For any of you who haven't seen The Book of Kells on Netflix, you should. Lilah has been enthralled with the film for well over a year now. The premise is Ireland during the Dark Ages. The Vikings were invading, the "North Men". A young monk named Brendan lives in the monastery of Kells. His uncle the abbot is determined to protect the monastery by building a wall around it, rather than fleeing for safety as residents of the other monasteries have done. Brendan is forbidden to leave Kells or venture outside the wall for any reason. He assists the brothers in translating and transcribing the Gospels. The brothers all lament at their limited skill and wish for a "true master" illuminator. Brendan divides his time between helping his task-driven uncle with the wall and his true passion - time in the scriptorium with the books. Without books, people would have no hope and it's their job to bring hope to the people in the dark days before them. All the brothers' dreams are realized when a master illuminator named Aidan seeks refuge in Kells after fleeing the Vikings in Iona. On the tiny island, he had been working on the Book of Iona, a book to turn darkness into light. "Sinners are blinded after looking at it, for to gaze upon the book is to gaze upon heaven itself". Aidan takes Brendan as his apprentice against his uncle's wishes. Aidan realizes he is aging and his hands aren't as steady as they used to be. He begins instructing Brendan on beginning the "Chi Rho" page, the most important page in the entire book because it contained the abbreviation for "Christ". Aidan encourages Brendan to leave Kells - both to find the rare ingredients to make the richest ink and to find inspiration in the surrounding forest. Aided by a faerie girl name Aisling (pronounced Ashlyn) and a white cat named Pangur Ban, Brendan fights for illumination against his uncle, ignorance, stubbornness, fear, Vikings, and the pagan deity Cromm Cruaich that still lurks deep in the forests of Ireland.
Lilah adored the film from the first time she saw it. It was up for an academy award, but it lost to Up. Her infatuation with it has been growing lately. Strangers in our home would more than likely be extremely puzzled by her odd behavior. A few months ago, I came upon her marching solemnly up the stairs carrying a plate full of pretend tea cakes. When I say solemnly, I mean no smile, total focus, one foot in front of the other, like a funeral procession. She stopped at the top of the stairs, turned slowly, and said, "I'm going into the darkness now." I couldn't form words to appropriately convey all the questions I had for her. "Into the cave of the Dark One. Cromm Cruaich. To feed him." She nodded toward the cakes.
"And...where is the cave of the Dark One?" She sighed.
"Under my bed." So a pagan god lived under her bed and enjoyed tea cakes?
More recently, the DIA hosted a drop-in workshop to make your own illuminated text. When I told Lilah about it, her little blue eyes were shining. "I can have my own Book of Kells? I can make it? With ink?!" She talked about it for a week. We went, and we made a page with an ornate gold and green letter L. She was thrilled.
Other Kells related events include her carrying around a marble, looking through it with one eye. I asked her what she was doing. "From a humble little berry comes the most beautiful emerald green ink." Of course.
She was sitting on a chair while I swept the floor around her, coloring. I asked her what she was coloring. Heavy sigh. "I'm not coloring, Mama. I'm working on the Chi Rho page."
"Okay then. Look at you!" She looked around.
"I'm on an island. In the sea. Where all islands should be. On a tiny island called Iona."
"Right."
She calls our cat Pangur. She talks to an imaginary Aisling. Everything lately is Kells related. I'd love to take her to Ireland to see the book itself. My plan when we get a house (if we get a house?) is to paint the walls to look like the trees surrounding Kells. Her only goal in life at the moment is to grow up to become an illuminator. "Lilah the Illuminator" she told me today. I don't have the heart to tell the child that there are no illuminators anymore. She'll figure that out eventually. In the meantime, I let her sing and play and transcribe. Even if it means marbles become berries and glass ornaments become the Eye of Columkille. In her heart, she is a master illuminator.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Saturday, March 31, 2012
She's...3?
My daughter, my sweet baby girl, is 3 years old. Her Auntie took her out for a birthday lunch and sent me a photo of them eating hummus. I burst into tears at work and demanded of one of the billers, "How old does this child look?!?" Bewildered, she answered 2 or 3. To me, she looked 15.
On the day of her actual birthday, I got up and made her strawberry pancakes per her request. She looked around and asked where her puppy was. Apparently I'd missed the memo that on one's 3rd birthday, one was automatically presented with a puppy. We had a quiet day at home playing, snuggling, and talking. Her grandpa came over after her nap and played some more. He took her to Target to get her a brand new "fedder peelo" (feather pillow). She's been asking for one for ages. We grilled burgers for dinner, and Lilah got a nice piece of grilled salmon (also her request). We watched the Muppets with Grandpa, and Erin and I made cake pops after she went to bed. It was a calm day, but very enjoyable. It made the transition easier on me. She'd moved from toddler to preschooler before my very eyes.
The day of her party, I dressed her in the black and white dress with polka dots and pink trim that just screamed "Lilah Rose" when I first saw it. I thought back to the day she was born as I brushed her long, blonde hair and weaved it back into a little crown. She was so little. Even after going through labor and delivery, she still blinked up at me with those big, blueberry eyes so full of peace and tranquility. And now she was 3. A little lady, no longer a baby. I didn't know how I'd cope.
Her party was lovely. She was so happy to have family and friends there to celebrate her special day. She loved her cake and gifts and spent most of the time running round barefoot in the yard with her cousins and friend Anya. There was minimal cleanup, hardly any stress (other than the chaos surrounding opening presents), and an overall great day. I felt blessed to have people in our lives so willing to celebrate the life of my child.
Her 3 year physical with Dr Kolin was yesterday. She was 2.75 inches taller and 1.25 pounds heavier than her last visit 6 months before. I was amazed. The child had grown that much in half a year? Where had I been? Why had I been such a jerk, yelling at her every other day for growing out her her pants and shoes? My increasing grocery bills and never-ending shortage of fruit and coconut milk suddenly seemed justified.
Other than a slight duck-walk to compensate for flat feet, her physical was perfect. Dr Kolin was most concerned with making sure we paid close attention to her education, since she was "precocious" and extremely advanced in her language and social skills. She showed some concern over us living in the Hazel Park school district, but we assured her we'd be very involved in her education and were willing to transport her to whatever school district could best meet her needs. Dano acknowledged we would probably meet with some opposition, but that we had discussed at length the possibility of home-schooling Lilah Rose during her middle school years. Dr Kolin was surprisingly supportive, saying she thought middle schools shouldn't be co-ed. "As long as she's actually taught, I think it's a good idea. The only thing you learn in middle school is how to study and use your time wisely." I wasn't expecting any support for this tentative idea of ours. I was pleasantly surprised. When we (mostly I) expressed concern about her not knowing her shapes, letters, colors, etc. Dr Kolin shrugged it off and thought her brain was processing things at a higher level than green squares. Every parent thinks their child is exceptional. It was nice to hear an educated medical professional agree that Lilah Rose Marie had big things on her horizon as long as we provided her with the opportunities she needed.
With every year, I love her more. She grows more into a wonderful little person. The further away from a tiny, helpless baby she gets, the more of the"Lilah" comes out. I think of how she's going to be at 10, 15, 20, 30. It scares and excites me. I know she'll be wonderful. I know it will be challenging. Even so, I can't wait.
On the day of her actual birthday, I got up and made her strawberry pancakes per her request. She looked around and asked where her puppy was. Apparently I'd missed the memo that on one's 3rd birthday, one was automatically presented with a puppy. We had a quiet day at home playing, snuggling, and talking. Her grandpa came over after her nap and played some more. He took her to Target to get her a brand new "fedder peelo" (feather pillow). She's been asking for one for ages. We grilled burgers for dinner, and Lilah got a nice piece of grilled salmon (also her request). We watched the Muppets with Grandpa, and Erin and I made cake pops after she went to bed. It was a calm day, but very enjoyable. It made the transition easier on me. She'd moved from toddler to preschooler before my very eyes.
The day of her party, I dressed her in the black and white dress with polka dots and pink trim that just screamed "Lilah Rose" when I first saw it. I thought back to the day she was born as I brushed her long, blonde hair and weaved it back into a little crown. She was so little. Even after going through labor and delivery, she still blinked up at me with those big, blueberry eyes so full of peace and tranquility. And now she was 3. A little lady, no longer a baby. I didn't know how I'd cope.
Her party was lovely. She was so happy to have family and friends there to celebrate her special day. She loved her cake and gifts and spent most of the time running round barefoot in the yard with her cousins and friend Anya. There was minimal cleanup, hardly any stress (other than the chaos surrounding opening presents), and an overall great day. I felt blessed to have people in our lives so willing to celebrate the life of my child.
Her 3 year physical with Dr Kolin was yesterday. She was 2.75 inches taller and 1.25 pounds heavier than her last visit 6 months before. I was amazed. The child had grown that much in half a year? Where had I been? Why had I been such a jerk, yelling at her every other day for growing out her her pants and shoes? My increasing grocery bills and never-ending shortage of fruit and coconut milk suddenly seemed justified.
Other than a slight duck-walk to compensate for flat feet, her physical was perfect. Dr Kolin was most concerned with making sure we paid close attention to her education, since she was "precocious" and extremely advanced in her language and social skills. She showed some concern over us living in the Hazel Park school district, but we assured her we'd be very involved in her education and were willing to transport her to whatever school district could best meet her needs. Dano acknowledged we would probably meet with some opposition, but that we had discussed at length the possibility of home-schooling Lilah Rose during her middle school years. Dr Kolin was surprisingly supportive, saying she thought middle schools shouldn't be co-ed. "As long as she's actually taught, I think it's a good idea. The only thing you learn in middle school is how to study and use your time wisely." I wasn't expecting any support for this tentative idea of ours. I was pleasantly surprised. When we (mostly I) expressed concern about her not knowing her shapes, letters, colors, etc. Dr Kolin shrugged it off and thought her brain was processing things at a higher level than green squares. Every parent thinks their child is exceptional. It was nice to hear an educated medical professional agree that Lilah Rose Marie had big things on her horizon as long as we provided her with the opportunities she needed.
With every year, I love her more. She grows more into a wonderful little person. The further away from a tiny, helpless baby she gets, the more of the"Lilah" comes out. I think of how she's going to be at 10, 15, 20, 30. It scares and excites me. I know she'll be wonderful. I know it will be challenging. Even so, I can't wait.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Spring is here
Amidst the busy house-hunting and birthday party planning, Spring has crept up on us. It's been a lovely combination of cooking outdoors, open windows, fresh air, singing birds, early sunrises, flowers blooming, long walks, and sidewalk chalk.
Tonight, Lilah Rose and I chatted and had a spaghetti dinner while she (inaccurately as always) recounted her day with her father. "Yeah, and then he yelled at me. Well. He really just talked to me. And I talked to Susan."
"From Monsters vs. Aliens?"
"Well, I talked to Derek (Dano's classmate). He and Daddy watched me run. They read stories."
After dinner, we walked down to the park. We played on the slide for awhile and Lilah tried hard to bond with a school-age boy who smiled at her but didn't want to engage in play with a toddler. We saw a commotion at the top of the big sledding hill, so we made our way up to see what it was all about. We found about 15 people of various ages gathered to watch a man harnessed to what looked like a paragliding wing. When the wind would pick up, he'd pull the strings and try to ride the breeze. He made it off the ground a few times, but the wind was too weak.
There was a gaggle of middle school girls dressed in Abercrombie shorts and expensive-looking shoes. I pondered the practicality of white leather flats on a dusty hill at the park and unwittingly overheard the terrible conversation that wafted away from them. The majority of them had situated themselves on the other side of the railing from one girl in sweatpants and a t-shirt. They taunted her about nothing in particular and she pretended to smile and read a magazine. When the other girls turned back to watch the athlete try to fly again, the lone girl surreptitiously wiped a stray tear away. I wanted to walk over and hug her. Tell her it would all get better and someday she'd be gloriously successful, well loved, and have an amazing life. I wanted to grab a fistful of the ring-leader's hair and throw her down the hill by it. In settling down in a good spot to watch, Lilah and I passed by the girl. We made eye contact and I smiled as warmly as I could at her. She smiled tremulously back and scooted 6 inches toward us. Lilah waved and smiled as well.
Feeling a little ill and protective of my daughter's innocence, I herded Lilah away from the vipers and back toward the park. She waved at the paraglider and called out behind her, "Good luck!" I laughed. She informed me she thought he was going to make it, going to fly. And then she would fly too, fly in the sky like a bird.
"My baby bird!"
"I'm not your baby bird, Mama. I'm Lilah!"
She held my hand cheerfully and I vowed to myself to do everything possible to shield her not from the world, but from the hateful, calloused bitterness that contemporary young girls seem to be more frequently acquiring.
Back at the park, Lilah ran wild on the slides. Two little girls about 9 years old were playing and Lilah watched shyly. A little blonde girl named Sarah was clearly the head honcho. The brunette named Kristin held fast to a sea shell about 4 inches wide. She kept filling it up with water and emptying it down the slide. She said it was special food she was collecting. The blonde approached bashfully. Lilah put her hands behind her back and beamed at the little girls. "Can she play with us?" I was enchanted by the polite, friendly girl. Lilah looked at me.
"Of course, love." Sarah helped Lilah up the high parts of the structure while Kristin, still vying for Sarah's attention, continued trying to make a water slide. She caught me looking at her in amusement and felt the need to explain.
"We're playing Indians." I nodded and pretended I had some idea what was going on. They played for an hour and the girls doted on Lilah. I wondered what happened to change adorable, playful little girls into vapid little harpies. What inspired cruelty to replace innocence? Is it a rite of passage, feeling out adulthood and working out identities? Is it avoidable? Could I do anything to preserve my sweet little child?
After awhile, Lilah's new friends took to hiding behind a wall and shouting insults at some scrappy little boys who were monkeying around on the structure. We took our leave of the park as the sun started to set and walked the two blocks home. It was a long two blocks. Lilah Rose stopped to inquire after every dog, cat, child, yard toy, flower, flowering shrub, stick, miscellaneous rock, and interesting-looking yard statue. An alarmed mother rushed out of her house having heard someone talking to her preschool-aged daughter who had been bouncing a ball in the fenced yard. Fearing a strange adult, she instead found a curious toddler with her face pressed to the fence after hearing a ball bouncing. The relief was visible on her face, and we chatted for a few minutes. "Hi. I'm Lilah. I'm 2." Her social skills are blossoming.
A few houses down, she was timidly admiring a couple yappy dogs when their owner called out the window, "Wait right there!" She grabbed one and brought it out to see us. He was a 4 month old puppy named Romeo. He licked Lilah's face and hands and she giggled rather than shrieked like a banshee. She's made progress with her dog fear this past year. We continued on home and she asked to see if Frank was open at the coffee shop. The door was open, so we stopped in to say hello. He was having a class so was open later. He offered me a drink but I declined, it being almost 8 and I did have plans to sleep tonight. He asked Lilah what she'd like and she cast me a sly glance and said, "Hot cider, please." I shook my head. "I want a cider, Mama!"
"I know, love, and I understand. But it's too late in the evening for a juice. You can have an ice water if you'd like." She fussed, the look on her face clearly giving away the inner struggle between fit and acceptance.
"Pleeease, Mama?"
"Thank you for asking so nicely, but no. You may have water or nothing at all." Heavy sigh from the child.
"I'd like water please. Excuse me, Frank. I'd like a water with one ice cube." He laughed and filled a cup.
"Here. Have two." We thanked him and made our way home. She was exhausted but happy. We'd had a lovely, neighborly evening and I knew she'd sleep well. I knew the social strife she'd been totally oblivious to would stick with me far into the night, worrying out some way to protect her, or at the very least equip her to deal with it. I'm doing the best I can so she can be all she can be. There's a whole lot of person-potential bottled up inside my daughter. More comes out every day, and I love seeing it. As I settled into the silence of home with Lilah occupied by a chocolate chip cookie, I remembered a recent study that claimed the more oppositional and opinionated a child was with their parents, the less likely they were to give into social pressures later in their teenage years. I smiled at the tiny, chocolate-smeared person sitting next to me. She'd do just fine.
Tonight, Lilah Rose and I chatted and had a spaghetti dinner while she (inaccurately as always) recounted her day with her father. "Yeah, and then he yelled at me. Well. He really just talked to me. And I talked to Susan."
"From Monsters vs. Aliens?"
"Well, I talked to Derek (Dano's classmate). He and Daddy watched me run. They read stories."
After dinner, we walked down to the park. We played on the slide for awhile and Lilah tried hard to bond with a school-age boy who smiled at her but didn't want to engage in play with a toddler. We saw a commotion at the top of the big sledding hill, so we made our way up to see what it was all about. We found about 15 people of various ages gathered to watch a man harnessed to what looked like a paragliding wing. When the wind would pick up, he'd pull the strings and try to ride the breeze. He made it off the ground a few times, but the wind was too weak.
There was a gaggle of middle school girls dressed in Abercrombie shorts and expensive-looking shoes. I pondered the practicality of white leather flats on a dusty hill at the park and unwittingly overheard the terrible conversation that wafted away from them. The majority of them had situated themselves on the other side of the railing from one girl in sweatpants and a t-shirt. They taunted her about nothing in particular and she pretended to smile and read a magazine. When the other girls turned back to watch the athlete try to fly again, the lone girl surreptitiously wiped a stray tear away. I wanted to walk over and hug her. Tell her it would all get better and someday she'd be gloriously successful, well loved, and have an amazing life. I wanted to grab a fistful of the ring-leader's hair and throw her down the hill by it. In settling down in a good spot to watch, Lilah and I passed by the girl. We made eye contact and I smiled as warmly as I could at her. She smiled tremulously back and scooted 6 inches toward us. Lilah waved and smiled as well.
Feeling a little ill and protective of my daughter's innocence, I herded Lilah away from the vipers and back toward the park. She waved at the paraglider and called out behind her, "Good luck!" I laughed. She informed me she thought he was going to make it, going to fly. And then she would fly too, fly in the sky like a bird.
"My baby bird!"
"I'm not your baby bird, Mama. I'm Lilah!"
She held my hand cheerfully and I vowed to myself to do everything possible to shield her not from the world, but from the hateful, calloused bitterness that contemporary young girls seem to be more frequently acquiring.
Back at the park, Lilah ran wild on the slides. Two little girls about 9 years old were playing and Lilah watched shyly. A little blonde girl named Sarah was clearly the head honcho. The brunette named Kristin held fast to a sea shell about 4 inches wide. She kept filling it up with water and emptying it down the slide. She said it was special food she was collecting. The blonde approached bashfully. Lilah put her hands behind her back and beamed at the little girls. "Can she play with us?" I was enchanted by the polite, friendly girl. Lilah looked at me.
"Of course, love." Sarah helped Lilah up the high parts of the structure while Kristin, still vying for Sarah's attention, continued trying to make a water slide. She caught me looking at her in amusement and felt the need to explain.
"We're playing Indians." I nodded and pretended I had some idea what was going on. They played for an hour and the girls doted on Lilah. I wondered what happened to change adorable, playful little girls into vapid little harpies. What inspired cruelty to replace innocence? Is it a rite of passage, feeling out adulthood and working out identities? Is it avoidable? Could I do anything to preserve my sweet little child?
After awhile, Lilah's new friends took to hiding behind a wall and shouting insults at some scrappy little boys who were monkeying around on the structure. We took our leave of the park as the sun started to set and walked the two blocks home. It was a long two blocks. Lilah Rose stopped to inquire after every dog, cat, child, yard toy, flower, flowering shrub, stick, miscellaneous rock, and interesting-looking yard statue. An alarmed mother rushed out of her house having heard someone talking to her preschool-aged daughter who had been bouncing a ball in the fenced yard. Fearing a strange adult, she instead found a curious toddler with her face pressed to the fence after hearing a ball bouncing. The relief was visible on her face, and we chatted for a few minutes. "Hi. I'm Lilah. I'm 2." Her social skills are blossoming.
A few houses down, she was timidly admiring a couple yappy dogs when their owner called out the window, "Wait right there!" She grabbed one and brought it out to see us. He was a 4 month old puppy named Romeo. He licked Lilah's face and hands and she giggled rather than shrieked like a banshee. She's made progress with her dog fear this past year. We continued on home and she asked to see if Frank was open at the coffee shop. The door was open, so we stopped in to say hello. He was having a class so was open later. He offered me a drink but I declined, it being almost 8 and I did have plans to sleep tonight. He asked Lilah what she'd like and she cast me a sly glance and said, "Hot cider, please." I shook my head. "I want a cider, Mama!"
"I know, love, and I understand. But it's too late in the evening for a juice. You can have an ice water if you'd like." She fussed, the look on her face clearly giving away the inner struggle between fit and acceptance.
"Pleeease, Mama?"
"Thank you for asking so nicely, but no. You may have water or nothing at all." Heavy sigh from the child.
"I'd like water please. Excuse me, Frank. I'd like a water with one ice cube." He laughed and filled a cup.
"Here. Have two." We thanked him and made our way home. She was exhausted but happy. We'd had a lovely, neighborly evening and I knew she'd sleep well. I knew the social strife she'd been totally oblivious to would stick with me far into the night, worrying out some way to protect her, or at the very least equip her to deal with it. I'm doing the best I can so she can be all she can be. There's a whole lot of person-potential bottled up inside my daughter. More comes out every day, and I love seeing it. As I settled into the silence of home with Lilah occupied by a chocolate chip cookie, I remembered a recent study that claimed the more oppositional and opinionated a child was with their parents, the less likely they were to give into social pressures later in their teenage years. I smiled at the tiny, chocolate-smeared person sitting next to me. She'd do just fine.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
I got big plans...
For pretty much everything in my life, I have a plan.
We're in the throes of the home-buying process. To ease my anxiety over a series of events I have no control over, I lie awake at night thinking of everything that could possibly go wrong. Then I think up a back-up plan for that scenario. Then I think up a back-up for my back-up. It never helps me sleep. It barely even makes me feel better. But that's what I do.
My career plans and directions are always in the back of my head. What I want to do. How long it will take me to do it. What it will take to get it all accomplished.
My plans for the current week are kicking around in there too. Bills due, chores needing to be done, cooking and baking to complete, commitments I've made.
Gardening and sustainable living plans have been at the forefront of my mind lately, as well. What I'll plant, how much, where, when (all complicated by the simple fact we don't know where we'll be living next month). I take pride in my abilities as a planner and multi-tasker. I'm good at it. I keep lots of plates spinning at once without letting them fall and shatter.
It seems like more and more lately, I've been taking a step back to admire all my spinning plates. I give myself a pat on the back for a job well done. No disasters. No crises. No broken plates. Everything's moving along nicely and I'm doing my best to be patient at the things I can't control and let the universe work itself out. However, upon taking that reflective step away from the wonderful chaos that is my life, I realize there's an aching emptiness in my heart. This sounds absurd, I'm aware. I have an incredibly fulfilled life. I have a husband who grows more awesome with every passing year. I have a daughter who I couldn't love more as she grows up into an amazing little lady. My cat is simultaneously the bane of my existence and the dearest little animal there is. We have a house, good food, a great family. I am in a career field I love and feel blessed to be a part of. The emptiness I feel is purely selfish on my part.
Before Lilah, I had this awesome group of friends. Classmates and coworkers, I had a different activity and friend for every day of the week. After a long shift at Red Lobster, I'd go out with the best, most drama-free servers I've ever met. We didn't party or get crazy. We went to Fridays for 4 dollar appetizers, talking and laughing until we were almost too tired to drive home. At school, I had a tight-knit group of no-nonsense girls. We were in it for the piece of paper and actively shunned the nonsense that went with a class of mostly females. The instructors loved us for saying what they couldn't to our ridiculous classmates. I can't think of a single area of my life where I didn't have something to look forward to. Home was a place of rest and relaxation with my husband and the occasional friend who stopped by. It was a much-needed contrast to our crazy schedules and busy social calendars. And I was thriving that way. I build my home as a sanctuary, and this is still how I operate.
The problem is, we made choices no one else made. We got married (too) young. We started careers. We (accidentally) started a family. Instead of doing whatever made us happy, it almost seemed like our choices were being made for us by the path we chose (and are still so happy with). But nights like tonight, when I'm sitting at home alone, I'm painfully aware of the world around me. While my baby girl sleeps soundly and my husband is at class, I'm alone on my couch. Every time I log into Facebook, I just get one more reminder of which friend of mine is doing something awesome tonight. Who's going out for drinks. Who's got big shopping plans. Who's going to the casino. Who has a vacation planned. Bonfires. Bike-rides. Hikes. Adventures. Concerts. Movies.
I spend my spare time planning crafts and activities to engage a toddler-brain. I love it. It's just the almost 25-year old in me tonight that's crying selfishly. She's the one who wants peers again. I just want a handful of couples who know what it's like to live for your family and their happiness and don't mind that some days you don't get to shower or look cute or have new clothes. Sometimes all your scrubs and shoes have holes in them because groceries matter more, even if snotty girls at work make comments about not wearing old shoes so much. Sometimes planning a great dinner your family is excited about is all you have to look forward to at the end of the day, and it's still enough to light you up after a stressful time at work. Sometimes you realize with a start that at almost 5 years of marriage, you've still never once been on a vacation with your spouse because you hit the ground running as a couple and have just never stopped. None of our friends understand that. They awesomely make concessions for us. They come over here, knowing we can't go out. They invite us out individually so we can still be social if we "take turns". But none of them get it. I work with nurses in their 50s and 60s, or MAs who are single and happy that way. Dano goes to school with mostly 18 year olds who are fresh out of high school and don't care. Where do you go to meet people you have something in common with at this stage of our lives? Basically, you don't. You deal with it. And you have the occasional bad night in a mostly awesome life, because you know you wouldn't do anything differently even if you had the chance.
We're in the throes of the home-buying process. To ease my anxiety over a series of events I have no control over, I lie awake at night thinking of everything that could possibly go wrong. Then I think up a back-up plan for that scenario. Then I think up a back-up for my back-up. It never helps me sleep. It barely even makes me feel better. But that's what I do.
My career plans and directions are always in the back of my head. What I want to do. How long it will take me to do it. What it will take to get it all accomplished.
My plans for the current week are kicking around in there too. Bills due, chores needing to be done, cooking and baking to complete, commitments I've made.
Gardening and sustainable living plans have been at the forefront of my mind lately, as well. What I'll plant, how much, where, when (all complicated by the simple fact we don't know where we'll be living next month). I take pride in my abilities as a planner and multi-tasker. I'm good at it. I keep lots of plates spinning at once without letting them fall and shatter.
It seems like more and more lately, I've been taking a step back to admire all my spinning plates. I give myself a pat on the back for a job well done. No disasters. No crises. No broken plates. Everything's moving along nicely and I'm doing my best to be patient at the things I can't control and let the universe work itself out. However, upon taking that reflective step away from the wonderful chaos that is my life, I realize there's an aching emptiness in my heart. This sounds absurd, I'm aware. I have an incredibly fulfilled life. I have a husband who grows more awesome with every passing year. I have a daughter who I couldn't love more as she grows up into an amazing little lady. My cat is simultaneously the bane of my existence and the dearest little animal there is. We have a house, good food, a great family. I am in a career field I love and feel blessed to be a part of. The emptiness I feel is purely selfish on my part.
Before Lilah, I had this awesome group of friends. Classmates and coworkers, I had a different activity and friend for every day of the week. After a long shift at Red Lobster, I'd go out with the best, most drama-free servers I've ever met. We didn't party or get crazy. We went to Fridays for 4 dollar appetizers, talking and laughing until we were almost too tired to drive home. At school, I had a tight-knit group of no-nonsense girls. We were in it for the piece of paper and actively shunned the nonsense that went with a class of mostly females. The instructors loved us for saying what they couldn't to our ridiculous classmates. I can't think of a single area of my life where I didn't have something to look forward to. Home was a place of rest and relaxation with my husband and the occasional friend who stopped by. It was a much-needed contrast to our crazy schedules and busy social calendars. And I was thriving that way. I build my home as a sanctuary, and this is still how I operate.
The problem is, we made choices no one else made. We got married (too) young. We started careers. We (accidentally) started a family. Instead of doing whatever made us happy, it almost seemed like our choices were being made for us by the path we chose (and are still so happy with). But nights like tonight, when I'm sitting at home alone, I'm painfully aware of the world around me. While my baby girl sleeps soundly and my husband is at class, I'm alone on my couch. Every time I log into Facebook, I just get one more reminder of which friend of mine is doing something awesome tonight. Who's going out for drinks. Who's got big shopping plans. Who's going to the casino. Who has a vacation planned. Bonfires. Bike-rides. Hikes. Adventures. Concerts. Movies.
I spend my spare time planning crafts and activities to engage a toddler-brain. I love it. It's just the almost 25-year old in me tonight that's crying selfishly. She's the one who wants peers again. I just want a handful of couples who know what it's like to live for your family and their happiness and don't mind that some days you don't get to shower or look cute or have new clothes. Sometimes all your scrubs and shoes have holes in them because groceries matter more, even if snotty girls at work make comments about not wearing old shoes so much. Sometimes planning a great dinner your family is excited about is all you have to look forward to at the end of the day, and it's still enough to light you up after a stressful time at work. Sometimes you realize with a start that at almost 5 years of marriage, you've still never once been on a vacation with your spouse because you hit the ground running as a couple and have just never stopped. None of our friends understand that. They awesomely make concessions for us. They come over here, knowing we can't go out. They invite us out individually so we can still be social if we "take turns". But none of them get it. I work with nurses in their 50s and 60s, or MAs who are single and happy that way. Dano goes to school with mostly 18 year olds who are fresh out of high school and don't care. Where do you go to meet people you have something in common with at this stage of our lives? Basically, you don't. You deal with it. And you have the occasional bad night in a mostly awesome life, because you know you wouldn't do anything differently even if you had the chance.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Outing, Take 2
So true to my word, I took Lilah Rose swimming last night. I'd been building up to it for two days, so I was really hoping the Warren Community Center was all it was cracked up to be. To hear me talk, it was a veritable oasis of childhood fun. We picked up Zedd after I got out of work. They'd both been fed, and I was driving while choking down a BLT lovingly prepared by my husband. Zedd had no idea where we were headed, Kim having kept it a surprise. On the way there, he was asking very probing questions.
"Does is have to do with goggles? I heard Mama ask where the goggles were." I laughed.
"Sounds like someone is playing detective." He just stared at me with those big blue eyes.
"No, I've never played that game before." I griped a bit about the cold weather to distract him. "Auntie, the groundhog did see his shadow." I rolled my eyes. How can I argue with a 7 year old?
"Well, the Michigan groundhog didn't." I navigated to the community center and hesitantly found a parking spot in the busy lot. I said, "Lilah, where are we going for our special night?"
"To the DIA!" *Sigh*
"Lilah, the DIA is downtown Detroit. This is Warren, where my Daddy works," Zedd informed her. We made our way inside, but I started to doubt myself when I saw the huge building, walls full of bookshelves, and 8000 kids and their parents. Maybe it was a school. I asked a determined looking older woman with a power-walking stride and an "I mean business" countenance if we were in the right spot. She took a deep, patient breath and directed us to follow her. She gave me a very judgmental look that seemed to ask why I had shown up there if I didn't know where I was going, so I made up some story about meeting someone but not being sure we were in the right place. Then Zedd gave me a very judgmental look, presumably for lying to an old woman. Thankfully he kept his mouth shut. She kindly showed us to the pool area and I thanked her. We signed in and made our way to the locker room.
Have you ever tried to change and shower yourself, a toddler, and a body-shy 7 year old? It's ill-advised if you haven't. I stripped Lilah down and sent her and Zedd into the shower while I stood outside and changed. Lilah was prodded out by Zedd, now in the trunks I had to hand him while looking the other way. Lilah sat next to the drain and proceeded to splash and play in the "puddle" while I rinsed off. Zedd packed our stuff in a locker, and I dragged out of the locker room a fussing Lilah, who was convinced that her life couldn't get any better than splashing in a locker room drain puddle.
Cue awed little faces.
The water was a foot deep and almost 90 degrees. There were about 6 life guards doing everything from circling the pool area to removing a punk 10 year old who thought it was funny to spray my daughter in the face and knock her down while his dad looked on and laughed. They intervened before I had to step in and drown the kid, so go them. The kids ran and splashed and played for almost 2 hours. Zedd has perfected the ear-shattering shriek, which he liberally employed. Lilah let out a few of her own and looked at me for my reaction. I opened my mouth to tell her not to shout, but I realized that they were essentially "outside" and should be allowed to get their shouts out now.
When they were closing the pool and I tried to fish Lilah out, she cried. "I'm not done in the bath!" Back in the dressing room, I tried to dry and change the children as fast as possible. Lilah let out a final shriek, and I told her we were back inside, and those noises have to stay outside. Zedd asked why.
"Because there are a lot of older people in here and when kids scream inside, they think there's something wrong." This was accepted. Lilah was near passed out in my arms from sheer exhaustion.
"Mama? I need...I neeeeeeed..." Water? Sleep? More bath time? "Pizza." I laughed. We navigated our way to Buddy's Pizza where we ate our fill of pepperoni and pineapple pizza and stuffed ourselves with fried mushrooms, cauliflower, and zucchini. The server was friendly and excellent, so when our check came I'd already made up my mind to tip her very well. I handed her a coupon I had, and she told me to keep it and beamed at me.
"Those two ladies sitting behind you paid for your dinner." I was in shock, but I found myself smiling. I asked if she could at least charge us for a drink so we could tip her, and she said, "Trust me, they took care of that too. You are all set."
On the way home, Zedd asked why they would do that if they didn't even know us. We all talked about the power of doing good for a stranger. He proceeded to tell me that if everyone did something nice for someone else, there would be no more robbers in Hazel Park.
"Or anywhere else," I added. "There are good and bad people everywhere you go. More good than bad. The more nice things we do for other people, the world will be a very nice place."
"Like Chazzanos!" Lilah piped up.
"Does is have to do with goggles? I heard Mama ask where the goggles were." I laughed.
"Sounds like someone is playing detective." He just stared at me with those big blue eyes.
"No, I've never played that game before." I griped a bit about the cold weather to distract him. "Auntie, the groundhog did see his shadow." I rolled my eyes. How can I argue with a 7 year old?
"Well, the Michigan groundhog didn't." I navigated to the community center and hesitantly found a parking spot in the busy lot. I said, "Lilah, where are we going for our special night?"
"To the DIA!" *Sigh*
"Lilah, the DIA is downtown Detroit. This is Warren, where my Daddy works," Zedd informed her. We made our way inside, but I started to doubt myself when I saw the huge building, walls full of bookshelves, and 8000 kids and their parents. Maybe it was a school. I asked a determined looking older woman with a power-walking stride and an "I mean business" countenance if we were in the right spot. She took a deep, patient breath and directed us to follow her. She gave me a very judgmental look that seemed to ask why I had shown up there if I didn't know where I was going, so I made up some story about meeting someone but not being sure we were in the right place. Then Zedd gave me a very judgmental look, presumably for lying to an old woman. Thankfully he kept his mouth shut. She kindly showed us to the pool area and I thanked her. We signed in and made our way to the locker room.
Have you ever tried to change and shower yourself, a toddler, and a body-shy 7 year old? It's ill-advised if you haven't. I stripped Lilah down and sent her and Zedd into the shower while I stood outside and changed. Lilah was prodded out by Zedd, now in the trunks I had to hand him while looking the other way. Lilah sat next to the drain and proceeded to splash and play in the "puddle" while I rinsed off. Zedd packed our stuff in a locker, and I dragged out of the locker room a fussing Lilah, who was convinced that her life couldn't get any better than splashing in a locker room drain puddle.
Cue awed little faces.
The water was a foot deep and almost 90 degrees. There were about 6 life guards doing everything from circling the pool area to removing a punk 10 year old who thought it was funny to spray my daughter in the face and knock her down while his dad looked on and laughed. They intervened before I had to step in and drown the kid, so go them. The kids ran and splashed and played for almost 2 hours. Zedd has perfected the ear-shattering shriek, which he liberally employed. Lilah let out a few of her own and looked at me for my reaction. I opened my mouth to tell her not to shout, but I realized that they were essentially "outside" and should be allowed to get their shouts out now.
When they were closing the pool and I tried to fish Lilah out, she cried. "I'm not done in the bath!" Back in the dressing room, I tried to dry and change the children as fast as possible. Lilah let out a final shriek, and I told her we were back inside, and those noises have to stay outside. Zedd asked why.
"Because there are a lot of older people in here and when kids scream inside, they think there's something wrong." This was accepted. Lilah was near passed out in my arms from sheer exhaustion.
"Mama? I need...I neeeeeeed..." Water? Sleep? More bath time? "Pizza." I laughed. We navigated our way to Buddy's Pizza where we ate our fill of pepperoni and pineapple pizza and stuffed ourselves with fried mushrooms, cauliflower, and zucchini. The server was friendly and excellent, so when our check came I'd already made up my mind to tip her very well. I handed her a coupon I had, and she told me to keep it and beamed at me.
"Those two ladies sitting behind you paid for your dinner." I was in shock, but I found myself smiling. I asked if she could at least charge us for a drink so we could tip her, and she said, "Trust me, they took care of that too. You are all set."
On the way home, Zedd asked why they would do that if they didn't even know us. We all talked about the power of doing good for a stranger. He proceeded to tell me that if everyone did something nice for someone else, there would be no more robbers in Hazel Park.
"Or anywhere else," I added. "There are good and bad people everywhere you go. More good than bad. The more nice things we do for other people, the world will be a very nice place."
"Like Chazzanos!" Lilah piped up.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
The purple hat
The first weekend of February was a challenge. Friday night, I took Lilah to the Rembrandt and the Face of Jesus exhibit. She likes the DIA so I expected a good night. What I didn’t expect was an over-crowded, over-sold, over-rated exhibit. We were corralled like cattle into tightly packed sections cordoned off from one another. Lilah immediately rejected the cramped quarters. I had Rob hold our spot in line while she and I walked around the room. There was a large mosaic she enjoyed, and some paintings of kids. I was relieved when we were finally allowed into the exhibit itself. We’d exhausted all entertainment options outside.
The first volunteer we encountered was a lovely British woman who pointed out areas of special interest to little ones. We walked portrait to sketch, observing what we learned to be the same Jewish man Rembrandt had used as a model for most of his portrayals of Jesus. After about 7 of the same man’s faces, Lilah sighed and looked at me. “Is this Jesus again? Is this Jesus happy or sad? No, he’s taking a walk. That one’s having some dinner. He’s talking.” Most people did not appreciate her commentary. She put a hand on a thick glass box enclosing yet another Jesus and a volunteer (who’d been watching from the side for 10 minutes, seemingly itching to come say something) approached us.
“She can’t touch that. Don’t let her touch it.” I gave him a hateful look. This 20-something was clearly too big for his britches. Let him try to control a toddler in a tightly cramped exhibit full of brightly colored, priceless art she can’t touch. He could take that blazer and smug attitude and walk the other way. I swore if he said another word to me, I’d let her lick the art.
We left the exhibit pretty quickly. Rembrandt is great and all, but most of the pieces were sketches, and a portion not even done by him, but his “school”, or “admirers”. Well, I’m a Rembrandt admirer but you don’t see my paint-by-numbers endeavors on display at the DIA.
Sunday afternoon, I was so excited. By some amazing stroke of good fortune, Lilah and I had been invited to see Cirque du Soleil’s “Quidam” at the Joe in a private suite. I dressed her adorably and braided her (now low-back length) blonde hair into a pretty crown. I packed her a backpack full of nutritious snacks since we’d be there until after dinnertime. Nicola picked us up, and her friends all admired what a sweet little girl she was. I was feeling like mother of the year.
Fast-forward an hour into the future when I was contemplating shaking Lilah until her teeth rattled. About 20 minutes into the show, she became uncontrollable. She started with just wanting to run around the suite and escalated to wanting the sugary candy snacks the other children had and refusing to sit still to the point she spilled her water on me twice with her antics. She’d look at me and emit an inhuman screech and laugh as my face darkened into a scowl. After a certain point in the performance, she got all panicky out of nowhere and slapped me across the face. She licked my cheek afterward for good measure, just in case I didn’t want to beat her before. Then she did that move kids do where they turn into jellyfish and are impossible to carry. I hauled her out of the arena to a lobby with a chair for a time out. She responded by wiggling happily in the chair and chattering. Finally she sobered and said she was sorry for hitting.
We talked about it after the time out. She told me that she was scared and wanted to go home. I felt terrible. The behavior started up when a character had come on stage wearing an overcoat and a purple top hat. The hat was suspended on wires or something, because the figure was completely headless. After that, Lilah wouldn’t watch for more than ten minutes at a time. Every time the frequent loud thunder and lighting sounded and the purple hat guy reappeared, she did her best to get another time out. She just did whatever she suspected would get her removed fastest. Diabolical or genius?
The whole way home, everyone praised Lilah for how wonderful she’d behaved. I was in disbelief. In my opinion, she’d been terrible. I took her to her father, handed her to him, and she and I both ended up in tears. Three cups of wine later, I was very introspective.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
A little princess
There is a lot of focus in our society on princesses. The toy aisles are lined with pink proclamations of childhood royalty. According to to Merriam-Webster, a princess is archaically defined as a woman having sovereign power. Other definitions include "a female member of a royal family", "the consort of a prince", and "one likened to a princess. Especially a woman of high rank or of high standing in her class or profession ". "Examples: 'She's just a stuck up princess'." "Synonyms: goddess, diva, queen".
Really?
Lilah truly despises the Disney Princesses in all their forms. From Cinderella to Tangled, we've tried them all. The only one she perked up at was Beauty and the Beast. I'm not sure Belle counts - the well-read, intelligent, spirited young woman with the courage to stand up to a beast of a man everyone worships to protect the kind soul she sees inside of a monster. She was a princess in word and deed, but like many today who would exhibit all of the same admirable qualities, she was shunned by her town. They easily acknowledged her beauty but dismissed her as "rather odd".
This "princess" mentality the little girls have today is something I'm trying hard to shelter my daughter from. In Eloise at the Plaza, Eloise remarked that her mother was the most sought after woman at the debutante ball, "because she had grace". When did we trade in grace, gentleness, compassion, modesty, intelligence, and self-reliance for this entitled attitude?
I prefer the archaic definition of the word - a woman of sovereign power. While waiting for the traffic update on my way to work, I was forced to listen to Taylor Swift's "Love Story". In a ritualistic slaughter of Shakespeare, she recounts being young and in love. The girl pines and wastes away waiting for Romeo, who eventually shows up, dazzles her with a ring, and tells her, "I love you and that's all I really know." Is that enough? No. Not even close. There's no effort put forth, no work at a relationship, no mutual respect. I was disgusted by the message and prayed for some kind of explosion or breaking news to interrupt. And while I agree that Lilah's eventual "Prince" (or "Princess") should treat her like royalty, no daughter of mine should pine away in a tower, helpless until rescued.
In reality, there is no "Prince Charming". There might be half a dozen, depending on what path in life she chooses. There's no magic man to solve all your problems for you. In the best case scenario, she will find a partner to hold her hand through the tough times, cover her eyes during scary parts of movies, shake some sense into her when she's being unreasonable, and love her for the Beauty she really is. Even in A Knight's Tale, Will takes all manner of abuse to prove his love. To the point of death or physical injury, he places himself in harm's way to show his Lady he was sincere. Now, had she been in danger and he was willing to place himself between his Lady and the offending force, it wouldn't be so wrong. But the fact she makes him put his life on the line for her own personal sport disgusts me. That's not love. That's spoiled entitlement. Those aren't the values we want our daughter to have.
To be a Disney Princess, Lilah Rose would have to have an impossible waistline, dress provocatively, sing beautifully, and suffer endless evil persecution until the day her Prince rides in on his white steed to rescue her. Oh, and all before her 18th birthday, mind you. In reality, we'd love her to be more like Eloise - a spirited hellion who values honestly, romance, integrity, friendship, courage, beauty, and grace. "I'm Eloise. I'm six. I am a city child. I live at the Plaza." I'll close with the line from A Little Princess. When asked if there were really princesses, her Indian friend Maya tells Sarah, "All women are princesses. It is our right." I agree. We have a right. But we also have a responsibility.
Really?
Lilah truly despises the Disney Princesses in all their forms. From Cinderella to Tangled, we've tried them all. The only one she perked up at was Beauty and the Beast. I'm not sure Belle counts - the well-read, intelligent, spirited young woman with the courage to stand up to a beast of a man everyone worships to protect the kind soul she sees inside of a monster. She was a princess in word and deed, but like many today who would exhibit all of the same admirable qualities, she was shunned by her town. They easily acknowledged her beauty but dismissed her as "rather odd".
This "princess" mentality the little girls have today is something I'm trying hard to shelter my daughter from. In Eloise at the Plaza, Eloise remarked that her mother was the most sought after woman at the debutante ball, "because she had grace". When did we trade in grace, gentleness, compassion, modesty, intelligence, and self-reliance for this entitled attitude?
I prefer the archaic definition of the word - a woman of sovereign power. While waiting for the traffic update on my way to work, I was forced to listen to Taylor Swift's "Love Story". In a ritualistic slaughter of Shakespeare, she recounts being young and in love. The girl pines and wastes away waiting for Romeo, who eventually shows up, dazzles her with a ring, and tells her, "I love you and that's all I really know." Is that enough? No. Not even close. There's no effort put forth, no work at a relationship, no mutual respect. I was disgusted by the message and prayed for some kind of explosion or breaking news to interrupt. And while I agree that Lilah's eventual "Prince" (or "Princess") should treat her like royalty, no daughter of mine should pine away in a tower, helpless until rescued.
In reality, there is no "Prince Charming". There might be half a dozen, depending on what path in life she chooses. There's no magic man to solve all your problems for you. In the best case scenario, she will find a partner to hold her hand through the tough times, cover her eyes during scary parts of movies, shake some sense into her when she's being unreasonable, and love her for the Beauty she really is. Even in A Knight's Tale, Will takes all manner of abuse to prove his love. To the point of death or physical injury, he places himself in harm's way to show his Lady he was sincere. Now, had she been in danger and he was willing to place himself between his Lady and the offending force, it wouldn't be so wrong. But the fact she makes him put his life on the line for her own personal sport disgusts me. That's not love. That's spoiled entitlement. Those aren't the values we want our daughter to have.
To be a Disney Princess, Lilah Rose would have to have an impossible waistline, dress provocatively, sing beautifully, and suffer endless evil persecution until the day her Prince rides in on his white steed to rescue her. Oh, and all before her 18th birthday, mind you. In reality, we'd love her to be more like Eloise - a spirited hellion who values honestly, romance, integrity, friendship, courage, beauty, and grace. "I'm Eloise. I'm six. I am a city child. I live at the Plaza." I'll close with the line from A Little Princess. When asked if there were really princesses, her Indian friend Maya tells Sarah, "All women are princesses. It is our right." I agree. We have a right. But we also have a responsibility.
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