This school year has been one of the most challenging I can remember. Two years ago, when Jimmy was in second grade, it was particularly tough because I had two miscarriages between November and June, which laid me flat both physically and emotionally for a lot of months. But with Audrey starting Kindergarten, this was the first year with two kids at the school table, and wow, it was a big adjustment for all of us.
Thankfully, I've reached a place where I feel completely confident in both my teaching and organizational abilities, and so it gave me the chance to focus on stepping up my game and really engaging with my children on a new level.
When I gave Jimmy his last journal assignment for the school year, I asked him to write about his four favorite things he learned this year. I'm giving myself the same assignment, so in no particular order, here's what I learned during 2012-2013:
1) Old dogs can (and should) learn new tricks. All year long, I've been coming up against the realization that for so many reasons, I need to stop yelling at my kids. So, with a little help from an amazing gal known as Orange Rhino, I'm doing just that. I still struggle, I still yell, but I'm only a couple months into this new trick and already I'm yelling less. It's making a huge difference for me and my kids. Even better, I dialogue with them about why I'm doing what I'm doing and they're helping me while they see me modeling this willingness to change.
2) I'm the expert on my kids. I'm sure you're thinking, well, duh. But starting out with a virtual academy--while it's been lovely having someone to give us guidance and hold us accountable--has allowed me to defer to others as knowing better what my kids might need or what curriculum might be best or what learning plan we should follow. Over the past couple of years, I've been putting the pieces together and finally feeling like if we had to fly solo (which we may have to do because of legislation in Olympia that will reform alternative learning experiences like CVA), I could do it. I could do it because I know what areas my kids are strong in, what they struggle with, how they learn, and how to teach them.
3) Kids are spiritual creatures. This year I've shifted some of my focus to providing a spiritual touchstone as an integral part of our learning day. For us this means we have a devotional each morning before we start school work. Doing this helps me and the kids to be more calm and centered before we dive into doing stuff that challenges us and trying to get along with each other while everyone is working at the table together. We also created an art area and did a fine arts course as part of our curriculum this year. It was amazing: seeing art, learning about it, creating it. Art feeds the soul.
4) I love my children. I already knew this, but I found I need to keep learning it all over again, every day. Sometimes I get so focused in on what needs to be done--the lessons we need to get through--that I lose sight of the why. And then things get adversarial: when I'm focused on checking off the subjects on our list, instead of tuning in my children's needs and how I can meet them, it's me against them instead of us learning together. If I go on autopilot and forget to be mindful of that overarching feeling of love, it all falls apart. I fall apart.
And now, I'm off to make another list... of things to do over the summer!
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Thursday, June 06, 2013
Tuesday, April 09, 2013
NaPoWriMo #6-7: valediction
I've been sick for over a week now, and while I soldiered bravely on for the first few days, I finally ran out of poetic steam. I just needed a few less things to worry about, so I could rest up and recoup. Today I'm feeling about 75-80%, which is progress enough to put me back in the saddle.
That, and after reading the prompt from the good folks at Napowrimo.net, I had to get the images out of my head that kept me up last night a little longer than I would have liked. See, the prompt was "valediction", and when I had a chance to sit with it and allow images and ideas to unfold, the place it took me was a memory from last year, when Jim and I took the kids to Spokane for the day.
As we were driving home, we saw a mother duck trying to lead her ducklings across the freeway. I have no idea how she had gotten them to the other side, but by the time we saw them, most of her babies had already been hit by passing cars. In the moment we witnessed it, Jim and I made a mute agreement not to call the kids' attention to the scene. This was something they would not be ready to see. One of our favorite bedtime books has been Make Way for Ducklings, by Robert McCloskey, a charming tale of a duck family who takes up residence in Boston. In one scene, the mother duck leads her little ones to safety under the watchful protection of police officers, who keep the cars at bay while the ducks cross the road to their home.
No, this was something my children would not be ready to see.
So, I went at this poem from two different directions: first, a tanka; then, free verse. For now, both are untitled.
***
Mother duck: a brown
buoy bobs in a sea of cars with
no way to guide her
small fleet to safety in the
tempest of rush-hour traffic.
***
She waits on the left shoulder
her fuzzy brood still strung across the median
then, when they have caught up
she darts out into the roadway
and one
by one
the ducklings
follow her
within seconds, the first two are crushed
by rush-hour traffic
suddenly, the mother duck
seems aware of the danger
when it is already too late
when five more downy, flightless babies
have already followed her
another down
then another.
The cars in front of us slow, briefly
and as if in slow motion
I see it unfolding:
dappled brown wings flapping in panic
and a scattered row of small bodies
flattened into the asphalt
feathers ruffled by the breezy wake
of passing cars
I grab my husband’s arm
and he swerves
to miss the last three ducklings.
For the rest of the ride, I’m stricken
tears falling uncontrollably
for the mother
now standing back beside the road
unable to leave her fallen babies
unable to lead the ones who still live
back to her nest.
That, and after reading the prompt from the good folks at Napowrimo.net, I had to get the images out of my head that kept me up last night a little longer than I would have liked. See, the prompt was "valediction", and when I had a chance to sit with it and allow images and ideas to unfold, the place it took me was a memory from last year, when Jim and I took the kids to Spokane for the day.
As we were driving home, we saw a mother duck trying to lead her ducklings across the freeway. I have no idea how she had gotten them to the other side, but by the time we saw them, most of her babies had already been hit by passing cars. In the moment we witnessed it, Jim and I made a mute agreement not to call the kids' attention to the scene. This was something they would not be ready to see. One of our favorite bedtime books has been Make Way for Ducklings, by Robert McCloskey, a charming tale of a duck family who takes up residence in Boston. In one scene, the mother duck leads her little ones to safety under the watchful protection of police officers, who keep the cars at bay while the ducks cross the road to their home.
No, this was something my children would not be ready to see.
So, I went at this poem from two different directions: first, a tanka; then, free verse. For now, both are untitled.
***
Mother duck: a brown
buoy bobs in a sea of cars with
no way to guide her
small fleet to safety in the
tempest of rush-hour traffic.
***
She waits on the left shoulder
her fuzzy brood still strung across the median
then, when they have caught up
she darts out into the roadway
and one
by one
the ducklings
follow her
within seconds, the first two are crushed
by rush-hour traffic
suddenly, the mother duck
seems aware of the danger
when it is already too late
when five more downy, flightless babies
have already followed her
another down
then another.
The cars in front of us slow, briefly
and as if in slow motion
I see it unfolding:
dappled brown wings flapping in panic
and a scattered row of small bodies
flattened into the asphalt
feathers ruffled by the breezy wake
of passing cars
I grab my husband’s arm
and he swerves
to miss the last three ducklings.
For the rest of the ride, I’m stricken
tears falling uncontrollably
for the mother
now standing back beside the road
unable to leave her fallen babies
unable to lead the ones who still live
back to her nest.
Sunday, January 06, 2013
A house in order
I've been meaning to post for a while, but having been sick off and (mostly) on since Thanksgiving, something had to give. Blogging was only one of several casualties.
Around the last time I posted I realized I just didn't have the energy to do all the things I wanted to do for the holidays, so it was time to cut my losses and stick to the priorities: 1) teaching the kids their lessons until we (mercifully) hit winter break; 2) making balanced meals; 3) making sure there were clean dishes to eat the meals on; and 4) making sure there were clean clothes to have the meals spilled on. Only slightly lower on the priority list was making Christmas pajamas for each of the kids. Other than that, if it didn't happen, oh well.
The great thing about lowered expectations is I'm seldom disappointed, no matter the outcome. We had a modest but lovely Christmas, scaled back from previous years in terms of quantity, but overflowing with all that mattered.
My favorite thing about this Christmas was that as soon as we finished school on December 14th, the kids disappeared for the following week, holed up in our basement atelier making gifts for everyone in our family (including the cats) out of pipecleaners, beads, string and scotch tape. This resulted in Jimmy's first working invention: a cat toy made out of a single pipecleaner twisted into a ring. Something about the shape and fuzziness is irresistible to both of our cats, who've been chasing them all over the house for the last three weeks.
Simple really is better.
The week after Christmas, as I was putting away patterns and flannel scraps leftover from the Christmas jammies, and casting furtive, longing glances at the corner where the new dressform Santa brought me sat in its box, I had an "aha" moment.
One of the things I love about this drafty, ramshackle old house we rent is it is big enough for me to have a room of my own, à la Virginia Woolfe. It's a combination sewing room/office in a finished-off portion of what was once the root cellar, and lately the preferred hidey-hole for Santa to stash the kids' presents. As I was doing post-pajama clean-up, though, I realized that even with all the gifts cleared out it was still an unqualified disaster. I really, really wanted to set up my new dressform and get sewing so I could finish winter break doing a fun project just for me, but before I could even put it together, I knew I had to make a place to put it.
Then it hit me: I am my sewing room. It is me. We are both a hot mess.
Upstairs my house is moderately presentable. The living room, bathroom and dining room can be made company-ready in 20 minutes to a half-hour, tops. The kitchen, well, maybe an hour. The point is, I keep things functional and presentable up there so life can go on, even when I'm teaching phonics, refereeing squabbles, and dealing with teething babies.
And that's pretty much how I work emotionally, physically, spiritually and intellectually--I do enough on the surface to be serviceable. I have down days and forget to pray or meditate, I get stressed out, I eat too much, I don't get enough exercise--but I'm basically a good person who helps other people, cares for my family, gives back the wrong change the cashier made and tries not to yell at my kids. Too much. In public.
Below the surface, though--down in the basement, if you will--it's chaos. Things are out of place, neglected, haphazard. Boxes and bags and baskets--stacked every which way, filled with mementos, fabric, books, papers needing to be filed. A huge backlog of keep-or-toss. Because of that, I feel like I'm putting off doing the things I want to do because I haven't yet done the things I need to do, and I don't want to live my life in a holding pattern.
After I had this realization, a phrase started echoing in my head: "Put your house in order, put your house in order." We were in Yakima all day running errands on New Year's Eve, and I couldn't get it out of my head. I knew there was a scriptural reference, and finally looked it up (thank you, smart phone). As I read the passage, rather than feeling behind the 8-ball, I was filled with an immediate sense of calm that I could go about this a little bit at a time, systematically, when I had small chunks of time between my other commitments.
As I've said before, I don't believe in resolutions--making the start of a new year an arbitrary time to implement changes--but now is the time for me to put my house in order so I can start living in ways I've been putting off because I had other things I "ought to do"' first.
For the first time in months, I can see the top of my desk. It feels good.
Around the last time I posted I realized I just didn't have the energy to do all the things I wanted to do for the holidays, so it was time to cut my losses and stick to the priorities: 1) teaching the kids their lessons until we (mercifully) hit winter break; 2) making balanced meals; 3) making sure there were clean dishes to eat the meals on; and 4) making sure there were clean clothes to have the meals spilled on. Only slightly lower on the priority list was making Christmas pajamas for each of the kids. Other than that, if it didn't happen, oh well.
The great thing about lowered expectations is I'm seldom disappointed, no matter the outcome. We had a modest but lovely Christmas, scaled back from previous years in terms of quantity, but overflowing with all that mattered.
My favorite thing about this Christmas was that as soon as we finished school on December 14th, the kids disappeared for the following week, holed up in our basement atelier making gifts for everyone in our family (including the cats) out of pipecleaners, beads, string and scotch tape. This resulted in Jimmy's first working invention: a cat toy made out of a single pipecleaner twisted into a ring. Something about the shape and fuzziness is irresistible to both of our cats, who've been chasing them all over the house for the last three weeks.
Simple really is better.
The week after Christmas, as I was putting away patterns and flannel scraps leftover from the Christmas jammies, and casting furtive, longing glances at the corner where the new dressform Santa brought me sat in its box, I had an "aha" moment.
One of the things I love about this drafty, ramshackle old house we rent is it is big enough for me to have a room of my own, à la Virginia Woolfe. It's a combination sewing room/office in a finished-off portion of what was once the root cellar, and lately the preferred hidey-hole for Santa to stash the kids' presents. As I was doing post-pajama clean-up, though, I realized that even with all the gifts cleared out it was still an unqualified disaster. I really, really wanted to set up my new dressform and get sewing so I could finish winter break doing a fun project just for me, but before I could even put it together, I knew I had to make a place to put it.
Then it hit me: I am my sewing room. It is me. We are both a hot mess.
Upstairs my house is moderately presentable. The living room, bathroom and dining room can be made company-ready in 20 minutes to a half-hour, tops. The kitchen, well, maybe an hour. The point is, I keep things functional and presentable up there so life can go on, even when I'm teaching phonics, refereeing squabbles, and dealing with teething babies.
And that's pretty much how I work emotionally, physically, spiritually and intellectually--I do enough on the surface to be serviceable. I have down days and forget to pray or meditate, I get stressed out, I eat too much, I don't get enough exercise--but I'm basically a good person who helps other people, cares for my family, gives back the wrong change the cashier made and tries not to yell at my kids. Too much. In public.
Below the surface, though--down in the basement, if you will--it's chaos. Things are out of place, neglected, haphazard. Boxes and bags and baskets--stacked every which way, filled with mementos, fabric, books, papers needing to be filed. A huge backlog of keep-or-toss. Because of that, I feel like I'm putting off doing the things I want to do because I haven't yet done the things I need to do, and I don't want to live my life in a holding pattern.
After I had this realization, a phrase started echoing in my head: "Put your house in order, put your house in order." We were in Yakima all day running errands on New Year's Eve, and I couldn't get it out of my head. I knew there was a scriptural reference, and finally looked it up (thank you, smart phone). As I read the passage, rather than feeling behind the 8-ball, I was filled with an immediate sense of calm that I could go about this a little bit at a time, systematically, when I had small chunks of time between my other commitments.
As I've said before, I don't believe in resolutions--making the start of a new year an arbitrary time to implement changes--but now is the time for me to put my house in order so I can start living in ways I've been putting off because I had other things I "ought to do"' first.
For the first time in months, I can see the top of my desk. It feels good.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Messy
A shout out to my dear friend and fellow poet, Elizabeth Maurer. She bravely invited me and the kids over for a playdate yesterday with her, her dog Max, and their trampoline. Later, she challenged me to write a poem about it and while I initially demurred, some phrases kept bouncing around in my head, trying to get out.
So Lizzy, it's rough and yes, messy, but this one's for you.
Messy
Being a mother is messy
in ways having nothing to do
with blood, amniotic fluid
snot, urine, vomit
pureed carrots, mashed bananas
mud, grass stains
or crayon on a white wall.
A visit to a childless friend
unravels
when three children (mine)
mix with overly friendly dog
(hers)
and fancy landscaping (also
hers).
The boundaries of whose mother I
am blur
when my friend needs me
as much as my son
after he falls off her deck
and scrapes his back and elbows
on the volcanic rocks in her
flowerbeds.
How can I explain to her
that next time may still be
messy
even if dogs and children
are kept apart?
That being a parent is not just
about preventing chaos
by compartmentalizing variables
but accepting it will still be unavoidable
when large minds housed in small
bodies
learn the limits of their world
and their wills?
She cannot know
until it happens to her
how a woman’s hands leave the
wheel
the instant she conceives
and never return.
I can hope, though
she will open herself, get her hands messy
and find the art of nurture can
be learned
only in facing the fear
that what we have to offer
will never be enough—
will never be enough—
that giving up control
before the unthinkable even happens
is what prepares us
to be the calm eye
in the storm.
Friday, January 06, 2012
What say you?
So... I took a chance with my new banner for 2012. I realize this is rather vivid--especially with the red around the letters--but I'm feeling like it's a bold new year. Let me know what you think.
And of course, a coordinating profile pic...
And of course, a coordinating profile pic...
Saturday, June 04, 2011
g.d. again
I'll be six months along tomorrow, and I went in this past Tuesday for my monthly check-up. Everything looks and sounds good (mom with low blood pressure? check! baby with strong heartbeat? check!)
While I was there, my doc told me it was that time again: time for a glucose screen. I went in the following morning, and then got a call the next day to come in again, this time for the super-duper extra-fun extended test complete with four blood draws in three hours. The verdict? No surprise; I have gestational diabetes.
I have to say, I was expecting it, having had it with Audrey--but I'm feeling a lot more relaxed about it than last time. The hassle of poking myself and using the glucometer is actually pretty minimal, and it's good to have an additional incentive to be careful about what I eat.
What matters most is making sure this baby is healthy, and the best way to do that is to make sure I am.
While I was there, my doc told me it was that time again: time for a glucose screen. I went in the following morning, and then got a call the next day to come in again, this time for the super-duper extra-fun extended test complete with four blood draws in three hours. The verdict? No surprise; I have gestational diabetes.
I have to say, I was expecting it, having had it with Audrey--but I'm feeling a lot more relaxed about it than last time. The hassle of poking myself and using the glucometer is actually pretty minimal, and it's good to have an additional incentive to be careful about what I eat.
What matters most is making sure this baby is healthy, and the best way to do that is to make sure I am.
Monday, May 23, 2011
No news = good news
I haven't posted lately, mostly because I've been keeping my head down and powering through the last few weeks of the school year. Jimmy (with a whole heaping helping of micromanagement) has cranked out three science biographies in the last three weeks: Anton Van Leeuwenhoek (the first page of three is above), Florence Nightingale and Elijah McCoy. We'll be starting a fourth (George Washington Carver) tomorrow. Only a week until our last day of school!
The other reason is the absence of anything noteworthy to comment on--which is a good thing. I'm at 22 weeks as of yesterday, the baby is kicking up a storm, and--nothing else.
Here's to no news!
Sunday, May 01, 2011
Come what may
Wait a minute--what?! It's May already?
One of the side-effects of pregnancy (for me, at least) is that I lose track of time. That can be both pleasant ("I'm already 19 weeks along?--almost halfway there!") and unpleasant ("Wait--I thought I still had another week to get caught up on all those poems I wanted to write!") Sorry, Ruth. I'll try to crank out a poem here or there in the coming months, but for this year's NaPoWriMo, 18 poems will have to suffice.
In the past month or so I've had more energy than I did my first trimester, but lately I've been facing the reality that I still have to take it easy or I get tired, cranky, and my ankles swell to the size of... cankles.
Unfortunately, NaPoWriMo (along with all my quilting projects) has been one of the casualties of me scaling back. I must say, however, me and my ankles are absolutely okay with that.
One of the side-effects of pregnancy (for me, at least) is that I lose track of time. That can be both pleasant ("I'm already 19 weeks along?--almost halfway there!") and unpleasant ("Wait--I thought I still had another week to get caught up on all those poems I wanted to write!") Sorry, Ruth. I'll try to crank out a poem here or there in the coming months, but for this year's NaPoWriMo, 18 poems will have to suffice.
In the past month or so I've had more energy than I did my first trimester, but lately I've been facing the reality that I still have to take it easy or I get tired, cranky, and my ankles swell to the size of... cankles.
Unfortunately, NaPoWriMo (along with all my quilting projects) has been one of the casualties of me scaling back. I must say, however, me and my ankles are absolutely okay with that.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Settling in
Apologies to my sister Ruth, who I hear is chomping at the bit for more NaPoWriMo. Soon, I promise. But meanwhile...
Meet the newest member of the family.
Sid came into our lives over the weekend. On Saturday we noticed him meowing up on our roof, but didn't think much of it--we see a lot of neighborhood cats up there, and they always seem to find their way down without too much trouble.
Then on Sunday, as we were getting home from church, we saw him again---looking and sounding rather frantic. Our neighbor, who was in his driveway packing his truck, commented that this was the third day he had seen the cat on the roof. We had no idea it had been so long and felt terrible. Jim borrowed an extension ladder from his dad and climbed up to do a rescue. The cat came right to him and though he seemed scared of the height, he let Jim carry him down the ladder without a struggle.
We set out canned cat food and a water dish on the front porch, and watched him while he ate. No collar or tags, but he seemed quite friendly--when he had his fill, he waltzed right in through our open front door and made himself at home. Jimmy was sure it was the same cat that had belonged to some neighbors across the street who moved six months ago.
I had a sneaking suspicion Jim left the front door open on purpose, and was surprised he seemed so ready to adopt Sid, in spite of his winning personality. Back when Will died, Jim said he had no desire to get another cat anytime soon. So on Sunday afternoon, I grilled him about it. All Jim would say was, "I'm a sucker for a hard case, and it doesn't get much harder than being stuck on a roof for three days with nothing to eat."
Jimmy suggested we call him Obsidian, which Jim shortened to Sid. First thing on Monday we took Sid down to the pound, but no one had reported him lost, and he didn't have a microchip. On the plus side, he was already neutered. By that time, too, he had started hammering out all the little feline territorial snags with Fiona and getting acclimated.
The kids love him and it's mutual; he spends a lot of time hanging around and watching them while they play, and is very patient and gentle.
We snapped this last night when we went in to check on Audrey before calling it a night.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Here's where the rubber meets the road
This is it: my last night of internet/TV freedom. It feels good. I'm going to spend the rest of the evening playing "Bejeweled" and call it a night. And then tomorrow, no computer. I've decided my emailing will be limited to Saturday evenings for an hour, so if you need to reach me...
The one thing that gives me a slight pause is I'll have a poem going up at Boston Literary Magazine on March 15, but of course I'll post a link on my sidebar April 1. I can wait two weeks, right?
The one thing that gives me a slight pause is I'll have a poem going up at Boston Literary Magazine on March 15, but of course I'll post a link on my sidebar April 1. I can wait two weeks, right?
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Eight days to go
This weekend I started pre-media-fast mode. I figured it would be easier to start scaling back now, so it wouldn't be such a shock to my system on March 1.
I pared back my blogroll by more than half. I stopped following blogs of anyone I've never met IRL (except Super Happy Girl at Mas Cowbell, because I just know she is somehow my separated-at-birth-by-the-border sister).
I started checking my email less, particularly during the earlier part of the day, when I need to focus on teaching Jimmy his lessons.
I watched NCIS with Jim, knowing it would be the last time for while, and then he called to cancel our satellite service.
I also un-friended a lot of people on Facebook. This is the second time I've done a massive un-friending; the first time was about six months ago. I was surprised back then how one person immediately sent me a message asking what they had done to offend me--and then I didn't hear anything else until about a week ago, when another person sent me a message asking that I re-request them. If it takes you six months to notice someone's not on your friend list, it's probably best they're no longer on it.
We'll see what happens with this go-round. I'm still on the fence about the possibility of completely quitting Facebook, because I recognize it's a useful tool to stay connected to people who are a) far away or b) hard to reach in other ways. I love being able to keep up with my brothers and sisters, see pictures of their kids, and feel like I'm part of their lives. But I also like having my boundaries, and there are some people with whom I don't want to share the details of my life.
Ah--the eternal quest for balance!
I pared back my blogroll by more than half. I stopped following blogs of anyone I've never met IRL (except Super Happy Girl at Mas Cowbell, because I just know she is somehow my separated-at-birth-by-the-border sister).
I started checking my email less, particularly during the earlier part of the day, when I need to focus on teaching Jimmy his lessons.
I watched NCIS with Jim, knowing it would be the last time for while, and then he called to cancel our satellite service.
I also un-friended a lot of people on Facebook. This is the second time I've done a massive un-friending; the first time was about six months ago. I was surprised back then how one person immediately sent me a message asking what they had done to offend me--and then I didn't hear anything else until about a week ago, when another person sent me a message asking that I re-request them. If it takes you six months to notice someone's not on your friend list, it's probably best they're no longer on it.
We'll see what happens with this go-round. I'm still on the fence about the possibility of completely quitting Facebook, because I recognize it's a useful tool to stay connected to people who are a) far away or b) hard to reach in other ways. I love being able to keep up with my brothers and sisters, see pictures of their kids, and feel like I'm part of their lives. But I also like having my boundaries, and there are some people with whom I don't want to share the details of my life.
Ah--the eternal quest for balance!
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Station identification
Over the past few days I've been reading this General Conference talk by Dieter F. Uchtdorf. I don't know which came first--my idea of a media fast, or what I read about concentrating on the "things that matter most"--but here it all is, in a nutshell:
My dear brothers and sisters, we would do well to slow down a little, proceed at the optimum speed for our circumstances, focus on the significant, lift up our eyes, and truly see the things that matter most. Let us be mindful of the foundational precepts our Heavenly Father has given to His children that will establish the basis of a rich and fruitful mortal life with promises of eternal happiness. They will teach us to do “all these things … in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that we should run faster than we have strength. But it is expedient that we should be diligent, and thereby … win the prize.”
Brothers and sisters, diligently doing the things that matter most will lead us to the Savior of the world. That is why “we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, … that we may know to what source we may look for a remission of our sins.” In the complexity, confusion, and rush of modern living, this is the “more excellent way.”
My dear brothers and sisters, we would do well to slow down a little, proceed at the optimum speed for our circumstances, focus on the significant, lift up our eyes, and truly see the things that matter most. Let us be mindful of the foundational precepts our Heavenly Father has given to His children that will establish the basis of a rich and fruitful mortal life with promises of eternal happiness. They will teach us to do “all these things … in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that we should run faster than we have strength. But it is expedient that we should be diligent, and thereby … win the prize.”
Brothers and sisters, diligently doing the things that matter most will lead us to the Savior of the world. That is why “we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, … that we may know to what source we may look for a remission of our sins.” In the complexity, confusion, and rush of modern living, this is the “more excellent way.”
Friday, February 11, 2011
Media fast
I've had this idea floating around in my head for a while now: take a break from the internet and TV to unplug from all the excess... everything... and reconnect with the most important parts of my life: family, writing, faith, creativity.
Suddenly, the opportunity has presented itself in the form of our imminent disconnection from our satellite service, which happens next week. I think March may well be the perfect month to take a break from technological distractions and focus on really being present with my kids, and maybe even making a dent in that stack of half-completed projects languishing in corners around my house. Then in April I can do NaPoWriMo without feeling like my life is careening out of control.
I'm not sure if I can go completely cold turkey; I use email in lieu of the phone for a lot of what I consider necessary communication with family, friends and acquaintances. Hmmm. Gotta spend some time figuring out how to make this happen, instead of finding reasons it won't work. Jim's suggestion is to set aside a certain time each day to do email and limit it to just then, which I think is a good option in keeping with the spirit of a fast.
I've just been feeling lately like my immersion in an alternate reality--especially the internet--is way out of proportion. It's time to hit the RESET button.
Suddenly, the opportunity has presented itself in the form of our imminent disconnection from our satellite service, which happens next week. I think March may well be the perfect month to take a break from technological distractions and focus on really being present with my kids, and maybe even making a dent in that stack of half-completed projects languishing in corners around my house. Then in April I can do NaPoWriMo without feeling like my life is careening out of control.
I'm not sure if I can go completely cold turkey; I use email in lieu of the phone for a lot of what I consider necessary communication with family, friends and acquaintances. Hmmm. Gotta spend some time figuring out how to make this happen, instead of finding reasons it won't work. Jim's suggestion is to set aside a certain time each day to do email and limit it to just then, which I think is a good option in keeping with the spirit of a fast.
I've just been feeling lately like my immersion in an alternate reality--especially the internet--is way out of proportion. It's time to hit the RESET button.
Monday, February 07, 2011
Got peanut?
We do! I'm 7½ weeks along and lovin' (yes, I do mean lovin') every fatigued-broken-out-queasy-swollen-ankled minute of it.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Obscurity and competance
A while ago, my friend Kim at pagooey made an observation that resonated deeply inside me:
"If you wake up in the morning, if you're still Here, then there must be something left in this world that you're supposed to do. Originally I attached some pretty noble/vain aspirations to myself, out of this...but at 40, I've allowed that perhaps My True Purpose On This Earth is not necessarily to cure cancer, or attain the Presidency, or even write that blockbuster bestseller that gets me on Oprah. Maybe my purpose is smaller in scope, or meant to be taken a day at a time."
It gelled for me today on some never-before-reached level, as I was I teaching my Primary class of 9, 10 and 11 year-olds at church. Our lesson was about how John the Baptist was foreordained to his calling, and how all of us have our own unique callings we can choose to accept. Or not. Even for those who aren't religious, I believe there's a compelling universal truth in the idea that we each have a purpose to accomplish in life, one we can tap into when we listen to the cosmos--or whatever higher power we recognize--and follow where it leads.
As I was teaching, I had an "aha" moment when I realized I'm actually content--not resigned--but at peace with more modest purposes than I used to dream of: learning the art of being patient with my children, nurturing their minds and bodies, reading books for pleasure as well as knowledge, getting laundry done, working at my marriage, taking care of my body, once or twice a month cleaning the toilet, and slowly (but surely) building up a body of cohesive poems for my first chapbook (probably not the Pulitzer Prize-winner I once fancied, but a start). Those are things I can do, and possibly even do well, one day at a time.
Mark Twain had it when he said, "Obscurity and competance--that is the life that is best worth living."
Friday, January 14, 2011
It's not you, it's me
Have I been a bit quiet lately? Yeah, I know. Recently it has come to my attention I'm not doing so well at communicating. Looking at my blog and the recent dearth of posts, I see yet another arena where I've shut down the lines of communication.
One of the things I've realized as I've tried to sort this out and identify what went wrong, is that grieving pretty much continuously for the last year has altered me, particularly in the way I define my boundaries with the outside world.
I don't know if the change is permanent; only time will tell. Old me tended to talk too much to everyone, about everything: my life, kids, thoughts, feelings, music, movies, art, you name it--I was the queen of 411 overload.
New me may talk from time to time to certain people who ask and show signs of actually listening to the answers, but I keep it brief, and I would really rather just keep it to myself. From time to time emotions spill out when new me has a ready listener, but I try to avoid that scenario. In fact, new me will actually retreat and hide when I see people I know I don't want to talk to, especially those over-sharers who seem to think I should listen to their problems, which I must understand because of what I've recently been through.
In other words, I tend to avoid people like old me.
I don't necessarily think any of this is bad. Being cured of the tendency to talk too much is probably a good thing. And I definitely think it's okay to be aware of my boundaries and give myself the space I need to grieve. I don't feel like there's anything wrong with avoiding people who have babies or people who want to rehash their own miscarriages if I'm having a hard time that day. I'm just not ready for that yet. But what is bad is when I shut down communicating to the people who I love, and forget to share with them how I'm doing.
So this is me saying we're working on doing better with the whole talking about feelings thing. Both of us.
One of the things I've realized as I've tried to sort this out and identify what went wrong, is that grieving pretty much continuously for the last year has altered me, particularly in the way I define my boundaries with the outside world.
I don't know if the change is permanent; only time will tell. Old me tended to talk too much to everyone, about everything: my life, kids, thoughts, feelings, music, movies, art, you name it--I was the queen of 411 overload.
New me may talk from time to time to certain people who ask and show signs of actually listening to the answers, but I keep it brief, and I would really rather just keep it to myself. From time to time emotions spill out when new me has a ready listener, but I try to avoid that scenario. In fact, new me will actually retreat and hide when I see people I know I don't want to talk to, especially those over-sharers who seem to think I should listen to their problems, which I must understand because of what I've recently been through.
In other words, I tend to avoid people like old me.
I don't necessarily think any of this is bad. Being cured of the tendency to talk too much is probably a good thing. And I definitely think it's okay to be aware of my boundaries and give myself the space I need to grieve. I don't feel like there's anything wrong with avoiding people who have babies or people who want to rehash their own miscarriages if I'm having a hard time that day. I'm just not ready for that yet. But what is bad is when I shut down communicating to the people who I love, and forget to share with them how I'm doing.
So this is me saying we're working on doing better with the whole talking about feelings thing. Both of us.
Monday, January 03, 2011
New design
Time for a change-up in keeping with my philosophy for the coming year: keep it clean, simple and fun.
Happy New Year!
Happy New Year!
Monday, December 20, 2010
Halo repair
I discovered a new (to me) artist this morning: Brian Kershisnik. His work is whimsical, symbolic, colorful and... it moves me. His painting "Halo Repair" (which you can see here) in particular spoke to me, as I was sitting at the computer in my pink sock monkey slippers and blue waffle-weave bathrobe, getting a lazy start to my first day off from teaching home school.
It said, "This is what you need to do with the next two weeks."
Let's face it: my halo is tarnished, it hangs off center, and some mornings I forget to even take it out of my sock drawer and put it on. I've been running so fast over the last few months with school (while trying to squeeze in everything else), I haven't really stopped to refuel and now I'm down to fumes--oh, and I've been doing all that while trying to emerge from a lingering haze of grief which has only recently begun to lift.
My full but unglamorous life will go on for the next two weeks. I will continue washing and folding laundry, cleaning, cooking, changing diapers, mending, interceding in sibling disputes. For two golden weeks, however, I will have a few extra hours each day for reading the best books, searching words of scripture, writing a few new poems, and dusting off some old ones.
I plan to make the most of those hours, even if it happens to be while wearing my bathrobe.
It said, "This is what you need to do with the next two weeks."
Let's face it: my halo is tarnished, it hangs off center, and some mornings I forget to even take it out of my sock drawer and put it on. I've been running so fast over the last few months with school (while trying to squeeze in everything else), I haven't really stopped to refuel and now I'm down to fumes--oh, and I've been doing all that while trying to emerge from a lingering haze of grief which has only recently begun to lift.
My full but unglamorous life will go on for the next two weeks. I will continue washing and folding laundry, cleaning, cooking, changing diapers, mending, interceding in sibling disputes. For two golden weeks, however, I will have a few extra hours each day for reading the best books, searching words of scripture, writing a few new poems, and dusting off some old ones.
I plan to make the most of those hours, even if it happens to be while wearing my bathrobe.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Grateful
For the first time I can remember since this summer, I am finally feeling like all is right with my world. Not perfect, since my treadmill is still shutting down mid-workout after all my attempts to fix it, and just this morning our refrigerator threatened to go kaput (on the day before Thanksgiving, no less!), but still...
All is right.
I am myself again. I can write a poem--maybe a lousy poem, but I can write again. I can make my kids guffaw with terrible puns. I can pull out a screwdriver or vacuum cleaner to fix whatever breaks. I can be in the moment, whether it is sweet, stressful, or sad, and just be. I can breathe in and out. I can be happy, without fear that the other shoe will drop later this week, next month, or maybe even a year from now.
For this miracle, I give thanks.
All is right.
I am myself again. I can write a poem--maybe a lousy poem, but I can write again. I can make my kids guffaw with terrible puns. I can pull out a screwdriver or vacuum cleaner to fix whatever breaks. I can be in the moment, whether it is sweet, stressful, or sad, and just be. I can breathe in and out. I can be happy, without fear that the other shoe will drop later this week, next month, or maybe even a year from now.
For this miracle, I give thanks.
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