Fun with Thesaurus
I put this on Facebook, so forgive the repetition between social media. Yesterday evening, I attempted to get all the kids in bed early, but the older two are used to staying up til 9pm. I pictured myself in pajamas and under the covers before that hour, so I requested that they put themselves to bed. They could read in the office/playroom, and they could use Albus’s watch as an alarm clock so they wouldn’t lose track of time. They were pretty pleased with the idea, and when I came to check up on them, the alarm was set, and the two kids were sitting together on the futon surrounded by books. Heavy books. Books from my office shelf.
“What are you guys doing?”
“We’re playing a fun game!” said Apple-Apple, and she went on to explain that she was looking up words in the thesaurus and reading out all the similar words, and Albus was guessing the original word–to which end, he had several dictionaries on the go.
I’m sure there are equivalant moments of delight for hockey parents and soccer parents and musical parents, and etc. This was just such a moment for me. My kids, playing with words, spontaneously, for fun.
One of the books in the pile is a book of fairly tales–originals–which I bought a number of years ago when I was a grad student interested in the history of children’s literature. Earlier this week, Apple-Apple said she’d been trying to find real fairly tales at her school library, “not the Disney kind,” and I remembered this book. She’s been poring over it, very excited to be reading the “real” stories, though I need to caution her that in the case of fairy tales there probably is no “real” version, in the sense of there being an absolute original. That could be the start of another interesting conversation.
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On a different subject altogether, I am thinking about people in Libya and Japan, among many other troubled places here on this planet of ours. Thinking, praying. The security we hold to and assume to be rightfully ours is so fragile. I am not sure whether it is right or wrong to feel gratitude for the ordinariness of today, with its ordinary problems and ordinary pleasures that might not seem so ordinary under different circumstances. But I do feel gratitude; it is mingled with a kind of helpless grief.
Dear Blog, I Miss You
We used to talk all the time. I shared all the ordinary every day details of my life, and you listened patiently. I posted photos! Those were the days. And now it feels like we’ve drifted. I have photos, but I haven’t unloaded them off of my camera. I have ideas for topics, but I’ve been compressing them into status updates on Facebook. More efficient. Though more ephemeral, too, gone in an instant.
It’s not you, it’s me. I have issues with time, and how I’m spending it. Some days I don’t even get to email, and email and I were best friends long before I even considered getting to know you. When I first heard about you, I was a total snob. The term mommy blogger made me shudder. (To be perfectly honest, it still makes me wince, just a little bit). But once I got to know you, I really appreciated what you offered. I was tired and sleep-deprived, and you weren’t critical. You didn’t judge me if I felt the need to post photos of my baby covered in baby food, or if I needed to complain to someone–anyone–about the state of my living-room floor. (You should see the girls’ room right now, by the way; I really should photograph the disaster for posterity). You accepted the mundane with the profound. It’s very generous of you; though some might criticize you (and me) for shallowness, for not knowing the difference between the grocery list and poetry.
I’m not breaking up with you, please understand. In fact, my feelings are quite the opposite, full of intentions of betterment and promises to be more faithful. Every once in awhile, I feel the need to purge myself of all excesses, even the excess of keeping track of every dream, every plan, every daily chore, the minutiae of every change. But the urge is fleeting. I like keeping this stuff. Even if I never look at it again, even if it accumulates like fluff in the attic, like evidence that could be used against me in a court of consistency.
So, I’m sticking with you. And that’s not just this morning’s sleep-deprivation talking.
Yours, OCM
Smarts
Two topics for this bright and sunny Sunday afternoon (yes, there’s snow, but the sun is also here declaring itself).
First topic: naps! Saturday’s Globe and Mail newspaper had a cheery brief on the benefits of napping. Studies show that a 45-minute nap improves both cardiovascular health and mental agility. Agility is not quite the word I’m looking for, but you know what I mean. Nap yourself to intelligence! Should have napped longer today, I guess.
I am napping regularly these days. It is part of my early rising routine. Every day that involves getting up early, includes time for a nap. I nap up to an hour, but rarely longer, and often shorter. Napping has all kind of negative associations, and I had to overcome those by being really really super-tired in order to test out the benefits. No, it isn’t lazy. And no, it’s not a waste of time. On writing days, I’ve gotten in the habit of napping as soon as the kids are out of the house. Within an hour, I’m up and productively at my desk. Without the nap, I’d be up and unproductively at my desk. (I’ve tested both methods). I love rising early. I’m up to four early mornings a week, at least for now, and I love the quiet, the energy, seeing the morning light arrive, and starting my day with focus. I’ve fed myself–metaphorically, anyway–before the demands of the day kick in. It’s a very different way to start the day. Though I look forward to Thursday mornings, when Kevin gets up early instead, that extra hour and a half of sleep is instantly erased by the immediacy of what the day wants from me; often, I’m not even out of bed before the demands arrive, in the form of children needing things. And that’s what I’m here for! But it’s so much easier and more pleasant to give, when one has already received.
Second topic: poetry club! Just a quick summing up of last night’s poetry club, for which we read Billy Collins’ Sailing Alone Around the Room. Kevin read the book too, as I was hosting and he was looking forward to participating–and seeing what the club was all about. I can highly recommend the Montforte Dairy’s Elsie goat cheese pesto spread (which I got from Bailey’s). And I can fairly highly recommend the poems too, though I went to bed wondering … are they too accessible? Is that a fault, in poetry? Collins is a funny funny poet, but it can feel at times that a deeper moment is being sacrificed to a good punchline. Still, there were poems that stabbed into me with a shock of emotion. We talked a fair bit about why we were drawn to particular poems–and because most of us had different “favourites,” we asked how poems could be judged objectively. How do you know that the poem is “good”?
I really enjoyed the many poems about writing. His world felt very domestic and contained, to me, and it revolved around quiet interior days of writing and work, and walking around the house, thinking about writing. What I enjoyed most about these poems was their lack of angst or questioning. He writes with full acceptance that he is a writer. There is no hint of self-justification, nor does he question his own abilities, or the worth of his work, he’s just being who he is. Very refreshing. I would like to arrive there. Certainly, I’m closer than I was a few years ago; even, perhaps, a year ago.
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Speaking of a year ago … Kevin keeps marvelling at how easily our family has accommodated my triathlon training schedule. It is fairly remarkable. This past week, for example, I spent 12.5 hours training. That’s 12.5 hours, out of the house, not looking after the kids. If you’re wondering how we manage it, I would say it’s been a long slow and steady change, adjusting everyone to me being out of the house more frequently–which was an adjustment to the way I thought about my role, too, as much as anything. When I started this blog, two and a half years ago, my youngest was four months old. I was breastfeeding constantly, and up often during the night. That is no longer my reality, with my baby on the cusp of turning three. As he’s grown, and I have said goodbye to pregnancy and lactation, I’ve also grown accustomed to expressing myself as someone other than “mom.” I leave the house as often as four or five evenings a week–only for a couple of hours at a time, mind you–but that’s a massive change from my early years of motherhood, oh, eight or so years, when leaving the house by myself in the evening was an enormous production, and happened so rarely it might not have been more than once a month. And sometimes less.
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Apple-Apple’s supper menu for tonight (Sunday supper, cooking with kids): baked potatoes with cheese sauce, broccoli and cauliflower on the side, and scones and hot chocolate for dessert. I can smell it cooking as I type.
Time Management
I’m taking way less photos: post-365 project, I have to remind myself to pick up the camera. In one sense, I think it’s a good thing. Rather than recording happy moments, I’m simply living them. But in another sense, I want those moments recorded … or at least a few of them.
I’ve been writing less here, and more on the sister site that records my triathlon training. The time spent on that other blog is reflective of the time and energy that is going into the project; and is therefore also not going into other endeavors. I have to pick one project and stick with it, like I did with the 365; and am now doing with the triathlon. There isn’t time for more than one obsessive side-pursuit. But I am continuing to write (fiction) during writing days, and the parenting is omnipresent. As is the cooking. If I’m having a day when it feels like nothing much is getting done, all I have to do is whip up a batch of something–yogurt, pickles, pitas, bread, granola bars, chicken stock–and suddenly the day is productive. That’s all it takes. A couple loaves of banana bread.
I want to describe our past Saturday, for the record. It was a scheduling marvel. And I will need to be as or more marvelous in the Saturdays to follow to continue pulling everything together.
7:30am: Everyone up. The good news is that 7:30 now qualifies as “sleeping in” for me, since I am up three mornings a week at 5:15 (and may add a fourth starting this week, if I can hack it).
8:30: I’m in running gear and off for my planned “long slow run” of the week, only my second, so it’s 12km. That takes me an hour and fifteen minutes. The kids play wii. I think Kevin gets them breakfast. Nothing fancy.
9:45: Apple-Apple leaves with a friend (yay for carpooling!) to go to her Singer’s Theatre rehearsal.
10: Fooey is picked up by a friend to play. I have time to shower and gulp something down, then head out in the truck with grocery bags to load up on the weekly essentials. Done. Turn on radio. Enjoy a few minutes en route to Singer’s Theatre.
11:30: Pick up Apple-Apple and friends and return them home, also picking up Fooey on the way back to our house.
Noon: unload groceries, eat, grab yoga gear.
12:30: Albus walks to friend’s house for playdate.
Same time: On way to yoga, I pick up a birthday gift for a party Fooey’s going to this afternoon.
1:00: Lying on back in hot yoga class. Ahhhh.
2:20: Home again, just missing handing off gift, as Fooey luckily scores a ride to the party with friend. This bums me out more than it should (the missed present-drop-off, I mean). My scheduling precision is off! By a hair! Kevin points out he can drop off gift at end of party, and in any case, Fooey has made a homemade card.
2:30: Rehydrate and snack. Start making giant pot of chicken stock to freeze for later. Start making yogurt. Kevin heads out with Apple-Apple for her 4:00 soccer practice, now apparently a regularly feature of our Saturday afternoons.
5:30: Kevin picks up Fooey and friend from birthday party.
6:00: Chicken stock stored in freezer, yogurt growing bacteria on counter, and children being fed warmed up “mashed potato soup” and bread.
6:30: My mom arrives to babysit. I apply eyeshadow. Rather too much. Wish I could take some off but there’s no time. Decide not to add a necklace to balance it out.
6:45: Kevin and I exit hurriedly, walk uptown, only slightly late for our dinner reservation.
7:00: Debating: should we order a bottle or wine or cocktails? Go with wine. Good choice.
10:30: Home in bed.
He got up the next morning for a 90-minute yoga class. I made waffles and bread and opted for the late afternoon yoga class.
It’s the busyness of all of our lives, and attempting to coordinate the variety of activities and socializing–including that of the parents–that makes my head whirl sometimes. I said to Kevin recently: Just when I think I’ve got this scheduling thing totally under control, a few more variables crop up and I have to take it to a whole different level. I expect to earn my elite gold star in scheduling shortly. After which, the demands will go up to platinum. Because we haven’t even begun to factor CJ’s interests and activities into our lives. He will have to wait til he’s at least five to get interests and activities.
And then someday, before I can blink, our kids will all move out, and I’ll be left with a set of superior organizational skills and a need to apply them somewhere. Look out world.
Book Review by Albus
Max Finder Mystery: Collected Casebook, volume 5, by Craig Battle and Ramon Perez, published by Owlkids.
It’s a bunch of different comics, and they’re mysteries. Some of the clues are hidden inside pictures–they’re not always words. I like how the artist draws the characters. I found out about Max Finder in Owl magazine. I like mysteries because they’re fun to try and figure out who did it. I like comics because it tells a story with pictures.
I also liked how you could find clues on the way while you were reading it, as if you were the detective. Then you could find out if you were right or wrong at the very end of the mystery.
I think it’s made for 7-13 year olds. It’s made for multi-gender (boys and girls). This book is cool.
by Albus, age 9