
I have sock monkeys to finish (all done but the stitching together and making faces), I have drawings aching to get out, scarves to sew, plus prints, cards and absolute miscellany that could go up. With luck I will make a little money to help the family and have a sense of accomplishing something.
With our lives in what feels like constant turmoil, I can't see leaving my SAHM gig... though days like today leave me wondering if I am equipped to handle the pressures of marriage and family. My gut chants a chorus of "cut and run!" With the backup singers quietly humming something that sounds like "you deserve better."
I am seething with anger and resentment towards my husband. I won't go into gory details, but we are having some issues around trust and what being honest really means... I do not believe he has been unfaithful, but he has made some errors in judgment recently and it seems like each time I think it is all over and we can work on getting better, something new pops up and dumps a pound of salt into my throbbing wounds.
And when all I feel like doing is curling up and crying, my children (who I love and cherish, etc...) are in my face with their needs.
I have a new etsy store (sans the baggage) - when it has something in it I will share the link.
I have sock monkeys to finish (all done but the stitching together and making faces), I have drawings aching to get out, scarves to sew, plus prints, cards and absolute miscellany that could go up. With luck I will make a little money to help the family and have a sense of accomplishing something.
With our lives in what feels like constant turmoil, I can't see leaving my SAHM gig... though days like today leave me wondering if I am equipped to handle the pressures of marriage and family. My gut chants a chorus of "cut and run!" With the backup singers quietly humming something that sounds like "you deserve better."
I am seething with anger and resentment towards my husband. I won't go into gory details, but we are having some issues around trust and what being honest really means... I do not believe he has been unfaithful, but he has made some errors in judgment recently and it seems like each time I think it is all over and we can work on getting better, something new pops up and dumps a pound of salt into my throbbing wounds.
And when all I feel like doing is curling up and crying, my children (who I love and cherish, etc...) are in my face with their needs.
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