So.
What a week, huh?
Yesterday was ... weird. It just sort of felt like an extended weekend.
Except for the fact that I was cancelling all non-essential appointments over the next two weeks. And bars and restaurants and movie theaters were closing at 8pm. And it was hard to stay away from the news and ever changing situation. And we were all hunkering down to spend the next couple weeks home.
We had a family meeting yesterday to talk about what the next couple weeks might look like. I think David was sort of hoping for video games, all day, every day, indefinitely.
Mike asked his students to think about their normal school schedules and the benefits the day and those classes bring to them. For example, changing classes is movement once an hour. He tasked them with trying to find ways to replicate those benefits while home. We asked David and Kate to do the same - what is the physical, emotional, mental benefit of art? math? And how can we replicate that at home?
I am ridiculously Type A. (But, oddly pretty laid/lazy back about it. It's weird. I know.) So, I tend to like things a specific way. And even more specifically, my way. (It really is the best). But, this is so different than what anyone has experienced. So, I'm trying hard to be fluid.
I'm not sure what today will bring.
I'm working on convincing myself that that's okay.
And, have to keep reminding myself that it's Tuesday.
Tuesday, March 17, 2020
Wednesday, January 1, 2020
Cause the world keeps spinning
I dreamt last night that my car was stolen.
I had woken at 6 and refused to get out of bed. It was dark and cold and I was comfortable and warm. And, so, so irritated that I would wake at 6, without an alarm. My body and mind used to the routine of early mornings whether or not I had stayed up until midnight the night before.
So, I closed my eyes and refused to allow my mind to wander toward wakefulness. And, somewhere in those moments, in between, I dreamt of a party. A jumbled mixed of bodies and people coming in and out focus, people I knew and people I didn't. The image switching between loud and quiet as I navigated rooms in a home until I found the front door and stepped out on to a dark street in search of my car.
I knew immediately, as you often do in dreams, that it was stolen. But, still needed to search and found myself wandering in one direction until I realized I was going in the wrong way. So, I turned around and tried the other direction, but felt lost even though the home I had just left had stayed constantly in my view.
I kept looking for someone to help me. But, the street stayed quiet and dark.
It was one of those dreams where you wake up you can still *feel* it. I have no idea what shoes I was wearing, but could feel the pavement of the road under my feet. I have no idea what season it was, but could feel my breath in the cold night air.
It was a weird dream, even for me.
The google and internets, in their vast wealth of infinite knowledge, tell me that dreams of cars being stolen might signify that I feel lost or directionless.
And, honestly, it's sort of a perfect metaphor.
The last few years have been ... weird. I have at times felt lost. And, directionless.
I've been mom for so long, that it's hard to remember beyond that. To the person I was before them.
The kids still need me, of course. But, it's different now. They still need me to drive them here or there. And, neither are comfortable cooking beyond the microwave on their own. But, it's not that all consuming need anymore.
And, so I often feel like I'm in a bit of limbo, ready to move to the next phase and desperately hanging on to the one that we're in.
So, in the early morning of January 1, I dreamt of losing my car. I dreamt of feeling lost. I dreamt of wandering.
And, now that I'm awake, I'm wondering what direction to go.
I had woken at 6 and refused to get out of bed. It was dark and cold and I was comfortable and warm. And, so, so irritated that I would wake at 6, without an alarm. My body and mind used to the routine of early mornings whether or not I had stayed up until midnight the night before.
So, I closed my eyes and refused to allow my mind to wander toward wakefulness. And, somewhere in those moments, in between, I dreamt of a party. A jumbled mixed of bodies and people coming in and out focus, people I knew and people I didn't. The image switching between loud and quiet as I navigated rooms in a home until I found the front door and stepped out on to a dark street in search of my car.
I knew immediately, as you often do in dreams, that it was stolen. But, still needed to search and found myself wandering in one direction until I realized I was going in the wrong way. So, I turned around and tried the other direction, but felt lost even though the home I had just left had stayed constantly in my view.
I kept looking for someone to help me. But, the street stayed quiet and dark.
It was one of those dreams where you wake up you can still *feel* it. I have no idea what shoes I was wearing, but could feel the pavement of the road under my feet. I have no idea what season it was, but could feel my breath in the cold night air.
It was a weird dream, even for me.
The google and internets, in their vast wealth of infinite knowledge, tell me that dreams of cars being stolen might signify that I feel lost or directionless.
And, honestly, it's sort of a perfect metaphor.
The last few years have been ... weird. I have at times felt lost. And, directionless.
I've been mom for so long, that it's hard to remember beyond that. To the person I was before them.
The kids still need me, of course. But, it's different now. They still need me to drive them here or there. And, neither are comfortable cooking beyond the microwave on their own. But, it's not that all consuming need anymore.
And, so I often feel like I'm in a bit of limbo, ready to move to the next phase and desperately hanging on to the one that we're in.
So, in the early morning of January 1, I dreamt of losing my car. I dreamt of feeling lost. I dreamt of wandering.
And, now that I'm awake, I'm wondering what direction to go.
Wednesday, May 23, 2018
I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I've spent some time over the past couple weeks reading through old blog posts. The lazy days with David and Kate spent coloring and reading and exploring and helping to develop them into the humans, on the cusp of something more, that they are today. I miss those times. Of course, I do. The snuggles and sweet voices, the love and care that poured from every inch of me into them.
And, I miss it. Of course, I do.
But, I also love where they are now. Those human people they are becoming - curious and kind, struggling and striving and learning, on the cusp of something more. And, while I am still a part of that, it's not quite the same as when I wrote years ago about our long days together before school and sports and friends.
And, of course, I miss it.
But, when I read those old posts, I hear a different voice. Someone confident, someone sure - a mother, a wife, struggling and striving and learning. I hear it. I hear her, the strength and determination. And, I know that it's me, but somehow she became lost in the shuffle, on the cusp of something more.
The kids left for school hours ago and I'm sitting on the couch, still in my pajamas. There are dishes and laundry and things to be done. But, I don't feel like doing them. I hear that too. The laziness and boredom, the uncertainty of not knowing where I start and end when I'm not making lunches or driving someone somewhere.
I've been sick this winter. It seems both an inadequate and overly dramatic phrase to explain it that way. It was more then the flu, that turned into a respiratory infection, that turned into something, well, more. I now know what it's like to wait for results of an MRI after hearing the words brain and lesion uttered in the same sentence. But, I also know the relief that comes when your doctor reads you a report over the phone that states that there were no acute abnormalities detected. And, I also know that not everyone has that same relief.
Best guess? I am having a non-specific immune response to a viral infection that targeted my central nervous system. Some days, it just feels like doctor speak for "we have no fucking clue."
Sigh. I will not bore you with a post that waxes poetic about some new found lease on life. I get that I'm #blessed.
But, there were moments when illness and doubt and frustration and exhaustion threatened to sink me in tears I just couldn't stop. I hear that voice too. I hear her, the sadness and hope. And, know that she's me too.
I don't like grilled cheese sandwiches. Or that whiny brat, Caillou. I despise girly pre-teen chapter books about fairies and caring for dogs. I love listening and singing along to Abbey Road with Kate. And, when David starts humming "everything is going to be all right" from the back seat of the car. I love the bakery counter at Leo's. And when Mike asks "what should our adventure be today."
I can hear it. All of it. All of me. The wife and the mother, struggling and striving and learning. But, more too. The woman who is that wife and mother, friend and sister and daughter. I hear her. I hear her. I hear me, the confidence and the hope, the sadness and strength, just waiting in the midst of something more.
And, I miss it. Of course, I do.
But, I also love where they are now. Those human people they are becoming - curious and kind, struggling and striving and learning, on the cusp of something more. And, while I am still a part of that, it's not quite the same as when I wrote years ago about our long days together before school and sports and friends.
And, of course, I miss it.
But, when I read those old posts, I hear a different voice. Someone confident, someone sure - a mother, a wife, struggling and striving and learning. I hear it. I hear her, the strength and determination. And, I know that it's me, but somehow she became lost in the shuffle, on the cusp of something more.
The kids left for school hours ago and I'm sitting on the couch, still in my pajamas. There are dishes and laundry and things to be done. But, I don't feel like doing them. I hear that too. The laziness and boredom, the uncertainty of not knowing where I start and end when I'm not making lunches or driving someone somewhere.
I've been sick this winter. It seems both an inadequate and overly dramatic phrase to explain it that way. It was more then the flu, that turned into a respiratory infection, that turned into something, well, more. I now know what it's like to wait for results of an MRI after hearing the words brain and lesion uttered in the same sentence. But, I also know the relief that comes when your doctor reads you a report over the phone that states that there were no acute abnormalities detected. And, I also know that not everyone has that same relief.
Best guess? I am having a non-specific immune response to a viral infection that targeted my central nervous system. Some days, it just feels like doctor speak for "we have no fucking clue."
Sigh. I will not bore you with a post that waxes poetic about some new found lease on life. I get that I'm #blessed.
But, there were moments when illness and doubt and frustration and exhaustion threatened to sink me in tears I just couldn't stop. I hear that voice too. I hear her, the sadness and hope. And, know that she's me too.
I don't like grilled cheese sandwiches. Or that whiny brat, Caillou. I despise girly pre-teen chapter books about fairies and caring for dogs. I love listening and singing along to Abbey Road with Kate. And, when David starts humming "everything is going to be all right" from the back seat of the car. I love the bakery counter at Leo's. And when Mike asks "what should our adventure be today."
I can hear it. All of it. All of me. The wife and the mother, struggling and striving and learning. But, more too. The woman who is that wife and mother, friend and sister and daughter. I hear her. I hear her. I hear me, the confidence and the hope, the sadness and strength, just waiting in the midst of something more.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
a tale of two apples
the innocent apples hung quietly from the tree,
behaving themselves, like all good apples should be.
In an epic fail on my part this morning, David's snack ended up all over the floor. We were rushing out the door to get to school and trying to figure out a quick alternative. We decided on chips. Which, of course, lead to complaints by Kate who always has to bring innocent apples.
I'm not entirely sure what innocent apples are either, but we put our heads together and agreed on the first part of the poem.
The rest, not so much.
David wants a farmer to come along to try to chop down the tree with an axe. The apples would not sit quietly against the dying of the tree, but would fight and attack the farmer, seeking their revenge. There was a lot of blood and guts in his version, of the farmer and the apples.
Kate was thinking that the apples would absolutely love to be made into a delicious apple pie, enjoyed by everyone. With ice cream. And maybe some whip cream.
It's funny how something as innocent as apples can turn into an epic battle against a farmer or something as delicious as apple pie, depending on who you ask.
behaving themselves, like all good apples should be.
In an epic fail on my part this morning, David's snack ended up all over the floor. We were rushing out the door to get to school and trying to figure out a quick alternative. We decided on chips. Which, of course, lead to complaints by Kate who always has to bring innocent apples.
I'm not entirely sure what innocent apples are either, but we put our heads together and agreed on the first part of the poem.
The rest, not so much.
David wants a farmer to come along to try to chop down the tree with an axe. The apples would not sit quietly against the dying of the tree, but would fight and attack the farmer, seeking their revenge. There was a lot of blood and guts in his version, of the farmer and the apples.
Kate was thinking that the apples would absolutely love to be made into a delicious apple pie, enjoyed by everyone. With ice cream. And maybe some whip cream.
It's funny how something as innocent as apples can turn into an epic battle against a farmer or something as delicious as apple pie, depending on who you ask.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
The one where I stress eat swedish fish.
Like, I literally dug through my Wegmans bag as I was walking to my car to get at the Swedish Fish. (Which actually aren't Swedish fish anymore, just red fish. Still delicious though.)
The other day was Kate's birthday. And, it wasn't perfect.
It was a day, like so many others in our household, filled with chaos and frustration and laughter and missing gloves and pants that don't fit and trips to the nurses office and plans that don't go quite as I expect.
Just once, I want to be *that* mom who seemingly has it all together. Who never forgets important things like the right kind of milk for her daughters lunch box on her birthday, who knows exactly where the candles are for the cake, and isn't shopping last minute for presents.
But, it's just not me. And, probably never will be.
So, we will have to settle for less than perfect.
And, that's okay.
As long as there are Swedish fish.
The other day was Kate's birthday. And, it wasn't perfect.
It was a day, like so many others in our household, filled with chaos and frustration and laughter and missing gloves and pants that don't fit and trips to the nurses office and plans that don't go quite as I expect.
Just once, I want to be *that* mom who seemingly has it all together. Who never forgets important things like the right kind of milk for her daughters lunch box on her birthday, who knows exactly where the candles are for the cake, and isn't shopping last minute for presents.
But, it's just not me. And, probably never will be.
So, we will have to settle for less than perfect.
And, that's okay.
As long as there are Swedish fish.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Prologue
It feels weird to be home today, nothing to do and no where to go.
When we left summer vacation was just starting, and now, here we are at home with the summer before us and it all sort of seems weird. Nothing to do and no where to go.
Planning for the trip started about 10 weeks ago - hotel reservations, where we would stop, the routes we would take. But, the idea for the trip had been something Mike and I had been talking about for some time. The timing never right though, or the kids not old enough.
My mom rented a house for a week in Rockaway Beach, OR. The original plan had been to fly in to Portland and stay the week on the beach. But, then we had thought, it would be nice to see my brother and sister-in-laws new house in Seattle. And, the redwoods. And (since we were so close) San Francisco. When one of us said, "Well, why don't we just drive." And the idea took root. And started to grow.
Twelve years ago Mike and I and our friend Tom took a similar trip cross country to go to the High Sierra Music festival in Quincy, CA. Mike and I got engaged on that trip, somewhere in the middle of Wyoming. It had been such an amazing trip, watching out the window as the land and features of our country ebbed and flowed and changed. It had felt like magic.
Over the past 3 weeks, we traveled around 6500 miles through 16 states. It was an amazing trip. I am glad to be home, but, if we could get back in the car and do it all again, I would.
I had meant to blog during the trip, but we were always so exhausted by the time we ended our days. If I had been to write before the trip, I would have described the anticipation, the excitement. Twelve years ago, life quite literally changed as a result of the trip. Mike and I married, had two children. I don't know if any change will come of this trip. But, now that we are home, that same feeling is there. My world is bigger, my eyes open, my heart full.
When we left summer vacation was just starting, and now, here we are at home with the summer before us and it all sort of seems weird. Nothing to do and no where to go.
Planning for the trip started about 10 weeks ago - hotel reservations, where we would stop, the routes we would take. But, the idea for the trip had been something Mike and I had been talking about for some time. The timing never right though, or the kids not old enough.
My mom rented a house for a week in Rockaway Beach, OR. The original plan had been to fly in to Portland and stay the week on the beach. But, then we had thought, it would be nice to see my brother and sister-in-laws new house in Seattle. And, the redwoods. And (since we were so close) San Francisco. When one of us said, "Well, why don't we just drive." And the idea took root. And started to grow.
Twelve years ago Mike and I and our friend Tom took a similar trip cross country to go to the High Sierra Music festival in Quincy, CA. Mike and I got engaged on that trip, somewhere in the middle of Wyoming. It had been such an amazing trip, watching out the window as the land and features of our country ebbed and flowed and changed. It had felt like magic.
Over the past 3 weeks, we traveled around 6500 miles through 16 states. It was an amazing trip. I am glad to be home, but, if we could get back in the car and do it all again, I would.
I had meant to blog during the trip, but we were always so exhausted by the time we ended our days. If I had been to write before the trip, I would have described the anticipation, the excitement. Twelve years ago, life quite literally changed as a result of the trip. Mike and I married, had two children. I don't know if any change will come of this trip. But, now that we are home, that same feeling is there. My world is bigger, my eyes open, my heart full.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Reminders
The mornings are usually pretty hectic, no matter how organized or prepared I think I am.
Lunches need to made, library books gathered, plans for after school made.
Because of this, I trust the kids to get dressed themselves in the mornings.
Kate's outfits are usually .... unique. I usually don't argue too much about it. Except for the day she wanted to wear three skirts and her orange fish-net stockings. Or the one day she wanted to wear shorts over jeans. Today is all peace signs. It even sort of matches.
David is the easy one. A reminder about changing his underwear is needed, but otherwise it's pants (or shorts as soon as the weather hits 65) and a t-shirt.
I think that's why I was so surprised this morning.
The bus came a couple minutes early and the kids were getting ready to board. I turned to say goodbye, but instead, this came out:
Me: David, what are you wearing!
David: blank stare
Me: You're pants are dirty!
No, not dirty. Filthy. Gross. Disgusting. Covered in grass and mud and leaves and food and who knows what else.
Me: Want to go in and change. I can drive you ...
David: They're clean. They're fine.
And he got on the bus.
I'm resisting the urge to bring him a clean pair to school.
Reminders for tomorrow: No fish net tights. Only one skirt. Clean underwear. Clean pants.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Lunches need to made, library books gathered, plans for after school made.
Because of this, I trust the kids to get dressed themselves in the mornings.
Kate's outfits are usually .... unique. I usually don't argue too much about it. Except for the day she wanted to wear three skirts and her orange fish-net stockings. Or the one day she wanted to wear shorts over jeans. Today is all peace signs. It even sort of matches.
David is the easy one. A reminder about changing his underwear is needed, but otherwise it's pants (or shorts as soon as the weather hits 65) and a t-shirt.
I think that's why I was so surprised this morning.
The bus came a couple minutes early and the kids were getting ready to board. I turned to say goodbye, but instead, this came out:
Me: David, what are you wearing!
David: blank stare
Me: You're pants are dirty!
No, not dirty. Filthy. Gross. Disgusting. Covered in grass and mud and leaves and food and who knows what else.
Me: Want to go in and change. I can drive you ...
David: They're clean. They're fine.
And he got on the bus.
I'm resisting the urge to bring him a clean pair to school.
Reminders for tomorrow: No fish net tights. Only one skirt. Clean underwear. Clean pants.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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