Steps Forward

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Bean moves steadily from toddlerhood toward childhood.

Yesterday in the bath, Bean said she was performing a science experiment. She has Munchkin foam letters, and they stick to surfaces in the tub and the stall walls. So she took the letter J and put it on her head to see if it would stick. She shook her head, and it fell off. She did this four or five times. Then she said, “Let’s see if the letter L will stick.” She repeated the procedure, and indeed it did! (My occasional guilt for allowing her to watch television in the early morning was alleviated in this moment. She learns a great deal from her favorite shows: Caillou, Curious George, Olivia, Word World, Sesame Street, Between the Lions, and My Friends Tigger & Pooh.)

At the same time, she still needs lots of cuddling and mothering and fathering. Her sleep remains disrupted from the move. I added a makeshift curtain to her window to help darken the room a bit. The challenge, it seems, is that on days she naps she has difficulty falling asleep, and on days she does not nap she falls asleep early and well but it is a long, cranky, and sometimes tearful afternoon and evening until then!

Last night I rocked and sang to her, and she was all wiggles and squirms. After 25 minutes of this I told her it was time to go to sleep and I put her in the crib. She protested with a whine. I covered her and said nighty-night. Then I left. The whining continued. I did some chores in the kitchen as the whining progressed to crying. First it was protest crying — not entirely real, not fully committed — but after half an hour she was crying at full bore.

I went to her and asked, “What’s with all this llama drama?” (See books by Anna Dewdney for reference.) She asked for a tissue to blow her nose, and then I rocked her. As she lay in my arms with a tear-streaked face, she spoke in a tremulous voice. She said she’d felt alone and that she was crying like a baby so I would come back. She said she had a boo-boo on her knee, and so I kissed it. Then she explained how the Kleenex helps get the boogers out of her nose.

So I rocked and sang again, for about 25 minutes, and she snuggled against me and fell asleep. At 9:20 I put her down in the crib, and she slept until 6:45 (earlier than usual, but much better than 5:20 a.m.!)

In a few moments we’ll head out to a farm and pick berries with new friends from down the street. The boys are 7 and 5, and they love Bean and (so far) play well with her. I notice that Bean really plays well with older kids who understand turn-taking and sharing. She doesn’t follow game rules very well yet and isn’t as organized, but she has more fun with kids who don’t grab toys from her and understand when she “uses her words.” The extra benefit of these new friends is that I really really like their mom!

Ordinary Life = Joy

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Four days after our move, our washer went kaput (after 12 years of faithful service). This occurred on a day that Bean decided to try to, erm, clean up her poopy diaper while in her crib for a nap. So, Husband did fast research on Consumer Reports, and we went to Sears. We now have a high-efficiency washer and matching dryer! In the video below, Bean demonstrates the attitude that I try to live by as written about by my friend, Karen Maezen Miller of Cheerio Road.

Home!

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The move went smoothly. It rained, which is unusual for this area this time of year, but it wasn’t bad. We did not have a home phone or Internet connection for more than a week, however. I didn’t have withdrawals; instead I used that time to unpack, and except for a about 10 boxes of books and decorative items, we are entirely settled in! Below is a photo of Bean enjoying a corner of our back yard under the small cherry tree (which is producing cherries!), and a photo of my view from the kitchen window in the morning.

More writing to come at some point soon.

happy kid
view from kitchen window

The Big Move

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Packing is nearly complete. What remains are some toys, dishes, the pantry, and the fridge. And a few other miscellaneous items.

Tuesday we move. And start to settle in. And return to the old house to take a few stray items and clean a bit. We return the keys on May 31, and this chapter of our lives is closed.

This home has been Bean’s home. When we first made the offer, she said she didn’t want a new house. She liked this one. But over the past two months, with repeated trips to the new home, she has gradually warmed up to the possibility. Husband painted her room lavender, and I made a cozy place in the cubby hole under the stairs, and she has discovered the wonderful possibilities of the back yard. So she has been remarkably laid-back as boxes pile up around her, and all that is familiar disappears. She was even eager to take her decorations off her bedroom walls.

I’m running on empty, but I feel good about how everything is going. Next time I write a post, it’ll be in the new home!

Hidden Blessings

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It had been a rough winter for Bean. She got sick nearly every month since September (and coincidentally she started preschool one day a week that month), had two bouts of pneumonia, and required treatments to help her breathe. The latest illness began on Mother’s Day, and by Thursday she was in a spiral of non-stop coughing. I mean that literally. She couldn’t utter a sentence without coughing between words. She couldn’t eat; she coughed so much and so hard she vomited. She hardly slept. The doctor had me bring her in and gave her breathing treatment, then sent us home with a prescription for prednisone and albuterol treatments. We also discussed whether to forgo attending preschool in the fall.

At our follow-up appointment on Tuesday, we discussed the situation. It turns out that Bean has asthma. This may be something she outgrows, as her respiratory system gets bigger and her immunity builds. She’s very petite. We have an asthma plan. When she’s healthy, it’s the green zone, and we need not do anything. At the sign of any sickness (fever, runny nose, sneezing, congestion, coughing — any one of these) we enter the yellow zone. We are to give her albuterol every four hours round the clock and prednisone twice a day until the cold goes away.

However, if she’s in the yellow zone more than a week, or she falls into a coughing spiral as she has, we enter the red zone and need to seek emergency attention — Urgent Care if they’re open, the ER if not.

At first I felt a little sad about pulling her out of preschool. I really want her to have the social outlet, and I want it too. The doctor pointed out, though, that if she’s sick all the time, she can’t get the social contact anyway. And preschool is a lot more exposure to illness than small play-dates with friends. So, I set about creating an at-home curriculum for us next year: reading/phonics, science, art & craft, music, games, adventure days. I’ll invite a couple friends over to join us now and then. And after more pondering, I realize that I have a gift. Soon enough, Bean will go to school five days a week and enter into her own life away from me. I have the privilege of her company for another year, at least, and maybe two.

I just returned from a day-long retreat with my friend Karen, where I realized something else. We’ve resorted to doing “puffs” — breathing ten times from a little chamber where the medicine is squirted into — because she fought the breathing treatments that took ten minutes every time. And I realized, today, that by sitting with her and helping her count breaths to ten, I am setting the foundation for her to learn how to settle herself and become aware of breath. It also helps me to stop and breathe, and be quiet. Breathing is the foundation of meditation, which leads to attention, which leads to love, which leads to patience, which leads to forgiveness, which leads to peace.

So what first seems like a hindrance has turned out to have aspects to appreciate. I’m grateful for that.

——-

I have written this post quickly, because my life is in flux and I have to give my attention to other things: dinner, and packing. I feel eloquence is lacking in the above reflection, but it will have to do. We move on Tuesday! So much to do before that!

The Latest

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Packing, packing, packing, sick kid, Urgent Care, ear infection, packing, packing, 104F fever, coddling, cuddling, rocking, dosing, televisioning, sorting, packing. Oh my god, still more packing!. Haven’t made a dent and yet have a ton of boxes already.

We move in two weeks. Husband is at the house doing all sorts of little things to prepare it, and we’re waiting for a couple of small messy jobs to get done. Then cleaning, then moving.

Hands Like These

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mom and aunt reta hands

These are the hands of my mother (on the right) and my aunt (her only sibling).

These hands have kneaded dough, stirred soup, opened jars with stuck lids, chopped onions, basted roasts, shucked corn, grated cheese, sliced melon.

These hands have caressed fevered foreheads, wiped bottoms, rubbed calamine lotion on sunburn, brushed unruly tangled hair, cleaned vomit off floors, rolled hair in curlers, pulled splinters out with tweezers, dabbed ointment on boils, applied bandaids, pulled loose teeth.

These hands have waxed floors, scrubbed toilets, ironed shirts, dusted knick-knacks, pushed vacuums, refinished furniture, swept porches, laundered everyone’s dirty clothes, painted walls, hammered nails, turned screwdrivers.

These hands have potted plants, pulled weeds, raked leaves, picked tomatoes off the vine, arranged flowers, pruned bushes.

These hands have assembled costumes for school plays, sewn clothing for children, darned socks, hemmed pants, mended torn shirts, crocheted afghans.

These hands have wrapped thousands of Christmas and birthday presents.

These hands have caught balls, thrown frisbees, moved game pieces, shuffled cards, clapped at recitals, played the piano.

These hands have crafted holiday decorations, frosted cakes, demonstrated cooking techniques, made decoupage.

These hands have been chilled to the bone, cut with knives, burned on stoves, soaked with cleansers, pricked with needles, flaked and cracked from chapping.

These hands have rubbed sore necks, hugged tightly, tucked in, stroked tense backs, wiped away tears, tickled feet, held books to read, applied cosmetics, adorned necks and arms with jewelry.

These hands have written checks, counted pennies, rolled spare change, balanced budgets, cut coupons, drawn up menus, typed reports, composed email, penned letters, filed papers, driven cars to ferry others to appointments.

These hands have on rare occasion smacked an impertinent young fanny.

These hands have been used when counting to ten in the search for patience.

These hands have been clasped in prayer.

These hands have waved good-bye to their mother and father and children.

These hands have held life.

These hands have created.

These hands have wisdom.

Someday, I hope to have hands like these.

Happy Mother’s Day!

This is a re-post of an entry from October 2005.

The Beginning

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Lookee what I made! I finally took a lesson on how to use the sewing machine I was given for my birthday 11 months ago. Now that I know my way around the machine (the basics, at least) there will be no stopping me. This one is for Bean. (Pillowcases, anyone? When I learned to knit, all I made for the longest time were scarves. You can happily knit just scarves for a long time. I can see the same thing with pillowcases.)

first sewing project: pillow case

It’s Not All Hearts and Flowers

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Last week was rough for me and Bean. She had a slight cold, and she simply would not nap. I’d rock her, she was clearly tired, but no sleep came. By dinnertime each day she was strung out and whiny, and I was on edge. I was not ready to give up her nap, dammit! I resisted with all my mental might. And inevitably, her lack of nap and subsequent crankiness and my exasperation combined badly.

On Friday, for the first time ever, I hit Bean. I was feeding her rice (she’d asked to sit on the counter). I asked her to stop squishing the loaf of bread once, twice, and then I moved it out of her reach. She struck at me, knocking the bowl of rice from my hand, and without thinking I smacked her knee hard. She was wearing a skirt.

And the awful bit is, I wasn’t sorry the instant after. I was just angry. She was wide-eyed, shocked, screaming and sobbing, choking on her mouthful of rice, snot running everywhere. And I told her I was really angry, and that I’d HAD it with her hitting. (She’s doing it more, and she’s bigger, so it makes an impact.)

Then as soon as those words came out of my mouth, I said, “I’m sorry. I should not have done that. We don’t hit, and that means I don’t hit.” Then I hugged her, and she clung to me. And she said she was sorry. We calmed down, she ate some more. She spent the evening talking about it, about how she knocked the bowl and hit me and I swatted her. How she was sorry she did that. And I? I spent the evening quivering at my actions, feeling guilty, wondering how it had come to this and how to avoid a repeat offense.

The thing is, two days prior to that I almost lost control with her trying to get her down for a nap. She started kicking and hitting after we’d had a long, quiet, lullaby-filled rocking session. I was so angry I wanted to throw her to the floor. Instead, as I was holding her I roared horribly in her face — an animal sound, shocking myself as well — put her in the crib (roughly), tossed her blanket at her and stepped away. I was nearly beside myself. I certainly terrified her. She instantly stood up screaming and crying, reaching for me, saying “Doe a deer, doe a deer” over and over. (That’s the song from the Sound of Music that I sing to her.) I went right to her and scooped her up, said I was sorry over and over, went back to the rocker and sang the song for long minutes. We clung to each other. We calmed down. And then we went downstairs, giving up on the nap.

It’s scary to be a parent sometimes. It’s hard.

I talked with Husband about this. I came to realize that I’m really uptight about our impending move, about feeling no control, feeling daunted, and that I really need to get a grip — or at least to let go of my desire to orchestrate. I know this. But sometimes I slip out of awareness and wind up heading straight to a hell of my own making. The way out is to take deep breaths, and focus on what needs doing right now, this moment. I’m steady again.

Yesterday and today I put Bean down MUCH later for a nap, and each time she went down swiftly and deeply. Ah, so that’s the change we might need for now! (In addition to my return to reality.)

This morning she initiated a game of running away from me to the other side of the room, then telling me “Mommy cry.” So I wailed and bawled and boo-hooed, and she came running to me, throwing herself in my arms and hugging with all her might, kissing my lips, telling me she loves me, she likes me, that she came back. Repeat. After about ten minutes of this, she switched and said, “Mommy be angry.” So I ranted and huffed, said “I’m so mad!”; she repeated the same charge toward me into my arms, covering my face with kisses. This went on for many minutes too. She finally decided to end it by saying, “Let’s read a book together so you won’t be so upset.” And so we did. (She picked The Lorax, of all things!)

So now, good readers, you know that it’s not always about craft projects and shaving cream and goofiness. I was sufficiently unsettled by my behavior. I contacted two wise women about this, and they affirmed what I already know: keep aware, step back, take a deep breath, walk away if need be. Don’t set up the expectation to never ever do that again, because that’s a sure path to failure. Just make amends, and do my best, which is usually pretty good.

Love this girl.

Radio Silence

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Throughout my life, writing has been a cherished expression for me. At one point I even felt that writing was as important as breathing. I so urgently wanted to tell my story about where I came from, what was done to me, what had happened in my life. I wanted to share tidbits, information, inspiration, resources. It was a form of therapy, a creative outlet, and a way to connect intimately with others (even when those others were anonymous).

I’ve noticed since becoming a mother I have written less. No, I take that back. For the first two years of Bean’s life, I wrote about her. Then I decided to reign that in, since she is developing greater agency over her life. Lately, blogging about my life strikes me as an incredibly narcissistic activity; it always has been, but at one point I actually thought it had value. Increasingly, though, I see that my vignettes, reflections, and insights are not original, and I’m not certain that writing them (here or in a paper journal) effects anything beneficial. I don’t seem to need to do it anymore. So this blog has become a place to link to resources related to my current activity (parenting) and the occasional photo or movie of Bean. This morning I realized there are usually three factors that cause my writing silence; any one of these can be cause for me to abandon writing for while:

  1. I am very busy with daily activities (such as when I worked and went to school, both full-time).
  2. I am content with my life.
  3. I feel that to write is to express nothing unique or new, and to blog is just adding another voice to the cacophony of Twitterers, bloggers, Facebookers (of which I’m an avid user) and other sundry voices.

As it happens, all of these factors are true at the moment. Hence, my sporadic posts.

I’ve been reading voraciously this year. Some years I barely touch fiction, other years I devour it. This is a fiction year. Yet I’ve also been immersed in a number of existential books by Eckhart Tolle, and most recently I’ve been soaking in Hand Wash Cold: Care Instructions for an Ordinary Life.

At this point, I’ll keep living as usual. There’s a season for all things, and the writing season will probably come ’round again.

H-H-House

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Today we signed 30 years of our lives away and parted with our money! Yeehaa! Let’s hope we’re not fools. We certainly weren’t quickly or easily parted from it.

In California, you sign all the legal and mortgage paperwork and then they give you the keys later. We’ll legally have our house on May 4, and then the fun begins. Tenting for pests, small repairs, installing things, packing, packing, and more packing, sorting and donating, packing, and then moving. May will be a busy month.

And then we’ll nest. Bean already loves the back yard. I’ve got ideas for planting… and I must remind myself we have many years in which to do all these things.

Sometimes

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Some days I look at my child and am astounded that she has made another leap toward growing up. Today was such a day. She rarely permits me to “do” her hair, but today I insisted on trying pigtails, which she loved. But oh! She looked so much older with them, and her thoughts and speech are becoming increasingly sophisticated. Her imagination soars. I sit and watch her. I hang out with her and play. I soak in each moment that I’m capable of bringing my full attention to; it’s all going so fast, and once it’s gone, it’s just… gone. She was once a wee babe that I cherished, but that’s ancient history; yet I’m not sad because I paid attention to what she was then. I didn’t focus on a future time when she’d be walking, or telling stories, because I knew that would come and didn’t want to miss what was right in front of me. I’m so lucky to have this bit of wisdom by which to live (thanks to my mother and my friend, Karen), and I’m so lucky to be Bean’s mom.

having fun

A Dream Achieved

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At long last, after a search of 13+ months, we found a home to buy! We close a couple of days into May and will move in by June 1. Woohoo!!

If you live in Silicon Valley and need a realtor, contact ours: CJ Brasiel. She also has a blog. CJ makes it happen. We hired her on January 1, and we had a house by Easter.

I stand here nipping a bit of lunch while Bean eats, so this post will be brief as usual.

Transition

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I’m dealing again with the fact that friendships are fluid; they serve for a time, and then they don’t. This is a challenge when it’s the other friend who decides to move on. It’s tempting to feel rejected, sad, angry, bitter, hurt. So I’m trying to sit with those feelings a bit — feel them, watch them, allow space to develop around them, and let them go. By dwelling in them I’ll be robbing myself of life now. I do feel a bit lonesome today, but I remind myself this will change, and that I have the ability to alter my perspective and to allow that feeling to dissipate.

Lately I’ve been preoccupied with a life transition and have been less in the loop with my playgroup. So it’s time to pick up the phone and try to arrange some dates with other mothers and their kids, and to forge some new friendships with acquaintances recently met.

What’s The Story?

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In reading Eckhart Tolle’s books, I am reminded that we shore up our egos with stories. Unfortunately, ego can be a monumental obstacle to real peace, real being. At one point in my life, it was very important to me to tell people my story: of where I came from, my family dynamics, the struggles I had, the battles I fought. I wanted to be understood. That is, I wanted to be praised, pitied, cosseted. The older I get, however, the less important all that seems. Perhaps it’s interesting as family history, but it really isn’t vital to how I’m to live now. Or at least, it need not be.

I was given a subscription to The Sun, and I always savor the last few pages, including the section called Sy Safransky’s Notebook (he’s the editor). From the March 2010 edition:

I left my story in a barn so someone else could keep milking it. I left my story in the fitting room; it didn’t fit me anymore. I left my story at the hospital because it wouldn’t stop bleeding. I left my story at the rest stop; it needed a rest. I left my story at the body shop because it always wanted a different one. I left my story with some cash so it could never say, “Poor me.” I left my story without saying where I was going because I didn’t want it to follow me; it never even noticed I was gone.

–Sy Safransky