Time travel would be so cool. Or it might be devastating. Either way, heading into the future would sure put the present in perspective.
"Enjoy 'em when they're little -- it goes so fast." So say nostalgic older parents who gaze with sentimental adoration at my babies, who truly will be no longer babies in a blink of an eye. And that's when I'll get to close my eyes, undisturbed, thank you very much.
If only I could time travel...taste the ache of longing for my babies, the twinge of pain recalling how many waste moments of pure love. If only I could see now with the Rose Colored Glasses of the future.
I am practicing for my New Year's Resolution, in hopes of giving myself a head start:
I will remember those words, savoring with sleepy eyes the precious little human beings who learn almost everything about life through my way of being, listening, seeing, loving, laughing, showing, opening, guiding and communicating. I will enjoy every bit of this timeless gift, dammit.
My attention turns to my breath, not in meditative peace, but in anxious observation of how patter-patter and shallow my inhalations are as I feel ready to explode with the incessant, relentless demands.
And then one flashing grin -- just one sends to the moon and centers my spirit on the miracle before me, her life a gathering celebration of creation and its Creator.
"You're making memories!" admonishes my daughter's Kindergarten teacher as all the harried parents are corralled from one craft table to next, helping our children create cheap and priceless ornaments. This is a Christmas Decorating tradition that's been going on at Haddonfield Friend's School for over twenty years.
"I still have my pinecone!" says the teacher. "And today my Kindergartener is jumping out of a plane. Trust me, you'll wish for this day again, when you could sit with your Kindergartener and make holiday decorations with them."
Meanwhile, I am trying to nurse Avriana with one arm, help Gabriel up on my lap with the other, while extracting sparklies from Avriana's mouth, holding her in place with my elbo and then leaning in to assist Nika in the very delicate process of gluing a cotton pom pom on the hat (I almost typed hate) of a plastic snowman.
That was last week, and already, I'm glad I went, not only because of what it meant to my daughter, but because of the lingering connection created by my willingness to enter into the insanity of Kindergarten parent-duties of of love for my big baby girl, whose growing into power, love and beauty more everyday.
Today was Gingerbread House Day. I was able to get a sitter for the little ones, and give Nika my full attention. Well as much of my attention as I could in between letting my mind wander to wondering where we'll be when David starts residency, or feeling annoyed at how the Teacher spoke to parents EXACTLY like the Kindergarteners: "One Two Three, eyes on me!"
But I got some good moments in their, between the graham crackers and the gum drops, and I keep adding more moments and by the grace of God, I will learn a little more everyday to live now by the Rose Colored Glasses of tomorrow.
Because Today will evaporate, and all that'll be left is the love I gave and the love I let open the door of my silly, preoccupide heart.
"Behold, I stand at the door and knock!" Could it be the knock of a child? Let the little children come, and so help us God, let us be Awake and Welcoming when they come, for we are each other's little Christs, everyday.
Emergence
Gabriel turns Two: Happy Birthday Sweet Boy
Showing posts with label student family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label student family. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
Best (low-cheese) Advent Books For Kids
I confess to owning a few cheesy religious books -- you know, the ones that use short sentences packed with oversimplifications that aren't even childlike, as well as jargon that adults barely understand -- all of which make the story sound like a basic, almost pithy catechism to be memorized.
My son, bless him, has unfortunately become a big fan of Patricia A. Pingry's The Christmas Story, which in my humble opinion fits in the above-described category. I like to think my son has good taste, (what mother lacks this bias?) In order to maintain this belief, I am concluding he likes The Christmas Story on account of the rather lovely pictures of Mary and Joseph. My little boy likes to call the Holy Couple by name, pointing at them over and over, with shrieking delight. Gabe especially has a thing for Mary. He has, I fear, a crush on the mother of God.
Mary! That's Mary" exclaims almost two-year-old Gabriel, like he's in love, caught up in a sparkling epiphany of his own.
Like I said, the boy's got good taste.
Mary worship aside, I would like to introduce my kids to some better kids literature filled with the longing, truth and beauty of advent, with its crowning moment, the birth of God with us.
Here are my current favorites, all of which can be located on Amazon.
1. The Three Wise Women by Mary Hoffman, pictures by Lynne Russell
2. The Legend of St. Nicholas: A Story of Christmas Giving by Dandi Daley Mackall, Illustrated by Buy Porfirio
3. The Little Shepherd Girl, by Juliann Henry, Illustrated by Jim Madsen
All these stories offer a unique perspective on their topic that brings alive the essential traditions we cherish, while expanding our eye's horizon and our hearts understanding in a way that is deep, yet childlike, although more applicable to kids four and up. The "up" includes people my age, and I'd bet my boots, well beyond.
Enjoy!
My son, bless him, has unfortunately become a big fan of Patricia A. Pingry's The Christmas Story, which in my humble opinion fits in the above-described category. I like to think my son has good taste, (what mother lacks this bias?) In order to maintain this belief, I am concluding he likes The Christmas Story on account of the rather lovely pictures of Mary and Joseph. My little boy likes to call the Holy Couple by name, pointing at them over and over, with shrieking delight. Gabe especially has a thing for Mary. He has, I fear, a crush on the mother of God.
Mary! That's Mary" exclaims almost two-year-old Gabriel, like he's in love, caught up in a sparkling epiphany of his own.
Like I said, the boy's got good taste.
Mary worship aside, I would like to introduce my kids to some better kids literature filled with the longing, truth and beauty of advent, with its crowning moment, the birth of God with us.
Here are my current favorites, all of which can be located on Amazon.
1. The Three Wise Women by Mary Hoffman, pictures by Lynne Russell
2. The Legend of St. Nicholas: A Story of Christmas Giving by Dandi Daley Mackall, Illustrated by Buy Porfirio
3. The Little Shepherd Girl, by Juliann Henry, Illustrated by Jim Madsen
All these stories offer a unique perspective on their topic that brings alive the essential traditions we cherish, while expanding our eye's horizon and our hearts understanding in a way that is deep, yet childlike, although more applicable to kids four and up. The "up" includes people my age, and I'd bet my boots, well beyond.
Enjoy!
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Little Shepherd Girl
A new mattress was on its way for our little boy, Gabriel, and the house was littered with colorful toys and recycling bags, whose paper contents had been emptied gleefully across the living room space, even trailing down the stairs to our entryway like like bread crumbs. Amazon.com boxes piled like skyscrapers in the corner by the door. There was no room for the mattress, and the delivery was about to happen -- any time between 1pm and 4pm.
David, my husband assessed the situation and announced he was going to take care of the recycling and went about it, leaving me upstairs with our three little kids. Gabe wanted to press the other song on the CD player; Avriana popped like a foghorn, and Nika needed help opening the Peanut Butter -- and a reminder that pushing her brother off the stool is not an acceptable solution to territory disputes. I adore my kids and love them more than life itself.
And yet...
My nose quivered, opening to the fresh air cleverly wafting in each time the door opened and shut between savory trips to the dumpster outside our condominium complex. I sniffed the cardboard on its way outside, and compared that with the poopy smell emanating from a small bum slithering around on our blue rug; the sound of sleet with the sound of whine.
When I was little, I always wanted to shovel snow with my dad -- even if it was wet, heavy snow. I always choose raking leaves over sweeping the kitchen, stacking wood over chopping vegetables or wiping the table. It could be this remembrance that links me Sarah, the protagonist in a fabulous new Christmas story called The Little Shepherd Girl written by Juliann Henry.
Sarah wants to be a shepherd. She pleads with her to go out and watch the flock. Her Father's response at first, is traditional, even protective.
"No, Sarah," he finally said. "Daughters are meant for weaving and baking flat cakes. Only sons can protect the flock from a hungry wolf. That is just the way of things."
"But, Father," Sarah's voice rose, "you have no sons to bring the sheep to pasture! And why does my nose prefer the smell of sweet clover to that of bread dough?"
After I kiss my baby, nibble my toddler and read a story to my very own Little Shepherd Girl, who, like her mother, prefers to play outside, jumping rocks, than tending stoves or dressing babies, I ask David if we can switch places. Being an enlightened man (and certainly not my father,) he doesn't forbid my crossover into "his" territory, though he is caught off guard -- at least a little.
Soon I am outside in the chill, my boots slipping slightly on the sleet-covered sidewalk, with heavy bags filling my arms with life and strength and a sense of accomplishment. Air fills my lungs and I look up and thank God. And I think of Sarah, the little shepherd girl, who, on the Eve of Christmas is finally freed to follow her own North Star.
Caring for her sheep, and without abandoning a single one that first night out in the fields, Sarah, manages to shepherd the flock all the way to the manger, where she meets Baby Jesus -- ahead of her boy cousins, for that matter.
And this is my advent calling: To breathe the wild, fresh air of undomesticated life without abandoning any of my little lambs.
Each day may God open a new window, so I can see Sarah's North Star. And may it point me to the Baby Jesus, whom I discover in my own little ones when I come inside, my body tingling with air and life from beyond the kitchen where the little tots play.
David, my husband assessed the situation and announced he was going to take care of the recycling and went about it, leaving me upstairs with our three little kids. Gabe wanted to press the other song on the CD player; Avriana popped like a foghorn, and Nika needed help opening the Peanut Butter -- and a reminder that pushing her brother off the stool is not an acceptable solution to territory disputes. I adore my kids and love them more than life itself.
And yet...
My nose quivered, opening to the fresh air cleverly wafting in each time the door opened and shut between savory trips to the dumpster outside our condominium complex. I sniffed the cardboard on its way outside, and compared that with the poopy smell emanating from a small bum slithering around on our blue rug; the sound of sleet with the sound of whine.
When I was little, I always wanted to shovel snow with my dad -- even if it was wet, heavy snow. I always choose raking leaves over sweeping the kitchen, stacking wood over chopping vegetables or wiping the table. It could be this remembrance that links me Sarah, the protagonist in a fabulous new Christmas story called The Little Shepherd Girl written by Juliann Henry.
Sarah wants to be a shepherd. She pleads with her to go out and watch the flock. Her Father's response at first, is traditional, even protective.
"No, Sarah," he finally said. "Daughters are meant for weaving and baking flat cakes. Only sons can protect the flock from a hungry wolf. That is just the way of things."
"But, Father," Sarah's voice rose, "you have no sons to bring the sheep to pasture! And why does my nose prefer the smell of sweet clover to that of bread dough?"
After I kiss my baby, nibble my toddler and read a story to my very own Little Shepherd Girl, who, like her mother, prefers to play outside, jumping rocks, than tending stoves or dressing babies, I ask David if we can switch places. Being an enlightened man (and certainly not my father,) he doesn't forbid my crossover into "his" territory, though he is caught off guard -- at least a little.
Soon I am outside in the chill, my boots slipping slightly on the sleet-covered sidewalk, with heavy bags filling my arms with life and strength and a sense of accomplishment. Air fills my lungs and I look up and thank God. And I think of Sarah, the little shepherd girl, who, on the Eve of Christmas is finally freed to follow her own North Star.
Caring for her sheep, and without abandoning a single one that first night out in the fields, Sarah, manages to shepherd the flock all the way to the manger, where she meets Baby Jesus -- ahead of her boy cousins, for that matter.
And this is my advent calling: To breathe the wild, fresh air of undomesticated life without abandoning any of my little lambs.
Each day may God open a new window, so I can see Sarah's North Star. And may it point me to the Baby Jesus, whom I discover in my own little ones when I come inside, my body tingling with air and life from beyond the kitchen where the little tots play.
Friday, November 30, 2007
This too shall pass (or why parenting young children is like passing a kidney stone)
It has been one of those weeks. My eight month-old, Avriana has eyes like the moon and a sensitive stubborn spirit like her Mama, only more so, if it is possible. She staunchly refuses to let me help her sleep, day or night. She is a wriggly, gorgeous caricature of the painting you saw in high school art class called "The Scream."
Similar, my toddler, Gabriel bangs on the door during "nap" saying, "open the door, mommy. Mommy let you out." When I let him out, to see if he has any actual needs there are two possible scenarios:
1) He has pooped and it's gross and I have to change it, which usually results in flailing and wailing that wakes up his sister, who has, perhaps finally fallen asleep after two hours of guttural screeching while I sat in her crib gently but firmly soothing her (and trying to do yogic breathing.)
2) He smiles, says, "Good morning," even if it is two o'clock in the afternoon and starts incessantly asking for "Frog and Toad."
When I pick up my five-year-old Nika from school, she is angry because her brother is kicking her. Also I didn't pack TWO juice boxes. I try to take an interest in her life: "How was art?"
"Yaga. Bobby."
Baby talk.
The last thing I need from my one child who is supposed not be a baby, except of course the other two seem so successful at taking all my resources by acting like babies, why wouldn't she try? And the poor thing, it's hard to be one whose always being asked to be a "big birl." I miss my Nika.
Frankly, Mama is tired of being a big girl too.
I take Nika to Barne's & Noble, for a brief outing together, despite the fact that I feel and emotionally physically that my heart is utterly tired and I am not sure I can go on, literally.
On the way, I get in the shoulder lane a few driveways before B & N, and out of one of them, an idiot driver decides to start pulling out -- I honk -- a collision is barely avoided and I practice yogic breathing, as we pull into the bookstore parking lot. I'm ready for a steamer. I see flashing lights. Whadya know? Apparently it was my fault that the other car almost hit me because I got in the shoulder lane too early. I cried when the police officer took my info, both because it was impossible not to, and also I have heard it helps commute tickets into warnings. I got a summons anyway. And as I breathed, filling my belly with all the weeks labor pains, I wondered if this kid-ney stone will ever pass.
This one will, I imagine, glimpsing ahead through a peep hole in my mustard seed binoculars, and there will be new kid-ney stones ahead. I only I will have the grace to make alters out of them as they pass, to remember where God has met me in my hour of need and created beauty, healing and love from the labors which invite our utmost and highest, even when we're at our weakest and lowest.
May God bring out treasures from this fragile jar of clay, and those entrusted to her care. Amen.
Similar, my toddler, Gabriel bangs on the door during "nap" saying, "open the door, mommy. Mommy let you out." When I let him out, to see if he has any actual needs there are two possible scenarios:
1) He has pooped and it's gross and I have to change it, which usually results in flailing and wailing that wakes up his sister, who has, perhaps finally fallen asleep after two hours of guttural screeching while I sat in her crib gently but firmly soothing her (and trying to do yogic breathing.)
2) He smiles, says, "Good morning," even if it is two o'clock in the afternoon and starts incessantly asking for "Frog and Toad."
When I pick up my five-year-old Nika from school, she is angry because her brother is kicking her. Also I didn't pack TWO juice boxes. I try to take an interest in her life: "How was art?"
"Yaga. Bobby."
Baby talk.
The last thing I need from my one child who is supposed not be a baby, except of course the other two seem so successful at taking all my resources by acting like babies, why wouldn't she try? And the poor thing, it's hard to be one whose always being asked to be a "big birl." I miss my Nika.
Frankly, Mama is tired of being a big girl too.
I take Nika to Barne's & Noble, for a brief outing together, despite the fact that I feel and emotionally physically that my heart is utterly tired and I am not sure I can go on, literally.
On the way, I get in the shoulder lane a few driveways before B & N, and out of one of them, an idiot driver decides to start pulling out -- I honk -- a collision is barely avoided and I practice yogic breathing, as we pull into the bookstore parking lot. I'm ready for a steamer. I see flashing lights. Whadya know? Apparently it was my fault that the other car almost hit me because I got in the shoulder lane too early. I cried when the police officer took my info, both because it was impossible not to, and also I have heard it helps commute tickets into warnings. I got a summons anyway. And as I breathed, filling my belly with all the weeks labor pains, I wondered if this kid-ney stone will ever pass.
This one will, I imagine, glimpsing ahead through a peep hole in my mustard seed binoculars, and there will be new kid-ney stones ahead. I only I will have the grace to make alters out of them as they pass, to remember where God has met me in my hour of need and created beauty, healing and love from the labors which invite our utmost and highest, even when we're at our weakest and lowest.
May God bring out treasures from this fragile jar of clay, and those entrusted to her care. Amen.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Thank You
A full day. A full belly. A full heart.
Thanksgiving: a time not only of giving things, but of giving of ourselves...and then giving thanks for the good harvest that God grows from our planting, watering, tending and perhaps most difficult, waiting through this painful times when we are utterly helpless. This lesson came home to me this year, as my family and I celebrated Thanksgiving as a nuclear family. Cooking, playing, thanking, orchestrating, letting go, gathering, and all the other million things you do as a family with three young children often seems like a burden when I'm running on a long-dead battery. I know people whose babies sleep...like babies. My children have always had sleep habits that more closely resemble an insomniac crack addict going through withdrawal.
Yet there was grace today. A grace of embracing a time of family celebration and thankfulness and giving to the peeps I love the energy I could have miserly stolen for myself (it would have been spent on self-pity.) Yes, today I ran full steam ahead into the fields of family when a pull of moon-ebb could easily have dragged me away to Borders to work on my book alone. Grace alone led me to celebrate the beauty that is in my world, the flowers I've been watering, sometimes from a seemingly empty watering can. Thank you. Thank you again, dear One who Is, for the Grace of witnessing those seeds sprout, and sprout with spunky, sweet strength.
I watched today, while gently, with robust attention, my two older ones who usually fight washed cranberries together, picking out the squishy ones. I watched my littlest seeking with mighty spirit to join the big kids on the Marimba and in wrestling on the carpet. My oldest daughter said to my on our family walk, "Go be with your husband!" And so David and I walked together on this wonderful day -- a real Thanksgiving. Thanks Be.
Amen.
Thanksgiving: a time not only of giving things, but of giving of ourselves...and then giving thanks for the good harvest that God grows from our planting, watering, tending and perhaps most difficult, waiting through this painful times when we are utterly helpless. This lesson came home to me this year, as my family and I celebrated Thanksgiving as a nuclear family. Cooking, playing, thanking, orchestrating, letting go, gathering, and all the other million things you do as a family with three young children often seems like a burden when I'm running on a long-dead battery. I know people whose babies sleep...like babies. My children have always had sleep habits that more closely resemble an insomniac crack addict going through withdrawal.
Yet there was grace today. A grace of embracing a time of family celebration and thankfulness and giving to the peeps I love the energy I could have miserly stolen for myself (it would have been spent on self-pity.) Yes, today I ran full steam ahead into the fields of family when a pull of moon-ebb could easily have dragged me away to Borders to work on my book alone. Grace alone led me to celebrate the beauty that is in my world, the flowers I've been watering, sometimes from a seemingly empty watering can. Thank you. Thank you again, dear One who Is, for the Grace of witnessing those seeds sprout, and sprout with spunky, sweet strength.
I watched today, while gently, with robust attention, my two older ones who usually fight washed cranberries together, picking out the squishy ones. I watched my littlest seeking with mighty spirit to join the big kids on the Marimba and in wrestling on the carpet. My oldest daughter said to my on our family walk, "Go be with your husband!" And so David and I walked together on this wonderful day -- a real Thanksgiving. Thanks Be.
Amen.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
New Year, New Name
A new name is attached to "Jemila" and I'm announcing on my blog to coincide with the Jewish New Year. A time of fresh beginnings, re-dedication and renewal of love and devotion: everything embodied in my wedding ceremony, which unfolded with my best friend Jenn officiating, David's mom & partner Rich as witnesses and our kids the ring-bearers, flower children and living testimonies to the love we share. Our wedding ceremony took place four years after we first married each other in a small one-bedroom apartment with (planned) impromptu vows spoken between kisses on a rose-strewn bed where we first made love. Finally, we decided it was time to let some witnesses, and even Uncle Sam in on our promises to each other.
An explanation of the name change:
David would have happily carried the feminist flag by taking my last name, had it been my maiden name. My maiden name makes me cringe, remembering how it was always mispronounced at figure skating competitions, and how it sounded odd and unappealing to me even when pronounced correctly. These memories explain partially why, when I divorced, I kept former spouse's name, namely Monroe. It was a fine, normal name. Fine and normal were(and at certain junctures remain) appealing qualities. Yet somehow, David wasn't thrilled with the idea of inheriting the last name of my ex husband.
So our solution was to be introduced as Mr. Jemila Kwon and Ms. David Kwon. We belong to each other as we daily give ourselves for one another. In fact, it is more beautiful and true to say that we belong acutely with each other.
We are one because we create a new synthesis when we bring our whole, complete selves to the community of our marriage. And for the record, I am not Mrs. David Kwon, although I will possibly wear that hat once a year for Halloween, or other festive function featuring ridiculous costumes.
Here's a Christina Rosetti Poem David and I read together at our wedding:
What is the beginning? Love.
What is the course. Love still.
What is the goal. Te goal is love.
On a happy hill.
Is there nothing then but love?
Search we the sky or earth
There is nothing out of Love
Hath perpetual worth:
All things flag and flee;
There is nothing left but Love
Worthy you and me.
If you would like to see pictures of our wedding, they are posted at djfamily.shutterfly.com
The password is djfamily
Enjoy!
An explanation of the name change:
David would have happily carried the feminist flag by taking my last name, had it been my maiden name. My maiden name makes me cringe, remembering how it was always mispronounced at figure skating competitions, and how it sounded odd and unappealing to me even when pronounced correctly. These memories explain partially why, when I divorced, I kept former spouse's name, namely Monroe. It was a fine, normal name. Fine and normal were(and at certain junctures remain) appealing qualities. Yet somehow, David wasn't thrilled with the idea of inheriting the last name of my ex husband.
So our solution was to be introduced as Mr. Jemila Kwon and Ms. David Kwon. We belong to each other as we daily give ourselves for one another. In fact, it is more beautiful and true to say that we belong acutely with each other.
We are one because we create a new synthesis when we bring our whole, complete selves to the community of our marriage. And for the record, I am not Mrs. David Kwon, although I will possibly wear that hat once a year for Halloween, or other festive function featuring ridiculous costumes.
Here's a Christina Rosetti Poem David and I read together at our wedding:
What is the beginning? Love.
What is the course. Love still.
What is the goal. Te goal is love.
On a happy hill.
Is there nothing then but love?
Search we the sky or earth
There is nothing out of Love
Hath perpetual worth:
All things flag and flee;
There is nothing left but Love
Worthy you and me.
If you would like to see pictures of our wedding, they are posted at djfamily.shutterfly.com
The password is djfamily
Enjoy!
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Cream
Ivett made a scrumptious Hungarian dessert, created from whipping cream, mascarpone cheese, honey, rasberries, chocolate cookie crumbles and butter, decorated with a single walnut.
I could mention less delectable moments in my day -- Nika's meltdowns, my feelings of helplessness and turmoil; Avriana's nocturnal demands, Gabe's anger when forbidden to climb the stairs. Learning Greek grammar. Anticipating David's notable absence during his upcoming surgery rotation....
But in all these moments lies some gift. Love of the Universe, open wide the doors of my earthly self to receive the Life that's here in my living room. Amen.
I could mention less delectable moments in my day -- Nika's meltdowns, my feelings of helplessness and turmoil; Avriana's nocturnal demands, Gabe's anger when forbidden to climb the stairs. Learning Greek grammar. Anticipating David's notable absence during his upcoming surgery rotation....
But in all these moments lies some gift. Love of the Universe, open wide the doors of my earthly self to receive the Life that's here in my living room. Amen.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Quit Quitting, Start Living
I quit seminary. I quit on the grounds that it take too great a stress toll on me and my children and that the loving, self-emptying thing to do is to let it go and be with my kids without the distraction of hanging deadlines or the exhaustion of commuting and thinking layered on motherhood. 'Cause I was pressuring myself to finish my program before we move somewhere else for David's residency. On account of my overriding anxiety and the tape recording that kept saying, "I can't do this." "I'm going to snap."
I quit because I was trying to love my kids selflessly. Because everyone says I can recreate myself later. Because I'm not sure where this road is leading me. Because I was having trouble justifying the time, money, gas and intangibles in a world where kids are starving, the ozone is leaking away and my own babies will soon be big and never again will be little pudgy peach skin rolling in innocence, smiles, fussiness, love, messes and open curiosity.
And when I quit, my heart sank like a sopping wet sand big pitched into an abyss of loneliness and aimlessness. I felt my happy energy sap away and instead of feeling free, lighter, actively engaged with giving my best love to the people in the world I love best, I felt achingly absent and sad.
So I activated the only common sense decision I could: I quit my quitting and put myself back on the road to seminary, now because I am happy to be learning, clear that I am supposed to be on this path, and open to a new way of being that is balanced, learning when it's time to learning and learning when it's time to Be. Laugh. Listen. Engage with life, nourish my family, celebrate the lusciousness of fruit and chocolate, peachy skin and parent in firm, agape ways that acknowledge and nurture the spirits shining through my children in surprising and tricky ways. Love life. Let go of pleasing anyone. Love everyone.
Will I pass my classes with this approach? Will I finish seminary or ever have initials before or after my name? Who cares! I live for the abundant life of the God who lives in me.
I quit because I was trying to love my kids selflessly. Because everyone says I can recreate myself later. Because I'm not sure where this road is leading me. Because I was having trouble justifying the time, money, gas and intangibles in a world where kids are starving, the ozone is leaking away and my own babies will soon be big and never again will be little pudgy peach skin rolling in innocence, smiles, fussiness, love, messes and open curiosity.
And when I quit, my heart sank like a sopping wet sand big pitched into an abyss of loneliness and aimlessness. I felt my happy energy sap away and instead of feeling free, lighter, actively engaged with giving my best love to the people in the world I love best, I felt achingly absent and sad.
So I activated the only common sense decision I could: I quit my quitting and put myself back on the road to seminary, now because I am happy to be learning, clear that I am supposed to be on this path, and open to a new way of being that is balanced, learning when it's time to learning and learning when it's time to Be. Laugh. Listen. Engage with life, nourish my family, celebrate the lusciousness of fruit and chocolate, peachy skin and parent in firm, agape ways that acknowledge and nurture the spirits shining through my children in surprising and tricky ways. Love life. Let go of pleasing anyone. Love everyone.
Will I pass my classes with this approach? Will I finish seminary or ever have initials before or after my name? Who cares! I live for the abundant life of the God who lives in me.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
What am I (doing) here?
I am enrolled in seminary, but I'm not at all sure what I'm doing -- if I should even be there, if I'll finish my program, switch my program or drop out after a year of acquiring experience.
The natural thing seems to be to drop out after a year. But is it natural because it's right, or because it fits with my family's style of of flirting with success, yet avoiding it? What is the block of fear that I feel about going for an Mdiv, that I don't feel about spending a year in theological learning, followed by a time of letting go, just being in life and seeing about my next step? Is it an unwillingness to follow through? To be constrained by a process rich in bureaucracy, with abundant hoops through which I'd be expected to jump? The desire to not be like everyone else? Or is it a gentle reality that my way takes me on this road for a little while, leading me to another path? In this, where will I discover Christ's face? How can I listen to the Spirit when my own heart is so complex and my hearing muddled with many voices and feelings?
Can I balance education with family, when I am the primary parent while David is in med school? Can I live with letting my aspirations come second to my man's for a while? Can I let go for the proper reasons? Might my aspirations turn out not to conflict as much as I thought...perhaps I actually want to let go and be home with kids? Am I the only conflicted mother out there?
Can I write my life and live it? Can I create a life of celebration and learning?
The natural thing seems to be to drop out after a year. But is it natural because it's right, or because it fits with my family's style of of flirting with success, yet avoiding it? What is the block of fear that I feel about going for an Mdiv, that I don't feel about spending a year in theological learning, followed by a time of letting go, just being in life and seeing about my next step? Is it an unwillingness to follow through? To be constrained by a process rich in bureaucracy, with abundant hoops through which I'd be expected to jump? The desire to not be like everyone else? Or is it a gentle reality that my way takes me on this road for a little while, leading me to another path? In this, where will I discover Christ's face? How can I listen to the Spirit when my own heart is so complex and my hearing muddled with many voices and feelings?
Can I balance education with family, when I am the primary parent while David is in med school? Can I live with letting my aspirations come second to my man's for a while? Can I let go for the proper reasons? Might my aspirations turn out not to conflict as much as I thought...perhaps I actually want to let go and be home with kids? Am I the only conflicted mother out there?
Can I write my life and live it? Can I create a life of celebration and learning?
Thursday, July 05, 2007
A lovely dinner
Adventures come with a price, and and the also come with dividends, assumed and unexpected. Living day by day is an assumed blessing of adventure. Spontaneous celebrations come to flick on switches of unanticipated joy.
Life with a medical student entails erratic schedules and getting on a roller coaster that can be a joy ride or a hell ride, largely dependent upon your own creativity, resourcefulness and ability to embrace uncertainty as a positive ingredient in an adventuresome life.
I spent last week making myself miserable, and decided to move on from that, because likely I've only got one life to live. Unless reincarnation happens to be true, and while there's that possibility, I'm not counting on it. Besides, why suck up to misery? So I decided to stop moping and start opening up to the possibilities latent in an adventure I might have foregone in favor of normalcy (whatever that is) if I hadn't been lucky enough to fall in love with my husband.
And fate/God threw me a delightful surprise: Tonight David got off unexpectedly early and we took the whole family out to celebrate at Norma's Meditaranean Restaraunt. Miraculous, from oldest to youngest, everyone savored the company of family, as well as the Sifa pizza, drizzling out feta, onions and little squares of tomato from pitas sandwiched together like lovers. Gabe didn't fuss as he stuffed his face with couscos and cucumbers, occasionally smearing smushy remnants of food on his sister's infant head. Avriana didn't wail. Nika followed directions. David and I conversed. Not one person left without a belly sated, content and practically overflowing with warmth, laughter and good food.
We've been going to Norma's for just about three years now, and our favorite waiter has seen me go through two pregnancies. Today he told his girlfriend that we're his favorite family to wait on, and then told us. He also said his girlfriend said she couldn't stop staring at us because, "they are such a cute family." Alot of people look at my family and probably idealize us; they see us as young, cute, happy, nice and successful. There's a danger in that -- a danger that we could start trying to live up to a fantasy; that we could forsake the gritty true-love of family for a graven image of an idyllic family. But there's a gift in seeing through the eyes of pleasant strangers too: a recognition by others of the beauty we offer to one another and the world simply by being together and loving each other. And tonight we really had a lovely time, shining a light flowing from the blessings we have in one another.
Of course each and every kid fell into fussy wails when we returned home. On the other hand, we turned the tears into giggles before lights out and it's only 8:09. What else could a girl want?
Maybe just a little more sleep. A few more minutes of quiet. But I'll miss the raucous when it's a memory. I already know I will.
Life with a medical student entails erratic schedules and getting on a roller coaster that can be a joy ride or a hell ride, largely dependent upon your own creativity, resourcefulness and ability to embrace uncertainty as a positive ingredient in an adventuresome life.
I spent last week making myself miserable, and decided to move on from that, because likely I've only got one life to live. Unless reincarnation happens to be true, and while there's that possibility, I'm not counting on it. Besides, why suck up to misery? So I decided to stop moping and start opening up to the possibilities latent in an adventure I might have foregone in favor of normalcy (whatever that is) if I hadn't been lucky enough to fall in love with my husband.
And fate/God threw me a delightful surprise: Tonight David got off unexpectedly early and we took the whole family out to celebrate at Norma's Meditaranean Restaraunt. Miraculous, from oldest to youngest, everyone savored the company of family, as well as the Sifa pizza, drizzling out feta, onions and little squares of tomato from pitas sandwiched together like lovers. Gabe didn't fuss as he stuffed his face with couscos and cucumbers, occasionally smearing smushy remnants of food on his sister's infant head. Avriana didn't wail. Nika followed directions. David and I conversed. Not one person left without a belly sated, content and practically overflowing with warmth, laughter and good food.
We've been going to Norma's for just about three years now, and our favorite waiter has seen me go through two pregnancies. Today he told his girlfriend that we're his favorite family to wait on, and then told us. He also said his girlfriend said she couldn't stop staring at us because, "they are such a cute family." Alot of people look at my family and probably idealize us; they see us as young, cute, happy, nice and successful. There's a danger in that -- a danger that we could start trying to live up to a fantasy; that we could forsake the gritty true-love of family for a graven image of an idyllic family. But there's a gift in seeing through the eyes of pleasant strangers too: a recognition by others of the beauty we offer to one another and the world simply by being together and loving each other. And tonight we really had a lovely time, shining a light flowing from the blessings we have in one another.
Of course each and every kid fell into fussy wails when we returned home. On the other hand, we turned the tears into giggles before lights out and it's only 8:09. What else could a girl want?
Maybe just a little more sleep. A few more minutes of quiet. But I'll miss the raucous when it's a memory. I already know I will.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Post-Operative Sex
Survival rates for medical couples and partners where both people are in graduate school are not great. Add three little kids to the mix, and it's not surprising that many marriages go flat as Saturday morning pancakes. But after a week of bitter herbs and tears and just making it through another day, we are having Saturday morning pancakes and we are smiling. After a week of rearranging internal organs and trying to establish a new breathing rhythm amidst a freshly irregular schedule, we are together for the weekend and the Sabbath was peaceful and erotic. Let's just say, for a married couple comprised of one half-Jew and a half-East Asian Gentile, we were good Jews. God is one. We are one. And I'm so glad.
An hour later the pancakes are either being digested in our stomachs or going down the drain. I'm convulsing in tears. More scheduling bad news and it's delivered to my on my day off from medical school prison. I hate this. Of course hating it won't do any good. I own a book called Suffering is Optional, and I'm reminded that I can either resent my life, myself and my husband for being what we are, or I can take one day, as it is and allow it to be -- and maybe then what IS will be somehow beautiful and helpful and Good.
An hour later the pancakes are either being digested in our stomachs or going down the drain. I'm convulsing in tears. More scheduling bad news and it's delivered to my on my day off from medical school prison. I hate this. Of course hating it won't do any good. I own a book called Suffering is Optional, and I'm reminded that I can either resent my life, myself and my husband for being what we are, or I can take one day, as it is and allow it to be -- and maybe then what IS will be somehow beautiful and helpful and Good.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Med School Wife Day 3
My babysitter has a saying, applied broadly to any situation she simply can't stand: "This isn't working for me." Variations include, "That doesn't work for me," "This just doesn't work for me," And "That isn't gonna work for me."
Which would describe how I feel today about my husband's medical education, which takes him randomly away from me, our family and any sense of a normal life rhythm, and makes him go to random locations to do and watch random stuff that's supposed to help him be a good doctor someday. Screw it. I am a creative person, and I can think of lots of saner ways to make qualified physicians than to haze them.
David thought the time away would be compensated for by his happiness overflowing upon return to the homefront; but the last few days he's been drained as pasta noodles before the sauce. This sucks. An unqualified sucks. With the qualification that I am being forced to develop competencies I would not otherwise find myself discovering in the dim light of hopeful necessity.
Which would describe how I feel today about my husband's medical education, which takes him randomly away from me, our family and any sense of a normal life rhythm, and makes him go to random locations to do and watch random stuff that's supposed to help him be a good doctor someday. Screw it. I am a creative person, and I can think of lots of saner ways to make qualified physicians than to haze them.
David thought the time away would be compensated for by his happiness overflowing upon return to the homefront; but the last few days he's been drained as pasta noodles before the sauce. This sucks. An unqualified sucks. With the qualification that I am being forced to develop competencies I would not otherwise find myself discovering in the dim light of hopeful necessity.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Med School Wife
I thought it was significant that two days before my husband began his first rotation -- obgyn, by the way -- I was hit on by Neil Diamond. A middle-aged, slide-show creating, window-washing not-Neil Diamond, Neil Diamond, who by his own admission can't really sing. "I have other talents," he says to me from his table, kitty-corner from me at Panera Bread. Neil Diamond is not the first middle-aged man to make advances toward men this week, and I am not accustomed to being flirted with so obviously by me, and in particular the graying ex-hippy crowd. I could be insulted -- after all, do I really suddenly look that much older after kid number three? But I choose to be more optimistic and assume that it's God's little grace: a reminder that I've still "got it" whatever "it" is, right at a time I'm prone to be insecure. As in, right before my husband is about to start vocationally sticking his hands up other people's vaginas, and interacting with pretty, starry-eyed nurses on a daily basis.
Yesterday was the first real vagina to be examined medically by my husband. It belonged to a live model, or standardized patient, who taught the incoming 3rd year medical students -- on herself.
"It was just like doing it on the mannequin" David said when he came home. David is sweet, kind and professional. I believe him. But damn, it still weirds me out. I felt so relieved when he reminded me that he wore gloves, meaning that he did not actually touch her.
Today David mostly watched ultrasounds. "Seeing those little babies was so bajoo" he said.
My day consisted largely of watching slightly older babies, who, though certainly Bajoo, fabulous, are hardly the silent little miracles that dance on ultrasounds screens. Gabriel hugs Avriana with robust affection, and then yanks at her hair tufts with a gigantic grin. Avriana grimaces in pain. She is quiet around her rambunctious siblings, but when we are alone with the changing pad, or sharing some minutes in bed before the day officially begins, she coos and speaks with the intention and enthusiasm of a woman who has discovered that both God and alien life forms inhabit other worlds covered in green.
Yesterday was the first real vagina to be examined medically by my husband. It belonged to a live model, or standardized patient, who taught the incoming 3rd year medical students -- on herself.
"It was just like doing it on the mannequin" David said when he came home. David is sweet, kind and professional. I believe him. But damn, it still weirds me out. I felt so relieved when he reminded me that he wore gloves, meaning that he did not actually touch her.
Today David mostly watched ultrasounds. "Seeing those little babies was so bajoo" he said.
My day consisted largely of watching slightly older babies, who, though certainly Bajoo, fabulous, are hardly the silent little miracles that dance on ultrasounds screens. Gabriel hugs Avriana with robust affection, and then yanks at her hair tufts with a gigantic grin. Avriana grimaces in pain. She is quiet around her rambunctious siblings, but when we are alone with the changing pad, or sharing some minutes in bed before the day officially begins, she coos and speaks with the intention and enthusiasm of a woman who has discovered that both God and alien life forms inhabit other worlds covered in green.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Smashing Red Strollers
I took the babies out today, to give David some time to chill and rest. Nika stayed home and listened to her Frog and Toad CD.
The younger your babies, I've discovered, the nicer people seem to become toward you, as though you have vicarious become irresistably cute and delicious. And when you have a luscious toddler boy with long hair, eyelashes to match and a precious infant little girl strapped side by side in a smashing new red double stroller, people are so helpful and kind, there's no end to the good things it's possible to imagine. Even world peace.
Yes, I received more help today than ever before. Women and men ran to open double doors; I never had to wait a second for assistance, it was as though help dropped straught from heaven traveling at angelic lightspeed. The cashier forgot to charge me for my lip gloss and gave it to me for free, simply because I told him it would make my day. "That's all you needed to say," he smiled. A few moments later, the same gentlemen leapt to hold open the doors, after the lip gloss set up the store alarm. Apparently its bar code apparently didn't know proper ettiquet toward a woman with adorable his and hers babies nestled in a red double stroller.
In the parking lot, a middle-aged woman noticed me struggling to collapse the damn double red stroller without smashing it, and finished the job for me, as though she were assisting Ghandi with his heaviest luggage. This nice person even loading the dainty bohemoth stroller into the trunk of my Prius. I thanked her profusely, and she acted like it was no big deal.
On days like this it's genuinely easy to imagine a beautiful world full of peaceful communities with lots of chubby babies every spring and plenty of "aunties" and "grandpas" to provide the necessary hands to keep parents sane, so that they do not kill one another or start a war with the neighboring tribe at work or abroad.
So why don't I get this same kind of help when I travel with my older child and the big baby, which is really a more daunting challenge in many respects? Why are older children more likely to inspire annoyance, whereas teeny babies inspire wonder and altruistic goodness?
No wonder we all want to go back to being babies sometimes.
What might it take to see each human treasure for the precious miracle she is?
The younger your babies, I've discovered, the nicer people seem to become toward you, as though you have vicarious become irresistably cute and delicious. And when you have a luscious toddler boy with long hair, eyelashes to match and a precious infant little girl strapped side by side in a smashing new red double stroller, people are so helpful and kind, there's no end to the good things it's possible to imagine. Even world peace.
Yes, I received more help today than ever before. Women and men ran to open double doors; I never had to wait a second for assistance, it was as though help dropped straught from heaven traveling at angelic lightspeed. The cashier forgot to charge me for my lip gloss and gave it to me for free, simply because I told him it would make my day. "That's all you needed to say," he smiled. A few moments later, the same gentlemen leapt to hold open the doors, after the lip gloss set up the store alarm. Apparently its bar code apparently didn't know proper ettiquet toward a woman with adorable his and hers babies nestled in a red double stroller.
In the parking lot, a middle-aged woman noticed me struggling to collapse the damn double red stroller without smashing it, and finished the job for me, as though she were assisting Ghandi with his heaviest luggage. This nice person even loading the dainty bohemoth stroller into the trunk of my Prius. I thanked her profusely, and she acted like it was no big deal.
On days like this it's genuinely easy to imagine a beautiful world full of peaceful communities with lots of chubby babies every spring and plenty of "aunties" and "grandpas" to provide the necessary hands to keep parents sane, so that they do not kill one another or start a war with the neighboring tribe at work or abroad.
So why don't I get this same kind of help when I travel with my older child and the big baby, which is really a more daunting challenge in many respects? Why are older children more likely to inspire annoyance, whereas teeny babies inspire wonder and altruistic goodness?
No wonder we all want to go back to being babies sometimes.
What might it take to see each human treasure for the precious miracle she is?
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Adventures and Coming Home
I arrived home from vacation last night. This year, the adventure included David, myself, the swimming pool, the beach, three young children, a mother ambivalently committed to a dysfunctional marriage (the first leg of the journey) followed up during the second leg by an ex-husband who is a self-proclaimed ex scumbag and current chronic car key-loser, a stealth bottomless blender and a beautiful oceanfront view.
There were good times and bad times and we proved not only that we can (sort of) successfully travel with little kids and strange family, but also why many people don't. I will focus on the good times.
Before my former spouse arrived to celebrate Nika's birthday with us, David, Nika, Gabe, Avriana and I played Family Feud hosted by our resort; it was great fun! We also happened to win, which was cool, and our family went way with five frisbees -- red, blue and purple.
Everyone meandered along the boardwalk in various constituencies. Sometimes Nika held my hand while Daddydad/Uncle Mike chased Gabriel, and David carried Avriana. Or David pushed Nika in the stroller with Gabe sitting on Nika's lap, while Avriana snuggled into my neck. And sometimes I followed Gabe as he trotted in zig zags in whichever direction called his name, pointing out boats, dogs and rocks.
For Nika's birthday, she climbed to the top of a lighthouse. Or rather her Daddydad carried her. David and I relaxed and played while Gabriel and Avriana slept. In the afternoon, all six of us made Ice Cream Sundays and bracelets in the Fun Zone of our hotel, followed by cake and candles on little plates covertly donated by the staff from the Ozone Grill upstairs.
David and I ate a cute restaraunt next to the marina, which served the best chicken quesadillas. For desert, we ordered chocolate cake, which came decadently splashed with swirls of chocolate sauce and twirlets of whipped cream. "It looks beautiful,"I said to our waiter. "I tried to make it look a little pretty for you," he replied with a shy, mexican accent. After dinner we opted out of Casino land.
Walking along the evening beach, we marveled at crabs melting into sand under the night sky.
Nika had a blast swimming with Mom and Dad in the pool; Gabriel loved the boats and anytime we got to "go go go," and Avriana loved everything except the car. She spent the last twenty minutes of the homeward drive illegally sleeping in my lap while David drove with the care of a professional seamstress. We past two police cars and thanked God for the cover of darkness, and the hope of new light in the morning.
There were good times and bad times and we proved not only that we can (sort of) successfully travel with little kids and strange family, but also why many people don't. I will focus on the good times.
Before my former spouse arrived to celebrate Nika's birthday with us, David, Nika, Gabe, Avriana and I played Family Feud hosted by our resort; it was great fun! We also happened to win, which was cool, and our family went way with five frisbees -- red, blue and purple.
Everyone meandered along the boardwalk in various constituencies. Sometimes Nika held my hand while Daddydad/Uncle Mike chased Gabriel, and David carried Avriana. Or David pushed Nika in the stroller with Gabe sitting on Nika's lap, while Avriana snuggled into my neck. And sometimes I followed Gabe as he trotted in zig zags in whichever direction called his name, pointing out boats, dogs and rocks.
For Nika's birthday, she climbed to the top of a lighthouse. Or rather her Daddydad carried her. David and I relaxed and played while Gabriel and Avriana slept. In the afternoon, all six of us made Ice Cream Sundays and bracelets in the Fun Zone of our hotel, followed by cake and candles on little plates covertly donated by the staff from the Ozone Grill upstairs.
David and I ate a cute restaraunt next to the marina, which served the best chicken quesadillas. For desert, we ordered chocolate cake, which came decadently splashed with swirls of chocolate sauce and twirlets of whipped cream. "It looks beautiful,"I said to our waiter. "I tried to make it look a little pretty for you," he replied with a shy, mexican accent. After dinner we opted out of Casino land.
Walking along the evening beach, we marveled at crabs melting into sand under the night sky.
Nika had a blast swimming with Mom and Dad in the pool; Gabriel loved the boats and anytime we got to "go go go," and Avriana loved everything except the car. She spent the last twenty minutes of the homeward drive illegally sleeping in my lap while David drove with the care of a professional seamstress. We past two police cars and thanked God for the cover of darkness, and the hope of new light in the morning.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Pocono: The Tacky-but-fun Galleria at Split Rock
The poconos: A remote vacation spot just hours away from the most densely populated places in America: New Jersey and NYC.
We stayed at the Galleria, a somewhat tacky, semi-run down, pretty nice timeshare complex situated on Lake Harmony. Nika and I did mother-daughter mini-golfing, and later Nana and the rest of the gang joined in for an informal game, in which Nika "helped" everyone's ball get to its desired hole. The lake was calm and uncrowded, and we ooed over a family of the most adorable ducks and ducklings known to creation.
Gabriel loved being lifted in the air and tossed on the couch; so did Nika. But Gabriel's favorite activity was opening and closing the microwave door. Second best, he loved riding slow, then zooming fast down the hallways in the cheap second-hand stroller that has held my three children at different times, and also at the same time on occasion. Gabe's favorite words are currently "baby" and "go go go."
My mother gave David and I permission to be kids again in the evenings -- a freedom which led to a quick pool splash after hours, a sunset walk, a swing built for two (well not really, but it was fun swinging together anyway,) and a rigorous game of ping pong, in which I decidedly lost, except that David's smile was so winning.
Avriana woke up for the sunrise every morning -- at four am. She's lucky she's adorable and perfect.
On our last day, a DJ played reggae music and we ate pizza. Nika played with a butterfly and skip-danced along the sand, while Gabriel chased boats and Avriana slept under her blue-jean baseball cap.
We stayed at the Galleria, a somewhat tacky, semi-run down, pretty nice timeshare complex situated on Lake Harmony. Nika and I did mother-daughter mini-golfing, and later Nana and the rest of the gang joined in for an informal game, in which Nika "helped" everyone's ball get to its desired hole. The lake was calm and uncrowded, and we ooed over a family of the most adorable ducks and ducklings known to creation.
Gabriel loved being lifted in the air and tossed on the couch; so did Nika. But Gabriel's favorite activity was opening and closing the microwave door. Second best, he loved riding slow, then zooming fast down the hallways in the cheap second-hand stroller that has held my three children at different times, and also at the same time on occasion. Gabe's favorite words are currently "baby" and "go go go."
My mother gave David and I permission to be kids again in the evenings -- a freedom which led to a quick pool splash after hours, a sunset walk, a swing built for two (well not really, but it was fun swinging together anyway,) and a rigorous game of ping pong, in which I decidedly lost, except that David's smile was so winning.
Avriana woke up for the sunrise every morning -- at four am. She's lucky she's adorable and perfect.
On our last day, a DJ played reggae music and we ate pizza. Nika played with a butterfly and skip-danced along the sand, while Gabriel chased boats and Avriana slept under her blue-jean baseball cap.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Atlantic City Sirens
We're in Atlantic City. Our first night sandwiching quality family time between billboards of half naked women and lights glowing in the shape of TRUMP. Our hotel sponsors activities like T-shirt painting, scavenger hunts and adult romantic swims. It's all on the weekly schedule.
"What's that sound?" I murmer in an annoyed tone, to my half-asleep husband.
"Sounds like someone set off the fire alarm."
"Can you call the front desk and see if someone's going to turn it off soon?"
"Brring brrring."
"I guess it's real."
"Seriously?"
"That's what they say."
Attempting to wake Nika is like pouring sustained effort into awakening a bear deep in hibernation. I try anyway. A slight, irritated groan was her best response to me shouting, "Fire Alarm" straight into her sleeping little ear. So I strap on my Baby Bjorn, put Baby Avriana inside, hoist Gabriel onto my hip and watch my husband heave Nika into his arms. Just one day shy of five, Nika is big.
We walk down five flights of stairs. Some people had to walk down thirty-two. Later found out, someone walked from the top down carrying a small baby. People mill around the lobby; grandmas in nighties, probably just finished gambling away a nice retirement; college kids chase each other with a water bottle; middle-aged people meander in tight clothing; a man on crutches complains; an east Asian couple with a baby, the mom clearly pregnant sit and wait.
The firefighters tromp casually around in their cool rigs; I figure this can't be a big, major fire, but I hope there's at least a tiny fire where no one gets hurt to warrant this late-night outing with the kids.
Nika wiggles like a worm in David's arms. Avriana sleeps. Gabe nuzzles her head, and eventually makes friends with the east Asian baby.
Apparently, it was a kitchen fire.
"What's that sound?" I murmer in an annoyed tone, to my half-asleep husband.
"Sounds like someone set off the fire alarm."
"Can you call the front desk and see if someone's going to turn it off soon?"
"Brring brrring."
"I guess it's real."
"Seriously?"
"That's what they say."
Attempting to wake Nika is like pouring sustained effort into awakening a bear deep in hibernation. I try anyway. A slight, irritated groan was her best response to me shouting, "Fire Alarm" straight into her sleeping little ear. So I strap on my Baby Bjorn, put Baby Avriana inside, hoist Gabriel onto my hip and watch my husband heave Nika into his arms. Just one day shy of five, Nika is big.
We walk down five flights of stairs. Some people had to walk down thirty-two. Later found out, someone walked from the top down carrying a small baby. People mill around the lobby; grandmas in nighties, probably just finished gambling away a nice retirement; college kids chase each other with a water bottle; middle-aged people meander in tight clothing; a man on crutches complains; an east Asian couple with a baby, the mom clearly pregnant sit and wait.
The firefighters tromp casually around in their cool rigs; I figure this can't be a big, major fire, but I hope there's at least a tiny fire where no one gets hurt to warrant this late-night outing with the kids.
Nika wiggles like a worm in David's arms. Avriana sleeps. Gabe nuzzles her head, and eventually makes friends with the east Asian baby.
Apparently, it was a kitchen fire.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Vacation: day 2
We are at Lake Harmony, staying at Split Rock Resort. It's fancy in some ways, especially the semi-tacky lobby, yet certain things are falling apart and a little lacking in aesthetics. But we have plenty of beds, stuff to cook with and most of all, everybody in our family! Poor Gabe locked himself the adjacent room yesterday and we had to call security; my little guy was huddled in a corner in despair. Fortunately, it took all of thirty seconds upon his release into my arms before he was streaking down the hall, buck naked, laughing (the whole incident occurred right after bath.)
Nika and Gabe each got a sporty new toy car yesterday, and today Nika begged to buy me bought me a BMW convertable as a "surprise," so I could drive up the "mountain" aka the couch with her and the other cars. Of course she wanted to outfit Dad and Avriana with their own toy vehicles too, but a line had to be drawn somewhere, didn't it? Well I might have thought the idea was cute: a whole family of toy cars. But David drew the line, which was sort of refreshing since sometimes I end up playing "bad cop" as I am slightly less patient than my lover.
This morning we all scooted our cars across the coffee table in a goofy game of Catch and Crash That Car, and then everyone danced to disco party music, except Avriana who wisely looked on with furrowed brow at her crazy family.
It's drizzling, but we're going to venture out and take the shuttle bus to the lake this afternoon, if Nika can overcome her petrifying fear of getting a splinter at the beach.
Nika and Gabe each got a sporty new toy car yesterday, and today Nika begged to buy me bought me a BMW convertable as a "surprise," so I could drive up the "mountain" aka the couch with her and the other cars. Of course she wanted to outfit Dad and Avriana with their own toy vehicles too, but a line had to be drawn somewhere, didn't it? Well I might have thought the idea was cute: a whole family of toy cars. But David drew the line, which was sort of refreshing since sometimes I end up playing "bad cop" as I am slightly less patient than my lover.
This morning we all scooted our cars across the coffee table in a goofy game of Catch and Crash That Car, and then everyone danced to disco party music, except Avriana who wisely looked on with furrowed brow at her crazy family.
It's drizzling, but we're going to venture out and take the shuttle bus to the lake this afternoon, if Nika can overcome her petrifying fear of getting a splinter at the beach.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Sex after Three
Some women feel no libido after kids; I just can't seem to get away from my kids long enough to act on my libido. I lie nursing my infant daughter, using my feet to play with my toddler son, and in the afternoon I chase after my nearly five-year-old daughter with one or the other baby in my arms. In the evening I watch my hot hubby cooking dinner, aching to wrap myself around him just the two of us, and I remember when we did this almost constantly, and how that's exactly what led to the beautiful situation of having three children, which is also the frustrating situation of not getting lovingly laid is often as would be nice.
With one child, my sex life didn't really suffer. In fact, the sex in my first marriage was either yucky or non-existent, so when I found David and we decided to share lives and bodies forever, lovemaking and related sexy playfulness flowered and we enjoyed the deliciousness deflowering like water for lilies. If I was tired, I drank coffee before bed, because everything, and especially love was new, and I was still dressing (and undressing) to impress nightly. I bragged to my friends about being a parent with a great, active sex life.
When my son was born, I decided that sex wasn't worth the energy; I just didn't have extra to spare. So we did it sometimes, but not constantly, and I felt more pragmatic than romantic. This was also the stage of a relationship where you realize the person you married is not an ideal, but a real flesh and blood person whose baggage triggers your truckload of garbage and you wonder if human intimacy is such a good idea, while you muse that maybe a life of solitary ecstasy in a convent could be a great plan for contentment and happiness.
Now that I have three kids, something's changed, like the turning of seasons, or the opening days of a new year. I feel romantic again. I want to make love even if I'm sleepy. But my infant daughter wakes up when I try to remove myself from her side, and so I lie awake, thinking of my sexy husband and imagining vacations when the kids are old enough to send off on their own adventure while mom and dad play in bed before lunch. And again before dinner. And maybe again before drifting off to sleep, curled in a ball of loving bodies and connected hearts.
With one child, my sex life didn't really suffer. In fact, the sex in my first marriage was either yucky or non-existent, so when I found David and we decided to share lives and bodies forever, lovemaking and related sexy playfulness flowered and we enjoyed the deliciousness deflowering like water for lilies. If I was tired, I drank coffee before bed, because everything, and especially love was new, and I was still dressing (and undressing) to impress nightly. I bragged to my friends about being a parent with a great, active sex life.
When my son was born, I decided that sex wasn't worth the energy; I just didn't have extra to spare. So we did it sometimes, but not constantly, and I felt more pragmatic than romantic. This was also the stage of a relationship where you realize the person you married is not an ideal, but a real flesh and blood person whose baggage triggers your truckload of garbage and you wonder if human intimacy is such a good idea, while you muse that maybe a life of solitary ecstasy in a convent could be a great plan for contentment and happiness.
Now that I have three kids, something's changed, like the turning of seasons, or the opening days of a new year. I feel romantic again. I want to make love even if I'm sleepy. But my infant daughter wakes up when I try to remove myself from her side, and so I lie awake, thinking of my sexy husband and imagining vacations when the kids are old enough to send off on their own adventure while mom and dad play in bed before lunch. And again before dinner. And maybe again before drifting off to sleep, curled in a ball of loving bodies and connected hearts.
A Wacky Wednesday
Nika looks at me seriously and says, "For my bedtime story, I want to do the letter book. because for story, I'm studying...tomorrow I'm doing my thesis." "Okay" I say, we can do studying. And so we unscramble letters, forming them into words like "Leopard" and "Rooster" on the even of David's thesis defense.
It's Wacky Wednesday, the day when you can wear something wild and you're encouraged to put on your pants backwards for school. Nika selects a blue shiffon dress with a velour bodice and sparkling blue sequins, and sits down for breakfast.
"I'm glad I get to do my thesis presentation on Wacky Wednesday!" David says to Nika.
"Nika, say, "It's not a thesis presentation, it's a thesis defense," I instruct my daughter who sounds so comical when she parrots.
Parrot obliges. "It's not a thesis presenation, Dad, it's a thesis defense."
"Ohh, that's right Nika, it's a thesis defense, says David, And he does a gesticulating gesture that looks life something halfway between a karate chop and a wiggle.
This is our family.
It's Wacky Wednesday, the day when you can wear something wild and you're encouraged to put on your pants backwards for school. Nika selects a blue shiffon dress with a velour bodice and sparkling blue sequins, and sits down for breakfast.
"I'm glad I get to do my thesis presentation on Wacky Wednesday!" David says to Nika.
"Nika, say, "It's not a thesis presentation, it's a thesis defense," I instruct my daughter who sounds so comical when she parrots.
Parrot obliges. "It's not a thesis presenation, Dad, it's a thesis defense."
"Ohh, that's right Nika, it's a thesis defense, says David, And he does a gesticulating gesture that looks life something halfway between a karate chop and a wiggle.
This is our family.
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