This is my Bear, at around 17 months old, listening to music, hanging out with his mother, learning to talk and climb.
This is my son, when he was the sun, the true center of my world – the most important being in my universe.
Today he is approaching the halfway mark of his eighth year and there is a new 17 month old in our house.
Each milestone met, each word learned, I am simultaneously remembering and forgetting that first baby. That baby that disapeared into the long limbs of childhood in a cloud of dirt and magic dust never to be seen again. That baby that grew into a boy who reads bedtime stories to me, sings songs to his brother and recites poems.
What I wouldn’t give for one afternoon, chasing that chubby toddler through the leaves in Central Park, lifting him high above my head and kissing his plump cheeks with no thought of possible embarrassment. No fleeting glimpses into how his teenaged years will look. No fear that one day he will ignore my calls.
To hear his little voice and mispronounced words and feel his small body curled on my lap. To be filled with the certainty that I know him as he was in 2003.
It’s a hard truth. The mind is not limitless. There is no Rolodex, no card catalog, no filing system to pull from. It is ever changing and altering. The more you recall something, the more likely you are to embellish it – the less true it becomes.
That’s why we need journals and outgrown favorite t-shirts. Scribbled crayon drawings and tiny handprints rendered in paint. It’s why we need photographs.
They are our sign posts. Solid proof that a baby who loved ducks and James and the Giant Peach and pretended his stuffed dog was a baby existed. Reminders that he gave big slobbery kisses and woke us by smacking the bed next to our slumbering heads.
I have been writing since I could speak in sentences, narrating my own existence, putting my day to day into a lyrical prose I could carry around in my head. Before I could write, I would put my stories down on paper, filling pages with characters climbing up the walls of the page, desperate to extract every thought jumping inside my small head.
I have been called a “natural born” storyteller. Which brings to mind this kind of inborn ease, a flow, a fountain of words just bursting forth.
Sometimes it is like that.
Like I can’t contain all of the sentences. I begin typing and once again I’m in pigtails, scribbling – frantic to set my phrases free. The clicking of the keyboard rises up around me and it’s like floating.
But then
somebody notices.
My husband asks me “What do you want to do with your writing?”
My professor suggests submitting some pieces.
My friend emails me a list of magazines accepting freelance work.
And I freeze.
Solid.
Writers block takes hold.
I want to write a story about Appalachia, I say aloud.
“That’s nice.” says my brain.
“Good luck.” says my imagination.
And the blank white space stares back.
plain old fear.
But of what? Success? Recognition?
Writing is like magic to me….somewhere deep down do I think that by saying these things out loud, by submitting, by even trying, the power will dissipate?
This is my battle.
This is why I’ve been absent from my blog. This is why I’ve avoided sending anything in.
If I live a hundred years,
I will still recall afternoon warmth
flowing through the window,
the sounds of bicycles
racing through suburban streets,
Judy Garland, with bangs,
belting her heart out.
Otherwise, all was quiet -
no noise above a whisper -
no touch above an inkling.
I have already forgotten
the way you smell,
the feel of my hand in yours
and the sound of your voice
over the telephone wire.
But I will never forget
these few moments
so easily recalled
when I was young,
wrapped in the sunshine with you.
All of the sudden, my baby is a toddler. He’s been walking for a while, right around his birthday he started running and he hasn’t stopped since.
But just recently he’s been talking. Wandering about the house, behind me saying words. Asking for “cheese”, talking about the squirrels he sees outside (“worls”) and saying his favorite new phrase “Cool Tricks”. He nods and shakes his head at appropriate times, he can point out his nose, eyes, mouth, ears, hair, toes and belly and he can imitate the sounds of a cow, a dog, a duck, an owl and a train.
He calls me “Mama” or “Mom” and he misses me when I am not around.
Last week, he called my name while I was at work. His daddy held E in his arms, passing the mantle he spots my student ID. Spotting my picture, he pointed and grunted at it, repeating my name, “Mama!”
I am told he feel asleep clutching it in his little hand that night.
Soon he will be a year and a half old. Then two, then three and before I know it, he will be reading me bedtime stories. The quickness of the moments – days- weeks- seasons is a feeling that all parents know all too well.
This weekend we went through some long stored boxes and found pictures of little J. His shining smile, his dimpled fists reaching into the air to catch up the Itsy Bitsy Spider. It seems like forever. It seems like yesterday.
He once held to my pants leg and hid his face in the bend of my knee. He once looked to me for strength when scaling the slide.
Now he leaps through the air.
Lightly landing on the earth, like he was always so brave.
This path of parenting is a treacherous one, prone to sentimentality. Beware.
Every year our local zoo hosts trick or treating on the weekends in October. We’ve been going every year since we moved to the area six years ago and it’s always a good time. There’s nothing scary so the kids can relax and it is wonderful to see all the cute little ones in their costumes.
We attended the zoo’s Halloween party on Sunday and it is number 1 thus far, and it’s all because of the costumes:
The Batman crew – 1960’s version of course.
Whenever you have adults dressed up at the zoo, you’ll attract some attention.
But this was remarkable.
To avoid sitting in a line of cars, we parked a few blocks away and hoofed it.
This caused quit a stir. Including but not limited to:
a) a car of people rolling down the windows to sing gleefully: “Da-na-na-na-nuh-na-na-nuh BATMAN!” as we passed.
b) an old lady giving each of us an enthusiastic thumbs up
c) several happy calls of “Hey, it’s Batman and Robin!” and “Awesome!”
Once inside a random man asked to take a picture of Batman and the Penguin, like they were employees of the zoo.
It was pretty gratifying, I must say.
My brother-in-law played the part of The Penguin (shown here with his young minion) and he stayed in character the whole time. Speaking in alliterative sentences and when he got stuck just saying “Wak!”
Robin the Boy Wonder was super excited.
Penguin Baby was a little confused but managed to have a good time anyway.
It was awesome.
On our way out, I heard a little girl say, “Why is that man dressed like Batman?”
The answer of course is: Because J’s parents are just that cool.
-lost my last left contact lenses – while driving to work.
- (may have) lost the chance for a promotion because of the hour I missed retrieving my glasses from home.
-spent an hour getting dressed and ready for an interview that I was not alerted had been canceled until I arrived at work.
-spent 4 hours at work on a Saturday due to mandatory overtime.
-got a big nasty virus on my sweet innocent netbook which will have to be taken care of.
-ran head first into a metal shelf in a bookstore (I was chasing the baby and looking down rather than where I was going) resulting in a small gash on my forehead.
-got into a fender bender….my the left back end got smashed into, with both of the kids in the car.
I’ve cried almost everyday. Today I cried twice (the last two items listed are from today) –once from pain and once from fear and self-pity.
But I’m done whining.
DONE.
In the past few days I have:
- eaten fantastic food and more than enough of it.
-spent time with my family.
-finished costume making and attended our local zoo’s trick or treating party (which I will write on later).
-taken great photos.
-received many hugs and kisses.
-marked the ten year anniversary of the first kiss shared with my husband.
-been warm.
-had a beer or two.
-and laughed a great deal.
Even when I feel like the odds are stacked against me, at the end of the day I have to take time to look at how truly blessed I am. I have two beautiful healthy children, a husband that I am in love with, who loves me, a place to lay my head and a job. Too many people can’t check those things off their lists and I am truly grateful that I am one of the fortunate ones who can.
And I have a baby who is forming sentences now. Today E picked up a leaf and said, “Ook ah dis.” while showing it to me.
I said, “That’s a LEAF.”
And he said, “Leaf!”
I said it came from the trees and he replied, “Trees.” smiling and pointing a tiny finger at a tree in our yard.
Since I have several years of making costumes under my belt, I thought I’d share a little bit of the know-how I’ve picked up along the way.
1. Say howdy to the Hoodie
Hooded sweatshirts are the single greatest base for Halloween costumes. They are warm but not sweaty, guaranteed to be comfortable and very versatile. I am a big fan of the child’s face inside the mouth of the costume look. As seen here:
(Dragon from a few years ago modeled by the young master)
Teeth line the inside of the hood and plop a couple of googly eyes on top and viola! Using this template you can create a wide variety of creatures: dog, cat, mouse, vampire bat, monster, unicorn, dragon, bear, elephant…this list could go on forever.
2. Felt is your Friend
Felt is cheap, forgiving, soft yet not without form and it doesn’t demand hemming – which saves you time and effort. You can purchase it by the yard for tunics, dresses or jackets, or by the square for small accessories.
3. Keep it in Perspective.
If you don’t think it looks quite right, truck right on through. Sometimes what seemed to be a huge mistake when you did it, turns out miniscule when the project is finished. Don’t forget: it’s optional! You can always purchase a costume if it doesn’t work out. In the meantime, allow yourself to have fun with it.
4. Don’t waste money on thread.
Unless I am doing some fancy stitch work, I only use one color of thread on my costumes: white. Before you start imagining my every mistake showing up in brilliant contrast to the fabric, let me let you in on my little secret: markers. Once I have finished sewing a piece, I color in the thread with a permanent marker that matches the cloth. This way I am only purchasing one spool of thread for costumes that contain multiple colors. Thread goes for about $2 a pop around here so I saved myself $16 dollars through this step alone this year. (Our costumes contain green/black/blue/white/yellow/orange/red and purple)
5. Check out the thrift store first.
Sometimes a costume needs accessories that are not easily made. A top hat, cane or some dapper shoes, for example. Always check out your local thrift stores before heading to the Halloween shop. It’s also a good place to look for the base of costumes that are not hoodie based – pants, dresses etc can be altered more easily than made from scratch.
That’s pretty much my guidelines each year. I will sketch out what I need to do ahead of time but generally I just jump into it. I rarely measure other than hanging fabric off of my victim … errr, model, and cutting a bit. Remember this girl from Project Runway?
I work like her – minus all the spit.
Happy Halloweening and remember to show off those costumes when you’re done!
Some parents can cook delicious meals, some lead their children’s boy scout troops or coach their teams, others make scarves and mittens from scratch or whip up a fancy new skirt in an afternoon for their offspring, and there are those that volunteer at school and bake delictable birthday cakes and cookies for the little ones.
Not me.
My parenting superpower comes but once a year. I make costumes.
I am a bona-fide Halloweenie from birth. My favorite holiday, out ranking even the delicious food of Thanksgiving and the gift giving of Christmas – October is my time.
(The author as Rainbow Brite, circa 1986)
As luck would have it, the halloweenie gene is dominant – the Bear is a shining ray of delight at this time of year.
He began planning the decoration of our house in mid-September, a plan he put into action the second we allowed the boxes to be pulled from the basement – the first weekend of October. Bear is also the ringmaster of costumes. He decides what everyone in the family is going to dress up as…a year in advance. Seriously.
Now if I were a different kind of animal I would take that knowledge and begin in January, but that just ain’t my style. I begin when the mood strikes me. This year I began yesterday. One costume is finished except for a minor detail (googly eyes need to be located and hot glued on). And I am now working on costume number two. I love the time crunch. I love figuring out how to create things without ANY technical knowledge on how to accomplish it. I love it when it all comes together. I love putting the finished product on and walking around knowing that all my hard work has made one little boy unbelievably happy.
I love it.
In total, our family unit will have six people in costumes – only two of which are trick-or-treating age. I really find nothing more awesome than a large themed group at Halloween – as evidenced by last year’s Bone comic book extravaganza:
Now, if you happen to have visited my little corner of the internet before, you may be asking yourself how a woman who barely has time to sleep can make costumes. This is a valid point. I sew at work – I have a job that relies mainly on my ears and my voice, which leaves my hands free to stitch for hours at a time. One of the perks of my employment, crafting on the clock.
November is on its way, but until then I am whistling while I work.
I haven’t been writing at all. I haven’t been blogging, my journal is untouched and my creative writing class is work shopping a story I composed two weeks ago. I haven’t done a thing. Even my Facebook updates are suffering.
Why?
Because life is a rollercoaster ride, and I’ve been hanging out in the deep dark valley. My days blurring past in a monotonous hum of school-work-sleep-school-work-sleep. Mandatory overtime and tests and required reading, sleeping very little when I can’t nap with the baby, missing my husband, missing my kids, feeling like I haven’t time to do anything I am not absolutely required to do: school-work-sleep-change a few diapers-school-work-sleep.
I’d been trudging through it, with the knowledge that “complaining changes nothing” and that “everything is temporary” and that the next hill will come and I won’t care that I have to work outside of the home so that we can afford to live where we do (in commuting range or our respective universities), send our kid to the school of our choosing and eat the kind of food we want [not just boxes and cans -(clap your hands)].
Yet, the days still felt dark – short at home, long at work and hopeless all around. Negativity whispering in my ear, “How are you ever going to graduate? You can barely handle two classes?” and “It’s not fair!” and “Why can’t you stay home with the kids and have time to have a clean house and go to the gym or run in the mornings?”
I felt jealous and sad and disappointed in myself, in the situation, in my life. I did not want to let it out and I did not want to admit it.
I am superwoman, I can go to class in the morning, take care of the baby in the afternoon, read with my son afterschool and go off to work eight straight hours - singing along to the radio every.single.day.
While that scenario certainly happens and is the truth a majority of the time, it is not an absolute. Some days I start to feel the lingering remnants of depression creeping up on me. Some days I have to work overtime. Some days I cry all the way home, mumbling “poor me” laments to the steering wheel in the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes I just want to stay home and not speak to anyone who isn’t living with me ever again.
Sometimes I let it go on for too long without saying anything to anyone, and it almost consumes me.
I think back to when J was small and no one expected me to do anything but stay home with him and read to him and bathe him and tidy the house. At first, it seems so lovely. The walks to the park, trips to the library, the afternoon naps and dinners with my husband.
It can take days before I remember the feelings of oppression hanging over me. My husband stuck in a dead end job. The unpaid phone bill causing me to walk across the street to a phone booth to contact anyone. Waiting for pay day to come desperately, only to watch the money disapear quickly with the rent. Spending hours in the laundry mat with an antsy toddler because we couldn’t afford to get machines of our own. Taking the backstreets everywhere, hoping our expired tags wouldn’t be noticed by a policeman. The isolation of having no friends with children. Feeling trapped in that life – with no way out.
This was me as a stay-at-home mom. The days went by in a balance of joy and hopelessness. For me, staying home was the choice between paid bills and unpaid bills, staying stuck or a way out. It is not how it goes for every parent who stays home with the kids and I am thankful for that.
So I found a job and I worked all day. Came home at six pm, had dinner with my family, bathed my child and put him to bed and was miserable. I missed my little Bear horribly. He was being watched by a loving family member (his Aunt Boo) when his Daddy was in class – which I was so grateful of. But I wanted to be with him too.
Now: I spend two hours at school three days a week. I take care of the kids and the house and the errands until five in the pm when I pack it up and go to work.
I miss exactly 3 hours of waking time on work days, so I’m not overcome with a crippling feeling of loss anymore.
I don’t feel stuck anymore – I am working toward doing what I want to do and having a good time doing it (even on bad days, I always love going to school).
My bills get paid. Paychecks don’t disappear. I have my own laundry room and a working phone number. I have plenty of friends with kids and plenty without. My husband is doing what he loves to do and working on being able to do it for the rest of his life. Our registration is current – I drive on the main roads now.
Even on it’s most challenging days, my life is a hundred times better than it was just five years ago.
And that my friends is how to write yourself out of a funk.
Thanks to M.Ward (for this beautiful song from which the title was plucked):
Breeder only got 5 hours of sleep last night – look out!
Breeder can’t wait until the moment AFTER her test on Monday.
Breeder just got a visit from a friendly local policeman….guess who dialed 911 while his mama was loading the dishwasher?
Breeder ’s just happy to be here.
Thanks to social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter, I don’t even have to speak to my friends to know what is going on with their lives. I can tell you who is engaged, who is pregnant, who got fired and who went to Target today just from looking at my page for thirty minutes. It’s strangely intimate and distancing.
I currently have nearly one hundred and fifty friends on Facebook. Many I would love to go out for coffee or a beer or spend time chatting on the phone. Several, worked with me or went to elementary school with me and frankly I have nothing in common with anymore. Some are my best friends in the world. Some I have never met face to face – but adore just the same.
I wonder sometime if the constant writing in the third person in choppy sentences isn’t harming writing. I wonder about the next generation and their ability to create stunning prose.
And then I go to class. My creative writing workshop is populated with mostly younger people. Some are just kids straight out of high school – eleven years my junior. Since it is a workshop, we spend a lot of time reading each other’s work. While there is certainly a difference between the people who have been writing for a few years and newer writers but I have been pleasantly surprised to have read nothing out right bad.
Nothing. Everyone can improve, including the old geezer, your’s truly, but nothing that I just didn’t want to finish.
In fact, I’ve read many very moving lines, some magical phrases.
I work like her – minus all the spit.
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