The Bookseller of Kabul by Asne Seierstad. I've started reading this several times, but now I finally got the audiobook. We'll see if that helps me finish.
Sleep Tight, Little Bear (with DVD) by Martin Waddell. Oh my sweet goodness. If you can get the book with the DVD, then you'll be treated to Waddell reading the story in his beautiful Irish accent. THIS is the book (and DVD) to get for wee children this season.
Tiny Reads From Bloggyland
Big Reads
Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer. Certainly my favorite of the series so far. That's not to say I'm absolutely loving the series, only that I'm continuing to read them.
New Moon by Stephenie Meyer. Working my way through the books. I liked this one better than the first one, although a trend is developing that the plot doesn't work for me once the crisis is over.
Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. You know what? It wasn't half bad. I'm going to finish the series and then write a full review.
Brooklyn: A Novel by Colm Toibin. Even though it was slow, I was totally captured by the plot. The story is about an Irish girl's new life in America. I found it engaging, but then the ending was flat for me. (Odd since that's what seems to redeem it for most people.) (****)
The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. (audiobook version) After my summer of grief (which seems to be following me into my autumn), this was the book I needed to read. Cathartic. If you have ever experienced the loss of a loved one, you need to read this book. Absolutely. (*****)
Reading in the Dark: A Novel by Seamus Deane. Read it again with my Irish lit class. Haunting, mythic, and reads like a memoir. Happy to say my students enjoyed it as much as I did. (*****)
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith. A wonderful coming-of-age story. I read it on the airplane and cried. Beautiful blends the identities of being Irish, being American, and growing up poor. (*****)
Where the Heart Is by Billie Letts. I was very skeptical about this book, and it ended up being such a delight. Really loved it. (****)
My little magical creatures headed out tonight to gather their treats and celebrate the evening at a Halloween party hosted by a teacher from Jason's school.
It's Jules first time out, and since she is a candy addict, I imagine that this may rank up there as one of the best days of her life so far. (What? What's this? Who's giving out candy? Everyone that we know is giving out candy?! I'll do whatever it takes! Yes! I'll wear that. No! I won't wear the hood.)
Even Jason got in on the spirit of Halloween and dressed up as Dennis Rodman, complete with tattoos, sunglasses, and shaved head (aaaaaaaahh!). It was too frightening. No pictures of that.
I don't even have any candy to keep me company. Now there's a mean trick indeed.
Ah well. I'll sneak some treats when the little princess ballerina and Puff the Magic Dragon come home. It'll be just enough sugar to keep me going for a few more hours.
Hope your evening is filled with plenty of treats and friendly goblins to keep you company.
As I was driving to school today, I realized with some alarm that I do not have enough hours in the day to accomplish everything that I need to do. Or, rather, I do not have enough hours of solitude to accomplish everything. I can get the laundry done. I can make dinner. I can vacuum. I can do all the things that can be done while simultaneously refereeing playtime between the girls.
But the other stuff? The stuff that I can't do with the girls? That area is suffering.
Specifically, I have professional responsibilities--like grading and reviewing new textbooks and coordinating with the academic center about students' grades--that I'm behind on. And then there are the academic responsibilities--like studying. For the exams. That are next Thursday.
Even though I've set pretty low standards for myself ("Just do the best you can with the time that you have, even if your best ends up being sub-par by normal standards"), and I've even given myself permission to fail the graduate exams (because it will not be the end of the world if I don't pass them), I'd really rather excel. Because, honestly, mediocrity is not what I strive for. There are days, though, that I feel like I do nothing excellently, but just get by on a wing and a prayer.
When I look at my line up of things to do, I wouldn't say I'm worried. I wouldn't exactly say I'm stressed about it either.
Well, maybe I'm a little bit stressed.
Just a teeny tiny bit.
For my degree, I try to focus on the end goal. I keep thinking of a student I have in my class. Five days before the first day of class, she had a baby, her third child. Five days! Plus, she manages her own business, and she's a full-time student taking classes in her non-native language. She's getting an A in my class, and she reminds me that life isn't always easy but you do what you do because you have to do it.
She and I tell each other, It may be hard right now, but it'll be worth it in the end. For me, I'm hoping that one big "end" will come next Friday. Win or lose, I'll be done taking the exams. Then regardless of that outcome, I'll come home and step right back into my role as a mommy and wife.
It's hard to make sacrifices--whether it's getting a good grade, or spending time with my family, or making a really great meal. But I'm making them anyway. Because I think what I'm doing--teaching, getting my graduate degree--is important.
Even though Margaret Wise Brown wrote both Goodnight Moon and Runaway Bunny, I have completely different feelings regarding each book.
Specifically, I adore Goodnight Moon and can nearly lull myself to sleep reading it, but then I get to Runaway Bunny and am just a little bit creeped out. I just can't get on board the mother's commitment in Runaway Bunny.
But goodnight to the comb, and brush, and bowl full of mush?
Zzzzzz....
I need to know how you stand on this very important issue.
It's that time of year when children all over the country don their boots and hats, and trod the fields in search of the elusive pumpkin that perfectly blends of the spirits of harvest celebration and spooky terror.
Or, if you're like us, you'll just throw on some tennis shoes, muddle around in the field for a few minutes half-heartedly looking for a pumpkin that meets the criteria of being not too big, not too small, and not too squishy. Pumpkins are okay, but we are more entertained by all the peripherals of pumpkin patches: petting zoo, corn maze, treats.
Plus, after spending the last few weeks enraptured with the acres and acres of pumpkins being grown across the street from my school, a traditional pumpkin patch can't quite measure up.
Tractor rides, however, are always good fun.
And picking apples never ceases to be exciting. Especially after getting a lesson on the proper way to pick apples (rotate and lift the apple up, and then pull down), Sydney can't wait to share her newfound knowledge with her cousin.
Really, we're all about climbing hay bales and singing tunes from The Sound of Music.
The hills are alive? Ah Maria, you underestimated the joy of Mt. Hood of Hay.
In fact, let's forget the pumpkins altogether. Just give us donuts and cider.
On Friday, we were living in one place; on Saturday, we moved into another. On Sunday, we spent the day walking the area around our apartment, visiting the teeny tiny park, drinking pumpkin spice lattes, getting new filters for the vacuum so that not a speck of dirt from the old place would find its way into our new place.
I can feel it internally, in the way I breathe, the length of time between blinks, the habit of walking again without socks.
The books are away in the bookshelf, the magazines hang on their rack, the shoes in the drawer, the supplies of every day needs neatly stacked on the bathroom shelves. In the span of two days we have found order, organization, and a patch of sunlight streaming through the 3rd story living room windows.
The same 3rd story windows that look out at the trees where squirrels and birds live.
The same trees that still bear the scars of the being burned two years ago when this apartment complex went up in flames.
That's why despite being in an older building, our apartment--and several others that were destroyed by the fire--is nice and new, because it was the epicenter of the fire that displaced a dozen people, injured 2 firefighters, and made the skies black with smoke.
Two years ago this place was destroyed. It took a year to renovate and rebuild the complex in order to make it inhabitable. It took a weekend for it change our attitude.
It's amazing what a little sunshine through the window can do for the soul.
And it's amazing how a little less than a month ago I was falling apart at the seams, and yet here I am, looking out my window at a tree, blackened by fire, home to birds and squirrels.
At church today, Sydney learned about Moses and how he sent out twelve men to scout out the Promised Land and see what it looked like. Syd told us that Joshua saw all the great food and beauty that the Promised Land had, but the other men saw the giants and were afraid.
"And what are giants?" I asked her.
"They are naughty people."
Well, I reasoned, at least those particular giants were naughty people. They had a tendency to kill the Israelites, which will quickly garner you a poor reputation for hospitality. Our conversation turned to other things, and I promptly forgot about the giants.
Sydney did not forget them, however.
Later in the day, as she was watching Bright Eyes (we're big fans of Shirley Temple around here), she observed one of the characters--a little girl--being particularly mean and naughty.
Syd was outraged at the blatant display of un-niceness. "That little giant girl needs to be nice to Shirley Temple!"
"The who?"
"The little giant! She's so naughty."
So our family goal for the week? Not being giants.
We're busy packing and probably won't have Internet for a couple days, but before I unplug our magic Internet box, I have this week's silly survey.
Even though I should be too busy packing and studying and grading papers and living daily life to even think about going on vacation, turns out I sneaked in a little bit of time this week to look at airline tickets to Orlando.
Don't tell Sydney, be we're thinking that a trip to Disney World is in the works. The land of princesses awaits us. Woo hoo.
And sure, it's Saturday, and you're busy doing chores and all that great stuff, but if you could transport yourself to the vacation spot of your choice, where would it be?
The window over the kitchen sink. It makes all the difference in the world to look out that window and see the sky.
We are back in the land of having a washer and dryer. Who knew I could be this excited about doing laundry?
Huge picture windows in the living room that receive honest to goodness sunshine.
Living on the third (top) floor where we don't have to worry about people walking past our windows, or listen to cars starting up (or not) at 5:30 in the morning, or wake up to an upstairs neighbor running on the treadmill for 45 minutes.
New cabinets, new carpets, new paint, new fixtures. It even smells new. Such joy.
Bonus: It's a smoke-free complex. I don't have anything against smokers, but the smell of cigarettes drives me crazy.
I am swimming in a sea of thankfulness right now. This place makes our dual-living arrangement 100% better. Yay!
Assorted cleaning projects related to moving in and moving out
But most importantly: I must study for my graduate exams which are in TWO WEEKS.
TWO WEEKS UNTIL COMPREHENSIVE EXAMS. TWO WEEKS UNTIL MY BRAIN COMPLETELY EXPLODES WITH INFORMATION THAT I'VE BEEN RETAINING FOR EIGHT YEARS. It's enough to make me all CAPSY (to steal a phrase from the Fug Girls).
Fortunately, I did get a bit of direction on what to study for my literature question. The key words: theories of comedy and Joyce. And if I'm feeling especially clever, add a dash of Althusser or Bakhtin.
Sweet Mary and Joseph. I have to write an essay about Joyce. And sound intelligent enough to warrant a graduate degree.
I should study some more, but first I need to know something.
Answer me this:
I hope you thought long and hard about your answer.
See, the thing is I'm not always very good at this parenting thing. Somedays I get it right, but then somedays....oh, somedays I just don't get it right at all.
Like last night, as I hunched over the computer screen and played back the entire day in my mind's not-quite-so-reliable eye. I saw a day that had left my parenting skills beaten and kicked to the curb. Harried. Exasperated. Wit's end. Frenzied. A touch of the crazies. I was there. I'm going out on a limb here and saying that we've all been there.
Believe me, at the end of the day there was no melancholy to be seen. No blues. No pinks. No greens. Maybe a little bit of red. Mostly it was just, "I have failed to parent my child into kindness. I have failed to convince her to sit at the table. Woe is me." Additionally, "I have failed to keep page-books from out of her mighty grasp and therefore am slowly but surely collecting a library of books held together with tape and staples." Melodramatic, much? Indeed.
So I typed it all out. And mourned the failure of my parenting skills.
But there you were, helping me out, letting me know that perhaps all was not lost with my sweet not-yet-2-year-old child. In fact, as you mentioned repeatedly, I would do well to see this as a stage, a phase, a moment in time that she would undoubtedly grow out of. (And dear Jules, if you're reading this when you're all grown up and not hitting people anymore, know that I love you to the moon and back even as you laughed and poked me in the eye.) Me, with my "I don't want to enable her or give her an excuse for bad behavior" attitude, but failing to recognize that, oh that's right, kids grow up.
Hey, did you know?
Kids grow up.
Pauline reminded me of that when I read her comment. By the way, I had Pauline as a high school student for four years, and even though she dodged out of AP English (I will not forget, Po, no never), she was an amazing person who hardly ever hit people, and probably never in the face. And now she's all grown up with a job, and husband, and a house. Just think. She was two years old once too, and then she grew up into a good person.
And I have every day, for years and years, to teach my girls to be like Pauline--to be girls who don't hit or push other people, with their fists, or their stuff, or their words. I get to help them learn to be kind and loving people, which, oddly enough, is a mentality they don't always come by naturally.
So thank you, for being here, for leaving comments, for the conversations today that I had in living rooms and kitchens, for even not leaving comments but just coming back to see how this all works out. It's why I write, why I creaturebug, why I love this little place. Because you set me straight and remind me that I'm not in this alone.
I'm growing up too. Little by little.
***
Now you know what I would miss if I didn't do all of...this. Tell me what you would miss, even if you don't keep a blog but just read them. What would you miss if it was gone? (*Update: I took Devon's advice and revised one of the categories.*)
(poll)
I know that according to last Saturday's poll, Wednesday is nobody's favorite, but it still turned out to be a good day, didn't it?
A not-so-small bit of anxiety has crept into our Tuesday night ritual of storytime at the library. Here we have been going for nearly two years, feeding our hearts with all sorts of wonderful books, never worrying at all about the other families who gather with us to be nourished by Pumpkin Soup and Apples, Apples, Apples.
The past several weeks, however, every time we go to the library we have encountered a mischievous sprite who insists on pushing the babies down and hitting the other toddlers on the head. She has the most disarming smile, and is certainly a sweet sight to behold when she's bouncing up and down and flapping her arms with the songs. But then, when you least expect it...pop! She hits you across the face with a book.
It's hugely embarrassing. For us. Because--ah yes, she's at it again--the storytime stalker is none other than our Jules, our sweet Jules, who is tormenting the other kids. I feel like I'm always apologizing, and we are constantly monitoring her as she weaves in and out of the children scattered throughout the room. If ever she pauses just a little too long in front of one child, gets just a little too close, we are quick to scoop her up and plop her back in our lap.
Some nights she's better than others, although our stress level never diminishes, and then there are nights like tonight. She smiled at a baby for a few seconds, and then after establishing eye contact, Jules pushed her over. That earned her some discipline with Daddy out in the hallway. Later on, she was watching another child play quietly, and crept closer to observe. We reminded her, "Gentle," which she interpreted as "Grab the baby in the face." Uff da.
Her ferocity is entirely characteristic of her: she tackles us with her hugs, smothers us with her kisses, wraps her arms tightly around our neck as she screams, "LOVE!" Sydney put it best the other day as she rubbed the spot where Jules hit her: "I know she's just trying to get my attention, but it still hurts." If only all her passions could be channeled so positively.
Even though almost 2-year-olds aren't always known for their kind and gentle spirits, Jules seems to bypass kindess and gentleness more often than not. We praise her to the moon and back whenever she exhibits kindness, and yet, it doesn't quite stick with her. I want to teach her to be nice, to refrain from using violence. I don't want to be the parent who shakes her head and sighs with comic exasperation, "Oh, two year olds. What can you do?"
I also don't want to be the parent who is worried about her child's behavior because it reflects poorly on her parenting skills. More than anything, I want my children to be caring because they want to be caring, because it's part of their character.
It's hard to talk to a 20-month-old about character, though.
I got up early this morning to write, but then the girls woke up too. We discovered we had no milk, so I bundled them into the stroller and took a pre-dawn walk to the grocery store. We munched on hot donuts as we walked home, the dawn's light barely perceptible through the clouds and raindrops.
I sat down this afternoon to write, but Jules--who is fighting a terrible cold and needs her nose wiped approximately every 30 seconds--was feeling fierce and needy and weepy and had to be held.
I thought about writing later in the afternoon while Jules napped, but Sydney wanted to make a crown, so we got out the scissors and paints and markers and just as we finished both the crown and an impromptu dance party, Jules woke up.
Now here I am, ready to write, except that I'm eyeing the clock and realizing I have to get up early to grade papers because I told my students I'd have their assignments done by class tomorrow.
So.
I'm going to sleep now, in our bed that doesn't have any sheets because we forgot them up in Washington and now have to make due with baby blankets and the comforter until Wednesday. We discovered this mishap last night, and I thought about being annoyed, but instead thought it was funny. I still giggle every time I think of us wrapped up in baby blankets, trying to keep warm through the chilly October nights.
We found a new apartment that we love and are moving into this week.
It's lovely with huge picture windows, big rooms, and not a slug in sight. Added bonus: it's within walking distance of Sydney's dance school, as well as Great Harvest Bread Company and Starbucks.
The first sign I knew it was perfect? Scores of trees, brilliant with orange and red, lined the driveway. Piles of leaves crackled under my feet as I walked around the building. Sure, we have to share the leafs with others, but still.
Leafs. Outside our door.
I will take any form of answered prayer I can get.
Saturdays are nice, aren't they? I like them because we get to be all together as a family. I'm reunited with the girls after being away from them on Fridays; Jason is reunited with the girls after three days of being away from them. Yay for reunions!
I suppose I'd have to say that Saturdays are my favorite day. As long as I don't get in the rut of saving every chore imaginable for Saturdays, they tend to turn out as a solid family day. Added bonus: we have no obligations for Saturdays. No meetings, no soccer games, no place we have to be by a certain time. Always good.
If I had to pick a favorite weekday, I'd pick Mondays. Even though Jason heads back to school on Mondays, it's a day when the girls and I have no pre-planned activities. A whole day without thinking, "I have to be here at a certain time" is a treat. I don't know about you, but sometimes the chore of getting in the car is more difficult than it ought to be.
I put it to you, gentle readers. Of all seven days of the week, which is your favorite?
My plan for today was to study for my comprehensive graduate exams.
Did I tell you I have to take comprehensive graduate exams? In three weeks? Over material that I have learned over the past eight years? I didn't?
Maybe it's because I'm in denial.
Anyway, I have to study for these exams because they are very tricky and ask me all sorts of questions like prescriptive and descriptive approaches to grammar and writing. While I found that topic very interesting, I could not spend an hour writing about it. That's where the studying comes in.
However, at approximately 7 pm last night, my stomach started warring it out over the prescriptive and descriptive approaches to pizza digestion. My stomach spent more than an hour quarreling about it, and still, this afternoon, hasn't quite resolved the issue. I hate it when my stomach fights with itself. It's never pretty.
In short, I am enduring a sick day. Fortunately, it is Friday and so the girls are up with the grandparents. Unfortunately, it is Friday, which means I technically have less than 3 weeks until my graduate exams.
This past week alone I've had a discussion with my brother and s-i-l about the election, listened to some interesting stories on NPR about the election, even dissected part of the rhetoric from last night's debate (ala this Slate article) in my class today. Couple that with 29% of you asking for some deep thoughts from me, I thought I'd share a little bit of the political discourse rumbling through my mind. Of course, I'm not sharing everything because after I wrote an honest, forthcoming post and read it to Jason, he said, "Are you sure about this? You don't do well with mean people." So. You'll have to settle for a shorter, less revealing post. That's how this sensitive, thin-skinned momma rolls.
I have purposefully stayed out of the political discussion because my views don't fit neatly into any political party. I am pro-life, pro-gun control, pro-environment. I don't believe the words "under God" should be removed from the Pledge of Allegiance, or that Roe v. Wade should be overturned. I don't think that minimum wage should be a living wage, or that Oregon's classrooms should be English language-only. Embryonic stem-cell research isn't a gray area for me; capital punishment is. I am a registered Republican, although of the things that define me, it is far down on the list. I am, generally speaking, a conservative.
Last year, I read (and reviewed) Dr. Offit's book on vaccines, and so I was quite interested in reading his follow-up book. I've already given my opinion about vaccines, so I won't rehash that here. However, the book isn't so much a parade for vaccines as it a defense of them. It largely grapples with the question: do vaccines cause autism?
It's a big question, an important question, one which parents all over the world are struggling with. The media is quick to publish studies that demonstrate the dangers of vaccines; politicians like John Kerry, Dave Weldon, Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., and Joe Lieberman have condemned vaccines; even Oprah has jumped on the vaccines-cause-autism bandwagon. Who are parents to believe?
Offit traces of the history of the vaccine debate, beginning with the first study that linked MMR vaccines with autism.
When it was proved without a doubt that MMR vaccines did notcause autism, mercury (thimerosal) was blamed for autism.
When thimerosal was removed from vaccines, the rates of autism actually increased, rather than decreased. Evidently, thimerosal was not be blamed.
After decades of research, no link has been found that ties vaccines with autism.
While Offit is clearly on the side of "vaccines do not cause autism," his book looks at the research that was given to the contrary. He spends pages highlighting the opposing research, even devoting whole chapters ("Lighting the Fuse," "Mercury Rising" ) to the story that vaccines cause autism. Each time, however, Offit provides damning evidence to the contrary. No respected medical establishment believes that vaccines cause autism.
Among many circles, that answer is not a popular opinion. Some go so far as to accuse these establishments of a mass-conspiracy, and that the government is simply unwilling to pull vaccines from the market because of the pharmaceutical company's lobbying. Offit admits that vaccines aren't perfect, but the FDA and CDC have been quick to act when an immunization poses a threat.
For example: "In 1998, the FDA licensed a rotavirus vaccines, and the CDC recommend it for all infants.... Studies showed rotavirus vaccines caused intussusception in about one of every 10,000 babies who got it....Within months of the vaccine's release, the CDC had discovered the problem and withdrew its recommendation--a testament to CDC diligence and post-licensure surveillance." If there was any link at all between vaccines and autism, the CDC would have caught it by now and would have acted accordingly.
More than just providing research, Offit provides the drama that surrounds vaccines. The court cases, the conspiracy theories, the death threats, the high profile individuals, the risky treatments for autistic children--all are part of the controversy. And unfortunately, an entire cottage industry of litigation lawyers, advocacy groups, and unethical doctors have taken advantage of parents who are looking for a cause for autism.
Even more unfortunate is that this industry sees autistic children as poisoned and damaged. From Kathleen Seidel, founder of Neurodiversity.com (an autism resource web site): "I get really angry at those who work parents up into a nasty emotional state. I just think it's destructive to be led down this path of endless recriminations that goes with being encouraged to think that kids are autistic because they're damaged."
In an age when we are all trying to do the best for our children, when we aren't entirely sure who to believe, I found the book and all the statistical evidence that it provides as a great reassurance that vaccines do not cause autism. Furthermore, rather than spending money and resources fighting against vaccines, we should be focusing on what does cause autism and how we can support those who are affected by it.
And as a perfect stroke of good timing, yesterday one of my students showed this heartwarming video about Jason McElwain, an autistic student.
Paul Offit will donate all royalties from sales of this book to autism research. Parent Bloggers Network provided me with my copy of this book.
This quote from Better, one of my favorite books from this past summer, has been rolling around in my head since last June.
"The hardest question for anyone who takes responsibility for what he or she does is, What if I turn out to be average?...I could tell myself, Someone's got to be average. If the bell curve is a fact, then so is the reality that most doctors are going to be average. There is no shame in being one of them, right?
"Except, of course, there is. What is troubling is not just being average but settling for it. Everyone knows that averageness is, for most of us, our fate. And in certain matters--looks, money, tennis--we would do well to accept this. But in your surgeon, your child's pediatrician, your police department, your local high school? When the stakes are our lives and lives of our children, we want no one to settle for average." (italics mine)
Worth pondering.
*
I have a political post in the works, and as part of my research, I have a little question for you (also, if you haven't voted in the presidential poll, do that too):
Would you like to see a video of Jules or a video of my messy apartment?
How about both?
It's classic Jules: the smiles, the exuberance, the hugs, the waving. If only she had ripped up a book and pulled Sydney's hair, you would have had the perfect picture of my sweet-talking baby.
Extra cuteness goes to Sydney who watched the video and said, "Delightful!" Precisely.
Our usual routine is to be up in Washington on the weekends, but this weekend brought us back to town for a birthday party on Saturday night. We were looking forward to this weekend because not only did we get to connect with our friends on Saturday, but it meant we would be able to attend our church this morning.
For the past 11 years, we have attended the same church. It's a place where I have heard truth, knelt in prayer, wept in repentance, felt mercy poured out on me. The people of this church have brought me food when I was in the hospital delivering a baby, encouraged me when I was heartbroken, loved and prayed over both my daughters. I have stood on the stage of this church as my babies--and our roles as new parents--were dedicated to the Lord.
Whenever we drive past our church, Sydney is faithful to call out, "There's our church!" and she and Jules cheer wildly. I do too.
Now, however, with us spending our weekends 70 miles away, we have started the search for a new church. We have to remember that there is no church exactly like the one we're coming from, with friends and memories already built in. Our search hasn't been too painful. Already, we have plans to revisit one that seemed like a good fit, and where we were blessed to be sitting by a kind and encouraging heart (Hi Tamara!).
Searching is hard work, though, especially since we come from a place that we love. Some Sundays I feel like looking for a new church is like looking for a new dentist, except that one tends to the teeth, while the other tends to the soul. It's all a bit nerve wracking, and you don't want to commit without knowing how they handle their responsibilities, particularly since the effects can be quite noticeable.
What was not so noticeable to me, until this morning, is how much I rely on Sundays. Sure, my faith is not limited to a church experience, nor do I believe that God is contained to a building. Even still, I need Sundays. I need to hear the strains of music lifted to the heavens, the thoughtful words from our pastor, the familiar faces greeting us at the door. My soul was starving for that connection, and as I look back over the past month I can see how the hunger pangs were evident.
When I walked through the sanctuary doors this morning, the light bulb lit: the feeling of relief, the lightness of step, the release of tension from my shoulders. The pangs subsided, and peace filled my heart. This is what I had been missing from the last four weeks.
I am confident we will find a church in Washington. Until we do, I am so thankful we have a place where we can return and feel at home.
A bit of bloggitty navel gazing this lovely Saturday afternoon. Not that I'm easily bossed around, but I'm just randomly interested in your responses. And now I need to get back to watching A Bug's Life.
There are things I needed to do today, but none of them seemed as important as getting outside with my camera and going to one of the most lovely places in town.
I went to school here, and now I teach here. That building at the bottom of the picture was my dorm. Those buildings on the horizon are prisons. Literally. Salem is full of prisons and colleges and mental hospitals; it has one of the highest rates of institutionalized living in the country.
Here's the building (and my classroom, by the second light) where I teach. It never feels like prison because my students are good, and I can teach whatever I want.
On Tuesdays, I take the girls to school with me and a student watches them while I teach. I love hearing them cheer for the pumpkins that are growing across the street from the school. I'm not quite sure why the prison fields are growing pumpkins, but we like them. And the cows. We really like saying hello to the cows. We love cows.
Even though I had a rough time being a student here--I was really lonely and sad and my college years ended with a traumatic experience--eight years later I came back to teach.
It's ironic that the place where I didn't fit in for four years became the place where I know I belong.
I love this place, the people, the students I talk to every day.
I even love all the hundreds of stairs that I have to climb to get from one part of campus to the other. Keeps my legs moving, my heart pumping, my blood flowing. I love heartbeats.
With current events in the state they're in, it can be hard to find things to laugh about. I get kind of hot under the collar when I'm thinking about politics, and when I read things like AIG needing MORE money (REALLY?! More! Ridiculous!), so my response is to not think too much about it.
And so...making me smile...
Tonight's Saturday Night Live, Weekend Update, was hilarious. Oh my word. If you can find a video of it somewhere, I recommend watching it. UPDATE: NBC got the video up and running, so here it is. The part where I almost fell off the couch laughing is towards the end during the "Really!?!" segment.
I was heading out of the house as Sydney was eating a PB & J sandwich. Her response? "If you're leaving me, then who will wipe my face?" Indeed.
The Office. Ha!
My polls. I'm just tickled by your participation. I love that you are answering. I'm working on a post about it...
Jules learned two new words: "apple pie"
My search for a new dining room table. Such joy! Such excitement! Such impossible tasks! If you have input to share on dining room tables, wander over to the House Building site.
The endless possibilities that exterior Christmas lights bring:
(link courtesy of one of my students, who was showing it as an example of "effective visual aids")
...because I remember people being genuinely surprised at the outcome of the election in 2004. Especially here in Oregon--where our election results traditionally are blue rather than red--I distinctly recall overhearing conversations where people were floored that the rest of the county didn't vote the same way our grand state had.
It's human nature, I suppose, to always believe you are on the winning side. Certainly no one wants to be on the losing side, but sometimes we are aware of what the odds might be. The chances of our successes, of our failures...sometimes we have premonitions of how it will all turn out. Sometimes we really have no idea.
Back in 2004, I wasn't really that surprised at the outcome.
Here in 2008, If the polling data is accurate as to who is leading the election right now, I suspect I won't be surprised this time either.
A colleague of mine wrote a most encouraging article in our local newspaper, where he concluded by saying:
"Maybe it's a good time for all of us to have a garage sale of the mind and spirit, to sort out who we are and what we most profoundly want and need, to let go of some of the gaudy economic furniture that has cluttered our lives and our thinking."
It was a good reminder for me, learning to be content with less.
In case it hasn't been wholly evident from the last month's posts, I am not handling our lifestyle transition well. Today I resolved not to write much more about my complaints, before my attitude appears toxic, and because it is so much of the same song, second verse. It's true, I'm failing mightily at maintaining my footing in the wave of changes. Were it not for the bright stars twinkling on the horizon, and my faith in a God who hung those stars there for me, I know I would be in a serious emotional crisis.
And yet, daily there are reminders that I need to refresh my perspective. Just last night, as I stood in the kitchen surrounded by the scent of french toast baking, the sound of the girls playing nicely with each other, the touch of Jason's hand on my shoulder as he nudged past me to get the syrup, I was overcome with emotion. It's hard, this particular stage of life we are in, but it is not unbearable. It's exhausting, but it is not without rewards.
My daily perspective gets cluttered with reminders of how hard this all is. When Sydney shows me the house she has drawn--"green, just like our old house that we loved"--when she says, "I miss our church," when I realize we don't have a muffin pan at the apartment, when the girls wake each other up for the 30th night in a row because they aren't used to sharing a room: I break. I sob. I wonder how to be strong.
But then someone encourages me to keep going, a quote finds its way into my vision, a verse resonates in my soul, a voice, a hand grasped in mine, and I take stock of what needs to go. Real stuff, mental stuff, spiritual stuff. Abandon the complaints, the sharp tone of voice. A simpler faith flashes before me again, fits into my daily stride. "The opposite of faith," says Anne Lamott, "is not doubt; the opposite of faith is certainty."
I thrive on organization. My file cabinet keeps track of all important documents, bills, notices, articles, maps, memberships, directions, and warranties. We have containers for craft supplies, bins for wrapping papers, buckets for crayons, baskets for coloring books. Drawers are labeled, files marked, photos boxed. Everything has a place, and if I can't find a place for it, then it must be thrown away, recycled, donated.
Or lost.
Since we moved, my system of organization doesn't exist anymore, and now I can't find anything. It's not just the stuff we boxed up. Obviously, I know there are things that we'll find when we unpack in a year (like library books I've now had to buy). It's that I don't know where things go, and so I put it somewhere--in some spot, in some bag, on some shelf--and then *poof* it's lost.
Sydney's red leotard.
The Music Man DVD.
Hair clips.
Sippy cups.
Money. Personal checks. Banking statements. All vanished into the ether of our existence. The reason is simple. It's because our stuff is scattered all over the Pacific Northwest. It could be in our apartment, at the farm house, at my parents' house, at my brother's house, at Jason's parents' house. It could be in the car, at school, in the truck, in the golf cart. We are in all these places during the week, always spending the night in at least two homes during the week (last week I stayed in three different beds).
Simple explanation or not, it's still maddening. No matter how hard I try to keep things in one spot--refusing to allow the girls to take their sippy cups up to the farm, making sure we keep certain pairs of shoes in the apartment--ultimately, my brain fails me. I forget my own rules and find thing where they don't belong, like last night when I reached into the cupboard for a sippy cup and found one, only it was full of juice, spoiled and sour. I reached for another one, and discovered it too was full of sour juice.
Bread by the pots and pans. Shoes next to the tv remotes. Bills absent-mindedly thrown away. Fortunately for me, all our bills are paid automatically so I don't have to worry about that responsibility.
It would be funny, except that it's costing us money to replace necessary lost/misplaced items. It's also exacting a sharp toll on me physically. I'm always running into things, dropping things, breaking things. I've even started stuttering, which I do find a little bit comical. My peripheral vision tricks me into seeing things, so I put all my senses on high alert when I'm driving so that I can safely get from here to there.
My poor brain. And my poor stubbed toes.
Only nine more months until all our stuff is under one roof. *long sigh*
This is how it feels to lose your mind, one red leotard at a time.
Even though the Emergency Economic Stabilization Act of 2008 (aka: The Bailout) passed today, Wall Street apparently didn't rejoice that much. Not a happy Friday for them.
And considering I found out today that the apartment we were hoping to move into was rented to someone else (our application was 2nd in line), it was not a happy Friday for me either. I'm not sure if I cried more tears than those Wall Street investors did, but it's possible. At the end of the day, we've both changed into our jammies and headed to bed.
Ah, such is life. We'll find another apartment eventually. Hopefully.
As for Wall Street, I don't know what I hope for them. I'm definitely hoping that the CEOs of the companies that are getting bailed out don't end up with nice compensation packages, but I'm not betting on it.
Unlike them, who seemed to have bet a great deal and are just now realizing the catastrophe of their risky behavior.
Other than our 403(B) retirement fund taking a big hit, we haven't lost much in the credit crisis. Thankfully the bank that we are using for our construction loan is doing just fine. No troubles for them mean no troubles for us. It's still uncertain times though. I can't quite figure out if this bailout is really going to help. Certainly, on a psychological level (which is largely what keeps our banking system working anyway) it's helpful, but beyond that...well...it could just be that not only are we going to lose, but we're going to lose big (an interesting link here for an article from Slate).
What say you, my fellow Americans?
Right now, the answer is probably "maybe," but either way, $700 billion is a lot of money. Thankfully, my faith is not built on financial institutions, and my hope doesn't rely on investors. Good thing too.
...I'm feeling a little lighter today. All your encouragement, people? Thank you. Thank you for the sweet words, the banner votes (I'm so glad at least one person voted for the presidential candidate option), the inspiring quotes. Sometimes just the act of sharing can make things seem better. What is it about honesty that always feels good?
And honestly, Thursday nights make me feel good too because it features some of my favorite people. It's all well and good that the Vice Presidential candidates are debating tonight, but for as much as they matter to the real world, I shallowly admit I'd rather be spending the evening with Jim and Pam. Gosh, I think I might even pick Dwight Schrute over Ms. Palin and Mr. Biden. No offense.
How about you? Is Andy Bernard hanging out in your living room? Or Kenneth? Dear, sweet Kenneth.
"Andy Bernard does not lose contests. He wins them. Or he quits them. Because they're unfair."
Last week, as I was reading to Jason what I had written about our slug-adventures, I started laughing. The whole of the story seemed so ridiculous, and something about the slug both humored and mortified me. I laughed until I cried, and then somewhere in the midst of the laughing, I started sobbing. Are you laughing or are you crying? Jason asked. I don't know, I sobbed. Both.
That's where I am. Caught in the middle of emotions I can't seem to sort out.
I have found myself once again in the grip of depression, no doubt because living in two cities means I can't seem to figure out any method of organization to life. I forget where I've put things; I stop talking in the middle of conversations because I don't know what I'm saying; I make photocopies of assignments, and then turn around and make the photocopies again having forgotten that I already did that. Normally, I'm not absent-minded, so my descent into mental chaos is discouraging for me.
It's nothing new, of course. Depression and I aren't strangers. Yet, when I found myself facing this old acquaintance, I didn't initially recognize it. We sit next to each other, trying to remember again how to start this conversation. Unfamiliar. Uncomfortable. Unknown. I'll be fine, of course. It's just hard right now.
And, particularly this time of year, it's hard not having any leafs of my own.
Our old familiar leafy tree is still there, at our old familiar house, where someone new is looking out the window and watching them fall. This year, there is no banner of the girls sitting the pile of leafs. And for a dozen different reasons that makes me cry. Tonight I put a new banner up, but it's not a leafy wonder. It's blue. We are similar that way, the banner and I.
It's kind of a lonely looking banner, definitely reflective of my creative emotion these days. Maybe it's too sad. Maybe that's okay. I need some reassurances here, and have thusly constructed a poll that will both reassure and amuse me. I'm not being flippant; I'm being honest. There is more to this relationship I have with depression, but it's too dark to write about. So...reassurance and amusement. That's pretty much what I need right now. And also for someone to give me a written inventory of where all our belongings are. That'd be helpful too.
Creature Bug
After 15 years away, I've returned to my childhood home on the Family Farm in southwest Washington (we farm families, not food). As a longtime Oregonian, I'm trying to remember to pay sales tax and how to pump my own gas. Fortunately, living next door to a dozen family members makes the transition easier.
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