What's Fair?

What IS fair? It is such a confusing, complicated world. I can't find answers, sometimes, things just don't seem to add up. Firstly, in talking with Mary Eglow, there is WAY too much parental involvement in college students' lives. Parents writing applications, essays, calling professors to adjust grades. How can kids who write their own essays, earn their own grades, compete with that? NOT fair.

Second, how can someone be happy with their life, and yet so miserably unhappy? How can I work so hard at this one thing that I can never succeed at? How can this be fair?

Third, How can I be an embarrassment to my daughter, when I work so hard at not embarrassing her? Just being me, evidently. Is that fair?

A war about us, about freedom, or a war about not changing, about spending it all, about never having to work harder. Tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of people dying in a country where life is already hard. Do we have the right to change their world, and not take responsibility for changing ours? Is that fair?

I have such conflicting feelings about all these, and so many more, issues. Switching from B'nai Sholom to Beth Emmet is conflicting, and I really hope that it will help me figure out some of these conflicts. How much, and when, do I trust in the Universe? When do I try harder?

Springing on by

It sure feels like life is in fast forward right now. Orin ploughing through Kindergarten - writing books and reading, figuring out adding and multiplication, learning about artists, geography, and managing friendships. And Beckey - her Bat Mitzvah is fast approaching (6.5 weeks now!), and it is feeling both invigorating and frightening. All the mistakes will become glaringly obvious, but she will be the shining star (that she really is), she's got 2 parsha pieces left to learn, and some practice on the big prayers (v'ahafta, for example), but lots of work is done, and she's awesome. It feels like Jerry is getting old quickly now, which is NOT ok. He's stressed out, and work is hard. I'm feeling a little scared for him. I'm aging too, clearly - hbp, A1C over 7, thyroid out of wack, period slightly wonky. But I don't feel old, too much, yet. I'm walking 12+ miles every week, and doing some writing. I have my amazing kids, and I'm still grooving along better than the (very old) dog. :D We're working on summer plans - including Cape Cod and camps (thank goodness for tax returns!). So forward we march!


Easter! My birthday. Passover, Spring Equinox, we LOVE our holidays! We actually did nothing for Passover this year - we were at Bob and Mary's, but ate pizza and weird 2112 food. It was a good visit, Harry Potter was a hit, as were the wanderings through mid town that we took, just me and the kids. It was fun. Easter was with James, Alex, and Hannah - a fun hunt and lots of candy, followed by baskets galore and a nice easy hang out day. YAY!

My birthday was fun, easy, and lovely. We had a kind of rainy day, so we all did shopping together (including suit for Jerry, dress for Beckey, and odds and ends for the house), and hung out big time - games and food and familia love. Spring sprang with little celebration this year - it's very on/off for Spring - 50 and rainy one day, 80 and hot the next. Weird weather for sure. Orin has now had his 2nd sleepover! He had Kyle over last month, and Ryan came last weekend. Susan said Ryan had fun, and we really enjoyed having him. My boy grows older and better and sweeter every day.

Ok, JAC is out of town, working and driving and working, and it is time for flying solo mama to get the kids off to bed. It will be good to have everyone back together for the weekend, which is full of soccer and (Mah jongg!) Sunday School.

Right, or Left

Orin and I have been reading Roald Dahl's BFG lately, and I love that he laughs while snuggled in bed, listening to my funny voices. I love the goofy time we spend, warm and solid together. One of his favorite lines is oft repeated - the BFG asks Sophie "Right? or left?" when he really means "isn't that right!". Orin laughs and I giggle and we snuggle a little closer and keep reading.

Beckey and I, on the other hand, started reading Gone with the Wind, which is NOT funny, or not VERY funny. There are lots of very descriptive sections which she really struggles to stay focused through, in addition to it being the very end of the day/night. She is not loving it, but I think once we get through this beginning section and into a part with more action, she will see the payoffs for understanding these characters so well. Right, or Left?

The past 8 weeks, I have made it to 3 of the 4 Albany Written Art Studio meetings. I am getting a thicker skin, appreciating their time and love and effort, and - I think - making some progress! I have made it about 80% through chapter 2, and feel like chapter 1 is in good shape, though not finished. It's a pleasure to feel progress! It feels so, so ... progressive! So NOT cleaning bathrooms or making shopping lists or cutting coupons or listening to my kid practice something. again. So it's been wonderful getting this far, and I am really appreciative and looking forward to more!

Moving forward getting a 504 plan for Beckey, now, as we are seeing some deficiencies in her work skills. Studying for tests, planning through larger projects, staying organized, keeping track of assignments and papers. She for sure is not the only 12 year old to confront this hurdle, and I know that the school is making room for all the kids to get up to speed, but there is no lack of work, and there is an increasing gap in her comfort about the quality and quantity of work she is able to produce right now. Hopefully this is a smooth process, and one that she can really benefit from. I get that there are kids out there with bigger challenges, more issues, and deeper concerns, but that doesn't discount her own needs, challenges, or concerns. Right, or Left?



Gratuitous pic of kidding enjoying a bit of technology and some yummy choc chip flax cookies.

3 R's vs 3 I's

In consideration of recent crap happening at B and O's school, I've been thinking about what the drawbacks of public school in general - and our schools here in Bethlehem in particular - would be. Their over-emphasis on standardization of learning is a bummer. This inherently reduces the importance of art, language, imagination, and inquiry. Which got me thinking that there really are three subjects that are of utmost importance for us to help our kids learn, but they are NOT reading, writing (not an R) or 'rithmatic (also not an R). They are imagination, inquiry, and inventiveness. These are skills that take creativity and initiative and are the most likely to lead to actual contribution - not high level of spatial relations or even high vocabulary. It isn't about 'getting it' (algebra, grammar, literature), it's about putting something out there that makes new connections (mirror neurons), measures things in a way that is completely new and useful, or bringing understanding to the dark places of human inquiry. Time to go - more later.

Smilebox for Poppy - happy Chanukah!

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What make me bad?

I have, in my brief sojourn, been bad. I have been bad ass, a bad kid, a bad mom, a bad Jew, a bad person, and a bad ballplayer. I have also had bad breath occasionally, played badly at Mah Jongg, been a bad driver, and - on very rare occasions, had bad taste. But mostly, I think I'm a pretty good person. I haven't killed anyone - yet - or broken an oath in court, though that opportunity has not yet arisen. I have broken laws, commandments, rules, and expectations with some measure of abandon, and yet I STILL feel like I'm a pretty good person. I try to be respectful of people, though I fail from time to time. I try not to burn down anyone's house, to feel for the injustice and injury done to people around the world through neglect, intentional injustice, and historical accident. I guess I understand why we have rules, legal and social, but what I don't understand is how some people can call rules ideas, and the next person calls them commandments. Which is it, because those are fundamentally two different things to me. Time for me to go make dinner, which is a law around here, and one that I have found when broken, makes me a bad mother, wife, and person - my own peckishness can be an issue. So hopefully, as I grow up (taller, more beautiful, driving a bmw and zonkered into my iPad), I will come to more fully appreciate what things are out there that make me bad. Cause sometimes being bad is what differentiates me from the Abercrombie wearing, Prius driving norm, out there. And I'm tired of them saying that I'm bad for not being one of them.

Season 3

Soccer season 3 - 3 cool new coaches, new friends like Alex S., rediscovering his talents (goofing around during practice) and improving his skills (like striking). Orin has really enjoyed all the running around, scoring, flying like an eagle after a hard won score, playing a bit of defense (really, this boy is not a big D kind of kid). Jerry and I enjoyed sitting on the sidelines (yelling PASS, PASS THE BALL!), and had fun with the other parents on the team (Robin, Nancy, Maryanne, all great gals). But one kid who didn't befriend Orin especially, and who's parent's didn't especially become part of a core of moms and dads doling out snacks, sharing waters, or picking up the kids (often out of the mud) was Molly, for sure the one kid on this team who really impressed me. She's little, smaller than anyone else on the K team (except Charlie, who is REALLY tiny), wears her coke bottle 4" thick glasses strapped to her head, and runs sort of helter skelter, like even with these binocular telescopes on her head, she can barely see a thing. Born at 1lb 6oz, she has struggled since before her own birth to live, to be strong, and to be a part of this world. She is tenacious on the field, sweeter than syrup on the sidelines, cheers for her team on her breaks, sucks down oranges during half time, and thrills at the touch of the ball on her pink cleats. She is amazing, truly spirited, and brings to bear the whole point of this game - to bring each other up, along for the ride, and into the ecstasy of hard won success. Thank you Molly, for your amazing spirit and thanks to the coaches and the team for all their wonderful cheer and hard work.

Where I'm From by Beckey

I am from Canada,
I am from Vancouver,
Where Olympics are held,
That is where I'm from.

I am from the farms all over the world,
That grow and sell the food I buy,
That pick and sell my snacks.

I am from my mom,
Who gave birth to me,
who raised me so well.

I am from
Everywhere.

Rebecca Carlson-Lee
October 2010.

Ten pictures in ten steps.

These are sitting in the hall closet - I pulled the bottom one (which has fish lips glued to it) for hat day last year - Orin's preschool. Fun hats we bought in Ohio, on an island. Yup - there's an island in Ohio!

My grandma made this - my dad's mom. She was good, huh?



The Joy of cooking. Sits, alone, on top of the wave. It's marked for pancakes/johnny cakes, plain or with fruit.

This is one panel of a 12 panel tapestry made by a women's cooperative in rural Zimbabwe. This panel is telling about how the woman carried a heavy load on her head for a long way, before getting home. Other panels tell about how her husband was drunk and beat her, then how sorry he was, and how she let him come back home in the end. Sigh.



Max. Short for Maxine. She's huge. We aren't REALLY sure she's a she, but she felt like a she, to me. In a box, with a fox.



Plants. I like them, but I also kill them indoors. These are Jerry's responsibility. Beckey get that spider plant 7 years ago from Verstanding's halloween celebration. Still going strong!


Yeah. So? We have a giant snowflake in the corner. So? What's it to ya?

These are on the wall right by my desk. I love being a mom!

Fresh picked apples from ILF. Galas. Best applesauce, pies, and eating around!


Candy in the candy bowl. This is crap the kids won at the Scottish Games in Altamont. Yeah, thanks guys. Still got this hanging around.

Is death the enemy?

I was checking out causes of death today, kind of random I know, because there's this article on CNN or somewhere talking about how prostate cancer is a huge threat to men today, and how cancer is a huge death factor for men over fifty, but - it says - heart disease is still (and always?) our number one enemy.

Now I'm sure this is true for a lot of people, people who think death is bad, scary, evil. I am not so sure. I think having a crappy quality of life, of being a burden on everyone around you, of not having the life you want to have because you are feeble of mind and/or body, is WAY worse than death.

I don't believe in heaven or hell. I don't think Hitler ever did get punished for what he did. I don't think his victims were rewarded for their selflessness or for the years they lost, the lives unborn, cut down in, or before, their prime. Or Attila the hun and his victims, or Lenin and his. It's not like that for me, there's a HUGE - bigger than the hugest huge - amount of energy in the multiverse, and when we die, we go into it, become part of it. This, what the Hindus call incarnation, this lifetime is our time to shine (which is why so many people, especially children, love love love to be the center of attention), alone in the universe. This is our time to love and be loved for who we are - separate from the rest of that amazing energy out there. And when we die and go back into that tremendous energy - the energy of a billion billion suns - we ARE that energy.

So what's so bad about that? Nothing! There's nothing wrong w/dying. Nothing at all. You don't get to see your sister-in-law very often, or eat marshmallows around the fire, but to me, it's a new amazing experience that is worthy of being looked FORWARD to, not escaped from (which doesn't give me a death wish, just a different perspective). You will never get to see the very end of the play, all except a small handful of the total number of people in the world who ever have or will live. But we will all become part of something amazing once again - for we do not create or destroy the energy that is god, we become it.

Baby steps

Gratuitous pickie of my boykie.

I spoke with a gal tonight, at back to school night at the kids' school, who has been looking for a job (part time) for 7 years. Yup - since her 7th grader went to school full time, since she moved to the area, since she knew what she was ready for. She got one, started yesterday - CONGRATS Susan! Meanwhile, it reminds me that needing a job NOW is so ME, but not very realistic. Baby steps. Ineed to start somewhere, anywhere, but I don't need to start with anyTHING. Adding "would you like fries with that" to the end of every other sentance is probably not the kind of job I need to be taking on right now. But doing something that makes me feel useful would be good! So I think the first thing to do is figure out WHAT I want to do, and then what I need to do to do it. And maybe figure out, in the meantime, what the hell it is I can do in the meantime!

I saw this blog today, and I think I will try to do this tomorrow - 10 steps. I think that's an excellent idea! Before my eyeglass appointment at 10:30, I will take my camera into town and do a walk, give myself 45 min or so to get 10 interesting things, 10 steps (or less) apart each. And finish laundry. Cause w/or w/out a job, the job of running this home is still mine. :D

Shhh - it's too quiet!

My kids are back in school. Actually, Beckey is at a leadership/team building experience at a Y-camp, but she's back this afternoon, and then, back to school. We managed to afford all the binders and calculators, new shoes, trip fees, and new bags, though the stew pot is thin this week. But now, well, it feels just a little TOO quiet! I know, I was complaining, it was too LOUD here just last week - my kids, their kids, neighbor kids, dogs, puppies (not ours!), parties, and the start of everything - it felt overwhelming. And now it's so darned quiet I have no excuses for not hearing the dang buzzer on the dryer in the basement. Well, some things may never change - like the piles of laundry all sorted out and ready for washing on the basement floor - but some things do. Beckey is in middle school, with lots of expectations and a whole new sense of belonging. Orin is on the bus and in kindergarten. He started writing a book yesterday, and drew two calender pictures - one of camels and the other he couldn't remember because then he drew a lot of other pictures, but they weren't calendar pictures, but he couldn't remember which were which. He's a rather happy boy! Soccer started last weekend, and he got stung twice by a wasp and fell once, on his tailbone, and it hurt. Not a great start to the season, but at practice on Monday he took some real tumbles w/out shedding a tear, ran his little heart out, and really enjoyed it! He was very charged up (making bedtime in time for book club impossible, but he was kind and sweet, and very cute in his matching purple footie pajamas - matching Beckey's of course!).

It's so quiet I can hear the lawn mower down the block. I can hear the wind in the oak tree outside, it's leaves still holding fast. I can hear the creaks of my own fingers on the keyboard, and in the house where it settles and sighs in the sun.

I will someday grow up and get a job and leave all this quiet behind, but for now, I am loving these moments, until the children return and in a flourish of kisses and lunch boxes, dirty socks and backpacks filled with the fruit of their day's labor, the quiet is gone, and my life is back. Sudden as it appeared, the quiet that became oppressive is once more elusive, and sacred.

Sweltering stovepipes, batgirl!

It hasn't been lower than 90 anytime between 10am and 8pm for over a week. It sure makes me wonder whether there is reason to believe that global warming a) exists b) would affect us here in the NE c) would affect us like this.

a) Do I believe in global warming? I believe in change, and I believe that Earth's weather will cycle and cycle and cycle, never staying in one cycle for over-long. Like a baby, once we get used to their vicissitudes, they go and change on us. So - after 150 years of getting to know this NE landscape, more in some places, less in others, after spending millions and so very long understanding the soils and seasons, it is changing. Is it changing faster, because of emissions and industrial pollution? Is it less able to recover from a normal heat wave? Is ther eless resiliency because there is less fresh water, fewer trees and forests, more cement, and overall less green space? I say it's a definite maybe.

b) Predictability is probably not the strong suit of this science, but there are some facts we can look at: 1. there is more forest here than there was 300 years ago. 2. there is cleaner water, more parks, and lower emissions than there were 100 years ago. 3. there are better laws, more follow up, and more media coverage of problem areas (dump sites, rivers, spill sites) than there were 50 years ago. 4. The problems are bigger, but fewer. Bigger problems are problematic, of course, because they take longer for recovery, seriously tax the ability of reclamation science, and possibly cause irreparable damage. Certainly there is loss of life (animal, plant) and this in itself is disgusting. But there is no reason to believe that the two are absolutely related - global warming and environmental disasters. Could be - but no guarantees.

c) So if it IS related, if there IS some connection between these two kinds of events, it should be more evident in areas where disasters have occurred, or areas surrounding them. Around here, there are the nuclear disasters of Love Canal and Three Mile Island, and loss of speciesation and vast quantities of fish from the oceans, plus garbage, pollution, and medicated waterways. Pretty gross, come to think of it. I am not sure what the number of military, industrial pollution and mistakes have been over the centuries here, but it's only been in the past 75 yrs. or so that the kinds o fmistakes we've made have made the kind of impact we are talking about here

There are also far more people in this corridor, there is more pollution, garbage, energy consumed, and a lot more in the way of ongoing need than in many (most) areas, certainly here in the US. So I suppose, if there was some place IN the US where it is felt, it doesn't surprise me that it is felt here. If this is what we are feeling at all. So - convinced or no, it is making sense to me that we are feeling the heat.

making movies

Holy hollywood! I have been trying to make a couple of movies recently - notably one from the Shakespeare production the kids did in school, and one from Orin's soccer season. WOAH. I guess there are tons of production software options out there for the PC's that are simple and option filled, but NOT so for the MACs. Geesh! I settled on iMovie, though I looked at some online options as well as using the stuff in iPhoto, but alas, they sucked for this purpose. Sigh.

Here's the result of the soccer production - it is FAR from perfect, but it came out close to what I was looking for.

Never mind. The darned thing never uploaded. Tried twice. Thrice. Bupkiss. Disappointment abounds, at the moment, though I was able to put it onto CD's and distribute at the last game of the season. Grrr to the Mac for my frustration - but YAY for the kids, who had a GREAT season!

Moving up

I can clearly remember watching the Jeffersons, the striped carpet beneath my then firm and trim butt, as my brothers shared the couch and my dad did work in his big chair. It was a concession, he found the mildly bigoted humor somewhat entertaining, and it kept us, usually, from bickering in quite as shrill a voice as we sometimes used. The theme song, "Moving on Up" echoes in my imagination - not sure I'd call what's left up there a mind, but that's a different story - along with my younger brother belting it out over the top of the tele. My older brother hitting him. My younger brother singing louder. You get the visual.

Yesterday was a bitter sweet moment for us, as a family. Orin, who came to us a bit late in life (Beckey was 6.5, I was 37, and Jerry was 52) has finished the part time education portion of his childhood. He put in one year of 3 short days a week as a 3-4 year old, and one year of 5 short days a week (actually 2 of those days weren't so short - 9-2:30) as a 4-5 year old, including 11 hrs. per week of Hebrew Immersion with Elinur, whose energy and investment is phenomenal. Orin can speak and listen in Hebrew. He can sing in Hebrew. He knows Hebrew prayers, and can recite them w/out even thinking about it. The program, all full of flouncy tutus and oil pastels, has been awesome for him. He loved the English class, with Micki and Vicki, and the Hebrew class, with Elinur and Vicki, but mostly he just loved Vicki. He came home with me one Friday, after their nifty little Shabbat ceremony in class, and he sat very quietly in the backseat. We carpooled on T-W-Th, so our Monday and Friday drives together were usually special. We'd talk, sing, be silly. Today he was morose, which for a four year old with a pretty charmed life seemed odd. So I asked, and he quite willing told me what the matter was. He proposed to Vicki, and she turned him down. His eyes filled with tears. "She said she's already married!" he whispered. The tears spilled down his soft cheeks. "Oh honey!" I gasped. I knew he loved her, I knew he liked her, I didn't realize he knew that loving someone meant you marry them, I was thinking more along the lines of making them a lovely picture with washable markers. He fell hard for poor Vicki, who wiped his snotty nose for picture day and resolved disputes over legos and trucks with all the charm and love a nursery school teacher SHOULD have. When everybody grows up, they should want to be Vicki. In my world, everybody would be moving up, along with my little graduate, who continues to say that he is making this volcano spewing lava blood for his Vicki (even if he just stuffs them into his drawer for 'that time when we see Vicki' and doesn't ever actually pass them on).

In other news, he made $1.50 selling fresh squeezed lemonade, which he split even-steven with Maia who helped squeeze, stir, and entertain the neighborhood with their incredible antics. I think people were much more willing to pay up for the entertainment than the lemonade, though it was good.

Beckey has been at Nature's Classroom, which has been a lonely thing for me, I do miss my girl!

(gratuitous pic of Beckey)

But I'm sure she's had a brilliant time, she loves just about everything they do there! Two disposable cameras later, I'm sure we'll see the pillow fight and the tail end of someone's tuchas climbing a tree-ladder to walk the high ropes, and possibly an eft found along the nature trail. It's all good there, and she comes home so charged up and full of spirit (and attitude) that it's hard to find fault in her missing an entire week of Aikido. Or two, since last week there were 4 softball games and a concert that filled every SINGLE night of the week. Exhausting.

Life is good, we're movin' on up!

I can't hear you!

These guys moved into a house right behind us - noisy but cute, we have put up with their flighty behavior for over a month now. We watch them from the kitchen window, while sipping afternoon tea on the deck, and they have given us a great show. They provide for each other and their new come chicks with all kinds of debris from the universe around us. Happily enough, I have actually learned their call. In spite of the fact that I came VERY close to accepting a place at UCT in Ornithology, I really can't tell the difference between very many birds. LBJ's (little blue, little brown, or little black jobbers) and then crows, pigeons, robins, woodpeckers I can distinguish visually and auditorially from other birds, but rarely from each other, red winged blackbirds, and now these fellas - black capped chickadees. There are times I wonder whether it is this pair singing to each other, or perhaps some of the jays, or robins. I really can't tell. I have sat outside listening intently for hours. I have listened online to recordings over and over. I have played with that cool book - the one you get to actually hear the birds sing and see the picture so you can put the two together - if anyone is thinking of a late birthday gift for me - or an early christmas/chanukah one! - this would be IT! I have no ability to distinguish birds by sound. At all. Chick-a-chick-a-dee-dee-dee! Ok, that one I think I've got. But if they didn't live eight inches from me, I wouldn't. Birds are WAY more complex and cool than people give them credit for - most people, anyway. Listen for the birds. They sing of the air, peace in the leaves of the trees, alarm in the grass. Listen, for the birds sing of the air.

Precious limits

There is a very fine line between being precious and believing life is precious. Very fine. A parent who never gets angry at a kid for anything probably isn't doing that kid any favors - they will certainly get the feedback that their behavior (actions, words, or otherwise) isn't copacetic, but from a less loving and forgiving audience. Like classmates. But always getting on your kids' backs about little stuff isn't good for them, or us, either. I find myself short tempered occasionally (ahem.) and finding I have to remind myself (literally, the voice speaks in my head and says: reminder! you have overdue library books and quit yelling at your kids!) to appreciate that they are kids, they are imperfect, they are learning how to do stuff (like not yell at people just 'cause you don't like what they are doing), and frequent yelling really just lowers the bar for everyone. Otoh, if you wait too long, if you don't remind them that you love who they are enough, if you forget to remind them to walk out of the pill popping party, if you forget to yell at them for leaving towels to molder or food under the bed for weeeeeeks, you do risk sending them out into the world unprepared. In the past month, 2 stories of young (young! like 18/19 years old) boys who were smart, athletic, popular, funny, good in and at school, liked by parents and coaches and teachers and kids alike - are dead. Dead from overdosing on pills that they probably didn't even know how to identify. Dead as doornails in their pookashells and board shorts. This one is Henry Louis. One of two, one of I don't know HOW many beautiful boys with futures and potential, families who truly loved them, who did consider them precious in the weave of their family and the fabric of the future. With mothers who nursed them endless hours and woke with them to fever and vomit, who stayed awake for them through proms and dates, who felt their pain of rejection, and their ecstasy in the win. There is so much sadness in these losses, it is so incredibly deep - like the fissures in Greenland that go through the ice and down into the ground, where heat escapes into the air from the bowels of the earth. Something like this brings it's heat and stink into the world irreparably. There is no recovery, the scars never ever go away. Did these parents fail their kids? Did they do enough?

Parents have the job of fledging children, not protecting them indefinitely. There is some place, some time, when a child does separate from their core family, and move into the world on their own. There isn't a prescriptive or correct method to this madness, a new nest gets built, and they have to sleep in it. If they build it out of friable combustible degraded material, it will not support, and a parent should give warning, should offer to assist. But the kid has to, HAS to figure out how to build this nest themselves and build it out of strong friendships, good decisions, and sound direction. It won't be perfect, it won't work every time, because this precious child is also imperfect and will fail sometimes. Their hearts will break, they'll get sick, and they'll make some bad decisions. Kids rebound, but there are limits. The precious limits of toxic overload (usually from mixing (possibly unidentified) pills with or without liquor), of fights that get out of control, of despair. The limits of precious that help us see our children for their imperfect selves, and the possibility that they need help from us, even after they have fledged, though hopefully before you are sitting with them in ICU.

Note to self: return library books, love on my kids a lot.

Dirty Jobs challenge!

There are some really dirty jobs in life. The ones on TV are ok, but honestly, some of them, not so bad! Today I scrubbed toilets, cleaned puke off the carpets and seats in the van, picked up dog crap from the yard, did 4 loads of laundry (so far) and sludged out the utility sink (that the washing machine dumps into). Is it just my family, or is doing laundry GROSS!? I am definitely of the opinion that Mike Rowe should be a Mommy for a month. I bet he TOTALLY makes us laugh cleaning up blow-out diapers, scrubbing vomit off the wall by the bed, cleaning out the fridge (after how many years?), or cleaning up the bathroom after a gang of kids. Disgusting!

Cleaning bathrooms is a mom-job that is not, perhaps, my forte. Loving my kids is just not enough. Neither is cooking for them, washing them, nursing them back to health, or reading to them. Not to mention keeping them clothed, teaching them to speak, walk, jump, skip, hop, paint, write, love, share, rock in a rocking chair w/out tipping over backwards, ride a plastic dinosaur, empty their pockets before putting pants in the laundry, and about 3 trillion other skills that everyone expects everyone else to know. Speaking of which: in the laundry crap bucket this morning:

1 dinosaur
1 astronaut
36 cents
1 acorn top
several very clean dollars
1 sticker of an apple
1 bus pas (probably no good any more anyway, but ya never know!)
1 movie ticket stub
1 small yellow eraser
1 black pen
1 lip gloss
1 bouncy ball (small)
a pr of blue sunglasses
and a koala bear.And some clothes - I swear!

I know that there is satisfaction to be taken from having a clean house, clean, well behaved kids, and at least something to eat round about sunset (or before, in these parts). I know this in my head and heart. But it doesn't feel very satisfying to me. I'm not sure what would work better, since going to a job wouldn't mean that JAC would stay home and do all this work. It would mean me yelling at him and them to HELP OUT, and still doing most of it myself, and going to work. Not really positive change, imo. But honestly, the level of grossity that we have reached (you do NOT want to know what blueberry pancakes look like after about 2.5 hrs. of digestion) is beyond anything I may have ever imagined being a parent would be, when we started on this journey almost 12 yrs ago. It's amazing, the crap I bag and tag. I'd be much better off in the ME's office, except I couldn't STAND cutting into a body, even a dead one. I love being a mom, but there are some SERIOUS drawbacks - one's even Mike Rowe is too scared to take on. :D

Mother's Day Revisited

I was 35 weeks pregnant, had just survived my first round of sciatica (and was bound to have 2 more gruesome events before the pregnancy was over) and was, as I recall, feeling pretty great! I woke early as usual, about 6am, and went for my walk - a neighborhood walk up to Blundell, past the Safeway Plaza and down into the residential section South of Blundell and West of No. 2 Rd. Walk walk walk heading mostly South, out onto Francis, and up Minler. When I got back home, that Sunday, Jerry was up, and I didn't even realize the sanctity of that moment, he and I (with my big ass and bigger belly) alone, together. He cooked breakfast with his sure strong hands, trying not to speak with me too much, to just enjoy the morning. He brought me a card, signed from the Greeble, and some flowers he'd picked up the night before and cut and laid into a simple vase. He poured me juice and whipped the eggs. He was overwhelmed, I knew, as was I, with the enormity of our endeavour - this baby, the greeble, was going to be here by Father's Day, but not (hopefully) Mother's Day. So instead of waiting 11 months for my own celebration of parenthood, Jerry made this day special for me. I have lost to the memory vault many of the specifics, I remember going to Van Dusen Gardens, a place we celebrated quite a few birthdays and events, and I remember his efforts over the stove that warm Mother's Day morning before I was even the mother of the girl we know today. I remember feeling loved, and that being a mama might be scary and stepping into a great unknown, but it was also filled with potent love, deep and steadying.

Today, as I walked around the neighborhood, a different neighborhood in a different country, 12 years later, my children (and husband) sleeping soundly and warm in their beds, I have not a whit of regret for what got left behind in my life, in order to make this work. I know there are real moments of frustration and feeling fed up with all that it takes to make everything run smoothly - or at least sort of smoothly! - but I would not trade this job for all the accolades, awards, or gold in the world. When I came in, Jerry was in the kitchen, cleaning up a sinkful of plates from Chinese food last night. He asked me if I would like breakfast before taking the older one to her religion class, before teaching there myself, and I said I would LOVE breakfast - his breakfast. Because he may not be mushy or say I love you enough to me or make love to me often enough or remember to say thank you for dinner or the 8 trillion loads of laundry or for wiping the piss off the toilet, but he sure makes a mean breakfast!

Recent pics with the new HS10

Theresa took the one of Zami, and Beckey took the squirrel. I took the boring ones - except Brooke, kicking ass in a game the girls won 23-9. Woah.