Monday morning: swimmingly
I’ve been wanting to blog all weekend, and have been too busy with food preparation (recipes to come), canning, and parties (tough life, I know). Hurray for a quiet house on a beautiful Monday morning!
For four out of six of us, this morning began swimmingly. Let me explain. We keep aiming to make room for plenty of physical activity, individually and as a family. Kevin has soccer and hockey. I swim, run, bike, and yoga. And we’d like the kids to enjoy the benefits of burning off steam, playing, and being fit.
(Side note # 1: I just found last year’s fall calendar in a drawer, and saw that I’d scheduled “hiking” as a possible family weekend activity. Sadly, that happened precisely never. Given that we had, last fall, a two-year-old, I can see how it fell off the priority list.)
This fall, we’re continuing with activities that have proven easy to maintain, such as the kids walking to and from school every day. We live 1.4km from school, so that’s nothing to sneeze at. Even CJ walks every morning to his nursery school, with his dad. AppleApple will likely continue with rep soccer, and the three oldest kids will play indoor soccer this fall/winter. It’s inexpensive, once-weekly, and will be Fooey’s first experience with organized sports. CJ joins in on weekly swim lessons for all, coordinated so that all kids will be in the water at the exact same time.
(Side note # 2: When examining our budget last month, I discovered that our biggest expense, aside from food and shelter is extracurricular/sports activities. There’s a desire to want to accomodate every interest, but we need to be more creative sometimes. For example, instead of the kids doing hockey, we rent ice time and skate/play hockey a couple of times a month with a bunch of neighbourhood families.)
Earlier this summer, AppleApple mentioned she’d like to swim more often, so she tried out for a swim club … but when I investigated cost and schedule, we realized it was a) crazy expensive, and b) would conflict with other activities. Plus Albus expressed interest in swimming more often, too, and there was no way we could put two kids into this club.
Long story short: it occurred to me that the older kids swim well enough to participate in lane swims, which are quite affordable with a pool pass. Plus, Kevin is learning to swim and would like the chance to practice, too. On Monday mornings, I swim very early, and can do an hour in the pool, shower, and be home before 7am. When I arrived home this morning, Kevin and kids were waiting in the front hall, a bit groggy, in swimsuits, ready for the lane-swim experiment. (And how proud I am at their willingness to give this a try).
An hour later, they burst through the door, glowing. Thumbs up. They’d consulted with a lifeguard, swam with the “oldsters,” and practiced their strokes up and down the lanes. Albus was musing about going more often, on “bad” days (ie. days when he has subjects at school that don’t interest him).
When I start the morning with a run or a swim, I notice an immediate boost in mood; why wouldn’t it be just the same for kids, too?
The energy at breakfast was upbeat and positive. Porridge, toast, boiled eggs. And we still had plenty of time to chat and prepare for the day before saying goodbye.
(Side note # 3: Not everyone needs to schedule time for exercise. The little kids, who won’t get extra swimming time, more than make up for it racing their bikes around the house on the loop of driveway, patio, walkway, and sidewalk. Not to mention much trampolining. CJ: “Look how high I can jump, Mom! You have to come and see me!”)
Is patience its own reward?
This morning it was sun hats. It had to be something. Fooey couldn’t find hers, last minute, of course, and left wearing an old one and not very happy. Not the best start to her walk, but hopefully being outside in the bright fall sunshine quickly cheered her up.
I’ve been up since 5:15am, swam laps for an hour, came home to get kids organized and fed, and worked on a couple of music-related projects with the kids. AppleApple is learning “Across the Universe” for her Singer’s Theatre audition (her choice; and a tough tune to perfect. She amazes me with her patience and not just willingness, but eagerness, to take suggestions from me in her efforts to improve). And Albus practiced piano before school, too. (This year, we’ve agreed that he earns a star sticker for every “good” practice, and when he has 100 stars, he gets a reward; likely Lego-related. The girls can earn stickers too. Will this last? It may. He’s highly motivated by rewards and by money. Apparently the lad takes after his dad, which probably means he’ll go far, whether or not he ever learns to write neatly).
I can’t write neatly either, come to think of it. Thank heavens I learned to type at an early age. It comes in handy, being able to spit words as quickly as thought.
On a dimly related topic, I’m considering a different writing strategy this fall. Because I’ve spent years working on the same material, and crafting and re-crafting it, it’s daunting to leap into something entirely fresh and new, with brand-new characters who have brand-new stories to tell. Daunting, but exciting, too. In the past, I’ve never written for length or volume. My style is fairly compressed. But for this project, I’m considering tracking my words-per-day, and writing lavishly, spilling words, aiming in my first draft to give ample voice to characters within a fairly tight and dedicated plotline. My role-model for this project is Kate Atkinson’s Started Early, Took My Dog. In other words, mystery, dark pasts, multiple perspectives.
I’m calling it The Swimmer.
Yesterday evening, while running, I had a vision: a shelf of pretty paperbacks, all different, with my name on the spines. I’ve been thinking of myself as a book-a-decade writer, ie. someone unable to produce excellent work quickly, someone who gestates stories very very slowly. And I’m not afraid of the potential slowness of the process, either; I’m a fan of patience, and patience rewarded. But here’s the thing: I’ve also never had the chance to work as many hours a week as I do this year, and in years to come the hours will grow. What if I put my head down and work the way I’ve worked at becoming triathlon-ready? It was thrilling to let myself imagine creating a variety of books, to chase down the ideas floating around my brain, to gather and bring them to coherence. I may be pursuing a career in a dying industry, but I refuse to believe it. Go read a book, any book, and you’ll remember what you’re missing out on as you surf the web late at night.
And with those thoughts, I’ll begin today’s writing day, trying to remember to sit up straight, not to slouch or twist in my ergnomically-sound chair, and to get up and take regular rest breaks. I’m also turning off my email for chunks of time throughout the day. No distractions.
Oh, and swimming and running are just the best times for thinking about my characters. And on the flip side, thinking about my characters makes swimming and running easier because time just slides by.
A room of one’s own, for dreaming and such
Today’s last-minute before-school panicked rummaging involved rainboots. AppleApple had outgrown hers (“I can wear them but I have to curl my toes up …”), but Albus refused to wear his; problem solved. Except Albus’s boots spent summer on the back porch and were filled with leaves and spider webs. AppleApple is terrified of spiders. “Why does this keep happening?” I asked the universe, re the last-minute scrambling, but the universe knew it was a rhetorical question.
How do I frame the minutiae that happens throughout my day? Yesterday, it felt like things were going wrong, no matter what I tried. It was raining and I was running errands with the bike stroller. I was late, or nearly late, for every appointment. On the piano outing, I forgot all but my head and ran comically back and forth between house and vehicle, locking and unlocking the front door, back and forth, as I remembered this that and the other forgotten and critical item.
But I could also have summed up the day by remembering all the things that went well. I actually remembered everything we needed for piano before leaving the driveway, for example. Albus got himself safely home from school. The little kids were in bed at a reasonable hour. Supper tasted good. Kevin arrived home earlier than expected. I started writing in the voice of a new character. Running errands with just one friendly three-year-old is pretty easy and he never even complained about the rain.
But truthfully, I was frazzled for large portions of the day, and that frazzled feeling defined the day’s events.
I do wonder, do people have jobs where, when they’re done for the day, they feel done? And they go home and relax? I find myself romanticizing: home versus job. If job were separate from home, would it be easier to come home and relax? And if home is where I work (home office, as well as all of the domestic labour required to keep home running), then where is that non-work comfort space? Can I find it here?
I wonder if I’m romanticizing the idea of a home office, too. Because within a couple of months, I will have a real actual genuine home office, an 8 x 10 room of my own. Pictured above is the door that will lead to this still-imaginary space. We met with the builder this morning to discuss details (read: pricing), and work will begin on this project (which includes rebuilding the front porch) within a week or two. (!!) Am I romanticizing the idea of stepping into that new office space and shutting the door? Will just being in that room bring me a sense of comfort and relaxation and peace, here at home? Will I be able to sit in my office and read, for pleasure? Nap in my office? Dream in my office? I hope so. I hope I won’t feel obligated to work work work all the time in there.
Dreams and naps and, yes, even reading leave no trace, no record, no scratch on the surface of life. They take you underground. Which brings me around to my overwhelming impulse to record, to make, to create artifacts and stories and loaves of bread. (And blogs). In between the doing, hidden behind it, making it possible, is the quietness of dreaming and drifting and filling up the spirit and the soul with … with the ineffable, with all of the quiet elusive private unnecessary/necessary trails underneath that can’t be pinned down.
Is this happening during my frazzled scrambling days?
The things that went wrong, despite all good intentions and much preparation
Problem: six-year-old’s pants no longer fit; discover salient fact at exact moment pantless child needs to be leaving for school; discover half a minute later that box in attic containing six-year-old hand-me-down clothes has next to no pants, oodles of pretty dresses
Solution: six-year-old leaves wearing pants that are slightly too big, but at least not too small; mama makes mental note to buy child more pants, preferably soft; mental note not good enough, should probably go on list; which list?
Problem: ten-year-old’s brand new labelled-as-non-marking shoes leave marks on gym floor, therefore ten-year-old can’t wear them as his indoor shoes (yes, the school requires children to have two pairs of shoes at all times, one for inside, the other for out); too late to go shoe shopping; old shoes wrecked and don’t fit
Solution: ten-year-old’s feet approximately same size as mama’s; ten-year-old agrees to wear mama’s old running shoes to school; but will this work for longer than one day?; mental note to add shoe-shopping to list (maybe); which list?
Problem: late bedtime due to late soccer practice and excursion to get binders that ten-year-old needs for school; three-year-old wakes incapable of speaking to anyone in tone other than grumpy, grouchy, or extremely put out; three-year-old threatens mutiny re attendance at nursery school
Solution: early to bed, early to bed, early to bed (mutters mama, thinking, oh dear, this is all on me tonight, as husband will be working late)
Problem: rising super-early to exercise, mama is Just Plain Tired by the time kids straggle off to school; precious few hours of work-time available; fuzzy-headedness not conducive to deep thought
Solution: one super-short nap; not sure it’s working, as mama is currently blogging and is not, therefore, starting to write her brand-new book, which she’s not scared of starting, really, honestly, okay, she’s pretty nervous about this (file under Things to Get Over; It Will Be Okay, Promise; You Can Do This, Just Take a Few Deep Breaths)
Problem: too much mama multitasking; items slipping through cracks; library books overdue; lists festering; brain overload; can’t read recipe for crockpot while serving porridge and trying to write notes to children’s teachers AND field question from husband about lunches without snapping irritably in reply
Solution: nothing comes to (over-stuffed) mind
Problem: there always seems to be more; it’s not predictable; no amount of list-making can answer the unknowable future
Solution: embrace improvisation; accept failure, reject defeat; welcome to the joy of being alive
And it all begins again, afresh, anew
He left first, for nursery school, walking with his dad. He has no need for a backpack, but everyone else has one, so he insisted. The temperature has dropped and we had to dash to the attic to dig for winter hats and fall jackets. The report from Dad was good: they enjoyed a “Star Wars” themed walk to nursery school and parted without tears. I will pick him up in two hours. Repeat every weekday. Our new fall schedule.
After I said goodbye to CJ, the big kids emerged for their annual back-to-school portrait. This was the best they could muster. And yet, they’re all reasonably excited about returning to school. No, really, they are.
It was just as I’d imagined. We always pose the back-to-school pictures on the porch. This year we have no porch (they’re scheduled to start rebuilding in a couple of weeks; please let it be so). And there’s something, um, dismal about the background. Albus doesn’t look so happy either. But he departed at 8:30 sharp in grand spirits, off to walk to school with his friends, all of whom will be in his class this year.
Nothing dismal about AppleApple’s chosen ensemble, despite the brown pants and black shoes; she’s even wearing electric blue socks. On the walk to school, she was extremely focused on getting there, and when we reached the grounds, she ran off without a backward glance, or even the semblance of goodbye. She’s proud to be the first child in our family to be in a portable (and it’s the new portable, which makes me think, off-gassing?).
Look at this glowing child. She’d glow anywhere, in any scene, against any setting. I’m a convert to the background, in this photo. She was so terrifically excited to be starting grade one; though “excited” isn’t quite the right word, because it doesn’t capture her confidence and pride about the big step to full-day, and French immersion, and being with the big kids — being “a big kid.”
Never have we all been so ready so early. Which meant a good deal of hanging around and waiting around on the grass. Finally, the teacher called for her students to line up, and Fooey clung to my hand — I was surprised. One last kiss goodbye, and she let go, and the kids slowly made their way through the doors, and off to their waiting classroom.
Another year begun.
(And I walked briskly home and entered a quiet house. Space to think. Silence. Cup of cooling coffee on the countertop. This feels good).