Gluing the Pieces

Modern day homemaking hazards are different than 30 years ago. We have disposals. We have Cuisinart. We have glue guns.

I plugged in my 10 watt gun, purchased just minutes earlier- when I realized oh, shit! Boo at the Zoo is this weekend, I don't have all the evenings of next week to make a dog and a parrot!. The gun warmed while I gathered feathers, felt, googly eyes, and a foam visor. I began without a plan, but after the first miracles of hot glue marrying felt to foam and feather to fabric, the Way of the Parrot made itself clear. Shoot, press, shoot press, and I laid feathers like shingles, bottom to top. Two lines of hot glue here and a 3-D beak appeared.

I felt a little guilty and a lot thrilled to realize that what I would do in two hours would have taken my mother several evenings. No needles and thread. No lugging out the machine. And then I burned my finger. And I burned it again. Who knew the costume maker's modern tools would still make tender fingers?

With seared fingers, glue silk spun across the counter, feather fluff on the floor, I was awake later than advisable with nothing else "done." And I was completely happy. I arrived at a moment for which I had been waiting, this feeling of I CAN DO THIS. I am good at this job. I am happier providing for my kids' enjoyment than doing anything else. I imagined all of parenting was this way. Why else would people have children?! I am usually self-conscious when I meet the stranger or friend who answers "Great!" when I ask them how it's going with the family. Why isn't that my response? Do they have it easier somehow? What is their secret? They must be lying...

And then I made two Halloween costumes at the last minute without a plan or pattern. I wanted to read, felt compelled to clean, and needed to sleep, but I made the costumes because I wanted to. Because I didn't want to buy them. Because I promised I would. And in the cutting and gluing, I mended a piece of myself.

I don't even care that the parrot looks like a chicken and the dog is cow-like. Stella beamed with joy and Otto ran to put Rex's toy in his own mouth. I call that success.

 

 

 

Tethered: Fresh eyes

Elizabeth Flemming's blog is a great pause in my day. Her art-photos, musings, and posts of work by others are inspiring. Her recent post Tethered: Fresh eyes really grabs me. It is simultaneously empty, chaotic, hopeful, and silent. Just about how I feel right now.

It reminds me of one of my mother's favorite stories- the one she tells now because I'll be in her place soon. When I was just starting to write, I sent her a letter in the form of a paper airplane. On it I wrote: I NO LOVE YOU.

Great art can say so much, evoke such emotion with so little. Just like children can.

Hey, Mom. It's thirty years late, but I'm sorry. I love you now.

Never Prune While Drunk

That's my best gardening advice. Even if you think the job can't wait. That you won't have time tomorrow or any other day in the foreseeable future. I know when something needs pruning, it needs pruning. It's like a haircut that can't wait: it's 11pm and you're in the bathroom- optimistic with the scissors. You know how well that usually goes. I'll say it again. Don't prune if you're drunk.

Even a glass and a half can cloud my judgment these days. We had an unusually warm evening in Oakland. We finished dinner on the deck and watered. I like watering with a glass of wine and the family milling about. It's my little suburban dream. I can leave the rest of the suburbs where they belong, but a hose in one hand and a drink in the other is my bliss.

I digress.

Watering one spot leads to another, leads back to the veggie garden. Which leads me to wonder why the beans are still seedlings and the tomatoes didn't flower with vigor. And then it hits me. The tree mallow is twelve feet tall and that's too big. Yeah, it's a tree mallow. It's shading the beds. And with the local water restrictions, I have watered less. No time like the present! It's light out at 7:30! The family is fed and happy. I'll prune!

It happened just like that, I swear. The pruning wasn't so bad, aesthetically. Or at least I think in my current state. The peripherals were problematic.

The Oh, Shit!
Why am I pruning during a drought? Don't I usually prune in the winter rains? We prune to fill out the plant. Is this best for the mallow? Oh, the flowers are so pretty; but I'm killing them.

The Dead Babies
And then Otto runs to me, showing me the "Ma-mos!" The first small, green tomatoes. Something must have come from my mouth, because Stella asks, hopefully, from 40 feet away, "What did Otto do?!" I show her and she smirks. She did the exact same thing the Summer of 2006. I tell her so.

The Inspiration
Never prune while drunk. It's a post title in that instant. My error composted into creativity. Not bad, actually.

The Fallout
I turn off the spigot (does anyone else love that word and never use it?). I skip to the laptop, knowing it's been days since my last risky post. I need to bury it a bit. And I type what you started reading moments ago. (Your moments are hours to me. We did a bath-milk-bed in between sentences.) Oh. And I type, and Otto moves flotsam from a little ceramic tray to my old keyboard. Screws. Pins. Beads. A shoe charm.

Maybe my best gardening advice is my best parenting advice. Don't try to do too many things at once. You never know what will come of it- or what the toddler will do while you're absorbed in the distorted glory of your words and ideas thrown to the world.

I Am Loved

 

I'm really feelin' the love these days.

First of all, I am the 1st runner up in the mamazine MAMAFOCUS contest! I am really honored because the entries and other winners are amazing. Not only do I get the feel good joy of winning and the numerous clicks over to my blog from mamazine and shutter sisters, but I also get a prize- a Metalsgirl Inspirational Bangle!!

Second, Augusto and I went to Tomales Bay for our first overnight ever... JUST US. It was really great. I mean, really, really great. We talked about things other than the kids, we flirted, we climbed up a rock, we kayaked, we had a delicious dinner. And we didn't bicker. Not even once. The kids behaved and enjoyed their night with our fantastic friends. So that means there is hope for more!

 

It's all just too cool. I love being loved.

friday, and a little bit about breasts

to do list

 

what we did

 

Yes, that is my second child sitting on top of the table.

And "bra" is the last item on the list. This week, my clinic's monthly medical talk was on mammography. The speaker showed a slide of the effectiveness of mammograms in dense breast tissue. The current debate is whether we should or shouldn't recommend yearly screening before age 50. His point was that comparing the 10 years before 50, to the 20 plus years after does not give an accurate picture of the gradual increase in effectiveness of mammography- and decrease in breast density. He advocates screening annually starting at 40, as does the American Cancer Society. For a low risk woman, the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists and the American Academy of Family Physicians recommend getting a mammogram every 1 to 2 years between 40 and 50 and starting annually at 50.

His talk was clear and persuasive, but when he showed the slide of 5-year increments of declining tissue density, all I could see was my unavoidable future of sagging breasts. Cancer? Maybe yes, maybe no. Sagging? Guaranteed! An informal survey after the lecture showed 99% of women in the audience had the same thought. I can eat my antioxidants, wear a seat belt, and get my mammograms, but my future health is largely out of my hands. And I can't prevent gravity and time teaming up against me. So I'll get a new bra with a stronger foundation.

the trainer's trainer

 

The original image is on flickr.

Creative Urges

afternoon sun, originally uploaded by kimthemidwife.

I've been feeling like a haggard woman. Saggy skin, downturned cheeks, shadowed eyes. Caffeine alone isn't perking me anymore. Cleaning out dark corners of the house isn't either. I keep abandoning the exercise plan.

So I'm holing up on the computer and blissing out on my family photos. I'm cranking up the creative volume in my life from everything to kid crafts to mama time. I found a great photo site, Shutter Sisters, and am entering their "eyes closed" challenge. I remember from long ago photography classes that you have to be really careful about sharp lighting contrasts. But the light highlights my daughter's sweet face-- without any idea about what a haggard woman is. That's bliss.