A Pat On The Back.

By: Danny Thomas

here I am…
sitting on the end of the bed
with a pile of laundry
literally
looming
over my computer.
Everything is looming right now;
spring,
the river,
the future,
the past,
relationships,
colleagues…
Jennifer and I
are occupying the land of loom…
it seems to happen with us a lot.

oh Christ…
are we those people…

with the drama,
and the constant crises?

Probably.
Sometimes…
we are.
Probably
sometimes
all of us are.

Oh well.

sorry.

This week,
the last six days,
have been intense.

How many parenting and family blogs have that line in them?
How self reflective can I be in one blog?

I started my new job full time.
I haven’t had a full time job in ten years…
The whole time Jen was in grad-school
we got by with me
being a home maker
and bringing in a little extra dough for
beer and wine and whatever recreation..
and
also
of course
student loans…
and food stamps.

I am not one of those people who claims to have put my spouse through
grad school…

I have very much been in
along-for-the-ride mode.

So…

that’s a big shift.
But that is only one aspect
of our intense week…

Also,
all three children
got a stomach flu.
And it lasted for the entire week in ‘Zilla’s poor little belly…
So strange.

Another reminder how they are all unique,
not just in how they look
and interact
with the world…

but even down to their chemistry
and how their guts work…

that the same flu
can sit with one kid for 4 days
and be through the system of the other two
over the course of 36 hours.

Bananas…

But that’s a blog for a different day.

So that’s two aspects…

and a third
it’s the last week of school for Jen
which means;
extra hours…
grading,
finals,
graduation,
showcases,
stuff like that…

phew

anyway…

my point is
We. Made. It

We made it through the week,
and here we are, enjoying the weekend.

We had a great,
wonderful,
special adventure yesterday
after ballet…
celebrating free comic book day.
And we watched a movie together…
And we are
a family
who loves each other,
and who eats well…
and together…
and who
gets sick together too
and props each other up
through
these big shifts in life…
who guide each other
through the looming future.

And sometimes it takes the crucible of hard times,
or the catalyst of big changes
to see that
or be reminded of it.

We are a team
and we do well together
more often than we fail
and that’s worth noting.
It’s worth celebrating.
As a matter of fact,
as often as possible.

I have talked about this blog
being a vessel of positive
self reflection,
that when I started writing it
I made a conscious decision
to use this as a place to
be thoughtful
and positive.
Knowing that there are plenty of trolls on the internet,
enough critics,
and more than enough depressing pessimism.

I am not always jolly
and I don’t always write about easy stuff,
or good feelings…
but I think we can
lead an examined life
that is also a positive one
and that is a goal,
hope,
vision of mine…
That my better self
has a sense of humor
about being self-critical

and can be gentle about being critical of others…

and knows it’s necessary,
but also knows…
there is a way
to do it
and a way to reflect
that is helping us to know
we are okay
as much as it helping us
to be our better selves…

I was inspired and reminded of my
commitment to optimism
yesterday
when I read this blog by Steve Wiens….

I am inspired to start
patting my parent self on the back
occasionally.

I hope you join me.

Work and play. Play and work…

 

By: Danny ThomasI think it’s interesting
and not insignificant
that Jennifer and I
both seem to use the words
“work” and “play”
interchangeably.

we are both students of theatre
so that has to be a factor
because
theatre
on some levels,
like many arts,
if you’re doing it right
I think,
is a vocation
largely devoted
to playing.

in my music
and my writing
I work at playing too
and I play at working…

I was in the kitchen…
cleaning the thing
which we can’t decide
whether to call
a griddle or a skillet
so we call it a skiddle…

anyway,
I was cleaning that
and I heard Jennifer say to the girls.
“You guys are working really well together…
you are playing nice.”
to the older girls
who were playing some math games
on the iPad.

I guess
I am just grateful that
I have partnered with
and get to co-parent
with someone
who, like me,
sees these things; “work” and “play”
as intertwined or symbiotic, if not actually one and the same…
who takes playing seriously and sees the fun in work.

Not long after Maya was born
I was talking with an acquaintance,
a guy who modeled at the art gallery where I worked.
(I got to meet some interesting characters in that job!)
I was talking about the idea that as much as I had wanted to be a dad
for nigh on 10 years
and that as much as we had prepared
by reading books
and watching movies
and talking to parents
our minds were still blown…
by becoming parents

and the responsibility…
the work of parenting
was particularly mind-blowing
in that it is work… it is Work.
but it is different than any other kind of work
i’ll ever do.
and the difference is ineffable
again,
here I am trying to eff the ineffable…
but these are the places
my mind occupies
when I sit down
to write…
or maybe I should say
these are the things
that occupy my mind…
whatever…

It is a unique work, and a work that relates to art making
in that it is creative
and compelling
and born out of love,
at least under the best circumstances.
it is a work that most of us who do it
do because
we feel obliged to or inspired to
or both.
It is a unique kind of
responsibility
not free of resentment
but an commitment that comes with a tender reward
that can only marginally be expressed by the joy I feel watching the flicker of an eyelash and last final sigh before the rhythmic breathing of deep sleep settles in… or the ecstasy on the face of a mudcovered child… or the profound fear of watching a ball roll down the driveway, child in tow… knowing that I can’t get there in time and hoping that my voice does the trick… and the relief I feel when it does.

back to the story…

I was talking to this guy
who was not a parent…
But definitely was a dude
with an interesting perspective
and outlook.
a model, working on a degree
in ecology… sustainability in particular…
our previous conversations had ranged from
Carlos Castaneda, to Kurt Vonnegut…
and Pink Floyd to Complexity Theory…
This was in Eugene, Oregon, mind you,
a place where chances are high that your bartender has a PhD in Physics…
or is high on psilocybin…
or both.

So this shaggy, brainy male model and I were having a conversation on parenting and he recommended a book to me… the book was The Continuum Concept by Jean Liedloff…

A book not originally intended as a parenting book… but over time was adopted as one…

Many, many ideas from the book resonated with me, and as I have mentioned in the past, I don’t believe any book or author is a panacea, there is no magic recipe for any family, relationship or person… however… there are certainly lessons to be gleaned and important ideas to share and think about in so much of what is floating around…

So, of the many ideas that struck a chord with me – one of the prominent ones that applies to the ideas bouncing around in my brain today – is the notion that these indigenous tribes that Jean Liedloff spent time with had no concept of a distinction between work and play… they all just did what they could, with the faith that everyone was making a valid and significant contribution…

I should probably go look up that section of the book,
I may be characterizing it incorrectly
but it was something along the lines of they had no separate words for work or play…

We don’t live among the tribes of the Yequana Indians in the jungles of South America, so the reality is we can’t exactly mirror their lifestyle… but there certainly are lessons to be learned, and that knowledge can inform how we approach our work, and our play, and the work/play of raising kids.

Embracing the Rattling Cage

By Danny Thomas

It’s St. Patrick’s Day…
We keep trying to make family traditions
for St. Patrick’s Day,
none of them stick.

In my head
it was always
a big deal with my family
growing up.

We certainly always
ate a special meal.
If not corned beef and cabbage,
then something related.

Sometimes we went to see a film
an irish film
at some art house theatre.
My mom loves foreign films.
And art films.
We went to a lot of independent films
at art house theatres
when I was growing up.

It sometimes depresses me
when our holidays
do not jive with
the holidays I remember growing up.
It happens,
oddly,
with Thanksgiving
and Halloween
and St Patricks Day…

I think…
mostly,
I just need to give it time…
let the traditions develop…
let the family grow…
and create relationships…
with each other…
and with other families…
and those traditions will take
root
and grow…

Also,
I think
it takes work,
and decisive thinking,
and collaboration,
on the part of the family,
to create the traditions.
It takes some effort.
And right now
that effort
is aimed at other things in our lives.

But there is time…

I keep coming back to this idea,
to this notion
of the difference
between
how we imagine things to be…
how we hope for them to be…
and the reality that they become.
This thought; that we have an ideal
or an expectation,
and sometimes the world matches it
or
if we’re lucky,
exceeds it…

but sometimes,
more often,
the world falls drastically short of our expectation.

Does it fall short,
or is it just different
than what we expected?

And wouldn’t it be worse,
to get everything you expect,
and know every bump down the road,
than rolling with
the ups and downs?

As much as it seems nice to have everything in place all the time,
the dreary monotony,
I imagine,
would be relentless.

I am more inclined
to find a way
to embrace
my rattling cage.

My dad’s birthday is on Thursday.
it’s the first one
since he died.

The thing that
makes me most sad
is not that he doesn’t
get to have another birthday
(he was tired of them 10 years ago)
or even that I don’t get to wish him another happy birthday.
The thing that makes me saddest
is thinking about my mom
who, by default of her partnership,
and the traditions built in around
that partnership,
has had something to do
on March 21st
for the last 50 years
and now
this year…

I wish we could be together this

Thursday.
I wish my brother could be there too…
All of us.

But this is another one of those bumps in the road.
This is one of those ways things are different than we expect…
or want…
this is one of the ways things change.
And embracing change
I guess
means embracing
the stuff that
troubles us
with the same
open arms
that we
embrace
the stuff
that brings us
joy.

Relationships Are Like Snowflakes…

By Danny Thomassomething that’s been on my mind
as a parent lately…
as my third baby turns one…
and the others plug along
and go through
all the things a first grader
and pre-schooler
should go through,
is how different each one of them is,
and how different each of our relationships is…
and I know
it shouldn’t be a surprise.

everyone tells you each kid is different.
and everyone talks about overcoming that expectation.

in the rational mind
it completely makes sense
I have been at a different point in my life
and thus a different person
as each of these children has come in to the world…

and each of them is very distinct
has different needs
and different ways of seeing and being in the world
and thus
each of our relationships is ever so distinct.

and yet…

I can’t fight this feeling
that they should all be getting exactly the same things from me
that
somehow, by not relating to them in identical ways
and giving them equal and matching gifts,
I am doing them a disservice.

this is all brought to mind, of course,
by the fact that Zuzu,
the baby of the bunch,
just turned one…
and had no real party to speak of.
no balloons.
she got some presents,
some great presents,
that she loves.
and we went out to ice cream
but…
no party.

which then led me to realize that
when the other two were turning a year,
not only did they get big(ish) parties…

they had groups of friends,
Lil’ Chaos had been in day care for about 4 months
and was part of a parent/baby group that we went to
as a family on a weekly basis…

‘Zilla had been in day-care from 5 weeks of age…
she was social.

Little Zuzu, all her friends are grown ups, or college kids…

and for no rational reason, I feel guilt for this, and many many other
distinctions…
the kid has more social stimulation within her family than the other two…
she is better than fine.
she is happy and thriving…

but because the parental reflex,
or at least my parental reflex,
is guilt
I have guilt about this…

reasonably, I know…
they will all be different,
develop differently,
have different needs and expectations…

I guess the challenge is
to get my heart and head in sync
in this matter
to let go of that guilt
and,
this time,
let the reasonable self
prevail…

What I Learned from My One-Year-Old

By Danny Thomas

my one year old
taught me something today
or stirred something
reminded me of something
some primal knowledge
that my body knows
that my heart knows
but that my silly samsaric mind forgets

as we wrapped up
after the shower
she looked up at me
bundled in her towel
and her eyes spoke so clearly,
slow down and hold me, daddy

so I put everything down
put everything out of my mind
put my phone in the other room
and sat
and held her…
and I’ll be damned if it didn’t feed us both
in our soul
to our core

as I sat there I thought
how is this something we
forget?
how is this something
we need to make time for?
how?

this is the root.
this is the core.
this is how we love each other.
we hold each other.
this should just happen.

there are a million other ways
we love our children
and most of them are the things that get in the way of holding them too…
things that take time away from stillness…
isn’t that just the dichotomy?
isn’t that just the bitch of it?

but we must.
we must make holding our children
a main concern.
holding with intention.
physical tenderness while we let the rest of the world and its worries fall away.
it is good for us all.

the other bitch of it is
it requires not just intention on our part
as parents
but openness
and listening
and awareness

we must be alert
to those moments
when they ask
not just with their words
but with their eyes
and their bodies
and their hearts…

it means we have to be patient
and vigilant…

making time

not just on our terms
when it fits
in between school
and work
and shopping
and ballet
and laundry
and homework
and dinner
and dishes
and video games…

but when it doesn’t fit…

Thanks
ZuZu
for reminding me
what it’s all about
and giving me that
downtime
today
in your nursery
sharing that with me
as you fell to slumber
you asked me
just to sit with you
and not rush things
and not be distracted.
You asked me to focus on you
and be still with you
and that was pretty amazing
and a wonderful reminder.

now I need to make sure it happens with your big sisters too.
and your mom.
and the trees.
and the river.
and the sky.
and the moon.
and the mountains.

but thanks.

To Rage or Not to Rage…

By Danny Thomas

Somewhere along in the holidays … I think b’tween Christmas and New Year’s
I got really mad at a box of Glad 4 gallon garbage bags… this happens often… about every time I try to take one out of the box.

it is a stupid, stupid piece of product design… there is no way to get out a single bag… not even a way to rearrange the set up so that one can get a single bag without taking out the entire ball of bags… and of course each time you do this the thing gets messier and stupider…
just writing about it, my blood is beginning to boil…

at the time this happened I had been thinking
about the new year… you know self reflection… all that…
I spend a lot of time reflecting on myself…
probably too much,
as I write that it sounds pretty terrible…
let’s call it self examination…

anyway…

I spend a lot of time doing that –
I don’t wait for the new year…
but putting a year to bed, one can’t help but take a look at stuff
like progress, and growth and goals.

one of the things that I struggle with…
that I have wrestled with my whole life I guess
and that I occasionally focus on, since a very clever therapist
pointed out that this might be a struggle for me,
is this idea of the shadow self.
I have written about it before
and my struggles in that regard…

Robert Bly wrote a great piece about it
and it comes from Jung…
and the idea is that we all have this darker side,
these emotions that have a cultural perception as dark: anger and rage, sadness, glumness that kind of stuff.
The next part of the idea is that, if we try to suppress those parts of ourselves, (this is basically Zen philosophy, I think) they will leak and bubble out in uncontrolled ways.

it is clear, in my life, to those who know me intimately, that I have this struggle with rage, certainly the box of Glad 4 gallon garbage bags is aware.

so anyway, when I was in therapy (I would still be in therapy if I still lived within proximity to my amazing therapist) one of the things we wanted to tackle was this rage… acupuncture really helped, but she also encouraged me to develop a relationship with my shadow self… to find an outlet for or at least acknowledge and accept my anger and sadness… and all those negative feelings.

Not sure if I have.

in fact, coming back to the moment, over the holidays, when I was exploding in the bathroom at the box of  Glad 4 gallon garbage bags…

I went to Jen and began a diatribe that went something like this;
“I am done being Mr. Chipper, Mr. Thoughtful, I am going to write about things that piss me off, starting with this fucking box of Glad 4 gallon garbage bags. I have a lot to be angry about, damn it. My dad died of cancer, and not only is there a good chance that I will have the very same cancer, there is a good chance my kids will too, damn it… I am angry about the state of our country, and politics, and culture, and the economy, and the health of the planet…. and that’s just the start, I am writing about my anger damn it.”

She, very wisely, listened and said, succinctly, “okay.”

I have since, thought about it, and decided I was wrong…

When I started writing this blog, I made a decision, sort of a vow… I was not going to use it as a forum for anger, or complaining, or negativity… but as a platform for positivity, thoughtfulness, examination, and provocation… and I am going to stick to that. There are enough voices on the World Wide Web being pissy and shitty and complaining and being negative…

Occasionally I whine about my struggles, or bring up an issue with this or that thing out in the world, but I try to do it in a thought-provoking way, as an opportunity to examine some of my beliefs, or some cultural assumptions, rather than as a way to vent about a product, or a policy, or a person…

So, while I am still searching for a venue for my shadow self… (Maybe I’ll start a separate blog for him…) I am not going to spend a whole blog page complaining about how stupid the Glad 4 gallon garbage bags are; that would be a waste of time, and energy, and just one more crabby voice on the Internet. I would rather talk about growth and potential and questions, and balance and grace.

And here’s the thing, I do get mad, I say, “GOD DAMN IT! “ but, a few years ago, I would have screamed and yelled and torn that box apart or thrown it across the room. So it is an opportunity for me to see that I have grown,  thanks for that, Glad 4 gallon garbage bags, I hope you change your packaging soon. And I know I will never buy another box of Glad 4 gallon garbage bags again.

Grace and Balance

By Danny Thomas

I haven’t written in a really long time
I’ve been “too busy living life”

Or something…
The thing I have to get into my stubborn or lazy brain
Is that, for me writing is part of living life
So being too busy to do it
Just doesn’t make sense
But hell
I’ve practically been too busy to do my paying job

Is busy the word?
Busy cleaning up after sick kids
And being sick
And having medical procedures
And pondering time travel
And loyalty
And espionage
And marriage
And parenting
And time
And death
And entropy
And thoughts and thoughts and thoughts…
And oh the list…
There is so much on my mind
That writing, putting the thoughts to words…
feels like trying to funnel the sea…

There is this pain and joy and this mixture of them both…
There is time…  and changes…
and the bittersweet impermanence of things.
These really are all I want to focus on…
And do…
And think about…
And sing about and write about…

And yet part of what makes that mixture exist is the wanting.
So I keep myself wanting?
To write,
So that at some point
I’ll have something to write about?
Is that all?
That seems way to simple…
and stupid.

That can’t be it…
There are other things I want.
And too many real, corporeal things, that truly obstruct my ability to achieve fruition…
As a writer,
Hell, as a human.

My wife and I are doing a major re-arrange and purge…
These things usually take three weeks or so…
I mean…the actual shifting of the plates…
The pressure has been building
On a tectonic level
For months
The Feng Shui in our house has never been right.

But we’ve also never had the coinciding, time, gumption, energy, and wherewithal to make the massive adjustments required to settle in… we don’t really have all those things now, but we have crumbs of enough of them to make a go…

We have been in this house a year and a half… and really have never completely finished moving in… the point is, it takes a while…
Stages… planning, talking, re-talking, forgetting…
The frustration and joy of communication.
Then the actual movement comes…
The stairs, the snow, the lost pieces, blocked pathways, pinched fingers, and impossible angles…
The frustration and joy of change and objective action.

I’ve been down in the basement
Going through boxes of books – trying to reduce the stack of kid books by half…
Understand, there is a bookshelf of books in their room… the basement books are “on rotation.”
Two medium size moving boxes full – and two standard book boxes full…
I figure one of each of these is a reasonable reduction at this time
So I am sorting into a purge pile
And a “keep” pile..
Some are kept because I have not read them yet
Some because I’ve read them too many times
Some are tossed because they are too worn
Some kept because their scars are familiar and comforting.
And I came across a handful of books that are “Our family is having a new baby…” type books.
I was stunned… paralyzed.
I can’t even find the right words
To commit to paper
The onslaught of thoughts and emotions…

Get rid of this book? Yes? No? Why?
The flash of thoughts and emotions…
Jen told me she recently had a similar experience while organizing Zuzu’s closet…
The baby blankets…
Are they obsolete in this house?
Keepsakes only?

Why do we keep these things…?
How do we know what we will need or not need?
Why is it so hard to let them go?
Things…
Thoughts…
Time…

 

Raising a Family: Village

By: Danny Thomas

The only thing I can think to write about this week is gratitude.
My gosh, we are blessed.
What brings it to mind at this particular point in time is the fact that
I am being generously afforded the luxury of sitting on the couch and writing this blog by a friend who is holding my baby for me… who has spent the afternoon and evening with my kids… and is still enjoying their company enough to remain in our house, into the evening, and hold a semi-sleeping-sometimes writhing-probably teething baby…
Not only is she enjoying their company, she relishes it.
Thank you, Megan! Thank you universe!

And you know what?
Thinking about that puts me in mind of how, for the last 7 years… or 8… Jen and I have been fortunate enough to have generous, kind, dear, and beloved teachers, caregivers, friends, and family taking part in raising our kids.

From the moment we shared the news that Jen was pregnant with Lil’ Chaos our friends and family rallied around us… surrounded us with good food and good feelings… and we have been fortunate enough to have people in our lives throughout parenthood who have been both open-handed and big-hearted with our family.

I realize that not everyone is that lucky, and that some opt to hire extra-hands… but what a blessing it’s been, even just today to have someone give their time to our family so that Jen and I could take in an afternoon of theatre… do some household chores in the basement, uninterrupted and in relative calm, to have extra hands at dinner and bedtime, and to have someone here now, holding the child so that I may make a batch of brownies and write a blog.

It’s a reminder to think about all the blessings we have, that through life’s challenges and hardships, through all the stress and worry we are carried by the love of our loved ones…

Thinking of the kindness of the people we’ve known… and the people who’ve been brought in to our lives by our children, and those we already knew whose relationships with us have evolved and expanded to include our children too…  fills my heart, it fills my heart.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the desperate moments and to spend our days focusing on what we don’t have, on things… and on times we miss or are missing…
But generous people and good relationships have worth without measure, and they keep us afloat, I have been, and will be grateful without end for the kindheatedness we’ve been shown.

This life is full of kindness and generosity of all stripes… these, I believe are moments of grace… little miracles… and they are there to remind us that even in the face of hard times love is the best response.

Father of Three Seeks: Rhythm

By: Danny Thomas

I have been trying to write this blog for three weeks…
About this idea of rhythm
And being out of time
About tapping into my circadian self
About re-finding my pace…
I have a lot of thoughts…
It’s hard to organize them.
I think partly because I am so
Arrhythmic…
This is troubling.
Part of what has got me in mind of
rhythmicality is this undertaking I have begun, getting fit…
running a few times a week…
I have also been thinking about what it means and how it feels to be
such a stereotype…
Approaching 40;
faced, in a painfully drastic way, with mortality;
trying to get fit;
writing about it.
I am more comfortable with being a stereotype at 39 than I was at 29, or 19…
But, what the hey, that fits the stereotype too, doesn’t it?

Today I hit the end of my 5th week of a fitness program… the first longer run…
Jumping from 5 minute running intervals to a 20 minute run…
I tried to do it outside, I have, prior to today, been running on a treadmill…
For various reasons, not the least of which is the lack of a jogging stroller…
I had no idea how to keep a decent pace without the treadmill.
It seems the virtual Mickey Goldmill has been of utmost importance for me.
The run killed me. I had no sense of pace. Raced for the first half of my run, and couldn’t make it the rest of the way, had to walk…

As I mentioned, I have had a sense of being adrift, of being out of time, but I don’t think I realized how out of touch with myself I am. For some reason this inability to find a decent maintainable pace seems to have philosophic significance for me, it seems to be important… I am realizing that I have never been great at pacing myself… that it hasn’t ever been that vital, or felt that essential…

But I have, for much of my time here on this planet, had a sense of rhythm…
And I’m not just talking about James Brown and Cole Porter…
(Although, I do have the funk!)

I am talking about the bigger rhythms…
I am talking about being sensitive to, and taking pleasure in, the patterns of The Universe.
I am talking about grooving on the harmonic layers of chaos and order that create the strange and magnificent upheaval of day to day life…
About rolling with the swing of the seasons, the weather, the wind, blowing apples from the tree, and the bees eating those apples, teeny tiny bites at a time…

I have known that I was out of shape,
And needed to get fit.
And I have known that something tripped me up
Over the course of my father’s illness and death.
But I haven’t been able to put words to it…
In fact, Jen asked me, at some point in the summer,
How I was dealing, because from where she sat I seemed pretty detached…
I was surprised… I had not felt detached…
I had felt like I was tuned in to my feelings and my family,
That I was open and sharing myself honestly…
But she clearly sensed a hitch in the get-a-long…
I now have words for what that is…
I am out of sync, out of rhythm…
Off my cycle…

Who knows if this was caused by my father’s death alone…
Maybe approaching middle age… Maybe it’s the shift from the west coast to the mid-west…
Maybe it’s the growing family…
Probably it is all of these things. And probably some things I can’t even sense or name.
I’ll tell you this tho, running feels good, and learning to find my pace seems like a good thing… and, even if I’ve never been much good at pacing myself before, it seems like the right time to learn.

A Father’s Reflections at Summer’s End

By: Danny Thomas

 

I’ve been trying to write this blog for over a week… I can barely get two thoughts down without getting interrupted or distracting myself… so… this blog is representative of life in our house right now…

I’m just going to post the various starts… the vapors… of something that should be more coherent right now… but…

just can’t be.

I just checked four books out from the library: a book of poems, a novel, a graphic novel, and a non-fiction book about three poets – oh and one more, so that makes five, the last one is about cool apps for taking and manipulating pictures with your iphone. I will never read all five.
What was I thinking?
There is laundry, and dishes, a broken vacuum cleaner, a finicky lawn mower, a cat box to empty, kids to feed and bathe… to say nothing of dusting or groceries, or going to work…

school is going to start soon.
thank heavens…
this family needs the routine
and the time away from each other
eegawds
we need it.
we front loaded our summer with lots of activities and adventures for the kids…
dance camp, YMCA camps, tennis lessons… trips here and there…
and we have spent August tripping over each other and stepping on each other’s toys…
We will revisit our summer planning concept next year…

Yesterday Li’l Chaos fell out of a tree.  It was a big and scary, wonderful lesson… she is convinced Grandpa’s spirit softened her blow. She also made me and Jen very proud… she was trustworthy in a situation where a friend was trying to convince her to deceive us… she chose to be honest… and it gives me hope that despite all the trials and tribulations, all the questionable choices, something good is getting in there – we are doing something right, she knows what is right, and wants to be honest with us.
thank heavens for that.

 

a poem i wrote on my phone:

I
Lay there
On the floor
Of my odd kids
Room
Trying to
Ignore the cat butt on my face
And trying to figure out
If it’s a Barbie shoe, or an escaped barrel monkey
Implanting itself in my left buttock.
I composed
In my head at that time
A divine and articulate blog
That was sort of
A
Story problem, a calculation
Of
How
Many hours in the last five years I have spent putting children to
Sleep, then at ten I woke up
Peeled
Myself
Off the floor
Told
My still awake kid to
Put herself to sleep
And went downstairs to poor myself a beer
I
Am now writing this on my phone while my still awake kid tossles on the floor next to me.

Never finished my beer
got to, instead,
Talking about life
And our schedule
With Jen
Relaxation…

out the window.

I can barely manage to…
to look up a recipe for the green round thing on my counter
that looks like a cross between a squash and a zucchini…
is that summer squash?
I thought summer squash was that stuff that was like a zucchini but yellow…
maybe just a round zucchini…?

the other day I stood in the shower
trying to think about nothing.
of course, if you have to try
it never happens.
All I could think about was the schedule… the calendar,
and the baby
crying in her room…
and her big sister… stomping around…
doing, who knows what…?
I was thinking about the next three days
and how they fill up
and fall together…
the next three years…
the last 6… 7… 10 years…

and I was thinking about myself…
and this shower…
and how I was trying to make it luxurious
but somehow managed to let myself be robbed of that…

but now, sitting here I realize that self care is not a luxury.
self care… I don’t just mean, hygiene, tho sometimes it seems I need the reminder…
I mean care of our greater self, our entire self, self time is not luxury time.
and I don’t necessarily mean time “by yourself”

but time that is free
free time.
Time that is spent doing things that make you feel good.
but wait,
being with, and doing things for my family make me feel good…
and, gratefully, I feel good when I spend time working, at any of my various jobs…
so what is this “feel good time?”
what is this moment we want to be in?
what is balance?

well…

the thing is,
in the shower, I started to cry…
I started to lose my shit.
here is a baby crying, screaming in her crib…
and a stomping, six-year-old Lil’ Chaos looking for an outlet to plug herself into
(is that metaphor? I’m not even sure…)
and ten thousand things on my list.
and five thousand OTHER things I’d like to do to take care of myself.

like exercise
yoga
acupuncture
a check up with a doctor…
therapy

but…
the big but,

if taking a shower feels like a luxury?
what do I give up
to fit in a jog?
or a trip to the doctor,
or acupuncturist.

I always tell myself,
evenings…
that’s the time to get stuff done,
write that… blog
treadmill,
read.

But post bedtime,
all I seem to be up for is folding laundry
or clearing the mess off the kitchen counter,
which is where I am, writing this
right now
one handed,
while holding a baby…

And, to be honest, sometimes all I have the gumption for after putting the kids to bed is to pin a few pins, browse facebook and instagram… and read a few pages before falling asleep.

I started exercising
about 2 weeks ago.

I had this conversation with my wife,
and she was right…
again…
She’s been running for a few weeks… it’s clearly helping her feel good.
“If you really want it, you can do it, we’ll work it out.”
In the moment, I got really mad, ‘cause she made it sound so simple, but the thing is… it is… I just had to decide to do it – and the moment I did it felt pretty damn good.

And it made me realize with all this madness and craziness and overwhelming stuff of life going on right now it’s easy to start to feel down… with these kids who are constantly challenging me (bless their independence) and bickering with each other… it’s easy to lose my temper…
but, at least some of the time, on some level, it’s a choice…
and I can make another choice…
to have fun,
I’m sure getting enough sleep is key.

I posted this as a facebook status the other day…
it gives you another idea of what running on the treadmill is like
for me…

couch25k – week 2 day 1 – reporting Harpers Index style;
Minutes on treadmill:32
Minutes cat shared treadmill with me: 4.5
Minutes on treadmill w/baby crying in exesaucer: 7.5
Minutes on treadmill w/baby crying in Ergo: 1.5
Minutes on treadmill w/baby chilling in bouncer next to me: 20 or so…
# of fights between older two sisters refereed while on treadmill: 3
# of requests for assistance in costume changes while on treadmill: 1
# of costume change assistance requests denied: 1
Minutes on treadmill before older two sisters were sent upstairs: 2
Soundtrack: celtic station on Pandora (thanks to ‘Zilla – it was really good to run to…).
Color of socks: White. my previous three runs i wore black socks, I prefer black, I will go back to black…
Amy Winehouse style…
watched the chickadees (or whatever they are) patrol the yard and the apples fall from our apple tree… while the wind tried to blow barbie out of her branch…

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