blueperiod.

that's a good one

You ever get the feeling that the Universe is really screwing with you? I'm not talking about anything as serious nor epic as a major test of strength or will. No, it's more like the Universe is just out looking for kicks, and since I'm always good for a few laughs, decides to throw some stuff my way.

As amusing as it must be to watch me scramble to figure out how to uproot the family and move to another state in a very short amount of time (Adam's boss got two weeks notice; I got three), it just isn't funny enough. So, enter, the Chicken Pox.

Yes, apparently, children do still get the chicken pox. Luckily for Luna, it is a mild case. The pediatrician tells me this is "thanks to the vaccine she received." (Yeah, thanks for that.) Then she informs me that we must "stay away from the public" until the blisters have healed. That makes looking for a place to live pretty challenging.

"Funny," says the Universe, "but not ROFLMAO funny. Ooh, Ooh! I know. Let's have the pediatrician assure her that there is no way the son will get it because it's so highly unlikely that kids who get the vaccine end up getting the chicken pox, and then, when no one is looking..."

That's right. Now, Sol has the Pox. And Adam starts his new job—in New York—in two days. And we are no where closer to knowing where we will live. Maybe New Jersey.

Yes, Universe, you are so hilarious.

Birthday Girl

Believe it or not...my little girl is four. The day began with a flashy tiara, dangly clip-on earrings, and a hankering for a party. My plan had been to enjoy a quiet day at home, opening presents and playing together, sharing a simple dinner with family, and topping the whole thing off with that famously easy chocolate cake. Luna's plan was a day-long celebration, with a steady stream of well-wishers, lots of presents, lots of playing, chocolate cake with buttercream frosting, topped with fresh strawberries, and chocolate cupcakes, culminating in an impromptu sleepover. How does she do that?

Happy Birthday, Luna.

"As long as I don't have to move, I could pretty much do anything."

Sol was sick in bed with the stomach flu this week, and it might sound horrible, but I've revealed far worse about myself here, so I'll just come right out and say it: I kind of liked it. It's not that I took pleasure in his discomfort, or enjoyed cleaning vomit off the bathroom wall. Those parts of it were sad and disgusting. No, what I liked was his stillness; the part of him that I hardly ever see anymore. He's always so busy, running somewhere, bouncing around, flinging his body from one end of an enclosed space to the next. Even when he isn't actually moving his mind and his mouth are speeding off on a train of thought that carries him out of earshot of my voice.

While confined to his bed, Sol preferred the sound of my voice to anything else. He let me cuddle up next to him and wrap him in my arms like I could when he was smaller and didn't have so many other more interesting places to go. For the past couple of years he's needed his daddy more than he has me, so it was like a little gift when he sent Adam away Tuesday night and called for me. He's feeling better now, and making his way back to busy again, but I caught a glimpse of that stillness, that baby boy I sometimes miss. Now the trick is learning to recognize him, stomach flu or no.

colorful characters

We've been reading more comics around here lately. For me, it started with an urgency to get that first book of the year under my belt. For Sol, I think it's that after months of reading way above his “grade level” (a phrase that doesn’t really apply to us, but is kind of a lazy way to get at the point), he’s naturally gravitating to some lighter stuff. And by lighter I mean Calvin and Hobbes,  Peanuts collections, and the Bone series. I’m familiar enough with comics to know that heavy on the pictures doesn’t necessarily mean light on the story. I just finished reading Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood, and was really amazed by the power of its simplicity.

This is similar to how I feel when Luna shows me her drawings. She does page after page of renderings of the people in her life. They are most always just faces, but with such detail and such emotion that they almost speak to me. She has recently been concerned with capturing the lines in the brow—some faces have more lines than others, and the shape of the lines can change with fluctuations in facial expression. She pays close attention to this. I wonder about the stories she is creating about her life, about herself, in these pictures. What does she make of this world?

Speaking of comics, and specifically Peanuts collections, I appreciated the post, "My First Lesson in Being Black" on Aunt Jemima’s Revenge. Professor Tracey writes about her identification with Peppermint Patty as a kid, and the fact that it never occurred to her that the character was white, and therefore somehow different from her, until she was criticized for “fixing” Patty’s skin tone in a drawing.

This really spoke to me because my son has spent almost half his life identifying with a character that could only really look like him with the help of Photoshop. Actually it would be more accurate to say that Sol believes he is Link from the Legend of Zelda Nintendo game series. He doesn’t just play the game, he lives it. In fact, he has spent more time being Link than he has playing Link. There is something about a young boy fated to save  the world from evil forces that appeals to my young boy with a highly-attuned sense of justice. He’s a boy hero; a hero with a cool costume, a sword, and a shield.

So, what if the fair-skinned, blonde-haired, often-times-blue-eyed boy looks nothing like my bronze-toned, dark-haired, deeply-brown-eyed son? Does this even register for him? And if so, how does he feel about it? I haven’t figured out how to ask him these things without risking disrupting his play world. And maybe that’s the key: he’s playing, and as long as no one is telling him there is something wrong with the picture he is painting in his head, then it doesn’t matter what colors he chooses.

I have a friend who regularly shaded in the skin tone of the  princesses that adorned her daughter’s clothes, books, and even shoes during a particularly avid Disney Princesses phase. I can’t help wondering what Link would look like if I “fixed” him just a little. I also can't help wondering why Link doesn’t look a little more like his creator Shigeru Miyamoto? It wouldn’t solve all my problems if he did, but it might help a little.

This morning while I was perusing Goodreads, as I often do these days, Sol came up and began reading over my shoulder, as he often does these days, and exclaimed, “F. Scott Fitzgerald?!”

“Yeah,” I said. “You heard of him?”

“Well, his wife Zelda inspired the character 'Princess Zelda,'” he said.

“What?" I asked disbelievingly. "Are you sure? Is that true?”

“Of course it’s true. I read it on Wikipedia,” he said. “Anyway, why are you reading about the man that was married to the woman that inspired a character in my video game?”

“Well, first of all,” I said, “everything on Wikipedia is not necessarily true. And secondly, F. Scott Fitzgerald is pretty famous on his own. He wrote some really good books.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, eyeing me skeptically before walking away.

reading is good

I am so excited about Goodreads, a site that lets you keep track of and rate all the books you have read, plan to read, are currently reading, and allows you to share all that information with your friends. Thanks to Mike for sharing the good news with me. I never joined up with friendster or facebook, and I don't take enough photos to really keep up with flickr, but this type of online social networking greatly appeals to me.

I love to read, but I have to admit I am somewhat picky. I'm acutely aware of the limited amount of time I have left in my life for reading books. (This is based on a projected life expectancy of about 93 years.) I don't want to waste any time on reading anything blah. And the fact that I am a very slow reader adds to the pressure of finding the perfect next book. Poor Mike has been burdened with my constant badgering—"What should I read? What are you reading now? If I was going to be stranded on a desert island for a year, and it was the last year of my life, and aliens were headed to earth to destroy every book ever written, what five books  would I want to take with me?"—for years. Now he never has to have an actual conversation with me again. The internet is amazing.

The timing could not be better for this, as one of my personal goals for the year is to read more. On New Year's Eve, Adam and I were tallying up the number of books we read in 2007, and I came up with a paltry seven. Seven! (And one of those was a reread.) Sol's list was close to fifty, which included a few audiobooks, but was mostly made up of books and graphic novels that he read on his own. I've wanted to get him recording the books he reads—like he does for the library summer reading program—and then writing some reviews; just a couple of sentences for each book. Maybe Goodreads could help us along with that project.

I'm aiming for seventeen books this year—half the number of years I'll have reached by the end of 2008. When I share my reading goal for the year with Adam, my ever-supportive partner in this crazy life, all he can say is, "You are going to be thirty-four this year?"

Oh yeah, I foresee plenty of time for reading in 2008.

Happy New Me Year

One thing that gets to me about those really cold days is the tendency towards a little extra television-watching. However, when Luna asks to watch Peep and the Big Wide World—a cute animated program designed to teach science and math to preschoolers—with the Spanish language option turned on, well, how can I complain? In fact, I'm going to call that one a threefer (Science, Math, and Spanish instruction) and get started on my personal goals for 2008.

The first of these goals is to give myself a break, for crying out loud, and relax. Hence, my ability to sit here and post to my weblog while my children watch a DVD in the middle of the day. And that brings us to another of my personal goals for 2008: to post to my weblog with a bit more regularity than once every quarter of a year.

Note: I use the words "personal goals" because "Resolutions" sounds so formal, and, you know, destined for failure.

Bad day

Yesterday was a bad day. You know it is a bad day when you find yourself saying to the children, "I'm sorry for being so awful. I'm just having a hard day." And then your seven-year-old says, "Yeah, I'm having a hard day, too." Which comes first, the chicken or the tirading mother?

I was the perfect combination of cold and withholding and short-tempered and irrational mixed with high drama and self-pity. In other words, a little my mother, a little my father, and just a dash of Faye Dunaway in Mommie Dearest.

Now, to give myself some credit, and to put the impact of this bad day into perspective, let me say that a meltdown of this caliber had not been seen round these parts for some time. That is saying something for the melancholy likes of me. Normally I fall apart every four to six weeks, (some people get their hair done, I have mini nervous breakdowns,) but for two and a half months I resembled a fairly-centered, not so fragile human being.

I started meditating; I attended this incredible workshop; and for one glorious month I was writing every single day. Then December came, and I have been on a downward spiral since it showed itself. The timing couldn't be worse, what with Sol's birthday, all the winter celebrations and end of year festivities, not to mention the return of really cold weather. I just want to curl up in a warm cave, with a good book, and wait this thing out.

Of course, all of this is compounded by the fact that I'm one of those people who just isn't satisfied unless I'm making life just that much more difficult for myself. I am addicted to suffering—which makes me a lousy Buddhist. For instance, instead of approaching the gift-giving season methodically—let's make a list, decide on a budget, etc.—I say, sometime around mid-December, "let's make all of our gifts this year!"

Here's another one: "If we are going to celebrate Christmas, then in all fairness we should celebrate Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and the winter solstice, all while practicing non-attachment and riding a unicycle, balancing a stack of plates on our head." Or one of Adam's favorites: "Oh it's New Year's Eve! Let's take this opportunity to completely scour the house from top to bottom, yes, even behind the refrigerator, so that we start the new year off fresh and ensure that this year won't be spent in an unkempt house." As if.

My problem is that I'm really good at imagining what the world should look like, my world, at least, and really bad at dealing with the reality that the world could care less how I see it. This has always been true. So, what was it that caused my George Bailey pre-crisis moment when I threw up my hands and yelled, "Why do we have to live in this crappy little house? Why do we have all these kids? Why do we homeschool?"

Well, I can only guess at this point because today was actually a fine day, and it's always hard for me to see in hindsight just what was such an affront to my sensibilities that they had to jump out the window. I think it's because I haven't been sitting as much lately. I've fallen out of practice with my meditation practice, and this concerns me, but apparently not enough as of yet. There is also the fact that NANOWRIMO is over, and I am still in the midst of a novel I want desperately to finish. Though, now I am without the socially acceptable excuse for sequestering myself and being somewhat antisocial. It's one thing to live like that for a month, but how can I justify it every day for as long as it takes to finish it?

And we have the holidays. I always wondered about those people for whom the holidays are "tough." What does that mean, I'd ask myself, making up tragic Christmas stories in my head. Now, I think I have become one of them. Not that I really have any traumatic Christmas memories, except for that one Christmas that was so awful I tend to remember it as an Easter or a Valentine's Day. But let's face it, this is a very emotional time of year, and I am an emotionally turbulent person. I am bound to be a bit discombobulated.

I just hate those hard days. I could handle them before, but now that I am a mother... It's one thing for Adam to put up with my moods and breakdowns because he's known me for a long time. He is well-aware of how completely insane I can be. He chose me in spite of, or maybe a little because of, it. My children are another story. They are the innocent bystanders to my train-wreck moments.

To this Adam says, "You have to remember, they also chose you." And while this thought makes me feel a little better, it also makes me feel the slightest bit worse.

I can only hope they start aiming a little higher.

Conceptual Costumes and Caffeine

Definitely my best Halloween costume year. When Luna informed me that she wanted to be a baby panda for Halloween I thought, "Oh, easy." I'm not sure why that was the immediate response that came to mind because I had no idea how I would do it, but it turned out to be true. A half a yard of white fleece, some velcro, a pair of black leggings and a black t-shirt later, and voila—Baby Panda!

Of course, then came, "So, Mama, what will you be?"

"Um, I'll just be Mama this year."

"Or you could be Mama Panda."

So, I threw one of Adam's white tanks over a black shirt and pants, glue-gunned black semi-circles on a strip of white fleece, black lipstick on the nose, white eyeshadow on the cheeks and voila—Mama Panda!

Pretty impressive, if I do say so myself. We even carried bamboo with us while trick-or-treating.

Poor Sol was home with a fever, so he never got to wear the amazing Link costume I made—green tunic, hat and everything. He was going to carry the Hylian Shield that he made himself—from scratch! (I can't get this kid interested in arts and crafts unless I work some Legend of Zelda angle into it.)

All in all, a fun Halloween. I got to be super-crafty (and super-cute), Luna got to go trick-or-treating with her cousins and Papa, and Sol got to stay home and watch The Nightmare Before Christmas with Adam and have his treats delivered to him!

Now, I am in the throes of NANOWRIMO and for the first time ever, dare I say it and jinx myself, on track for reaching that 50,000 word-count goal by November 30. Right now I'm feeling so good I don't even mind turning 33. Or maybe that's the caffeine talking.

"Dolly Llama"

On our way out the door yesterday Luna asked, "Do I have a lama I can bring?" We were heading into D.C. to witness the presentation of the Congressional Gold Medal to the Dalai Lama. I was slightly distracted, packing snacks, tying shoes and trying to remember the water bottles cooling in the fridge.  "What, honey?"

"A little llama I can bring," she said, and that time I could hear the extra "L." She likes to bring a toy along when we travel, usually a small animal. Of course, she would want to bring a llama with her to see the Dalai Lama. The night before she had been completely riveted by Demi's book, The Dalai Lama, and I had a sense that she was a little excited about this particular trip into the city.

It was hotter than I thought it would be, but a little less crowded on the lawn of the Capitol. We easily made our way through the crowd of college students, monks draped in red and gold, families with small children, people waving Tibetan flags, women and young girls dressed in beautiful, glittering gowns.  Snippets of conversations spoken in various languages, with various accents, slipped past my ears as we walked. We found a spot of grass, unfortunately not in the shade, but with a decent view of the mega screen broadcasting the presentation inside the building.

His speech was not easy to follow, what with the helicopter traffic, Sol and Luna asking for snacks, and the Dalai Lama, as he joked, choosing that particular moment to practice his English. He is a very funny man. I think I caught the gist of it, at least the parts that were meant for me. There was a moment when I felt the urge to open myself up to the infinite stores of love and compassion, the ones I just recently discovered, and to connect with the people standing around me. I opened up, and a flood of tears and emotion spilled out of me. Then I quickly closed again, startled by the intensity, by the ease of it.

I wonder if I would have been so quick to guard myself if I'd been there without the children. A mother must always be vigilant, and it's hard to be vigilant when you are emotionally naked on the lawn of the capitol in a crowd of thousands. I am glad I brought them. I'm glad I got to share it with them, and whatever they took from the experience, they get to keep.

I think the music and dancing, and all the positive, hopeful energy will stand out in their memory over the heat and afternoon tiredness. I will remember Luna pointing to a Monk and saying, "Is it just me, or is he a Buddha?" I will remember Sol remarking at the very end, "Would you believe by looking at his face that this man has been through so much?" I will remember feeling in awe of that beautiful,  most genuine of smiles.

Afterwards, we met Adam on the mall and headed for the Solar Decathlon to check out the amazing designs. Could it actually be possible to live in a house like this? Some people dream of living in mansions, but we dream of living in one of these. (Everyday I am reminded of how lucky we are to have found each other— two freaks in love with the idea of gardening on the walls!)

We stopped off at the Hirshhorn Sculpture Garden per Sol's request. We wandered a bit, talking about different sculptures and how they came to be. Mostly we discussed whether their names fit them properly. A few favorites were The Great Warrior of Montauban, Seated Yucatan Woman, and  the "Burghers of Calais," which Sol aptly renamed, "Monks Walking in a Circle." And what a circle.

blue? not so much

I'm coming out of my blue period. I suppose that happens to the best of us. I want a redesign. Maybe starting from scratch with a new blog. Honestly, there is something heavy and slightly cumbersome about this blog that makes it hard to put on and take off at will. I feel like I'm entering a new phase, transitioning, having that breakthrough turning 30 moment three years late. Really it's like waking up at the first; 33 years late, but better now than never.

I just don't know that this space is right for my current needs. Those current needs being to: document the work we do; keep family and friends updated; maintain a running list of resources; and ultimately, to be a steady kick in the writerly pants or smack with the kyosaku. Why I feel this blog no longer serves me is unclear. What is clear is that all this mental going around has kept me so busy for so long that I haven't had time to do much here or anywhere else.

I like blueperiod. I've had this blog for almost six years. For some reason that seems like a long time. It is nearly as old as my oldest child. I began this blog at about the same time that I began my life as a mother. But I don't feel so blue anymore. I'm more red now, or orange even.