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.
Carbon Guilt; Six Years
Deep breath. Confession. I just drove the kids to school. Okay, and worse. It made my morning so much easier. Baby CJ slept in, so I didn’t rush to wake him and feed him and change him so he could endure a half hour in the stroller. I just let him sleep. Popped him, pajamas and all, into the car seat. The big kids are big enough that I don’t need to walk them to the school doors and see them inside. I just hopped out and helped them cross the street, and kissed them goodbye (not Albus; he’s too big for kisses–in public, at least). Then we drove home. It was still early. No one was cranky and complaining about being stuck in the stroller.
Oh dear. It was so darn luxurious that I’m actually glad we only have one vehicle so that I will be forced to keep walking the kids to school in the morning (afternoons are different–it actually seems easier to walk than to join the crowd of vehicles being irresponsibly driven and parked on the snowy sidestreets surrounding the school). I wonder why I feel better about my life when I’m doing things the hard way, and guilty when I’m taking shortcuts. Balance, balance. It’s a kind of comfort to know there’s never perfect equilibrium, and therefore always something more to strive for.
Here are my excuses for carbon-burning this morning. One, Kevin is in Ottawa and I am all on my own today, and seeking ways to make the day that much more survivable. Two, CJ was up most of the night, off and on, with a terrible croupy cough, and wide awake at 5am for a good hour. He needed that extra sleep. Three. Umm, apparently I don’t have a third excuse. I wanted to drink my cup of coffee while it was still hot? I wanted a few extra minutes to Blog? In any case, we have a pile-up of other errands to run this morning, all within walking distance (long walks, but nevertheless) … and I’m considering, maybe, just this once … driving. (Something tells me that “just this once” could become my winter phrase, as long as a vehicle is available to me. Slippery, slippery slopes.)
Durn snow.
On another subject: boy are we partied out. We had such a blast with Apple-Apple’s butterfly birthday on Sunday, and another good family party last night; but there’s been enough cake eaten and enough thoughtfully chosen gifts opened and enough candles whooshed out to thoroughly mark the (truly significant) occasion. Six years old. From precocious baby who walked early and talked early (how fascinating to hear what was on the mind of a 14-month-old; she looked up while nursing one afternoon and said, “Daughter”), to determined toddler, insisting on potty-training herself at 20 months, through the process of learning to be a kind and helpful big sister (not easy!), to becoming a schoolgirl and revelling in her independence, in learning, and in being a helpful and thoughtful group participant. My equal parts serious and silly child. My French-language-delighting, yearning-to-play-piano-and-learn-to-knit, Little-House-loving-girl. Six years old.
Minus the Infant Clothes
Writing day, and I’ve promised never to blog on writing day, but have reached the natural end of how far I can go on this particular chunk of story or novel or whatever the heck it is, and yet don’t want to stop writing. Quite yet.