Christmas Cheer

No existential angst this Christmas. Too busy. Too much baking. Two pies to go.

Christmas is different as a parent. I remember our first Christmas together as a married couple. The sound of sushi hitting the other side of the bathroom door after a fight over the lack of help bringing in the groceries. His wail of "You can keep your sushi!" before he left the apartment for awhile to go see a movie. Ah, the nostalgic haze that surrounds the early years of marriage; I smile as I think of the orange florescent glow of the Denny's where we ate Christmas dinner one year.

Lack of planning, that was our dilemma. And a complete inability to remain calm in the face of holiday stress. And a tendency to blame each other for said stress. If only s/he would do Christmas right! we probably thought.

These days, we work together in the chain gang that is parenthood during the holiday season. Well, chain gang interspersed with moments of sheer magic and snuggling and sleepers with feet. Together we create a magical Christmas with our most astonishing trick being to make our disagreements disappear! "Little ears." we murmur to each other, our desire to have low therapy bills for our offspring overshadowing the need to set the other person straight about a few things.

And so... may the glow of this holiday season give us all the strength to refrain from telling those we love the truth about themselves.

Merry Belated and Beleaguered Christmas to all, and to all a somewhat restful night now that it's over.

babyland news update

Hurt feelings at the symphony tonight as Mozart and Handel vied for the attention of the music loving babies who were dressed to the nines. to the composers' distress, not only did the babies insist upon clapping between movements, but the ones who didn't had fallen asleep. there is a saying in the world between worlds that babies are the toughest crowd. unfortunately, that has proven so as Handel and Mozart trudge home holding their crumpled sheet music in their hands and shaking their heads.

Happily though, the babies enjoyed their outing immensely and ate their scones with butter and jam at the kitchen table before trundling upstairs to get into their little baby beds.

photo taken as my heart was breaking because I knew I was soon leaving

threads

a spider's hours
marked by sticky lines
a thread web
spun from its butt.

a spider's life
extended by traffic
encountered by spouse
on his journey home from work.

I abstain today
from karma unleashed
by shredding the web,
spider's last moment
of warm october sun.

babyland news update

terrible, terrible, terrible news!
all the babies in babyland are running amok, weilding water balloons and hurling thinly veiled insults at each other. there has been an awful misunderstanding brought about by a misplaced batch of snickerdoodles.
the news is just coming in, that after a delicious dinner of acorn squash and roasted turkey, the babies declined the salad course in favor of forthcoming cookies.
when they realized that the cookies were not, in fact, forthcoming... oh the humanity! Nurse Elise has the situation in hand now and summoned the babies to the parlor. She has found the snickerdoodles. evidently, baby trudy took them up to her tree house to share with her best friend judith later. when the food and water balloons started to fly, trudy promptly forgot about the cookies and joined in the battle.
babies are like that.
everything is ok now. it's time for the babies to play games in the parlor and laugh and clap their hands before trundling upstairs one by one to crawl into their little baby beds and dream...

of butterflies and pear crisp
and sheep chewing bubble gum
and cows jumping over the moon.

not alone

If there were personal trainers for life, there would be someone with you wearing a track suit and running shoes as you braced yourself to go to the store or the bank or the post office. Or even to do your laundry, pay your bills or clean the kitchen. A compact man with tight muscles rippling underneath his red and white pants shouting, “That’s it! Way to go! Now ten more dishes; now nine; and eight; and seven; bend those knees as you put them in the dishwasher! You’re almost done; and two more; and one more! And… take a breather... close the dishwasher, that’s enough for now.” And a pat on the shoulder as you sit on the couch for a minute between sets. And after he’s timed the rest and chatted with you about idle subjects, he looks at you intently and asks if you’re ready to move on to laundry. And if you say yes, he is psyched! This is the first time you’ve said yes since he started working with you. You’re progressing! Granted, there are fourteen loads of laundry sitting in old dry cleaning bags in the hall but every journey begins with a single step. And you’re not alone anymore. You have faith that he’s done this before and gotten people with far more laundry than you into shape. But he won’t carry the bags because this is about you. This is your time! And he knows you can do it.

alone

I sat in the hospital bed discussing with my midwife the possible deal that funeral homes have for cremating babies. It made sense, but still seemed somehow irreverent. I mean, the babies are quite tiny when they die at twenty weeks and it seems unfair to have to pay full price, but as I lay in the maternity ward about to deliver a dead baby I felt that the conversation was ludicrous. Especially when the subject turned to aspects of the act involving having the remains cremated with other remains and needing reassurance that I would be getting just my baby back. I had not yet received the hormone that would induce labor so I was still some sort of shock. It is the shock that brings out the irreverent humor in me. In fact, I value levity to the extent that I often try to see the humor in situations before it’s naturally time. For example, the week after the baby’s death and induced labor when my mom was still here, I made a feeble joke about the fact that all my plants have died and I seem to have lost the ability to keep anything alive. My mom just glanced in my general direction and continued to wipe down the counter.
This dark humor, this lack of respect, even when seen against the harsh back light of my overwhelming grief, could have planted the seeds for the splintering of my psyche. I am not sure if it is real or not, but there is a voice in my head that assures me there are spirits in this house. So far, the dogs and cat are not reacting to them, but the voice which resides above my right shoulder is adamant that I am not alone here after my husband leaves for work. There are sounds that could be the house settling or creaking with expansion and retraction of humidity and cold, but they could also be the audible evidence of spirits picking things up and putting them down in other rooms. Why would they be here poking around my husband’s office? Why would they be interested in the rooms and not in me? There are other things though, that are beginning to prove unnerving. When it gets dark I see white swaths rip by the corner of my eyes. They look like angel wings in the reflection of the kitchen window as I bend down to put away the pots and pans. I also see them in the reflection of the car window when I put the key in the lock.
The night that I spent in the hospital, I felt the presence of my grandfather and was comforted by it. Tears welled up in my eyes as I contemplated the possibility that he would look after my little girl, teaching her nautical knots and how to make and use a slingshot while she waited to try to come through again. The ashes that now sit on my mantle piece will soon probably be scattered in the ocean, where they will find their way along deep currents to the arms of my granddad who was scattered over a distant bay. But now her soul is probably already with him and he can try to explain to her the difference between buoys and boys. Unless, of course, my grandfather is not available to baby sit at present and has brought her home to be looked after by her mother. Or maybe he was just there for me and didn’t take her at all. Maybe she stayed put, wherever she was – in me or around me – and is waiting for the next go-round.
“There are spirits in this house.” The voice says into my right ear as I open the door leading to the garage / laundry room at the bottom of the stairs.
“Why?” I think pointedly to the voice.
“Because you want there to be.” The voice answers.
The voice has a point. I really would rather not be alone. I don’t want to be alone in this house; I don’t want to be alone in my body with ashes on the mantle piece and no baby coming. The baby was due in four months! And now there is nothing but the ticking of the clock and the soft breath of the furnace and the occasional complaining of the cat. There is nothing but the dog hair that I swipe off the clothes and the couches and the carpet and the cat hair I wipe off the counter and tables. Nothing but cleaning the kitchen and doing the laundry and going to the grocery store and the bank. There is nothing in my office but my desk and bookshelves and day bed and circular cushion chair that I rarely sit in because it hurts my back. Only in my mind do I still see the nursery that was going to occupy that space. And I was resentful that it was my office that would be transformed into the nursery. I was going to have to let go of my space and merge with my husband’s land of electronica. Now the space is mine and I do not go in there except to find more stuff to give to Goodwill. I want to give everything away. I don’t want any of my stuff. Trip after trip: books given to the library, clothes given to Goodwill, useless paperwork thrown in the trash. I did take the prettiest room for my office, and I would wish nothing less for my baby girl. I put in pale green velvet curtains on a brass rod and gauzy sheers underneath with embroidered rosebuds on them. Not much would have to be changed when the baby came. I was even prepared to share the space, putting my antique day bed in storage and replacing that god awful chair with a glider. The book shelves could be moved over and the crib could go where the day bed was. And I would write while the baby slept.
I don’t know why the spirits stay in the back of the house. Perhaps they just don’t want to intrude during this period of mourning.

upon reflection

I have always felt that sheep should be used in a gum commercial. They placidly chew after every meal, and generally seem content. Of course, that would be a departure from the recent “Gum as Excitement!!” theme of most ads. But you have to ask yourself what gum really means to you.

by way of introduction

Hello. Greetings and welcome.
Welcome to a new way of seeing the world.
See the world through my eyes. It's tremendously important to shift your perspective occasionally... so go ahead and shift!
To my perspective.
See things as I see them.

Welcome to As Sam Sees It.