“I Told You It Was Winter, Mama!”
One child crashed on couch. Apparently he needs an afternoon nap, after all. Three children making roads in the backyard. Minus 10 degrees Celsius. Loads of blowing snow. I’m glad it’s a paradise for some of us.
Category: Photos
Horse Party for an Almost-Seven-Year Old
Pace Yourself
Nope, that’s not Apple-Apple striding ahead out in front, in her very first running race ever; there she is, that very small figure most decidedly bringing up the rear. This was at the start of the 2.3 km race, and we had instructed her to pace herself. Which she did. “I was really exhausted because it was the farthest I’ve ever run, but when I saw the finish line I felt so excited that I forgot that my body was so exhausted and I sprinted as fast as I could!” She came in sixth in a field of about twelve seven-year-olds; interestingly, she will run in the same field next year, as she’s still only six. (But there is no six-year-old category). Albus–also pacing himself–also headed out in dead last, then worked his way somewhere closer to mid-pack, at 41st. There was some debate about the size of his field. Suffice it to say, he felt supremely pleased with his performance. And the parents were equally pleased.This was a Kevin-in-charge event, and I received all reports via texts, as I was on my way to class. It was called a “Fun Run,” and Kevin and the kids were under the misapprehension that it would involve a jog around another school with their running club (or something of the sort), when instead it was a mini-cross-country meet, with loads of kids from other local schools, loud music playing, coaches readying their charges, nervous excitement, wearing your school’s shirt. Kevin said even if he’d known it was a cross-country meet, it wouldn’t have made a difference, because in his experience (rural living), cross country meets only involved, at most, fifty kids total.
Next time, we’ll dress the children in race-appropriate clothing. Apple-Apple was wearing a button-up shirt, for example. This is what happens when we co-parent. But it’s small stuff compared to the overall payoff, which, this fall, has meant that I get to say “yes” to more opportunities.
This past week, I was fortunate enough to doula at another birth, this time a friend’s–in fact, my first friend-birth (the others were people not known to me previously). It was, as it has been on each occasion, a revelatory experience, a true gift, the kind of experience that doesn’t translate easily into words–even for me. I drove home thinking, I must do this again, how can I do this again? I’m focussing my research paper on midwifery, generally, and have been reading a variety of texts, including a manual from 1671 written by a midwife; for some reason, this subject remains deeply interesting to me. I know this isn’t the case with a lot of topics, so it feels like I’ve struck on something that resonates core-deep. If I were to pursue a doctorate now, I suspect it would relate to midwifery in some fundamental way. But I don’t think doctorate is where this interest will take me. I can’t see the destination clearly. Maybe I don’t need one right now; maybe this journey, this process, this research and continuing hands-on experience is enough.
My other great pleasure this fall has been a renewed appreciation for writing. (Though it’s been almost entirely non-fiction. Hmm).
Speaking of writing (though in this case, writing fiction), I’ve just discovered that The New Quarterly has posted a sneak preview of their upcoming, soon-to-be-available fall edition, featuring my Juliet stories. Take a look! Those are my cows on the beach on the front!
:::
Oh, and here’s the info on the Oct. 22nd reading related to those stories, though, yikes! As soon as I saw it, my heart started to beat about twice as fast. It’s been awhile since I’ve done a reading …
Not Wasting, Not Wanting
The littlest of my daughters has been at school all day today, and I miss her. (I guess I’ve gotten accustomed to the two biggest children being gone all day, every day, which is perhaps a bit sad, too). But I had a writing morning, and it felt good. The work feels once again productive. It helps to have actual assignments with money attached, and deadlines. Earlier this week, I received page proofs for the stories in The New Quarterly, and perhaps just as exciting, saw the mockup for the proposed cover–for which, drum roll please, I’m also the photographer!! Cows on the beach. You can see it, too, in less than a month. Makes me want to go looking for a better quality camera, and acquire some actual post-production skills. If you want to see inspiring photos, take a look at a blog written by an old friend with an amazing eye for beauty; it’s called This Is Glamourous and these photos of Chicago are her own. Tangent. Where was I? Oh yes, scanning page proofs late at night. I’ve also been picking away at an opening chapter for the proposed memoir. My operational goal this fall is to squeeze it all in. The happiest days in recent memory have been filled almost to bursting; yet instead of feeling stressed or worn by the exacting organization, the necessary running from place to place (literally; I wear running shoes for this exact purpose), the occasional laspses (lost my wallet yesterday, only to find it ten frantic minutes later exactly where I’d been looking for it in the first place), I feel energized, enthusiastic. I feel like something valuable can be found in every moment, every interaction, even the ones that appear on the surface entirely unpromising. Waste not, want not. Despite all the hurrying, I am relishing a newfound (rediscovered) patience. Taking time to kneel in the grass with CJ and track the progress of a ladybug. Taking time to feel my feet grounded to this earth.
And now, a little more writing while naptime holds.
Sunday Album
A few images from our week: the ever-classic diaper and rubber boots combo; a Playmobil scene awaiting post-bedtime discovery on the piano keys (and how apropos, as we look forward to the wedding of “Uncle Chach and B” this coming weekend); the girls and their hair (I’ve never been much of a girlie girl, but it feels like I’m living out a little girl’s fantasy of playing with gorgeous dollies when I brush and braid their tresses); Fooey wanting to stand on the tree stump by the porch, then deciding perhaps she prefers firm land; and Albus post-emergency room, with the gash on his forehead tidily closed. He and Kevin were up till midnight waiting and then being treated, but did he sleep in this morning? You know the answer to that.Listen
My today involved two (2) recitals for Apple-Apple’s day camp. It was hot, someone kept shushing the babies, and I tossed crackers non-stop at my offspring, but hey, it was worth it. Here is the link to Apple-Apple’s first piano performance (be assured, it’s short). And here is the afternoon group singing a canon that I found very moving (plus Fooey mugging for the camera; she thought I was taking a photograph and offered a variety of facial poses … umm, what am I doing to my kids by photographing them so often? Which reminds me that this afternoon, while we were eating popsicles in poetical formation on the front porch, recovering from all the bleeping lovely recitals, Apple-Apple cried, “Get your camera! You need a picture of this, Mom!” and I said, “No. I need to sit down.” And so I did. Because sometimes, sometimes, I don’t need a picture. Which is long enough, methinks, for a parenthetical aside).
And, yes, that’s a gratuitous photo of CJ completely unrelated to this post.