reverb10 ~ Prompt six: Make (and a giveaway)

Make.

What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?
(Prompt Author: Gretchen Rubin)

~

Apart from the drawing I made for yesterday’s prompt, the last thing I completed was a piece of embroidery, my first, based on a drawing I did of Jake’s first pair of shoes. I stitched it on a linen napkin square (bought cheap from Sainsbury’s), using black 6-strand embroidery floss.

Since then, I have been occupied with making lotuses. I’m currently working on two, a piece of lotus stitchery and a commissioned A3 drawing, a larger version of the Tangerine Moon Lotus listed in my etsy shop.



In progress...


In the run up to xmas, now that we have decided to follow the “Giving not Buying” spirit of xmas partly inspired by this post at Zen Habits, I will need to clear some time to make some gifts which I naturally can’t write about here.

The great thing is, I’m always making something or wanting to make something. The ideas are always there. In fact, the less time I seem to have, the more I want to make!

In the spirit of giving and to celebrate the joy of making, I’d like to give away 2 sets of 2 of my Moon Lotus postcards (image below). If you’d like to win them, just leave me a comment by 5pm on Friday 10th December, UK time. I will then select two names at random and aim to post the cards out on Monday 13th December, all being well. If the winners are not in the UK, I cannot guarantee that they will reach you in time for Christmas. Good luck!

(Please comment & enter the draw or I will be forced to send these postcards to myself ;-)

reverb10 ~ Prompt 5: Letting Go

Let Go.
What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why?
(Prompt Author: Alice Bradley)

~

Ok, this is starting to feel like therapy. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but I’m already in therapy once a week and it’s hard work and even though I also want to dig deep to reflect and reverb, I also want to enjoy it. So at first I was resistant. But then I let go (see what I did there) and gave in to my need for play…



~ Letting go,
my "enigmatic" semi-blind contour self-portrait,
(Pen, ink & picnik)

Upon further reflection, this ended up being a rather joyful exercise. In addition to making the above drawing, I also made a list of things I’d let go of, things I no longer needed. Because they’d been weighing me down. But I don’t want to share the list. Except for one item. One thing I let go of this year, even if means having to let go of it every day, several times a day. The notion that I cannot…

Toddler's eye view

Some photos taken by Jake...

reverb10 ~ Prompt Four: Wonder

Wonder.


How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?
(Prompt Author: Jeffrey Davis)

~

Phew, an easy one. I needed this after yesterday’s prompt.

I’ve been blessed enough never to have lost my childlike sense of wonder and curiosity about the world. It’s such an innate part of my nature, the question of cultivating it is like being asked – so how did you remember to keep breathing this year?

This doesn’t make me a perfect or even perfectly happy human being. For one, I’m absolutely crap at small talk, and inept at social gatherings. My attempts at conversation come out like uncontrollable barks. And I either come across as aloof or high, depending on whether I’ve gone blank from desperately trying to think of something appropriate to say or have a false grin plastered across my face. I’m much happier sitting on the sidelines watching people, or looking out the window, or staring at the light or the colour of the sky. I just can’t help myself. As soon as I step out the door, my gaze is up and out. I notice how the air smells and feels, the patterns the scattered leaves make on the sidewalk, how a stray petal has become suspended in a spider web on a wall. I also trip over my feet a lot and wear glasses. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been endlessly peering at everything, getting as close as I can.

Which makes Jake my ideal companion. No matter how hard our days can be, it is also utterly fitting that I should spend them with him. He won’t think it at all odd if Mummy suddenly drops to her knees in the playground to look at a leaf, and to notice that it has been undisturbed, with droplets of dew still on it. (I wrote about that here: http://theheartfulblogger.blogspot.com/2010/11/wonder.html) He will never think that a little walk to the shops is dull. A little walk anywhere is never dull. And I will always stop to think about the questions he asks me, and take them seriously and answer him as well as I can. Anything from, “Where do bubbles come from?” to “What’s that?” when he points to certain parts of my anatomy in the shower.

Yesterday, he set up a “TV” (using one of my tote bags hung off a clothes dryer), used some wooden blocks as remote controls and switched his “TV” on and declared, “Look Mummy, Picky Pickle’s on TV.” (I have no idea who Picky Pickle is, but that’s besides the point.)

The other day, he suddenly said, Grandpa makes pockets all day.

And when he heard me say comatose, he said, “Not time for toast. Wake up its morning, then have toast.” Coma Toast.

And at any moment, he is liable to burst into his cheesy grin, start giggling for no reason (the best reason to giggle I think) and spin himself around in circles. My own little whirling dervish. The simple joy of spinning and dizziness.

So I could be dutiful and give you a list of things I did to “cultivate” wonder, and it might read something like this: this year, I started the 365 Photography Project, kept a daily diary to capture those small details I’d otherwise forget, taught myself a new craft (embroidery), took up drawing again and kept up this blog.

But, all I’ve really done is get up each day, open my eyes and kept them open. And experience each moment with my toddler. (Seriously, he even follows me into the loo.)  There’s infinite wonder in him alone.

reverb10 ~ Prompt three: Moment

Moment.

Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).
(Prompt Author: Ali Edwards)

~

My first response to this is GROAN. I hate describing. I hate it even more when I’m told what to describe. Probably because I know it's one of my weaknesses as a writer.  But also because it makes me feel like I’m back at school, being told how to write rather than just being allowed to find my own way. (For this reason I’ve also always hated hearing that old chestnut – Show Don’t Tell.) And, to top it all off, there’s the ubiquitous admonition to share a moment, or rather THE moment, when you felt MOST alive. OH GOD NOT AGAIN.  (Insert tantrum here)

Why the strong reaction? Well, I could be wrong, but here’s what irks me: the implication that THAT moment is probably a positive moment, a special moment, one of ecstasy or exhilaration. A witnessing the birth of your child or jumping out of a plane moment. {And beneath all that is the further implication that you only really feel alive in those moments, and that during all the other moments, the ones where nothing ecstatic happens, you are not really living.}

So here’s my problem. The moments that are most memorable to me, the ones where I was most acutely aware of being alive and the ones where I can recall the details most vividly, are painful ones. I don’t know if I’m just peculiarly bent towards the melancholic or if I just don’t have enough of a good time, but there isn’t anything like being acutely aware of how much something hurts to remind you how very alive you are - having to live it, inhale it, bear the sharp blade of it on your skin and somehow keep going. Time loses its fluidity and the moments become separate, crystallized units because you have suddenly acquired the ability to feel them ticking by and accumulating like pebbles in your shoes.

I have been trying all day to remember a specific happy moment from this year. There have been a lot of them. Countless times my son opened his mouth – to sing or talk or call for me. I’ve had hundreds of wonderful moments at bedtime, when, singing songs with Jake, I’ve felt my heart swell in my chest and be so grateful to be alive. When I’ve held him close to me, or watched him sleeping. But the exact details of those moments escape me.

And yet, my mind keeps going back to one moment that I can remember. One long vivid moment, or rather, a collection of hard, sharp moments.

It was a few days after Jake had had surgery to reverse his stoma. We were on one of the children’s wards at the Royal London and it was the weekend. I know this because the ward was short-staffed and there was only one familiar and friendly face amongst the agency nurses called in to cover. Ironically it was her familiarity to us, and her kindness that actually triggered me off.

Jake had been doing well, and we had been on the verge of being discharged when he started vomiting and having diarrhea. My partner Paul had just come down with such a bug and they suspected that he’d passed it on to Jake. Because of this, he was asked not to stay on the ward. He had been due to relieve me and take over the “night shift” when he was told he could not. So I had to stay another night at least. I was already exhausted from having been up the night before, having to change Jake’s runny nappies, which had also leaked onto his clothes and bed sheets. And I had to spend another night doing the same. I somehow made it through that night and Paul relieved me for a few hours in the morning. While I was having a break, Jake vomited all over Paul. He was then told he could not come back on to the ward until he was 24 hours clear of his symptoms and that he shouldn’t have been back so soon in the first place. So I had to spend the rest of the day there on my own.

For the rest of the day, Jake was unsettled. He rarely stopped crying. It’s hard to describe what this is like, especially to people who’ve never had to look after a baby for any length of time. There’s nothing like the piercing sound of a distressed child crying. The language of parenthood is like a foreign language. One which can’t be taught but can only be learned ‘on the job’. The worst part was, we were told not to move around the ward incase he was infectious. Can you guess what it was that he wanted so desperately, the one and only thing that calmed him down? To be held and walked around the ward.

We’d been doing it for days. As soon as we were able to pick him up after his surgery, Paul and I had been taking turns walking him round the ward, looking at the fish tank, taking him to the play room and sensory room, saying hello to the other patients, letting him stand at the lego station by the Parents’ break room. No more. After hours of pacing in our tiny cubicle and standing up and rocking him and trying to console him, unable to explain to him why we couldn’t go see fish or go walking, I sat down in utter despair. What made it more acute was that everyone on the ward could see what was happening, everyone could hear him cry. And yet, no one could or would do anything for us. It was like we'd suddenly become invisible. 

I remember feeling absolutely enraged that the play specialist on the ward was spending hours of her time sitting by the bedside of the 8 year old girl in the bed next to ours, bringing her books and toys to occupy her and talking to her mother as if they were the best of friends, but did not once speak to me or offer to fetch a single toy for Jake who was wailing his heart out. And the nurses were either too busy or too wary to come near us except to perform their tasks as quickly and perfunctorily as possible. By the afternoon, I also knew that he was overdue a nap and was overtired so I tried everything I could to settle him to sleep. But every time he started to drift off, something would happen. A nurse needed to come in and “do his obs” during which he wailed. Then the girl in the bed next to ours threw a tantrum and Jake wailed. Then the surgeons came on the ward to do their rounds and Jake wailed, just like he always did whenever he saw the swarm of white coated people approach. Then his monitors would start beeping or his IV line would need changing, or I had to give him his next dose of medication and he’d struggle and wail at every interruption. And then, after hours of interrupted sleep and exhaustion, Jake vomited. It smelled of regurgitated peanut butter mixed with sick and looked like shit. It had spattered all over him, me and the floor. He was scared and filthy and had sick on his chin and down his neck and I started shaking from the stress of it all, and from hunger, as I hadn't been able to have a break for anything to eat.  I couldn’t move from our cubicle to get help so I had to shout across the ward to the nurses’ station to get someone’s attention. I was using all my powers of restraint when I shouted, “Excuse me,” over and over again. If it had been anywhere else but a hospital, very foul language would have been flung about like monkey shit.

A harassed junior nurse came over and actually asked me what was wrong. Obviously the smell or sight of sick wasn’t enough to clue her in. I had to spell it out for her. She sighed and said she would fetch some paper towels like I’d just asked her to donate a kidney. When she came back with them, I had to tell her that I didn’t have any clothes to change into and that I couldn’t leave the ward to get any. She wandered off to find me some scrubs and I was left to clean Jake up and change his clothing. When she returned, I knew that I would have to leave Jake alone while I got cleaned up. And I knew that he wouldn’t like it. I was right. Nobody was available to sit with him so I had to leave him wailing in his cot by himself. When I came back, all I could do was try to settle him to sleep again, but I had a very strong urge to pick him up and run.

I finally managed to calm him and got in a comfortable position with him, sitting in a chair with his head resting on my chest. He had just drifted off when a gaggle of doctors came to examine the girl in the bed next to ours. As there was so little space between our cubicles, the chair I was sitting in had to be moved to make way. I knew this, and had been planning on doing so quietly, but when an evil nurse barked at me to do so, I lost it, and did so kicking and screaming. That is, I scraped the fucking chair across the floor and swore not so quietly under my breath as I did so. It woke Jake up. He started screaming. Again. Evil nurse glared at us then ignored us. At that point, the kind and familiar nurse I mentioned earlier entered the ward. She immediately came over and asked me if I was okay. To my embarrassment, I burst into tears. I cried so hard I couldn’t even explain what had happened or what was wrong. When she put an arm around me and said, “It’s gonna be okay, I’ve seen you and Jake go through much much worse,” I cried even harder. Because she was right. We had been through much worse the year before, and I’d been a hell of a lot stronger. She seemed to understand that her kindness was setting off a geyser so she went to check Jake’s notes and find out what had been happening that morning.

Eventually, because of all the vomit, but possibly also because of the swearing and Jake’s screaming, we were moved into a closed room on the ward and discharged the next day.

~

Ok, so this post was even longer than the last one. It’s unedited because I’m short of time and know that we’ll have a new prompt to respond to tomorrow. I didn’t even came close to describing it like we were prompted to. If I were to go into it more fully, I think I’d have a novella’s worth of words here.

Many many thanks if you’ve made it this far.  (It was my 900th blog post!)

reverb10 ~ Prompt two: Writing

Writing.


What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?
(Prompt Author: Leo Babauta)

~

My first thought when I read this was infanticide. After all, eliminate is rather a strong word. But Jake is the sweet fruit of my loins and without him, well, I wouldn’t have a little pixie to make me laugh every day and shout things at me like “Gubbins!” and “It’s NOT funny Mummy”. I am a full-time stay at home mother by choice after all. He has two short mornings a week at nursery but otherwise, being a mother is what I do each day. I want to be a mother, but I am also a writer – in the sense that I not only want to write but need to write or else.

And I am actually writing more now, as a full-time mother, than I ever have at any time in my life. Unexpectedly, having the added pressure of a real lack of time (it was only after becoming a parent that I realised how much time I actually used to have which I effectively squandered) has been the push I’ve needed to make me realise how essential writing is to me and to be creative bloodyminded about how I find the time to do it. It isn’t easy. Apart from Jake’s brief time at nursery, and my partner’s help evenings and weekends, I’m on my own. I don’t have family or friends close by who can readily babysit. In the 28 months of Jake’s life, my partner and I have only managed to go out alone together three times. Plus, Jake is not one of those children who obligingly goes to sleep at 7pm, leaving us with our evenings free. So finding time is a challenge I face every day. And for the first year of Jake’s life, I hardly wrote at all.

These days, I write blog posts, emails, diary entries, freewriting and other writing, inwardly referred to as my “real writing.” Not all in one day of course, not by a long shot. Sometimes weeks go by when I write nothing but the odd blog post or email (and facebook status updates – now that IS something I can eliminate, though I've just joined Twitter specifically for reverb10, something I've resisted for ages because I didn't need anything else from the interwebs to distract me), and I am always wishing that I could find some way to redress the balance.  Participating in projects like this does help though.

So this is what I want to reflect on for this prompt.

Thinking in terms of elimination seems a bit negative. In some respects, anything can be seen as a contribution to my writing. Living contributes to it, though as someone who has been writing (and reading) for most of my life, I also know that for “living” to truly contribute to and inform my writing, I also need to actually write about it.

So here’s what I think I need to actively contribute to my writing & my writing process and how I think I can find a way of doing these things:

- Daily diary writing – capturing moments & details, reflecting on events while they are still immediate and fresh. Having a word limit helps both in terms of time and in terms of honing in on what is most essential or memorable about each day. I had been doing this in the form of daily 100 word diary entries. I only stopped fairly recently. I think it’s time to reinstate them but perhaps increase the word limit slightly to 250.

- Freewriting - I have Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down The Bones to remind me why this is important. This is also mentioned as morning pages in The Artist’s Way and by Dorothea Brande in her book On Becoming A Writer. Suffice it to say it’s a crucial part of the writing / creative process and one I have neglected for far too long.

- Collecting ideas – having a scrapbook / notebook to write ideas down, collect articles of interest, etc. I try to do this as and when I can. Sometimes, things just get forgotten.

- Reading – I do this as and when I can. Surprisingly, I’ve also managed to read a lot more than I was led to expect that parents with a toddler can.

My blog posts are written on the hoof whenever I can grab the time to do them. This usually means bits of time here and there throughout my day, when Jake will happily play by himself for a bit, or during his naps, if he actually decides to have one, or while my partner occupies him in the evenings.

I can write my daily diary entries in the same way.

But for freewriting (which I do by hand) and other writing, my “real writing”, I need alone time that I can rely on, when I know I won’t be interrupted. This is why I have done so little of this type of writing in comparison.

At the moment, I am managing to do this on the mornings that Jake’s at nursery, and sometimes at the weekend. Interruptions to this routine of sorts is difficult. If Jake misses a morning at nursery or we go away for the weekend (like we just have), I find it hard to get back on track again.

But this is a good opportunity for me to see where more time can be carved out of my day. I’ve often talked in the past of going out one evening a week specifically for writing. Recently I’ve been reluctant to do this because it gets cold and dark so early, but setting this habit up could help to alleviate a lot of the angst I feel about not writing enough.

I could also simply sleep less and stay up later than I usually would, once Jake has gone to bed. Even an hour one or two nights a week would be beneficial. I would have to work around my partner on this though, as the time after Jake goes to bed is the only time he gets to himself. It would also be the only time we’d have to spend alone together.

Another thing I can do is use my weekend time better. Most Saturdays, my partner takes Jake out for a few hours so I have a morning to myself before my afternoon yoga class. I have to admit that I squander this time. I potter about far too much, spend too much time on the internet and doing chores that can wait. This would be another opportunity to take myself out with my laptop so that I know I have a solid two hours, for example, to write before my yoga class. 

Now all I need is someone to be accountable to, someone who’s gonna give me a hard time if I weasel my way out of doing it. Volunteers, anyone?

The other consideration, and it’s a big one, is my partner’s need for time too. He works full time then comes home in the evenings and takes on most of the childcare for the rest of the day. And he also does so at weekends. It is the only time he has with Jake, but he’s also doing it so I can have a break.

Since he’s also participating in reverb10, it will be interesting to see what he says.

(Yes, this is a long post. When I decided to take part in reverb10, I knew I wanted to reflect properly on each prompt, otherwise what’s the point. So there you have it. Thanks if you’ve gotten this far.)

reverb10 ~ Prompt 1: One Word

One Word.

Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?
(Prompt author: Gwen Bell)

~

My word for this year is wrestle. Not clad in spandex and getting sweaty (though toddler wrestling comes close, especially during nappy changing these days), but the push-pull momentum of struggle and release. And since I can’t make struggle-and-release into one word, wrestle it is.

As long as I can remember, an inner struggle, a straining at tightly bound knots, real or imagined, has always been a part of my character. Sometimes the struggle makes the knots tighter, sometimes it loosens them, and sometimes it makes no difference - nothing changes and I only end up with rope burns.

This year, I didn’t go back to work as planned. I wrestled with isolation and loneliness, but I discovered greater depth in my slower paced life. I struggled at being a full-time stay at home Mum but I’ve had precious time with my son. I lost a few friends, but I regained a few others and even made some new ones.  I spent a lot of time being angry or scared, but I got angry and scared enough to want things to change. I’ve also been more acutely aware of the struggle than ever before. But, I also learned to sit with it. To study it and understand it and try to get to the heart of it. I started having counselling. I got a little bit deeper into my yoga practice and more honest in my writing. I started seeing chinks of truth and slowly, breath by breath, began to let go. The flip side of struggle is release. One doesn’t exist without the other. I do believe that being alive will always entail some sort of struggle, but it doesn’t have to be negative. A bit like that phrase: Pain is inevitable but suffering is optional.

So for the coming year, I hope not for a struggle-free life, but for something I’ve been too scared to believe in – until now. I’m going to let hope go to my head and go all out. I want my word for 2011 to be joy. The kind that is deep and true and comes from authenticity, from letting go, and being present and open and tuned in – to possibilities we are not even aware of, to the truths we don’t yet know, to the sacred magic and beauty of the world, seen or unseen.  For once, I don't believe it's too much to ask for.

Reverb10

Oh dear.  My impulses to start challenges when I have the least amount of time knows no bounds.  This time, I've signed up for reverb10.  However, I do recall that last year, my 100 days challenge, which also began on the 1st December, turned out very well well.  This one at least, is only for the month of December.

Care to join me?

Just what you need right now (more images of snow & ice)

But not a lot of snow, and not very much ice either...here are some pictures from our long weekend in Cheshire.





Only enough snow to draw a snowman, not to make one.
(And I know it looks like Paul is drawing a knob in the snow, but he wasn't.)



It was a snow train.

 

Oop North

A couple of months ago, our planned trip oop North was aborted due to excessive amounts of snot and illness (ours).  We are hoping that all the snow and cold weather will not interfere with our plans this time.

While I am away, I leave you with this...

Some recent Jake-isms

"Check nemos", as in "Mummy check nemos (emails) on ‘puter (computer)?"

Thank you much.

Inadvertently calling us Theo. As in, "got more food Theo." (After months of this I finally worked out he’s saying for you).

Using v instead of very…v hot that one. Is v cold now.

When he doesn’t like some food he’s just tried, he makes a face and says, “That’s v spicy that one”, even if it was just a slice of granary.

Saying need instead of want.  Need cuggles bit. Or even, Need cuggles want.

Sometimes, he also combines them: nee-want cuggles, nee-want food, nee-want crisps.

Strawb = straw (Nee-want milk with strawb)

Buddy hell!

Oon = balloon (so green balloon is green ‘oon)

And the colour blue is boo, as in "red and yellow and pink and green, purple and orange and boooo.  I can sing rainbow, sing rainbow, sing rainbow tooooo."

"Negotiating" with Mummy over food, ie, saying no to food offered, then yes, then no. 

Me: Jake, if you say no again, I'm going to put this away.

J: I say no and yes and no and yes.  I say yes now.

Plus, yesterday, he tried conversing with a tree...

J: Hello tree, how are you? (Pause)  Doesn't talk tree.  Mummy, doesn't talk tree.

Me: No darling, it doesn't.

J: Mummy talk though.

And before he goes to bed every night, he kisses the cat goodnight.  Sometimes, they have daytime naps together and get v comfy indeed...

Fire light

It's my counselling day and I don't want to go.  Jake is at nursery.  I have the house to myself, all I can hear is the ticking of the clock and the sound of my fingers tapping the keys and that's all I want.  Not the sound of my own voice, or the sound of another's, even an understanding supportive one.  I just want to sit here and be.

Why I love London

This is why I love London.  One day, we can see art like this...

The Wei Wei sunflower seeds at Tate Modern

(made out of porcelain and individually hand painted)

(A film on the making of the seeds can be seen here)

Even if we are no longer allowed to touch them or

frolic around on them

And the next, someone like me can rediscover a part of my heritage here...

Buddhapadipha Thai Buddhist Temple in Wimbledon

Jake's first Loi Krathong

My first Loi Krathong in about 30 years

(If you look closely, you will see something odd...

I look happy!)

Loi Krathong is the Thai Festival of Lights and for me, celebrating it in London was more fitting in many ways than celebrating it in Thailand.  Not only because my parents don't really celebrate it (and they live in Thailand), but because London has been more my home than anywhere else.  It was great to see half-Thai children running around and hear other Thai people speaking English the way I do, in an English and sometimes even an Anglo-American, accent.  After a lifetime of living everywhere but Thailand, it was the only time I felt at home around Thai people.  I wasn't sure I'd ever feel that way.  It also reminded me that Jake is half-Thai and that this is part of his heritage too.

As I was putting him to bed last night and we did our usual nightly singing of songs, I started singing the Loi Krathong song.  At first I was hesitant about singing it with him, I wondered if he'd be confused about the words being Thai and not English.  But I needn't have worried.  He simply started singing along, asking to hear it again and again and repeating the words like he repeats every other word he hears.  I've always felt ambivalent about the "being Thai" part of myself, because I've had so many difficult experiences around fitting in, but it doesn't have to be that way for Jake. 

At the Tate on Friday, Jake impressed me so much when he sat through the whole 15 minute film of the making of the seeds.  After having seen the seeds (or the stones as he called them), he was thoroughly absorbed in watching the film.  For the first few minutes, I explained here and there what was happening in the film.  But when I saw how utterly absorbed he was in it, I decided to stop and let him have his own experience of it. 

I worry so much about whether I am doing enough for him, I forget that more often than not, all I need to do is step back and give him the space to find his own way.  I am delighted and amazed, yet again, about how much he has to teach me.

Finding my way

Sometimes I write and write and out of pages and pages of insanely boring drivel, or rather, to give it its technical term, brain fart, I maybe get one sentence that not exactly gleams but makes me sit up and think: okay, there's possibility here.  I'm not just talking about fiction writing, but any other writing that I am compelled to do for myself.  Because of this and because writing is such a solitary activity, it is easy to become discouraged.  Which is why I stop for long periods of time.  That and life getting in the way.

I'm trying to get myself started again.  Starting with freewriting and seeing where it takes me.  Because I'm still trying to find out what it is I actually want to write and because I get bogged down with all sorts of doubts.  Good thing I came across these pearls of wisdom then...

"...the process of writing fiction is totally unconscious.  It comes from what you are learning, as you live, from within.  For me, all writing is a process of discovery.  We are looking for the meaning of life.  No matter where you are, there are conflicts and dramas everywhere.  It is the process of what it means to be a human being; how you react and are reacted upon, these inward and outer pressures.  If you are writing with a direct cause in mind, you are writing propaganda.  It's fatal for a fiction writer." (- Nadine Gordimer being interviewed for the Guardian Saturday Review 6 Nov 2011)

"Style requires digesting who we are.  It comes from the inside.  It means becoming more and more present, settling deeper and deeper inside the layers of ourselves and then speaking, knowing what we write echoes all of us; all of who we are is backing our writing.  That is very solid ground to stand on.

We are each a concert reverberating with our whole lives and reflecting and amplifying the world around us.

Nanao Sakaki on the poet Issa: Not gifted with genius, but honestly holding his experience deep in his heart, keeping his simplicity and humanity." (From Natalie Goldberg's Wild Mind)

On not taking your own advice

Jake and I haven't been out today.  And we won't be going out now.  It's only 3:15pm, but the light is already fading and it is very very cold.  Not to mention the fog.  (Excuses excuses.) 

I did think about it.  The sun had been shining beautifully all morning.  But Jake & I had a happy couple of hours playing in the light coming in through the windows of his "ni room"...

...and then we had the business of lunch to prepare and eat, and then I couldn't face it. 

He's going through that phase that makes being two so delightful.  Disagreeing with everything I say.  Refusing to do anything I ask.  Saying no to the things I give him, especially food he's asked for.  Doing things I ask him not to, over and over again.  Deciding that he needs cuggles as soon as I start cooking or washing up or have my hands elbow deep in crap and then crying like he's been assaulted when I tell him I can't.  Changing his nappy and getting him dressed every morning is an ordeal.  Just the thought of trying to get him ready to go out was too much for me today.  Which was fine.  But then, there are consequences.

After burning my batch of peanut butter cookies and after an already fraught few hours, I started to swear but then stopped. “Oh f….”

Just as I was feeling proud of my restraint, Jake chimed in and finished it for me, “F**k hell!” punctuated with a big grin.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’d overheard him saying, “Buddy hell” to his trains earlier and I couldn’t help laughing. So he decided to make Mummy laugh even more by using all of his colourful language in one go, but most especially Shit. (And then, when we were singing Horsey Horsey, his clippetty-clop kept coming out as kicky-cock - unintentionally I might add.)

So I did it. I descended a little bit further into the I’ll-never-turn-into-my-parents quicksand pit. (The important point about quicksand being that the more you fight it, the quicker you sink. The double doozy is that my Mum had quite a foul mouth when I was growing up too.) Anyway, I told Jake that he couldn’t say those words, only Mummy can, because she’s a hypocrite. He just nodded cheerfully and said, “Okay!” and trotted off singing swear words like a nursery rhyme.  (At least b***ocks comes out as box.)

As to the word hypocrite, I can’t wait until he starts using that one. Perhaps he will even choose to debut it on the occasion of being told off by one of his grandparents for using bad language. And he hasn’t even started school yet.

Wonder

One of the first and many pieces of advice I was given when I first became a mother was this: to keep yourself sane, try and get out of the house at least once a day, even if all you do is walk around the block once.  I haven't always been very good at doing this, but every time that I do, I tell myself that I should do it more often.  It always helps.  Even when the weather is bad.  Sure you get cold or soaked or whipped about a bit by wind, but it does help.  It changes your perspective, and at the very least reminds you that you are connected to a world out there, a world much bigger than you.

Jake isn't at the age anymore when I absolutely have to take him out at least once a day or he will explode.  But it helps.  And I've been far too much inside my own head lately.  So as soon as the sun showed itself today, I took Jake out.  And what a wonder it was.

One moment I was brooding about my life and the next, Jake and I were chasing bubbles and crouching over pretty leaves, ooohing and ahhhing about their colours and the tiny droplets of water still clinging to their surfaces.  It's always there, unfailingly.  The opportunity to change your view, if you can stand to open your eyes and see.  I know we can't always stand to do that, I certainly can't.  But it's good to be reminded.  Especially by something as lovely as a leaf.

Mishap of the day

So yesterday went better than I expected. I didn’t bother opening the blinds, we didn’t go out and it took Jake an hour and a half to go down for his nap, but still. Jake only went manically whiny in the evening, when Paul came home from work. Paul asked him, “Are you mental?” and Jake replied, “NO! I JAKE!!” And the only mishap of the day was when I forgot to tell Jake (like I usually do), not to touch my tea because it was hot, left the room and then heard him cry a few seconds later. It was one of those sharp cries where you immediately know something’s wrong. I came into the room to find him holding his sleepsuit away from his chest and bawling. There was tea all down his front. Luckily it wasn’t hot enough to scald him, but it did scare him. Sometimes I just forget. He’s 27 months old and capable and articulate in so many ways, but I still need to remind him not to touch hot things and not to put buttons in his mouth.

And today? For some reason I woke up cheerful. I can’t think why. Perhaps it was all the garlic I ate yesterday. Fresh garlic from the ful medames I'd made. I’d been craving it since we were on holiday in Spain. A few more days there and I would’ve been reverting back to vegetarianism. The Spanish are extremely fond of their sweets and their meat. Anyway, I finally got to satisfy my craving yesterday. I had such strong garlic breath I woke up with a distilled version of it still on my tongue. Mmmmm nice. All this aside, fresh garlic is supposed to be good for your heart, so maybe it can accidentally lead to cheerfulness.  Now you know.  Consider yourself warned.

But before I start worrying everyone unduly, this cheerfulness mainly translated itself into singing the Show Me Show Me theme tune and meaning it, and then doing clippety-clops around the living room along with Chris & Pui. Jake was not impressed. He looked at me disapprovingly and then said very quietly, “Don’t want it.” Only 2 and he’s already embarrassed by me.

Anyway, it didn’t last, the cheeriness. Lately I’ve been wishing that I had a job to go to. A fairly interesting but not too stressful part-time job with nice people I can talk to about something other than naps, potty training and poo. About half an hour into playing trains with Jake I wanted to scream. I was able to appreciate his imagination and the fact that he just wanted my company, I didn’t even have to join in very much, but I couldn’t get away from the fact that I was bored. A few fraught demands for cuggles while I was cooking and then refusing to eat what I’d made for him, and shouting ensued. It’s only 2pm, but Jake has already asked me at least 8 times, “Mummy happy?” and offering kisses. And when he sees that I am not, he cries and I try not to feel like a shit.

Rather synchronistically, I dropped Jake’s poo on the way to flushing it down the loo. I exclaimed rather loudly and Jake came running. “What happened Mummy?”
“I dropped your poo on the floor.”
“Oh. It’s okay. Kiss it better Mummy?”
Some things you just can’t (or shouldn't) kiss better.
But at least it didn’t fall on carpet.
That was today’s mishap. I wonder what’s in store for us tomorrow. 
Try not to explode with anticipation, ok?

It's all a dream now...

Back from holidays (the holidays that made me realise I hadn't been truly relaxed in about...oh, 2 years and that I've been parenting without the aid of alcohol or drugs, prescription or otherwise) and back to reality.  Am wondering how I'm going to do this.  Deep breaths, one day at a time?  Either that or an impulse buy.  A hardback book (steady) or if that doesn't cut it, a pair of boots.  Cos you can never have too many.  And the child benefit isn't going to spend itself is it?

Trust yourself

I'm off on holiday for a bit.  Meanwhile, I leave you with this...

"Trust yourself

You can't write the wrong thing

Give yourself the gift of this writing"

~ The Therapeutic Potential of Creative Writing, Gillie Bolton

The things they say...

After another weekend of staying in and wondering if I've got some rare terminal illness that starts in the sinuses, gives you green snot for ages and makes you ridiculously tired (and annoying), I ventured out with Jake today.  Just cos it's such a fun and action packed place to go, we went to Sainsbury's. 

We just "needed" a few random things...12 - 18 month onesies (yup, he's only just outgrown his 9 - 12 month ones), a bottle of elderflower cordial, some granola, fish fingers and because Jake saw it on Show Me Show Me and I absentmindedly said we could get some and he didn't stop reminding me, cheesecake.  And because we went past them, we also came away with Peppa Pig stickers.  It didn't go too badly.  Jake only cried a few times (tiredness), but that short trip absolutely exhausted me.  When we got home, my attempts to get Jake down for a nap failed and he almost had a meltdown because I couldn't get the damn stickers out of their packet and unpeeled fast enough...

Want bus, bus bus!!! (Peppa & her family in a camper van) Want bus now Mummy, (WAIIIILLLLLL) bus now, now.  Need bus!

Train, train, want train, need train, want train noooowwwwwwww (Peppa & her friends in a train)  Need train NOW!

Star, star, star, want star, want star, need star nowwwwwwwww (tiny star too friggin' tiny for adult fingers to handle)

Peppa Pig!  'Nother Peppa Pig, 'nother Peppa Pig.  Peppa Peeeeg NOOOOOOWWWWW!

Nerves were fraught, tears and snot were everywhere and I was just about ready to scream. 

And then...

C'ock, c'ock, c'ock!  Need c'ock, Mummy!  Want c'ock!  Need c'ock now!!!!!!!!!

Yup.  He still can't pronounce his l's. 
Lucky for him I found this utterly hilarious. 
Especially when I realised it could've been worse. 
He could have been shouting "Mummy need c'ock" while he was holding the stickers in Sainsbury's.