And So It Begins

Another November, another round of NaBloPoMo.
This year, I think I'll tell stories.

Have I told you about my kitchen/friends/child/happy/sad/
irate/musings/inspirations/relationships/deep dark secrets/
favorite comics recently? No? This month, I will. I have thirty
days to fill. (I can do it, I can do it.)

Whether you are new to this blog, or a regular visitor, welcome!
I'm scrounging up some teacups and baking some
orange-cranberry bread. Tea's on! Please, have a muffin.
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Things I Am Loving This Month

This month has seen periods of great activity and periods of reasonable sloth. Here are some of my favorite things and moments so far:


Gifts of the self. Hanging out with my Dad.

A lovely Rosalind in a lovely play. It was just As I Like It. All the leads were good looking, all the dialogue was sparkling and freshly appreciated, the underlying themes were love love sex and love, the staging was magical, and it ended with a joyful dance!

New countertops that look awesome and inspire order.

Cooking enterprises, how I love thee. So delicious and satisfying.

Cleaning up after those same cooking enterprises.

The little girl teaching herself how to drink lemonade out of a real cup without spilling (much) or choking (much).

Hanging out at a neighborhood festival on a sunny and convivial afternoon. Taking pictures of the tug of war, popcicle eating, running into friends and neighbors, and sprawling on the grass.

The slow but steady shrinkage of my waistline. My pants are sagging; that's a good thing, right?

Snuggle times with my husband.

Finding excellent books that inspire and absorb me. Historical first people fiction, organizational processes and more.

Quickie quilt projects while I am trying to decide what to do next on the big project.

Local farm cheddar. So smooth and delicious.

Having the little girl run full tilt into my arms yelling "haahg!" Then presenting lips. "Kiss!"

"Southern Milk Chocolate" flavoured ice cream. Why Southern? I don't know, but it sure is delicious.

Tracking prices and deals to both stock up and streamline my buying.

New swirly flirty dance skirts from the thrift store.

All the phrases that my daughter has picked up from me. Teego.(Here ya go.) How 'bout dat! Cool cool! Gracious! Oh gosh! Oh my! Damn it!

These bright orange title headers.

Owl stamps and book-gifts arriving in the mail.

Friends who don't mind indulging in puns and silliness.

Taking opportunities to mentor other people and give back great energy.

Sleeping under the goose-feather duvet in cool weather.
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Replete with Friends

Well, in my last post I left out a little fact that I still do have a number of friends around. It's not like I am deserted in the world.

I have a few college friends who I still get together with. Like the friend who I called up and said, "Hey, I have some fresh key lime pie. Can we come over and share for a while?" And the little girl got to hang out with their little boy, and we took pictures of each other and talked about our lives. For a scant couple of delightful hours.

Or the college friend who lives on the other side of world, perfectly situated to chat with me in the middle of my night while he's at work (and who does). For maybe three minutes at a time, true, but it's good.

I'm thinking of another college friend who writes me email letters every so often. I love correspondence, I do!

I have some old friends from junior high school, one in particular who I'm reconnecting with. I enjoy the mutual wit, commentary, and commiseration. Plus, we are both interested in knowing each other as we are in the present.

I have a good accidental friend who is also a dance caller, and we'll call each other up to chat about event ideas, or dances, or life. He's incredibly generous and engaging. Come to think of it, I have a number of caller buds with whom I can both revel in caller-geekery and share honestly about my life.

I have a former neighbor who is still a friend, and whenever we catch some time together, we gab about art, design, our husbands, our houses, our health, our lives. it's amazing to me that she can say some blunt things that from anyone else would feel like stabbing pain, but from her, it doesn't bother me at all because it's coming from a place of caring and candor.

I have a couple of friends who are married to each other, who I can't really remember where I met, but nevertheless we share lots of commonalities and generosities. And our kids like each other.

I have quite a few friends via Flickr, some of whom I have met, some not, with whom I share conversation, images, and the details of life. It always amazes me how I can feel the love through the internets.

I have a few friends on FB (as opposed to friend contacts of whom there are many), who share many of my language-culture-science-literary interests. Even a few contacts I don't know that well can engage in interesting and/or witty conversation. It's like discovering new sides to a person, and it feeds my brain and intellect in a way I don't get from reading A Kiss For Little Bear yet again.

I have a number of acquaintances from both dancing and church who are this close to being true friends. And even more who are always happy to see me when we cross paths, and that counts for a lot as I am not always around all the time.

I know a young dancing couple who I would love to get to know better. When they invite us to go for pizza or a birthday party, I am so there! A couple of women would like to know me better, and I make time when I can.

It's not so hard, is it?

I see people being mutually open, friendly, caring, generous, authentic, willing to accept other people where they are at, and interested in knowing more.

So what if some friends are fading back or creating toxic situations? There are more beautiful faces coming into focus. Any of you who are reading, I think you know who you are. Mwah!
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Another Parental Episode Waiting to Happen

Where have all the friends gone?

You hear about how children will change your life. True. They also change your body, outlook, sleep patterns and attention span. Nobody tells you that your friends will - in a seismic shift - disappear. It's as if a crack opened in the ground, swallowed scores of people, and then snapped shut, leaving me to wonder what the hell happened.

Or maybe I am the one that has been swallowed alive. Swallowed by Parenthood. And I'm floating alone in this place saying, "where is everyone?" And even when I do run across a friend, the script goes, "Hi! I have three minutes to make a meaningful connection."

On top of that, I'm apparently annoying and impossible to relate to. I so love that state of being, but again, I've got about three minutes to worry about it before the next parenting episode begins.

I'm sad about my usual friends, but I'm also distracted, trying to keep up with my everyday life which has been steadily getting That Much Harder while I wasn't looking.

It's not that I'm not connected to other moms, it's just that they are not my usual set of friends. I do have a lot of people I kinda know in a friendly way. That's good, right? And I'm meeting a few new people, and they seem nice as we are exploring avenues of mutual sympathies and conversation. It just feels odd to find myself trying to get to know a new set of people who may or may not really be my new good friends, when I know perfectly well that my old friends are out there living their exciting lives. Going to concerts, staying out late, having long meaningful conversations with other people. I, on the other hand, am restricted to a few moments a day for socializing, or up to an hour of fragmented lunch time conversation. My husband and I take turns going out dancing. I've missed dancing and socializing, so I really love this, but it's still so odd to be there without him. Why yes, we are still married, we're just... parents.

My husband says I'm just in a different place in my life now. Well, nobody told me it was going to eat my old friends!

I wonder if my usual friends are not used to taking advantage of whatever moments we have. Many of my parent friends are used to working quick conversations or projects into any little space in the action. My non-parent friends are perhaps too leisurely to mesh with my sped-up life these days. By the time they are feeling like enjoying an activity, I'm all like, "Oops, that's all the time we have for that today! Gotta go for lunch and nap." Even on social arenas like FB, my frequent interactions are with friends who are at a distance, as if we've learned to not take communication for granted. If you want to keep in touch, ya gotta seize the moment.

The up side is that I am finding other people to relate to. I do have people out there who are happy to see me. But getting people to talk to me in the few moments I have... it's not been easy. Even when I am not in a hurry, my brain is scanning for trouble.

Well, some new and old things I've been doing recently:

Taking turns going dancing.
Plodding along on quilt projects. That's a seam or two per week.
Reading books (at night).
Walking to the park farther into the neighborhood so I get more exercise.
Making an effort to chat with some of the other parents I see.
Going to church services again, listening to music and sermons, seeing folks.
Attending a friend's bi-monthly play group where the little girl is comfortable with the other parents and kids.
Cooking more meals with local food.
Writing more (short) letters.
Trying to have more real conversations when I do see people I know. "Hi! I have three min- errr, seconds!"
Writing blog posts between parental episodes. "Hi! Time for bed!"
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Mid-Summer's Ode to Breastfeeding

Baby, you gave me curves, I got 'em.
Baby, I've got curves, top 'n' bottom.
Baby, those curves are just hors d'oeuvres
for all I've got to give.
So cozy up tight and give a squeeze.
You've got to eat to live.

--

I thought the little girl was starting to wean herself. One day she nursed only once for a mere eight minutes, a minuscule amount compared to the 500+ minutes per day she was chugging at the peak of her nursing. Then she realized she was going to have to ask for it was indeed going to go away forever. Now she asks to "nuss" when she wants to snuggle with Mommy, and reminds me to "sing" while I'm at it.

Our nursing time is down to less than thirty minutes a day. I find my curves gradually shrinking nearly to my old proportions. Except now everything is a bit saggier and bulgier. No, no, no. I prefer to think of them all as curves! I've still got 'em. Thanks, little girl!

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Shedding Perfectionism

I've come up against perfectionism again recently. Not that I feel so beleagered by it myself, but I've been seeing it come up in discussions by leaders and performers.

We want our work to be the best it can be. We don't want to fail our clients or our audience. We want them to have the ideal experience from our efforts as best we can envision it. We don't want to admit that some of that is outside our control or realm of reasonable influence.

I still believe that the best way to nurture and guide others is to nurture and guide ourselves. How we treat ourselves informs us how we treat others.

I'm always delighted when beginners tell me they feel from me that it's okay to make mistakes and feel encouraged to continue, because I have tried hard to let go of beating myself up over imperfections in my own life.

I practice being forgiving of my lapses and flaws. I practice doing my best and letting it go at that. So while some callers joke about "working out their control issues," I am working out my perfection issues. I want the dancers (and my students) to feel supported, encouraged, and inspired. The last thing I'd want to do is to mutter or complain at them, or imply that their inevitable failings were in any way serious.

I am not a perfect caller. I love creating a program and guiding the crowd to learn new things, and supporting them while they lose themselves in the joy of the dance. But if I goof up or misspeak, I try to first apologize - just briefly - and just go on, just let it go.

After an evening is over is another story. Every little detail comes floating up in my mind's eye, and I evaluate each one for failings. Successes, yes, those too, but it's the failings that get me. In that moment, I should have... I should not have... Oh, why did I....?

But most of that is from living in the moment. I am responding and evaluating each moment according to my larger vision and the demands being thrown at me. It's almost completely improvisational! And as performance improv, one has to learn to float on the moment.

Ones control of the situation is almost like playing a fine but unpredictable instrument. One can coax transcendent music out of it, and the next moment, have embarrassing squawks emanating throughout your space. Rather like life, one might say.


When can one stop agonizing over ones improvisational life? I can almost laugh at myself at how predictably this happens. Two to twelve hours later, ones mind starts to process the events and throw down judgement. It's a harsh existence. I'm proud of myself for learning to mitigate the effects.


In my larger life, I have found myself pushing back against outside perfectionistic pressures. Someone preaches the ideal way to do something, and while I might agree, I protest against having that hung over ones head rather than encouraged as a goal. A friend sniffs at my imperfect endeavors, and I realize that they really have no understanding of, much less appreciation for, my creative goals or process. Another friend tries to call me to account for things left imperfectly done, and I explain that I've given up perfectionism. Who are they to crack the whip at me? I am giving up perfectionism!

It's an interesting balance. How to take care of my life without being too rigid. (My systems and structures are invaluable in helping me accomplish anything.) How to explore and be creative without fearing to make a mess. (Prepare, prepare, put down a drop cloth and don't worry. Have fun.) How to be the best I can be without succumbing to regret. (How can I regret my process?) How to float on the moment with all my training and prep supporting me, without being dragged down by someone else's impossible standards. (Encourage oneself like a friend.) I've discovered I'm done with impossible standards, and yes, still they snag me sometimes.

Performing is bungee jumping for shy people. Make sure you've measured twice, test the wind, run a trial. Double check the knot, and then let yourself float. You could fall ka-thump, smash your ego against the rocks. You could embrace the rushing air and the tightness in your gut as you fall and rise.

I reject the voices - internal and external - that tell me I should have been better, neater, smoother, more facile, closer to perfect. I embrace the freedom to fail.

The ideal does not own me, I own my ideals. Heaven forbid I should be imperfectly imperfect!

Okay, that's a good place to stop as any. Don't mind me as I float. Have fun!
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The End of The Nursing

It took so long and so much effort and frustration to get this little girl nursing in the beginning. Weeks of tears and frustration. Months of tracking every ounce we could estimate. Hours of forcing her to learn how to lower her tongue and latch, how to suck, how to snuggle in and avoid distraction. How to figure out - hey! There's milk in them breasts! We watched her eyes get big over that one.

Once we got her to latch, it was eat, eat, eat. Let me show you our eat-poop-sleep diary. It was solid numbers.

See, I'd had in my head that I'd aim for nursing for at least her first six months, her first year, even two years! Why mess with a good thing, right? We'd just keep nursing for as long as it lasted. Nutrients! Antibodies! Skin-to-skin contact! No allergies for this little girl, we said.

Eventually, she started eating solid foods and we cheered her on. And still she nursed. And we did meet her first birthday with an apple muffin. And she was still nursing.

It's been a routine, a way of life. Although when she stopped requiring regular nursings, it certainly made traveling easier. No more stopping every two-to-three hours for hours of restless nursing routine.

Then she got into drinking cow's milk. She was gung ho from the start. Milk! Milk! Or as she would say, Mak! Mak! That means cow's milk in a cup. She knows what breast milk and nursing means, but it's not the way it used to be.

The last couple months, she has been nursing mostly in a wake up session first thing in the morning and the last thing before bedtime. I kept trying to hold on to the nursing because, after all, I'd worked so hard to make it happen to begin with. One does not keep nursing without a commitment to the cause. I remember one particular morning that I got myself out of bed and upright during a bout of food poisoning. It wasn't to be strong, I tell you that! It wasn't even out of guilt or obligation. It was to nurse the baby because she needed me and I wasn't about to give up nursing over a little incapacitating nausea. I persist.

And then came the day(s) that she giggled and ran from me rather than nurse in the morning. Mak! she says, and she doesn't mean me. Still I persisted. I even picked up a little nursing time in the afternoons before her nap. A new solid sleep ritual. It worked reliably, and I welcomed my shifting role. I still had my milk.

And then she missed this or that nursing and we kept on some kind of track, but it wasn't very regular.

And it has slowly occurred to me: I don't need to keep doing this. The little girl doesn't *need* to nurse any more, either physically or emotionally. She likes it, sure, but really, she's moved on.

She's been nursing a year and a half, ya'll. We've passed the point of useful antibodies.

And still I persist.

But I'm thinking I need to let go. She's ready. I think I might be too.

I worry that if I give up all but one nursing that my milk will disappear. But that's silly, as the piglet might say. Because it will disappear, someday. And then I will have to bid a brave but tearful adieu to one of my favorite mommy superpowers: the ability and the dedication to make mother's milk. Not to mention the warm snuggly feeling of the little girl on a good drowsy pull.

Not that I haven't looked forward to returning to a few currently forbidden things. Peppermint tea. Combination cold medicines. One specific medication that helps me deal with sun exposure. Fitting into my dance dresses again. Mammograms! Oo, yeah. Well, maybe not that one.

I have a feeling I will miss this terribly once it's gone. The nursing, I mean. And a little bit, not. I won't be tied to the schedule quite so tightly. In fact, those mother's aprons-strings have been loosening for a couple of months now. It won't be much longer before they inextricably loosen and fall away without my even noticing. Yeah, sure. (pause to sniffle at my keyboard)

I am so grateful that I took a few video clips of myself nursing when she was still a small baby. I just melt, seeing those small baby hands flexing as she sighs and gulps in contentment. How will I ever afford her that measure of security again?

I will have to invent new and meaningful bonds and rituals, new opportunities for snuggling and security. I will have to discover new ways to connect to the little girl she is becoming, to comfort and delight in the same Mommy-is-your-rock way. I will have to persist.


The nursing chair, our little recliner, has been moved back to into the living room. It looks nice there; we'd almost forgotten that. We brought home our new glider rocker today (new in the sense that we bought it used from craigslist), and placed it next to the bookshelf in the little girl's room. These days the little girl is all about reading books on our laps, and rocking, sometimes both at once. Or one then the other, having her Daddy rock her to sleep. He's her Daddy-is-my-rock now.

The new glider supports me as I support her, floating back and forth, rocking. "Kiss" she says, and brings her face close, smiling, then smacks her lips close to mine before pushing me away.

Mwah. Back atcha, little girl. Mommy loves you too. sniffle
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