We Did Some Yard Work This Weekend

Looking for the Lesson

Two random things from my week so far:

I clipped the skin on The Kid's finger while I was trimming his nails and I fell down yesterday.

When things blow me off course (and both of these things did) I've been trying to find the lesson, figure out what I might learn from the situation. Clipping The Kid's finger was traumatic. There was blood and howling. I felt like the worst mother in the world. My clumsiness had inflicted pain on my child. There were tears. Did I mention there was blood? At one point The Kid wailed, "This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me!"

Then yesterday, as I set off for my morning walk, not fifty yards from my front door, I tripped on an uneven chunk of sidewalk and fell down. I was going at a pretty good clip and it happened so fast, I wasn't able to catch myself as I went down. I bumped my head, scraped my knee and elbow, and twisted my wrist. I was painful and a little humiliating. (Isn't falling down always a tad humiliating?)

Here's what these two things have in common: they both felt like catastrophes to me. Look at The Kid's "worst thing" comment above – it felt like a catastrophe to him too. Now, where do you suppose he learned that? Catastrophizing things, blowing them all out of proportion, is one of the things I've been trying to weed out of my garden ever since The Kid was born. I obviously have some more work to do.

Of course, The Kid's finger stopped bleeding and he was fine but I beat myself up about it for hours afterwards. I limped home and put ice on my knee and besides being a little sore today I am fine, but I berated myself for my klutziness for a good chunk of the day.

I want to have more RESILIENCE. I want to be able to ride over these bumps in the road without so much doom and gloom. I don't want to feel shame about a little clumsiness when dealing with a wiggly child or an accident on the sidewalk. I want to TRANSCEND.

That's one of things I want to learn to do this year. There's my lesson.

Resolution

I have tried every possible permutation of New Year's resolutions.

I've made a detailed list and ignored it.

I've made detailed lists and posted them on walls, inside nightstand drawers, on bathroom mirrors, and one year, on the sun visor of my car.

I've skipped making resolutions entirely.

I've filled a sheet of paper with positive, uplifting things I could do.

I've resolved to do two things and memorized them, doing away with the list entirely.

In short, me and the list of resolutions – not the best of friends. And yet, it's a new year, a new beginning, a clean slate and I want to move forward this year in a lot of ways. I don't want to change my life. I just want to boost the volume, take it up a notch, live a little bit louder.

I want to be healthier so I can walk further and faster. I want to keep up with my kid.

I want to spend more time creating. Whether it is knitting, sewing, photography or writing, I want to do at least one small creative thing every day.

Instead of a list this year, I chose four words to represent these ideas and I'm going to put them everywhere, on the cover of my journal, on the wall, on my screensaver. I'm going to make bookmarks using these words. I'm going to plaster them all over my life.

I'm going to read and write and sing and shout and whisper and chant these words over and over until they become a part of me. I'm going to infuse my life with these four words for an entire year, just to see what happens.

MOVE NOURISH CREATE PLAY

It's a little bit like a list, but not a list. What are you resolving to do in this new year?

Behold the Power of the Internet

The great thing about the internet is the way people can find you after having lost track of you years ago.

I had an email from one of those lost friends this weekend. (Hi Kyle!) It was amazing to be suddenly reminded of this group of people I ran around with when I was a teenager, to have a momentary window back to that time. To know that those people who meant so much to me still remember me after all these years, after I ran away to Maine and dropped off the face of the familiar Houston streets. To know that I wasn't forgotten is enough to bring tears to my eyes. These were the people who taught me the meaning of "finding your tribe", the people around whom I first felt extraordinary, magic, talented and smart.

I am happy to be found.

Before this blog, I would have probably spiffed up my resume a bit when I emailed back, made my life appear to be a little shinier than it really is. The trouble with this blog is that I can't get away with that anymore. Now, my life is laid out, insecurities, piles of laundry and all, and it is easy for anyone to read back a bit and get a sense of what my life is like now. It's not particularly shiny but it's a happy, good life, an honest life.

Hearing from Kyle reminded me of the girl I used to be and I spent some time remembering her this weekend. I may have judged her a little harshly. I hope I was a better friend than I remember, less self centered, more kind. I hope there's still something of that girl in me for these old friends to recognize.

Have you found any lost friends through the internet? Has anyone found you?

Spring and All

I wish I could take credit for these beauties, but I really had very little to do with them. There were four tea rose bushes in the front yard when we moved into this house. Two bushes expired during the first summer from a combination of drought and some crazy wild morning glory vine that just choked the life out of them. There are two left. One produces a mad amount of tiny pink roses, junior-prom-corsage-roses. These are from the other bush that produces ivory roses that have the most gorgeous almost lemony smell. To walk past the bush in full sun is almost to swoon from the scent.

All I've done to contribute to this flowery bounty is water them sporadically and cut them back severely in the winter. In fact, every time I cut them back I begin to think about what I'll replace them with because I'm convinced they won't survive my pruning. They're damn stubborn little bushes and I love them.

Food and Childhood

My early childhood was spent in the Deep East Texas backwoods, in a farmhouse we shared with my great grandmother. My mother took care of my "Grandma" who was very old with long white hair and skin like tracing paper. I remember distinctly her small, green bottle of smelling salts. I also remember the kitchen, my mother and Aunt Willie (who was a true saint and is a story for another day) cooking together.

We had cattle so there was almost always beef, fried chicken and cornbread and big pots of collard greens. I remember shucking corn by the basket and shelling black eyed peas by the bushel. There was a lot of salty, a lot of fried. The women in the kitchen were the emotional constant in my chaotic and sometimes violent little world. Is it any wonder I grew up to love cooking and being in the kitchen?

The cooking of my childhood followed my family out of the Texas backwoods and into the cities where I grew up. I was well into high school before I tasted whole wheat bread. I knew nothing but well-done steak until I went away to college. I didn't have a bagel until my twenties.

Although my ideas about food have changed radically since I grew up, I still crave the comfort foods of my youth. If I have a really bad day, I am much more likely to reach for something fried and salty (oh, my mother's homemade french fries!) than ice cream.

The lesson I carried with me from that old steamy kitchen is this: no matter what you cook, cook it with love. With love even the worst cooking disasters can be salvaged or you can always, lovingly, order a pizza.

Thanks, Mrs. G., for giving me the idea.

Getting Back on the Horse

Wow. Spring Break really threw me for a creative loop and I'm having a hard time getting back into the groove here. We've had a flurry of chaos and every time I sit at my desk, it seems some new thing springs up and demands my attention. If I don't write something soon I'm going to have to rename this blog "Photos of my Handsome Husband and Really Cute Kid".

How do you get your writing groove back after a break?

On Being Sick

I don't know about you, but two days is just about all I can stand of being sick. I get frustrated and snarky about the things I want to be doing that I'm not. My nose gets red and sore from all the blowing and I just want my old healthy self back. Nothing makes you appreciate your regular old healthy life like being sick.

I saw my doctor today who says it might be the flu. It is not a sinus infection which is what I feared. I got a pat on the back, a cortisone shot to speed up my decongesting, and a reminder to drink plenty of water and get some rest. Easy to say, but hard to do when sitting, or god forbid, lying down causes my nose to stop up as thoroughly as an old fashioned champagne bottle – no air in, no air out. This, my doctor assures me, will pass.

As for resting, I am tired of resting. I am impatient with the resting. My head hurts too much to read for any length of time and I am tired of daytime television, even the shows on my dvr. When watching Bobby Flay grill a swordfish or Jamie Oliver wax rhapsodic about rhubarb fails to make me happy, I know I am in a bad way.

I want to feel a little spring in my step once again. I want to look forward to The Kid's getting out of school and not dread the five minute drive and argh – conversations with the other moms and dads who take one look at me and say, "Um, how are you feeling?" I want to cook dinner and not be exhausted just thinking about it.

But for now I'll have to settle for washing my face and finding something easy to pull together for dinner. I'll try to keep from coughing and hacking while I sit through The Kid's karate class and if I wake up tomorrow feeling better, I'll try not to take it for granted.

Dude!

Some great things have happened here in One of Threesville this week. There were a few low points, (the car going kablooey, the not-going-to-sleep, and the mid-life angst moment) but there were a few really awesome things and dude, I want to talk about them. (The Kid has entered "the dude stage" where everyone and everything is addressed as "dude" and dude, it is rubbing off on me.)

At the seven year check up (with the pee scare), our beloved pediatrician asked if Max was using a sinus rinse and I said, um, no. Lefty and I both use a sinus rinse. (Not the same one. Eeew. We have separate ones, please!) I had an antibiotic-resistant sinus infection a year ago which had me in it's grip for three full rounds of increasingly hideous antibiotics before it let me go. The ENT (that's ear nose and throat) guy told me to sinus rinse twice a day no matter what and I was so grateful to be finished with all those antibiotics that I promised him I would. I'm a good girl – I keep my promises. I have a squeeze bottle version. Neti pots are very hip and cool, but they required that you position your head just so to work and I have never been very good at just so. The squeeze bottle is like sinus rinse for dummies. Sinus rinsing is a little unpleasant. It's a lot like purposely getting pool water up your nose twice a day. The Kid, I thought, will never go for that. But he did. I ordered him a pediatric size squeeze bottle of his own and he's been rinsing all week. He looked up at me in between nostrils last night and said, "This is kind of gross, and unpleasant" but he is doing it and I'm really proud of him. Is this a weird thing to be proud of your kid for?

Here's the other great thing. As most of you know, I have been experiencing a bit of ambivalence about The Kid's karate class. ( ha ha ha ha) One of my beef's with the newish instructor (other than him being a self aggrandizing &#%*#@*) is the emphasis on point sparring in the class since he took over. The Kid (because he came up under the tutelage of the beloved other instructor) has never been taught to point spar. In fact, the only sparring The Kid ever did before this was no-contact sparring which is basically pretending to punch or kick your opponent. In point sparring, you make light contact. Needless to say, he's had a hard time getting the hang of it just by watching his classmates. But on Wednesday, after sitting rather glumly for a while, he volunteered to spar and actually made his first point! We were thrilled! He was thrilled, and so excited he came home and spilled a huge glass of water all over the table during dinner, because that's how we celebrate here at One of Three, with big spills and lots of paper towels!

Life Keeps Rolling Along

One of my most beloved teachers from grad school passed away this week. Burt Hatlen taught me everything I know about Shakespeare and most of what I carry with me about literature in general. He was a generous and kind teacher who somehow found something to praise in my early, clumsy attempts at writing. His praise made me want to be a better writer. The world will miss him and so will I.

On a lighter note, The Kid had his teeth cleaned yesterday and we got an exuberantly positive report from the usually taciturn hygienist. Last summer we had to have two "pre-cavities" filled and since then we have been on a pretty serious tooth regimen that often causes The Kid to balk at bedtime. But the supervised brushing and flossing every night "no matter what" has truly paid off! Check out this smile.

The Kid is home with me today after spiking a fever (103, gasp) during the night last night. It took the tylenol almost two hours to bring his fever down enough so he could get back to sleep. We are all a little bleary-eyed today, but I have to say it has been nice just hanging out with him and watching cartoons this morning.