A talisman against loss
30 July 2008 02:02 PM Categories: The struggle
| The kid
Sickness descended on
my household last week. The kid was the first to
fall, and I was next in line. So far, H has escaped
the sinus headaches, the post-nasal drip, and the
world-weary sense of fatigue.
Some children sleep though high fevers, resting up as their bodies fight off the germs. Not our little one. The heat disturbs his sleep. For several nights he woke up in the 2 - 3 a.m. time slot, asking "Is it wake-up time?" Well, no, but we didn't have much say in the matter. Time for a drink of water, maybe for another dose of Motrin, and then we'd settle in for cuddling and long attempts at getting back to sleep. Two hours later, once he was out, I would be able to sleep myself.
The combination of being sick and not getting enough sleep put me in a strange frame of mind. Everything seemed fraught with premature nostalgia. The Duplo block set he got for his birthday, with a castle and the toy knights? A relic of a childhood soon to be over, the toys destined to languish in an attic. The recent photographs of our growing boy? Documentation of a time we won't be be able to remember a year from now. My cuddly 3-year-old will change into a different person, perhaps several times over, and each stage will be as fuzzy in my mind as his first weeks of life. It cut, this realization of the slipperiness of time and memory.
Along with an ache for what has not yet passed, I started to see danger in almost every moment, as though I was preparing myself for an inevitable loss. The bee I saw crawling on our grass -- would it deliver a fatal sting to my son, sink its poison into his chubby bare foot? (Never mind that we have no idea if he is allergic. It is a genetic possiblity). Would this be the dog walk where I would lose my balance and fall backwards, landing on my son, strapped to my back in an Ergo carrier? (Oh, for those days when he insisted on wearing his bike helmet at all times!)
And what about me? Was I paying enough attention to the dangers that I faced? Is the morning coming when, groggy and uncaffeinated, I will accidentally dip my low-hanging robe sleeve into the burner flame, stare in shock as the sleeve is consumed? Would I finally miss that step and go tumbling into a crumpled heap of bone and flesh on the floor below?
Maybe if I tried to keep the dangers in mind, tried to remind myself that what we love can be taken away, that no moment is innocent, I would have a mental talisman against loss.
That was a few days ago. Sleep is improving and my outlook is returning to normal. Neurotic worrying is not what protects us from danger. I am lucky to live in an incredibly safe part of the world, with access to clean water, plentiful food, and good medical care. I don't have to dodge bombs or gunfire. I don't need a talisman.
But I am going to watch my step when I go down the stairs.
Some children sleep though high fevers, resting up as their bodies fight off the germs. Not our little one. The heat disturbs his sleep. For several nights he woke up in the 2 - 3 a.m. time slot, asking "Is it wake-up time?" Well, no, but we didn't have much say in the matter. Time for a drink of water, maybe for another dose of Motrin, and then we'd settle in for cuddling and long attempts at getting back to sleep. Two hours later, once he was out, I would be able to sleep myself.
The combination of being sick and not getting enough sleep put me in a strange frame of mind. Everything seemed fraught with premature nostalgia. The Duplo block set he got for his birthday, with a castle and the toy knights? A relic of a childhood soon to be over, the toys destined to languish in an attic. The recent photographs of our growing boy? Documentation of a time we won't be be able to remember a year from now. My cuddly 3-year-old will change into a different person, perhaps several times over, and each stage will be as fuzzy in my mind as his first weeks of life. It cut, this realization of the slipperiness of time and memory.
Along with an ache for what has not yet passed, I started to see danger in almost every moment, as though I was preparing myself for an inevitable loss. The bee I saw crawling on our grass -- would it deliver a fatal sting to my son, sink its poison into his chubby bare foot? (Never mind that we have no idea if he is allergic. It is a genetic possiblity). Would this be the dog walk where I would lose my balance and fall backwards, landing on my son, strapped to my back in an Ergo carrier? (Oh, for those days when he insisted on wearing his bike helmet at all times!)
And what about me? Was I paying enough attention to the dangers that I faced? Is the morning coming when, groggy and uncaffeinated, I will accidentally dip my low-hanging robe sleeve into the burner flame, stare in shock as the sleeve is consumed? Would I finally miss that step and go tumbling into a crumpled heap of bone and flesh on the floor below?
Maybe if I tried to keep the dangers in mind, tried to remind myself that what we love can be taken away, that no moment is innocent, I would have a mental talisman against loss.
That was a few days ago. Sleep is improving and my outlook is returning to normal. Neurotic worrying is not what protects us from danger. I am lucky to live in an incredibly safe part of the world, with access to clean water, plentiful food, and good medical care. I don't have to dodge bombs or gunfire. I don't need a talisman.
But I am going to watch my step when I go down the stairs.
|
Is it over?
17 July 2008 06:57 PM Categories: The kid
OK, so I knew it
wouldn't last forever, those sweet 2 - 3 hour
afternoon interludes, the house quiet and my mind
active and unfettered. The jig would be up at some
point in the misty future.
But I really didn't expect my son to stop napping before his third birthday (about a week away). Last Wednesday, he made a decision: no more naps. Even in the monotony of a long drive, even when his lids were at quarter-mast, when he was a little zombie boy in the carseat, he stayed the course. My attempts to coax midday sleep out of him have been unsuccessful.
It's all well and good when there are two of us around to entertain him, but what happens next week when it's just me and him? He isn't a big fan of playgrounds, he doesn't like hanging out with other kids. One can only take so many dog walks and trips to the library. Maybe this is our big opportunity to explore San Francisco, take the BART into the city and get culture. Or take a bus into the Berkeley hills, or to campus, have a little public transportation adventure (!!).
My boy is funny and often self-entertaining. He loves books and trains and motorcycles. Spending my days with him is a joy, but I am a person who thrives off of quiet time. Uninterrupted time. I'm scared. I need that time. After a full day of child chasing, my brain is mush. How am I supposed to write?
Thank goodness for his two school mornings. And for early bedtimes. Sometimes as early as 6:30.
But I really didn't expect my son to stop napping before his third birthday (about a week away). Last Wednesday, he made a decision: no more naps. Even in the monotony of a long drive, even when his lids were at quarter-mast, when he was a little zombie boy in the carseat, he stayed the course. My attempts to coax midday sleep out of him have been unsuccessful.
It's all well and good when there are two of us around to entertain him, but what happens next week when it's just me and him? He isn't a big fan of playgrounds, he doesn't like hanging out with other kids. One can only take so many dog walks and trips to the library. Maybe this is our big opportunity to explore San Francisco, take the BART into the city and get culture. Or take a bus into the Berkeley hills, or to campus, have a little public transportation adventure (!!).
My boy is funny and often self-entertaining. He loves books and trains and motorcycles. Spending my days with him is a joy, but I am a person who thrives off of quiet time. Uninterrupted time. I'm scared. I need that time. After a full day of child chasing, my brain is mush. How am I supposed to write?
Thank goodness for his two school mornings. And for early bedtimes. Sometimes as early as 6:30.
"Tell me a story"
16 June 2008 09:02 PM Categories: The kid
I've never thought of
myself as a good storyteller. Getting the sequence of
events in the right order, building the proper
tension -- I can't do it out loud. Maybe it's a
self-confidence problem, or it's my ever-present
worry about getting things wrong or saying something
horribly offensive (that's a childhood
hangover right there), but piecing
together a narrative is real work for me, work
that I can't do with an audience. Trapped in an
ice of anxiety, my imagination retreats and my
mouth ceases to work properly.
Then my son started asking for stories before bed. Yes, my internal editor even made an appearance here. I had to thaw my mind, to stop caring about being bad at storytelling. Of course, he is a very receptive audience, a three-year-old with a love of the surreal. He throws out an idea and I run with it, with a little input when necessary (fun fact: did you know that monsters eat pears?).
It's freeing and satisfying, this flow of connected silliness with just a touch of plot. Good practice for writing.
If only he would fall asleep after the story. Perhaps I should be more boring.
Then my son started asking for stories before bed. Yes, my internal editor even made an appearance here. I had to thaw my mind, to stop caring about being bad at storytelling. Of course, he is a very receptive audience, a three-year-old with a love of the surreal. He throws out an idea and I run with it, with a little input when necessary (fun fact: did you know that monsters eat pears?).
It's freeing and satisfying, this flow of connected silliness with just a touch of plot. Good practice for writing.
If only he would fall asleep after the story. Perhaps I should be more boring.
experiment
26 May 2008 05:32 AM Categories: Quotidian
existence
typing with one hand in
the semi-darkness of dawn filtered through curtains.
I've been up since 2:30 a.m. -- coughing child with
stuffy nose needing constant contact, brain buzzing
with ideas for writing (from real life, as usual,
though I would prefer ideas from a fictional life,
some character that I've created revealing their
story in rich detail, with believable dialog. yeah,
I'll get there).
the kid is asleep on my lap. the husband is asleep by my side. the visiting brother-in-law is coughing downstairs.
and I can't reach my cup of coffee.
the kid is asleep on my lap. the husband is asleep by my side. the visiting brother-in-law is coughing downstairs.
and I can't reach my cup of coffee.
Buzzer beater
21 March 2008 07:54 PM Categories: Quotidian
existence | The kid
This has been a really
long, particularly non-creative week.
(Begin boring complaint)
(End of boring complaint)
Now he is awake. 'Later.
(Begin boring complaint)
First, C got sick. Then H developed the same cold. When C gets sick, he sleeps like the baby he once was: poorly. Also violently, with lots of tosses and turns and kicks. When H gets sick, he snores more. My cold symptoms started on Tuesday, the same day C developed pink eye, guaranteeing that daycare was a no-go for Wednesday. Babysitter doesn't want pink eye either. Finally, after the first night of good sleep in five nights, yesterday C decided to skip a nap. I have pink eye for the first time since third grade. And I've spent most of his nap time today cleaning up in preparation for the babysitter (at least his pink eye went away).
(End of boring complaint)
Now he is awake. 'Later.
First time in weeks ...
11 March 2008 07:27 PM Categories: On writing
First time in weeks ...
that C is asleep before 9:00/9:30. No nap = long day,
easier night. H and I actually had uninterrupted,
leisurely dinner conversation. No one wanted to sit
on my lap and eat (not even the cats). And I know I
will be awake for a while to talk or read or write.
Just like life used to be, except I'm older and
crankier.
The K story is changing. All of the sudden, there I am, with opinions and experiences and a viewpoint. K's arrival wasn't the first thing to ever happen to us. He stepped into a context, into a scene that needs to be set. And for this, I have to include my mother's second husband and the quirks of our great triumvirate. Without getting into it too much.
What is lost -- a tight, arid focus -- is worth losing. It's funnier, too. And maybe it's really about me anyway, right?
The K story is changing. All of the sudden, there I am, with opinions and experiences and a viewpoint. K's arrival wasn't the first thing to ever happen to us. He stepped into a context, into a scene that needs to be set. And for this, I have to include my mother's second husband and the quirks of our great triumvirate. Without getting into it too much.
What is lost -- a tight, arid focus -- is worth losing. It's funnier, too. And maybe it's really about me anyway, right?
Early sleep, no sleep nights
09 March 2008 04:16 PM Categories: Quotidian
existence