This blog has been relocated
Monday, February 15, 2010
Monday, March 9, 2009
Moving
No, my house did not sell. I am still stuck in the winter of Cleveland.
However, I am astounded, ASTOUNDED! by my lack of time and inspiration to post here. This could be due to winter doldrums or the simple fact that I am failing at the balancing act called life. For inspiration, I have decided to move this blog to the more modern, fun and user-friendly forum of wordpress.
My new residence is here: http://everythingness.wordpress.com/
I would love for you to follow me there...
However, I am astounded, ASTOUNDED! by my lack of time and inspiration to post here. This could be due to winter doldrums or the simple fact that I am failing at the balancing act called life. For inspiration, I have decided to move this blog to the more modern, fun and user-friendly forum of wordpress.
My new residence is here: http://everythingness.wordpress.com/
I would love for you to follow me there...
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Today "bitch" prevails on my slate
This post is in response to my previous post about how I was planning to spend Lent this year.
6:00 AM--Awake to my daughter screaming something in a language that no person being yanked from a Matt Damon dream could understand. Word on my slate: Crabby
6:05 AM--Daughter has finished two cups of chocolate almond milk and wants to pretend that we are sharks swimming in the ocean, otherwise known as the hardwood floor. I indulge her despite my aching PMS boobs. Word on my slate: Goofy
8:20 AM--Trying to get daughter ready for day care while waiting for the Molly Maid cleaning service to arrive so I could tell them how to clean my house. Word on my slate: Panicked
8:40 AM--Molly Maid service tells me that they could totally clean my house by using the extremely generous gift certificate from my friend Meredith which came in good handy today because I am hosting our book club tonight. Word on my slate: Grateful
8:49 AM--Daughter is screaming bloody murder because she is pulling her arm out of her coat while I am trying to pull the same arm in her coat. I scream "give me a fucking break!" (daughter repeats above phrase, and mom learns her lesson) Word on my slate: Bitch
10:00 AM--I discover that most of the women in my book club are not attending, and I think of my wasted anxiety, Molly Maid gift certificate, and $200 worth of food that I purchased for the evening. Word on my slate: Passively Aggressive Mad (okay, three words)
10:01 AM--Remembering all of the times that I had to bail on book club because of some kid/travel/weather event. Realizing that less people could just mean less anxiety in my one-square-foot house. Word on my slate: Humbled
12:00 PM--Smelling the clean fumes from the upstairs while I work from my basement, telling me that hiring the cleaning service is something I should do every week. Word on my slate: Calm
3:30 PM--Receiving a message from my husband that he is on his way home from Michigan to help with what is left of the evening festivities and daughter corralling. Word on my slate: Joy
3:33 PM--Deciding not to tell husband that the floors are so clean that he will slip and land on his ass like I did when I emerged from my desk for lunch. Word on my slate: Well, I guess that would bring me back to bitch, now wouldn't it?
The day is only half over, and if I read over this post I am able to see how amazingly blessed I am even in moments of chaos. I am also able to see that I may have a small PMS problem going on.
6:00 AM--Awake to my daughter screaming something in a language that no person being yanked from a Matt Damon dream could understand. Word on my slate: Crabby
6:05 AM--Daughter has finished two cups of chocolate almond milk and wants to pretend that we are sharks swimming in the ocean, otherwise known as the hardwood floor. I indulge her despite my aching PMS boobs. Word on my slate: Goofy
8:20 AM--Trying to get daughter ready for day care while waiting for the Molly Maid cleaning service to arrive so I could tell them how to clean my house. Word on my slate: Panicked
8:40 AM--Molly Maid service tells me that they could totally clean my house by using the extremely generous gift certificate from my friend Meredith which came in good handy today because I am hosting our book club tonight. Word on my slate: Grateful
8:49 AM--Daughter is screaming bloody murder because she is pulling her arm out of her coat while I am trying to pull the same arm in her coat. I scream "give me a fucking break!" (daughter repeats above phrase, and mom learns her lesson) Word on my slate: Bitch
10:00 AM--I discover that most of the women in my book club are not attending, and I think of my wasted anxiety, Molly Maid gift certificate, and $200 worth of food that I purchased for the evening. Word on my slate: Passively Aggressive Mad (okay, three words)
10:01 AM--Remembering all of the times that I had to bail on book club because of some kid/travel/weather event. Realizing that less people could just mean less anxiety in my one-square-foot house. Word on my slate: Humbled
12:00 PM--Smelling the clean fumes from the upstairs while I work from my basement, telling me that hiring the cleaning service is something I should do every week. Word on my slate: Calm
3:30 PM--Receiving a message from my husband that he is on his way home from Michigan to help with what is left of the evening festivities and daughter corralling. Word on my slate: Joy
3:33 PM--Deciding not to tell husband that the floors are so clean that he will slip and land on his ass like I did when I emerged from my desk for lunch. Word on my slate: Well, I guess that would bring me back to bitch, now wouldn't it?
The day is only half over, and if I read over this post I am able to see how amazingly blessed I am even in moments of chaos. I am also able to see that I may have a small PMS problem going on.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Lent, 2009
Today is Ash Wednesday, and if you are not Catholic and have ventured out in public, you have probably seen someone that made you think, "Dude. Did you look in the mirror this morning? Who leaves the house with a head that looks like you have been doing yoga in a coal mine?" I am sure that it did not take long for you to remember that this is how Catholics start their Lenten season. I know, it could not get any more Catholic-weird than this ritual that marks us as a reminder that we are sinful and need spiritual cleansing. I do have to reinforce a truth that I live here: no one is sinful, only fearful. Fear generates all wrong doing, every unkind word that escapes our lips, every judgment, every type of harm.
Spiritual cleansing on the other hand, is something I can stand behind...and I love Lent as a time to redefine my relationship with my spirituality. I have a hard time listening to other Catholics who choose to give something up, such as some food to propel a hidden weight loss agenda, or some habit that was on their New Year's resolution list and fell through the cracks. By doing this we focus on ourselves and our ability to what? Turn your head when confronted with a bowl of Hershey kisses? I can speak for the universe here and say BIG.EFFING.DEAL.
(Deep breath)
So seriously, what will make this Lent a time to develop a closer relationship with God for me? Are you ready for this? NOTHING.
No-thing.
In a world full of lists and agendas that is fueled by the self-battering, er, I mean self-help industry, how many of us stop to do no-thing? Have you ever cleaned your slate? Erased what you decided you were that day and just let yourself be defined by the moment? By noon of every day most of us have decided that we are fat, lazy, unproductive, tired, overwhelmed and ready to check out until the next day. Have you noticed how the universe responds to this? By piling on more things that make you feel those ugly things. Our relationships with others even strain to meet this realm of negativity. This is where resentment enters into the cycle, including judgment and gossiping, leading to an eventual spiritual exhaustion.
What if you woke up each morning and said, "I don't know who I am, but I am going to allow each moment to tell me?" I have a feeling that life and God would seize this opportunity to show you things that have been hiding in your perfect soul all along. Perhaps you will discover that you are an artist because you noticed that green things are starting to peek through the snow. Perhaps you will discover that you are a terrific mom because you took a moment to build a purple Play-Doh giraffe. Maybe you can cook, when you decide to throw those questionable pea pods into a simmering pot of broth. The moment may even inspire you to stop and stroke the cheek of your partner as a way of saying, I am a person that radiates love and notice that you are a essential part of my life.
What a way to live a day! By doing any form of these things we have been cleansed, redefined, and lifted to a exceptional existence. Despite what the self-help gurus tell us, we do not need to be improved, we need to slow down our doing and our thinking.
I invite you to clean your slate with me. Let us start each day by expecting nothing, no-thing, of ourselves and the people around us.
We are blessed. Happy discovering.
Spiritual cleansing on the other hand, is something I can stand behind...and I love Lent as a time to redefine my relationship with my spirituality. I have a hard time listening to other Catholics who choose to give something up, such as some food to propel a hidden weight loss agenda, or some habit that was on their New Year's resolution list and fell through the cracks. By doing this we focus on ourselves and our ability to what? Turn your head when confronted with a bowl of Hershey kisses? I can speak for the universe here and say BIG.EFFING.DEAL.
(Deep breath)
So seriously, what will make this Lent a time to develop a closer relationship with God for me? Are you ready for this? NOTHING.
No-thing.
In a world full of lists and agendas that is fueled by the self-battering, er, I mean self-help industry, how many of us stop to do no-thing? Have you ever cleaned your slate? Erased what you decided you were that day and just let yourself be defined by the moment? By noon of every day most of us have decided that we are fat, lazy, unproductive, tired, overwhelmed and ready to check out until the next day. Have you noticed how the universe responds to this? By piling on more things that make you feel those ugly things. Our relationships with others even strain to meet this realm of negativity. This is where resentment enters into the cycle, including judgment and gossiping, leading to an eventual spiritual exhaustion.
What if you woke up each morning and said, "I don't know who I am, but I am going to allow each moment to tell me?" I have a feeling that life and God would seize this opportunity to show you things that have been hiding in your perfect soul all along. Perhaps you will discover that you are an artist because you noticed that green things are starting to peek through the snow. Perhaps you will discover that you are a terrific mom because you took a moment to build a purple Play-Doh giraffe. Maybe you can cook, when you decide to throw those questionable pea pods into a simmering pot of broth. The moment may even inspire you to stop and stroke the cheek of your partner as a way of saying, I am a person that radiates love and notice that you are a essential part of my life.
What a way to live a day! By doing any form of these things we have been cleansed, redefined, and lifted to a exceptional existence. Despite what the self-help gurus tell us, we do not need to be improved, we need to slow down our doing and our thinking.
I invite you to clean your slate with me. Let us start each day by expecting nothing, no-thing, of ourselves and the people around us.
We are blessed. Happy discovering.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Sophia, I'll start with you.
Not because it is a monumental day in your life or anything, but because I am avoiding all the other things that I want to write. These things take actual thought. With you, there is no thought, just simple being is all you want, and sometimes I don't realize how good this actually is for me. What therapy! To dismiss everything that awaits my attention in the corners of my mind to simply spend time throwing a ball in your arms that are making a bit O to resemble a basketball hoop. You make a lousy hoop, by the way. The circumference of your arms is too small, so the ball just lands between that O and your nose. Tonight this made you crack up at the 1000 times I threw it, though. Good enough.
You seem unsettled lately, and I am positive it is because I am unsettled. Despite my efforts to pretend that all is well with bags of valentine candy and new videos, I still notice that you stiffen when you hear my voice crack when I say even simple things, like "want juice?"
I am sorry, but life forces us into periods when they days seem heavy, and I will never be able to shelter you from this. You have been such a bear when I try to put you to bed and I cannot help but wonder if it is because you are afraid to leave me alone, that I will somehow break under the heavy day and fail to come get you in the mornings to say, "want juice?"
Tonight I could not handle the devastation you displayed when I told you it was bedtime--the tears falling from your large, scared eyes, and the mumbly something or other about not wanting to be in your bedroom. I forced you sit in my lap and tell me about it, about what was wrong with the bedroom. I reminded you that there were butterflies hanging from the ceiling that bring good dreams about all of your favorite princesses and friends. Through your sobs you managed to tell me that tonight you were going to dream of you, me and daddy. This made me realize that our tiny family trumps all of those princesses and friends, and bags of candy and new videos cannot mend that part of your life that seems broken and unstable most of the time.
I don't know what to tell you. That one day you will be so embarrassed by your parents that you will hope the ground swallows us whole? That we are going to anger you more than please you with our constant "no" and "too dangerous" statements? Right now you want us all together, and that is all you know.
I am sure daddy is thinking of us from whichever part of the crap-hole called Michigan he is in, and I am thinking of him and of course, you. From where I am sitting, I can hear your tiny breathing and random rustling over the baby monitor. I am mustering every restraint to not run upstairs and snuggle us together in my bed. I hope your dreams have started, and I hope they take you back to our many family hugs, where daddy and I pick you up and squish you like a marshmallow between our tired but grateful bodies.
You seem unsettled lately, and I am positive it is because I am unsettled. Despite my efforts to pretend that all is well with bags of valentine candy and new videos, I still notice that you stiffen when you hear my voice crack when I say even simple things, like "want juice?"
I am sorry, but life forces us into periods when they days seem heavy, and I will never be able to shelter you from this. You have been such a bear when I try to put you to bed and I cannot help but wonder if it is because you are afraid to leave me alone, that I will somehow break under the heavy day and fail to come get you in the mornings to say, "want juice?"
Tonight I could not handle the devastation you displayed when I told you it was bedtime--the tears falling from your large, scared eyes, and the mumbly something or other about not wanting to be in your bedroom. I forced you sit in my lap and tell me about it, about what was wrong with the bedroom. I reminded you that there were butterflies hanging from the ceiling that bring good dreams about all of your favorite princesses and friends. Through your sobs you managed to tell me that tonight you were going to dream of you, me and daddy. This made me realize that our tiny family trumps all of those princesses and friends, and bags of candy and new videos cannot mend that part of your life that seems broken and unstable most of the time.
I don't know what to tell you. That one day you will be so embarrassed by your parents that you will hope the ground swallows us whole? That we are going to anger you more than please you with our constant "no" and "too dangerous" statements? Right now you want us all together, and that is all you know.
I am sure daddy is thinking of us from whichever part of the crap-hole called Michigan he is in, and I am thinking of him and of course, you. From where I am sitting, I can hear your tiny breathing and random rustling over the baby monitor. I am mustering every restraint to not run upstairs and snuggle us together in my bed. I hope your dreams have started, and I hope they take you back to our many family hugs, where daddy and I pick you up and squish you like a marshmallow between our tired but grateful bodies.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Wordless
I would not label this state that I am in as "speechless" because if you really asked, I could talk your ear off about something or other. Simply put, I am wordless to describe what has been going on in my life and in my days and in my head. There are periods in my life when I am afraid to write about something out of fear of changing it. Ultimately this is what happens to the poet; his poetry is unraveled by the failure of words to describe what is observed.
Perhaps this is why I tried my hand at science for so many years. The idea of pure observation and quantifying this observation was exciting. The joke was on me as it has been on the scientist for years. Numbers fail. Observation and quantification fail. Logic ALWAYS fails, and I will argue that point with words and numbers until I die of breathlessness. Ultimately the scientist finds herself out of the lab and at her desk hand waving with the same tool as the poet: words.
The number of blog posts rolling around in my head are driving me insane: I would like to write about celebrating my parents' 60th birthday on a cruise ship. I would like to describe my dear friend who has gone through loss and health problems, and her mental and physical recovery. I need to describe the bravery of another friend who has stage 4 breast cancer and cannot catch a break in the physical realm, but somehow found the time to read this blog and let me know that she loved it. I would like post some advice to my newly engaged best friend. I would like to post some advice to a friend not far from giving birth to her first child. I would like to write another letter to my child, because she fills me with the kind of anguishing love that takes over my whole existence. I want to write about a country that is shaking itself free of the evils of torture and automatic weapons. I want to write about how fear of change, even if it means turning away from these evils, is guiding the tongues and hands of so many people.
Right now, I am humbled by the failure of words to describe these events that have me swimming or wading on my knees through my days. The truth is, no matter what form you take, poet or scientist, the key is to not miss a moment. If you are watching close enough, the words eventually gather at your feet.
Perhaps this is why I tried my hand at science for so many years. The idea of pure observation and quantifying this observation was exciting. The joke was on me as it has been on the scientist for years. Numbers fail. Observation and quantification fail. Logic ALWAYS fails, and I will argue that point with words and numbers until I die of breathlessness. Ultimately the scientist finds herself out of the lab and at her desk hand waving with the same tool as the poet: words.
The number of blog posts rolling around in my head are driving me insane: I would like to write about celebrating my parents' 60th birthday on a cruise ship. I would like to describe my dear friend who has gone through loss and health problems, and her mental and physical recovery. I need to describe the bravery of another friend who has stage 4 breast cancer and cannot catch a break in the physical realm, but somehow found the time to read this blog and let me know that she loved it. I would like post some advice to my newly engaged best friend. I would like to post some advice to a friend not far from giving birth to her first child. I would like to write another letter to my child, because she fills me with the kind of anguishing love that takes over my whole existence. I want to write about a country that is shaking itself free of the evils of torture and automatic weapons. I want to write about how fear of change, even if it means turning away from these evils, is guiding the tongues and hands of so many people.
Right now, I am humbled by the failure of words to describe these events that have me swimming or wading on my knees through my days. The truth is, no matter what form you take, poet or scientist, the key is to not miss a moment. If you are watching close enough, the words eventually gather at your feet.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Getting Started
I just finished mopping up a pool of tears after rereading an excerpt from Patti Digh's book Life is a Verb entitled, Just Help Them Get Started. On the surface it is about her struggle to realize that her toddler daughter is giving up her afternoon nap. It seems at first that her daughter is wailing and screaming and scratching at things in protest just to hurt her mother. I have a toddler. I can relate.
In a way that only Patti Digh can open our eyes, she turns the tale around by realizing that she was ignoring the fear of her daughter, a lack of the ability to get to sleep at that time of day, a fear of being left alone in the room to try and try and try to sleep in the boundless dark. As she is storming out of the child's room, she finally hears her words through the screaming, "Just help me get started!" This is kid-speak for "stay with me, I can't figure out how to do this myself." I am an insomniac. I can relate.
In a follow-up challenge to this story, Patti encourages us to examine our own hall of fears. The ones that make us stop listening to the cries of fear from others that are so often disguised as hurtful actions. I hurt people around me when I am fearful. I can relate.
My big, glaring fear is loneliness. This is almost a joke because I am not a people-person at all. As a stay at home/work at home mother, I am debilitated by isolation when it hits me that I have not spoken to an adult in many hours or when I have not accessed a spiritual outlet such as hospice or church. This fear can often make me seem like I resent the people closest to me, the ones who live with me. My husband and my daughter...not the cats--I honestly do resent the cats most of the time.
Yesterday my husband's company decided it was time for him to move to Michigan, with or without me, whether or not our house has sold. Because we are not making the type of money to carry two mortgages, this will leave me ALONE during the week in an old house in Cleveland, with a toddler that I love but is prone to drive me insane and two cats that I resent. He will rent a small apartment in Michigan.
To summarize with an understatement: I am afraid.
My husband is super-man. He puts my needs first. He puts our daughter before all of that. He notices when I am too exhausted to bathe our daughter and get her in her PJs. He notices when I need a break and gives me the day off. Basically, the way I live my life is because I have him in it most every day.
Now who will I be without that? I will examine this fear. For now, I am forgiving myself for being stuck in the stage that has me clawing and screaming, "Help me get started!"
In a way that only Patti Digh can open our eyes, she turns the tale around by realizing that she was ignoring the fear of her daughter, a lack of the ability to get to sleep at that time of day, a fear of being left alone in the room to try and try and try to sleep in the boundless dark. As she is storming out of the child's room, she finally hears her words through the screaming, "Just help me get started!" This is kid-speak for "stay with me, I can't figure out how to do this myself." I am an insomniac. I can relate.
In a follow-up challenge to this story, Patti encourages us to examine our own hall of fears. The ones that make us stop listening to the cries of fear from others that are so often disguised as hurtful actions. I hurt people around me when I am fearful. I can relate.
My big, glaring fear is loneliness. This is almost a joke because I am not a people-person at all. As a stay at home/work at home mother, I am debilitated by isolation when it hits me that I have not spoken to an adult in many hours or when I have not accessed a spiritual outlet such as hospice or church. This fear can often make me seem like I resent the people closest to me, the ones who live with me. My husband and my daughter...not the cats--I honestly do resent the cats most of the time.
Yesterday my husband's company decided it was time for him to move to Michigan, with or without me, whether or not our house has sold. Because we are not making the type of money to carry two mortgages, this will leave me ALONE during the week in an old house in Cleveland, with a toddler that I love but is prone to drive me insane and two cats that I resent. He will rent a small apartment in Michigan.
To summarize with an understatement: I am afraid.
My husband is super-man. He puts my needs first. He puts our daughter before all of that. He notices when I am too exhausted to bathe our daughter and get her in her PJs. He notices when I need a break and gives me the day off. Basically, the way I live my life is because I have him in it most every day.
Now who will I be without that? I will examine this fear. For now, I am forgiving myself for being stuck in the stage that has me clawing and screaming, "Help me get started!"
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