A Visit is as Good as a Rest

I am day two of three with my sweet friend Heidi. At this very moment, her house is peaceful and quiet, all her people and her own self out and about for the morning. I am sitting in her living room with a few of the acres of green that were her growing up view and play place.  Now she and Mark live in her growing up house and their own kids are doing their own growing up in the rooms and spaces that were hers.  It is so lovely this sun-shiney morning, and I am so thankful to be here to experience it first-hand.

This sojourn from home into the lands of my Other Loves has been so rich and deep and troubling and restful and blessing-full and I'm just not sure what to do with it all.  But it has reminded me how required it is to Be With each other.  I have obviously managed to stay connected with that First Family of mine and with the Pfisterers and with Mark & Heidi.  The telephone and email and facebook and even the occasional piece of real mail allow for that. 

But those things don't allow for the... I don't know what it is.  But whatever it is, it isn't missed until I'm living with it again and I realize that it had been missing, was needed. I don't mean that I need to be living with them. I don't, and of course the world doesn't allow for us to live with or near every person we love. But making a way to be with each other from time to time makes a way for us to love each other, to know each other and to feel known by the other in a way that is soul-feeding and good.

I am out of words about this, but I have wept more than once this week with the Truth of it all.  And of course, in the corner of my heart, the whisper that affirms and says "Of course. That's why I came to Be With You.  Emmanuel.  That's what loving each other looks like."

Last Night for a While

Dinner tonight was penne and chicken in brandy sauce.  Laurie made it.  For me.  Because she knew it was my favourite meal with the Pfisterer Family.  It felt like a blessing or a benediction, if those aren’t the same thing.  An undeserved grace.

Visiting New Jersey is tricky.  I’m not sure how I could have left better, but I also know that my leaving was a bit... abrupt and hurtful maybe.  Coming back here means remembering my own capacity to do damage.  It also means remembering some of the very best moments of my life.

Tonight after dinner with Laurie and John and Heidi and Johnny, I went bowling with the boy and Shannon and Jeff and his daughter and we had a good time.  But mostly me and my Point Street family.  We were the funniest, and the funnest and it was so sweet and good to be together and remember that we were the three of us good gifts to each other.

Now I’ve just Skyped with Scott and the kids and I feel again the not-rightness of having all this space between me and my sweet ones, and know that being with them required not being here and every once in the while, I have to remember that that wasn’t free. 

There’s more to say but not even I can say it all.

All Kinds of Pain

Tonight dinner was in Oaklyn. A stone's thow from Camden, my old hometown. There is a lot to say about that and I'm not quite sure when I'll make space to say it. Dinner was with Shannon & Jeff, Shiaheem and Saniyah and of course, the dogs.  The was some full-circling happening and much loveliness, but all of it tinted with a hint of bleakness.

Again, I'll have to say more later.

Now, to bed, full of good dinner and good friends.

A.

Hello, My Name is A, and I'm Nosy

The man in 17C is a sex addict. Pain pills and assorted other chemical dependencies too, if his spreadsheet is to be believed.  From 19D, I could only read the column “Effect of My Behaviour on Others”, but it was plenty informative.

This passenger had earlier grabbed all of attention when the flight had boarded and he was the last man standing, speaking loudly on his phone (which was perhaps on speaker – I was glad to know his contact was looking forward to seeing him too) and then shouting down the aisle to his partner Gretch as the plane taxied to the runway.

I’m not sure what of this particular misbehaviour left me unsurprised to discover his... issues, but surprised I was not.  In fairness, I suppose he could have been reviewing a document sent to him from a friend or family member for his review.  But something about his demeanour left a person like me pretty confident that indeed he was so troubled, and indeed he hoped someone nearby would take note.

I was tempted to catch up in Terminal 1 and remind him about boundaries, but the irony of doing such a thing amused even me and I held myself back.

The public domain is an amusing place.  Glad to be here.

Dinner tonight was pasta with a deliciously cayenne mushroom and pepperoni pasta sauce accompanied by a fine winter ale.  A visit with Shannon always means good eats.

Hysterical

Dinner was steak and quinoa and roasted vegetables and green beans and amazing skor meringue dessert. It was at my parents' house with our other family there too, all potlucky and delicious.

We are sleeping over before I fly away early tomorrow morning and my beloved spend the week with Daddy-O who will pick them up in the morning after work.

Grandma is trying to comfort her grand-daughter who is beside herself because I woke her up when I went in to get pyjamas.

This makes me feel like a terrible mother.

Should be a great trip.

Not Bad for a Five

As happy as my birthdays so often are, the day that follows is almost invariably equally bland. Obviously, the world not stopping to celebrate me is disappointing. And of course, the day after the 4th is the 5th and what good can come on the 5th?

But today was fine.  Not too much bleak, not too much turmoil.  That Nate is ailing and napped on my person for almost two hours helped make it slow and easy. Ish.  That Talia was with Grandma for Grandma Friday made it quieter and less demanding.

Sadly though, it was a day that required a bit more... zip? There were tasks to be done, items to be crossed off the list.  So it wasn't the day I wanted, but I'm willing to believe that it might have been the day I needed. Or at least that my son needed and I suppose that part of this mothering gig is conceding to their GFAs* more often than not. And maybe there's some zen in agreeing that what my children need is in fact what my own soul needs.

Huh.

I'm not convinced.

Dinner was sushi out, cause that's what I needed damn it.

*GFA: if you don't remember the facebook status update, stands for Gaw-damned F*c&ing Agenda.

Numberology

I have a thing about numbers.  Scott calls it a "mental disorder".  I call it a quirk.  Maybe some low-grade OCD. Maybe just a real bendy mind.  Hard to say.  But how it works out is that I have strong feelings for and against every number in the number-bet.  They are completely subjective, Out Of Nowhere, gut reactions and have no basis in fact, or truth or anything measurable and helpful.  I do not pretend they should be trusted or believed or even shared.  I do insist that they be respected.

I blame my father.

Part of the story of my birth is that my mother laboured for a full day, through lunch and dinner and into the dark of night.  I was taking my time I guess, perhaps because I was so enormous (Denise deserves a prize), and finally an intervention was required to hasten my arrival.  As the story goes, as midnight approached, Dr. Thomas said to my father, "So do you want the 4th or the 5th?"

Who knows how these things work, but all I know is that I was born at 11:55pm that night and have had a deep disdain for fives ever since.  So much so, that if you ask Scott and my midwife Irene about Nate's birth, they'll both tell you he could have been born about 3 hours earlier.  At one point, Irene even said (insert lovely Scottish accent here) "You're not letting him come Ali!" I don't remember wanting to extend labour but it is undeniable that he was born just a couple of hours into the 16th, a nice square of 4, not the 15th, a dumb multiple of 5.

The number 37 is a great number.  Nice and prime, no fives (or multiples thereof) nearby to wreck it.  A seven is lovely, and threes are kind of neutral - nothing offensive at all about it.  I actually have lots of good anticipation about 37.

Today, Scott is working and the kids are sick. There will be a steak and caesar salad for dinner and maybe crazy cake and wine for dessert if I get my act together this afternoon.  If not, just Halloween candy and water.

Peer Pressure

According to Nadia, while the men of the world grow mustaches this November, the women of the world are blogging every day.  Well, maybe not exclusively the women, and probably not all of them.  But all the cool ones are, and if all the cool ones are, then like the lemming I am, I will too.

Now, it should be pointed out that I am already starting out a failure, having missed yesterday. However, someone on Facebook quoted someone famous who said something smart like, "I haven't failed yet. I've just ..." Oh wait. I just looked it up and it doesn't apply. But the point is, I'm going to be okay with an imperfect start because of course, I subscribe to the theory that one ought to start as one intends to go on (some of you may remember this).

A difficulty with committing to daily blogging is coming up with daily thoughts.  So my plan is to write down at the very least, what we had for dinner.  If I can come up with more, all the better, but I only committed to daily, not interesting, so ... there.

Tonight's dinner with my two ailing children (T: cold, N: croop) and their long-suffering father was tortellini and sauce.

Expect big things tomorrow.  Deep thoughts about a wonderfully prime number: 37.

I'm Passionate!

This one's for Brooke. And maybe for anyone else who can relate, but for sure Brooke.

One thing that's true about me is that I don't have any passions. Well, none of the Find Your True Self kind. It's true, I am a bit easily excited by a hockey game and frankly, just about any sporting event. I have been known to really enjoy a good book, and knit consistently for a month or two.  But there is no activity, no endeavour that holds my heart, that gives me life, that makes me want to get up in the morning, that inspires me to give up The Good Wife on Tuesday nights in its pursuit.  The idea of 'finding your passion' has always amused me - I don't think I actually have the Passion Gene. 

However, it is also true that I didn't use to think I had endorphins.  Then one day, someone told me that the rush you get public speaking, when you're making your best point and you know it's Good and True and Right - that feeling is an endorphin.  I know. I was shocked too.  But also gratified because I know for certain I've never had that experience doing any kind of excercise but have for shizzle had it at the front of a church or leading a small group or at public meetings. It turns out, I gots me some endorphins!

Knowing that I had been wrong about endorphins then, I opened myself to the possibility of one day discovering a passion, but wasn't holding my breath.

This morning, I got to begin the Alison's Birthday Celebration Extravaganza with a coffee and lunch date with one third of SCS, Laura. Halfway through lunch, while going on and on about myself as I'm wont to do (it's Laura's fault - she's always acting so interested!), I found myself answering a question about what I like to speak about with this: "Well, you know, it tends to be about whatever it is I'm figuring out. I mean, I guess I'm just passionate about me."

Oh shit. I'm still laughing.  There was a moment of silence and we both laughed and Laura realized she too is Passionate About Me (in her case, her).  And it was so great because it's so wonderfully true - Me is a subject I'll wake up to think about, investigate, do something for.  Me is a reason to get up in the morning and get up and go.  I will even give up The Good Wife for Me.

Finally, a passion.  Friends, this could change everything.

Toy Rant

Several times a month (week?) Scott will step on something small and brightly coloured and most notably, Not Away, and say "That's it! We have too much shit in here! We're getting rid of it! Now!" Of course, you'll remember that I love conflict, so you might expect that I would jump in with a clear and coherent defense of said object, pointing out that it is, in fact, the only reason to hope our children might read/play an instrument/cure cancer (we only acquire educational toys, it goes without saying).

But no. Every time I just drop my head and sigh. Yep. I hate 'em too.

Other friends with children seem to embrace to the Toy.  They have several, many even. They seem to enjoy the acquisition, the variety, the abundance.  God love 'em, some of them actually seem to enjoy playing with them. Together. With their children. I was at a toy party last week and could only bring myself to purchase a book because the catalogue seemed to be just a collection of small pieces to lose and make me angry. Sure, they were going to teach my children to count, match, see patterns and choose sexual partners wisely (at the right time, of course), but good gravy, do they have to be so... many-pieced? Ugly? I get cranky just thinking about it.

We've started talking about Christmas presents.  Well, I have.  And in the spirit of full disclosure, I should probably confess two things before going any further.  One, I am cheap and hate spending all that money at once not because anything is needed, but just because The World says If You Love Them, You Will Show It With Your Purchases On This One Day Of The Year. While You Celebrate God With Us. And two, as perhaps hinted at in number one, I have some theological issues about Big New Amazing! gifts being exchanged as a way to celebrate Christmas.  But those are posts for another day.

Given the disclosure above, you are right if you assumed that Christmas present discussions are a bit fraught. Not with conflict (surprise!) but with a shared un-enthusiasm, for Scott also dislikes the gift orgy, although for different reasons.  We don't actually exchange gifts with each other, just stockings of underwear and soap and a few miscellaneous treats. We've often considered the year's holiday to a hot, sunny spot our gift to each other.  But of course, kids complicate things and so last year there was the tree-aplenty to greet us Christmas morning with Toys! and Fun! and Wow! for everyone.  When we talked about it last night, I realized that probably our first attempts were where I want us to get back to as a family: seeing the gift we give at Christmas as an opportunity to revel in God With Us, which is so deeply experienced in our togetherness and therefore choosing to give ourselves time together, however that works out.

And so maybe this is my first moment of parenting against the stream of our culture.  I feel the push-back when I see the flyers for toy stores and know that the children my children spend time with have homes filled with plastic (and non-toxic, wooden) diversions that they love and my children are going to have new underwear, a new book and maybe a new activity-creator (think tennis racquet, bike, ice skates, life jackets and crayons) but not so much on the trains and trucks and collectable doll front.  Just because I hate them.  The toys, not the kids. To be clear.

I love our play kitchen that Grandpa made for Auntie Barb back in 1960-something.  I love the dog that walks that Uncle Bri made and the big huge elephant from Uncle Andy.  The dress-up clothes that Auntie Anna got at Value Village rock. But the rest? I could throw the rest away and never miss them. And I suspect the kids would not miss them either.

I worry though. I worry that I'll be depriving them of the opportunity to find out they're science-lovers or artists or truck drivers because they didn't get to explore their own selves through play, which is, of course, their job.

And to be clear, this is not about being Anti-Consuming or Pro-Something Impressive. It's about being cheap and annoyed by things that I don't enjoy myself.  I've got 60ish sleeps to get it worked out and decide what part of my own toy-hating I'll be imposing on my small people.

Anyone see it more clearly than I do?

Secret Confession

Sometimes I read back in my blog and I think, "Damn, that's good."

A Few Good Women

There is no shortage of deficits in my life. No deficit of deficits I suppose. The writing you find here is often an ode to a deficit most days, an investigation into what current want or need is making me miserable. A wandering through the fields of Not Enoughness.

But I am rich beyond all measure in one particular direction: Good Friends. Not a day goes by that one of the women in my life makes my life just a tiny bit better, just by showing up.  On Facebook, by email, on the phone, over coffee, in the yard, at the park... somewhere, somehow, someone is reminding me that God must secretly like me best. I know the smartest, funniest, wisest, kindest, catty-est, snarkiest, giving-est, genuine-est women around. It shocks me. Shocks me that I know them, shocks me more that some of them seem to like me back.

You reading this know that you are one of those women. If you write, your writing has fed me and left me feeling less alone in the world.  If you phone, your timeliness has made me remember that somehow the Creator of the whole planet is also watching my small heart. If you've visited, your presence has been my comfort and my joy.

Thank you. Each of you. And especially you.

Streams

I have a lot of things I could say a lot about and yet when Time makes itself available for the writing down of these things, none makes itself known. This is infuriating. But I will just type and type and see where we end up.

One thing that happened today was that thankfulness failed me. I was in a beautiful home that houses two small children and all the furniture matches and there is a place for everything and everything is the right thing and it belongs and nothing that doesn't belong is there. Oddly, I really like this family, and like being with them, so my go-to Judge and Resent isn't actually appealing.  So while in their bathroom, taking in the tidy and appealing and appropriate bath toys, I tried being thankful for something to take the edge off my envy and self-disdain. I tried to be thankful for a house that is warm and comfortable. I tried being thankful for a house that we can afford. I tried being thankful for a husband who can do so much to keep our home beautiful. I tried... but trying is useless, isn't it? I needed a genuine dose of straight-up thankfulness and none could be conjured. So instead, I've just tried to ignore envy and drown it in Thin Mint Cookies.

Another thing that I realized this week that has been a bit life-changing is that I really like being angry. I love conflict and arguing and feeling righteous and right.  I married someone who also loves this and this is why we have such a good marriage. I don't think I always think it's a good marriage, but the truth is that we both love conflict and so there is a lot of it in our home.  There are obvious downfalls, but the upside is that very little gets left to simmer or rot. If we had found partners that did not love conflict, we would have been a lot lonelier I think. As it is, we both get given (plenty of) opportunity to dip into that (cess)pool of anger and swim around often, feeling it's Energy and Power and probably some kind of endorphin experience. It would be better for our hearts (in every way), if we could get our endorphins from excercise, but alas, 'tisn't so.

Now before my Ode to Anger and Conflict gets carried away, having realized that more often than not I was being angry purely for the pleasure of it rather than because of any objective need for it, I further realized that probably I needed to explore ways to shortcircuit the system, if only for the sake of my children's future children (do you like how I've already given up on them?). I asked the supersmart psychologist guy I know about what might be the emotional-intensity-equivalent to anger so that I could start swapping it out, but he was useless and just asked me if I knew. Stupid psychologists.

Of course, it turned out that I did know.  The only experience that seems to please as much as anger is laughing. In marriage, this is difficult because... well, mostly because Scott doesn't laugh as easily as the children do. I think he's probably a bit jaded and/or over-used to the material. But with the kids, I have discovered that if I notice myself getting angry in time, I can switch over to getting funny and it's like a little miracle.  The kids laugh, I laugh and on we go. My children are no more compliant now than they were a week ago, but I am way less unpleasant and feel a tiny bit better about the content of their future counselling sessions.

I know that having announced this discovery, I have jinxed it, and within 48 hours I'm going to lose my sh*t and yell cursewords in the grocery store or something. But I wanted to write it down: write down that I realized something new about me, and write down that I can still adapt and make adjustments.  I take good news where I can find it.

Finally, this week I discovered that I love hockey even more than I used to: I blame the Olympics.

Diversion

T had her first swimming lesson today. We call it swimming school to make up for the fact that I didn't put her in preschool. She is a bit desperate for a teacher.

The anxiety is (mostly) all mine and I did all my best coping: called ahead to make sure she was registered and in the right class (apparently I was scarred by *not* being registered once? why, oh why all this crazy), arrived early to scope the scene, found the cool "we're not too eager" spot to hang out and watch until it was our turn, said hello to the other small people and their big people and narrated almost the entire experience to both T & N the entire time. Talking out loud makes me feel better.

T was good right up until the teacher announced that they were going to go take a shower. This clearly threw her for a loop for not in one single TV episode about school, discussion about school or book about school, has there ever been a shower. Frankly, it kind of weirded me out too, but whatever, we're cool, we roll. Carrying my almost 2-year on one hip, I walked my big girl to the pool-side shower where she dutifully submitted to the warm water spray but safe to say 'reluctance' was the key body-language message. I was already trying to figure out how I would roll up my pants and hold N while all-the-while coaching T on joining in. As Miss Iona walked them down the stairs into the water, she turned back one last time and held out her hand to T. I slipped her hand over and walked to the viewing area in about 3 steps and in she went! Lesson One down.

It's so good to wait 'til parents are ready for these big transitions.

After half an hour of face in water, kicking and jumping and floating and splashing and laughing (!) and not ever looking over at me, out she came. As we changed back into street clothes, I tried the debrief: "So, I saw you floating. How was it?" "I don't want to talk to you about that." Nice.  I would be more upset if I didn't remember quite clearly saying about the same thing to my own mother about just about everything. Even now, I say it to Scott if he asks about my day at the wrong moment.

On our way out to the car, we headed downstairs and she looked up at me and said, "I did so good." "Yeah, you did." "Yep, I was straight-up fine! Straight-up fine."

She's so awesome.

Plagiarism

A friend wrote a note to a group of us, asking for thoughts about her realization that perhaps she wasn't so much angry all the time, as disappointed. I replied that I could hardly answer her, being self-involved as I am, but did have some related thoughts I could share. As I typed away, I found myself realizing that what I was typing was truer than I had planned and wondered what on earth I should do with all this thinking.

So of course, I'm pasting here for the review of my own friends, in the hopes that you, Faithful Readers, may have some insights to share.

Friend -

My own epiphany on this topic came this week: I linger in my anger and rage and disappointment because I like it so much. I love the energy and superiority these particular feelings provide - I just feel so good about myself when I am so angry and disappointed with just about anybody! (including me by the way, cause how awesome is it to be so much better than so many others because I'm the kind of person who knows myself so well?!)

So my own project is to find out if there are any other feelings or experiences that might be suitable replacements for anger and disappointment. They would have to match or exceed the pleasure and the intensity. I'll confess, my hope isn't high for my own transformation, but I think I owe it to the people I live with to try. Because as awesome as it is for me, I have just enough other-awareness to know it is poisoning their souls.

Looking forward to being solved by you...