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Saturday, April 30, 2016

Busytown.

I'm suddenly starting a new job next month.  Same field, different library system, all good things, etc.  Still, it means a shift in morning commutes, a lot of uncertainty about what that'll look like.  Someone (on Twitter maybe?) said something the other day about morning rituals, and how they try to eat breakfast sitting down, and at this point in my life I truly can't even imagine.  Of course, I could try and make the time.  But at the expense of, well, sleep.

I tried waking up early to write.  I realized I do my best writing in the morning, but particularly when my job involves routine Saturdays, this left just one day a week for good morning writing.  So I thought, OK, I'll solve this problem by waking up an hour earlier and basking in the pre-dawn quiet, except it turns out, I do not have the mental resolve to do that when it's dark out and I stayed up late reading (late meaning 10:00 -- I know my limits).

I hate the cult of busy.  I hate it.  I hate saying how busy I am, because I know there's time I waste, somewhere.  I don't want to sign my kid up for lessons or anything, because it's just one more thing to tack onto the to-do list, and I already push myself on projects a lot.  What am I going to do when she's in school and wants to be in the play or something?  What gets sacrificed on the altar of sleep, the altar of school plays, the altar of just 1500 more words?

I don't have a solution.  I forge on, working on projects (3 ongoing at the moment, a couple percolating, but now I feel like I'm Busy Cult Conversation-ing again) and trying to go to the gym twice a week and be home and present when I need to be.

I hate when I see those memes that remind me that "You have the same amount of time in the day as BeyoncĂ©" because sure in theory, but not in practice, because I'm pretty sure BeyoncĂ© can pay other people to do the time-suck things in her life, as is her right, because by god she's a queen.  It's just a fundamentally ridiculous comparison.  Person A with access to help has the same amount of hours in the day as Person B, but a vastly superior range of options for how to use that time.  I know this has been said better by other people, so I'm just echoing better writers here.  But still.  Every time I see it, I feel BAD, like I'm not doing ENOUGH with my time, and then simultaneously mad that I feel mad, because I shouldn't feel mad.  I think I should feel proud of my output.

All that said, I've asked for a hammock for Mother's Day.

Priorities.

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

Standard fare

I could talk about how our new backyard is a godsend come Spring.  But really, I just want to gush about this little girl.  

She is so gentle.


She fills me with joy.


She is growing up so fast.


She is crazy about thrill-rides.


She has crazy hair.  Don't know where she got that (see above...)


She is delightfully curious.


I know I'm saying all the standard things moms say about their children.  But I think it's so very human to feel these things, so I'm going to embrace them.  There are so many things in this wide world I want us to enjoy together.  I can't even wait.  

Saturday, April 2, 2016

Springtime! New project! Joy!

Oh my god, it's like the hills are ALIVE.  Winter has gone and with it, my CRUSHING MISERY!  HUZZAH.  I feel like a new human.  Seasonal depression is real, y'all.  Holy guacamole.  Plus, I started going to the gym, got my eyes checked and am trying to decide on brand new glasses, have a trip to Denver to hang with friends next week (!!) and have a bunch of other friend-dates on my calendar, and I set my permastinky dog up for a regular grooming appointment.  You'd be surprised (or maybe you wouldn't, if you're better at adulting than I am, it's possible!) how better a mood you can be in when your dog isn't smelly.  It's the little things, folks.

ALSO!  I have started co-hosting a podcast.  It's called World's Okayest Moms, and if you enjoy listening to moms be real and rational and witty, then it's the podcast for you.



Life is better.  Thank you all for hanging in there with me.  <3

Sunday, February 14, 2016

Me.

I'm lonely.

In most lives there are periods of feast and famine, and I feel like this is just a lean time.  Parenthood, working full-time, fatigue so that even when there's a chance to go out, I slink back from it.  Not quite connecting with old friends who are at different points in life and there's just less there to connect over right now (though maybe not for always...seasons, etc).  Living far away from women I care about.  No longer working with one of my favorite people who made work not-work.

I'm trying to take some steps towards fixing this slow, dull ache.

It's hard though to realize that oh, this feeling is loneliness.  It's hard to pin a word to it, scribbling a tag under the pinned feeling.  Because loneliness is a hard thing to fix all at once.

This has been sitting with me for a while, via unfamiliarize

“You don’t know anyone at the party, so you don’t want to go. You don’t like cottage cheese, so you haven’t eaten it in years. This is your choice, of course, but don’t kid yourself: it’s also the flinch. Your personality is not set in stone. You may think a morning coffee is the most enjoyable thing in the world, but it’s really just a habit. Thirty days without it, and you would be fine. You think you have a soul mate, but in fact you could have had any number of spouses. You would have evolved differently, but been just as happy.

You can change what you want about yourself at any time. You see yourself as someone who can’t write or play an instrument, who gives in to temptation or makes bad decisions, but that’s really not you. It’s not ingrained. It’s not your personality. Your personality is something else, something deeper than just preferences, and these details on the surface, you can change anytime you like.

If it is useful to do so, you must abandon your identity and start again. Sometimes, it’s the only way.”

- Julien Smith, The Flinch
(Source: wnq-anoymous.com, via trustevery1)

Saturday, December 26, 2015

#1



I made my daughter a quilt.  I've never quilted before, so I don't quite know what I'm doing.  It shows.




It is not the most beautiful quilt ever made.




It is full of imperfection upon imperfection, mistake after mistake.




There are a lot of screwups.




But she doesn't seem to care.  I hope she'll be so forgiving with all the imperfections, mistakes and screwups I make when it comes to the bigger things, too.  I've never parented before, so I don't quite know what I'm doing.  Sometimes it shows.  So, dear daughter, please accept this token of my love.  My imperfect, mistaken at times, screwed up love.  Make it keep you warm.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Things I won't do (revised)

I will not put a leash on my toddler
I will not let my toddler play with my phone
I will not feed my toddler four Milano cookies to encourage quiet good behavior
I will not buy an Elf on the Shelf

Banner month.  Welp.  Let's hear it for the small victories while they still stand, at least.

Sunday, October 18, 2015

Mini vacation: Topsail; parenthood as of October











It's October.  October.  Two years ago, we were on our way to the Czech Republic, and now in the past two months my baby has turned into a toddler -- a rather fearless one, to be specific.  This child would bound right into the crashing waves if we let her.  

Life is good.  There are struggles and worries as there always are, I'd be lying if I said my Instagram feed accurately reflected all of life.  There are tears and fears (and tears for fears?) -- I want to grab onto this time and bottle it up, but it slips through my fingers and I find myself trying to plan for the future in ways that are difficult.

I struggle with planning for the future we want, because there are so many futures we want, and they simply can't all happen (I guess unless we buy a summer farm in Maine and then live in RVA the rest of the year, ha).  Big things, like where to live long-term (we have moved so much, and I long to buy a home again just to feel settled again, finally) and small things, like where to send her to school, except that's hardly small.  I want to buy into our public school system and I know the only way more equal education will be achieved is by people not fleeing in droves, I want to be a good activist, I want to boldly march against the crowd, but I would be lying if I said my fear of school shootings didn't rear its head in my heart daily.  Sometimes you just have to admit defeat when it comes to anxiety and I think my relentless fear and constant worry will drive me mad if I send her to the perfectly good public school in our current district.  And then I think, god, what a bourgeois problem.  The public school is perfectly good but my own fears for me daughter keep me from wanting to enroll her there.  

But at what point do you decide the anxiety you'd experience as a parent is worth paying a lot to alleviate (if not entirely obliterate)?  

Parenthood has been wonderful, but it sure does strike fear in the heart.  I don't know how to fix that though, so I slog on through the crashing waves, trying to figure out what to do, knowing most decisions are imperfect.  As we all do.