We leave today for New York City, to attend the wedding of one of David's good friends and to visit with my sister and cousin, both of whom are lucky enough to still live there. Sigh. David promised we could go live in New York again for a year, but the job situation makes that pretty difficult. So I am considering foregoing that dream in exchange for us traveling the world for a year with Jack in an ergo. But that's a post for a different day.
Anyway, will try to post from the big city but I can't make any promises as I intend to be very very busy doing New Yorky things. I lived there for two years and, as is always the case, rarely did anything touristy. I intend to remedy that in the next five days.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Thinking of Haiti
There was a time when I worked with the very poor. Those were the most poignant, most difficult, and most satisfying times of my life thus far, and when something like the earthquake in Haiti happens, it makes me wish I weren't sitting in my living room feeling helpless. Or worse, feeling disconnected from a tragedy that is so far away it doesn't seem real.
Just as an aside, last night I heard what Pat Robertson said about the tragedy in Haiti. Attitudes like this are what created the very first fissures in my Christian faith. There is a certain kind of Christian, the kind I worked with in the third world, the kind who was probably the first to arrive in Haiti to help, that represents the best of humanity to me. It's too bad that what "Christian" means to most of the world is represented by people like Pat Robertson. I hated being identified with that.
Just as an aside, last night I heard what Pat Robertson said about the tragedy in Haiti. Attitudes like this are what created the very first fissures in my Christian faith. There is a certain kind of Christian, the kind I worked with in the third world, the kind who was probably the first to arrive in Haiti to help, that represents the best of humanity to me. It's too bad that what "Christian" means to most of the world is represented by people like Pat Robertson. I hated being identified with that.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
The Townley Christmas Extravaganza, Part Two: Christmas Day (twice)
This year we had to do Christmas Day twice. Three of the cousins didn't arrive into Ohio until afternoon on Christmas Day, so we opted to come back the following day, dividing the festivities into two fun-filled, extremely chaotic, mind-spinning days.
So this is how it went.
Christmas Eve, as you know, is spent at my parents' house. It is one giant slumber party. (In the old days, all four girls slept in one bedroom, but now two of us are coupled and babied and in need of privacy, and the other two don't really have a desire to share a bed when there are plenty of beds in which they could stretch out and have a night free of kicking and fighting over the covers.) In the morning, we are awoken bright and early by my parents, who have been playing Santa as well as cooking breakfast downstairs. Now here's the embarrassing bit, because you knew there'd be one: We all have to sit and wait on the landing until they call us down. Yes. We do that. It used to be the four of us, waiting eagerly for the go-ahead while my parents held loud discussions downstairs ("Honey, did Santa come?" "I don't think so, dear, looks like he didn't make it this year, hardee har har.") Now it's six of us and two little ones, looking like we've been punched in the face from lack of sleep, slightly irritated that my parents still insist on videotaping us coming down the stairs.
(Let me just state for the record that in my twenties I made many, many attempts to get this tradition to go away. It is very hard not to feel silly as an adult sitting on top of the landing, hung over, waiting to be called downstairs while being videotaped in ridiculous Christmas jammies. But I've mellowed out a bit and accept it for what it is: the pure peculiarity of my family.)
When we come down, we open presents from my parents. There used to be a mountain of gifts, now, thankfully, there are just a few. Usually one slightly expensive thing my parents know we want and can't afford, and a few little things. The mountain of gifts has now moved onto the grandkids, in spite of my protests (We didn't even buy Jack any toys this year).
After the mountain has been conquered, there is breakfast. On the red Christmas dishes with the tree on them that only come out for this One Special Day. Like most traditions, breakfast gets more elaborate every year. Eggs, bacon, sausage, cinnamon rolls, pancakes, coffee, fresh squeezed orange juice (to put in the mimosas, duh), and hot chocolate were all on the table this year. I gain about twenty pounds on Christmas day alone. Afterward, we have to rush to do the dishes lest my mother do them all before we get there; then it's off to grandma's house.
We used to sleep over there on Christmas Day, but now there are simply too many of us. And besides, this year every bedroom was taken with out-of-town Townleys. Which means we had to make the hour drive there and back twice, but it was worth it.
Christmas at grandma's follows the same presents-then-stuff-your-face pattern as at home. But we saved the presents for day two this year, and went ahead with the face-stuffing both days. There is your typical Christmas feast, right down to the two twenty-pound turkeys my grandmother cooked up this year, all washed down with mulled cider and SoCo, wine, and champagne. There are two tables, the "adult's" table and the "kid's" table, so stated because the only children at the kid's table are our children. Over the years, the kid's table has grown as the cousins got married, and now have children, but we still sit at the same plastic fold-out table-cum-chairs combos (the kind you all have to sit down on at the same time lest they collapse) that we've been sitting at for years, while the "grown-ups" sprawl out at the dining room table. Not that I'm complaining, because the kid's table is way more fun. Often at the other table there is absolute silence. No doubt they are listening in on our conversations.
As far as presents are concerned, there is a very organized system. All names are put into a hat at Thanksgiving, and everyone picks a name (couples count as one person), so everyone buys and receives one gift, with a price limit of $30. This year Tommy gave David and me two bottles of wine. Somehow we drew his name too. We got him a sweater. He is not easy to shop for.
Normally all of this is a very relaxing, good time. This year, it was utter chaos. Forty-three people, four babies cycling naps in two pack-n-plays upstairs, three toddlers running amok, a few tiny person meltdowns, harried parents waiting their turn for the changing table and trying to hold a conversation while balancing a baby and a gin and tonic, loved ones who haven't seen each other in two years trying to catch up with everyone and finding there just isn't the time. And family pictures. Oh, family pictures. These took place on Day Two, and, though worth it, were unbelievably stressful. Trying to coordinate that many people, seven of them under seven, is actually insane. It is actually insane. But I am glad we did it, because every single Townley was in that photo, and that is something.
So there you have it. Allow me to follow it up with some of those hard-earned family photos.
Our immediate family:
The great-grandbaby 2009 quartet:
Grandma, Grandpa, and their great granchildren:
The Townley military men, all in uniform for a photo. From left to right: my cousin Richard, a doctor in the air force, My grandfather, retired air force, My cousin David, army, special ops--shipping off to Afghanistan in March, Uncle Jim, Coast Guard, retired Captain of the Port of Portland, Oregon.
It's so amazing to think that the Townley family went from this:
To this:
To this:
What a Christmas.
So this is how it went.
Christmas Eve, as you know, is spent at my parents' house. It is one giant slumber party. (In the old days, all four girls slept in one bedroom, but now two of us are coupled and babied and in need of privacy, and the other two don't really have a desire to share a bed when there are plenty of beds in which they could stretch out and have a night free of kicking and fighting over the covers.) In the morning, we are awoken bright and early by my parents, who have been playing Santa as well as cooking breakfast downstairs. Now here's the embarrassing bit, because you knew there'd be one: We all have to sit and wait on the landing until they call us down. Yes. We do that. It used to be the four of us, waiting eagerly for the go-ahead while my parents held loud discussions downstairs ("Honey, did Santa come?" "I don't think so, dear, looks like he didn't make it this year, hardee har har.") Now it's six of us and two little ones, looking like we've been punched in the face from lack of sleep, slightly irritated that my parents still insist on videotaping us coming down the stairs.
(Let me just state for the record that in my twenties I made many, many attempts to get this tradition to go away. It is very hard not to feel silly as an adult sitting on top of the landing, hung over, waiting to be called downstairs while being videotaped in ridiculous Christmas jammies. But I've mellowed out a bit and accept it for what it is: the pure peculiarity of my family.)
When we come down, we open presents from my parents. There used to be a mountain of gifts, now, thankfully, there are just a few. Usually one slightly expensive thing my parents know we want and can't afford, and a few little things. The mountain of gifts has now moved onto the grandkids, in spite of my protests (We didn't even buy Jack any toys this year).
After the mountain has been conquered, there is breakfast. On the red Christmas dishes with the tree on them that only come out for this One Special Day. Like most traditions, breakfast gets more elaborate every year. Eggs, bacon, sausage, cinnamon rolls, pancakes, coffee, fresh squeezed orange juice (to put in the mimosas, duh), and hot chocolate were all on the table this year. I gain about twenty pounds on Christmas day alone. Afterward, we have to rush to do the dishes lest my mother do them all before we get there; then it's off to grandma's house.
We used to sleep over there on Christmas Day, but now there are simply too many of us. And besides, this year every bedroom was taken with out-of-town Townleys. Which means we had to make the hour drive there and back twice, but it was worth it.
Christmas at grandma's follows the same presents-then-stuff-your-face pattern as at home. But we saved the presents for day two this year, and went ahead with the face-stuffing both days. There is your typical Christmas feast, right down to the two twenty-pound turkeys my grandmother cooked up this year, all washed down with mulled cider and SoCo, wine, and champagne. There are two tables, the "adult's" table and the "kid's" table, so stated because the only children at the kid's table are our children. Over the years, the kid's table has grown as the cousins got married, and now have children, but we still sit at the same plastic fold-out table-cum-chairs combos (the kind you all have to sit down on at the same time lest they collapse) that we've been sitting at for years, while the "grown-ups" sprawl out at the dining room table. Not that I'm complaining, because the kid's table is way more fun. Often at the other table there is absolute silence. No doubt they are listening in on our conversations.
As far as presents are concerned, there is a very organized system. All names are put into a hat at Thanksgiving, and everyone picks a name (couples count as one person), so everyone buys and receives one gift, with a price limit of $30. This year Tommy gave David and me two bottles of wine. Somehow we drew his name too. We got him a sweater. He is not easy to shop for.
Normally all of this is a very relaxing, good time. This year, it was utter chaos. Forty-three people, four babies cycling naps in two pack-n-plays upstairs, three toddlers running amok, a few tiny person meltdowns, harried parents waiting their turn for the changing table and trying to hold a conversation while balancing a baby and a gin and tonic, loved ones who haven't seen each other in two years trying to catch up with everyone and finding there just isn't the time. And family pictures. Oh, family pictures. These took place on Day Two, and, though worth it, were unbelievably stressful. Trying to coordinate that many people, seven of them under seven, is actually insane. It is actually insane. But I am glad we did it, because every single Townley was in that photo, and that is something.
So there you have it. Allow me to follow it up with some of those hard-earned family photos.
Our immediate family:
The great-grandbaby 2009 quartet:
Grandma, Grandpa, and their great granchildren:
The Townley military men, all in uniform for a photo. From left to right: my cousin Richard, a doctor in the air force, My grandfather, retired air force, My cousin David, army, special ops--shipping off to Afghanistan in March, Uncle Jim, Coast Guard, retired Captain of the Port of Portland, Oregon.
It's so amazing to think that the Townley family went from this:
To this:
To this:
What a Christmas.
Friday, January 08, 2010
The Townley Christmas Extravaganza, Part One: Christmas Eve
Christmas, as I might have mentioned previously, was a tad bit overwhelming (in a good way) this year. It was a four day extravaganza, culminating in the Great Christmas Plague of '09. But before that, it was wonderful. I hereby present photographic evidence:
Christmas Eve
Always spent at my parents' house, Christmas Eve is full of family traditions, the newest one being the grandchildren (currently Jack and Brayden) opening their presents before bed:
The carnage
Cousins!
Once they're asleep, the real traditions begin. First, there is food. A lot of it. We eat it around the fire--elaborate appetizers and antipasto and eggnog with lots of hooch. While we eat, we have a final advent service (when we were little, we'd have advent as a family every Sunday for the four weeks before Christmas). We each (now with our partners) light one of the four candles (hope, joy, peace, and love), and Mom and Dad light the Christ Candle. Then we go around the room and share our happiest memory from the following year, and our greatest hope for the coming year.
Then the games begin. In an effort to keep us interested in games well into our thirties, and because my parents have money and none of us do, there are cash prizes. Yes, I am serious. The games on any given year can include word searches, name that Christmas tune, crossword puzzles, word scrambles, or many others. Winner of each gets $10. My mom always has a thick stack of tens, I kid you not. The biggest, and most embarrassing game, is the Nativity Hunt. What I am about to reveal is the great guilty pleasure of Christmas, in which four adult daughters (partners mostly refuse to participate; I wonder why?) regress to unprecedented childishness.
Basically my parents hide all the pieces from the nativity set. That's right. The shepherds, the wise men, Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus, angels and animals are all hidden somewhere in three rooms of the house. And we are to find them. For our efforts (shameful!) we get money. $10 for every piece, $20 for the baby Jesus, and $20 for the black wise man (in honor of Wes, who refuses to participate, again I wonder why?). I am deadly serious, my friends. We do this, and we do it with gusto. The competition is fierce. Sometimes there are accidents. Often there is muttered cursing. There have been efforts to bar me from the game because I am Jewish. But I participate because we Jews are, if anything, practical. And there is money involved (please, please pick up on the sarcastic nature of my monologue here, lest you be offended).
Once all pieces are found, and the money has been duly doled, we read the Christmas story. And for every piece one finds, one must tell that portion of the story. This year I hit pay dirt. I was lucky enough to recount not only Lo, the angel of the Lord bringing good tidings, but the tales of one of the (white) wise men, one donkey, Mary, and the baby Jesus. You read that right. I made $60 on the Christmas story. Jackpot!
After all the capitalist pig ruining of the true nature of Christmas, we sing carols. In five part harmony (also not a joke). The boys sing off key and quietly, all except for Wes, who has a mean tenor. Finally, we end the evening with presents. The daughters give their gifts to each other and to Mom and Dad. Because my parents' presents to us aren't opened until Christmas Day. Under the tree. Still. If you would like to stop reading my blog having learned this about my family, I understand. Even I am slightly repulsed.
Unfortunately I have no pictures of the evening's festivities beyond the babies and their presents, mainly because I was too intoxicated. So you'll just have to take me on my word that it is a rollicking good time.
Next up, Christmas Day. Stay tuned!
Christmas Eve
Always spent at my parents' house, Christmas Eve is full of family traditions, the newest one being the grandchildren (currently Jack and Brayden) opening their presents before bed:
The carnage
Cousins!
Once they're asleep, the real traditions begin. First, there is food. A lot of it. We eat it around the fire--elaborate appetizers and antipasto and eggnog with lots of hooch. While we eat, we have a final advent service (when we were little, we'd have advent as a family every Sunday for the four weeks before Christmas). We each (now with our partners) light one of the four candles (hope, joy, peace, and love), and Mom and Dad light the Christ Candle. Then we go around the room and share our happiest memory from the following year, and our greatest hope for the coming year.
Then the games begin. In an effort to keep us interested in games well into our thirties, and because my parents have money and none of us do, there are cash prizes. Yes, I am serious. The games on any given year can include word searches, name that Christmas tune, crossword puzzles, word scrambles, or many others. Winner of each gets $10. My mom always has a thick stack of tens, I kid you not. The biggest, and most embarrassing game, is the Nativity Hunt. What I am about to reveal is the great guilty pleasure of Christmas, in which four adult daughters (partners mostly refuse to participate; I wonder why?) regress to unprecedented childishness.
Basically my parents hide all the pieces from the nativity set. That's right. The shepherds, the wise men, Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus, angels and animals are all hidden somewhere in three rooms of the house. And we are to find them. For our efforts (shameful!) we get money. $10 for every piece, $20 for the baby Jesus, and $20 for the black wise man (in honor of Wes, who refuses to participate, again I wonder why?). I am deadly serious, my friends. We do this, and we do it with gusto. The competition is fierce. Sometimes there are accidents. Often there is muttered cursing. There have been efforts to bar me from the game because I am Jewish. But I participate because we Jews are, if anything, practical. And there is money involved (please, please pick up on the sarcastic nature of my monologue here, lest you be offended).
Once all pieces are found, and the money has been duly doled, we read the Christmas story. And for every piece one finds, one must tell that portion of the story. This year I hit pay dirt. I was lucky enough to recount not only Lo, the angel of the Lord bringing good tidings, but the tales of one of the (white) wise men, one donkey, Mary, and the baby Jesus. You read that right. I made $60 on the Christmas story. Jackpot!
After all the capitalist pig ruining of the true nature of Christmas, we sing carols. In five part harmony (also not a joke). The boys sing off key and quietly, all except for Wes, who has a mean tenor. Finally, we end the evening with presents. The daughters give their gifts to each other and to Mom and Dad. Because my parents' presents to us aren't opened until Christmas Day. Under the tree. Still. If you would like to stop reading my blog having learned this about my family, I understand. Even I am slightly repulsed.
Unfortunately I have no pictures of the evening's festivities beyond the babies and their presents, mainly because I was too intoxicated. So you'll just have to take me on my word that it is a rollicking good time.
Next up, Christmas Day. Stay tuned!
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Snowed In
Seeing as there is about three feet of snow outside my window, you would think this would be an opportune time for me to sit down and write out my New Years Plan of Refinding My Lost Self, but the Plan is still not finished. So instead, I'm off to dig myself out. Got me boots on and everything.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
The Great Christmas Plague: The Continuing Saga
So one virus has been traded for another, and now we've all got one hell of a collective cold. Poor Jack can't breathe and eat at the same time, so he takes a few frenzied sips from the bottle, throws it out of his mouth to take a few precious gulps of air, and then grabs it to eat some more. It is so pathetic and sweet.
New Years was quiet: dinner at the grandparents, midnight barely made at my parents, where we had a toast and crawled into bed. So far 2010 is not impressing me much. But this is okay--I like that it can only get better from here.
Tonight was the last night with my sisters before they fly to parts far away at the crack of dawn, goodbyes that make me wonder once again why families ever choose to live so far apart. We do manage to see each other quite a bit, but still, it's not the same as seeing someone all the time. It's more acute for me because my friends are scattered all over the world as well. I have not had a consolidated group of people consistently around me since college, and though I wouldn't trade my experiences and my international social group, sometimes I just wish the world were a smaller place.
There is much digression tonight. Blame it on the fact that my head feels like it's packed with cotton balls. Hope you all, wherever you are, are well and happy.
New Years was quiet: dinner at the grandparents, midnight barely made at my parents, where we had a toast and crawled into bed. So far 2010 is not impressing me much. But this is okay--I like that it can only get better from here.
Tonight was the last night with my sisters before they fly to parts far away at the crack of dawn, goodbyes that make me wonder once again why families ever choose to live so far apart. We do manage to see each other quite a bit, but still, it's not the same as seeing someone all the time. It's more acute for me because my friends are scattered all over the world as well. I have not had a consolidated group of people consistently around me since college, and though I wouldn't trade my experiences and my international social group, sometimes I just wish the world were a smaller place.
There is much digression tonight. Blame it on the fact that my head feels like it's packed with cotton balls. Hope you all, wherever you are, are well and happy.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
A New Decade
New Years Eve, in general, sucks. The pressure to make it something meaningful and lots of fun, while somehow marking the passage of time, raises expectations that are never met. I do best with a small group of friends and a large amount of alcohol. Last year's baby bump prevented the latter, and for that I had the most dull New Years of ever. This year I am recovering from the Great Christmas Plague, and I fear it won't be much better. Plus I have a baby. So the wild partying? Kind of out. Not that, if I actually had some wild friends around here, I wouldn't shove him on my parents (sorry Jack!) and go out, but seeing as I don't....yeah. Lets just say the day is here and plans are still up in the air.
While this decade was pretty amazing for me, 2009 was a pretty crap year to be honest. I know that's a horrible thing to say about the year in which my beautiful son was born, but it's the truth. It was the unhappiest year I've had in a long, long time, a year in which I seemed to sit by and watch as my youth, my freedom, and any beauty I might have had drifted--no, galloped--away. In their place is something infinitely more precious and irreplaceable, that I know. But there is an adjustment to be made, and make it I will in the coming year.
Here's hoping that 2010 kicks 2009's ass.
While this decade was pretty amazing for me, 2009 was a pretty crap year to be honest. I know that's a horrible thing to say about the year in which my beautiful son was born, but it's the truth. It was the unhappiest year I've had in a long, long time, a year in which I seemed to sit by and watch as my youth, my freedom, and any beauty I might have had drifted--no, galloped--away. In their place is something infinitely more precious and irreplaceable, that I know. But there is an adjustment to be made, and make it I will in the coming year.
Here's hoping that 2010 kicks 2009's ass.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Families share everything
A violent stomach virus has made its way through the 40 or so people who were in attendance at the two-day Townley Christmas Extravaganza. We were dropping like flies by Sunday night, when 15 cousins went out to a pub relatively healthy and 6 of them were fighting for the toilet by night's end. I am feeling much, much better today, but I still can't even think about food. Ugh.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Merry Christmas to all
I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas. Pictures of our insane Christmas are forthcoming, but for now I'll leave you with this gem from my childhood. If you're wondering which one is me, I'm the little girl that looks like a little boy.
Merry, merry, merry.
Merry, merry, merry.
Friday, December 18, 2009
People are here; people are coming
This is going to be a BIG Christmas. Have I mentioned that? All our Christmases are BIG. But this one will be exceptionally BIG. Not only are David's parents here to add to the festivities, but the entire Townley Clan (that being my mother's family) are gathering to celebrate this year. This is not so unusual--we spend every Christmas together, but there is always someone who can't make it. And this year nary a face will be missing, and four new faces will be added to the bunch. That's right, four new great-grandchildren were added to the family fold this year, all within a space of four months.
Therefore, around the Christmas table this year will be, in order of venerability:
My grandparents, who recently celebrated their 64th wedding anniversary (I know!)
Their five children and their spouses, all present except my dear Uncle Ken, who passed away of cancer in 2006.
Their thirteen grandchildren, nine of whom are bringing spouses or partners.
Their seven great-grandchildren, one five years old, one three, one 18 months, and the rest under a year.
David's lovely parents.
I believe that's around 4oish people? So like I said, Christmas will be BIG.
After we celebrate our small family Christmas (my parents, my sisters-and-spouses, our children, and the Napuks--more on the myriad traditions regarding this later), we will all caravan out to my grandparents' house on Christmas Day. For a few hours there will be appetizers, my grandma's mulled cider with Soco, and much drinking and visiting. Then there will be the opening of presents, an elaborate process that begins with everyone drawing a name the year before and culminating in the Great-Under-$30-Gift-Exchange on Christmas Day.
After that there will be the feast, with "adults" in the dining room and "kids" (most of whom are now over thirty, but whatever) at a large folding table in the living room (Thank God we finally convinced my grandmother we were all too large for the traditional foldaway plastic picnic tables last year). The "kids" table is by now much, much larger and louder than the "adults" table. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
After the feast, there are stories and toasts and other insanities, followed by dessert, followed by a gradual thinning of the crowd as some of us make our way home, and the rest head to one of the four bedrooms upstairs. We used to have a tradition of going to a movie on the evening of Christmas, but seeing as we now take up the entire theater, and we are so happy to be in each others' company, this year we will most likely stay in. And recover.
Therefore, around the Christmas table this year will be, in order of venerability:
My grandparents, who recently celebrated their 64th wedding anniversary (I know!)
Their five children and their spouses, all present except my dear Uncle Ken, who passed away of cancer in 2006.
Their thirteen grandchildren, nine of whom are bringing spouses or partners.
Their seven great-grandchildren, one five years old, one three, one 18 months, and the rest under a year.
David's lovely parents.
I believe that's around 4oish people? So like I said, Christmas will be BIG.
After we celebrate our small family Christmas (my parents, my sisters-and-spouses, our children, and the Napuks--more on the myriad traditions regarding this later), we will all caravan out to my grandparents' house on Christmas Day. For a few hours there will be appetizers, my grandma's mulled cider with Soco, and much drinking and visiting. Then there will be the opening of presents, an elaborate process that begins with everyone drawing a name the year before and culminating in the Great-Under-$30-Gift-Exchange on Christmas Day.
After that there will be the feast, with "adults" in the dining room and "kids" (most of whom are now over thirty, but whatever) at a large folding table in the living room (Thank God we finally convinced my grandmother we were all too large for the traditional foldaway plastic picnic tables last year). The "kids" table is by now much, much larger and louder than the "adults" table. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
After the feast, there are stories and toasts and other insanities, followed by dessert, followed by a gradual thinning of the crowd as some of us make our way home, and the rest head to one of the four bedrooms upstairs. We used to have a tradition of going to a movie on the evening of Christmas, but seeing as we now take up the entire theater, and we are so happy to be in each others' company, this year we will most likely stay in. And recover.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Two seconds then I'm out...
...but first a post. I have a few fleeting moments before Jack eats lunch, another round of laundry finishes in the dryer, and my dad arrives to help me string Christmas lights. After that there's a last minute cleaning frenzy, and then David's parents arrive for three weeks. I am attempting to not be Easily Overwhelmed, and am even feeling a bit zen. But just a bit.
Oops! Took too long to write this. Baby's crying for his food.
Oops! Took too long to write this. Baby's crying for his food.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Childcare and such
So I found someone to watch Jack. It was fate, I tell you. The other day I finally realized that I had to do something, had to find just two or three hours a day, a few times a week, in order to preserve my fraying sanity. So I typed "childcare Cleveland" into google and sat back to await my salvation. I have typed those words in many, many times and come up with all sorts of daycares, all too expensive or too scary sounding (I watch you're kids for you. CHEAP!) . But this time a craigslist ad, posted only two days before, popped up. Lilly, a stay-at-home mom of an eleven-month-old boy, looking to supplement her income by taking a few other children into her home. Two blocks away from my home. For $8 an hour. An early childhood education major who wasn't ready to formally go back to work. (And Jewish!) I called her. We met. She's perfect.
So yesterday was the big day. I took Jack over, planning on running errands for two hours. We'd spent about an hour or so there the day before, and he was laughing and playing with her, smiling when I left. So I ran to get some Christmas shopping done, only to have her call me an hour later. Apparently Jack had started crying right after I left, and hadn't stopped. She had tried everything, but he was inconsolable. She worried he had an upset tummy. But, lo and behold, as soon as I walked in the door, he was fine.
I honestly thought it was too early for separation anxiety. And I've left him before, but always with family members he knows really well. I should have had a bit more respect for him I suppose, as a developing personality and an intelligent baby. He's just so mellow, so happy to be passed from stranger to stranger (so long as he can see me I now realize) that it never occurred to me there would be a problem. Although I must admit it is a thrill to know just how important I am to him, considering he doesn't show much preference for me above other people normally. But still. I stayed for an hour, letting Lilly hold him, and then snuck out again for a half hour, and he was asleep when I got back. Today we'll take it slow again. Here's hoping.
So yesterday was the big day. I took Jack over, planning on running errands for two hours. We'd spent about an hour or so there the day before, and he was laughing and playing with her, smiling when I left. So I ran to get some Christmas shopping done, only to have her call me an hour later. Apparently Jack had started crying right after I left, and hadn't stopped. She had tried everything, but he was inconsolable. She worried he had an upset tummy. But, lo and behold, as soon as I walked in the door, he was fine.
I honestly thought it was too early for separation anxiety. And I've left him before, but always with family members he knows really well. I should have had a bit more respect for him I suppose, as a developing personality and an intelligent baby. He's just so mellow, so happy to be passed from stranger to stranger (so long as he can see me I now realize) that it never occurred to me there would be a problem. Although I must admit it is a thrill to know just how important I am to him, considering he doesn't show much preference for me above other people normally. But still. I stayed for an hour, letting Lilly hold him, and then snuck out again for a half hour, and he was asleep when I got back. Today we'll take it slow again. Here's hoping.
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
I did my best...
...to add a little Hanukkah spirit. It's been very tough finding time to post these days. Jack is in a new phase, whereby he wants me to hold him every single second. Not for security or affection, mind, but simply because he isn't crawling yet and I am to be his transport as he moves from place to place, preferably every ten minutes. If I'm lucky. I understand that all babies are like this, but are all mothers like me? The ten hours a day I spend alone with him go so slowly it's maddening. And I know, I know, that one day I will long for these sweet, simple days, to have all the time in the world to look at him and kiss him and squeeze him. But knowing that doesn't make it any easier for me. He is the world, and the moon and the stars and all that, but he can be pretty fucking boring sometimes. Meaning he requires 99% of my attention, but only about 1% of my concentration, so that I am insanely busy and mind-crushingly bored for a lot of hours during the day. I am in awe of the stay-at-homes who love it and do it well. Meanwhile I'm looking for some part time childcare. Because it's time.
For your enjoyment, thanks to Brooke, I have discovered what may be the best movie coming out in 2010. Check it out:
For your enjoyment, thanks to Brooke, I have discovered what may be the best movie coming out in 2010. Check it out:
Sunday, December 06, 2009
I'm no web design expert.
Basically I cobble together what little knowledge I have to make my site sort of pretty. But I have been unable to find a Hanukkah blog background. There are Christmas ones galore, and considering my secret (okay, not so secret) love for all things Christmas that's not a problem, and forsooth this blog shall be Christmasy with apologies to my fellow chosen people, but Hanukkah comes before Christmas and I'd like to give it a little bloggy love as well. So, anyone know where I can find me a Jewy festival of lights blog background?
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Aftermath
It's quiet around here again. I had a loud, crazy, fun weekend that ended just as quickly as it began. I would be bereft if I didn't know that in three short weeks everyone is coming back. It made Thanksgiving that much more wonderful. So did this:
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Happy Thanksgiving
I'm going to be absent from the Internet for the next few days as the hurricane that is my three sisters prepares to touch down for Thanksgiving. It will be great fun as always, but also as always the day before their arrival is a bit rough. This is due to the fact that my parents go into meltdown mode as they try, desperately, to prepare their empty nest to be filled to capacity. Staying this year: Jack and I, with David dividing time between our house and my parents', plus my older sister Anne, my younger sister Sara, her husband Wes, their 18-month-old Brayden, my baby sister Melissa, and Anne's good friend Rebecca. The matter of where to put everybody has been discussed in great detail and with considerable volume. Anne and I were the first to arrive home, and I'm afraid we've already turned on each other.
Still, the fury only lasts a few hours, and before you know it, everyone is here and there is too much joy to allow much room for fights (though we do fit in a few good ones normally). Tomorrow marks the beginning of my favorite time of year (I can hear groans coming at me from all directions. Yes, I love the holidays. LOVE them.) So my posting may be sporadic. For now, let me just wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving. And here's a little something I'm thankful for:
Still, the fury only lasts a few hours, and before you know it, everyone is here and there is too much joy to allow much room for fights (though we do fit in a few good ones normally). Tomorrow marks the beginning of my favorite time of year (I can hear groans coming at me from all directions. Yes, I love the holidays. LOVE them.) So my posting may be sporadic. For now, let me just wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving. And here's a little something I'm thankful for:
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
The Weight of a Thousand Small Tasks
I named this blog Bex, Perplexed because that's kind of how I feel most of the time. Not confused, but perplexed. So this is life, eh? Hmmmmm.
But I think a name that might be more apt these days is Easily Overwhelmed. Because that is what I realized I am. I feel completely paralyzed lately by a mounting to-do list, and a nameless discomfort that I carry around everywhere. If you know me, than you know I am more than a little obsessed with order and maintaining it, but that I also happen to be very bad at maintaining it. Imagine if you will a person with OCD who is also horrible at cleaning and you have me, ever trapped in a cycle of can't-function-because-of-the-chaos and can't-organize-the-chaos-in-order-to-function. So I do nothing.
The things that are currently overwhelming me, in no particular order:
Behold my list! Take that, Chaos!
But I think a name that might be more apt these days is Easily Overwhelmed. Because that is what I realized I am. I feel completely paralyzed lately by a mounting to-do list, and a nameless discomfort that I carry around everywhere. If you know me, than you know I am more than a little obsessed with order and maintaining it, but that I also happen to be very bad at maintaining it. Imagine if you will a person with OCD who is also horrible at cleaning and you have me, ever trapped in a cycle of can't-function-because-of-the-chaos and can't-organize-the-chaos-in-order-to-function. So I do nothing.
The things that are currently overwhelming me, in no particular order:
- My house. Okay, so maybe this is in order because this, friends, is number one. The state of my house directly mirrors my emotional state and apparently my emotional state is cluttered, filthy, and unfinished. Because that is how I feel about my house. I hate the colors I painted it, I hate that I never finished getting it the way I wanted it, I hate the piles of junk mail and electronic gadgets and baby paraphernalia, and most of all I hate that I can't make myself do anything about it. It's like I've given up, and am letting it return to the earth. It even smells.
- My weight. This will eventually get a post all to itself, but for now let me just say that I have not lost a pound since the twenty I lost two weeks after giving birth. Not. A. Pound. And along with my former body, all impulse control has disappeared and I can't seem to control what I put into my mouth. What is that about?
- Writing. This is kind of a secondary infection, as it's actually all the other crap in my head that keeps me from writing. I sit at my computer and think about how I want to change my dining room, what art I want on the walls, where to find curtains I can afford, and I can't clear my mind enough to slip into that vivid and continuous dream that must be creating a story. Which, of course, overwhelms me more.
- Blogging. Again, something for another post, but in a lot of ways blogging is like high school in that, while opening up entire new avenues for friendship, learning, and self-expression, it can also open up new feelings of rejection, misunderstanding, and self-doubt. When I am healthy, grown-up me, this isn't a problem. When I am overwhelmed, paralyzed me, sometimes blogging feels like a big birthday party I didn't get invited to. Silly? Yes. True? Unfortunately.
- Random tasks I have yet to accomplish. Getting Jack's British passport. Refinancing my house. Communicating with the IRS. Grocery shopping. All equally important in their way, all waiting to be accomplished. OVERWHELMED!
Behold my list! Take that, Chaos!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Fight for Preemies Day
I couldn't let this day pass without posting a link to the March of Dimes. Today is Fight for Preemies Day, an effort to raise awareness about premature births, of which there are around 500,000 in the U.S. every year. That's just over 12% of all births--12%! Prematurity is the leading cause of disability and death for newborns, and according to the March of Dimes the U.S.--supposedly land of the greatest healthcare people can afford--scores a D in caring for these little ones. My state, Ohio, scores an F. Wow.
So I post this in honor of my friend Jason and his family. They are one of the lucky ones. Their twins were born on August 30, 2008, at 26 weeks. Parker was 1 lb 12 oz and 13 3/8 inches long. Emma Jane was 1 lb. 13 oz and 13 3/8 inches long. Here they are with their Daddy:
They were in the hospital for three months, struggling with underdeveloped lungs and a host of other problems, but they were blessed. Unlike so many others, they thrived.
To give you an idea of how they thrived, here are some newborn shots, and year-later shots for a little perspective.
Parker and her monkey:
Emma and her owl:
And the girls now:
So I post this in honor of my friend Jason and his family. They are one of the lucky ones. Their twins were born on August 30, 2008, at 26 weeks. Parker was 1 lb 12 oz and 13 3/8 inches long. Emma Jane was 1 lb. 13 oz and 13 3/8 inches long. Here they are with their Daddy:
They were in the hospital for three months, struggling with underdeveloped lungs and a host of other problems, but they were blessed. Unlike so many others, they thrived.
To give you an idea of how they thrived, here are some newborn shots, and year-later shots for a little perspective.
Parker and her monkey:
Emma and her owl:
And the girls now:
I'm so happy for them, that they are healthy and happy and strong. But there are so, so many who aren't. So I'll be heading over to the March of Dimes and donating in Emma Jane and Parkers' names. You can too, if you want.
So I'm a little behind
I've only got 10,000 words, and the month is half over. But hey, that's 10,000 more words than I had before I started, right? The glass is half-full, my friends. Or at least one-fifth of the way full.
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