Category: Sleep

The basics

20160522_164140.jpg I just woke out of a stuporous nap. Not the best state in which to blog, but I’ve been wanting to blog all week and haven’t had time. So why not now, on this sweltering Friday afternoon in May, with the sounds of construction heavy all around the house, and nothing particular calling me.

Tuesday evening found me driving to Guelph to coach a soccer game, minus the daughter who is on the team; she had a dance class, the last one before the dress rehearsal, so she couldn’t miss it; Grandma drove her there, as Kevin was coaching both boys, back-to-back. It was a beautiful evening for a soccer game, warm and bright. I was proud of our team. I drove home listening to pop music, wishing Fooey had been with me. There’s a new song on the radio with the lyrics, “I’ve got guns in my head / Spirits in my head.” I heard it twice that evening, both directions. I really liked it. It took me back to Nicaragua, for some reason — childhood Nicaragua. In cleats and soccer shorts, I stopped for groceries. The cashier called me “Miss,” rather than “Ma’am.” It was night-time, completely dark, when I staggered through the door carrying all the basics that had been missing from our fridge and cupboards.

On Wednesday, I set my alarm and woke up early to walk the dogs, because Kevin had an early appointment, but it turned out he had time to come for the dog walk too. It was a beautiful morning. We walked around our neighbourhood together, admiring the gardens. We each took one dog. Mine pooped twice, so he won.

You are doing your best. That seems to be the only message that I’m currently capable of sending to myself.

At Tuesday’s soccer game, one of the players came up to me at halftime, quite keyed up. She’d played a couple of excellent shifts back to back, I thought, but she said, “I have to do better! I can play better than that!” Quite surprised, I replied, “I thought you played great! You were even in a new position for that last shift, and you looked really strong out there.” “No,” she said firmly, resolutely, “I can play better.” “Alright,” I said, “I believe you.” And wouldn’t you know, she went out and played even better in the second half to the game.

And I wonder: what was this child modelling to me? She wasn’t down on herself. She was determined, full of belief in what she had to offer.

Am I telling myself the opposite when I say: You are doing your best? Is this the best I can do? Is this the positive message that I mean it to be when my best is often so exhausted, so depleted, so flat and dull? Maybe I should be saying, Hey, coach, I can do better! I know it!

What would better look like? I’m pouring myself in, I’m pouring myself out. Some situations are pure triage. Sometimes I’m stealing an hour in a parked car beside a soccer field, escaping through imagination and words. Always, I’m sinking in to wherever I’m at, even if that means drifting into a stuporous nap in the middle of a hot day.

A single day can hold so much; a single hour; even a moment; here and gone.

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Yesterday, she won the 1500 metres at the county meet with a gutsy long sprint to the finish.

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Yesterday, the nice woman at the pharmacy seemed truly happy to do her makeup and hair on my behalf. This is not my wheelhouse.

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Yesterday, she was ready for dress rehearsal. Whose child is this?

Yesterday, I managed a pain-free 10km early morning run, spent most of the day at a track meet cheering on my girl runner, dashed home in time to pick up the dancer from school early in order to get her hair and makeup done at the drugstore uptown, texted a supper idea to Kevin (hot dogs; not exactly brilliant, but it was something), picked up the kid who had scootered from school to a friend’s house, drove the runner to a babysitting gig, ate a veggie dog, changed into soccer gear, drove the dancer to her dress rehearsal, found another kind mother to look after her there, and headed to the soccer field for practice (once again, minus the child who is on this team).

It was another beautiful evening to be outside. Here I was, on a grassy field under a blue sky, directing drills, shouting encouragement, answering questions and listening to observations, playing. I thought about nothing else. The girls were having fun. I was having fun! This is what I mean about the hours of each day and how much they can hold: how I am submerged, yes, but I am not drowning. What would it mean to be better? Maybe it would mean only to pause to say thanks, to say yes to more early morning dog walks, to be witness to, to sing along to a new song on the radio even when the windows are down, to hold neither too tightly nor let go too easily. To continue to do my best.

xo, Carrie

The proverbial straw

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Every now and again, I think, well this is a bit much. Last night, the power went out after Kevin and I had gotten the kids to bed … which was already really late in the evening. It had started to rain (though not enough to counter this drought we seem to be staggering into.) I showered in the dark, climbed the stairs to bed in the dark. Then, just as we were ready to sleep, the power popped back on, and with it all the lights we hadn’t turned off; and an annoying alarm began to sound loudly and regularly.

Kevin dashed to the basement to try various switches. Kids started coming to find me, one in tears: “I’m so tired, and I can’t sleep, and I’m scared, what is that?”

“I’m tired, too, and I can’t sleep either, but don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.”

But the alarm went on and on and on. Finally, fighting inertia, I went downstairs, where I discovered Kevin perched on a stool in the dining-room about to violently dismantle a smoke detector — except I realized in that moment that it wasn’t the smoke detector making all that noise, it was the carbon monoxide detector, plugged in to an outlet nearby.

“Wait!” I said.

Kevin paused, screwdriver in hand, curses temporarily stalled.

I unplugged the device from the wall.

Silence. Blissful peace and quiet.

Then Kevin had to clean up the mess he’d made from knocking the smoke detector around, and I plugged the carbon monoxide detector back in again, and all was well.

Because it had been a very long day already, this all felt a bit like the proverbial straw. But it wasn’t, I guess. I keep thinking the straw has landed, yet life goes on. We figure it out.

I went to CJ’s grade one class yesterday and read The Candy Conspiracy, and talked about writing and storytelling, and watched them make up their own stories about imaginary worlds made of candy. CJ and I walked home together, CJ chatting all the way. I ran twice yesterday, with a friend in the early morning and by myself at a soccer practice in the beautiful light of evening, covering 14km total, which is far and away the furthest I’ve run since last fall. Kevin took Suzi to the vet for a minor infection. I made quesadillas and beans & rice and asparagus for supper, and somehow we all managed to sit down together at 5PM to eat and share stories about our day, before rushing off to soccer and gymnastics. It was the usual jumble of quiet and rush, and being with others in so many different ways. So many different conversations I get to have every single day. Today I’ve done a radio interview to promote the launch, and met with my party planners to finalize logistics for Saturday. And that doesn’t include all the emails and texts to various friends, family, colleagues, acquaintances.

On today’s menu: samosas and pakoras for supper; piano lessons this afternoon; and this evening, two soccer practices and one rather-far-out-of-town game, necessitating reliance on the help of one grandma (my mom) and at least one friend (my co-coach Marnie). Maybe rather than worrying about needing to rely on others (for rides, for babysitting, for carpooling), I should embrace how much necessary connection it brings into my every day. Connection is good. Connection is community. Hopefully the giving and receiving is mutual or evens out in some cosmic way. It’s humbling to need help and to ask for it; I’ve gotten much better at it.

All for now.

xo, Carrie

I love this part of winter

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Sorry about yesterday’s long, rambling, complicated, sort-of-poem post. Note to self: don’t mistake a stream of consciousness “poem” for a blog post. I was trying to be efficient, kill two birds with one stone. I’ve got this project underway to write a poem a day, but you can see from yesterday’s example what these poems look like — journal entries, perhaps, or meditations, completely unedited and unmodified. Poured out, you might say. Which is swell for a private project, but less awesome for a public forum such as this.

Today I’m going to be efficient by telling you far less. Not sure I’ll have time to write the poem, but if I do, I won’t inflict it on you. In truth, a poem a day is aspirational at best.

I’ve got big aspirations. I love this time of year. I love the snow, the cold, the bright days. I love my new-year appetite and enthusiasm for big aspirations.

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I love napping on the couch with the dogs.

The nap is my sweet reward for another aspiration: exercise five mornings a week. Early mornings. Five in a row. Not sure yet if I can hack it, but I’m going to try. Monday: spin/weights with group of friends. Tuesday: run/walk/yoga with long-time exercise friend. Wednesday: swim with daughter (!!). Thursday: run/walk with newer fast exercise friend. Friday: spin/boot camp with a couple of friends.

I’ve made it through Wednesday, peeps. (Why am I calling you peeps? Sleep deprivation, perhaps?) Swimming with my former swim-girl was pretty much bliss this morning. We swam for an hour. We shared a lane. She did her thing, I did mine. And Kevin made us a big pan of scrambled eggs when we got home.

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Kids are practicing instruments. Meals are being made. Physio exercises in the living-room! Soccer skills in the basement! Reading in front of the fire!

And I’m being efficient because I’ve got writing to do. If you don’t hear from me as often here, assume the best: I’m writing something else! (And it’s probably not a poem…)

xo, Carrie

PS Physio exercises and laundry folding have been elevated to new heights by a) a subscription to Netflix, and therefore b) ten seasons of Friends available to watch on-demand. It’s the small pleasures, it really is.

Confessions, concerts, and My Perfect Family

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This post is illustrated exclusively by cellphone-created photographs. Bear with me.

I’m presenting as dazed and confused this morning. No special reason for it. Could be the season. So many plans to keep in my head. I should be making good use of the quiet house, which will transform into a temporarily endangered species, seen rarely to never, come Friday around 3:10PM. Instead, I’m enjoying it. I just had a nap by the fire with the dogs. This is like stepping into a confessional. Shhhh. It was so so lovely. Forgive me.

I dreamed that I’d accidentally downloaded a virus onto my computer that rendered it useless; it kept running a program that showed a creepy GPS map of where I was at all times, with dire messages directed at me. That was not so lovely. But it does point to a certain subconscious anxiety underlying the lovely nap time, which is that I have work to do!

Good work, work I’ve been enjoying, but work nevertheless.

This morning, I got up early and went for a walk with my Thursday running partner. Tuesday’s running partner did the same. I feel immensely lucky to have running partners willing to walk with me during injury. Do you know how hard it is to get up early and go for a walk? It’s about a billion times harder than getting up early to go for a run. No zap of endorphins to reward your efforts. Hats off to all early morning walkers.

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Tis the season of the festive school concert, and that’s where Fooey and I were yesterday evening, at AppleApple’s. Here, Fooey is reading patiently before the concert begins; ie. that is not a scowl of irritation. The scowl of irritation arrived when the concert was over and we had to wait around in the crowded gymnasium for AppleApple to come and find us (she thought we’d come and find her in the band room, until she realized we didn’t know where the band room was…). Anyway. Concert. Strangely glorious, I must say, and I don’t mean the parts involving my daughter specifically, I mean the whole thing. I should not be allowed out without a package of tissues. Because in the moment, there seemed nothing more moving than these groups of 12 & 13 year kids singing, dancing, and playing instruments together. (Maybe I’m going through something hormonal?) The squeaking of reeded instruments, the tuning (lack thereof), the confidence, self-consciousness, talent, and bravery–the participation. I would do all it over again.

Wait, I’m going to. Albus’s festive school concert is on tonight. Wish me luck, though. The turning. The tuning.

IMG_20141211_190241.jpgHave I shown you this picture yet? It’s a scene from My Perfect Family, you know, the family that is mostly fantasy, but occasionally surfaces into reality, in one’s living-room–the family you dreamed of creating back when you thought you were in control of such things.

Children reading by the fire. Perfect Children reading Christmas books lovingly collected over many years and brought out every December by The Perfect Mom. I have photographic proof that this actually happened. Once. Last week. For a few minutes.

Okay, thanks for walking along with me this morning. The confusion and daze is lifting, I think. Time for work.

xo, Carrie

2014 Canadian Weblog Awards winnerPS I won a prize! This blog was judged First in the category of Writing & Literature and Third in the category of Life at the 2014 Canadian Weblog Awards. I get this button. I’m not sure what to do with it, so I’m pinning it here.

Blissfully awake

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Some days I don’t have so much to say. Some days I’m teeming with ideas. Today is the former. I find myself a bit dazed and distant, wandering my treadmill (though I promised not to mention it). Maybe it was being awoken at 4:44 AM by a whining dog, and then submitting to the realization that I wasn’t fated to fall back asleep, given that my alarm was set for 5:05 AM. And the dog would not stop whining. Even after I took her outside.

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I brought the dog inside. I drank a glass of water and brushed my teeth. I woke my daughter for swimming. I dressed and did yoga in the dark of the living-room. And then I went out for a run (-19C). It was a bit earlier than I usually go, and the streets seemed especially dark and empty. My eyelashes became bejewelled with droplets of ice. Cold seeped through my double and triple and quadruple layers. I ran as fast as I could, but I couldn’t run myself warm. I saw three people during my entire run, and a single vehicle passed me. The neighbourhood felt that emptied out, that silent, that blissfully asleep. And I was blissfully awake. I am a complete convert to the early morning.

The people I saw: one woman going for a walk; one woman going for a run; one man I’ve seen before (or smelled, more precisely), who walks down the middle of a particular street smoking a cigar at approximately 6:15 AM (eep!).

Before kids and jobs, as a university student, my interior clock was switched around. I did my best work after midnight, and had difficulty rising in time to make my 11 o’clock classes. Maybe waking early is just another version of that devotion to the hours when most of the world is asleep. I think that’s what I love about being awake early. I love the quiet. The illusion of solitude. The sense of being a watchful eye on the sleeping houses.

My daughter was so happy when I picked her up at the pool, maybe for the same reasons, though I don’t know for sure.

I’m not saying it’s easy to set the alarm, or that it comes naturally, even now, after several years of practice. Oddly, it’s actually not. It’s actually something that I have to remind myself, almost every single time, will be worth it. If there’s a secret to discipline, it’s this: the first step is the hardest one to take. I forget this regularly, and learn it again, regularly, very often at 5 o’clock in the morning when my resistance is low and I’m somehow willing to stagger forth. The first step is the hardest.

Christmas traditions, old and new

1. Family photo out-takes
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over-exposed dogs

We didn’t make a Christmas letter this year. Maybe I will get it done over the holidays (think of this statement as speculation rather than a plan). Nevertheless, as a first step toward creating a Christmas letter, yesterday, I attempted to take our annual family-photo-with-Christmas-PJs. CJ wasn’t very happy about leaving his new Christmas present to join the shot (new present = Game Boy, old school, bought used).

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when is this going to be over?

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help me pick up the dog, Dad!

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please, smile, CJ? please?

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he’s smiling! Now, what’s in your mouth, Foo? “Nothing.” Um, can you take it out, please?

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could we get just one good photo, here? just one?

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this is as good as it gets (click on photos to see in full)

2. Gifts
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lots and lots of candy; thanks, Santa

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new radio!!!!

This wasn’t on my wish list, but it was the perfect gift. A radio that turns on when you turn it on. Radical concept! No need to download or refresh or mess around with speaker connections. I opened the box, plugged it in, turned it on, tuned it to CBC Radio One, and the rest of the day was perfection. Music all day long. The Messiah in the morning, and cheesy seasonal songs the rest of the day. It’s the one day of the year that I can listen to cheesy seasonal songs with appreciation. Even the Queen’s address sounded good.

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I’m embarrassed to say we gave in to his relentless campaign for another of-the-moment electronic device

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“Coconut” the giant-eyed monkey (she has a weakness of stuffies with giant eyes)

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the “new” Game Boy

3. Do nothing all day
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how I spent my Christmas day: my job is done here

This third is a new tradition, only conceived of this very year, in fact, only thought of late on Christmas eve when Santa was packing the stockings. Kevin and I were feeling very full indeed after three consecutive days of Christmas meals (ham; turkey; paella + grazing). Our counters were blessed with pans of sticky buns given us by generous neighbours and family, and we looked at each other and said, “Who needs a big Christmas dinner?” So we decided to skip that part.

We skipped everything, really — all obligations, all work, all chores.

The kids let us sleep in till 9. I kid you not. We stayed in our PJs all day. I did no laundry. We did no meal prep. We did no dishes. I sat and drank coffee and tea and worked on a puzzle and listened to my new radio all day long. The house was thrillingly disastrous, so much so that the 12-year-old looked around last night and said, “This place is a mess.” HAHAHA! This is what it would always be like if Daddy and I took every day off! Then we watched a movie together (Parent Trap, the one with Haley Mills, still as funny as I remembered it from childhood). We ate sticky buns, basically. The kids added sugary cereal to the menu. There were the oranges from the stockings. We did not go hungry. It was exactly what we all wanted — to be together, and nothing more. It was the most peaceful, blissful Christmas I can remember.

These are my favourite people. We almost never get to spend unadulterated time together. What could be more special, more celebratory, more holiday-making?

4. Boxing Day turkey dinner?
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Today we’re being healthy and eating fruit and doing laundry and yoga and cleaning up the dishes. Our neighbour has loaned us her electric turkey roaster (there it is behind AppleApple), and we’re going to roast up our turkey today, and make the trimmings, too. I’m feeling ready for it again.

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