Next week, all rhythm and predictability will rush back as Maya heads off to preschool and the days of the week regain their compass. To prepare for this, we're trying to bring rhythm back early, by preparing meals together again.
bearing witness to the fleeting moments of growing two little girls, an edible backyard, a baby-to-be, chickens, and a novel
Monday, August 31, 2009
A Week of Rest
Since May, our little family has been hosting, visiting, or adventuring on our own, so this week will be a quiet one. A needed rest for us all!
Next week, all rhythm and predictability will rush back as Maya heads off to preschool and the days of the week regain their compass. To prepare for this, we're trying to bring rhythm back early, by preparing meals together again.
Next week, all rhythm and predictability will rush back as Maya heads off to preschool and the days of the week regain their compass. To prepare for this, we're trying to bring rhythm back early, by preparing meals together again.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Loony
So sorry for the quiet blog! Just as Maya fully recovered, I shifted my energies to vacation prep!
I can hear your gasps across the ether... Yes, I did, in fact, schedule a little holiday just after Maya's surgery and recovery. You might wonder if I've gone mad, loony, running away from the pressures of motherhood.
Well, I would not call it running, exactly, but I was due for an escape. I headed up north with my best girl for the best getaway we can imagine: a canoe trip in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. We kept the trekking to a minimum, and essentially turned our campsite into a resort for a few days.
While I was gone, I realized that I have, in fact, gone loony, right along with the rest of my little family.
For several days, I perched quietly on one of those rigidly comforting glacial boulders, gazing out at Missing Link Lake and the spirited family of loons that lives there.
The loons were excellent hosts. They provided solid entertainment for much of the day, far better than any narrated animal planet series. We watched one of the loons hunt, catch, and eat a fish. We watched them teach their growing babies to fish. On our way out, we saw one of the parents acquiesece to the pleading baby bird and share some of its dinner.
Through all of this watching, we never could detect which loon was the male and which was the female. Their coloring is the same, they are both enormous birds, and they both seemed to interact with the babies equally.
While Joe and I don't resemble each other all that much (he towers more than a foot over me!), I do think we are a little loony, or is it loon-esque, in our interchangeability. I was able to take a mini-holiday so soon after Maya's recovery, because I had no doubt that Joe would capably and comfortingly handle any setbacks or challenges that might come up.
He is an in control, creative, and totally percpetive parent, always aware of both girls' latest quirks, so I didn't have to worry a bit while I was gone.
Surely this seems trivial. Most of our friends parent just as equally as we do, but most of them are duel-career families. When I jumped off the employment cliff into the unknown abyss of full-time motherhood, I was terrified that by specializing in motherhood, I would edge Joe out of the equation.
It was not an invalid fear. Many of my at-home peers worry endlessly when their children are alone with daddy for an afternoon. They worry that he didn't bother to put junior down for a nap or forgot to give junior teething medication or took junior out somewhere with an inadequately-stocked diaper bag. It's mostly unimportant stuff, but it speaks to how little parenting their husband's do in the shadow of their own full-time mothering.
Thankfully, in spite of my specialization, Joe has pursued the relationship with his girls that inspired him to have them in the first place. He is attentive enough to know what crib Iadditive will distract Elliot until she falls asleep (last week it was her cell phone, this week was a cup of water, and next week it may be her Arthor book). He knows how to strike just the right balance to keep Maya from throwing a tantrum, somehow giving her both the independence she craves and the help she needs.
These nuances set us apart as the parents, versus other close family or caretakers that know and love the girls. We know the little details, the small things that bring them comfort in the night, and we are experts at the big things that distract them from shredding the menus at a restaurant or disappearing into the neighbor's house without warning.
They are the magic tricks of parenting and they shift with the wind or a mood, or a weekend full of too much candy, and yet we stay in tune to them with out thinking. Both of us do.
So our family might look like a 1950s television show, what with all of the pies and the garden and the stay-at-home mom, but our reality is far closer to the loony feminist reinvention that I hoped for when I took the leap.
I can hear your gasps across the ether... Yes, I did, in fact, schedule a little holiday just after Maya's surgery and recovery. You might wonder if I've gone mad, loony, running away from the pressures of motherhood.
Well, I would not call it running, exactly, but I was due for an escape. I headed up north with my best girl for the best getaway we can imagine: a canoe trip in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. We kept the trekking to a minimum, and essentially turned our campsite into a resort for a few days.
While I was gone, I realized that I have, in fact, gone loony, right along with the rest of my little family.
For several days, I perched quietly on one of those rigidly comforting glacial boulders, gazing out at Missing Link Lake and the spirited family of loons that lives there.
The loons were excellent hosts. They provided solid entertainment for much of the day, far better than any narrated animal planet series. We watched one of the loons hunt, catch, and eat a fish. We watched them teach their growing babies to fish. On our way out, we saw one of the parents acquiesece to the pleading baby bird and share some of its dinner.
Through all of this watching, we never could detect which loon was the male and which was the female. Their coloring is the same, they are both enormous birds, and they both seemed to interact with the babies equally.
While Joe and I don't resemble each other all that much (he towers more than a foot over me!), I do think we are a little loony, or is it loon-esque, in our interchangeability. I was able to take a mini-holiday so soon after Maya's recovery, because I had no doubt that Joe would capably and comfortingly handle any setbacks or challenges that might come up.
He is an in control, creative, and totally percpetive parent, always aware of both girls' latest quirks, so I didn't have to worry a bit while I was gone.
Surely this seems trivial. Most of our friends parent just as equally as we do, but most of them are duel-career families. When I jumped off the employment cliff into the unknown abyss of full-time motherhood, I was terrified that by specializing in motherhood, I would edge Joe out of the equation.
It was not an invalid fear. Many of my at-home peers worry endlessly when their children are alone with daddy for an afternoon. They worry that he didn't bother to put junior down for a nap or forgot to give junior teething medication or took junior out somewhere with an inadequately-stocked diaper bag. It's mostly unimportant stuff, but it speaks to how little parenting their husband's do in the shadow of their own full-time mothering.
Thankfully, in spite of my specialization, Joe has pursued the relationship with his girls that inspired him to have them in the first place. He is attentive enough to know what crib Iadditive will distract Elliot until she falls asleep (last week it was her cell phone, this week was a cup of water, and next week it may be her Arthor book). He knows how to strike just the right balance to keep Maya from throwing a tantrum, somehow giving her both the independence she craves and the help she needs.
These nuances set us apart as the parents, versus other close family or caretakers that know and love the girls. We know the little details, the small things that bring them comfort in the night, and we are experts at the big things that distract them from shredding the menus at a restaurant or disappearing into the neighbor's house without warning.
They are the magic tricks of parenting and they shift with the wind or a mood, or a weekend full of too much candy, and yet we stay in tune to them with out thinking. Both of us do.
So our family might look like a 1950s television show, what with all of the pies and the garden and the stay-at-home mom, but our reality is far closer to the loony feminist reinvention that I hoped for when I took the leap.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Nearing the End
Maya is nearing the end of the the road to recovery.
Last night, she slept through the night for the first time since her surgery. In the beginning we were warned that most kids require seven to ten days before they resume a normal schedule. Day 8 seems to be the magic day for Maya.
She's still tired. She's still a little sore. Thankfully, though, her energy is much higher than it has been. Today she has devoured two regular meals at the table, in contrast to a week's worth of small bites taken limply from the sofa.
We even played at a nearby park for much of the morning!
For a routine surgery, this tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy has been more difficult than I anticipated. Maya was heartbreakingly sad from about Thursday to Monday.
"Will I ever feel better," she asked mournfully and frequently.
She worked herself into hysterics each time she took the vicodin, making me feel like some sort of horrible drug pusher.
"Come on, take it," I'd say as I passed the medicine cup into her trembling hand. It was traumatic for all of us.
We are lucky, I know, that this was our first brush with significant medical procedures. It was minor, routine, and almost certainly for the best. And after a long, physically and emotionally taxing week, it is finally behind us!
Last night, she slept through the night for the first time since her surgery. In the beginning we were warned that most kids require seven to ten days before they resume a normal schedule. Day 8 seems to be the magic day for Maya.
She's still tired. She's still a little sore. Thankfully, though, her energy is much higher than it has been. Today she has devoured two regular meals at the table, in contrast to a week's worth of small bites taken limply from the sofa.
We even played at a nearby park for much of the morning!
For a routine surgery, this tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy has been more difficult than I anticipated. Maya was heartbreakingly sad from about Thursday to Monday.
"Will I ever feel better," she asked mournfully and frequently.
She worked herself into hysterics each time she took the vicodin, making me feel like some sort of horrible drug pusher.
"Come on, take it," I'd say as I passed the medicine cup into her trembling hand. It was traumatic for all of us.
We are lucky, I know, that this was our first brush with significant medical procedures. It was minor, routine, and almost certainly for the best. And after a long, physically and emotionally taxing week, it is finally behind us!
Saturday, August 15, 2009
All Powerful
My four year old had her tonsils out this week. Ugh.
My work on Upturned Stones fell off a cliff, as my mental abilities were spent entirely on soothing and medicating my girl. Both girls actually, as little sister ironically contracted strep throat the very day big sister's tonsils came out. That was unfortunate!
Luckily, between my detailed outline and the chapters I've already written, it has been relatively easy to jump back into the story. As I reread what I've accomplished so far, I corrected that nagging little issue of voice.
First person still sounded off to me. It felt more like blogging than writing fiction. So I finessed the first three chapters into a reasonable facsimile of third person, to be more thoroughly edited later. I haven't worked on enough new material to know if third person will work, or to develop a flow, but I have high hopes that it will come.
If only life wouldn't keep steamrolling my resolutions! I really want this draft to be done by mid-October at the latest. It's a gentle resolution, really, but I need to keep moving, come strep throat or high water!
My work on Upturned Stones fell off a cliff, as my mental abilities were spent entirely on soothing and medicating my girl. Both girls actually, as little sister ironically contracted strep throat the very day big sister's tonsils came out. That was unfortunate!
Luckily, between my detailed outline and the chapters I've already written, it has been relatively easy to jump back into the story. As I reread what I've accomplished so far, I corrected that nagging little issue of voice.
First person still sounded off to me. It felt more like blogging than writing fiction. So I finessed the first three chapters into a reasonable facsimile of third person, to be more thoroughly edited later. I haven't worked on enough new material to know if third person will work, or to develop a flow, but I have high hopes that it will come.
If only life wouldn't keep steamrolling my resolutions! I really want this draft to be done by mid-October at the latest. It's a gentle resolution, really, but I need to keep moving, come strep throat or high water!
Friday, August 14, 2009
Photo Friday - The Patient Becomes the Doctor
If only for an hour! She seems to have more energy today, thankfully.
And garden produce becomes a roasted vegetable tart:
And garden produce becomes a roasted vegetable tart:
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Magic Igloo of Convalescence
On day 3 of her tonsillectomy recovery, Maya is one tired, sad little girl.
We were told to expect that. Apparently the swelling and pain typically worsens until day three, but it is still frustrating. She is eating much less, moving very little, and unable to tolerate Elliot's attempts to play with her.
Elliot, though still a little run down, is ready to play. She tried to start a dance party to the theme song of Caillou, but her sister said no. She tried to have a tea party with her babies in the play room, but from all the way in the living room, her sister said no. She tried to swipe a bite of popsicle, but her sister burst into tears!
So now we are upstairs, playing dollhouse. Every few minutes, Maya plays a tune on the xylophone, summoning me to help get a new show or a popsicle. Every few minutes, Elliot wants to check on "Poa Maya."
It's been a busy day.
Also, my pantry is overflowing.
This picture represents about one tenth of the garden produce in my house. Most of it is in drawers and bags and tupperware in the fridge. Good thing my mom just donated her canner to the cause. I'll let you know how my first efforts at canning turn out.
In the meantime, in spite of all of our sickness and the oppressively humid heat outside, I've been cooking: gyros with tszatsziki and veggies; refrigerator pickles; Mediterranean pepper salad; zucchini bread; and tapioca pudding (which isn't garden related, but is a good throat soother).
So, here in the Magic Igloo of Convalescence comforters are still comforting, a hot oven presents no fear, and no one knows that outside it is 90 degrees and 90% humid.
It's been a
We were told to expect that. Apparently the swelling and pain typically worsens until day three, but it is still frustrating. She is eating much less, moving very little, and unable to tolerate Elliot's attempts to play with her.
Elliot, though still a little run down, is ready to play. She tried to start a dance party to the theme song of Caillou, but her sister said no. She tried to have a tea party with her babies in the play room, but from all the way in the living room, her sister said no. She tried to swipe a bite of popsicle, but her sister burst into tears!So now we are upstairs, playing dollhouse. Every few minutes, Maya plays a tune on the xylophone, summoning me to help get a new show or a popsicle. Every few minutes, Elliot wants to check on "Poa Maya."
It's been a busy day.
Also, my pantry is overflowing.
This picture represents about one tenth of the garden produce in my house. Most of it is in drawers and bags and tupperware in the fridge. Good thing my mom just donated her canner to the cause. I'll let you know how my first efforts at canning turn out.In the meantime, in spite of all of our sickness and the oppressively humid heat outside, I've been cooking: gyros with tszatsziki and veggies; refrigerator pickles; Mediterranean pepper salad; zucchini bread; and tapioca pudding (which isn't garden related, but is a good throat soother).
So, here in the Magic Igloo of Convalescence comforters are still comforting, a hot oven presents no fear, and no one knows that outside it is 90 degrees and 90% humid.
It's been a
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
From the Trenches
You won't believe the latest turn of events!
In all honesty, Maya is recovering really well. She had a rough night, mostly because the full doses of her pain killer upset her stomach... a lot. As a result, we backed it off to half doses, and spent a good hour in the wee hours cleaning the carpet. Oh well....
Thankfully, Maya impressed us all this morning. She has spent her time watching movies and sending Grandma after tasty bits from the kitchen. She has eaten non stop, taking about one bite of each dish (from yogurt to peanut butter and jelly to Campbell's Princess soup) and enjoying a Popsicle or two in between.
So why was Grandma doing all the heavy lifting this morning?
About 11 last night, Elliot woke up with a fever. She needed more comfort last night than Maya did. This morning, one look at her steamy, flushed, lethargic little body, and it was pretty clear that something was wrong..
Can you guess what ironic malady stole my baby's energy just when I counted on her to amuse herself a bit?
That's right: STREP THROAT!
So I am mothering from the trenches.
I'm on my own with two girls on the mend, managing various medication schedules and dosages, shifting Elle from one arm to the next, thankful that I've been lifting weights lately.
We're doing fine, of course. The chaos is just comical enough to keep me laughing. They'll both be healthy in a few days, I'm sure, and until then, we'll watch as much Kipper and Wild Thornberrys as they want.
It does make me wonder, though, if our efforts to keep Maya entertained over the weekend at the zoo and the water park may not have been the best idea.
In all honesty, Maya is recovering really well. She had a rough night, mostly because the full doses of her pain killer upset her stomach... a lot. As a result, we backed it off to half doses, and spent a good hour in the wee hours cleaning the carpet. Oh well....
Thankfully, Maya impressed us all this morning. She has spent her time watching movies and sending Grandma after tasty bits from the kitchen. She has eaten non stop, taking about one bite of each dish (from yogurt to peanut butter and jelly to Campbell's Princess soup) and enjoying a Popsicle or two in between.
So why was Grandma doing all the heavy lifting this morning?
About 11 last night, Elliot woke up with a fever. She needed more comfort last night than Maya did. This morning, one look at her steamy, flushed, lethargic little body, and it was pretty clear that something was wrong..
Can you guess what ironic malady stole my baby's energy just when I counted on her to amuse herself a bit?
That's right: STREP THROAT!
So I am mothering from the trenches.
I'm on my own with two girls on the mend, managing various medication schedules and dosages, shifting Elle from one arm to the next, thankful that I've been lifting weights lately.
We're doing fine, of course. The chaos is just comical enough to keep me laughing. They'll both be healthy in a few days, I'm sure, and until then, we'll watch as much Kipper and Wild Thornberrys as they want.
It does make me wonder, though, if our efforts to keep Maya entertained over the weekend at the zoo and the water park may not have been the best idea.
Monday, August 10, 2009
My 4 Year Old's Tonsillectomy
This may be a routine surgery with few risks, but when it happens to your own child, nothing about it feels routine. Maya's tonsillectomy and adnoidectomy went exactly as the doctor predicted it would. Very routine. But it was difficult for us all.
Below is the first in a series of five posts from her week long recovery. It was a fairly miserable week, and as the doctor predicted, days 3 and 4 were the worst. She didn't feel good enough to play at our local park until day seven, and even then it was brief. Her refrain all week was a hoarse, "When will I feel better, Mama," alternating with, "When will this stop hurting." It was tough on everybody, but the next winter, our whole family was significantly healthier. In the end, it was worth it.
The surgery was a resounding success! Of course, that simply means that our four-year-old is now missing one set of tonsils and one set of adenoids. The recovery process stretches before us uncertainly.
I'm not sure how this day's story begins. Probably with Maya, at 5:30 AM.
"No, I am not getting my tonsils out." She declared sleepily. Then a moment later, after appraising our level of resolve, she made a quiet, mournful suggestion. "Well, can I bring Elliot? I want my sister."
Then we were in the "play room" at the hospital. The three of us laughed together at the antics of Micky Mouse and Donald Duck after the forms were filled out. Our collective mood was nervous, but light. That is, until the 2 and a half year old was taken back for his surgery.
"Why is he crying," Maya asked, her own tears making her voice quaver with both empathy for the little guy she had been talking to and fear for herself.
The doctors took one look at her, and offered her a very strong pre-surgery cocktail. Her words were slurring even as they peeled her off of me. That was a rough moment. I knew it would be, but there is no way to prepare for the unique combination of helplessness and guilt that smothered me at the moment.
The staff at Unity was fantastic: caring, helpful, and efficient. Dr. Yoon himself was a very calming person, in spite of his very forthright assertion that this week would be tough. For her and for us. According to him, the sweeling and pain typically increases until about the third day, and they don't really "turn the corner" and start perking up until the seventh. Yikes!
We were only away from Maya for about 20 minutes, most of which were spent taking shots of weak coffee in tiny Styrofoam cups. Then, after much back and forth about who should go in with her (Joe and his calm, gentle nature might weather the storm better, but I have the long hair she loves to play with), I joined Maya in Recovery Room 1. For thirty minutes I sang and cooed and rocked my baby, trying to calm her near-hyperventilating terror.
Later Joe joined us in Recovery Room 2, where the nurse gave her something to "calm her down" plus oxygen plus the vicodin. She couldn't calm down; she just passed out. Poor thing.
All of that, more than anyone wants to read, and, after a 7:55 AM surgery, we were home by 10:15 AM.
It was the second time I've been shocked that the Unity staff let me take Maya home under the assumption that I could handle it... the first time, of course, she was a new born.
The rest of the day has been nerve-wracking. She fights against taking her medicine, which tastes strongly medicinal in spite of its fruit punch flavoring. Adding jello powder to it seems to make it go down a little better (in the tradition of Mary Poppins).
All told, she is doing about as expected. She has slept a ton and hardly had anything to eat or drink (which we're working on correcting). It's a hard process on all of us, but of course, she'll be fine before we know it, and she is already breathing better!
Below is the first in a series of five posts from her week long recovery. It was a fairly miserable week, and as the doctor predicted, days 3 and 4 were the worst. She didn't feel good enough to play at our local park until day seven, and even then it was brief. Her refrain all week was a hoarse, "When will I feel better, Mama," alternating with, "When will this stop hurting." It was tough on everybody, but the next winter, our whole family was significantly healthier. In the end, it was worth it.
The surgery was a resounding success! Of course, that simply means that our four-year-old is now missing one set of tonsils and one set of adenoids. The recovery process stretches before us uncertainly.I'm not sure how this day's story begins. Probably with Maya, at 5:30 AM.
"No, I am not getting my tonsils out." She declared sleepily. Then a moment later, after appraising our level of resolve, she made a quiet, mournful suggestion. "Well, can I bring Elliot? I want my sister."
Then we were in the "play room" at the hospital. The three of us laughed together at the antics of Micky Mouse and Donald Duck after the forms were filled out. Our collective mood was nervous, but light. That is, until the 2 and a half year old was taken back for his surgery.
"Why is he crying," Maya asked, her own tears making her voice quaver with both empathy for the little guy she had been talking to and fear for herself.
The doctors took one look at her, and offered her a very strong pre-surgery cocktail. Her words were slurring even as they peeled her off of me. That was a rough moment. I knew it would be, but there is no way to prepare for the unique combination of helplessness and guilt that smothered me at the moment.
The staff at Unity was fantastic: caring, helpful, and efficient. Dr. Yoon himself was a very calming person, in spite of his very forthright assertion that this week would be tough. For her and for us. According to him, the sweeling and pain typically increases until about the third day, and they don't really "turn the corner" and start perking up until the seventh. Yikes!
We were only away from Maya for about 20 minutes, most of which were spent taking shots of weak coffee in tiny Styrofoam cups. Then, after much back and forth about who should go in with her (Joe and his calm, gentle nature might weather the storm better, but I have the long hair she loves to play with), I joined Maya in Recovery Room 1. For thirty minutes I sang and cooed and rocked my baby, trying to calm her near-hyperventilating terror.
Later Joe joined us in Recovery Room 2, where the nurse gave her something to "calm her down" plus oxygen plus the vicodin. She couldn't calm down; she just passed out. Poor thing.
All of that, more than anyone wants to read, and, after a 7:55 AM surgery, we were home by 10:15 AM.
It was the second time I've been shocked that the Unity staff let me take Maya home under the assumption that I could handle it... the first time, of course, she was a new born.
The rest of the day has been nerve-wracking. She fights against taking her medicine, which tastes strongly medicinal in spite of its fruit punch flavoring. Adding jello powder to it seems to make it go down a little better (in the tradition of Mary Poppins).
All told, she is doing about as expected. She has slept a ton and hardly had anything to eat or drink (which we're working on correcting). It's a hard process on all of us, but of course, she'll be fine before we know it, and she is already breathing better!
Friday, August 7, 2009
This Voice or That Voice
I drafted the first two chapters of Upturned Stones on a whim. They were exciting and inspiring and in first person.
I took a break after the second chapter to outline. I spent a good month figuring out back stories, getting to know the characters, and then detailing the scenes that would tell the story. And in my dictatorial fashion, I declared that the real first draft would be in third person.
I re-drafted the first chapter in third person. It was fine, but not as exciting or inspiring. I tried to begin the second chapter, and as I mentioned yesterday, I just spun my wheels on it.
With renewed vigor, I took up that important second chapter again today, and out it came. Not great, but in a big gust of ideas and excitement. It roughly but adequately laid the groundwork for the next scene.
And it is in first person.
I didn't realize it until halfway in, and instead of fighting it, I embraced Evie's voice. I'll chalk it up to following my instincts and trying something new, even though I tend not to like first person fiction as much. I have heard that for novice writers first person is far easier to work with, so I guess I'll just go with it.
Cheers for almost 3,000 words today!
I took a break after the second chapter to outline. I spent a good month figuring out back stories, getting to know the characters, and then detailing the scenes that would tell the story. And in my dictatorial fashion, I declared that the real first draft would be in third person.
I re-drafted the first chapter in third person. It was fine, but not as exciting or inspiring. I tried to begin the second chapter, and as I mentioned yesterday, I just spun my wheels on it.
With renewed vigor, I took up that important second chapter again today, and out it came. Not great, but in a big gust of ideas and excitement. It roughly but adequately laid the groundwork for the next scene.
And it is in first person.
I didn't realize it until halfway in, and instead of fighting it, I embraced Evie's voice. I'll chalk it up to following my instincts and trying something new, even though I tend not to like first person fiction as much. I have heard that for novice writers first person is far easier to work with, so I guess I'll just go with it.
Cheers for almost 3,000 words today!
Photo Friday - Birthday Bonanza
Two back-to-back birthday weeks (dad's and grandpa's) have both girls begging for more. I'll have to turn my zucchini stash into muffins (or "cupcakes) to keep the party going.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Oh, and I Really Should Update My Writing Blog
That's exactly how Upturned Stones is going at the moment. I wrote Chapter 1 with enthusiasm. Then I went out of town for four days. Now...
I really should weed the garden... and make some zucchini bread for my neighbor that just had her fourth baby, poor thing... and hang the laundry on the line... and maybe I should catch up on that aging stack of Harpers that I haven't read all summer... And I really need a word count widget on my blog.
So, one tidy garden, 2 loaves of zucchini bread, tons of clean clothes, several enriching articles, and one word count widget later, I'm all set.
And right back where I started. Is it writer's block when you know how the scene should play out (more or less) but can't find the words to describe it? I think it is.
Part of the problem is that this second chapter sets up a lot of the rest of the book. The MC's internal struggle that drives the rest of the book is introduced here, along with several other key characters (to a lesser degree). It feels burdensome.
At this point, I need to mentally trap my "inner editor," to quote the Nano jargon, and lock her back in the depths of my uncertain writer's brain, maybe in the same storage unit as my old college papers so she has something to amuse herself with until it is time to edit.
Right then, trap the editor, and get on with the words. Off I go... but some ice cream sure sounds tastey.
I really should weed the garden... and make some zucchini bread for my neighbor that just had her fourth baby, poor thing... and hang the laundry on the line... and maybe I should catch up on that aging stack of Harpers that I haven't read all summer... And I really need a word count widget on my blog.
So, one tidy garden, 2 loaves of zucchini bread, tons of clean clothes, several enriching articles, and one word count widget later, I'm all set.
And right back where I started. Is it writer's block when you know how the scene should play out (more or less) but can't find the words to describe it? I think it is.
Part of the problem is that this second chapter sets up a lot of the rest of the book. The MC's internal struggle that drives the rest of the book is introduced here, along with several other key characters (to a lesser degree). It feels burdensome.
At this point, I need to mentally trap my "inner editor," to quote the Nano jargon, and lock her back in the depths of my uncertain writer's brain, maybe in the same storage unit as my old college papers so she has something to amuse herself with until it is time to edit.
Right then, trap the editor, and get on with the words. Off I go... but some ice cream sure sounds tastey.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
The Hills Are Alive...
Well, actually it's our backyard. Alive with the sound of music, that is. We've got our antique boom box going with the girls' current favorite song: "I Like Yaks." They have their swim suits on and are making the rounds between the sandbox cafe and sliding into the pool.
This freewheeling summer fun has been intensified over the past two weeks. Though Maya does occasionally ask about attending her morning summer camp for another week, I've tried to keep these last days of her tonsil-filled life unscheduled.
Running through Tamarack Park on a prairie walk.
We've done a few official adventure days to new parks, but mostly we have traveled the secret trails at the heart of Hansen Park (about half a mile of overlapping trails in the tiny woods behind our house). We've spent hours pretending to be dinosaurs fleeing hunters, lost farm animals, or space travelers. That would be all three of us playing pretend.... and after living here for four years, we now run into people we know at the park.
I think I have a reputation...
Oh well.
I'm doing the best I can to make up for the fact that Maya's next week will be miserable. The poor kid is having her tonsils out.
I know, I know. For half of you, it's no big deal. Minor surgery to prevent a bevvy of winter sickness. For the other half, those like-minded parents who find accepting the current vaccine regiment torturous (though most of us still follow them), you are probably giving us the stink eye. You are subjecting her to an unnecessary procedure? Aren't doctors moving away from jerking out tonsils for no reason? How interventionist!
Believe me, I've looked and looked for a reason not to do this to my girl. Surgery is scary. Honestly, I'm so anti-extraneous medical procedures that I battled three different nurses, one posing as a neonatal specialist, to avoid getting preventative antibiotics while in unmedicated transition labor. I only gave up when the nurse (who later took a tongue-lashing from my furious doctor) threatened not to let me keep Elle with me after delivery... at which point I submitted. Two years later (almost) my doctor is still apologizing for the bullying medical establishment.
Obviously, I don't want to put Maya through surgery unnecessarily, but I can't find a reason not to have the surgery. The potential for complications is tiny, and the relative usefulness of tonsils is almost entirely erased by the problems they constantly giver her. She sleeps poorly, snores loudly, breathes loudly, had four bouts of strep/scarlet fever last year, two episodes of tonsillitis (the last hasn't completely gone away), and countless colds.
Maya is utterly worn out after our expeditions to the park. Elliot enthusiastically gives up her stroller, even offering to push big sister (this is after she sat in a puddle). The doctor assures us Maya will have more energy post-surgery, when her breathing improves.
So wish us luck. We're living it up while we can, and preparing her as much as possible for the idea of what next Tuesday will bring (with great emphasis on popsicles and ice cream).
This freewheeling summer fun has been intensified over the past two weeks. Though Maya does occasionally ask about attending her morning summer camp for another week, I've tried to keep these last days of her tonsil-filled life unscheduled.
Running through Tamarack Park on a prairie walk.We've done a few official adventure days to new parks, but mostly we have traveled the secret trails at the heart of Hansen Park (about half a mile of overlapping trails in the tiny woods behind our house). We've spent hours pretending to be dinosaurs fleeing hunters, lost farm animals, or space travelers. That would be all three of us playing pretend.... and after living here for four years, we now run into people we know at the park.
I think I have a reputation...
Oh well.
I'm doing the best I can to make up for the fact that Maya's next week will be miserable. The poor kid is having her tonsils out.
I know, I know. For half of you, it's no big deal. Minor surgery to prevent a bevvy of winter sickness. For the other half, those like-minded parents who find accepting the current vaccine regiment torturous (though most of us still follow them), you are probably giving us the stink eye. You are subjecting her to an unnecessary procedure? Aren't doctors moving away from jerking out tonsils for no reason? How interventionist!
Believe me, I've looked and looked for a reason not to do this to my girl. Surgery is scary. Honestly, I'm so anti-extraneous medical procedures that I battled three different nurses, one posing as a neonatal specialist, to avoid getting preventative antibiotics while in unmedicated transition labor. I only gave up when the nurse (who later took a tongue-lashing from my furious doctor) threatened not to let me keep Elle with me after delivery... at which point I submitted. Two years later (almost) my doctor is still apologizing for the bullying medical establishment.
Obviously, I don't want to put Maya through surgery unnecessarily, but I can't find a reason not to have the surgery. The potential for complications is tiny, and the relative usefulness of tonsils is almost entirely erased by the problems they constantly giver her. She sleeps poorly, snores loudly, breathes loudly, had four bouts of strep/scarlet fever last year, two episodes of tonsillitis (the last hasn't completely gone away), and countless colds.
Maya is utterly worn out after our expeditions to the park. Elliot enthusiastically gives up her stroller, even offering to push big sister (this is after she sat in a puddle). The doctor assures us Maya will have more energy post-surgery, when her breathing improves.So wish us luck. We're living it up while we can, and preparing her as much as possible for the idea of what next Tuesday will bring (with great emphasis on popsicles and ice cream).
Road Trip Redo
This summer has been transformative. Both girls are far more content in the car this year than ever before, perhaps because they have each other. They sing along to the radio, read books, put together silly Mr. Potato Head faces, and (in stark contrast to past years) they sleep.
Which is why we have been on the road for several different weekends this summer. Here is a glimpse at the fun this time around. We celebrated Grandpa's birthday and Unk's visit to South Dakota with great enthusiasm.
Though it was startlingly cold, Maya lead us all into the water several times. My favorite by far was a 7:30 AM polar bear adventure on a perfectly still lake. Early as it was, the air was warmer than it had been the previous two days, so when she asked if we could jump in, I could scarcely refuse.
Who am I kidding? A major factor in my decision to have kids was the decline in influence over my grown up siblings... they just won't get in the cold water with me anymore.
What would I do without my Maya? Who else would eagerly step into a swimsuit, still damp with dew from overnighting on the clothesline, and join me in the chilly lake? After a fairly long swim (with life jackets and floating devices) on the perfectly still lake, the mist began stretching across the water towards us. We both got a little unnerved and headed, teeth chattering, for the hot chocolate (or coffee) in the cabin, but while we swam, it was fantastic. The highlight of my weekend!
Which is why we have been on the road for several different weekends this summer. Here is a glimpse at the fun this time around. We celebrated Grandpa's birthday and Unk's visit to South Dakota with great enthusiasm.
Though it was startlingly cold, Maya lead us all into the water several times. My favorite by far was a 7:30 AM polar bear adventure on a perfectly still lake. Early as it was, the air was warmer than it had been the previous two days, so when she asked if we could jump in, I could scarcely refuse.
Who am I kidding? A major factor in my decision to have kids was the decline in influence over my grown up siblings... they just won't get in the cold water with me anymore.
What would I do without my Maya? Who else would eagerly step into a swimsuit, still damp with dew from overnighting on the clothesline, and join me in the chilly lake? After a fairly long swim (with life jackets and floating devices) on the perfectly still lake, the mist began stretching across the water towards us. We both got a little unnerved and headed, teeth chattering, for the hot chocolate (or coffee) in the cabin, but while we swam, it was fantastic. The highlight of my weekend!
Monday, August 3, 2009
In Case You Were Wondering...
Someone recently asked me if we gave up dance party, since it has dropped off the blog for a while. Don't worry, my friends, dance party lives on, though it doesn't provide much fodder for new bloggable stories.
A few things have changed, though. The tutus rarely make an appearance anymore, but crepe paper streamers have become regular "ribbon dancing" props.
The girls now synchronize some of their moves, if Maya can convince Elliot to play along.
Stuffed animal dance partners have become a staple. Maya's favorite dance move continues to be the classic "spin til dizzy." Elliot has expanded her repertoire to include barrel rolling across the floor, summersaults, and attaching herself to my left leg.
We have transitioned from using my limited iTunes library to logging on at Pandora for a Mika-based radio station, or perhaps some Funk. We're hoping to really switch up the music now that Joe got two family sing-along music books for his guitar. Oh yes, we will be THAT family (no video, I promise!)
So yes, in case you were wondering, we still rock and roll (or lately, kick it broadway style) on a daily basis. Long live Dance Party!
A few things have changed, though. The tutus rarely make an appearance anymore, but crepe paper streamers have become regular "ribbon dancing" props.
The girls now synchronize some of their moves, if Maya can convince Elliot to play along.
Stuffed animal dance partners have become a staple. Maya's favorite dance move continues to be the classic "spin til dizzy." Elliot has expanded her repertoire to include barrel rolling across the floor, summersaults, and attaching herself to my left leg.
We have transitioned from using my limited iTunes library to logging on at Pandora for a Mika-based radio station, or perhaps some Funk. We're hoping to really switch up the music now that Joe got two family sing-along music books for his guitar. Oh yes, we will be THAT family (no video, I promise!)
So yes, in case you were wondering, we still rock and roll (or lately, kick it broadway style) on a daily basis. Long live Dance Party!
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