Gotta Dance
Fooey in the car this afternoon (an announcement): “I’m going to watch Magic School Bus all by myself. I want some alone time. No one disturb me.”
It’s been a grey day, and it almost seemed that the sun didn’t shine. Dim light. Late November light. That closing in ahead of the winter solstice. Last night, Kevin and I went to a neighbourhood Christmas party and it was darn fun. I haven’t gotten dressed up for well over a year, and had to plunder the attic in search of party-ish clothes (not that I needed to wear them; it was all a matter of wanting to). I wore a black Lida Baday strapless top with this shruggish sleeves-only sweater (no idea what it really should be called), bought in Toronto almost a decade ago. My one and only designer purchase, ever. I still remember going into the store on the Danforth near where we lived at the time and laying out a fair wad of cash for that overall outfit, which included a balloony ballgown-type skirt that didn’t seem right for last night’s bash; I went with an old lined wool black-and-white checked skirt.
It was definitely a rush to apply makeup (approximately a once-yearly event), fluff hair, adorn self. Mostly, I love my mama-self disguise–that’s not the right word, though. It’s not a disguise, it’s a true emanation of myself, the jeans and turtlenecks and zip-up sweaters and frumpy winter hat and last-year’s-maternity coat and rarely brushed hair and rushing out the door without even a glance into a mirror. Mostly, that’ s a very satisfying me to live within. But this other me was delightfully escapist for a night, like going on a full-body holiday. The dancing was the best part. It takes a little time to get really relaxed and uninhibited, I find, but ultimately there’s so much release in moving one’s body to music.
Baby CJ did wake, but his grandma was able to soothe him till we got home, hours later. We found them cuddling on the couch together at about one in the morning.
Right now, I’m baking a huge batch of peanut granola that smells fabulous. Tomorrow Albus is back at the dentist first thing in the morning, and it’s a writing day, assuming everything pans out. We are in the midst of some crammed weeks, with Kevin working weekends, and seemingly endless appointments, dental and otherwise; and then Christmas will be upon us. After lunch today, the kids and I played some songs on the piano, including carols. I bought a beautiful advent calendar yesterday–made in India; Ten Thousand Villages–that you fill yourself, so it’s reusable from year to year. I feel like really celebrating Christmas this year, inventing new family traditions and solidifying others, while remaining faithful to a more-with-less philosophy. These seasonal events take on more significance the older I get (maybe), or the more I feel our family to be its own unique entity in the world, with everyone’s voice adding to the mix. I want to embrace where our family is at, right now, and not waste an ounce of this togetherness. It’s such great fortune to share our lives in relationship with others.
And sometimes you’ve just gotta dance.
Early Bird, Wha?!
This is the second day in a row that I’ve made the choice to hop out of bed, brush teeth, and start the day earlier than required. I’ve never been a morning person. Bed has always called louder than anything else, so the thought in my head this morning as I stood looking at bed, still in pajamas, debating, was, “Why aren’t you calling me?” Habit made me hesitate, confused; is this what morning people feel like? Like extra sleep wastes time that could be spent awake? The sensation was unfamiliar, baffling. My instinct was not to trust it. But then I thought, maybe this is some new and entirely unanticipated early bird phenomenon working its way into my system. And I went cheerily off to floss.
Getting to the Screen
Just don’t seem to be getting to this virtual typing page as often as I’d enjoy.
Today I tried doing a writing afternoon–really a short amount of time, approximately two hours total–and approached it with the notion that if something got written, that would be pleasant, and if not, it would be two hours of not entertaining a three-year-old and an-almost-eight-month-old. Then I went off on a story-tangent and had a blast. Felt all revived and did not stress about getting everyone ready for the walk to school, or the after-school mayhem. I encouraged the kids to stay outside and play in the snow when we got home, and set baby CJ in the snow, too, with his little sock-mittens. He was enchanted. What is this stuff? What are the big kids up to? Loved it. Then we got cold, so came in for hot chocolate. I had done prep work for supper earlier in the day (turkey broth with noodles, and cornbread and baked squash), so just waited till Kevin got home to do the rest. It felt easier, more pleasant, though we ate a bit later than usual. More civilized. Mama hanging with the kids. I could focus better on their demands and issues and remarks. And Albus even studied for his French dictee tomorrow, which he’d been resistent to doing. I don’t know whether this is good mothering or bad, but I’ve been trying to encourage him to work a little bit in advance–to learn good study habits–and showing him how that little bit of extra effort pays off. Which it has. But the kid has this inborn confidence that he knows everything. I don’t want to shave that off of him; yet also want him to appreciate that hard work can be rewarding. Heck, not even hard work. Just a smidgen of labour. Just copy the darn words a couple of times.
I also got out for a haircut tonight. So it was a day of pampering and luxury, all-around. Then I raced home and washed the rest of the dishes with my fancy new haircut smelling pleasantly salon-ish, and put a tantrum-inclined Fooey into her bed (she was planning for a birthday party for her Pooh Bear tomorrow and had covered the bed in tea cups and plates; and I must mention that Pooh Bear is Poor Bear in name only; it’s a pink filthy stuffed bear with a stocking cap). We had to clear the bed, and I made promises about tomorrow’s party. After we’d kissed goodnight (a kiss-fest with CJ joining in), I heard her whispering to her bear: “Tomorrow’s your birthday!”
Then I hung the laundry that I’d washed first thing this morning. Funny thing, walking to school this aft, I walked with a mom I’d never met before, we ended up talking laundry–and it turns out she’s at least as obsessive as I am about not using the drier. She uses dowling tacked up to doorways, and hangers. I use ugly cheap racks and banister railings. We both have a constant never-ending flow of dampish clothes in progress. It was nice to find unexpected company in this particular domestic peculiarity.
Catching Life
Writing day, but this is the first I’ve gotten to the computer this morning. Fooey had her major dental appointment this morning, so that took priority. She was fully conscious during the surgery, but on nitrous oxide (“magic nose” as the dentist calls it) and additionally on a drug that kinda makes her look and act a bit drunk. Amazingly, the dentist (Super Dentist, as I shall forevermore call him) drilled and filled three cavities, including between her two front teeth, and shaved off an additional three more cavities, all in one go. So she’s taken care of. For now. Heaven knows, we are flossing and brushing and treating juice like a rare treat these days (“Juice!!!” the kids squeal with delight when it is offered at a birthday party; the way other children might scream, “Candy!” or “Cake!”), but there are hard teeth and there are soft teeth, and it’s looking like my babies have the soft ones. Something tells me this won’t be Fooey’s last”magic nose” experience. It was quite trippy trying to imagine the experience through her eyes, lying in that chair, breathing nitrous oxide into her innocent lungs, sunglasses on, in a dental office that looks like it’s perfectly preserved from the 1960s, while Super Dentist and his assistant spoke soothingly of “pink and yellow sugar bugs” being “washed away.” (Drilled away). I was starting to see pink and yellow sugar bugs. It wasn’t a bad sensation, actually.
Bedtime Cheese
I am eating cheese and crackers right before bed. This is probably ill-advised, but I am SO HUNGRY. The past two nights have been off-the-map bad for sleep, basically in ruinous desert territory where sleep is a form of creative drifting, of falling into shallow pits in the earth and being clawed back out and flung onto the sand. How’s that for metaphor. Don’t answer, please. CJ has a nasty snotty cold and has been unable to sleep in his playpen (at least at night) at all, for two nights. He crawls around screaming and crying as soon as we lay him down; ergo, we don’t. Ergo, we hold him and walk him around (Kevin) and hold him and nurse him (me). Constantly. I had these early morning dreams of eating vast trays of sweets, candies, cupcakes, sugar-topped rolls, gorging on them till I woke feeling guilty and … hungry, apparently.
It felt like I slept no more than twenty minutes at a stretch last night. Kevin said every time he woke, he’d hear or see CJ sucking away at me–that, or whimpering, choking on snot, and trying to crawl blindly off the bed.
It’s late, and we can’t get CJ down again tonight. And he’s still sick, so we can’t let him cry anything out, assuming anything could be cried out. People do this, right? People let their babies cry? I have very little resolution and strength on that subject. I am weak weak weak with compassion and desperation to sleep NOW in the middle of the night, which may explain why our baby is still mostly in bed with us, seven and a half months on.
I’ll tell you what last night reminded me, though. It reminded me that you don’t really know tired till you’ve been wakened all through the night feeding a baby, on consecutive nights. I had to nap today, seriously no choice, and I was crashed out cold (Fooey watching TV; CJ taking a proper nap in his playpen–why, oh why does he like it during daylight hours??). That was what life was like every single day for months after CJ was born; and now it already seems rare–I’d already forgotten that must-crash-out sensation.
Okay, I’ve eaten enough cheese. This should hold me through the night.