A friend gave me a book and some verses yesterday, because I had asked her to help me memorize some things that would help with some difficulties I have been experiencing lately. The first one really hit me, probably because I had never read it in quite that form before (or maybe I had only never noticed it at all, or applied it, etc.)
Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. II Corinthians 4:16-17.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
My Life Today
I'm sitting at the dining room table, trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to ignore the mess around me. Here's a strategy. If the mess is so hard to ignore, I could a) clean it all up before proceeding, b) absorb the mess so that it become something useful instead of a distraction, or c) describe and/or explain it.
There's a dying evergreen in the corner. I can't actually tell by looking at it that it is dying. It still look good from here, even if it is set in a plastic pot covered in Chrismas foil. I say that it is dying because I know I haven't watered it in at least a week and a half. It stands in line with a nebulizer that should have been returned to my friend Linda two or three weeks ago, three bananas that are quickly ripening and that I hope I won't have to throw away, and a wooden bowl, filled with nectarines and oranges. The bowl has been dropped and broken more than once. This last time we didn't even bother to try and glue it back together. The broken piece has been reinserted, but will not stay.
Isaac is sleeping in the Pack N Play in my bedroom, and Parker has come to the dining room table to beg for Cinnamon Roll flavored oatmeal, and dried fruit. Now he whines because the pantry is locked and he can't open it. He has refused my offer of banana or raisins. He doesn't want the peanut butter crackers I expect he will gladly accept later. The dryer is running and I know that when it stops Isaac will wake up, which in this case is good, because I have to go to a bible study this morning if mostly for the sake of getting out of the house and spending some time with adults who have more finely tuned critical skills than this amazingly articulate three year old boy who I adore.
I have to get the words out and that is why I have chosen to write this way on a Thursday morning.
My valentines and birthday roses has wilted in their vases so I threw them away this morning. There is still a vase of flowers in the middle of this table because the daisys in particular still look lovely. I wish that I could have fresh flowers in the house all the time, but even if I had the money I probably wouldn't often spend it that way. What this woman needs is a flower garden. Though the idea appeals to me while I sit here dreaming about it with dearth of knowledge, every time I start to plan something tangible I become discouraged. The last time my mom bought flowers for me to plan in front of my house, I waited until they had become sparse and leggy before asking Michael to plant them for me. The sun baked them; they went unnourished by the willful application of water, and so they never were quite pretty and then they died. My little rosemary plant died in the freezing winter cold. The only flowers I have in my yard were planted by a previous owner, and have gone untended. I got out there and did some weeding once, but the effort was short lived. It occured to me last year that what I need is for someone to come to my house, tell me exactly what to plant and where, stand over me while I do it, and then train me in the care of specific flowers and shrubs. My yard could be so pretty if only I felt sure that I knew what to do and how.
The rest of the things that surround me in this room are cereal bowles and toys, compact discs and receipts, trash I meant to throw away yesterday and my church's telphone directory. There are books on the floor because Isaac enjoys pulling them from the shelves. There are crayons and coloring pages because Parker has enjoyed doing a lot of coloring just lately. There are things here that have been here far to long and really should be put away. Sometimes I wonder if I am making any progress at all, but hey, I'm sitting here and I'm writing. I've described the confusion of only one room in my house.
Parker is now working his way through the bonus features on the Book of Pooh DVD while he sits on the sofa in the living room. Isaac is still sleeping, and I am writing. Me writing anything, anything at all, is progress.
I have not reread this and it is probably full of errors and omissions, but I am publishing it anyway, because "publish or perish" is taking on a completely different meaning for me these days.
There's a dying evergreen in the corner. I can't actually tell by looking at it that it is dying. It still look good from here, even if it is set in a plastic pot covered in Chrismas foil. I say that it is dying because I know I haven't watered it in at least a week and a half. It stands in line with a nebulizer that should have been returned to my friend Linda two or three weeks ago, three bananas that are quickly ripening and that I hope I won't have to throw away, and a wooden bowl, filled with nectarines and oranges. The bowl has been dropped and broken more than once. This last time we didn't even bother to try and glue it back together. The broken piece has been reinserted, but will not stay.
Isaac is sleeping in the Pack N Play in my bedroom, and Parker has come to the dining room table to beg for Cinnamon Roll flavored oatmeal, and dried fruit. Now he whines because the pantry is locked and he can't open it. He has refused my offer of banana or raisins. He doesn't want the peanut butter crackers I expect he will gladly accept later. The dryer is running and I know that when it stops Isaac will wake up, which in this case is good, because I have to go to a bible study this morning if mostly for the sake of getting out of the house and spending some time with adults who have more finely tuned critical skills than this amazingly articulate three year old boy who I adore.
I have to get the words out and that is why I have chosen to write this way on a Thursday morning.
My valentines and birthday roses has wilted in their vases so I threw them away this morning. There is still a vase of flowers in the middle of this table because the daisys in particular still look lovely. I wish that I could have fresh flowers in the house all the time, but even if I had the money I probably wouldn't often spend it that way. What this woman needs is a flower garden. Though the idea appeals to me while I sit here dreaming about it with dearth of knowledge, every time I start to plan something tangible I become discouraged. The last time my mom bought flowers for me to plan in front of my house, I waited until they had become sparse and leggy before asking Michael to plant them for me. The sun baked them; they went unnourished by the willful application of water, and so they never were quite pretty and then they died. My little rosemary plant died in the freezing winter cold. The only flowers I have in my yard were planted by a previous owner, and have gone untended. I got out there and did some weeding once, but the effort was short lived. It occured to me last year that what I need is for someone to come to my house, tell me exactly what to plant and where, stand over me while I do it, and then train me in the care of specific flowers and shrubs. My yard could be so pretty if only I felt sure that I knew what to do and how.
The rest of the things that surround me in this room are cereal bowles and toys, compact discs and receipts, trash I meant to throw away yesterday and my church's telphone directory. There are books on the floor because Isaac enjoys pulling them from the shelves. There are crayons and coloring pages because Parker has enjoyed doing a lot of coloring just lately. There are things here that have been here far to long and really should be put away. Sometimes I wonder if I am making any progress at all, but hey, I'm sitting here and I'm writing. I've described the confusion of only one room in my house.
Parker is now working his way through the bonus features on the Book of Pooh DVD while he sits on the sofa in the living room. Isaac is still sleeping, and I am writing. Me writing anything, anything at all, is progress.
I have not reread this and it is probably full of errors and omissions, but I am publishing it anyway, because "publish or perish" is taking on a completely different meaning for me these days.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Actors: Job Acceptance and the Possible Alienation of the Fanbase
It's such a random thing to write about when I haven't published anything in months, but I've been thinking about Orlando Bloom the last few days. It came up because when Michael was recovering from the stomach bug, he tried to watch *Pirates of the Carribean* (whatever the first one was called) with Parker while resting on the couch. I was passing through the room and I commented, "I don't really like Orlando Bloom anymore." Why? I don't know. I know nothing about him apart from the few movies I've seen. I liked him okay when I had only ever seen him in *Lord of the Rings,* although at the time I thought he was a little too blonde, and perfect looking.
I think it was while watching *Elizabethtown* that I decided he was more annoying than attractive. Though that may have only been his character. I enjoyed the film well enough over all. So I wonder...
Do you think that an actor takes an acceptable risk when agreeing to play an unlikeable character? Is it likely to do harm to their career in any way? My case in point is Orlando Bloom as Paris in the movie *Troy.* Paris is a completely and irredeemably unlikeable character, but someone has to play him. Someone has to wreak the havoc and through their own ridiculously unreflective actions bring about the destruction of the city, right? I wonder if my dislike of his work as an actor is actually colored by my experience of him in this one movie. I also wonder if he deserves my respect for the fact that he was willing to take such a risk.
I think it was while watching *Elizabethtown* that I decided he was more annoying than attractive. Though that may have only been his character. I enjoyed the film well enough over all. So I wonder...
Do you think that an actor takes an acceptable risk when agreeing to play an unlikeable character? Is it likely to do harm to their career in any way? My case in point is Orlando Bloom as Paris in the movie *Troy.* Paris is a completely and irredeemably unlikeable character, but someone has to play him. Someone has to wreak the havoc and through their own ridiculously unreflective actions bring about the destruction of the city, right? I wonder if my dislike of his work as an actor is actually colored by my experience of him in this one movie. I also wonder if he deserves my respect for the fact that he was willing to take such a risk.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
A Movie Review. Sorry if the Tone's a Little...Snarky?
So tired. Will I ever blog, or even free write, again? After a very long day yesterday (one involving needles, and x-rays, and considerate strangers), I found an interesting looking movie on Netflix and decided to watch. The movie was three hours long, and totally worth it.
Lost in Austen is about a 21st century London girl who becomes trapped in a version of Pride and Prejudice from which Elizabeth Bennet has removed herself. The dialogue was impressively good, the casting was stunning. The movie was almost a cross between Bridget Jones's Diary and the BBC's Pride and Prejudice, which might qualify as ironic considering that Bridget Jones's Diary is based on the BBC's Pride and Predjudice, or may be it's just poetic. (I have trouble with irony as a concept, which has been further complicated by comments made on ABC's Castle recently.)
I totally dispised the American Pride and Prejudice starring Kiera Knightly that came out several years ago. Not enough attention paid to dialogue or Jane Austen's mastery of what I'll call sitting room satire. I should have realized that Britain was practically guaranteed rearrange Austen better. They mock, but they do so with style.
Lost in Austen is about a 21st century London girl who becomes trapped in a version of Pride and Prejudice from which Elizabeth Bennet has removed herself. The dialogue was impressively good, the casting was stunning. The movie was almost a cross between Bridget Jones's Diary and the BBC's Pride and Prejudice, which might qualify as ironic considering that Bridget Jones's Diary is based on the BBC's Pride and Predjudice, or may be it's just poetic. (I have trouble with irony as a concept, which has been further complicated by comments made on ABC's Castle recently.)
I totally dispised the American Pride and Prejudice starring Kiera Knightly that came out several years ago. Not enough attention paid to dialogue or Jane Austen's mastery of what I'll call sitting room satire. I should have realized that Britain was practically guaranteed rearrange Austen better. They mock, but they do so with style.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Many a Trip to the Library
This may be a waste of everyone's time except for mine, but since I've been complaining about having nothing to say, and since I haven't posted anything in almost a month, I'm just going to start writing and see what comes out, almost like a Peter Elbow exercise.
I'll start with books. I've been getting in a lot of reading over the last several months. When I go to the library, if I visit the stacks at all it rarely takes me long to come up with authors and titles I simply must begin reading immediately. I visit the online catalogue on a semi-regular basis. If you aren't a big reader (you probably aren't wasting your time on my blog, but if you aren't a big reader), you may wonder who we come up with those titles and authors. The answer is that they come from everywhere, e.g, memory, previous reading, television and radio (if your paying that sort of attention), friends, family members, etc. [By the way, I've been practicing use of i.e. and e.g. after reading about them in Grammar Girl's Fast and Dirty Tricks for Better Writing. The abreviation i.e. can loosely be translated into something like "in other words," and e.g. means something like "for example." Before reading Grammar Girl I had some idea of what they meant, but not their specificity.] I'll give you an example. I met my friend Lisa's Dad a couple of weeks ago, and got to join him and his wife, and Lisa, for dinner. Lisa's Dad reads a lot of mystery fiction. While I've enjoyed mystery fiction since highschool, it's been years since I read it with any sort of regularity. When he mentioned the top 100, that was my [completely personal and arbitrary] cue to make a point of reading mystery fiction. Any conversation can fuel a literary expedition.
Right now I'm reading Dorothy Sayer's Gaudy Night, Middlemarch by George Elliot, and Strong Women Eat Well by Mirian Nelson (with a bunch of letters after her name).
Unfortunately this is all I have time to write since the babies are not napping like I expected them to.
I'll start with books. I've been getting in a lot of reading over the last several months. When I go to the library, if I visit the stacks at all it rarely takes me long to come up with authors and titles I simply must begin reading immediately. I visit the online catalogue on a semi-regular basis. If you aren't a big reader (you probably aren't wasting your time on my blog, but if you aren't a big reader), you may wonder who we come up with those titles and authors. The answer is that they come from everywhere, e.g, memory, previous reading, television and radio (if your paying that sort of attention), friends, family members, etc. [By the way, I've been practicing use of i.e. and e.g. after reading about them in Grammar Girl's Fast and Dirty Tricks for Better Writing. The abreviation i.e. can loosely be translated into something like "in other words," and e.g. means something like "for example." Before reading Grammar Girl I had some idea of what they meant, but not their specificity.] I'll give you an example. I met my friend Lisa's Dad a couple of weeks ago, and got to join him and his wife, and Lisa, for dinner. Lisa's Dad reads a lot of mystery fiction. While I've enjoyed mystery fiction since highschool, it's been years since I read it with any sort of regularity. When he mentioned the top 100, that was my [completely personal and arbitrary] cue to make a point of reading mystery fiction. Any conversation can fuel a literary expedition.
Right now I'm reading Dorothy Sayer's Gaudy Night, Middlemarch by George Elliot, and Strong Women Eat Well by Mirian Nelson (with a bunch of letters after her name).
Unfortunately this is all I have time to write since the babies are not napping like I expected them to.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Photos of the Babies
About Writing: The Painfully Practical
I used to journal a lot. In college my journals were always handwritten, often on these pads of paper that were multi-colored, which I could get cheaply from the Dollar store. Often these were angry or heart-broken letters about my boyfriend/ex-boyfriend, the same person over the course of several years. Other times they were about what I wanted to do or be. More often than that I think that these were prayers. The point of all this sentimental history is that I used to hand write things A LOT.
This morning I decided to do another one of those ten minute freewriting sessions. The first time I did this last night I started out on the computer. The computer didn't work in my favor, however, because when I am typing I cannot keep myself for going back and correcting typos and other careless errors. I find that I have to do this exercise with pen and paper.
When you're freewriting according to Peter Elbow's method, you don't pause to edit, or search for spellings, or think ahead to what you are going to say next. The exercise is about clearing the mind, intensifying focus, getting the words out there. (Though you may not know it, I am paraphrasing the first chapter of Writing Without Teachers while simultaneously referencing an episode of Wonderfalls. This just goes to show what I've been putting in my head lately.)
The problem now is that I am out of practice. It's almost as though I've forgotten how to write things manually. I pulled a bound journal off the shelf a couple of weeks ago and my hand got tired writing after about half a page. When I do the Peter Elbow exercise my had gets really tired. I wonder is the problem only that I'm out of practice or is there something else going on. Could there be arthritis in my future?
I don't actually think so. I think it really is a matter of finding the right pen, the right position, and getting back in the habit of handwriting things on a daily basis. The lists I've been making for years, and the many envelopes I've addressed in the past three months haven't done the trick. It's almost like I have to relearn how to write.
(I may need to relearn how to type as well, but that is another story.)
This morning I decided to do another one of those ten minute freewriting sessions. The first time I did this last night I started out on the computer. The computer didn't work in my favor, however, because when I am typing I cannot keep myself for going back and correcting typos and other careless errors. I find that I have to do this exercise with pen and paper.
When you're freewriting according to Peter Elbow's method, you don't pause to edit, or search for spellings, or think ahead to what you are going to say next. The exercise is about clearing the mind, intensifying focus, getting the words out there. (Though you may not know it, I am paraphrasing the first chapter of Writing Without Teachers while simultaneously referencing an episode of Wonderfalls. This just goes to show what I've been putting in my head lately.)
The problem now is that I am out of practice. It's almost as though I've forgotten how to write things manually. I pulled a bound journal off the shelf a couple of weeks ago and my hand got tired writing after about half a page. When I do the Peter Elbow exercise my had gets really tired. I wonder is the problem only that I'm out of practice or is there something else going on. Could there be arthritis in my future?
I don't actually think so. I think it really is a matter of finding the right pen, the right position, and getting back in the habit of handwriting things on a daily basis. The lists I've been making for years, and the many envelopes I've addressed in the past three months haven't done the trick. It's almost like I have to relearn how to write.
(I may need to relearn how to type as well, but that is another story.)
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Exercises come in many different kinds
For the past several months I have become semi-absorbed by the need for formal exercise. It's strange in a way because I never really cared about exercise before. It was something I knew I needed, but it seemed more like a chore than an enjoyable past time. I knew that exercise would give me more energy, which I sorely needed, but the idea held no appeal for me. After Isaac was born things changed.
I'm thirty-two years old, and eleven months ago I had my second child. Isaac was accidentally born naturally, which was a revelatory experience, but even though recovery from the process of delivery was easy, recovery from the process of carrying Isaac was not. I don't mean to imply that carrying Isaac did any permanent damage to me medically, but aesthetically, and as I tried to transition back into my old clothes, some damage had been done. Suddenly I wanted to strengthen my abdominal muscles. Suddenly I was not longer satisfied to feel worn out by the time Michael came home from work in the afternoon. Suddenly I was not satisfied to become tired so quickly while chasing Parker around in the front yard.
Not long after Isaac was born I started trying to walk 30 minutes every day. Often this walking would occur early in the morning as I had many waking hours accompanied by trouble sleeping. Often this walking would occur right after Michael came home from work, while he and Parker started eating dinner without me. It was much too inconvenient and difficult to schedule, so it didn't last long.
Months later I saw on Facebook that my friend Amy's usual walking partner was out of town and that she was looking for someone else to join her. I saw this as an opportunity to get a few walks in and to spend some time with an adult friend, so with Michael's help I took advantage of the chance. We started to walk twice a week around the quad, weather permitting, but there were often weeks at a time when the weather didn't permit.
My mom started receiving a subscription to Health Magazine which I immediately co-opted. Though I suspect this magazine does not contain the highest quality healthy lifestyle information, I enjoy reading it, and through it I found a Pilates video I thought might work for me, which, by the way, it does. Then I noticed while watching the first season of Desperate Housewives on Hulu (yes, it's mostly trash, but it's very diverting trash) that Gabby and Edie were often to be seen jogging, which started me thinking that maybe I could somehow build my walking up to a respectable run.
So now I'm on this track. My routines are still very much a muddle, and I am currently undergoing a setback as I've somehow injured my back, but I'm definitely on a track. It's different, it's exciting, but it also opens up for me some other possibilities.
I now can rake the front yard longer and more efficiently than I could before. Sometimes now on a Saturday when I think it might be nice to take a walk, I actually do it. Then I realized just today that I really can set a timer for ten minutes every day and get in some writing, publishable or not. It's amazing what a little exercise can do.
I'm thirty-two years old, and eleven months ago I had my second child. Isaac was accidentally born naturally, which was a revelatory experience, but even though recovery from the process of delivery was easy, recovery from the process of carrying Isaac was not. I don't mean to imply that carrying Isaac did any permanent damage to me medically, but aesthetically, and as I tried to transition back into my old clothes, some damage had been done. Suddenly I wanted to strengthen my abdominal muscles. Suddenly I was not longer satisfied to feel worn out by the time Michael came home from work in the afternoon. Suddenly I was not satisfied to become tired so quickly while chasing Parker around in the front yard.
Not long after Isaac was born I started trying to walk 30 minutes every day. Often this walking would occur early in the morning as I had many waking hours accompanied by trouble sleeping. Often this walking would occur right after Michael came home from work, while he and Parker started eating dinner without me. It was much too inconvenient and difficult to schedule, so it didn't last long.
Months later I saw on Facebook that my friend Amy's usual walking partner was out of town and that she was looking for someone else to join her. I saw this as an opportunity to get a few walks in and to spend some time with an adult friend, so with Michael's help I took advantage of the chance. We started to walk twice a week around the quad, weather permitting, but there were often weeks at a time when the weather didn't permit.
My mom started receiving a subscription to Health Magazine which I immediately co-opted. Though I suspect this magazine does not contain the highest quality healthy lifestyle information, I enjoy reading it, and through it I found a Pilates video I thought might work for me, which, by the way, it does. Then I noticed while watching the first season of Desperate Housewives on Hulu (yes, it's mostly trash, but it's very diverting trash) that Gabby and Edie were often to be seen jogging, which started me thinking that maybe I could somehow build my walking up to a respectable run.
So now I'm on this track. My routines are still very much a muddle, and I am currently undergoing a setback as I've somehow injured my back, but I'm definitely on a track. It's different, it's exciting, but it also opens up for me some other possibilities.
I now can rake the front yard longer and more efficiently than I could before. Sometimes now on a Saturday when I think it might be nice to take a walk, I actually do it. Then I realized just today that I really can set a timer for ten minutes every day and get in some writing, publishable or not. It's amazing what a little exercise can do.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Habit Formation: A Beginning
Marla Cilley of Flylady.com says it takes 28 days to establish a habit. Though I've been reading her thoughts on the matter for years, I have never quite believed her. How many times over the years have I done the exact same thing day after day, for a month or two (and sometimes more) only magically one day to stop: Scripture reading, taking a 30 minute walk before dinner, posting notes to my blog, taking a shower before bed, straightening the house for the morning, rocking Isaac in the living room following his first feeding of the day, taking a multi-vitamin after brushing my teeth? Even after much repetition, not one of these things has formed a solid habit. I was relieved then to read the other day on webmdhealth that "most of us go through relapse seven times before we change our behavior." This makes sense to me, as does the notion that habit formation takes commitment. You have to be willing to work through the relapse, and guilt hinders your ability to do so.
I would be interested, if anyone were willing to share, in reading about victories or failures you've experienced in this area of habit formation. Any time I ask about such personal details, however, I am reminded of a script I heard months ago on "A Prairie Home Companion."
I would be interested, if anyone were willing to share, in reading about victories or failures you've experienced in this area of habit formation. Any time I ask about such personal details, however, I am reminded of a script I heard months ago on "A Prairie Home Companion."
I'm a private eye. A proud profession that died a long time ago, kid. Back in the Age of Privacy, you had to work to find out stuff about people, follow them around, sneak up behind trees, plant microphones in cocktails. Now you can find it all out on Facebook.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Start and start and start again, and if I do it enough times maybe eventually it will stick
Wow, August 18 was the last time I posted anything. You've got to wonder whether I have abandoned the effort entirely, like I've abandoned most of the housework this week, like I've abandoned my book club dream...except that you don't get to wonder about any of those things, because I've told you nothing (or next to nothing) about them. I've gone so far as to change the name of my blog twice, but never far enough to write anything more than four lines long.
At this very moment, Parker is supposed to be napping, but isn't (he just started calling my name), and Isaac is crying because he doesn't care to take a nap today. It's difficult to do anything under the circumstances that requires mindfulness or attention, and I'm surrounded by detritus, and that doesn't help.
I have five hobbies. They are reading, writing, cross-stitch, exercise, and story viewing. In most cases I can't do one and still find time for another. Reading and exercise and viewing have recently taken up the majority of my free time. I live in constant awareness that when I choose to spend my time on one thing I also choose not to spend my time on another. Maybe someday after many trials, I will discover how to make it all work, but not today.
At this very moment, Parker is supposed to be napping, but isn't (he just started calling my name), and Isaac is crying because he doesn't care to take a nap today. It's difficult to do anything under the circumstances that requires mindfulness or attention, and I'm surrounded by detritus, and that doesn't help.
I have five hobbies. They are reading, writing, cross-stitch, exercise, and story viewing. In most cases I can't do one and still find time for another. Reading and exercise and viewing have recently taken up the majority of my free time. I live in constant awareness that when I choose to spend my time on one thing I also choose not to spend my time on another. Maybe someday after many trials, I will discover how to make it all work, but not today.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Mysteries of Feeding
Just got finished giving Isaac his final spoon feeding of the day. Midway through I had to remove him from the high chair to change a dirty diaper, so coming back I decided to try something a little different.
Isaac is a small boy. He's small for his age. He has a good appetite, but he's only grown one pound in about the last three and a half months. Recently I've had a hard time feeding him because he gets distracted, or chokes on his food, or spits it out. Sunday afternoon I commented that he seemed to eat better when someone other than me was feeding him. Maybe the problem isn't who is feeding him, but where and how.
When I removed him from the high chair it seemed that he might be finished with his meal. Then I put him in his infant carrier instead so that he was in a semi-recumbent position. He proceeded to finish off the four oz carrots I had been feeding him, several teaspoons of the peas he had previously rejected, and entire 4 oz container of orchard fruit plus sweet potatoes, and two to three teaspoons of mixed vegetables, all at one sitting. Makes me think my baby has been starving just because he didn't like his high chair. If it takes me sitting in the floor to get him to eat, so be it, assuming he doesn't get sick off of consuming so much all at once.
Isaac is a small boy. He's small for his age. He has a good appetite, but he's only grown one pound in about the last three and a half months. Recently I've had a hard time feeding him because he gets distracted, or chokes on his food, or spits it out. Sunday afternoon I commented that he seemed to eat better when someone other than me was feeding him. Maybe the problem isn't who is feeding him, but where and how.
When I removed him from the high chair it seemed that he might be finished with his meal. Then I put him in his infant carrier instead so that he was in a semi-recumbent position. He proceeded to finish off the four oz carrots I had been feeding him, several teaspoons of the peas he had previously rejected, and entire 4 oz container of orchard fruit plus sweet potatoes, and two to three teaspoons of mixed vegetables, all at one sitting. Makes me think my baby has been starving just because he didn't like his high chair. If it takes me sitting in the floor to get him to eat, so be it, assuming he doesn't get sick off of consuming so much all at once.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
"It's Five o'clock and I can't sleep"
Awake at 4:40 because that's what time Isaac started crying for me this morning. Second morning in a row, except that yesterday morning we fell asleep together until 6:00. This morning I rocked him to sleep and put him in the pack-n-play in our room, but now Parker is noisily awake, and I don't know why. Somehow Michael and Isaac are still sleeping. Miraculous somehow. But I still don't know what to do about Parker.
Why now; why not last year, or four years ago?
I'm a slow study when it comes to some really commonplace things.
A friend of mine recently stayed home while her daughter was out of daycare for a week and she commented that as such she had started noticing every time a bit of dust settled in her home. Me, I rarely even notice dust even though I'm allergic to it, because I never dust. Makes me unhappy makes me sneeze. The dust just sits there most of the time. Until last week.
I bought some pledge. I dusted last Saturday. It was great. I liked the results so much that I did it again yesterday.
As it turns out, the dusting spray, of which Michael had bought me an entire case back in our apartment days, was no good. The spray itself made me sneeze, and it did NOT do a good job of polishing surfaces or attracting the dust. Plus, maybe you guys are already familiar with this concept: when you take care of your things you are able to appreciate them more, and going around and touching furniture and moving objects around helps you to see again things you stopped noticing long ago. Heck, maybe I'll even dust next week too.
A friend of mine recently stayed home while her daughter was out of daycare for a week and she commented that as such she had started noticing every time a bit of dust settled in her home. Me, I rarely even notice dust even though I'm allergic to it, because I never dust. Makes me unhappy makes me sneeze. The dust just sits there most of the time. Until last week.
I bought some pledge. I dusted last Saturday. It was great. I liked the results so much that I did it again yesterday.
As it turns out, the dusting spray, of which Michael had bought me an entire case back in our apartment days, was no good. The spray itself made me sneeze, and it did NOT do a good job of polishing surfaces or attracting the dust. Plus, maybe you guys are already familiar with this concept: when you take care of your things you are able to appreciate them more, and going around and touching furniture and moving objects around helps you to see again things you stopped noticing long ago. Heck, maybe I'll even dust next week too.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Miscellania (mostly Parker and Isaac, and a little bit of Waterdeep)
I love Waterdeep. Have I mentioned that lately? I'm listening to an old CD that Michael downloaded from their website a couple of years ago. It's called "Dogpaddle" or "Dog+paddle," and many of the tracks are one's I've heard before from other recordings. I wonder if they'd be interested in producing a lullaby CD? I recently bought one that Jewel produced for Fisher Price, and it's the only lullaby CD I have that I enjoy listening to, which means it's the one Isaac hears the most. I really don't play enough music around here.
What would it take to get Waterdeep to come to Tuscaloosa again, besides money to pay them with, and a place for them to stay? They're moving to Nashville soon if they haven't already. Maybe Michael's parents could take me to see them sometime. Maybe they (Waterdeep) will come to Huntsville.
Several things I've been thinking about on a semi-quiet Sunday morning before church. Before Isaac was born, my mother used to call him Little Kicker, for obvious reasons. I was realizing how much this child kicks even now. When he's bored, when he's excited, when he's happy, his little feet just go and go. Sometimes he seems to rub them together as though he were a cricket. I can't remember now whether or not he enjoys music. Parker always did. Before he was born he would kick excitedly whenever music played. After he was born I would sometimes take him into the sanctuary on a Sunday morning and dance with him during the designated "worship" time, though we believe that worship encompasses the whole thing, not just the music preceding the sermon or other business.
Parker would often kick me in the ribs, which I always described as him tickling me. It's interesting to me that I have clearer memories of Parker in the womb than I have of Isaac, except that with Isaac I had experienced a kicking baby before, and I had a very intelligent two year old to keep me distracted.
After Parker was born I took him with me everywhere. I had no need to spend time apart from him because I had never before experienced having a baby who wasn't with me. I remember Jamie asking one time whether I ever needed a break and me answering no. Parker and I had to be separated eventually so that I could leave him in the nursery, so that he could learn that I would always come back for him, but it was hard for me to leave him. This became a problem later when Parker started noticing when I was there and when I wasn't, but eventually he figured it out, that it was okay to be left in the nursery, that mommy and daddy really would come back, and that we didn't simply disappear when absent from him. Isaac may or may not learn this more easily than Parker did, if only because he has experienced it earlier.
This morning Isaac wouldn't go to sleep. I rocked him and rocked him. He nodded off, but when I put him in the pack-n-play in our bedroom he was disturbed. It looked like he would go right back to sleep, but then I put a quilt over him that he wasn't accustomed to, and then Michael slid out of bed to start his day, and it was all over. Isaac was awake. I rocked him again, telling him all the while what a privilege it was to rock him at this brief stage in his life, and how I don't always appreciate it. Soon it was time to feed him again since he wasn't sleeping and I did so, but then he started to actually fall asleep in his highchair, something he has never ever done before. Poor kid must have been sleepy.
A friend of mine from high school and college (more college than high school) friended me on facebook, and wanted to know what I'd been doing for the past ten years. I have not written to her yet, not about that. Months ago I was trying to figure out what was interesting that I could tell her, but I couldn't think of anything interesting because I was still learning how to care for two babies at once, which is something I am still learning. Maybe someday soon. It is often while I am feeding Isaac with a spoon that I start thinking about things to write.
Months ago I thought it would be interesting and useful to write reader profiles for the group page that is dedicated to my book club on google. It's another thing I haven't written yet. Another project to work on, but not today. Not today.
What would it take to get Waterdeep to come to Tuscaloosa again, besides money to pay them with, and a place for them to stay? They're moving to Nashville soon if they haven't already. Maybe Michael's parents could take me to see them sometime. Maybe they (Waterdeep) will come to Huntsville.
Several things I've been thinking about on a semi-quiet Sunday morning before church. Before Isaac was born, my mother used to call him Little Kicker, for obvious reasons. I was realizing how much this child kicks even now. When he's bored, when he's excited, when he's happy, his little feet just go and go. Sometimes he seems to rub them together as though he were a cricket. I can't remember now whether or not he enjoys music. Parker always did. Before he was born he would kick excitedly whenever music played. After he was born I would sometimes take him into the sanctuary on a Sunday morning and dance with him during the designated "worship" time, though we believe that worship encompasses the whole thing, not just the music preceding the sermon or other business.
Parker would often kick me in the ribs, which I always described as him tickling me. It's interesting to me that I have clearer memories of Parker in the womb than I have of Isaac, except that with Isaac I had experienced a kicking baby before, and I had a very intelligent two year old to keep me distracted.
After Parker was born I took him with me everywhere. I had no need to spend time apart from him because I had never before experienced having a baby who wasn't with me. I remember Jamie asking one time whether I ever needed a break and me answering no. Parker and I had to be separated eventually so that I could leave him in the nursery, so that he could learn that I would always come back for him, but it was hard for me to leave him. This became a problem later when Parker started noticing when I was there and when I wasn't, but eventually he figured it out, that it was okay to be left in the nursery, that mommy and daddy really would come back, and that we didn't simply disappear when absent from him. Isaac may or may not learn this more easily than Parker did, if only because he has experienced it earlier.
This morning Isaac wouldn't go to sleep. I rocked him and rocked him. He nodded off, but when I put him in the pack-n-play in our bedroom he was disturbed. It looked like he would go right back to sleep, but then I put a quilt over him that he wasn't accustomed to, and then Michael slid out of bed to start his day, and it was all over. Isaac was awake. I rocked him again, telling him all the while what a privilege it was to rock him at this brief stage in his life, and how I don't always appreciate it. Soon it was time to feed him again since he wasn't sleeping and I did so, but then he started to actually fall asleep in his highchair, something he has never ever done before. Poor kid must have been sleepy.
A friend of mine from high school and college (more college than high school) friended me on facebook, and wanted to know what I'd been doing for the past ten years. I have not written to her yet, not about that. Months ago I was trying to figure out what was interesting that I could tell her, but I couldn't think of anything interesting because I was still learning how to care for two babies at once, which is something I am still learning. Maybe someday soon. It is often while I am feeding Isaac with a spoon that I start thinking about things to write.
Months ago I thought it would be interesting and useful to write reader profiles for the group page that is dedicated to my book club on google. It's another thing I haven't written yet. Another project to work on, but not today. Not today.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Video of Isaac in Swing
I uploaded pictures of Parker, but then I remembered that Anna Grace recently took a couple of videos of Isaac using my camera. I don't have time to review these before posting, but those of you who have a vested interest in my children will probably enjoy them anyway.
Well, I only had time to upload one of them, because my internet connection is slow, and by the time the upload had gotten started good, everyone was up, with Michael and Parker wanting to use the computer. The other video may be better, but I'll have to work on that one later.
As it turns out, I only had about an hour and fifteen minutes to myself before everyone (and I mean everyone) woke up. Parker didn't get enough sleep, Isaac didn't get enough sleep, and I didn't get enough sleep. I don't know yet about Michael. So we're looking forward to a fun filled day.
Well, I only had time to upload one of them, because my internet connection is slow, and by the time the upload had gotten started good, everyone was up, with Michael and Parker wanting to use the computer. The other video may be better, but I'll have to work on that one later.
As it turns out, I only had about an hour and fifteen minutes to myself before everyone (and I mean everyone) woke up. Parker didn't get enough sleep, Isaac didn't get enough sleep, and I didn't get enough sleep. I don't know yet about Michael. So we're looking forward to a fun filled day.
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