When mom and dad were too engrossed in conversation to get bedtime started, the girls took it upon themselves to snuggle up with their library books behind our bed.
bearing witness to the fleeting moments of growing two little girls, an edible backyard, a baby-to-be, chickens, and a novel
Friday, July 31, 2009
Photo Friday - Sisters
When mom and dad were too engrossed in conversation to get bedtime started, the girls took it upon themselves to snuggle up with their library books behind our bed.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
The Great Crib Escape
I've said it before and I'll say it again, almost-2 and just-past-4 are really wonderful ages to parent. The girls play well together most of the time, they aren't as wobbly as they once were but not quite as daring as they will be so mortal danger is not such a pervasive worry (slightly).
And they sleep.
Oh, I know, other parents have sleepers from day one... or month three... or whatever. I did not.
Maya still wakes up at some point each night to crawl in bed with us, though it doesn't even rouse us anymore. Elliot has slept uninterrupted since January, most nights anyway. Both are early risers, usually waking around 7, but they go to bed around 8 without much resistance, giving us entire evenings to enjoy ourselves.
Of course we know this easy-going stage can't last for long. Elliot is almost 2, and she's a big almost 2 (95% in height and 75% in weight, when we last checked). The big kid bed will be necessary pretty soon, and then all naptime and bedtime rituals veer precariously off kilter.
When we transitioned Maya, weeks of bedtimes were spent listening to her banging on the (locked... I'm a little sheepish to say) bedroom door. Or listening to the eery quiet in her bedroom and wondering what project she was working on. Once we found her covered, head to nearly ruined carpet, in Vaseline. Another time we couldn't get in the room to check on her, as she had fallen asleep right in front of the door, like a kitten.
For a time, we had lost our evenings again.
Ugh.
I was hoping to put it off until this fall, but earlier this week, we heard something we've been listening for since she started walking last July.
THUNK. Followed by a panicky wail.
She attempted a jail break, and it ended poorly. Not emergency room poorly; it was just a typical goose-egg-type fall.
Thankfully, the THUNK made an impression on her. Before tucking her in, I now reminder her, "Don't climb out or you'll get another owie." To which she responds, "I fall doooown. My owie stiwl hewts." (a.k.a. still hurts in Elle-ish).
We might be able to ride this wave of calm, patterned sleep for a while, but the Big Girl Bed looms before us. One more thunk, or the next family birthday, and we'll be there, where once again all bets are off... for a time.
And they sleep.
Oh, I know, other parents have sleepers from day one... or month three... or whatever. I did not.
Maya still wakes up at some point each night to crawl in bed with us, though it doesn't even rouse us anymore. Elliot has slept uninterrupted since January, most nights anyway. Both are early risers, usually waking around 7, but they go to bed around 8 without much resistance, giving us entire evenings to enjoy ourselves.
Of course we know this easy-going stage can't last for long. Elliot is almost 2, and she's a big almost 2 (95% in height and 75% in weight, when we last checked). The big kid bed will be necessary pretty soon, and then all naptime and bedtime rituals veer precariously off kilter.
When we transitioned Maya, weeks of bedtimes were spent listening to her banging on the (locked... I'm a little sheepish to say) bedroom door. Or listening to the eery quiet in her bedroom and wondering what project she was working on. Once we found her covered, head to nearly ruined carpet, in Vaseline. Another time we couldn't get in the room to check on her, as she had fallen asleep right in front of the door, like a kitten.
For a time, we had lost our evenings again.
Ugh.
I was hoping to put it off until this fall, but earlier this week, we heard something we've been listening for since she started walking last July.
THUNK. Followed by a panicky wail.
She attempted a jail break, and it ended poorly. Not emergency room poorly; it was just a typical goose-egg-type fall.
Thankfully, the THUNK made an impression on her. Before tucking her in, I now reminder her, "Don't climb out or you'll get another owie." To which she responds, "I fall doooown. My owie stiwl hewts." (a.k.a. still hurts in Elle-ish).
We might be able to ride this wave of calm, patterned sleep for a while, but the Big Girl Bed looms before us. One more thunk, or the next family birthday, and we'll be there, where once again all bets are off... for a time.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Outlined-ish
I can see Upturned Stones unfolding before me. A week of long walks, plus a month of daydreaming, and I think I have a reasonable grip on the story, and the scenes critical to helping that story unfold.
To be fair, my grip isn't as ephemeral as I would like it to sound. It doesn't seem quite as artsy to say I have an excel-style spreadsheet with a scene-by-scene road map for the book.
Yeah, my mathy husband is awfully pleased at how mathy I've made my writing process.
But, I'm just learning. I'm experimenting, really. With my first novel, I began with the hyper-organized Snowflake Method, but ditched it in favor of my poor, underdeveloped muse. I attempted to get a grip on the characters and a general sense of where the story could go, leaving the rest up to intuition, inspiration, and caffeine. It didn't work out very well. The result was a meandering mess that veered so far from the story I really wanted to tell, that I have sidelined both the manuscript and an outline for the second draft for some future surge of inspiration, intuition, and caffeine.
In other words, it stunk.
So as stuffy and systematic as the Snowflake Method is, I'm going to give it another go, all the way through, and see where it puts me. So far, I really like how the story is shaping up, I still love my characters, and there is a lot of mystery in how the scenes will unfold. There are a few bits of research to complete along the way, and certainly there is room for future changes as necessary.
I'm not worried about getting bored with the writing... which starts today. Scene 1... The Murderess.
Off I go then.
To be fair, my grip isn't as ephemeral as I would like it to sound. It doesn't seem quite as artsy to say I have an excel-style spreadsheet with a scene-by-scene road map for the book.
Yeah, my mathy husband is awfully pleased at how mathy I've made my writing process.
But, I'm just learning. I'm experimenting, really. With my first novel, I began with the hyper-organized Snowflake Method, but ditched it in favor of my poor, underdeveloped muse. I attempted to get a grip on the characters and a general sense of where the story could go, leaving the rest up to intuition, inspiration, and caffeine. It didn't work out very well. The result was a meandering mess that veered so far from the story I really wanted to tell, that I have sidelined both the manuscript and an outline for the second draft for some future surge of inspiration, intuition, and caffeine.
In other words, it stunk.
So as stuffy and systematic as the Snowflake Method is, I'm going to give it another go, all the way through, and see where it puts me. So far, I really like how the story is shaping up, I still love my characters, and there is a lot of mystery in how the scenes will unfold. There are a few bits of research to complete along the way, and certainly there is room for future changes as necessary.
I'm not worried about getting bored with the writing... which starts today. Scene 1... The Murderess.
Off I go then.
The Gatherers
Our girls are so similar. We notice it more now, as Elliot's language skills really let her personality shine, and as we get to know other families whose young children sport radically different personalities. An introvert and an extrovert. A bully and a lapkid. A watcher and a talker.
In contrast, our girls are tumbling bursts of complementary energies, not always bursting in the same direction, but always on the move, inquisitive, and electrifying.
They share the same endearing, outgoing exuberance for whatever activity is at hand. They both demonstrate an iron forged will and passionate advocacy for their own needs, traits that have been handed down through the women in my family for generations.
And much to my joy, they both share my enthusiasm and impatience with the garden.
This outlandishly cool year has us harvesting in fits and starts. We gather some goodies, and then we are forced to wait... to roost.
We have had a really lovely bounty of brightly accented Northern Lights Swiss Chard, which has livened up some of our pasta dishes and complemented a few salads.
Maya just discovered the carrot patch, pulling a few each day and barely rinsing them before taking a bite. They are small and tender and sweet, so I can hardly blame her for hoarding them all to herself.
The sugar snap peas, it seems, she is wiling to share. She taught Elliot how to carefully hold the pea plant while pulling off the crisp sweet fruit. Poor tenderhearted kid, she brings me the casualties, newly dismembered vines, with somber reverence, head bowed, saying, "I'm so sorry, mama. We'll be more careful."
Of course, then she runs back to show Elliot how to wipe the peas on her shirt and take a bite of its sweet crispness.
Maya has scavenged a few cucumbers and several squash too. She checks the blossoms on the pole beans daily hoping to find a bean to pick. Not yet, though, not yet.
So we harvest, and we wait for more. I reshuffle my list of showy tomato recipes, and I wait. We watch the tomato plans grow heavy, weary with their abundant green fruit, just waiting to turn red. Waiting and waiting. I may have to break down and try my hand at fried green tomatoes soon. This suspense is torture.
Luckily, the girls can bide their time on the swing set. It is newly spruced up with fresh support beams, a few bags of QuickCrete, and a whole extra swing to accommodate little visitors. So that's where we've been this quiet week. Waiting, watching, swinging, and gathering.
In contrast, our girls are tumbling bursts of complementary energies, not always bursting in the same direction, but always on the move, inquisitive, and electrifying.
They share the same endearing, outgoing exuberance for whatever activity is at hand. They both demonstrate an iron forged will and passionate advocacy for their own needs, traits that have been handed down through the women in my family for generations.
And much to my joy, they both share my enthusiasm and impatience with the garden.
This outlandishly cool year has us harvesting in fits and starts. We gather some goodies, and then we are forced to wait... to roost.
We have had a really lovely bounty of brightly accented Northern Lights Swiss Chard, which has livened up some of our pasta dishes and complemented a few salads.
Maya just discovered the carrot patch, pulling a few each day and barely rinsing them before taking a bite. They are small and tender and sweet, so I can hardly blame her for hoarding them all to herself.
The sugar snap peas, it seems, she is wiling to share. She taught Elliot how to carefully hold the pea plant while pulling off the crisp sweet fruit. Poor tenderhearted kid, she brings me the casualties, newly dismembered vines, with somber reverence, head bowed, saying, "I'm so sorry, mama. We'll be more careful."
Of course, then she runs back to show Elliot how to wipe the peas on her shirt and take a bite of its sweet crispness.
Maya has scavenged a few cucumbers and several squash too. She checks the blossoms on the pole beans daily hoping to find a bean to pick. Not yet, though, not yet.
So we harvest, and we wait for more. I reshuffle my list of showy tomato recipes, and I wait. We watch the tomato plans grow heavy, weary with their abundant green fruit, just waiting to turn red. Waiting and waiting. I may have to break down and try my hand at fried green tomatoes soon. This suspense is torture.
Luckily, the girls can bide their time on the swing set. It is newly spruced up with fresh support beams, a few bags of QuickCrete, and a whole extra swing to accommodate little visitors. So that's where we've been this quiet week. Waiting, watching, swinging, and gathering.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Photo Friday - Summer Days
Each day this week, we took at least one meandering walk to the park. The girls lead the way through hidden trails in the tiny wilderness area at the center of our backyard park, inspecting rocks, identifying tree monsters, and pretending we were Peter Pan, Wendy, and John.
Poor sweet knees and elbows... ever the casualties of summer adventuring... Elle's a tough cookie though, brushing herself off and shouting, "I fall down!" with astonishment though it happens at least once an hour.
As a reward for their classic summer revelry, they received a classic summer indulgence: dessert before dinner... an ice cream cone in the back yard.... mmmmm.
Poor sweet knees and elbows... ever the casualties of summer adventuring... Elle's a tough cookie though, brushing herself off and shouting, "I fall down!" with astonishment though it happens at least once an hour.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Time Warps
I read somewhere recently that motherhood is like being a time traveler. I, being a sci-fi dork, totally see that. The time warps are endless.
Yes, time goes fast, but that's expected. The unexpected, what no one warns you about, are the sudden and shocking jumps from one sense of "normal" to the next.
To distract your from my too-long post, here are pictures of Maya wearing the Mexican peasant dress Grandma got her in Mexico to Don Pablo's, where she spontaneously erupted into dance when the Latin music got especially exciting. She is also sporting a hand made, newspaper hat crafted at the Children's museum. I hear whispers of future high school blackmail!
The first jump, of course, is the leap into parenthood. After months of focusing on baby room decor and Lamaze techniques, the birth process is just... just done.... and these people expect you to take care of this baby.
Your baby... because you are her parents. Wow!
No science fiction series can capture the surrealism in that, but every parent knows.
Even after that huge transition of becoming someone's parent, the fault lines in time haven't finished.
Sure, you may have grown from a sleep deprived, emotional automaton that takes 15 minutes to wiggle a diaper onto a shrieking newborn and another hour to calm her. You've grown into the sort of parent with four strategically placed diaper bags stocked against the inevitability of a blow out, allowing you to leave the house on short notice with some composure and a reasonable chance of enjoying yourself.
Then, when you have a firm hold on this baby thing, and you're finally able to relax with the newspaper, your baby suddenly toddles over with your coffee cup, dark liquid sloshing onto the white carpet, and says "here mama."
Eek, a toddler.... new rules.
And so it goes. A leap here, and your clingy toddler suddenly wants you out of the way so she can earnestly play with her playdate. A jump there and your little preschooler is about to have a sibling... gasp... back to the baby stage, this time with two!
The leaps catch me off guard every time. Star Trek's Scotty seems to have a bit of a devious streak in my world, and he beams my girls up a stage so quick that - blink - I barely have time to register the change before they're on to the next one.
I open my eyes and suddenly, Maya is one of the big kids, biking bravely ahead of me as I push Elliot through the park. By the time I catch up, Maya has her little red "gravel crusher" bike parked in the rack, helmet strung over one handle bar, and she's following a friend into the building where her morning camp will be held all week.
So we've jumped again. I have a big kid in my house! I couldn't be more proud... or disoriented...
Yes, time goes fast, but that's expected. The unexpected, what no one warns you about, are the sudden and shocking jumps from one sense of "normal" to the next.
To distract your from my too-long post, here are pictures of Maya wearing the Mexican peasant dress Grandma got her in Mexico to Don Pablo's, where she spontaneously erupted into dance when the Latin music got especially exciting. She is also sporting a hand made, newspaper hat crafted at the Children's museum. I hear whispers of future high school blackmail!The first jump, of course, is the leap into parenthood. After months of focusing on baby room decor and Lamaze techniques, the birth process is just... just done.... and these people expect you to take care of this baby.
Your baby... because you are her parents. Wow!
No science fiction series can capture the surrealism in that, but every parent knows.
Even after that huge transition of becoming someone's parent, the fault lines in time haven't finished.
Sure, you may have grown from a sleep deprived, emotional automaton that takes 15 minutes to wiggle a diaper onto a shrieking newborn and another hour to calm her. You've grown into the sort of parent with four strategically placed diaper bags stocked against the inevitability of a blow out, allowing you to leave the house on short notice with some composure and a reasonable chance of enjoying yourself.
Then, when you have a firm hold on this baby thing, and you're finally able to relax with the newspaper, your baby suddenly toddles over with your coffee cup, dark liquid sloshing onto the white carpet, and says "here mama."
Eek, a toddler.... new rules.
And so it goes. A leap here, and your clingy toddler suddenly wants you out of the way so she can earnestly play with her playdate. A jump there and your little preschooler is about to have a sibling... gasp... back to the baby stage, this time with two!
The leaps catch me off guard every time. Star Trek's Scotty seems to have a bit of a devious streak in my world, and he beams my girls up a stage so quick that - blink - I barely have time to register the change before they're on to the next one.
I open my eyes and suddenly, Maya is one of the big kids, biking bravely ahead of me as I push Elliot through the park. By the time I catch up, Maya has her little red "gravel crusher" bike parked in the rack, helmet strung over one handle bar, and she's following a friend into the building where her morning camp will be held all week.
So we've jumped again. I have a big kid in my house! I couldn't be more proud... or disoriented...
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Bounded Knowledge
This week I'm quietly researching the details of Upturned Stones. I've been digging up details of Feminist Wiccan traditions, pagan rituals, crystal and stone enchantments, and ground-breaking foody inventions. Odd, huh?
As usual, I find it difficult not to get pulled away from the story and into the details of whatever I'm learning about. To prevent against that, I've been taking frequent breaks from the research. I read a bit of material, then take a walk or play sand box cafe with my girls while working out how this new information adds to or detracts from the story.
I'm trying to learn just enough to back up my characters and fill out the minor conflicts, but not so much that I end up bounded by the information. Or overwhelmed by the need to stay true to bigger, real-world concepts. It will be easier to draft this puppy if most of the details can come from my own imagination and decaying memory of feminist philosophy, rather than volumes of research.
Next week, my four year old will be engaged in a morning summer camp, so hopefully I can wander around the neighborhood with my two-year old in the stroller, working out the last bit of the outline in time for a major August push on the first draft.
Progress continues, though it is slow.
As usual, I find it difficult not to get pulled away from the story and into the details of whatever I'm learning about. To prevent against that, I've been taking frequent breaks from the research. I read a bit of material, then take a walk or play sand box cafe with my girls while working out how this new information adds to or detracts from the story.
I'm trying to learn just enough to back up my characters and fill out the minor conflicts, but not so much that I end up bounded by the information. Or overwhelmed by the need to stay true to bigger, real-world concepts. It will be easier to draft this puppy if most of the details can come from my own imagination and decaying memory of feminist philosophy, rather than volumes of research.
Next week, my four year old will be engaged in a morning summer camp, so hopefully I can wander around the neighborhood with my two-year old in the stroller, working out the last bit of the outline in time for a major August push on the first draft.
Progress continues, though it is slow.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Family Rituals: The Daddy Walk
"What is the Daddy Walk," asked our new neighbor, his curiosity piqued by the girls' incessant wheedling.
"Is it time?" They beg before dashing back to their friend's sandbox. "Can we go, yet?" They plead before pushing their friend's pink barbie scooter in another circle around the driveway.
Like all great rituals, The Daddy Walk was born of necessity, though I didn't explain that to the neighbor. When the timing works out, Joe hops on a bus just a block down the street. The Daddy Walk is our rush to meet Daddy at the stop with as much fanfare and cheer as he can stand.
Our new neighbor seemed a little baffled, even as he scooted his own brood into the house for dinner. Admittedly, we were making a chaotic spectacle of our departure. I strapped bike helmets on both girls, got them on their bikes, and then realized the stove was still on... with a gas range that is literally playing with fire, even if we're only going a block. After a couple of quick trips in and out, (drink of water for one, kleenex for the other's runny nose) we're finally off.
Maya is perfecting her bike skills, cautious as ever and more than a little afraid of inclines of any kind. Elliot, thinking Maya is just the coolest, insists on riding her own bike, though her legs aren't quite long enough to push the peddles.
As usual, we time our disorganized effort perfectly. We reach the corner just as the most exciting city bus in the metro pulls up to the stop. Both girls cheer as it drives off, and mimic daddy's wild waves as he crosses the street to them.
Can you guess what necessity prompted such a lovely welcome home, this ritual that our little family indulges in several times a week?
That's right... The Witching Hour, as my Great-Grandma Alice called it. That insufferable hour just before dinner when the kids are squirrelly and no matter how wonderful our day has been, it all begins to unravel. I begin to stare out the window with the girls, hoping to will daddy home so he can whisk them away, and I can make dinner in peace, preferably with a glass of wine. One particularly exhausting day, I just couldn't wait the extra 5 minutes, and The Daddy Walk was born... I didn't know it at the time, but it was definitely a happy accident!
"Is it time?" They beg before dashing back to their friend's sandbox. "Can we go, yet?" They plead before pushing their friend's pink barbie scooter in another circle around the driveway.
Like all great rituals, The Daddy Walk was born of necessity, though I didn't explain that to the neighbor. When the timing works out, Joe hops on a bus just a block down the street. The Daddy Walk is our rush to meet Daddy at the stop with as much fanfare and cheer as he can stand.
Our new neighbor seemed a little baffled, even as he scooted his own brood into the house for dinner. Admittedly, we were making a chaotic spectacle of our departure. I strapped bike helmets on both girls, got them on their bikes, and then realized the stove was still on... with a gas range that is literally playing with fire, even if we're only going a block. After a couple of quick trips in and out, (drink of water for one, kleenex for the other's runny nose) we're finally off.
Maya is perfecting her bike skills, cautious as ever and more than a little afraid of inclines of any kind. Elliot, thinking Maya is just the coolest, insists on riding her own bike, though her legs aren't quite long enough to push the peddles.
As usual, we time our disorganized effort perfectly. We reach the corner just as the most exciting city bus in the metro pulls up to the stop. Both girls cheer as it drives off, and mimic daddy's wild waves as he crosses the street to them.
Can you guess what necessity prompted such a lovely welcome home, this ritual that our little family indulges in several times a week?That's right... The Witching Hour, as my Great-Grandma Alice called it. That insufferable hour just before dinner when the kids are squirrelly and no matter how wonderful our day has been, it all begins to unravel. I begin to stare out the window with the girls, hoping to will daddy home so he can whisk them away, and I can make dinner in peace, preferably with a glass of wine. One particularly exhausting day, I just couldn't wait the extra 5 minutes, and The Daddy Walk was born... I didn't know it at the time, but it was definitely a happy accident!
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Erratic Migration of Painted Lady Butterflies
This weekend, our family was responsible for a forced butterfly migration.
It was practically a hostage situation!
Maya tenderly holding Delainey.
Well, no, not really. For Maya's birthday, we bought her an Insect Lore Butterfly Garden. With great fanfare, Maya unwrapped a box containing the garden, essentially a mesh cage, and a post card coupon. Our caterpillars arrived a couple of weeks after the coupon was sent in, just as our family scattered away on multiple road trips.
Good thing our neighbor rescued the poor bugs from our steamy metal mailbox.
Daddy teaching Maya to skip rocks in spite of 60 degree weather.
When we met them, the yellow and green caterpillars were already spinning their cocoons. Layer by translucent layer, they built beautiful, iridescent homes right before our eyes.
All the while we prepared for yet another road trip. The poor caterpillars were due to complete their transition at any time, and we certainly didn't want to miss the big day. So into the car they went.
Grandma acquiescing to Elliot's demands: "I want some more Mercy Watson!"
These easy-going bugs were well-behaved if somewhat unorthodox house guests. In fact, when they emerged on Saturday and Sunday, they offered endless entertainment for crowds of people at a few different family gatherings. They met baby Delainey, along with three sets of Maya's grandparents and one set of great grandparents.
Our sweet new cousin.
Unfortunately, I never did get a great picture of our Painted Lady Butterflies, which are just as colorful but slightly smaller than Monarchs. So this stock photo will have to stand in for me.
They now reside somewhere in our garden; thankful, I'm sure to be free of the frightening avalanche of over-packed chaos in the back of our car.
Joe leading the girls into the garden for the great release.
The last butterfly in flight, gleefully escaping the rather flimsy mesh transport vehicle that at one time or another was crushed by falling pillows, bunny crackers, and a Mercy Watson book.
The best thing is, we can send away for more caterpillers at any time, and keep the entertainment going. Or switch it up and raise tad poles or lady bugs next time.
It was practically a hostage situation!
Maya tenderly holding Delainey.Good thing our neighbor rescued the poor bugs from our steamy metal mailbox.
Daddy teaching Maya to skip rocks in spite of 60 degree weather.When we met them, the yellow and green caterpillars were already spinning their cocoons. Layer by translucent layer, they built beautiful, iridescent homes right before our eyes.
All the while we prepared for yet another road trip. The poor caterpillars were due to complete their transition at any time, and we certainly didn't want to miss the big day. So into the car they went.
Grandma acquiescing to Elliot's demands: "I want some more Mercy Watson!"These easy-going bugs were well-behaved if somewhat unorthodox house guests. In fact, when they emerged on Saturday and Sunday, they offered endless entertainment for crowds of people at a few different family gatherings. They met baby Delainey, along with three sets of Maya's grandparents and one set of great grandparents.
Our sweet new cousin.Unfortunately, I never did get a great picture of our Painted Lady Butterflies, which are just as colorful but slightly smaller than Monarchs. So this stock photo will have to stand in for me.
They now reside somewhere in our garden; thankful, I'm sure to be free of the frightening avalanche of over-packed chaos in the back of our car.
Joe leading the girls into the garden for the great release.
The last butterfly in flight, gleefully escaping the rather flimsy mesh transport vehicle that at one time or another was crushed by falling pillows, bunny crackers, and a Mercy Watson book.The best thing is, we can send away for more caterpillers at any time, and keep the entertainment going. Or switch it up and raise tad poles or lady bugs next time.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Conjure Crickets Chirping
That ubiquitous summer sound is my daily word count this month. In the spirit of offering my writer's soul the same gentle understanding and benign confidence that a mother offers her children, I'm trying not to worry about it.
Upturned Stones is still bubbling away in my day dreams. I'm jotting notes about scenes and building a stronger sense of the major and minor plots of the story... so all is not lost in these simultaneously busy and lazy days of summer. Between my garden, five chickens, two little girls, and a family lake cabin not far away, I've had little time to generate thoughtful word counts.
Well, I've taken little time. I really don't want to miss these good summer bits with my girls. Splashing in the pool, playing silly games in the yard or the park... and by evening, we're all beat. I'm still filling notebooks, though, and updating a document I've titled "Upturned Stones Working Papers." There I'm maintaining summaries of the characters, the synopsis, and a general list and descriptions of the scenes I've already got in mind.
In other words, I'm not writing much, but I'm building a lot. I'm going to give myself two weeks, until the 25th, to get all of this in some sort of working order and conduct the minor pile of research that must be done ahead of time, and then from the 26th to September 7th, I plan to pound out the draft.
Uninteresting details, I realize. That's the plan; I'm too good at plans. My intention is to see this one through, and reward myself with a workshop class at the Loft Literary Center to help edit the manuscript.
In the meantime, my word count sounds like crickets chirping and looks like a blank white page with all that potential, and all of that trembling expectation.... I hope to start blogging more regularly, about 3 or 4 times a week again when I return Wednesday.
Off to adventure with my girls...
Upturned Stones is still bubbling away in my day dreams. I'm jotting notes about scenes and building a stronger sense of the major and minor plots of the story... so all is not lost in these simultaneously busy and lazy days of summer. Between my garden, five chickens, two little girls, and a family lake cabin not far away, I've had little time to generate thoughtful word counts.
Well, I've taken little time. I really don't want to miss these good summer bits with my girls. Splashing in the pool, playing silly games in the yard or the park... and by evening, we're all beat. I'm still filling notebooks, though, and updating a document I've titled "Upturned Stones Working Papers." There I'm maintaining summaries of the characters, the synopsis, and a general list and descriptions of the scenes I've already got in mind.
In other words, I'm not writing much, but I'm building a lot. I'm going to give myself two weeks, until the 25th, to get all of this in some sort of working order and conduct the minor pile of research that must be done ahead of time, and then from the 26th to September 7th, I plan to pound out the draft.
Uninteresting details, I realize. That's the plan; I'm too good at plans. My intention is to see this one through, and reward myself with a workshop class at the Loft Literary Center to help edit the manuscript.
In the meantime, my word count sounds like crickets chirping and looks like a blank white page with all that potential, and all of that trembling expectation.... I hope to start blogging more regularly, about 3 or 4 times a week again when I return Wednesday.
Off to adventure with my girls...
Photo Friday: Conjure Chirping Crickets
This has been and will be another quiet blog week. We're adventuring again to snuggle our new niece, play with Nana, and head to the lake.
Meanwhile, the garden is just about to yield its first harvest. I'll be sending Vegetable Village happy growing vibes and wishing my house-sitter a tasty first bite!
This combination of field lilies and dill weed is such a metaphor for my own psyche, part planned part welcome chaos...
Or is the combination of field lilies and tomatoes more appealing... one utterly unnecessary but enjoyable, the other so useful...
The chickens are constantly stalking the tantalizing garden outside their run. Anything foolish enough to grow into their side of the fence is gone in an instant.
The girls had so much fun together this week. Just the two of them (three of us?) playing in the backyard.
And here is Vegetable Village before we left...
Meanwhile, the garden is just about to yield its first harvest. I'll be sending Vegetable Village happy growing vibes and wishing my house-sitter a tasty first bite!
This combination of field lilies and dill weed is such a metaphor for my own psyche, part planned part welcome chaos...
Or is the combination of field lilies and tomatoes more appealing... one utterly unnecessary but enjoyable, the other so useful...
The chickens are constantly stalking the tantalizing garden outside their run. Anything foolish enough to grow into their side of the fence is gone in an instant.
The girls had so much fun together this week. Just the two of them (three of us?) playing in the backyard.
And here is Vegetable Village before we left...
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
On Nothing
Why is it that the memories I would most like to preserve in some sort of hologram for future virtual visitations, are the least interesting to share with others?
It's on odd thing.
"What are you up to?" They ask me.
"Oh, nothing," is all I can answer.
It is part of the torment of a stay at home mother. I can't offer work anecdotes or a list of aggravating and vaguely impressive deadlines. I am, perhaps, overly sensitive to the glazed eyes I receive when I offer the most abbreviated highlights of my actual life.
My husband assures me that details of his actuarial profession send people into a coma before he concludes the most basic definition of his job, so it is not just me.
Pity, though.
Encapsulated in my lightly-delivered response to the what are you up to question, bear with me eye glazers, is the gilded age of parenthood.
Nothing.
The nothing of over-filling a guppy pool with biodegradable dish soap, tossing in a couple of spray-bottle-water-guns, and a 30 year old slide and watching an afternoon disappear.
The nothing of assisting in the creation of a sandbox village while intermittently pulling weeds and splashing beet-root fertilizer on the garden.
The nothing of watching Elliot officially turn the corner from Mimic Queen to Loquacious Lady, making her own jokes, asking her own persistent questions, and generally entertaining Maya and I to no end.
Even the nothing of lounging on the playroom floor, waiting to be served ice cream tacos by Chef Maya and helping Elliot hush her fussy bunny rabbit.
These trifling activities of daily life are not fodder for good adult conversation. So I say "nothing" and breeze on to other topics, but beneath that nothing is exactly the simple, joyful, slowly-paced family life we hoped to have.
It's on odd thing.
"What are you up to?" They ask me.
"Oh, nothing," is all I can answer.
It is part of the torment of a stay at home mother. I can't offer work anecdotes or a list of aggravating and vaguely impressive deadlines. I am, perhaps, overly sensitive to the glazed eyes I receive when I offer the most abbreviated highlights of my actual life.
My husband assures me that details of his actuarial profession send people into a coma before he concludes the most basic definition of his job, so it is not just me.
Pity, though.
Encapsulated in my lightly-delivered response to the what are you up to question, bear with me eye glazers, is the gilded age of parenthood.
Nothing.
The nothing of over-filling a guppy pool with biodegradable dish soap, tossing in a couple of spray-bottle-water-guns, and a 30 year old slide and watching an afternoon disappear.
The nothing of assisting in the creation of a sandbox village while intermittently pulling weeds and splashing beet-root fertilizer on the garden.
The nothing of watching Elliot officially turn the corner from Mimic Queen to Loquacious Lady, making her own jokes, asking her own persistent questions, and generally entertaining Maya and I to no end.
Even the nothing of lounging on the playroom floor, waiting to be served ice cream tacos by Chef Maya and helping Elliot hush her fussy bunny rabbit.
These trifling activities of daily life are not fodder for good adult conversation. So I say "nothing" and breeze on to other topics, but beneath that nothing is exactly the simple, joyful, slowly-paced family life we hoped to have.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Happy 4th of July
So we couldn't spend the holiday lakeside or kissing on our newest family member, but we did find the next best thing.
The Walker Art Center hosts free family art days in their sculpture garden on the first Saturday of every month. With this month's first Saturday falling on the 4th of July, the fanfare was ticked up a notch or two. Maya perfected her hoola hoop technique... actually the whole family got in on that. We built our own sculptures, wondered around the sculpture garden, and picnicked alongside the bicycle parade route, featuring hundreds of little kids with decked out bikes. Next year, we'll have to get the girls in on it. It was a fun way to reconnect our little family after a week apart, though Maya was disappointed with the classic cherry on a spoon sculpture.
She looked at it with annoyance and said, "I don't even like cherries." In spite of that, I think we'll be back soon.
The Walker Art Center hosts free family art days in their sculpture garden on the first Saturday of every month. With this month's first Saturday falling on the 4th of July, the fanfare was ticked up a notch or two. Maya perfected her hoola hoop technique... actually the whole family got in on that. We built our own sculptures, wondered around the sculpture garden, and picnicked alongside the bicycle parade route, featuring hundreds of little kids with decked out bikes. Next year, we'll have to get the girls in on it. It was a fun way to reconnect our little family after a week apart, though Maya was disappointed with the classic cherry on a spoon sculpture.
She looked at it with annoyance and said, "I don't even like cherries." In spite of that, I think we'll be back soon.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Photo Friday: Escape to the Lake & First Cousins
With Joe away on a camping trip, the girls and I adventured all the way to South Dakota WITHOUT a mobile DVD player! Enough bragging. More stories later. Stories about how lovely ages 2 and 4 are, about sandbox coffee and swimming lessons, and about how much I appreciate having a partner who is so involved...
Though the trip ended a bit earlier than we hoped, we did get to meet our new cousin Delainey Louise. The girls can't wait to get to know her better in the weeks and months to come.
Nana and her granddaughters... how sweet!
Though the trip ended a bit earlier than we hoped, we did get to meet our new cousin Delainey Louise. The girls can't wait to get to know her better in the weeks and months to come.
Nana and her granddaughters... how sweet!
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