On the Last Day of the Year

I would like to quote my (still) favorite writer:

Not forgiving is like swallowing rat poison and waiting for the rat to die.

"You can either practice being right or practice being kind."

both by Anne Lamott

Winter Break: Hot-Button Words

There are some controversial words to Clara and Calliope. Here they are:

-die: It's not that I want to censor them but we try and teach them that words matter. And in this case, I say, dying is not a joke. As in, if you squish that bug, that's it. Its life is done. Clara is fond of listing people who have died including saints and presidents. Calliope is testing the word out like, "Manny, you don't want this marker-- it's DEAD!"

-shut: The major controversy is that Clara shrieks if Calliope says it but Calliope swears that it's what her play-group sings (Wheels on the Bus) so it's okay.

-fat:This one is new. My own post-partum-figure struggles aside, I had a good friend in high school who was hospitalized for tearing her esophagus from bulimic purges. So if you ask me, I encourage them to draw zaftig princesses and angels who my dear friend Mercedes would describe as "thickems." But alas, they are aware of depictions and images of figures and have begun to describe things this way. Mostly, they use it between themselves while drawing and really I haven't addressed it yet.

-Who cares? I don't care. We don't care. This one is big. This is Clara's favorite. I know that she is "coming into her own power", as my director at Hollow Reed School would say. So this phrase allows her autonomy and sometimes self-defense. Sometimes it is a statement of advocacy as in, "Calliope knows you're excluding her but she doesn't care." This one has gotten dicey: "Benicio took my seat when I didn't care but now I REALLY DO care!"

christmas days-photos to follow

Our Christmas, Stream of Consciousness Style:

Singing in the choir on Christmas Eve: Descant to Silent Night is my favorite. Hearing a sermon about the shepherds being immigrants. That God chose to reveal the news of the Messiah's birth to poor, uneducated, uncool, immigrants. The salmon was tender and perfect. I will never forget bending over it with my Dad, us both diagnosing it like a patient. My Dad peered in and saw how I stuffed it and said, "Whoa, that's nice." The Yankee Swap-- laughing really hard about a crystal tray and proper uses for a Slanket. Geoff in his best shirt, patching my brother's windshield against the rain. Playing with Adri's puppy, Charlie aka Cholly. Our kids singing in the choir on Christmas Day-- chests barreled out on that fine line between singing and yelling. Calliope eating Christmas dinner in her bikini bottoms and that's it. Mushroom risotto made with questionable shiitakes. Chatting into the night with R & W about heat-conservation, movies, our jobs, stress-management. Having everyone sleep in on the morning of the 26th and being able to be up way before my parents, never happens.

And now we are tucked in the coziness of Aspen Way, where kids have gone on dates with the grands, we have ducked out to the movies, taken wintry walks, shopped with Mom (who says all picked out instead of all picked-over), eaten ice cream in the glass flower-petal bowls of my childhood, made copies of old family photos. My Mom made dinner tonight and I don't remember eating her cooking since I was in college. She made Dad's lemon chicken with sauteed string beans. I watched part of her process and find we are so similar-- an inspired flurry of coarse chopping and then taking a phone call then pausing to read an article, rather than a meticulous clean as you go style. She spares no countertop, and uses many bowls-- as if staging for her own cooking show.

The kids are strung out on cable and langorous baths given by my Mom. They have each earned more than $5 for Theology questions like: When the angel came to Mary, what did she do? What did she NOT do? Clara bounded from my parents car after Church, "I just earned silver coins because the Herod chased Jesus family out of their home!"

Winter Break:Days 4 et 5

Last night, I babysat for friends. I forgot how sweet it was to be with an infant at Christmas. I got to rock a little baby by the light of the Christmas tree while watching cable. Bottle feeding is a trip! You can see the vulnerable little palate as they take in all that milk. I gorged myself on tv (a show that follows the Antrhopologie buyer around the world, parts of the movies "He's Just Not That Into You" and "Rachel Getting Married" a depressing program about black mold, which I had to turn off and Oprah's Obama Special at the White House).

We also went to family swim, my eyes are still red from exchanging underwater messages with Clara. She had the common sense to do sign language while I was unsuccessfully mouthing words while laughter bubbles obscured my face.

This morning--Geoff took the girls to the movies while the boys and I had our own date. They came with me to my Kickboxing class. Oh my, that was so much fun! Manny wanted to listen to his own ipod while still participating in class. Talk about marching to your own drummer! And Benicio, oh man, he was 100% ninja. After Kickboxing, we went to the five and dime and saw tiny baby turtles. They got Pokemon cards and are happy as larks. I had really hoped that vacation would be so chill that they would have time to play in their rooms, to rest, and for goodness sake, find themselves bored. I like watching them make their own fun. I think it's good for them to direct and redirect their energies.

The elfing is almost done. What we haven't made yet, will have to wait. The kids are more excited to give their gifts than they are about Santa. I'll tell you more about the gifts later but I need to run-- I have a carrot cake in the oven!!

Leavetaking and Homecoming

It has been hard to write about this but as more time passes, I know the window is closing. But this is what I want to say: I am practicing Catholicism and it is good.

I just came from Seasonal Choir practice. I go back and forth about this in my head-- the voice of my Protestant friends, clicking their tongue and shaking their head in disappointment but then this other voice, this voice of okay-ness. Like where we are is okay because that's where we are. I don't want to say that coming away from our Liberti experience has affected me with this limp, this spiritual handicap. But I feel like something got broken there and it still hurts.

And that where I am, at St. Vincent's in this particular community, feels like I am able to be who I am. I don't know if it's a disrespectful metaphor but this may be what it feels like for some people to come out of the closet. Like maybe I was putting on a charade of being this person, of doing these things and all along, I wasn't being honest. I am less interested in exploring the great theological divide between Reformed Presbyterianism and Social-Justice Catholicism but more interested in exploring why I left what I was raised with. Why I turned so easily from it, and why it took me so long to look back.

Not long ago, I was at a party with folks from our old church. I took on the posture of an older-sister when asking this newly-graduated friend about her leave-taking of her Catholic upbringing. I could see myself in her, the fresh-faced sincerity of wanting a faith with feet, of enacting God's Word in zealous and radical mission trips, dramatic evangelical conversations in her stunning social life. She explained how the liturgy felt suffocating to her. She felt hostile about praying to saints and Mary. I could hear her but I asked her to just be cautious in her turning away, to be careful about how she walks away.

I can't make sense of it all here but I want to document these things now, so when my girls for example are in college, they can read this and maybe identify with this--the divergence of what your parents have taught you and how God is being revealed to you. I want them to know that I have been here. That this heavy and difficult spot is no fun but somehow, God is at work in it.

Above is a photo that Clara took just after Daily Mass at St. V's. The priest is from Jakarta but has been to the PI lots of times, he says.

Winter Break:Day 3

Ideas that Did Not Work Today:
-wearing suede wedge platform boots to go sledding
-sleeping in
-a 3pm snack of cookies

Ideas that DID Work Today:
-playing music in their rooms while we cleaned them
-telling them that Santa is watching over how often they wear slippers
-giving them the label-maker for their domain

Ideas Whose Success Remains to Be Seen:
-ordering a Nova Scotian whole salmon to grill on Christmas Day
-putting protein powder in hot chocolate
-Santa's general interpretation of their letters not a literal one

P.S. I have never felt this blog so interactive. I love the comments that are lists back to me. I really think all blogs should be a dialogue. Maybe you can't tell but I get a thrill every single time!

Winter Break:Day 2

Missing:
-pie spatula
-bag of tiny candy canes

Healing:
-Benicio's bad wind burn from yesterday,eeee.
-Calliope's chapped cheek from a week ago, much better.
-Clara's eczema, ooh.

On its last leg:
-toaster
-plexiglass in our bathroom

Pronounced Dead:
-babyfood cuisinart
-two Superhero ornaments

Now Making:
-whole wheat baguette
-a system for cold wet things not to make salt stains on the floor
-a Lego ship that plows snow and shoots bad guys
-an oven to heat water for babies
-a jewel lineup along the wall

Winter Break: Day 1

Geoff and sons brave the snow and attend last Street Hockey session. They come home with their first trophies!:: The girls and I watch Creature Comforts and make French eggs:: I get the sewing machine up-- boys finish girls' gifts, I finally finish a banner from Clara's first birthday:: Knitting by the fire:: Lube up cheeks tomorrow-- 2/4 kids got bad wind burn!:: The boys hardly did any writing or drawing today. It's okay:: Geoff plays the piano through our choir songs:: Made chicken pot pie--Manny can make salad by himself-- in a few more tries, he'll be able to toast nuts for the salad:: Geoff reads Aristotle while I finish sewing:: Then we watch 2 Days in Paris by Julie Delpy. We laughed so hard:: Kids are asleep in the family room with the embers glowing.

To the Parkview Girls

Okay, girls. I did it. I got into grad school.

I dedicate this acceptance letter to you Alice, Shannon, Katybird and Jes. After putting up with me in the year of our engagement AND the season of trying to get into ten MFA programs-- it is you who should be congratulated. At long last, more than a decade after graduation, I finally have closure to all that anxiety that was wrought during our senior year. Wedding planning aside, I was in an academic identity crisis and trying very hard to comport myself as an MFA candidate-- all the revising, the incessant self-doubt, the late-nights, the buckling self-esteem spiked with spells of arrogant grandiosity. As my roommates, you buoyed me through that year and now, I can see my debt to you.

Alice, for fasting with me and feeding me omelette just after. For calmly reading Plato while stirring at the stove. And for eating Ben and Jerry's with me when bad letter after bad letter showed up in the mail. We were cut from the same odd and beautiful cloth. I think of Geoff when I read Neruda but I hear your voice. Counseling school will help me plumb the waters in which, maybe ambivalently, you have always swum well. Love you bunches forever.

Shannon, I confess that I ate more than my fair share of that banana bread. It was sustenance for the hollow feeling the writing workshops gave me. I think God knew that I was not cut out for poetry school. I always admired your commitment to your nursing program, your clarity, the joy that work gave you. Summa cum laude, you are no joke and never ever will be.

Katybird, to you I owe my coffee addiction, my love for baking, and stock in DELL for an unbelievable amount of tech support. I printed everything out on your poor computer in the basement! And I had the gall to wake you from a sound sleep so that I could finish my analysis of Russell Edson's anus poem! I promise not to wake you when I try to finish papers for Westminster, no matter how strange the computer is acting. From a sound REM sleep, you could sit up, press buttons, and the printer would produce a ten page paper! However, I reserve the right to be tucked into the safety of one of your patented Katybird wingspan hugs.

Jes, remember that horrible time when I grilled you about why you thought psychology was a good major and did you think that was kind of a cop out? You don't? Okay good. Never mind. Ahem. Well, in case you DO remember that, I only said that because I didn't know what I wanted to do. (And I thought that Women's Studies might be a better fit for you.) Well, I certainly am getting mine now because here I am, about to take out mad loans to attend--in essence, psychology school. You showed me Kenneth Koch and his recordings,introduced me to good tea, and took photos that captured who I was during that unbelievable year.

So, girls, grab the nearest thrifted juice glass, shamelessly fill it with Prosecco (Jes, for you rootbeer) put on your fashion specs (aka grad school glasses), raise your glass and drink up! This one's for you!

Playdate Overheards

I am learning a lot during these playdates. Here, you have your own kid whom you know intimately and always have. And here, you have this other child that you've agreed to have over, to care for, to watch. I did a lot of observing with Manny and his friend. I think this was best. Even on the drive from school I was reveling in their matching quirks-- you think that they aren't listening to what's being said but then in the most adorable and canny way they respond appropriately. Example: Manny says, "Remember when our class went on that camping trip and we took rocks and threw them in the creek?" Pause. Friend is looking out the window the other way. "Remember that? Hey, do you remember when we did that?" Long pause. And then slowly he turns and wistfully replies, "Of course I do. I remember."

And then this kid was eager to have Geoff home to show them how to animate. Geoff had come into their class for a demonstration last year. "Hey, Manny. Do you think your Dad could animate a hippo with red pants and a frog with no pants at all?"

Also:"I haven't made a video in almost a year but I'm in tip-top shape for it!"

Then at dinner, when Clara dropped her barrette into the lemonade, I said, "Clara, that's mischief. Now no one can have lemonade."

Friend pipes up, "She wanted to see if it would sink or float."

Is it okay to do mischief at your dinner table at home? I asked.

"My Mom loves it when I tinker with science!"

Clara smiles, "Liam, it floats!"

Names and Letters

I don’t even think she knows about signatures. That you write your name in this way and that it bears significance. She is learning how to sign the letters of her name, her little polished nails with the snake tattoo she chose from the Advent calendar. She forms the letters with her hands. She concentrates so hard, forming it first in her lap then thrusting her hand out there for you to see.

And now she writes her name. First and last. And this is the best part, what comes after. Like you would sign MD or PhD or MA or CNM after your name she writes:

CLARA BEATTY 4EKKKTT

The 4, for her age. And the letters to represent friends she’s had playdates with. And if she’s had two playdates with someone, she writes the initial to correspond. I don’t know how long the letter-string will go on, she doesn’t actually do a ton of playdates. But this makes me think she remembers each one and that they really mean something to her.

Pie and Joke Night

We went from having regular Movie Nights to Game Nights to Fort Nights and to Pie and Joke Night. Here are some of the jokes from Pie and Joke Night. In case you were wondering, Geoff built a fire upstairs. The pie was cherry (no red #4). And the jokes were all extemporaneous and stream of consciousness. I was spitting crust crumbs, laughing so hard, and trying to scrawl these down:

What did the vacuum say to the dust buster?
What?
I'll clean up.

What did the week say to the Earth?
What?
How many more days?

What did the tornado eat for supper?
I don't know, what?
Houses and people.

Knock Knock.
Who's there?
Banana.
Banana who?
I forgot to say apple.

Why did the girl drive this way and the boy drive that way?
I don't know, why?
Because he called her a pig. Then she crashed the pig.

And then this one which is an antique joke from when my brothers were into making VHS films in high school. They wrote it for my sister when she was 6 but this is how Manny has modified it:

(with tons of innocent enthusiasm) Hey, guys I have a joke! I have a joke!
What time is it when an elephant sits on the fence?
(Change the expression to grave seriousness.) TIME TO COLLECT YOUR THOUGHTS.

She Knows Too Much

Today in Giant, she started out requesting the behemoth shopping cart with the truck front. She did that for a bit. Then in the chicken-stock aisle, she hopped out and decided to identify rice types--"This one looks good, Mom. It's little. This is the one Big Dad uses." Then she climbed into the seat which faces me. She can fit into it sideways, her whole lower half perpendicular to me as I make my way through the store. This is very good for sniffing her ear and neck. We spent 20 minutes with the musical cards, her favorite was the Charlie Brown one with "Hark the Herald."

All of my erranding, my stealth elfing operation is in danger. She has seen everything and there's nothing I can do about it. Knowledge of Santa's existence hangs precariously in the balance. She could easily tell her sibs that she saw me buy the Playmo Roman Arena at Marshalls and she saw me poring over fonts for the monogram on Clara's ballet bag. She could bring the Santa mythology down like so much wind to a house of cards.