So, I take that back about wanting to sleep next to the baby. Yup, he woke up 492350 times last night. What with his first big cold/snot and the travel at Christmas, his somnolence system is out of whack. Its hardly ever in whack, really. I'm hoping that by the time he's 5, he'll be sleeping through the night.
In other news, this bio/fiction about Michelangelo is taking 4-evah to read. I have a terribly delightful book waiting for me, and its getting impatient. Plus, I shelved Michelangelo for a bit while reading Daddy-Long-Legs. I'm getting a bit tired of the Italian Rennaisance. The Popes are a crooked lot and Michelangelo spends great periods of his life in political drudgery. Also, I'm not buying these romances with these whimsical women.
Anyhoo, must get my reading in while I can (naptime). In MY Maslow's Hierarchy, reading is right after physiological needs. Otherwise, I'm not a person.
Good day.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Little Buddy
So, it's bedtime around here. The baby has been asleep for a while and I am already missing him. (don't want to jinx myself and cause him to wake, but it's true.) I wish I could sleep with him next to me so I can put my arms around him and cuddle and smell him and listen to him breathe. But that would require some sort of make-believe land where he sleeps and I sleep and we all sleep all night in the same bed. Psshhyahhh. But he's so cute, dang it. Its hard not to just go sleep on the floor next to his crib.
It must be a primal, instinctive motivation. Feels like a yearning, a temptation. Want want want. Love love love. Care care care. Work work work. Tired tired tired. Frustrated frustrated frustrated. Care care care. Nap nap nap. Want want want. Love love love. Something like that.
That is all.
Good night.
It must be a primal, instinctive motivation. Feels like a yearning, a temptation. Want want want. Love love love. Care care care. Work work work. Tired tired tired. Frustrated frustrated frustrated. Care care care. Nap nap nap. Want want want. Love love love. Something like that.
That is all.
Good night.
Where is MY Christmas Break?!
Right now I'm watching my son standing up with the help of a dining room chair. He is literally squealing, clenching every muscle in his body (including his cheek muscles) with delight. Oh, now he's on tiptoe.
Right now I am also listening to a Rafi cd my friend Meg gave us. I tell ya, it is rather pleasant listening. Right now we're enjoying a song about bowling.
Right now I'm coughing - well, no, right now I'm TYPING about coughing. But one second ago I was coughing. The kind of cough that hurts. I caught the cold that Woodworker and Buckaroo had. I held a moral high-ground for some days because I was doing saline washes (up the nose) diligently, which Woodworker poopooed; yet, I seemed to avoid the yuck. But there are only so many days of wiping your son's wretched snotty face without having some impact on your immune system. Anyway, I feel pretty crappy and this is my first time feeling this sick while parenting. As I've said every day since he was born (practically), I don't know how people do this over and over. But, I'm reminded of what my sister Liz said to me during that first newborn week: all those moments when you don't know how you're going to do it, you ARE doing it.
This year, the holidays have precipitated in me a yearning for my youth. I'm certain this is because my entire reality, my entire existence has been modified by motherhood. And I hope that doesn't sound like I'm resenting my new reality, but that I'm often puzzled by it. Or perhaps I will invent a word: buzzled. Because I'm constantly buzzing around, chasing after the baby and my mind, puzzled and befuddled. I'm trying to remain faithful that future Christmases will have more opportunities for quiet moments by the glow of the tree. Surely. For instance, future Christmases probably won't involve Buckaroo sleeping (sort of) in the pack-and-play while his parents try to sleep (sort of) in the same room - that being my brother Sergei's room at my parents' house. Thank you a jillion times, Sergei, for cleaning your room and offering it to us!
It is becoming clear to me how attached I am to the cozy, sweet magic of Christmas! I think I spent so many years as a single adult with my own quiet independence to embrace the magic moments of the holidays that this very buzzled version seems like an intrusion at times. I'm adapting. Besides, how many of those solo Christmases did I feel the woe of singledom? Now I have what I always wanted!
But it WAS a magic couple of days that we all shared sleeping at my parents' house. So much bounty of love and babies and laughter and snot and presents and cookies and everything! I want to share some of it, but I'm waiting for photos.
In the meantime, here is a photo of me and the Buckaroo from what feels like 57 years ago:
Update: Right now the babe is napping and I'm reclined on my bed. These are my moments of rejuvenation. Resting in the quiet.
Look at this little goofball. Is he not delicious? He looks so little to me here. Look at his teenie fingers curled. So silly. Ahhhnnn. Back when he was a blob and didn't crawl away from me when I changed his diapers.
Currently I'm trying to master how to change a very poopy diaper when the wearer will not stay still. These are the moments that make me think of very cold martinis. But, at the same time, I have a sense of satisfaction for his healthy elimination. How disgusting is that?
Befuddled,
Nellie
Right now I am also listening to a Rafi cd my friend Meg gave us. I tell ya, it is rather pleasant listening. Right now we're enjoying a song about bowling.
Right now I'm coughing - well, no, right now I'm TYPING about coughing. But one second ago I was coughing. The kind of cough that hurts. I caught the cold that Woodworker and Buckaroo had. I held a moral high-ground for some days because I was doing saline washes (up the nose) diligently, which Woodworker poopooed; yet, I seemed to avoid the yuck. But there are only so many days of wiping your son's wretched snotty face without having some impact on your immune system. Anyway, I feel pretty crappy and this is my first time feeling this sick while parenting. As I've said every day since he was born (practically), I don't know how people do this over and over. But, I'm reminded of what my sister Liz said to me during that first newborn week: all those moments when you don't know how you're going to do it, you ARE doing it.
This year, the holidays have precipitated in me a yearning for my youth. I'm certain this is because my entire reality, my entire existence has been modified by motherhood. And I hope that doesn't sound like I'm resenting my new reality, but that I'm often puzzled by it. Or perhaps I will invent a word: buzzled. Because I'm constantly buzzing around, chasing after the baby and my mind, puzzled and befuddled. I'm trying to remain faithful that future Christmases will have more opportunities for quiet moments by the glow of the tree. Surely. For instance, future Christmases probably won't involve Buckaroo sleeping (sort of) in the pack-and-play while his parents try to sleep (sort of) in the same room - that being my brother Sergei's room at my parents' house. Thank you a jillion times, Sergei, for cleaning your room and offering it to us!
It is becoming clear to me how attached I am to the cozy, sweet magic of Christmas! I think I spent so many years as a single adult with my own quiet independence to embrace the magic moments of the holidays that this very buzzled version seems like an intrusion at times. I'm adapting. Besides, how many of those solo Christmases did I feel the woe of singledom? Now I have what I always wanted!
But it WAS a magic couple of days that we all shared sleeping at my parents' house. So much bounty of love and babies and laughter and snot and presents and cookies and everything! I want to share some of it, but I'm waiting for photos.
In the meantime, here is a photo of me and the Buckaroo from what feels like 57 years ago:
Update: Right now the babe is napping and I'm reclined on my bed. These are my moments of rejuvenation. Resting in the quiet.
Look at this little goofball. Is he not delicious? He looks so little to me here. Look at his teenie fingers curled. So silly. Ahhhnnn. Back when he was a blob and didn't crawl away from me when I changed his diapers.
Currently I'm trying to master how to change a very poopy diaper when the wearer will not stay still. These are the moments that make me think of very cold martinis. But, at the same time, I have a sense of satisfaction for his healthy elimination. How disgusting is that?
Befuddled,
Nellie
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Ritual
Nearly every year at Christmastime since I was, oh, maybe 15 I have read a book called "Daddy Long Legs" by Jean Webster. It's certainly a younger person's novel. But I continue to read it nonetheless. I think I received it for Christmas, and now it is part of the delights of the Season. It was first published in 1912 so I always feel old-fashioned and cozy when I read it. It is essentially a love story about an orphan that is sent to college by a mysterious benefactor. I love the descriptions of her college life, her minimal expenses, her clothes, her adventures. It transports me.
This year, however, I had a much different experience with this reading. In all years past, I could collapse into the reading and disregard everything else. Now that I'm a mom, that is not possible, and I found myself begrudging that reality. Then I found myself feeling guilty about begrudging it. Then I felt aged. As with everything in the whole universe that I experience through the new lens of motherhood, I could not have imagined that my beloved yearly ritual would feel so altered. And its not just the lack of feeling carefree as I read it, but how much I feel all the feelings that the story conjures. Oiy, the feelings.
Last night I finished the book. Always bittersweet. Now I return to "The Agony and the Ecstasy" and the drama of the Sistine Chapel. But I might have to wait a couple of days, to let the sweet simplicity of my yearly escapism remain a bit longer.
Loving the magic,
Nellie
This year, however, I had a much different experience with this reading. In all years past, I could collapse into the reading and disregard everything else. Now that I'm a mom, that is not possible, and I found myself begrudging that reality. Then I found myself feeling guilty about begrudging it. Then I felt aged. As with everything in the whole universe that I experience through the new lens of motherhood, I could not have imagined that my beloved yearly ritual would feel so altered. And its not just the lack of feeling carefree as I read it, but how much I feel all the feelings that the story conjures. Oiy, the feelings.
Last night I finished the book. Always bittersweet. Now I return to "The Agony and the Ecstasy" and the drama of the Sistine Chapel. But I might have to wait a couple of days, to let the sweet simplicity of my yearly escapism remain a bit longer.
Loving the magic,
Nellie
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
I Do Love Christmas Cards, I Do
Contrary to a recent post, I do really very super much love Christmas cards. I am concerned because since that post, I've found only one card in the mailbox. Is it that I'm on some holiday blacklist for being such a badmouth? Dear me, no! I apologize. I love Christmas cards. Big time for reals.
Perhaps its that everyone else is just as busy as everyone else is, and it's hard to get the family card out in a timely manner. It should come to nobody's surprise that the card I have received was from Yuki. And SHE has a newborn! One should not compare oneself to Yuki.
Also know that I abandoned the ridiculous homemade mess and ordered my cards from one of the delightful, reputable online retailers. I am reformed.
In other news, its CHRSTMASTIME!!!!! We have our tree; it's beautiful. The living room is aglow. Woodworker risked life and limb to hang lights on the front of the house. The front yard is aglow. I'm constantly yanking Buckaroo away from the tree because he wants to put the entire thing in his mouth. Buckaroo is aglow.
I'm starting to get excited in that difficult-to-describe way. Bouts of thrill, of joy, of contentment, of appreciation, of wistfulness, of romance, of commerce fatigue, of calories, of creativity, etc. There is a legend in our family: my cousin Rachel is about 6 years old, maybe in first grade. She's very excited about Christmastime. One day in class, her teacher hears a noise coming from the closet. It is Rachel, sitting in the closet singing Christmas carols, doing her work. It is just too much for her to contain; she must sing. That's what I'm talking about.
Today we will close with an image of Buckaroo and Woodworker in front of the washer/dryer. This is Buck's favorite location in the whole house. He waves at them when we walk by; he dances when they're in action; he watches with bated breath when I put clothes in or pull them out; he perks up from the far reaches of the house when he hears their f*%#&! chimes (because the f*$@$#!! chimes are so go*$#*?! loud). Also please note the cute blue sleeper he's wearing. Because that sleeper just went to heaven this morning, and Buckaroo took a bath, after an incident that I'll let you surmise.
And I'm off to check the mailbox, as I anticipate the arrival of my own batch of cards from the magical online card place any day now.
Season's Greetings.
Nellie
Perhaps its that everyone else is just as busy as everyone else is, and it's hard to get the family card out in a timely manner. It should come to nobody's surprise that the card I have received was from Yuki. And SHE has a newborn! One should not compare oneself to Yuki.
Also know that I abandoned the ridiculous homemade mess and ordered my cards from one of the delightful, reputable online retailers. I am reformed.
In other news, its CHRSTMASTIME!!!!! We have our tree; it's beautiful. The living room is aglow. Woodworker risked life and limb to hang lights on the front of the house. The front yard is aglow. I'm constantly yanking Buckaroo away from the tree because he wants to put the entire thing in his mouth. Buckaroo is aglow.
I'm starting to get excited in that difficult-to-describe way. Bouts of thrill, of joy, of contentment, of appreciation, of wistfulness, of romance, of commerce fatigue, of calories, of creativity, etc. There is a legend in our family: my cousin Rachel is about 6 years old, maybe in first grade. She's very excited about Christmastime. One day in class, her teacher hears a noise coming from the closet. It is Rachel, sitting in the closet singing Christmas carols, doing her work. It is just too much for her to contain; she must sing. That's what I'm talking about.
Today we will close with an image of Buckaroo and Woodworker in front of the washer/dryer. This is Buck's favorite location in the whole house. He waves at them when we walk by; he dances when they're in action; he watches with bated breath when I put clothes in or pull them out; he perks up from the far reaches of the house when he hears their f*%#&! chimes (because the f*$@$#!! chimes are so go*$#*?! loud). Also please note the cute blue sleeper he's wearing. Because that sleeper just went to heaven this morning, and Buckaroo took a bath, after an incident that I'll let you surmise.
And I'm off to check the mailbox, as I anticipate the arrival of my own batch of cards from the magical online card place any day now.
Season's Greetings.
Nellie
Monday, December 6, 2010
...In a galaxy far, far away...
HUGE REVELATION HERE: So, on Saturday night I was talking to my friend Todd at the gallery reception (ahem, my husband and his business partner own an art gallery just down the block from our house) and he told me something that may change the course of my life:
He traveled to Tunisia and visited the sites where Star Wars was filmed and actually STAYED IN A HOTEL THAT HAS BEEN CONVERTED FROM ONE OF THE SET LOCATIONS. I am still short of breath just thinking about it. How did I not know that this was possible? How is it that I've known all these years that Lucas filmed a bunch of stuff in Tunisia (as did Spielberg for Raiders) but never imagined that actual mortal humans could tread upon the same places? My mind simply could not make that leap. Surely these locations were part of a magical dimension, out of our reach.
But no. People indeed visit them. A lot. The interwebs told me so.
We're going to TUNISIA!!!
Someday. Who knows. But yes it will happen. From my research, it looks like a lovely place. And I look forward to staying here:
...and I'll wear flowing robes (as will husband and Buck) and yell "Uncle Owen! Aunt Veru!!" with the rest of the huge dorks that go there. And I'll sulk atop a dune and stare at the double sunset, wishing I didn't have to stick around and help thru another harvest.
Then, we'll march around the desert, looking for Obi Wan's den, but we'll walk in single file to hide our numbers, as the Sand People do.
You know the exhilaration of having a new goal, a new dream? Ahhnnn. I am invigorated.
Yours with The Force,
Nellie
He traveled to Tunisia and visited the sites where Star Wars was filmed and actually STAYED IN A HOTEL THAT HAS BEEN CONVERTED FROM ONE OF THE SET LOCATIONS. I am still short of breath just thinking about it. How did I not know that this was possible? How is it that I've known all these years that Lucas filmed a bunch of stuff in Tunisia (as did Spielberg for Raiders) but never imagined that actual mortal humans could tread upon the same places? My mind simply could not make that leap. Surely these locations were part of a magical dimension, out of our reach.
But no. People indeed visit them. A lot. The interwebs told me so.
We're going to TUNISIA!!!
Someday. Who knows. But yes it will happen. From my research, it looks like a lovely place. And I look forward to staying here:
...and I'll wear flowing robes (as will husband and Buck) and yell "Uncle Owen! Aunt Veru!!" with the rest of the huge dorks that go there. And I'll sulk atop a dune and stare at the double sunset, wishing I didn't have to stick around and help thru another harvest.Then, we'll march around the desert, looking for Obi Wan's den, but we'll walk in single file to hide our numbers, as the Sand People do.
You know the exhilaration of having a new goal, a new dream? Ahhnnn. I am invigorated.
Yours with The Force,
Nellie
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Lessons Yet Learned
So, I'm feeling that the litmus for having-your-**it-together as new moms is whether you can get a birth announcement in the mail. Well, I sure didn't manage even to consider that. Therefore, Tier 2 of Having-Your-**it-Together is getting a holiday card in the mail. I really really really want to get this done.
But this is where I have a lesson yet learned. Because in my desire to be original, I've made it way too complicated. And today I HATE holiday cards. And I hate my printer and I hate the uncute templates available everywhere and I hate Microsoft Word (most of all!!!) and I hate photography. This is so not the first time I've taken the winding road.
Of course, looking over my mess on the dining room table (which my husband hates) is the adorable - and finished and delivered - holiday card from my sister with a photo of my 2 perfect nieces dressed in their holiday pajamas. The key to her success was forethought. I don't have that skill. I have Forethought Deficiency. It was bad before I was a mom and now it is complete dystrophy.
Of course, if you ask my sister how it all came together, she'd probably say that after that photo, she hates her kids.
Anyway, you may or may not get a holiday card from me and my adorable family. Because my printer just ran out of ink. And acquiring another ink cartridge right away would be a Herculean task for my skill set.
And as you can see, I'd much rather blog about it than do anything about it anyway.
Good night.
But this is where I have a lesson yet learned. Because in my desire to be original, I've made it way too complicated. And today I HATE holiday cards. And I hate my printer and I hate the uncute templates available everywhere and I hate Microsoft Word (most of all!!!) and I hate photography. This is so not the first time I've taken the winding road.
Of course, looking over my mess on the dining room table (which my husband hates) is the adorable - and finished and delivered - holiday card from my sister with a photo of my 2 perfect nieces dressed in their holiday pajamas. The key to her success was forethought. I don't have that skill. I have Forethought Deficiency. It was bad before I was a mom and now it is complete dystrophy.
Of course, if you ask my sister how it all came together, she'd probably say that after that photo, she hates her kids.
Anyway, you may or may not get a holiday card from me and my adorable family. Because my printer just ran out of ink. And acquiring another ink cartridge right away would be a Herculean task for my skill set.
And as you can see, I'd much rather blog about it than do anything about it anyway.
Good night.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Art Outside; Art Inside.
Autumn is my absolute favorite. Blustery and dramatic. Batten down the hatches and get cozy. Bundle up and go for walks. Recently Buckaroo and I took the camera with us on one of these walks. I was struck by this carpet of golden leaves in the lane. (You can't say road; you must say 'lane'.)
The leaves seemed to give off their own light. The world glowed beneath that tree. Buckaroo liked it but wondered why he was left in the middle of the lane. (Again, lane.) Here you see his skepticism:
In other news: I think you should see how crafty I've been recently. Lately, I've been amassing empty baby food bottles. They're so cute! Well. Just look at how cute they are now!!!
Adorable jars for my herbs and spices. Involved were simple address labels and a fine-point sharpie and sheer craft genius. I have extreme geek bliss when I open the cupboard and see all these bottles cozied up in there, waiting pertly to be used. Ahnnn.
Yours in creativity.
The leaves seemed to give off their own light. The world glowed beneath that tree. Buckaroo liked it but wondered why he was left in the middle of the lane. (Again, lane.) Here you see his skepticism:
In other news: I think you should see how crafty I've been recently. Lately, I've been amassing empty baby food bottles. They're so cute! Well. Just look at how cute they are now!!!
Adorable jars for my herbs and spices. Involved were simple address labels and a fine-point sharpie and sheer craft genius. I have extreme geek bliss when I open the cupboard and see all these bottles cozied up in there, waiting pertly to be used. Ahnnn.
Yours in creativity.
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