Time to Breathe, Time to Digest, and Time to Write

Each weekend, my husband tries to get be out of the house. He continually requests that I take some time for myself. I quietly complain about my lack of time to myself, never out loud, but when time presents, i weigh the pros and cons. Pros - i am out of the existence i often want to run from. Cons - i come back to that existence with the sole responsibility of reigning everyone back in. You say, 'Katie, go out, enjoy the quiet time,' and during those times, i simply sigh, and think that there is just too much to do.....my fault and i wear that hat. But, today, i took the offer and now i am out....and i am writing. ... always writing..always.

Writing: my love. my part time job (without pay). I gravitate towards journals, note books, funky memo books in all shades of color and textures. My life is mirrored within journals. Today, i have three working journals, 3 or 4 blogs, kids journals (laughing). A funky little gold one with small key accompanied me throughout my elementary years. Upon 8th grade graduation, i received a cute pastel blue-flowery journal and i filled it quickly; almost daily of impending high school dramas, classes, crushes, agonies, and triumphs. I think i filled 3 or 4 journals during high school and about 3 more in college. 2 or more while dating john and his time away in Dessert Storm, and then of course, bought one for each of my babies before they were born. Today, i grabbed lucy's journal and one that i began ...i have to look at the date....February 5, 2003. The first page of this journal is as follows:
Hello, Hello, clanging bells in my head have brought upon an urge to write, but as you may have observed, the physical exercise of writing has somehow been numbed. My fingers need to wake up and channel thoughts swiftly from fingers to ink. John is currently working on the electrical wiring in the soon to be sunroom/family room. The kids are asleep and I am sitting at the head of my bed listening to the BBC (public radio). Erin had her daughter, camille on the 28th of January. Lucy is crying. I am beginning to be submersed under the weight of her cries.
The News in Brief: ~ The Space Shuttle Columbia burned up during it's decent into Kennedy Space Center. 7 Astronauts died. ~ Colin Powell (sec of state) was at the UN today, addressing the Security Council. A great interest in disarming Iraq of Weapons of Mass Destruction (WOMD). US military have been strategically placed in the region and Pres. Bush in threatening war...on his own accord. I am fearful of how this will turn out. Bush is that bully in school who comes and steals your lunch money and snickers to his buddies...all the while, completely intimidated by the person he is and has become (random). Lucy is still whining, time to close. ME.

RANDOMLY OPENING UP LUCY'S JOURNAL
September 12:::The Day After
Hi Lucy,
I am in Logic class again. A tad bit early, but all was quiet in the house and ...well...you get it. I missed last Wednesday because we all went up to see Grandma Louann and Grandpa John for a couple of days. The instructor said she wouldn't mind me hanging out in her class...score man
** (2010 note...i took a logic class when lucy was a baby - just something to exercise my mind while working through the newness of Lucy ..our 3rd baby. the instructor let me sit in on her class, knowing my situation. It was one of my best experiences, took quizzes, took tests, added to lecture and didn't pay anything).**
So, I don't have to do the assignments if I don't want to, but i think i will anyway.
As you may have heard, not sure when and where you will be in life when this sinks in, yesterday was September 11, 2001. 4 terrorist attacks threatened our nation. 2 planes crashed into the World Trade towers in New York, ending in total destruction. Another plane crashed into the Pentagon and another crashed in a field in Pennsylvania; it was believed to be heading towards the White House. Your cold hearted mother (and i say this in all sincerity) seems to be somewhat unfazed by all this....and i am truly hoping it is because i am in shock. Before I go on, i must emphasize the enormity of loss and sadness i feel for all individuals affected by this. ALL (spent a long time outlining the word ALL in my journal)individuals affected. This is where my heart is. With that said, here is my naive, soon to be seen as stupid view on these past events. I am not fearful, I am not physically sick nor do i feel overprotective of my children. This is a part of life that I am witness to. I can not begin to think of the children involved, this is where my mind is numbed by overwhelming lack of power. I know, in my VERY small world, and it is small, I don't know what i can do. I WILL give blood, i WILL donate as much money as i can and i WILL offer all up in prayer...but we live in a world and in a place that power is the winning ticket, and we happen to live in such a place that places a crucial role in that game. Our nation will continue to move it's pieces in this strategic game and continue to sacrifice for the greater good (or so i hear). This is a consequence. I am not sure if i should demand my energy, my families energy in becoming an interwoven piece in this terrible destruction.

Class is beginning.
I love you.
Mom

January 24, 2010: My children are older, our nation continues to fight the same up hill battle. I will continue to live within the dot of my existence - and doing what all dots do; give money when needed, give blood when needed, and now, with haiti, volunteer time when needed. I clearly do not control the pawns in the game, i just take up the space within which the pawn takes residence.

Off to venture into more Katie time. Where will it take me next??

Wake Me When You're Done...

My daughter just came in and asked if she could have her time on the computer. I told her, "Yes, but when your 30 minutes is up, come in and wake me up."

I rolled over, glanced at the clock through my one opened eye and noticed it was 9:00am (historic). As I rolled over, quickly debating the pros and cons of going back to sleep or simply getting up, i began to digest my evening of past.

This was a good night. Sidney was up only twice (once at 12:30 and once at 5:30). I was already half up at 5:30, listening to the radio alarm doing it's best in trying to get my husband out of bed, as he wanted to be at work by 6:30). It's saturday, so when the morning

call of Sidney came in, I knew that once was done 'servicing' his needs, it was right back into bed. Not putting on my pants, mismatched socks and combing my broomhilda hair to go and make the traditional waffle breakfast (if this does not happen, the boy will gulp a few mouthfuls of water in the bathroom faucet, grab a dry piece of bread and make his way out the door for the bus. If i am really lucky, he might grab a granola bar (that will be half way through his system before first period).

Alas, today was saturday. The husband was gone, the house was quiet and i was going to catch up on some sleep.

During my three minute debate solo debate this morning, a question came into play. "Why would you want to go back to...THAT?" That, meaning my dreams. The dreams one has when actually given a chance to be asleep long enough to have such blissful fairied moments.

from m

y quasi recollection, my dreams are playing out a nasty representation of my reality.

1. Getting my hair done at a new recommended place (have cancelled three times on getting my hair done...since christmas... because of john's schedule). The person sits down with me, asks me how i want my hair done. I tell her I am simply tired, she comes highly recommended and I trust her judgement. I fall asleep in the chair only to wake up to a deep purple henna covering every inch of blond i had as well as a decorative tinsel streamer as a head piece. As i looked at myself in the mirror, I did not rage out, i did not even speak, as i nodded in approval, i was only thinking, "I'm sure i can make this work."

2. John's working quarters are in the new Twins Ball Park. He has a very swanky new office. Because I have yet to see his new office in person, it was up to my dream to interpret how such office might look. John's office has a wall of all windows (from floor to ceiling and from wall to wall). my dream came into play that he had no door to get from one floor to the next. As my heart beat slower and my breathing became more heavy, my mind took me to this new place with a humorous twist. John had fashioned a ladder right outside one of his windows. This is how he was to get up and down from floor to floor. On a particular day, he had a meeting and there were 5 or 6 executive looking men standing by, waiting for john to get his ladder out for them to exit properly. Something was wrong with the ladder, and he had to call maintenance, who simply repelled down by rope - applied a new hook to the ladder and all were good to go.

3. Perry stayed over at a friends house last night. As a mother, I continued to think of how his night was progressing. In my sleep, in my dreams, I was given the harsh reality of it all. Perry's friend invited him over to a beach bash. A gazillion kids, a gazillion cars and a very happy mother attempting to have organized party games. There was a karaoke machine in the corner that was being used as a go-go box to dance on. The boys bed/mattress was being used as a surfing simulator. Chaos reigned and all i wanted to do was to make sure Perry was having a nice time. There were guys valet parking cars, sand everywhere (brought in for the theme of the party) and much more. As I type, the world of the party dream or seeping through my fingers.

4. Oh, i digress...This Just In...I was thinking to john's work dream and as the guys waited, Lady Gaga was there with signature black glasses trying to teach these guys to dance.

When taking it in

I....think that it is a sign

and

I.....have to speculate

from such great heights.....come down now. But everything looks perfect from far away.

with arched back, i stretch. Eyes closed, head slowly rolling in circular motion, careful to give each creak and crack it's full attention.

screen blurs eyes burn

my family sleeps and i am in the center of it all.

in the corner, the man strums his guitar in quiet melody, relaxing and releasing and remembering.

the shrillest highs and lowest lows do not question their experience, their existence nor exit.

crooked, misaligned and scattered - perspective - drawing my finger slowly across my chin and now back onto the anticipated keys. Holding chin in hand, waiting for clarity.

possibilites

faith

KNOWLEDGE

love

thanks for listening

Morning Rituals

Each morning - whether i have been up late, gone to bed early, or sporadically scheduled to spend time with Sidney, I am up with my 12 year old at 6:30am. We have both been sleeping in a bit, as bears often do during the dead of winter, and so our morning (breakfast) routine has slipped a bit.



His hot chocolate steams near by and I think of the morning routine.



Growing up...

There were sounds

~ Ken and Bob Talk Radio Show on radio
~ Ken's and Bob's infectious laughter
~ Radio E.G.B.O.K song on Friday mornings.
~ Paul Harvey with his "And now the rest of the story" monologue
~ Pounding on bedroom wall by my dad's palm of hand with a *pound - pound - pound* followed by a "Time to get up!"

There were smells

~ Fried egg sandwiches being made by my dad

~ Hot chocolate often accompanied that egg

~ Folding of lunch bags (I remember because of economy and our financial structure, i was told to save my brown paper lunch bag from monday - friday). By friday, it was in bad shape.

~ coffee - my mom always had a cup of coffee by her beside.

There were sights
~ My sister frantically trying to get out of the house for school. You were always at risk in the morning if in her way.

~ My mom sitting on the side of her bed, listening to the Ken and Bob show, drinking her coffee and smoking her cigarette. This time was to be uniterrupted as she gathered her thoughts for the day.

~ The inside of my walk in closet; the place i would hide from my parents - as they assumed I was up and getting dressed, but actually, I was curled up under a blanket, stealing away a couple more winks of sleep.

~3 lunch bags perched on the counter, aligned like birds on a wire, waiting to be taken and placed within the backpack.

I reminisce and project thoughts to this morning. If anything, what will my children remember about morning routines?

Sounds
~hmmm - currently, the sound of mom saying, "Shhh, don't wake up the baby," way too much. The worse one is to the husband who doesn't seem to understand the ramifications of an awakened infant.

Smells
~ Waffles, french toast, fried eggs, hot chocolate, coffee

Sights
~ Dad on his lap top
~ Mom on her lap top or Android Phone (oddly enough, this is akin to my mom sitting on the side of her bed. For me...this is how I wake up. Checking in with the world that went on without me as I slept...smile. This is how i begin to process and become alive.)

Things have changed since 1980 but the concept is the same; the routine is tweaked a bit, but there is still a rush to get out the door, backpacks quasi organized, hurried teeth brushing, slamming of doors, and buses or carpools to make. An interesting experiment.

good morning to you all.

Through the Storm, We Reach the Shore

I am quietly typing, rocking, and listening to U2 Rock-a-Bye Baby musically drone my infant into a deep sleep. I am down in his room because upon entering the sunroom, i stepped onto a plastic toy that has been in that same place for one too many days for my liking. Two children are now busily cleaning up the room, as i sit, rock, type and listen to the suckling of my baby's pacifier.



Nursing my infant to sleep, my eyes drifted about the room. Our days are filled with a myriad of dysfunctional spurts of time. Within those spurts, we make it happen; however, with that said, many sacrifices have to be made. Schooling with an active 10 month old and a 12 year old who is home by 3 o'clock each afternoon rocks that time piece from smooth to stirred.



So, I look, i look at Sidney's car seat that continues to sit in the middle of his room; no longer small enough to fit into this seat that we once gingerly buckled him in for his inagural ride home from the hospital. Currently, it holds folded laundry of baby's clothing. The bag of diapers sits opened upon the same floor, for we now change him where gravity can not pull him from above to below. I look at my scarf my mom made me - quickly taking it off last night in this room to change sidney into his pjs after a long evening away. His khaki pants sit bunched up upon the scarf - both tossed aside as they were not paramount to the given task.



The larger than life plush frog also takes residence in the middle of the bedroom floor. yesterday, all were in the car and sidney had no shoes - this is common and Sidney falls victim to the one sock phenomina; but with shoes. Big green frog thing had to be displaced in order to find the other matching shoe. Green towel from two nights ago sits under frog. Sidney is not a fan of baths, so the quicker the better and the rush to get him in and out and dressed was it - no energy was spent on the aftermath (dirty clothes, socks, bath towel, etc).



There is a lighter upon his changing table. This can only indicate that he must have awakened from his nap as I was in the process of lighting my candles that I light at dinner time.



His room is a chaotic mess of clothes, hangers, washcloths, diaper rash cream, diapers, dried out wipes from when he pulls them from the bin; but time does not allow for the process of 'tidy.' there are children to teach, books to read aloud, dinners to make, clothes to take out of an infant car seat, and food messes from ALL culpable children.



Again, i visit with my time. always in constant awareness of it's volatility, it's humor, it's punishing nature and it's surprises of action (taken or not).



thanks for listening.

Making Connections

Today, I finished, "Still Alice" ~ a novel by Lisa Genova. A 50 year old Harvard professor is diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's. The author takes us on Alice's journey. Losing her yesterdays, her short-term memory hanging on by a couple of frayed threads, she is living in the moment, living for each day. But she is still Alice.

I literally finished the last sentence as I was playing with my infant. He was sitting upon my lap, taking my arm and waving it - mimicking actions that I had performed with him just moments before.

Only four weeks into gestation and Sidney's first brain cells, the neurons, were already forming at an astonishing rate: 250,000 every minute. Billions of neurons were forging links with billions of other neurons and eventually he had trillions and trillions of connections between cells. Every cell precisely in its place, every link between neurons carefully organized. Nothing was random, nothing arbitrary. eventually, his brain will begin weeding out connections. The developing brain is a little like a fertile garden. When we plant a garden, we want the crops that we planted to grow and thrive. But when weeds start to grow, there is less room for the plants we want to grow. Sidney's brain will act accordingly to this philosophy.

I turned the last page and my conscious half was playing with Sidney and my unconscious half was reeling within the text of Lisa's passages. Alice knew she would soon not recognize those closest to her. She understood that one day, she would not be able to dress herself - in fact; one scene posed her in her bedroom, trying to get her sports bra on and her husband walked in on her trying to wiggle through a pair of underwear on her head. She also began to stumble, hallucinate and tangle within the organization of her own brain.

The velocity of her disease continued to decline.

Sidney ~~~

Sidney's brain, as an infant is actively living within a velocity of his own. His brain is growing in connections minute by minute. His claps, his hard consonant sounds, his cries that all mean something within his infant lexicon. One day, he waves, the next day, he drops that ability and switches it up for a clap. One hour, he is on all four and crawling, the next, he is scooting around the floor solely on his belly. His brain is in constant sculpting mode; whereas Alice's brain was surviving a degeneration of connectivity. Parallel to Alice, Sidney often 'forgets' his talents. I observe him retraining and reteaching himself and it is beyond fascinating. His neural connections are transparent and alive. Alice's neural connections were slowly dying, but nonetheless, fascinating.

Sidney is making his way in this world and I can't help but to think of *Alice* and those like her. Her brain was in vicious retreat and my son's cerebral maturation is only beginning.

hmmm.

the tao of pooh

"While Eeyore frets ...
... and Piglet hesitates
... and Rabbit calculates
... and Owl pontificates
...Pooh just is.

This is one of my favorite books and one of my favorite passages. When I first read this book, I was caught by the first couple of lines and I knew I wanted to better my life. "Pooh just is..." This is a great place to be.

How can you get very far if you don't know who you are?
How can you do what you ought if you don't know what you have got?
And if you don't know which to do
Of all the things in front of you
Then what you will have when you are through
Is just a mess without a clue
Of all the best that can come true
If you know what and which and who

During this holiday season, when the majestic snow covers in beautiful simplicity; I take stock in the questions of Who and What and Why and Where -- but the snow slows this contemplation at times and calls me to be. Be. Just be. The snow knows no path, it does not question, it does not stress - it falls, it covers and we marvel at the perfection within. The perfection - a strong word to use, but nonetheless, adequate. Much like Pooh, the snow shifts and glides; lifts up and takes it's place within a spectrum of knowledge of it's destiny.

This is where I want to be.

Magic is Still in the Air

My children are growing and for that, i am mournful. It will not be long before the knowledge of Christmas magic is just a staged production put on by mom, (I would say, "and dad" but we all know the truth).

I think back to Christmas productions --- the productions of how to keep Santa alive and as magical as possible so that exhilarated kids awake upon the crack of dawn; eager to experience the mystery of Christmas.

As I write, i think of ........

* taking a picture of each of them fast asleep in their Christmas pajamas (weeks before, without their knowledge - they receive xmas pjs on christmas eve and where them that evening) On Christmas morning, magically there they were, pictured on pillow cases with their pjs on.

* Gato, our cat, magically arrived from Santa while we were out at a restaurant on Christmas Eve. Each year, as Gato as ironically found his sleeping place under our tree, the kids nod in agreement that this is the way it should be.

* Kids wanting to film Santa arriving and they hid a video camera from view. We took Gato, sat him in front of the lens (while kids were asleep) and made all the sounds that Santa would make and as soon as "Santa" left, Gato just so happened to leave the camera's frame.

*My son wanted a book that was not yet in print. As I investigated this further, I found that the book was in print in the UK and it had an entirely different cover than the one that would soon be published in the stated. The book costs me a butt load of money - but it was from Santa and Simon got the "first ever copy" of the book from the great man in red.

* Son, (when much younger) desperately wanting to "catch Santa in the act" waited up for Santa and had a note that said, "if i fall asleep, please let me know you exist by placing a present by my head." the next morning, Perry awakened with a string of pearls to adorn the tree, especially from Santa.

* This year, going back to the pillow case idea, they will awaken to hot chocolate mugs with their pictures on it ~~ in the NEW pajamas that they received not less than 12 hours prior.

These are just a few of the MAGICAL things that have taken place in this house on Christmas.

Christmas is magical.....it goes without saying - but in this house, i am sorrowful in the knowledge that a huge part of the enchantment will dissolve some of it's spirit.

Anticipation

A new fall of snow arrived within the quiet of night. This morning, I awakened with a renewed sense of anticipation. Being a native of Southern California, i giggle thinking that December is all about the snow. In the distance, a neighbor is shoveling out his driveway. I remember snickering at him 15 years ago (being new to all this 'stuff'') when he was shoveling his driveway and it was snowing outside. I thought then, "What is the point?" Now I get it.

December is all about the snow. Christmas is all about the snow. Kids are all about the snow.

This morning, I awakened with a renewed sense of anticipation.

Anticipation - a funny word.

I sit on this couch under a cozy throw, watching the wind tag through the tree branches and I think of Mary. This time, last year, I was pregnant with my now, 9 month old baby. Within erratic and unpredictable mood swings, we all survived. I think of Mary. How did she fare? What were the variables that set her off? How was she affected by her own sense of anticipation? How did the women of the day support her? Did Joseph put in more hours at work and come home late as to not face this women of unreliable state of being? Did Mary's voice raise when Joseph told her they had to hop on the family donkey and take a 'trip'? (I have yet to see a true picture of Mary upon that donkey. In today's vernacular, we would say she was airbrushed, cropped, trimmed, highlighted. She always seems to look glowing and at peace. I want to see a picture of a 9 month old woman who has been on top a donkey for a couple of days). Do we not hear of Joseph too much after the birth of Jesus because Mary kicked his ass to the curb? That has to be it.

How did Mary anticipate this time in her life?

So, my time on this couch must be put on hold as my 9 month old is clearly in need of his mommy. He beckons within his own parameters of anticipation. How did Mary do it?