Sleeping

Lily is just over 20 months old, and only recently started sleeping through the night on a regular basis.  Coming out of a perpetual sleep-deprived state has been a revelation, to put it lightly.  For about a year there I convinced myself that I was okay, that I was somehow managing to make it through my days relatively unscathed by my mangled sleep pattern.  But then, as sleep returned to my world, so did the realization that I had made a HUGE FUCKING MESS out of MANY, MANY things.  I look back on reports that I wrote and see errors all over the place.  I remember fights that I picked with Jeff, triggered by the smallest and most random things.  I see pictures of myself and think “holy hell, Batman, who let me out of the house looking like THAT?”  I am beginning to understand why sleep deprivation is a form of torture.

But then, once in a while, still, Lily wakes up in the middle of the night, crying.  And I slip downstairs in the dead of night and fumble in the refrigerator for the milk, and I quietly steal into her room.  I lift her up, the sheer weight of her both a surprise and a comfort, and I settle down into the recliner where she drinks her milk and then immediately rolls over onto her stomach so that she is curled against my chest, her soft fuzzy hair tickling under my chin, her warm breath against my cheek, and I remember why I never fought the nighttime with her.  

 

 

On Facebook

I’ve noticed a certain trend amongst my friends lately, one that, at first, made me questions some of my decisions.  However, upon further thought, I have decided that I just don’t care.  This trend happens to be the “Facebook is dumb and I don’t spend any time on it” trend.  For a minute or two I questioned my own use of Facebook, considered that perhaps I was sharing too much of myself and my family, but this line of self-doubt didn’t last very long.  Because, my friends, I am here to say, for the record, that 1) I am very uncool and 2) I love Facebook.  It’s true.  I love looking at pictures of my far-flung family and friends, seeing their faces reflected in their ever growing children.  I love knowing what people are interested in, what makes them laugh and what makes them think, and while OF COURSE I would rather have these conversations and photo-sharing sessions in person, the fact is that I can’t, at least not that often.  And that’s where Facebook fills in the gaps.  People lament that social media has, perversely, made us more disconnected from one another, but I’m not sure I totally buy into that argument.  I feel closer to my friends after I’ve viewed pictures of their vacations, like I’m a small part of their lives, and I’m grateful to people for sharing these moments with other people, albeit rather anonymously.  I can watch my nephews lose their teeth, graduate from kindergarten, and eat pizza.  I can follow my favorite bloggers and know when they post something new.  None of this makes me feel less connected from the world, and since we’ve already established that I’m patently uncool, I think I’ll just keep on keeping on.

Besides, how else would I bombard people with pictures like these?

 

 

On Parents

I’ve found that one of the most interesting things about becoming a parent is how connected it makes me feel to my own parents.  As I watch Lily move from room to room or race across the lawn, I find myself identifying with both my mother and my father, as I imagine that, at one point, they stood and watched me explore my world, and I wonder if they, in turn, thought about their own parents, if perhaps this is the way you live forever, in the eyes of your children watching their own children, a long chain of mothers and fathers connected through the practice of raising small children.  And I say practice here because I believe that caring for small children has a spiritual element to it, requiring mindfulness and kindness and endless amounts of patience, all of which seem to me to be, if not religious per se, at least what you would hope to see in a religion of any sort. 

So now, at least once a day, if not more, I find myself existing in this space, this in-between state of tied-to-the-moment and a more faded state of existing-in-the-past, where I’m watching Lily and I’m also watching myself and it feels like there are many other people in the room with me, my parents and their parents and their parents before them, all connected by the exhausting love we have for these small people we have the privilege to guide and care for, their endless needs teaching us about our ability to give more even when it seems like you’ve already given all you have, cracking our hearts open with the fierce love they inspire in us. 

And it’s always this that is so surprising to me, to realize that this is how much my parents loved me, that this soul-deep love I have for my daughter is what my mother and father felt as well.  I feel bound to my parents through this shared experience, tied into this web of love and fear and hope and sleepless nights and sunny mornings, of balancing dreams and expectations with the daily tasks of just placing one foot in front of the other. 

Helicopters

It's the time of year when the maple trees drop their seeds, otherwise known as "helicopters." Generally I find them messy and hate how they track into the house.  However, yesterday Lily and I were in the backyard as a wave of them fell from the trees, spiraling down to the ground like winged confetti, and Lily sat, mesmerized, and for a second I forgot the mess and just appreciated the magic of seeds falling from the sky, the hopes of a tree playing in the wind.

Bacterial Communication

I read an article yesterday about a type of bacteria that creates snow and rain. The principle action here is that the bacteria promote freezing at a lower temperature, and therefore create little ice crystals around themselves (snow). The ice crystals damage the structure of plants, and this in turn allows the bacteria easier access to the plants. These bacterium can be swept up into the air, where they promote freezing and create snow, that then falls to earth as rain.

Now, aside from agricultural ramifications of this, I’m fascinated by what can almost appear to be purposeful action on the part of the bacterium. I was discussing this with a friend, Patrick, and I pointed out that most likely it’s just natural selection (an organism has a property that promotes freezing, this helps said organism get more food, organism can reproduce more, offspring have same property, it spreads and so on), but Patrick responded with the most interesting points: a) elephants communicate using subharmonics; b) one ant colony has colonized most of the earth; and c) there is so much about this world that we don’t understand.

And that’s the part that leaves me twirling, the mystery of it all, the idea of organisms communicating to one another in a language that is so different from ours that we can’t even recognize it as language. The poet in me imagines the trees whispering to one another, telling stories of leafy greens and blues to one another in the darkness, clouds of bacteria swirling toward the sky focused intently on the chill of ice and the fall of rain, elephants calling out across the plains speaking of water and dust and the joy of the rich, cool mud. This reminds me to take the time to walk in the world, quietly, and listen to all the songs I cannot hear, but that are surely there.

Memorial Day Weekend

This blog is such a hit-or-miss thing for me.  Between Lily, work, and life, I don’t know how to find the time to keep it up, but I enjoy it while I do it, so here we go…one more time.

We’re just past the Memorial Day weekend, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have it behind us.  I would call it a holiday weekend, but I’ve discovered that there is no such thing as a “holiday” when you add in an eighteen month old baby.  Basically, it boils down to the fact that Lily, while awesome, also requires an intense amount of work.  It didn’t help that the weather was utter crap, dreary and rainy and cold, so we were cooped up inside for the majority of the time.  Lily vacillates between extreme joy and extreme agitation, with a few brief stops at the Island of Calm along the way (they never last long).  I’d say I hit my metaphorical wall on Sunday.  We attended a party, which I had been looking forward to for quite some time as a chance to get out of the house and perhaps speak to a few other human beings and maybe enjoy an adult beverage or two.  We got there early because Jeff was supplying beer for the party and needed to see to the taps.  The party included a Bounce House in the backyard for all the kids attending the party, and because we were so early I had the “opportunity” to introduce Lily to the Bounce House before most of the other children had arrived.  I say “opportunity” but really I should say “HUGE TERRIBLE MISTAKE” because the second I put Lily in the Bounce House, it was like she was transported to Nirvana and she was never coming back.  She was giddy with joy and for a while it was adorable.  She bounced and tumbled and had a grand old time.  Then, the other kids started to arrive.  And they descended on the Bounce House like it was made out of frosting and sprinkles.  Lily took a few tumbles, and I decided that with so many kids crowding into the thing, it was no place for a toddler.  I took Lily out of the Bounce House (or Lily’s House of Pure Joy as she would likely call it) and tried to steer her in the direction of the bean bag toss.  Lily was not having it.  She ducked and swerved and made a beeline for the Bounce House at every turn, while I headed her off like a goalie.  I officially became Meanest Mommy in the World as I picked her up and dragged her back into the house.  My hope was that the old adage “out of sight out of mind” might actually be true (but when is that ever really true?).  Obviously, the second I set her down she assessed her options and, upon determining the shortest distance to get back outside to her House of Infinite Happiness, ran like her life was depending on it in the general direction of the backyard.  This went on for almost two hours.  Two hours of baby wrangling, two hours of a screaming, frustrated, angry toddler.  I alternated between scooping her up and gamely smiling at the people who were staring at me, all the while ignoring the advice that was given – “Why don’t you just let her go over there and play?” – because, honestly, the damn thing had about ten kids in it, ranging from the ages of five to nine, and I’d prefer to avoid a trip to the emergency room, thanks.  I felt horrible.  I had become that parent who spends the whole party ignoring their friends while chasing down their kid, hovering over here like a maniac, pulling at her, pleading with her.  I was not cool, I was not collected, I was close to losing it.  It was embarrassing and overwhelming.

Finally, after shoveling some food down my throat, I told Jeff that we just had to leave, and we had to leave NOW.  We got home and I was just overwhelmed with exhaustion.  Lily was summarily fed, bathed, and finally put down to bed (just as worn out as we were, I’m sure).  I think we watched a movie that night, but I promptly fell asleep, so I don’t remember much of it.  Monday was one of those days where we really needed something to do to get us out of the house, but because it was a holiday and the weather was awful, there was really nowhere to go.  Lily was stir crazy (as were Jeff and I), and we tried to get out of the house between rain storms. 

This spring has been particularly awful.  It snowed up through the beginning of May (to be exact I believe our last snowfall was on May 3^rd), and since then it has been gloomy and cold and rainy more often than not.  The few sunny days have tended to fall on the weekdays.  I’m hoping that June brings a turn in the weather and we can all get outside and enjoy ourselves after being cooped up since November. 

I just re-read what I wrote and I realize that I sound terribly negative.  I’ve neglected to write about the scent of blooming lilacs that hangs heavy in the air, the lush greenery that softens the dullest days, the sweet sounds of Lily babbling as she moves from room to room on a never-ending march of discovery, the neighbors who stop by to share a beer and share advice on the local schools, the walks to nearby coffee shops and restaurants, the small joy of having a glass of wine with Jeff while we sit on the front porch swing in the early evenings. 

Each day is one part exhausting, one part wonderful, one part mundane, all parts worthwhile.