I was helping my friend Jill with the Haiti penny drive she set up for Alki elementary, and she told me that she just felt good from taking action. I agree.
I'm trying to take action in my own life. Helping with raising money for Haiti or helping in my community, for sure, but also closer to home. Working on getting Tessa back on track behaviorly, cooking healthy meals, budgeting (and not just writing the numbers down but living by them), and the like.
Yesterday I even went running. (Ouch!)
It can be so difficult to get started, sometimes, but I am sure that it's worth it.
Action is the antidote to despair. - Joan Baez
Friday, February 05, 2010
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Can I go back to bed?
I'm just thinking about all of these issues that I've been blogging and feeling really overwhelmed.
A lot of my identity is as a Mama, and when Tessa is behaving well I feel like it's a validation of my work. Yes, I know that is screwed up, because she is her own person, and my worth comes from within and not from her behavior, AND I know that her worth is not from some behavior as a child but who SHE is within....but dang, this is really hard.
So, right now, I'm not feeling like such a star in the parenting department.
A lot of my identity is as a Mama, and when Tessa is behaving well I feel like it's a validation of my work. Yes, I know that is screwed up, because she is her own person, and my worth comes from within and not from her behavior, AND I know that her worth is not from some behavior as a child but who SHE is within....but dang, this is really hard.
So, right now, I'm not feeling like such a star in the parenting department.
Follow through
This morning I met with Tessa's teacher, and then I met with the school counselor, to get ideas about how to handle my changing child. It was time to bring in the experts!
Tessa continues to drive me crazy. The worst of it is the snarkiness; the rude behavior. If she wasn't a good student, well, that is something that I could live with....but rude? Not okay. No way, no how.
I'm going to have to be a black and white parent for a while. Here's the rule, you broke it, immediate consequence, no chances. I've read about this as "brick wall parenting" - an "I said it, no discussion, just do it" kind of parenting that I'm not crazy about it, but it seems that this is where I must go for a while. Tessa is manipulating me to do whatever she wants, and she's not being reasonable about it. (When asked, "How do you think we could change your behavior?" she actually told me "You could buy me more treats and toys." Note to self: seven year olds are not reasonable.)
So, I'm putting my foot down. I'm not excited about it, but I have GOT to out-stubborn this stubborn child of mine. (She comes by it honestly; I can, at least, relate to her.) We're going to have a family meeting to present this new information, and to come up with a list of rules together, and discuss consequences for not meeting those rules. I have a plan, with her teacher, about homework....and Tessa will be missing recess if she doesn't do it.
I am going to get my sweet girl back. Tessa is an amazing child, and I'm am going to coax her best parts of her to reappear.
Parenting is hard!
Tessa continues to drive me crazy. The worst of it is the snarkiness; the rude behavior. If she wasn't a good student, well, that is something that I could live with....but rude? Not okay. No way, no how.
I'm going to have to be a black and white parent for a while. Here's the rule, you broke it, immediate consequence, no chances. I've read about this as "brick wall parenting" - an "I said it, no discussion, just do it" kind of parenting that I'm not crazy about it, but it seems that this is where I must go for a while. Tessa is manipulating me to do whatever she wants, and she's not being reasonable about it. (When asked, "How do you think we could change your behavior?" she actually told me "You could buy me more treats and toys." Note to self: seven year olds are not reasonable.)
So, I'm putting my foot down. I'm not excited about it, but I have GOT to out-stubborn this stubborn child of mine. (She comes by it honestly; I can, at least, relate to her.) We're going to have a family meeting to present this new information, and to come up with a list of rules together, and discuss consequences for not meeting those rules. I have a plan, with her teacher, about homework....and Tessa will be missing recess if she doesn't do it.
I am going to get my sweet girl back. Tessa is an amazing child, and I'm am going to coax her best parts of her to reappear.
Parenting is hard!
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Whiners' Anonymous
Hi. My name is Kristina. I'm a whiner.
I am trying to gather up a good attitude today after yesterday's meltdowns (both mine and Tessa's). Fortunately, Ryan came home, and helped me to get Tessa to bed, or I'm not sure what I would have done - I wanted to hide in my own bed with the covers over my head!
Today is a new day, a fresh start.
I'm looking up information on seven year olds, and came across this website (again). It should be required reading, I think:
http://www.centerforparentingeducation.org/programs_articlesresource_byage.html
and also this page:
http://www.centerforparentingeducation.org/programs_articlesresource_ucstages.html
It wasn't my imagination; Tessa is changing, and leaving equilibrium and entering disequilibrium. I am directed to be gentle and patient in response. Oh, I'm trying....
I think I need to master the art of explaining LESS and taking firm, fast action. Removing Tessa from the situation, allowing her to vent in a corner without my interaction. "I love you. This behavior is unacceptable. When you're ready to talk, please come to me. Until then, stay here."
I'll have to work on my script, but I have to come up with a good, succinct one.
I think I'm in disequilibrium, too! Can I go to my room?
Sigh.
Tessa is coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose today...and home from school. I'm going to set up an appointment with an allergist to see if that is the deal. For such a healthy kid, she is missing a lot of school. Maybe that had something to do with yesterday, though?
Off to play dolls and read stories.
Edit:
This website is very interesting - found this article:
http://theparentingpassageway.com/2009/10/02/the-seven-and-eight-year-old-realistic-expectations-last-installment-of-day-number-10-of-20-days-toward-being-a-more-mindful-mother/
I am trying to gather up a good attitude today after yesterday's meltdowns (both mine and Tessa's). Fortunately, Ryan came home, and helped me to get Tessa to bed, or I'm not sure what I would have done - I wanted to hide in my own bed with the covers over my head!
Today is a new day, a fresh start.
I'm looking up information on seven year olds, and came across this website (again). It should be required reading, I think:
http://www.centerforparentingeducation.org/programs_articlesresource_byage.html
and also this page:
http://www.centerforparentingeducation.org/programs_articlesresource_ucstages.html
It wasn't my imagination; Tessa is changing, and leaving equilibrium and entering disequilibrium. I am directed to be gentle and patient in response. Oh, I'm trying....
I think I need to master the art of explaining LESS and taking firm, fast action. Removing Tessa from the situation, allowing her to vent in a corner without my interaction. "I love you. This behavior is unacceptable. When you're ready to talk, please come to me. Until then, stay here."
I'll have to work on my script, but I have to come up with a good, succinct one.
I think I'm in disequilibrium, too! Can I go to my room?
Sigh.
Tessa is coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose today...and home from school. I'm going to set up an appointment with an allergist to see if that is the deal. For such a healthy kid, she is missing a lot of school. Maybe that had something to do with yesterday, though?
Off to play dolls and read stories.
Edit:
This website is very interesting - found this article:
http://theparentingpassageway.com/2009/10/02/the-seven-and-eight-year-old-realistic-expectations-last-installment-of-day-number-10-of-20-days-toward-being-a-more-mindful-mother/
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Mama Whining
I am about to whine. If you don't like whining (who does?) then you might not want to read this.
Still reading?
Tessa is driving me NUTS lately. I know that she is a blessing, a gift, and the greatest joy in my life. I know that children are supposed to drive their parents nuts. I know that this is some new developmental stage and will pass. I know that she's not trying to make me crazy, and that if this is the new disequilibrium then it's not working well for her, either, and it's my job to help her. I know I need to work on my patience. I know that she is a great kid, a joy, a delight, and that I am a VERY lucky Mama.
However.
However, she is getting down-right sassy, and short of locking her in the attic I am not sure what to do about it.
Today? Picked her up to take her to the doc to check out her cough and the small rash on her arm that hasn't gone away. (Cough? Nothing. Rash? Eczema. Nothing big.) The patient bench had a roll of white paper over it, and Tessa rolled, jumped, scrinkled for about 15 minutes - intentionally making lots of noise - while we waited for the doc. Finally, I said, "I can't take that sound any more - could you please stop?" Skrinkle, skrinkle, skrinkle. "Tessa, please stop. Here, let's look at this magazine together." Skrinkle, skrinkle, skrinkle. "Tessa, stop immediately. Come over here. "Skrinkle, skrinkle. "Tessa, no more warnings. " Ahhh - the doc comes in. Skrinkle, skrinkle, skrinkle. Doc talking, I can't hear because Tessa is making so much noise with the paper. "Excuse me doctor, I need to address this: Tessa, I can not hear the doctor because you are making so much noise. Stop immediately." Skrinkle, skrinkle.
I had to stop the doctor THREE TIMES because of Tessa. It's a good thing that I don't spank because I wanted to THRASH my child at that point. (Deep breaths, Mama, deep breaths.)
Leaving the office, "No doctor's office lolipop for you. Those are for good behavior, and yours was terrible." "But MAMA....."
We got in the car and I said, "I am very disappointed with you." We had A Talk.
We got home. Homework time.
Tessa has taken AN HOUR to fill in six blanks with words like "treat" and "head". Me in the kitchen making dinner, two feet from her the whole time, encouraging her. And then telling her "If you don't just DO this, I will write a note to Ms. H saying that you wouldn't do your homework and should do it at recess."
I had to go downstairs to put the wash in the dryer. I said, "Tessa, I have to put the wash in the dryer. I'll be right back, okay?" "Okay." I am at the bottom of the stairs, five seconds later, and she starts yelling. "Mama! MAMA! MAAAAMAAAAA!" This is the irritated "I want your attention" voice, not the "help me - a giant alien is in our kitchen" voice.
I ignore her. I put the wash in the dryer, and she yells the whole time.
I come upstairs, steaming. I say, "That is RUDE. I told you where I was - why did you yell for me?" She says, "I need another bean" (for counting).
I tell her that I need her to finish her homework without me, because the day has me too frustrated to help her at this moment.
So I'm here, whining.
Are you still with me? I doubt it - this isn't exactly great reading.
But what am I to do?! I want to be consistent, give logical consequences, and raise a child who is thoughtful and grateful. I want to give her what she needs, and then some (out of love). I want to give boundaries, and keep them. I want to maintain my cool, and discipline her with love and logic when it is required.
But what happens when she just stares at me blankly, and then goes back to her list of demands?
I was actually saying, "Tessa, I need you to be more considerate" and she interrupted me and demanded extra counting beans. (At which point, I bit off her head, and then went to the computer.)
Our attic is dark and dreary and cold - maybe I could lock her in there? No, I'd feel bad.
She has been such a great kid in so many ways - where did she go? What do I do to coax that version of herself back?!
I've got to go upstairs. She is walking around, which means, unless she's carrying a clipboard and pencil, she's not doing her homework.
I will be calm. I will not yell. I will take away all of her toys for the rest of her life.....no, no, bad Mama. I will come up with something....something....
Okay, I've got nothing right now.
Help!
Still reading?
Tessa is driving me NUTS lately. I know that she is a blessing, a gift, and the greatest joy in my life. I know that children are supposed to drive their parents nuts. I know that this is some new developmental stage and will pass. I know that she's not trying to make me crazy, and that if this is the new disequilibrium then it's not working well for her, either, and it's my job to help her. I know I need to work on my patience. I know that she is a great kid, a joy, a delight, and that I am a VERY lucky Mama.
However.
However, she is getting down-right sassy, and short of locking her in the attic I am not sure what to do about it.
Today? Picked her up to take her to the doc to check out her cough and the small rash on her arm that hasn't gone away. (Cough? Nothing. Rash? Eczema. Nothing big.) The patient bench had a roll of white paper over it, and Tessa rolled, jumped, scrinkled for about 15 minutes - intentionally making lots of noise - while we waited for the doc. Finally, I said, "I can't take that sound any more - could you please stop?" Skrinkle, skrinkle, skrinkle. "Tessa, please stop. Here, let's look at this magazine together." Skrinkle, skrinkle, skrinkle. "Tessa, stop immediately. Come over here. "Skrinkle, skrinkle. "Tessa, no more warnings. " Ahhh - the doc comes in. Skrinkle, skrinkle, skrinkle. Doc talking, I can't hear because Tessa is making so much noise with the paper. "Excuse me doctor, I need to address this: Tessa, I can not hear the doctor because you are making so much noise. Stop immediately." Skrinkle, skrinkle.
I had to stop the doctor THREE TIMES because of Tessa. It's a good thing that I don't spank because I wanted to THRASH my child at that point. (Deep breaths, Mama, deep breaths.)
Leaving the office, "No doctor's office lolipop for you. Those are for good behavior, and yours was terrible." "But MAMA....."
We got in the car and I said, "I am very disappointed with you." We had A Talk.
We got home. Homework time.
Tessa has taken AN HOUR to fill in six blanks with words like "treat" and "head". Me in the kitchen making dinner, two feet from her the whole time, encouraging her. And then telling her "If you don't just DO this, I will write a note to Ms. H saying that you wouldn't do your homework and should do it at recess."
I had to go downstairs to put the wash in the dryer. I said, "Tessa, I have to put the wash in the dryer. I'll be right back, okay?" "Okay." I am at the bottom of the stairs, five seconds later, and she starts yelling. "Mama! MAMA! MAAAAMAAAAA!" This is the irritated "I want your attention" voice, not the "help me - a giant alien is in our kitchen" voice.
I ignore her. I put the wash in the dryer, and she yells the whole time.
I come upstairs, steaming. I say, "That is RUDE. I told you where I was - why did you yell for me?" She says, "I need another bean" (for counting).
I tell her that I need her to finish her homework without me, because the day has me too frustrated to help her at this moment.
So I'm here, whining.
Are you still with me? I doubt it - this isn't exactly great reading.
But what am I to do?! I want to be consistent, give logical consequences, and raise a child who is thoughtful and grateful. I want to give her what she needs, and then some (out of love). I want to give boundaries, and keep them. I want to maintain my cool, and discipline her with love and logic when it is required.
But what happens when she just stares at me blankly, and then goes back to her list of demands?
I was actually saying, "Tessa, I need you to be more considerate" and she interrupted me and demanded extra counting beans. (At which point, I bit off her head, and then went to the computer.)
Our attic is dark and dreary and cold - maybe I could lock her in there? No, I'd feel bad.
She has been such a great kid in so many ways - where did she go? What do I do to coax that version of herself back?!
I've got to go upstairs. She is walking around, which means, unless she's carrying a clipboard and pencil, she's not doing her homework.
I will be calm. I will not yell. I will take away all of her toys for the rest of her life.....no, no, bad Mama. I will come up with something....something....
Okay, I've got nothing right now.
Help!
Routines
I think that I spend a good portion of my life struggling with routines. On the one hand, I love them - they get things done. On the other? Boring! Annoying! Difficult! Money, weight, housework, exercise, cooking, and spirituality all fall into this category.
When my house is dusty and my weight is climbing, I know it's time to look at my routines a little more closely - or to create more routines.
Tessa had a cavity that she had filled yesterday - her only one so far. The dentist asked me, "Does she floss regularly?" Um....floss, yes. Regularly, no. We brush twice a day, but didn't put flossing into the routine, and the consequence was an hour in a dentist's chair with Tessa's knees involuntarily pulling up to her chest. She was brave and strong and I was so proud of her. I read to her the entire time, and she clutched my hand in one of her hands, and Special Bear in the other, and she held it together well. When it was time to go to school, she burst into tears, and said, "Mama, it hurts!" I told her that if she missed school she'd miss Jumprope Club (her after school activity) and she said, "I know." So, I held her close, and we missed school
All because of a pesky 30 second routine that I ignored. (I fully recognize that it's my job to remind her to floss, and I didn't.)
I'm not beating myself up about it, but I am trying to recognize it for what it is...and make changes. What other routines and I letting slip away? What other things could I be doing to protect my "one wild and precious life"?
I have lots of things going well, but there is always room for improvement. This is my life, and I want it to be the best that it can be.
I think I'll go floss now.
When my house is dusty and my weight is climbing, I know it's time to look at my routines a little more closely - or to create more routines.
Tessa had a cavity that she had filled yesterday - her only one so far. The dentist asked me, "Does she floss regularly?" Um....floss, yes. Regularly, no. We brush twice a day, but didn't put flossing into the routine, and the consequence was an hour in a dentist's chair with Tessa's knees involuntarily pulling up to her chest. She was brave and strong and I was so proud of her. I read to her the entire time, and she clutched my hand in one of her hands, and Special Bear in the other, and she held it together well. When it was time to go to school, she burst into tears, and said, "Mama, it hurts!" I told her that if she missed school she'd miss Jumprope Club (her after school activity) and she said, "I know." So, I held her close, and we missed school
All because of a pesky 30 second routine that I ignored. (I fully recognize that it's my job to remind her to floss, and I didn't.)
I'm not beating myself up about it, but I am trying to recognize it for what it is...and make changes. What other routines and I letting slip away? What other things could I be doing to protect my "one wild and precious life"?
I have lots of things going well, but there is always room for improvement. This is my life, and I want it to be the best that it can be.
I think I'll go floss now.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Photo catchup: Chalice Lighting
In our UU church, when a child turns seven, they have a chance to light the chalice for the first time. (To learn more about what the Unitarian Universalist chalice symbolizes, go here: http://www.uua.org/visitors/6901.shtml ). It was a really big deal to Tessa: it is her presentation to our church community, and a sign of her growing up. She's waited a long time to be seven!
Tessa wore a beautiful dress (hand me down from the Shogrens - thanks, Karen & KC!), and decorated the alter/chalice table with things of her choosing - of course, she chose American Girl dolls and horses and stuffed animals. Our beloved Director of Religious Education, Kari, helped to guide Tessa, and watched lovingly as Tessa wrote her name in the book of chalice lighters.
We celebrated with our friends...and with cake.
I love our UU community.
Photo catchup: Christmastime Part II
Tessa's holiday performance. She was front and center, clutching "Panama Doll" - the doll that Zoe gave her.
Photo catchup: Christmastime
These pictures are of the early Christmas season, including a trip to Seabrook to celebrate both of my parents' birthdays.
Disequilibrium: Where is my sweet child?
We have had a couple of events around here that make me wonder if Tessa has been possessed by aliens.
Yesterday, we had what I thought was a great day. In the morning I read to her in bed for a half hour before she got ready for school, and I took her to school. I made her a lunch from her "acceptable" list. I picked her up, and informed her that she would get a chance to play with her best friend for as long as she liked at the playground - they played on the monkey bars and ran around until THEY were ready to leave. After dropping off her best friend at home, we went to the library, and I read her choice of books to her (a science fiction graphic novel involving dinosaurs in space - not exactly my cup of tea but I was willing to go along with it). We came home, and I'd already prepped dinner, so I played American Girl dolls (an elaborate story involving horses and the character of Princess Ellie) with her for an hour or so.
I really was ready to nominate myself as Mother of the Day.
And then, all heck broke loose. Her bear's hat was hanging on by a thread, so I cut the thread. She screamed at me. She cried. She yelled. She slammed a door in my face. She locked herself in the bathroom. She threw things.
What the heck?
I said, "I'm sorry, I can fix the hat, and I'll sew it back on, no problem. I didn't realize how important this was to you."
More screaming, crying, stomping feet, hiding from me.
By the time I was in bed, I was completely wiped out and felt exhausted and sad. She was MEAN! I am fully aware that she loves me, and that this was just a fit, and it's what kids do sometimes...but that doesn't mean that I had to like it. I wanted to reply in kind and yell and stomp but I maintained my temper, and THAT was exhausting.
Sooooo - any advice, my cyber friends? How do I prevent, or at least lessen, future episodes? I jokingly told Ryan that if she was a teenager I'd have immediately suspected drugs (not funny, but dark humor none-the-less). Do seven year olds have a change in hormones? Is there some new cognitive leap on the horizon that her body is getting used to? Is she about to grow six inches?
Will I have to deal with this again this year?!
Tessa is capable of so much sweetness, love, wit, kindness, humor, intelligence. Last night I really missed that girl. She's mostly back today, but only after I threatened removal of privleges if she didn't shape up.
Ideas?
Yesterday, we had what I thought was a great day. In the morning I read to her in bed for a half hour before she got ready for school, and I took her to school. I made her a lunch from her "acceptable" list. I picked her up, and informed her that she would get a chance to play with her best friend for as long as she liked at the playground - they played on the monkey bars and ran around until THEY were ready to leave. After dropping off her best friend at home, we went to the library, and I read her choice of books to her (a science fiction graphic novel involving dinosaurs in space - not exactly my cup of tea but I was willing to go along with it). We came home, and I'd already prepped dinner, so I played American Girl dolls (an elaborate story involving horses and the character of Princess Ellie) with her for an hour or so.
I really was ready to nominate myself as Mother of the Day.
And then, all heck broke loose. Her bear's hat was hanging on by a thread, so I cut the thread. She screamed at me. She cried. She yelled. She slammed a door in my face. She locked herself in the bathroom. She threw things.
What the heck?
I said, "I'm sorry, I can fix the hat, and I'll sew it back on, no problem. I didn't realize how important this was to you."
More screaming, crying, stomping feet, hiding from me.
By the time I was in bed, I was completely wiped out and felt exhausted and sad. She was MEAN! I am fully aware that she loves me, and that this was just a fit, and it's what kids do sometimes...but that doesn't mean that I had to like it. I wanted to reply in kind and yell and stomp but I maintained my temper, and THAT was exhausting.
Sooooo - any advice, my cyber friends? How do I prevent, or at least lessen, future episodes? I jokingly told Ryan that if she was a teenager I'd have immediately suspected drugs (not funny, but dark humor none-the-less). Do seven year olds have a change in hormones? Is there some new cognitive leap on the horizon that her body is getting used to? Is she about to grow six inches?
Will I have to deal with this again this year?!
Tessa is capable of so much sweetness, love, wit, kindness, humor, intelligence. Last night I really missed that girl. She's mostly back today, but only after I threatened removal of privleges if she didn't shape up.
Ideas?
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Unplugging
I recently read "Generation A" by Douglas Coupland, and I've been thinking about it a lot in my quiet moments, finding myself mulling over various ideas in it and pondering their effects upon me.
The book is filled with dystopian visions. It's initial premise is about the demise of bees on Earth, and how that impacts humans. It's a dreadful vision (needless to say), and disturbing. It only makes me further believe that growing my own food, pesticide and herbicide free, is the way to go. Eating whole foods (not the grocery chain, the concept), treading lightly on the planet, and all that.
But more than that, it is about the disconnectedness of our society and how society is so plugged in to our videophones and iPods and computers and PDAs and video games and television and every other screen that we've become disconnected from each other, communicating in fragments and blips instead of in meaning or depth. It's about how we've become "Craigs" - people who shop and look a certain way but are lacking in depth as they pursue more, more, more. It's about how we prefer drugs to make us feel safe and secure, instead of making life changes. (Disclaimer: I take Lexapro, and as my attempts to wean have proven, I need it. I think that this is more about recreational drugs, not prescriptions for medical conditions. Thin line? You decide.)
Of all of this, the idea I keep coming back to is screen time. I have spent a lot of time on Facebook lately, reading little snippets of my friends' lives. On Facebook I have something like 260 friends, and yet many of my real life friends aren't on Facebook. As a matter of fact, if I ran into some of these Facebook friends on the street, I wouldn't recognize them. Do I even know 260 people?
Facebook isn't the culprit here - it's an interesting social tool, and it's been fun to reconnect with some people. I have an online breast cancer community, and I've learned more about them. It works for a lot of people.
But it doesn't work for me, I think.
I don't want to stay on top of 260 people's daily lives. I find it completely overwhelming, and it makes me want to shut down. Or, worse, it makes me feel like I've had social interactions, and then I don't have real interactions because I'm socialized-out. People have real tragedies, and reading about them draws me in, when I am helpless to do anything or I will become consumed by them. People have small complaints, people have minutia, people have silly joys. Me, too, by the way - I was updating regularly, so don't think that I'm excluding myself from any of this.
So, in my attempts to be mindful, and in my attempts to live consciously, I've dropped Facebook. My plan is to stay away from it for a month, and see where life takes me.
Today, life took me on a walk with Shep down to Lincoln Park. The weather is gray, but dry, and very pleasant. Shep and I both needed the exercise, so off we went.
And I left my iPod at home.
I love to listen to music, and I really enjoy podcasts. But when I'm outdoors, what would I have missed if I was plugged in? Lots of little visits with others and their dogs. More birdsongs than I can identify. The little lap, lap of the waves against the shore at high tide. The squishy sound of mud underfoot. And even my observances - instead of merely watching to make sure I didn't trip, I was really looking today - after all, what else did I have to do? I saw cormorants diving, a crow carrying something that looked too large for it to carry, crocuses (in January?!), and a sculpture of a heron about to take flight that I had never noticed before. Such small, small, small things. Nothing profound. It did not change my life, and I did not reach any brilliant conclusions about anything. I just know that it felt good, and it felt right, and I'd like more of it.
I'm unplugging more and more. I don't want to talk on my phone in the car - learning more about those dangers has me convinced. I don't want to spend my life staring at a little screen. (Irony: I'm typing on a little screen. Yes, I realize that. But it isn't that I don't EVER want to use a computer, just that I want to do it more judiciously.) I want to be outdoors more. I want more nature in my life. I want to think my own thoughts, instead of plugging in to someone elses. I want to read things that I have been carefully thought out instead of posted in a moment of "what the heck."
All this from a book. Aren't books dangerous? Ahhhh - that is my kind of danger.
The book is filled with dystopian visions. It's initial premise is about the demise of bees on Earth, and how that impacts humans. It's a dreadful vision (needless to say), and disturbing. It only makes me further believe that growing my own food, pesticide and herbicide free, is the way to go. Eating whole foods (not the grocery chain, the concept), treading lightly on the planet, and all that.
But more than that, it is about the disconnectedness of our society and how society is so plugged in to our videophones and iPods and computers and PDAs and video games and television and every other screen that we've become disconnected from each other, communicating in fragments and blips instead of in meaning or depth. It's about how we've become "Craigs" - people who shop and look a certain way but are lacking in depth as they pursue more, more, more. It's about how we prefer drugs to make us feel safe and secure, instead of making life changes. (Disclaimer: I take Lexapro, and as my attempts to wean have proven, I need it. I think that this is more about recreational drugs, not prescriptions for medical conditions. Thin line? You decide.)
Of all of this, the idea I keep coming back to is screen time. I have spent a lot of time on Facebook lately, reading little snippets of my friends' lives. On Facebook I have something like 260 friends, and yet many of my real life friends aren't on Facebook. As a matter of fact, if I ran into some of these Facebook friends on the street, I wouldn't recognize them. Do I even know 260 people?
Facebook isn't the culprit here - it's an interesting social tool, and it's been fun to reconnect with some people. I have an online breast cancer community, and I've learned more about them. It works for a lot of people.
But it doesn't work for me, I think.
I don't want to stay on top of 260 people's daily lives. I find it completely overwhelming, and it makes me want to shut down. Or, worse, it makes me feel like I've had social interactions, and then I don't have real interactions because I'm socialized-out. People have real tragedies, and reading about them draws me in, when I am helpless to do anything or I will become consumed by them. People have small complaints, people have minutia, people have silly joys. Me, too, by the way - I was updating regularly, so don't think that I'm excluding myself from any of this.
So, in my attempts to be mindful, and in my attempts to live consciously, I've dropped Facebook. My plan is to stay away from it for a month, and see where life takes me.
Today, life took me on a walk with Shep down to Lincoln Park. The weather is gray, but dry, and very pleasant. Shep and I both needed the exercise, so off we went.
And I left my iPod at home.
I love to listen to music, and I really enjoy podcasts. But when I'm outdoors, what would I have missed if I was plugged in? Lots of little visits with others and their dogs. More birdsongs than I can identify. The little lap, lap of the waves against the shore at high tide. The squishy sound of mud underfoot. And even my observances - instead of merely watching to make sure I didn't trip, I was really looking today - after all, what else did I have to do? I saw cormorants diving, a crow carrying something that looked too large for it to carry, crocuses (in January?!), and a sculpture of a heron about to take flight that I had never noticed before. Such small, small, small things. Nothing profound. It did not change my life, and I did not reach any brilliant conclusions about anything. I just know that it felt good, and it felt right, and I'd like more of it.
I'm unplugging more and more. I don't want to talk on my phone in the car - learning more about those dangers has me convinced. I don't want to spend my life staring at a little screen. (Irony: I'm typing on a little screen. Yes, I realize that. But it isn't that I don't EVER want to use a computer, just that I want to do it more judiciously.) I want to be outdoors more. I want more nature in my life. I want to think my own thoughts, instead of plugging in to someone elses. I want to read things that I have been carefully thought out instead of posted in a moment of "what the heck."
All this from a book. Aren't books dangerous? Ahhhh - that is my kind of danger.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Mindful
My lack of blogging has gone on for a long time; I hope to break the non-blogging streak.
I'm trying very hard to be mindful. More mindful, that is. I'm trying to make positive changes in my life. I'm attempting to spend much less time online, and more time reading books. I'm attempting to be more mindful of how I eat, what I do, how I live.
The usual, only more focused.
----------------
Tessa:
Tessa is changing before my very eyes. We had "the snaggletooth" pulled at the dentist to reveal the pretty tooth behind it, and received further confirmation of future orthodontia. Like mother and father, like daughter! Her crowded teeth also have a cavity - drat.
Tessa turned seven this weekend, and also lit the chalice at church for the first time. More on that when I have a moment to download pics to show off our pretty girl.
I'm trying very hard to be mindful. More mindful, that is. I'm trying to make positive changes in my life. I'm attempting to spend much less time online, and more time reading books. I'm attempting to be more mindful of how I eat, what I do, how I live.
The usual, only more focused.
----------------
Tessa:
Tessa is changing before my very eyes. We had "the snaggletooth" pulled at the dentist to reveal the pretty tooth behind it, and received further confirmation of future orthodontia. Like mother and father, like daughter! Her crowded teeth also have a cavity - drat.
Tessa turned seven this weekend, and also lit the chalice at church for the first time. More on that when I have a moment to download pics to show off our pretty girl.
Friday, January 15, 2010
More Gratitude
I am doing my best to avoid seeing pictures of the devastation in Haiti. I simply can not shake such images out of my head, and it makes me feel so hopeless to see the despair. I saw one picture of a mother, writhing in emotional pain on the ground, as she mourned the loss of her child. In that glimpse, I was she and she was I and I shared her pain and it was hard to breathe.
The other night when Tessa was drifting off to sleep, I crawled into bed with her for a quiet snuggle. We talked about our days, giggled, whispered, and I felt the warmth of her body next to mine. I held her close and every cell in my body sent out a prayer for the people of Haiti, wishing that they could experience the same comfort.
I do have things to complain about - we all do. My wrist still hurts, especially when I over-use it, and it has a combination of burning and throbbing pains. Money is still tight. I still have nightmares about cancer, and I still bear the scars and pains and fatigue. The porch still needs replacing. And we have to drink cheap wine. (That last one added for humor. Ha.)
And the people of Haiti are quite unintentionally reminding me of my massive, amazing, incredible good fortune.
I am alive. My family is alive and well. When we are sick, we get medical care, and, miracle of miracles, we heal. We turn on the tap and water comes out every time - hot and cold, and we don't have to boil it before we drink it. The cupboards are full of food, and when they run low, we go to one of a dozen nearby stores to restock them with food. My bed is comfortable. I held a party (church potluck) and 50 people came to my house, and not one complained about inadequacies - the children laughed, the adults talked.
And our home - our lovely home. Today, I'm not seeing the rotten porch and the missing fireplace (what kind of 1923 house doesn't have a fireplace?!) and the 1970s basement. No, today I don't see that at all. I am seeing warmth, light, polished hardwood floors. I'm seeing colors chosen because they give me joy and soothe me. I'm hearing the rain beat on the windows, mixed with the sounds of Mozart on the radio. I'm gazing at hundreds and hundreds (thousands?) of books, chosen because they sounded interesting. My giant puppy is on the floor beside me, sleek and well fed and loyal; my cat refuses all but one kind of food (he's a bit of a grumpy old man sometimes) but spends each night curled at my feet. The phone rings with offers to play, to gather, to dine, to share.
In the darkest days of my life - my cancer, Ryan's depression, then my own depression - I still had this warm, comfortable home. I went to bed every night beneath soft blankets; I still had music and books and friends and family to soothe me. When my body ached beyond bearing, loving hands swooped in to care for me, my home, my family. "We're here for you," they said, and they meant it. Ryan stayed with me, Tessa kept laughing, and we remain a family, loving each other.
So today I'm thinking about all of that incredible good fortune.
The people of Haiti have lost so much already. On the radio, I heard about the contaminated drinking water, and how the silver lining is that the people of Haiti mostly already know about contaminated water and how to treat it. I saw a picture of a shantytown - the poorest of the poor, and even their shacks are gone now. I heard that most people can live three days without food and water.
And the pain of the real loss - the people. It is unbearable. All of the losses grab me, but the ones that hurt me the most are the mothers losing children. And children losing mothers. I know that those mothers love their children as much as I love Tessa, and that those children need their mothers as much as Tessa needs me. ESPECIALLY in the midst of this devastation. I think to myself that maybe I could handle it if I had Tessa beside me reminding me to care for her. Maybe. But if I lost her? My mind would leave me, too.
And the thought of Tessa, separated from Ryan and I, wandering in the streets, hungry and frightened and among corpses? No. Nononono. NO. Just writing that makes me want to fly to her school to hold her, to stroke her hair, to remind myself of her aliveness, her happiness, her safety.
And for the people of Haiti, it's not an exercise in gratitude. It is their hell on earth right now, stepping over bodies and looking for survivors and broken bones without casts and illness without antibiotics. Undoubtedly, there are cancer patients needing radiation or surgery or chemo and now they have nothing, not even water.
Here in Seattle, clean water is falling from the sky, and inside my warm home, I'm sipping peppermint tea and writing and thinking. What great luxuries. My life is one giant luxury.
My prayers for the people of Haiti. My condolences. My tears.
We sent a little check to help, and another Alki mom, Jill, convinced me (merely by mentioning it) to hold a fundraiser for Haiti involving the children of Alki Elementary. This weekend, our church is holding a soup lunch as a fundraiser for Haiti, and I am making a big pot of chili to donate to the event. (Want to come with me? Call me!)
My impact is tiny, just a drop of water in the sea of need. But I am doing what I can, and I hope that others will, too.
The other night when Tessa was drifting off to sleep, I crawled into bed with her for a quiet snuggle. We talked about our days, giggled, whispered, and I felt the warmth of her body next to mine. I held her close and every cell in my body sent out a prayer for the people of Haiti, wishing that they could experience the same comfort.
I do have things to complain about - we all do. My wrist still hurts, especially when I over-use it, and it has a combination of burning and throbbing pains. Money is still tight. I still have nightmares about cancer, and I still bear the scars and pains and fatigue. The porch still needs replacing. And we have to drink cheap wine. (That last one added for humor. Ha.)
And the people of Haiti are quite unintentionally reminding me of my massive, amazing, incredible good fortune.
I am alive. My family is alive and well. When we are sick, we get medical care, and, miracle of miracles, we heal. We turn on the tap and water comes out every time - hot and cold, and we don't have to boil it before we drink it. The cupboards are full of food, and when they run low, we go to one of a dozen nearby stores to restock them with food. My bed is comfortable. I held a party (church potluck) and 50 people came to my house, and not one complained about inadequacies - the children laughed, the adults talked.
And our home - our lovely home. Today, I'm not seeing the rotten porch and the missing fireplace (what kind of 1923 house doesn't have a fireplace?!) and the 1970s basement. No, today I don't see that at all. I am seeing warmth, light, polished hardwood floors. I'm seeing colors chosen because they give me joy and soothe me. I'm hearing the rain beat on the windows, mixed with the sounds of Mozart on the radio. I'm gazing at hundreds and hundreds (thousands?) of books, chosen because they sounded interesting. My giant puppy is on the floor beside me, sleek and well fed and loyal; my cat refuses all but one kind of food (he's a bit of a grumpy old man sometimes) but spends each night curled at my feet. The phone rings with offers to play, to gather, to dine, to share.
In the darkest days of my life - my cancer, Ryan's depression, then my own depression - I still had this warm, comfortable home. I went to bed every night beneath soft blankets; I still had music and books and friends and family to soothe me. When my body ached beyond bearing, loving hands swooped in to care for me, my home, my family. "We're here for you," they said, and they meant it. Ryan stayed with me, Tessa kept laughing, and we remain a family, loving each other.
So today I'm thinking about all of that incredible good fortune.
The people of Haiti have lost so much already. On the radio, I heard about the contaminated drinking water, and how the silver lining is that the people of Haiti mostly already know about contaminated water and how to treat it. I saw a picture of a shantytown - the poorest of the poor, and even their shacks are gone now. I heard that most people can live three days without food and water.
And the pain of the real loss - the people. It is unbearable. All of the losses grab me, but the ones that hurt me the most are the mothers losing children. And children losing mothers. I know that those mothers love their children as much as I love Tessa, and that those children need their mothers as much as Tessa needs me. ESPECIALLY in the midst of this devastation. I think to myself that maybe I could handle it if I had Tessa beside me reminding me to care for her. Maybe. But if I lost her? My mind would leave me, too.
And the thought of Tessa, separated from Ryan and I, wandering in the streets, hungry and frightened and among corpses? No. Nononono. NO. Just writing that makes me want to fly to her school to hold her, to stroke her hair, to remind myself of her aliveness, her happiness, her safety.
And for the people of Haiti, it's not an exercise in gratitude. It is their hell on earth right now, stepping over bodies and looking for survivors and broken bones without casts and illness without antibiotics. Undoubtedly, there are cancer patients needing radiation or surgery or chemo and now they have nothing, not even water.
Here in Seattle, clean water is falling from the sky, and inside my warm home, I'm sipping peppermint tea and writing and thinking. What great luxuries. My life is one giant luxury.
My prayers for the people of Haiti. My condolences. My tears.
We sent a little check to help, and another Alki mom, Jill, convinced me (merely by mentioning it) to hold a fundraiser for Haiti involving the children of Alki Elementary. This weekend, our church is holding a soup lunch as a fundraiser for Haiti, and I am making a big pot of chili to donate to the event. (Want to come with me? Call me!)
My impact is tiny, just a drop of water in the sea of need. But I am doing what I can, and I hope that others will, too.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Listening
I've always been a talker; my mother says that I was born that way. (And that my favorite word was "no" but that is another post.)
I'm working on being a better listener these days; maybe that is one of the reasons that my blog has been so silent. I'm listening to my body, and it says that I am tired; I'm listening to my inner voice, which reminds me to stay true; I'm trying to listen more to Ryan and Tessa and all of those in my life I care so much about.
I'm also listening to the rain fall against the windows - a soothing sound. And I'm listening to Alison Kraus crooning on the CD player, melodious and sweet.
My wrist is still hurting quite a bit; I overdid it again yesterday and the price was a burning and throbbing sensation that reminded me not to do that again. It is not broken - two sets of x-rays have confirmed that - but "just a bad sprain" and it is definitely getting better. At first I couldn't even hold anything in that hand, and now, with modifications, I can do most things....as long as I don't do too much.
Ryan is settling into his latest PwC job, another Microsoft placement, and though the work sounds interesting and promising, the commute is horrible, and he spends a lot of time on a bus. He has a good attitude about it, and I am grateful for that. This gig looks like it goes through March, so at least it's not too long. We're still hoping for placements at Seattle firms.
Tessa is, well, Tessa. She's growing, both physically and intellectually, in leaps and bounds. She's going through another round of outgrowing her clothes and eating around the clock, and she's really doing well at school. She's started reading some chapter books, and she's doing much better with her homework so that it's not like pulling teeth the way it was for the first part of this year. She's excited for her upcoming birthday - we're going ice skating with a small group of her girlfriends. She is still madly in love with her American Girl doll, and takes it with her most places (though she has to leave it at home when she goes to school). She's also in love with The Beatles - she's getting Rubber Soul and Abbey Road for her birthday, at her request.
I am really slowed down by my wrist and by fatigue, but I'm doing my usual nesting around the house, and playdates with Tessa's friends, and chaperoning field trips, and the like.
One of the biggest pieces of excitement on our horizon is that our church, West Side Unitarian Universalist, is trying to buy their (our) own building. There is a very promising property, and the church is in negotiations, and in the middle of a giant capital campaign to raise funds. Our current space is rented, and it barely works for us - there are no windows, no classrooms...it is not a very worshipful space and it doesn't accomodate families well at all. The new building is in a 1950s church previously owned by the Baptists, and it has big windows, some of which have views of the Sound, and some of which have pretty stained glass. It has real church pews instead of folding chairs, and, glory of glories, actual classrooms and meeting spaces. I hate that Ryan and I don't have much money to spare (this is where, once again, I say "I HATE CANCER DEBT!") to help the cause, but we will help in as many ways as we can. In addition to being a place where we worship on Sundays, our church has become an important part of our community. Tessa has "adoptive" Grandparents there, Lois and Creighton, who dote on her almost as much as she dotes on them; I have found friends of my own, too. Ryan is involved with the Habitat for Humanity project, I'm involved with Family Promise. We can't wait to host Family Promise in our own space, to hold town meetings there, to gather together to play and laugh and drink coffee and potluck. Tessa has lots of friends there, and it makes me smile to see the kids running around and laughing together, and I hope that she will grow up with these children.
I also have an image of Tessa, on Ryan's arm, walking down the aisle in a long white dress in this building.
Only time will tell, but I am hopeful.
So our days go by, and we are busy, and grateful for our lives. Last night I crawled into bed with Tessa and snuggled and laughed with her, talking past her bedtime, and as I held her I felt my whole body give out a prayer for the families of Haiti. I complain - wrists, debt, broken dishwasher, the usual - but my life is rich and blessed and I am grateful. I wish that everyone was so lucky.
I'm working on being a better listener these days; maybe that is one of the reasons that my blog has been so silent. I'm listening to my body, and it says that I am tired; I'm listening to my inner voice, which reminds me to stay true; I'm trying to listen more to Ryan and Tessa and all of those in my life I care so much about.
I'm also listening to the rain fall against the windows - a soothing sound. And I'm listening to Alison Kraus crooning on the CD player, melodious and sweet.
My wrist is still hurting quite a bit; I overdid it again yesterday and the price was a burning and throbbing sensation that reminded me not to do that again. It is not broken - two sets of x-rays have confirmed that - but "just a bad sprain" and it is definitely getting better. At first I couldn't even hold anything in that hand, and now, with modifications, I can do most things....as long as I don't do too much.
Ryan is settling into his latest PwC job, another Microsoft placement, and though the work sounds interesting and promising, the commute is horrible, and he spends a lot of time on a bus. He has a good attitude about it, and I am grateful for that. This gig looks like it goes through March, so at least it's not too long. We're still hoping for placements at Seattle firms.
Tessa is, well, Tessa. She's growing, both physically and intellectually, in leaps and bounds. She's going through another round of outgrowing her clothes and eating around the clock, and she's really doing well at school. She's started reading some chapter books, and she's doing much better with her homework so that it's not like pulling teeth the way it was for the first part of this year. She's excited for her upcoming birthday - we're going ice skating with a small group of her girlfriends. She is still madly in love with her American Girl doll, and takes it with her most places (though she has to leave it at home when she goes to school). She's also in love with The Beatles - she's getting Rubber Soul and Abbey Road for her birthday, at her request.
I am really slowed down by my wrist and by fatigue, but I'm doing my usual nesting around the house, and playdates with Tessa's friends, and chaperoning field trips, and the like.
One of the biggest pieces of excitement on our horizon is that our church, West Side Unitarian Universalist, is trying to buy their (our) own building. There is a very promising property, and the church is in negotiations, and in the middle of a giant capital campaign to raise funds. Our current space is rented, and it barely works for us - there are no windows, no classrooms...it is not a very worshipful space and it doesn't accomodate families well at all. The new building is in a 1950s church previously owned by the Baptists, and it has big windows, some of which have views of the Sound, and some of which have pretty stained glass. It has real church pews instead of folding chairs, and, glory of glories, actual classrooms and meeting spaces. I hate that Ryan and I don't have much money to spare (this is where, once again, I say "I HATE CANCER DEBT!") to help the cause, but we will help in as many ways as we can. In addition to being a place where we worship on Sundays, our church has become an important part of our community. Tessa has "adoptive" Grandparents there, Lois and Creighton, who dote on her almost as much as she dotes on them; I have found friends of my own, too. Ryan is involved with the Habitat for Humanity project, I'm involved with Family Promise. We can't wait to host Family Promise in our own space, to hold town meetings there, to gather together to play and laugh and drink coffee and potluck. Tessa has lots of friends there, and it makes me smile to see the kids running around and laughing together, and I hope that she will grow up with these children.
I also have an image of Tessa, on Ryan's arm, walking down the aisle in a long white dress in this building.
Only time will tell, but I am hopeful.
So our days go by, and we are busy, and grateful for our lives. Last night I crawled into bed with Tessa and snuggled and laughed with her, talking past her bedtime, and as I held her I felt my whole body give out a prayer for the families of Haiti. I complain - wrists, debt, broken dishwasher, the usual - but my life is rich and blessed and I am grateful. I wish that everyone was so lucky.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Sunday, January 03, 2010
Practicing a good attitude
Yesterday Tessa and I went ice skating - so much fun! I was having a ton of fun until I went too fast and lost control and fell backwards (I think I must have looked like a cartoon character at that moment), landing full on my right wrist. OUCH. Actually, I'm proud that I called out "ouch" and not some less child-friendly word because it really hurt.
I've been icing it and I got a wrist brace to wear, too, which protects it from bumps and holds it steady. It really, really, really hurts. (I can't say that enough - i'm feeling quite sorry for myself ont hat front.) I took two oxycodone left over from another operation and it is still a sharp pain and I can't pick anything up with that hand. I am wearing a simple dress today that pulls over my head becasue I could not button my own jeans.
Obviously, this has some challenges.
I will go to the doctor tomorrow for an xray and suspect that I have a broken wrist - online searching says that is probably the case, and a doctor friend at church suspects that too. Whatever it is, it isn't good.
But it will be okay.
A broken wrist isn't ideal, of course, but it's okay. It's not permanent. It won't try to kill me. It won't require poisoning or burning my body to cure it. It IS curable. It does not change how much my family lvoes me, or how comfortable our home is, or how mcuh I enjoy my friends. It does not mess with my family, threaten Tessa's childhood or my marriage.
A wrist is just a wrist.
It hurts a lot, but pain is just pain. Oxycodone is my friend. I will take care of this and deal with it, and I promise that I will complain about it until you beg me to be quiet. But I am so grateful to have a normal problem - I fell while ice skating. Nothing more or less.
Maybe this is a chance for down time. And wearing yoga pants for weeks on end. Namaste!
I've been icing it and I got a wrist brace to wear, too, which protects it from bumps and holds it steady. It really, really, really hurts. (I can't say that enough - i'm feeling quite sorry for myself ont hat front.) I took two oxycodone left over from another operation and it is still a sharp pain and I can't pick anything up with that hand. I am wearing a simple dress today that pulls over my head becasue I could not button my own jeans.
Obviously, this has some challenges.
I will go to the doctor tomorrow for an xray and suspect that I have a broken wrist - online searching says that is probably the case, and a doctor friend at church suspects that too. Whatever it is, it isn't good.
But it will be okay.
A broken wrist isn't ideal, of course, but it's okay. It's not permanent. It won't try to kill me. It won't require poisoning or burning my body to cure it. It IS curable. It does not change how much my family lvoes me, or how comfortable our home is, or how mcuh I enjoy my friends. It does not mess with my family, threaten Tessa's childhood or my marriage.
A wrist is just a wrist.
It hurts a lot, but pain is just pain. Oxycodone is my friend. I will take care of this and deal with it, and I promise that I will complain about it until you beg me to be quiet. But I am so grateful to have a normal problem - I fell while ice skating. Nothing more or less.
Maybe this is a chance for down time. And wearing yoga pants for weeks on end. Namaste!
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