nudle

Han has been waking at all hours, usually way too early in the morning, and yelling, moaning and crying. Since he is three and a half, I'm not convinced I should let him cry it out, but I don't know what else to do. So I'm letting him cry it out. This morning he commenced crying at 4:30, then 5:15, then 6:30. When I did sleep in between bouts I had horrible dreams about lice and flies buzzing in my ear. Then I dreamed that Han drowned in a swimming pool because I wasn't watching him, and someone took his body out and left it on the side. It was a horrific dream, and I woke to that feeling of great relief after such a nightmare.

When I finally got out of bed this morning I felt limp and soggy. I returned home after taking kids to school feeling blue. I forced myself to go for a run, and as I was tackling my first hill a guy on a bicycle stopped to let me cross the street. "Lookin' good," he said. "Keep it up." That simple thing, encouragement from a stranger, lifted my spirits immensely.

In other happy news, Iona doggedly finished a whole book in a day. Saturday night as she went to bed she broke down in tears, confessing that she had not read the book assigned to her class. Book group discussion for the book is today, and I am one of the facilitators. Yesterday I lectured her about responsibility and telling the truth. She picked up the almost 200-page novel and managed to read nearly the whole thing in between doing homework, being pestered by her brother and accompanying me on a three-hour outing. This morning she finished the book. I could tell she was proud of herself.

And finally, also in the good news department, it looks like Han has embraced the potty!

I really have no reason to be blue, do I?

I am badass.

We are remodeling our house. No, we are not, Stuart and His Guys are. I will likely miss Stuart when this is all over, but I will welcome the dishwasher with open arms and loving kisses. Last night I went to lock the new front door and found that it didn't want to lock. After moaning and swearing I got a screwdriver and took off the strike plate, and then it locked.

Today our interwebs went out. I called Comcast. The Comcast feller was nice, but he didn't solve my problem. I called them again at 9:30 tonight. The guy I got, Bert, was really nice and even funny. But our conversation ended with an apology from Bert to me. Fifteen minutes later I changed a setting and the light on the Apple Express thingy went from flashing yellow to green. I did it. I did. By myself. 

This is all to say that when I take the time I can solve the problem. But before I learned that lesson (again) I chose to grab the kids and escape to The Mall to get some inspiration for certain in-demand holiday wish lists and eat dinner and maybe buy myself a pick-me-up gift. I am so sick of washing dishes, I really can't tell you. Like the thought of cleaning wetfoodshit out of that drain catcher one more time makes me want to vomit. Ah, the problems I face, they are insurmountable.

So we escaped to The Mall and went to the Independent Toy Store that rawks even though their web site is hideous, rather than Toys 'R Us, because I can't help it, I'm listening to the 99% and they're getting to me. And we've lost two great indie toy stores in the four and half years we've lived here and that makes me want to weep.

So, in summary, I am hardcorebadass with a Philips and I fixed the Apple Express thingy by accidentally changing a network setting I probably messed up in the first place. I prevailed. And we went out and had some fun tonight.

She wants to wait up for the real deal on Christmas Eve.

I kind of want this. But I think Han wants trains. Or elaborate plastic fantasy figures.

"I love all these!"

This was after Han, terrified, refused to go anywhere near Santa. Not for a candycane. Not for an Altoid. I have a $23 photo of Iona sitting on Santa's lap by herself, and they gave us two horrible flashing plastic snowflakewands.

We ate at Nordstrom. This is the ladies' lounge. Han was dancing to ELO.

And a gratuitous trippy photo from Thanksgiving.

Please push me off the ledge.

I've been trying to write this book, but writing is a leap of faith. I've always wished I had more faith, believed things would work out, that I or my team would be able to finish in time, that I would get that job, or get into graduate school, or Iona would get into any school, that the cookies would taste good after I pull them out of the oven. I always needed more faith that I could pull it off. Now I'm writing a story that's taking all these twists and turns and is not at all what it set out to be. I am trying to write a schedule to make sure I finish this, since I've never really finished any creative writing past the first or second draft. I've been at it, writing, for seven years. I have a pile of many, many drafted, unpolished stories sitting in bankers' boxes. Now I aim to finish this one story, aimed at kids. The act of writing a schedule makes me feel isolated and lonely. Why? Writing is an isolated, lonely business sometimes. I want to turn to someone and say, "Hey, do you think I can finish this?" And have them say, "Yes! I know you can!" But the dread in my belly says, "But no one has read this thing. What if it is bad? Why am I even doing this?" It is bad. It's not finished. And so the spinning begins. I need a reader. I need to rein in the fear. No, I need to let it go. I need to take a leap. I have no idea how.

Brain crack, bullying, and my anti-hoarding initiative.

Cited recently by my internet friend Mr Beagley, this short movie about ideas is worth watching if you've ever thought you might make something. Be amused.

I recently heard that some bullying is going on at my daughter's school, and I bravely made an appointment with our assistant head to talk about it. Apparently (and unsurprisingly), according to some British researchers, bullying can turn kids psychotic.

Now I am off to (more bravery! onward!) recycle some piles of paper. (whimper)

Addendum: This one cracked me up too. Now I'm closing all my browser windows. Maybe I'll even turn off my computer.

Addendum II: Little movies probably not suitable for work or children, as they contain swear words.

What's been going on with me lately.

My birthday has come and gone. Forty-two sounds very old. So often I feel like I'm fourteen!

Seven is this weekend's milestone for Iona, who is having her birthday party in a giant bouncy place and is expecting a lot of gifts even though on her party invitation I wrote, "No gifts, please." So I'm on the hook.

Iona has asked me twice, "Mom, is Santa Claus real?" The first time I said, "Well, um, some people think he is. Moms and dads certainly help him out. I mean, it's a lot to get presents for all the kids in the world. Some people think he is a symbol for Christmas, you know, the spirit of giving?" She said, "Okay." The second time she asked, we were backing out of our garage too fast, late to school again, and I said, "Iona, I cannot talk about this right now."

We went to see my sister and my parents in Arizona and had fun, and then we went to Boston to see our good friends and had fun.

I just finished (finished! finished!) my freelance job that began last October. Satisfying, and really satisfying that it's over. Now it's time to get nesty and paint Han The Younger's room orange and red on one wall. Oh, and go buy Iona a lot of gifts, and fix the deck and weed the garden and do some physical fitness activities and maybe write a new short story.

I am ambivalent about the imminent arrival. That is to say, sometimes I want to get on with it already! And other times I feel dread in the pit of my stomach at the realization that my time will not be my own any more. And will I like him? Will he like me? Perhaps this is normal. Will I be depressed when the time finally comes? I'm happy these days, for the most part, and don't tend to be depressed as a general rule. So it should be interesting. Time to get that running stroller in working condition. (Add to list.)

The weather is beautiful and the garden, though it needs work, is beautiful. A big tree is blooming pink and the delicate fragrance of the clematis hiding the chain link fence wafts over when we walk from the garage to the front door. I wish I could stop time. And then I wish I could speed it up. Oh, ambivalence, you are my friend.

In a little while, after I fold some of the mountain of clean rumply clothes, I am going out in the beautiful and will run for a while, and get hot and sweaty and vitamin D. Running slows time, and I guess that's the best I can ask for.

What's been going on with me lately.

It takes such a long time to really know someone, and you don't really know them until you see them in all contexts, so who do we really know? Our sisters and brothers (if we're lucky) and our lovers and partners and children. Like, take my friend. I thought I knew him well, but was surprised by certain characteristics he has in the presence of his wife. Nothing bad, you, because you know who you are. Just interesting and funny.

Iona said yesterday during another fight over practicing violin, "If you keep doing that, I might need to get a new mother!"

Well.

One reason I haven't been posting here or writing anything is that I'm doing freelance work for a friend. I got a 'job.' It is small. Working (like working for a living, or painting, or writing, or any number of things where you make stuff) is hard but it gives me the satisfied feeling of making something, and who knows where it will lead? I have to make something to know where it will go; it's the fun mystery. I mean, I bet Bill Gates used to sit in his basement in front of his homemade computer musing about the fun mystery of writing code. If I don't make it, I will never know. But I can't let work get in the way of writing. Maybe I'll start writing here every day. Something small. Because, make no mistake, this thing that I'm writing now is big.

On the subject of blogging and all things flatscreened, I've been thinking about the importance of controlling my attention via Mr Beagley. All this stuff, information, people from the old neighborhood Facebooking us, email, web surfing, television, video games, direct mail, radio, satellite radio, distraction after distraction and meanwhile, we're trying to make something or be a good parent or a good friend or sister or daughter or wife and it's all happening and we need to exercise! And make balanced meals! And help with homework! And remember to call people back once in a while! And fold the laundry! And volunteer! Sometimes it's easier to turn on HBO.

Adoption is terrifying. I mean, we got through all the race stuff, right? No! Guess what! Our baby, who might be named Miles or Coll (is that mean, to name our kid Coll after another island off the West Coast of Scotland, when teachers and other grownups will consistently call him "Cahl" and he will have to find the moxie to say, "It's [kʰɔlˠ̪ə], actually"?), is coming from a true, active patriarchal society based on Confucian principles! In other words, it's all about the first son, who is king of the world, and women are lowlier than the bellies of bondaegi (sorry to any Korean persons I am offending here; please set me straight). Granted, that whole gender supremacy stuff is one custom we will not be observing with Coll-Miles. We will, however, have Chuseok, which means I'm really going to have to get a handle on our ancestral thing because that's what it's all about. Honoring ancestors with offerings and then eating yourself silly on August 15.

I don't like wind. It has been windy here for a couple hours, and it just now died down. That whistling, blustering! It makes me feel a little like those pioneer people who were driven to do odd things (I already offended Koreans so I don't want to offend the mentally ill by writing 'crazy things') and while on the subject of pioneer people, I just want to state that I am grateful for modern conveniences like furnaces, the dishwasher, the grocery store and Netflix.

I'm so angry with Israel; who the (INSERT BAD WORD IN ALL CAPS HERE) do they think they are? Of course I don't truly understand the whole politics, history and cultures of the region, but to (BAD WORD GERUND) blow up people hiding in a school with hot shrapnel is just (BAD WORD GERUND) (BAD WORD PAST TENSE). Expletive.

I am cowardly when it comes to talking about difficult subject matter like, I know your wife left you yesterday and that must feel bad; or, I'm so sorry you have cancer and I really wish you didn't. So I say nothing and then I feel bad about that. I need to find my own moxie, apparently.

After the exhausting, fun hustle and bustle of the holidays I now wait way too eagerly for the mail.

And damn, there's the wind again.

I read a short story today by a young woman in my writing group who will probably go to Iowa for graduate school. I'm glad for her, and my lazy side says better you than me, but a big part of me is envious. She is really good. Oddly, instead of making me want to hang it up, reading her story makes me want to write again. See "working" paragraph, above.

On Bettie Page and capitalism and the f-word.

Addendum:

And here I thought I was so moderate last night. One beer, club soda, one wine, water, one wine, water. Maybe another half glass of wine. Oh, I guess there was that small glass of wine at 4:00 at the kids' holiday part at the office. Perhaps it had a cumulative effect. Anyway, I have to agree with Ewan that this post is nonsense. I almost took it down, but that didn't seem right. So here it is, a cautionary tale against drinking and thinking and blogging it!

***

Red Hat Chooses Food Bank Over Festivities

By Alan M. Wolf

The News & Observer
12/05/08 4:00 AM PT

Red Hat (NYSE: RHT)  recently scrapped plans for a massive holiday party.
Instead, the Raleigh, N.C., software company will donate the money it would have spent to a food charity chosen by employees.

The move comes as the slumping economy is hurting philanthropic donations and increasing demand among the needy.

What's been going on with me.

I need to get a life (i.e., I really need to work! Though in my case some might write it this way: "work;" because, though I have piles of short stories all over this house, I have yet to be published! In fact, I have yet to submit anything for publication! Also, if I need so desperately to "work," one might question what I'm doing right now! In answer, I would posit defensively, "I'm getting warmed up!")

I am still fretting over (and reading obsessively about) the demise of 'the voice of my generation,' a label he would likely hate
...and, related, the destructive powers of self-consciousness, cynicism, hypocrisy, corruption and, in some cases, decisiveness

I am slogging through the long road of adoption with a good dose of ambivalence and dismay at my own failings, which makes me realize that perhaps I have more faith than I thought because here we are, still filling out paperwork

I am reworking old writing, and realizing again how difficult it is to ever finish anything

Iona has three birthday parties to go to this weekend (I need to go buy gifts which I will probably do by myself because of the sheer exhaustion of repeating over and over, "No, it's not your birthday honey, no, put that back," even though some might say it's healthier to have your child help choose gifts for loved ones, thus learning the 'spirit of giving')

My keyboard is acting funny, frequently refusing to respond cordially when I request 'r' (time to get out the notepad and a pen)

I am trying to avoid talking about, listening to news of and reading and sending emails about a certain Republican Vice Presidential candidate (though I like the idea that came my way yesterday of making donations to Planned Parenthood in her name)

...and the economy is collapsing! I wonder what's happening with my money! If I don't look maybe it will all fix itself!

Fourth.

I had fun this weekend hanging out at a beach house with friends from high school and all of our kids (age 0 to 14), along with my friends' various sets of parents. Thanks to our hosts, food and drink magically appeared just when we wanted it. Dangerous fireworks were lit and admired, and we could see two additional shows from our waterfront seats. After Ewan and the children and the grandparents fell asleep those of us remaining sat in the hot tub until the wee hours hashing over how well we know each other and, of all the crazy things, still love one another. And the raccoons left us alone (Iona and I had a startling midnight visitor when we spent the Fourth in this house three years ago).

On the way home the next day Ewan, Iona and I stopped at 13 Coins for a good-bad-for-us lunch to soak up the beer, and I ran into my friend Rochelle, whom I've known for approximately thirty-one years. I'm happy that she looked happy. It may have something to do with having a nice, handsome partner after being married to a p-r-i-c-k for, really, too long. Or maybe she's happy because she knows she's strong and funny and loves herself for getting through some tough times these past ten years.

The scene at the 24 hour 13 Coins was (as it often is) surreal. The staff wore pained, false cheery expressions and (though the place was half empty) told everyone there was a half hour wait. Our waiter seemed to think that if he looked meaningfully into our eyes and said everything with deadpan irony we would forgive the ridiculous wait for Iona's biskitti and one meatball. And (of course) we did forgive. The chef was barely concealing his desire to commit suicide under a thin facade of hostile jokiness. A well-turned-out ninety-year-old woman in a suit and wheelchair drank an early afternoon cocktail in the Night Owl Room. It was all very Toulouse-Lautrec.

Then we napped for two and a half hours, got up and ate salmon with local strawberries and whipped cream for dessert, and watched Cloverfield. Ridiculous! Scary!