Swimming is one of those basic skills I feel all of my kids should have a handle on before they grow up and leave my care. We've done basic group lessons at the Y sporadically over the years, and my kids are comfortable in the water, but this last summer I decided I wanted them to have training in more specific strokes rather than just let them keep paddling around however. We ended up enrolling them in private lessons, and that worked out really well.
The Y was nice about letting us sign up for the regular blocks of time and then splitting that time up amongst our various kids. They each got at least two private lessons, and they advanced much more quickly than they would have in another group class.
The teacher was particularly impressed with Mona's abilities, and told me that she expected by the last lesson Mona would be ready for the Swim Team if she wanted to join. The Swim Team met at the same time in the evenings as our private lessons so we could see it in action in the next couple of lanes. All the kids were about Mona's age, happily doing laps and being coached by some young, energetic Y people. It looked fun, so I introduced the idea to Mona and let her think about it. She can be shy, so I knew it would need time to sink in before she'd consider giving it a go.
My own space apart from the babble of the internet
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query swimming. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query swimming. Sort by date Show all posts
Monday, October 13, 2014
Monday, May 30, 2011
Adventures in Swimming (Babble)
I do my best to find time to swim a mile as many days a week as I
can. Except Saturdays, because the kids are home in the morning and I
work all day and it’s just too much. And then there are days my
swimming ambitions are thwarted because either I or one of my kids is
sick, or a project gets in the way, but typically I would say I swim at
least three times a week. I don’t know how much good it’s doing, but it
can’t hurt, and it sounds like something I should be doing, so there we
are.
Anyway, since all that time at the pool is taking up a sizable chunk of my life it seemed worth a blog post. At least, it seemed like a good idea in my head as I was going back and forth in the water for 45 minutes one morning. Here’s everything I have to say about swimming:
The big advantage to swimming is that even when something hurts during any other exercise (like my left knee, which I think one of my kids leaned on too hard when I was sitting cross legged and it’s been painful for months while I walk) I can still swim. And I like a form of exercise where I come out cleaner than I started. The disadvantage is I’m dependent on going somewhere specific to do it. (I envy that a runner can just kind of open his or her door and go.)
There are two places I swim. The first is the Y. (I joined the Y back when Ian was deployed the first time because there was a free six-month membership offer for families of active duty soldiers at the time. We didn’t do much then beyond hang out in the play room when the weather was bad and I needed to get the kids out of the house, or occasionally sign out a racket ball court and let the kids have at it smacking balls off the walls and ceiling. Anyway, we’re finally getting our money’s worth out of the place with as often as Ian and I go now, so that’s good.) The pool at the Y is small, and it takes me 36 laps to do a mile. There are three lanes (out of six) designated for lap swimming that get squeezed down to two during water aerobics in the morning. The Y is usually crowded in the morning. Sharing a lane at the Y gets a little tight but most of the time it works out okay. The exceptions are if I end up with Splashy Guy (who is a middle aged man who swims at a good clip but lets one of his arms drop straight down onto the water in such a way when he does the front crawl that he sends water everywhere) or Blind Andy. I like Blind Andy, and I’m impressed by anyone who can swim blind (although I suppose crossing the street blind would be scarier) but he uses flippers and a snorkel and moves way faster than I do. I know I slow him down when I share a lane with him because he waits to hear when I get to the end so he knows when it’s safe to move again. Ian uses the treadmills and the weight room at the Y, so I go there when the two of us are able to get out and exercise at the same time.
The other place I sometimes swim is the county pool. It’s closer to home and it’s bigger. The lanes are wider, there are eight of them, and it only takes 32 laps to do a mile. If I go there to swim in the afternoon I sometimes literally have the whole place to myself. There have been days I’ve seen the poor lifeguards watching me paddle back and forth and wondered if they hate me for making it necessary for them to stay there, or if I give meaning to their lives by being the only swimmer to potentially save. (I suspect the former, but can’t prove it because they are always unfailingly polite.) The county pool also has diving boards and a basketball hoop. I go to the county pool if Ian and I are exercising at different times and I don’t need to go all the way to the Y, or after school when we can fit it in our schedule with the whole family. I do laps while Ian and the kids play, and then I join them when I’m done. The big advantage of family swim is if I get the kids’ hair washed in the showers it counts as bath night.
The biggest differences between the two pools are the amenities. The Y has towels (although I tend to think of them as ‘exfoliating towels’ but they are still towels I don’t have to lug there myself), more private showers, a scale, a hot tub, bigger lockers, lotion, a TV, hair dryers…. Plus if we go to the Y with the kids there is a small pool for them nearby that they prefer because it’s warmer. The county pool is more utilitarian, but in some ways smarter. I’ve never understood the carpeting in the locker rooms at the Y because they just generate a damp mildewy smell, and the county locker room is all tile which seems more practical to me.
The Y also has a thing that’s like a salad spinner for swimsuits. There are all these instructions on it about pushing your suit far enough down before pressing on the lid which starts it spinning to get the bulk of the water out of your suit. I learned the hard way that it really means what it says, because I nonchalantly put my suit in there any old way one morning and the thing ripped my suit to shreds. Now I’m kind of paranoid about shoving my suit all the way down.
Luckily I buy my suits online so it wasn’t hard to replace. I hate shopping for swimsuits, but doing it online is less painful. The great irony about wanting to swim to get into better shape is that so few suits seem designed for swimming, particularly if you are not a size eight or under. There are serious swimsuits for people already in shape, but bigger suits tend to have goofy straps that fall off your shoulder if you move too vigorously.
To keep my hair from becoming completely fried from chlorine I put a bunch of conditioner on under my swim cap. I’ve seen no difference between special swimmer’s shampoo and what I normally use in terms of helping my overly chlorinated hair, but the conditioner under the cap thing helps more than anything I’ve tried.
My skin always smells like chlorine, so I started using a floral scented body butter for when I get out of the pool. Now I smell like flowers that have been watered with chlorine.
For the most part swimming is a fairly safe activity, but once I left my razor in my bag facing the wrong direction and sliced the crap out of my thumb in the shower at the Y one morning. That was no fun. I couldn’t stop the bleeding long enough to get my bra on without making a mess, so I ended up heading home essentially naked under my coat which was way less sexy than it sounds.
One of the more unexpected results of all my swimming is that the bottoms of my feet aren’t cracked anymore. I’ve had problems with cracked heels my whole life, and as a kid my toes and heels used to bleed. I’ve always wanted cute feet and have tried any number of lotions, but I think the regular soaking in chlorine has killed whatever caused the problem. Who knows? Anyway, I finally have cute feet. Not the bodily improvement I was expecting for all the effort, but go figure.
The biggest obstacle to fitting exercise into my life isn’t time so much as boredom. I hate wasting time, and I find exercise frustratingly dull. It’s very hard for me not to think about all the other things I’d rather be doing. So I’ve been arming myself with gadgets to help combat the elements of exercise that I find irritating.
My first, best gadget is a lap counter. I Googled the idea one day when I couldn’t stand spending all my time in the water keeping track of what lap I was on anymore. I found this, which is a waterproof device I can wear like a ring, and I push the button on it with my thumb every time I reach the wall at the shallow end of the pool. Now I can think about whatever I want, and somewhere around the 45 minute mark I check the lap counter to see if I’m done or not. I love the thing.
The more extravagant gadget I treated myself to for Mother’s Day this year. There is a company that waterproofs regular iPods, so I ordered one with a set of waterproof ear buds. I’ve never owned an iPod so it took awhile to figure out exactly how to get it going. The first problem was that my laptop’s version of iTunes was more than five minutes old so my iPod Shuffle was mystified. We got that solved, then had to figure out how to find what I downloaded once we got it onto my player. My first swim with the thing I listened to a 15 minute Freakonomics show and then it started repeating. Now that I’ve had some practice I’m on track and can listen to interesting things like This American Life or Fresh Air. I know most people would probably use it to exercise to music, but I have to choose music very carefully or it will bother more than it will entertain me. (A few years ago I used to go to Curves, and as much as I liked the exercise routine I don’t think I could go back there and literally face the music again.)
Swimming while learning something and not having to count laps has been a big improvement. Anything that helps me keep it up and not want to quit is useful. And I feel good on those family swim days that my kids see me diligently getting my workout in. Plus it’s more fun to watch them splashing around and waving to me as I go by than it is watching the synchronized feet of the water aerobics people at the Y.
I have no idea how Ian and I will fit exercising into our lives once school lets out because that three hour block of time in the morning has been so great for us getting out together. Above and beyond my gadgets the biggest motivation to exercise has simply been that my husband goes to do it with me. His encouragement has made a huge difference, and that extra time we get alone together on the drive to the Y and back has been really nice. With summer vacation comes the return of our tag team lives, but we will find a way. Besides, I’ve gotten used to smelling like a bottle of bleach. How can I give that up?
(No way could anyone ever pay me enough to get me to post a picture of myself in a swimsuit, so here is Mona a few years back during her hat phase. Nothing says born in Wisconsin more than a winter hat in the pool. Or something.)
Anyway, since all that time at the pool is taking up a sizable chunk of my life it seemed worth a blog post. At least, it seemed like a good idea in my head as I was going back and forth in the water for 45 minutes one morning. Here’s everything I have to say about swimming:
The big advantage to swimming is that even when something hurts during any other exercise (like my left knee, which I think one of my kids leaned on too hard when I was sitting cross legged and it’s been painful for months while I walk) I can still swim. And I like a form of exercise where I come out cleaner than I started. The disadvantage is I’m dependent on going somewhere specific to do it. (I envy that a runner can just kind of open his or her door and go.)
There are two places I swim. The first is the Y. (I joined the Y back when Ian was deployed the first time because there was a free six-month membership offer for families of active duty soldiers at the time. We didn’t do much then beyond hang out in the play room when the weather was bad and I needed to get the kids out of the house, or occasionally sign out a racket ball court and let the kids have at it smacking balls off the walls and ceiling. Anyway, we’re finally getting our money’s worth out of the place with as often as Ian and I go now, so that’s good.) The pool at the Y is small, and it takes me 36 laps to do a mile. There are three lanes (out of six) designated for lap swimming that get squeezed down to two during water aerobics in the morning. The Y is usually crowded in the morning. Sharing a lane at the Y gets a little tight but most of the time it works out okay. The exceptions are if I end up with Splashy Guy (who is a middle aged man who swims at a good clip but lets one of his arms drop straight down onto the water in such a way when he does the front crawl that he sends water everywhere) or Blind Andy. I like Blind Andy, and I’m impressed by anyone who can swim blind (although I suppose crossing the street blind would be scarier) but he uses flippers and a snorkel and moves way faster than I do. I know I slow him down when I share a lane with him because he waits to hear when I get to the end so he knows when it’s safe to move again. Ian uses the treadmills and the weight room at the Y, so I go there when the two of us are able to get out and exercise at the same time.
The other place I sometimes swim is the county pool. It’s closer to home and it’s bigger. The lanes are wider, there are eight of them, and it only takes 32 laps to do a mile. If I go there to swim in the afternoon I sometimes literally have the whole place to myself. There have been days I’ve seen the poor lifeguards watching me paddle back and forth and wondered if they hate me for making it necessary for them to stay there, or if I give meaning to their lives by being the only swimmer to potentially save. (I suspect the former, but can’t prove it because they are always unfailingly polite.) The county pool also has diving boards and a basketball hoop. I go to the county pool if Ian and I are exercising at different times and I don’t need to go all the way to the Y, or after school when we can fit it in our schedule with the whole family. I do laps while Ian and the kids play, and then I join them when I’m done. The big advantage of family swim is if I get the kids’ hair washed in the showers it counts as bath night.
The biggest differences between the two pools are the amenities. The Y has towels (although I tend to think of them as ‘exfoliating towels’ but they are still towels I don’t have to lug there myself), more private showers, a scale, a hot tub, bigger lockers, lotion, a TV, hair dryers…. Plus if we go to the Y with the kids there is a small pool for them nearby that they prefer because it’s warmer. The county pool is more utilitarian, but in some ways smarter. I’ve never understood the carpeting in the locker rooms at the Y because they just generate a damp mildewy smell, and the county locker room is all tile which seems more practical to me.
The Y also has a thing that’s like a salad spinner for swimsuits. There are all these instructions on it about pushing your suit far enough down before pressing on the lid which starts it spinning to get the bulk of the water out of your suit. I learned the hard way that it really means what it says, because I nonchalantly put my suit in there any old way one morning and the thing ripped my suit to shreds. Now I’m kind of paranoid about shoving my suit all the way down.
Luckily I buy my suits online so it wasn’t hard to replace. I hate shopping for swimsuits, but doing it online is less painful. The great irony about wanting to swim to get into better shape is that so few suits seem designed for swimming, particularly if you are not a size eight or under. There are serious swimsuits for people already in shape, but bigger suits tend to have goofy straps that fall off your shoulder if you move too vigorously.
To keep my hair from becoming completely fried from chlorine I put a bunch of conditioner on under my swim cap. I’ve seen no difference between special swimmer’s shampoo and what I normally use in terms of helping my overly chlorinated hair, but the conditioner under the cap thing helps more than anything I’ve tried.
My skin always smells like chlorine, so I started using a floral scented body butter for when I get out of the pool. Now I smell like flowers that have been watered with chlorine.
For the most part swimming is a fairly safe activity, but once I left my razor in my bag facing the wrong direction and sliced the crap out of my thumb in the shower at the Y one morning. That was no fun. I couldn’t stop the bleeding long enough to get my bra on without making a mess, so I ended up heading home essentially naked under my coat which was way less sexy than it sounds.
One of the more unexpected results of all my swimming is that the bottoms of my feet aren’t cracked anymore. I’ve had problems with cracked heels my whole life, and as a kid my toes and heels used to bleed. I’ve always wanted cute feet and have tried any number of lotions, but I think the regular soaking in chlorine has killed whatever caused the problem. Who knows? Anyway, I finally have cute feet. Not the bodily improvement I was expecting for all the effort, but go figure.
The biggest obstacle to fitting exercise into my life isn’t time so much as boredom. I hate wasting time, and I find exercise frustratingly dull. It’s very hard for me not to think about all the other things I’d rather be doing. So I’ve been arming myself with gadgets to help combat the elements of exercise that I find irritating.
My first, best gadget is a lap counter. I Googled the idea one day when I couldn’t stand spending all my time in the water keeping track of what lap I was on anymore. I found this, which is a waterproof device I can wear like a ring, and I push the button on it with my thumb every time I reach the wall at the shallow end of the pool. Now I can think about whatever I want, and somewhere around the 45 minute mark I check the lap counter to see if I’m done or not. I love the thing.
The more extravagant gadget I treated myself to for Mother’s Day this year. There is a company that waterproofs regular iPods, so I ordered one with a set of waterproof ear buds. I’ve never owned an iPod so it took awhile to figure out exactly how to get it going. The first problem was that my laptop’s version of iTunes was more than five minutes old so my iPod Shuffle was mystified. We got that solved, then had to figure out how to find what I downloaded once we got it onto my player. My first swim with the thing I listened to a 15 minute Freakonomics show and then it started repeating. Now that I’ve had some practice I’m on track and can listen to interesting things like This American Life or Fresh Air. I know most people would probably use it to exercise to music, but I have to choose music very carefully or it will bother more than it will entertain me. (A few years ago I used to go to Curves, and as much as I liked the exercise routine I don’t think I could go back there and literally face the music again.)
Swimming while learning something and not having to count laps has been a big improvement. Anything that helps me keep it up and not want to quit is useful. And I feel good on those family swim days that my kids see me diligently getting my workout in. Plus it’s more fun to watch them splashing around and waving to me as I go by than it is watching the synchronized feet of the water aerobics people at the Y.
I have no idea how Ian and I will fit exercising into our lives once school lets out because that three hour block of time in the morning has been so great for us getting out together. Above and beyond my gadgets the biggest motivation to exercise has simply been that my husband goes to do it with me. His encouragement has made a huge difference, and that extra time we get alone together on the drive to the Y and back has been really nice. With summer vacation comes the return of our tag team lives, but we will find a way. Besides, I’ve gotten used to smelling like a bottle of bleach. How can I give that up?
(No way could anyone ever pay me enough to get me to post a picture of myself in a swimsuit, so here is Mona a few years back during her hat phase. Nothing says born in Wisconsin more than a winter hat in the pool. Or something.)
Sunday, February 23, 2020
Recognized and Unnamed
I've been swimming at the local county pool since before my children were born. It's good exercise, but for lap swimmers it's rather solitary, which suits me fine. I want to go, get in my mile, and head to work. I use the time to let my mind wander as I go back and forth across the pool; I sort out problems or come up with new ideas to make the time seem more productive.
The other half of the pool not sectioned off into lanes by ropes is the social side. It's where the aqua-aerobics people meet in the mornings, and kids play in the afternoons. The people over there chat as they are led through different routines.
There is a core group of regulars at the pool in the morning. The aqua-aerobics classes are mostly women, and lap swimmers tend to be men, although there are obviously exceptions. Few people cross from one side to the other. Everyone recognizes who goes where.
Here is the thing I've been thinking about lately as I cross the pool 64 times in a row: When we think of people in our lives, we think of friends, family, colleagues, and acquaintances. We don't think as often of the vast number of people who populate our days whom we recognize but can't even name.
The other half of the pool not sectioned off into lanes by ropes is the social side. It's where the aqua-aerobics people meet in the mornings, and kids play in the afternoons. The people over there chat as they are led through different routines.
There is a core group of regulars at the pool in the morning. The aqua-aerobics classes are mostly women, and lap swimmers tend to be men, although there are obviously exceptions. Few people cross from one side to the other. Everyone recognizes who goes where.
Here is the thing I've been thinking about lately as I cross the pool 64 times in a row: When we think of people in our lives, we think of friends, family, colleagues, and acquaintances. We don't think as often of the vast number of people who populate our days whom we recognize but can't even name.
Thursday, January 21, 2016
Health Update
Simply because I find it easier to post here for anyone who is interested than to repeat myself for people who ask. Anyone understandably not interested, maybe go read this old post about building our garage. Or, if you want something more deathy there's this. (Or something random, or something violin-y.)
I'm doing well! The new doctor put me on steroids back at the beginning of December, and that's doing the trick. Apparently steroids either work for people with Granulomatous Mastitis immediately or they don't help much at all. I am in the lucky category of people for whom they seem work.
I'm doing well! The new doctor put me on steroids back at the beginning of December, and that's doing the trick. Apparently steroids either work for people with Granulomatous Mastitis immediately or they don't help much at all. I am in the lucky category of people for whom they seem work.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Going Swimmingly (Babble)
We’ve settled into a nice routine here in our busy house. It was hard trading the flexibility of the anything goes summer schedule for the necessary rigidity of our fall days, but I think we’ve all adjusted to it. I have to keep a breakdown of each day posted in the kitchen so I can keep everything straight, but so far so good. We’ve mapped out which days each of us cooks what meal, who does the drop offs and the pick ups, choir, violin lessons, neighborhood recess, bath nights, rehearsals…. It makes my head spin a little, but writing it down seems to help make it look less overwhelming.
I’ve never been someone interested in scheduling my kids for organized activities, but it just seems to happen. I prefer coming up with our own fun, and my kids put together dinosaur picnics and create dragons from paper and like to do puzzles and and play with clay, etc., so they don’t lack for things to do on their own, but some things just require us to sign on, pack up and head out. Both girls do violin lessons and choir, and Quinn and Mona are in swimming lessons. If you count family movie night on Fridays and the optional neighborhood recess, there is something on every day of the work week. Seems a bit much to me, but everyone likes everything so there’s no reason to cut any of it out.
There are two very nice things for me and Ian in the new schedule, though, and we’ll have to figure out a way to keep them when we have to reconfigure the schedule next year when he starts working for the Army again a couple of days a week. The first thing is that each of us gets one day off during the week. Mine is a designated building day where I get to work in my home shop building my own instruments. I’ve started a new violin and I’m really happy about it. On my day I get to sleep in and I don’t have to make any of the trips to the school unless I feel like it. So far on Ian’s day off he’s mostly put in time getting filing and computer work done at the violin store, but he’s off kid duty at least, and he knows he could choose to do something else if he wanted to. Of course, we each still end up helping each other out and playing with Quinn after lunch and running errands, but it’s nice to know on one day you have permission to opt out if you really need to and not feel bad about it. I love my day off. It makes all the demands on me the rest of the week far more bearable.
The other thing is that we’ve firmly put exercise time into the schedule. Three days a week we go together to drop off the kids at school and then drive straight to the YMCA to swim. (The true advantage of running your own business is being able to set your hours to fit your life a little better. We don’t have to open until 10:30, so there is enough time to exercise and change before going to work.) I had high hopes for trying to get in better shape while Ian was away, but once I started the process of moving whatever extra time I didn’t have to start with, vanished. I gave up any idea that it was even possible to exercise at that point because I couldn’t handle one more thing. I ate cookies, avoided the scale, and tried not to think about it.
But now Ian is home and Quinn is in school in the mornings, so it’s a whole new world. Three times a week I swim a mile. I’d like to work something else in, too, someday, but for now this works. And my approach is different. I don’t have time to concentrate on getting in better shape as if it’s another job. I’m not counting calories or weighing myself. I’m going to try just eating what looks reasonable and keeping up with our exercise routine, and if in a few months I don’t notice any difference I’ll reevaluate what I’m doing, but until then I’m content that this is a lifestyle I can maintain. It’s a start.
I’m hoping my kids will be the kind of people who enjoy exercise. They are certainly active, and they love swimming at the Y and biking and running around, and I encourage all of that. But I hate exercise. Swimming is the only activity along those lines that I can tolerate. It comes easily and I’m cleaner at the end of it. Running drives me crazy because I think loudly to myself with every single step how much I hate running. Walking is fine but only if I have a place to go. I’m too goal oriented to walk just for the sake of walking. Same thing with biking–I need to know where I’m going first or else I get irritated.
But swimming is nice. I don’t like being up early to do it, and that initial shock of getting into the water never improves, but I once I get going I can splash along for 45 minutes to do my mile with no problem. The one thing I’d like to fix, though, is an easier way to count my laps. Counting gets so boring, and it would be nice to let my mind wander a little. I sometimes do different strokes for odd vs. even laps just to help keep straight where I am, but ideally I’d like to let the numbers go. I keep envisioning some kind of abacus like contraption to put at the end of my lane so that I can just flick beads across each time I reach that end so I don’t have to keep numbers in my head. Or a bracelet that does something similar, where I slide beads over and when I’ve moved 36 of them I know I’m done.
In the meantime I use my memory. Not just to remember the actual number, but to keep the number interesting. While I swim I try to think of something relevant to do with whatever number I’m on. One I don’t need help remembering, two is how old I was at the time of my first memories, three is Quinn’s age, four is how old he’ll be soon and I think about what he wants for his party, five is how old Aden was when her dad came back from his first deployment, six is Mona, seven was yellow on a puzzle I had as a kid, eight is Aden, nine is how old she will be soon (I can’t believe my baby is going to be nine), ten is all my fingers and I think about the scars on my thumbs or the ring I’m wearing…. at fourteen I had a Rubik’s cube themed birthday, at fifteen my kids will have driver’s permits…. at eighteen they’ll vote…. what did I do on my twenty-first birthday?…. The writers of the Sid Caesar Show thought thirty-two was the funniest number and I think they’re right…. at thirty-four I had Mona, what will Aden be doing when she’s thirty-five? Thirty-six is the last one yay yay yay! It’s a little disconcerting that the number of my current age is higher than the number of laps in a mile in the YMCA pool, but oh well. If I wanted to count really high I could keep track of lengths instead of laps and go up to eighty-two, but that sounds like too many distracting thoughts rattling around my brain during one swim. The result of this kind of counting is I finish exercising feeling a little nostalgic instead of just tired. For someone who doesn’t like to exercise in the first place that’s the best I’m going to do.
I like that Ian and I are trying to set a good example for our kids regardless of our own inclinations about incorporating necessary physical activity into our lives. If we’re lucky, our kids will grow up thinking that’s just what you do, you make time in your schedule for things like swimming. I just hope they develop a joy for things like running instead of a grudging resignation. Despite my genetic input, it could happen!
Thursday, March 14, 2013
How to Feel Good about 44
Happy Birthday to me! I get to be 44. That's a lot of trips around the sun (for which I probably over-packed).
I've been coming across a lot of blog posts recently by people who are feeling freaked out about reaching certain ages, particularly numbers like 40, 45, and 50. I have trouble relating to this. I had a nice childhood, but wasn't satisfied being a child. I was more than glad to be out of my teens. I didn't particularly care about not being in my 20s anymore because I never fit in with what people supposedly did in their 20s. I was sad to not be considered young at some point, but looked forward to being taken more seriously. I remember when I was in college and I realized when I did the math that at our family New Year's Eve party in 2000 I would be 31 and was a little concerned. Reaching 30 sounded very adult and responsible in a way I wasn't sure I could live up to. I briefly pictured myself in a pink sweater and pearls and feeling it was inappropriate to climb on chairs to put up decorations at that grown up stage. And then I realized that was silly. Why would I change in that way? I wouldn't. And didn't.
I did feel a little worried when I turned 30 that I wasn't where I thought I should be yet at that age, but I was on my way. My 30s turned out to be a big, complicated blur of pregnancies and C-sections and deployments and diapers and violin work and home ownership and what have you. I was very busy, but I have no picture of myself in my mind being in my 30s. I feel as if I simply survived my 30s.
But the 40s? I'm liking this. My body isn't tied up with my children the way it used to be with gestation and breast feeding and constant contact. With my kids' independence comes more of my own, and that bit of distance is making me feel like a whole person. A person with possibilities. There is so much good stuff to do! So many wonderful things ahead! A number like 44 doesn't diminish that for me.
The biggest secret to feeling good about being 44? Don't start exercising until you're 43.
I've been coming across a lot of blog posts recently by people who are feeling freaked out about reaching certain ages, particularly numbers like 40, 45, and 50. I have trouble relating to this. I had a nice childhood, but wasn't satisfied being a child. I was more than glad to be out of my teens. I didn't particularly care about not being in my 20s anymore because I never fit in with what people supposedly did in their 20s. I was sad to not be considered young at some point, but looked forward to being taken more seriously. I remember when I was in college and I realized when I did the math that at our family New Year's Eve party in 2000 I would be 31 and was a little concerned. Reaching 30 sounded very adult and responsible in a way I wasn't sure I could live up to. I briefly pictured myself in a pink sweater and pearls and feeling it was inappropriate to climb on chairs to put up decorations at that grown up stage. And then I realized that was silly. Why would I change in that way? I wouldn't. And didn't.
I did feel a little worried when I turned 30 that I wasn't where I thought I should be yet at that age, but I was on my way. My 30s turned out to be a big, complicated blur of pregnancies and C-sections and deployments and diapers and violin work and home ownership and what have you. I was very busy, but I have no picture of myself in my mind being in my 30s. I feel as if I simply survived my 30s.
But the 40s? I'm liking this. My body isn't tied up with my children the way it used to be with gestation and breast feeding and constant contact. With my kids' independence comes more of my own, and that bit of distance is making me feel like a whole person. A person with possibilities. There is so much good stuff to do! So many wonderful things ahead! A number like 44 doesn't diminish that for me.
The biggest secret to feeling good about being 44? Don't start exercising until you're 43.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
A Real Vacation (Babble)
I didn’t realize how much I needed a real vacation until I was on
it. I have a nice life, but it’s packed. The kids need to be shuttled
to this lesson or that play date, there is always a lot to do at the
violin store and rehearsals to attend, I’ve been trying to buckle down
and do the work of finding an agent while not losing hope after more
than two dozen rejections…. Just because a life may be currently free
of crisis doesn’t mean it’s not exhausting. And I was tired.
When we arrived at my grandma’s cottage a few weeks ago it was like getting permission to breathe. The cottage is a house in the woods in Michigan, but it’s not like camping. It’s a real house with two full bathrooms and a washer and dryer in the basement. It’s secluded, but not isolated. There are big stores and a college about half an hour away, so being at the cottage does not mean roughing it. But at the same time, you open the door and you are in the woods. You rarely hear cars, you never hear airplanes. You hear loons. And crickets. And deer crunching through the leaves outside the back window. It’s a life that doesn’t resemble what we’re used to in Milwaukee, and it’s magical at times.
When I first started playing around with the idea of owning grandma’s cottage ourselves, I wondered if it was worth it. We love our home, we don’t lack for things to do here, so why would we need to drive that far just to live in a different house to call it a vacation?
But at home there is too much to do. We are accessible, we are busy, there is always another project, another job, something we should be getting done. At the cottage there is nothing that has to get done. We only had one clock and the only reason we put batteries in it was because it makes a different bird sound on the hour and my kids were delighted by that. We worried about what to cook for dinner, if we had enough sunscreen to last through the day, and if we should play Monopoly or Battleship. That was about it.
Reality does set in at some point, because the sump pump broke when we needed to do laundry. But somehow my husband knows how to replace one (I wasn’t even clear about what it did, to tell you the truth), and it wasn’t a disaster (thanks to Ian), just something that had to get done. That was about as demanding as it got.
There is no urgency most of the time at the cottage. On the first day there we were all set to go down to the water and suddenly Aden decided she wanted to play Battleship right then. That’s the kind of arbitrary thing that feels frustrating for some reason when we’re at home. I like to stick to the plan because there is usually so much to do, and at home I would have probably said, “No, we’re all set to leave, let’s play when we get back.” At the cottage? I thought about it a moment and then said, “Sure. Go get it.” Because what difference does it make? We’re there to spend time together. That’s the only plan. It doesn’t matter what form it takes.
The other thing about the cottage is that I like who my kids are when they are there. I like them anywhere, but at home there are different constraints on them. The cottage sits on a bluff, and there is a path down the hill to the lake, and if you follow the path around to the other side of the water there is a little sandy swimming area my brothers and I always called ‘the point.’ Once I was sure my kids knew the way I didn’t have a problem with their running down there ahead of us. I can’t think of anywhere in the city where I would feel comfortable with my kids being that far out of reach. In Milwaukee that same distance would cover blocks and blocks and the variables are so different. At age nine we’re just starting to let Aden make quick trips to Target on her own, and eventually to the park with a friend or two, but Mona and Quinn are still too small and unobservant to be trusted like that. However, at the cottage, to some extent they can run free. And they love it.
I also like the ways in which they adapt. When we first stepped into the cottage my kids freaked out because they said they saw a spider. I came over to see and spotted a tiny speck on the wall and asked, “That one?” and Mona shrieked, “Oh no! There are TWO!” But in the woods there are spiders. And moths and mosquitoes and millions of other things. You get used to it. By the next night when Mona needed a bath and noticed a spider in a corner near the tub, I told her it looked happy there, she gave it a name, and proceeded to take her bath near the spider. That would not happen at home.
The first day at the cottage all the kids wore shoes to walk to the point. Walking in the country is a different skill from walking on a sidewalk, and they moved gingerly among the ferns and rocks and twigs. By the end of the week they were running the whole way barefoot and it made me proud.
Activities inside the cottage are different as well. It took my kids a few days to realize the TV worked, and even then they only watched it when I was too busy preparing food to read to them and they were exhausted from swimming. There is no internet connection, so they had a break from Club Penguin and whatever else they play online at home. Time at the cottage is best spent outside, but when it rained we played board games. Quinn was thrilled with Battleship (which he kept calling, “Ship Battle”) and even set it up to play with an imaginary friend when everyone else needed a break.
The other game we taught the kids was Monopoly. I don’t think I could stand to try playing Monopoly at home because it takes forever, but being at the cottage means having a big stretch of forever to use which seems almost made for playing Monopoly. Here is the crazy thing about our two-day-on-and-off Monopoly game: If we had played it out to the end the only loser would have been the bank. I explained to the kids ahead of time that Monopoly was not a nice game, and that in the end someone ruins everyone else, but that I still thought it was something we should try but not take it personally.
But that’s not how it went. With five of us playing no one had a Monopoly. On anything. Nobody even owned more than one railroad, so it was the only game of Monopoly I’ve ever experienced where everyone made a profit. It was rent-controlled Monopoly. We’d pay at most about $25 to someone, and then collect $200 when we passed Go. Even Mona with only three properties was coming out ahead. Ian tried to make it more interesting by attempting to strike a deal with the kids to sell him something, but they only care about colors. Quinn liked his purple property, even though it only brought in $2 rent anytime someone landed on it, and he didn’t care about building houses or hotels. There is a lesson about the real economy in there somewhere, I suppose. (Don’t be greedy and we all get ahead?)
But the main thing we do at the cottage is spend time at the point. The kids (including Quinn when he’s in his floaty jacket) are finally good enough swimmers I don’t have to be in the water with them unless I want to be. I even packed a lunch one day so the girls could stay down there as long as they liked and Ian and I took shifts watching them. As long as they liked turned out to be seven hours. Aden caught her first (dozen) fish by baiting a hook with pepperoni. Quinn built sandcastles decorated with rocks and feathers. Mona was simply thrilled with everything, from watching fish underwater through her goggles to spotting dragonflies. I entertained myself by carving violin scrolls in the shade.
I’m still not convinced that in the long run owning the cottage will be an affordable thing to do, but right now it makes me so happy to be able to keep it in the family and be able to offer its use to people I love the same way my grandparents did. I love it there.
But more importantly my kids love it there. To have a place that peaceful to call our own is wonderful. When we first got up there I was still doubting myself just a little about taking that kind of financial leap of owning a second house. But the moment I knew it was right was when Mona came in after her long day of swimming. She was out of breath, having beaten her dad and siblings up the hill to be the first at the table where I had dinner waiting. She plunked down in the chair next to mine and dug in, more content than I’d ever seen her. As Mona gazed out the window at the trees she said quietly, “I love living in the country.”
I love that for a few weeks every year I can give that to her. I’m already looking forward to our next real vacation.
When we arrived at my grandma’s cottage a few weeks ago it was like getting permission to breathe. The cottage is a house in the woods in Michigan, but it’s not like camping. It’s a real house with two full bathrooms and a washer and dryer in the basement. It’s secluded, but not isolated. There are big stores and a college about half an hour away, so being at the cottage does not mean roughing it. But at the same time, you open the door and you are in the woods. You rarely hear cars, you never hear airplanes. You hear loons. And crickets. And deer crunching through the leaves outside the back window. It’s a life that doesn’t resemble what we’re used to in Milwaukee, and it’s magical at times.
When I first started playing around with the idea of owning grandma’s cottage ourselves, I wondered if it was worth it. We love our home, we don’t lack for things to do here, so why would we need to drive that far just to live in a different house to call it a vacation?
But at home there is too much to do. We are accessible, we are busy, there is always another project, another job, something we should be getting done. At the cottage there is nothing that has to get done. We only had one clock and the only reason we put batteries in it was because it makes a different bird sound on the hour and my kids were delighted by that. We worried about what to cook for dinner, if we had enough sunscreen to last through the day, and if we should play Monopoly or Battleship. That was about it.
Reality does set in at some point, because the sump pump broke when we needed to do laundry. But somehow my husband knows how to replace one (I wasn’t even clear about what it did, to tell you the truth), and it wasn’t a disaster (thanks to Ian), just something that had to get done. That was about as demanding as it got.
There is no urgency most of the time at the cottage. On the first day there we were all set to go down to the water and suddenly Aden decided she wanted to play Battleship right then. That’s the kind of arbitrary thing that feels frustrating for some reason when we’re at home. I like to stick to the plan because there is usually so much to do, and at home I would have probably said, “No, we’re all set to leave, let’s play when we get back.” At the cottage? I thought about it a moment and then said, “Sure. Go get it.” Because what difference does it make? We’re there to spend time together. That’s the only plan. It doesn’t matter what form it takes.
The other thing about the cottage is that I like who my kids are when they are there. I like them anywhere, but at home there are different constraints on them. The cottage sits on a bluff, and there is a path down the hill to the lake, and if you follow the path around to the other side of the water there is a little sandy swimming area my brothers and I always called ‘the point.’ Once I was sure my kids knew the way I didn’t have a problem with their running down there ahead of us. I can’t think of anywhere in the city where I would feel comfortable with my kids being that far out of reach. In Milwaukee that same distance would cover blocks and blocks and the variables are so different. At age nine we’re just starting to let Aden make quick trips to Target on her own, and eventually to the park with a friend or two, but Mona and Quinn are still too small and unobservant to be trusted like that. However, at the cottage, to some extent they can run free. And they love it.
I also like the ways in which they adapt. When we first stepped into the cottage my kids freaked out because they said they saw a spider. I came over to see and spotted a tiny speck on the wall and asked, “That one?” and Mona shrieked, “Oh no! There are TWO!” But in the woods there are spiders. And moths and mosquitoes and millions of other things. You get used to it. By the next night when Mona needed a bath and noticed a spider in a corner near the tub, I told her it looked happy there, she gave it a name, and proceeded to take her bath near the spider. That would not happen at home.
The first day at the cottage all the kids wore shoes to walk to the point. Walking in the country is a different skill from walking on a sidewalk, and they moved gingerly among the ferns and rocks and twigs. By the end of the week they were running the whole way barefoot and it made me proud.
Activities inside the cottage are different as well. It took my kids a few days to realize the TV worked, and even then they only watched it when I was too busy preparing food to read to them and they were exhausted from swimming. There is no internet connection, so they had a break from Club Penguin and whatever else they play online at home. Time at the cottage is best spent outside, but when it rained we played board games. Quinn was thrilled with Battleship (which he kept calling, “Ship Battle”) and even set it up to play with an imaginary friend when everyone else needed a break.
The other game we taught the kids was Monopoly. I don’t think I could stand to try playing Monopoly at home because it takes forever, but being at the cottage means having a big stretch of forever to use which seems almost made for playing Monopoly. Here is the crazy thing about our two-day-on-and-off Monopoly game: If we had played it out to the end the only loser would have been the bank. I explained to the kids ahead of time that Monopoly was not a nice game, and that in the end someone ruins everyone else, but that I still thought it was something we should try but not take it personally.
But that’s not how it went. With five of us playing no one had a Monopoly. On anything. Nobody even owned more than one railroad, so it was the only game of Monopoly I’ve ever experienced where everyone made a profit. It was rent-controlled Monopoly. We’d pay at most about $25 to someone, and then collect $200 when we passed Go. Even Mona with only three properties was coming out ahead. Ian tried to make it more interesting by attempting to strike a deal with the kids to sell him something, but they only care about colors. Quinn liked his purple property, even though it only brought in $2 rent anytime someone landed on it, and he didn’t care about building houses or hotels. There is a lesson about the real economy in there somewhere, I suppose. (Don’t be greedy and we all get ahead?)
But the main thing we do at the cottage is spend time at the point. The kids (including Quinn when he’s in his floaty jacket) are finally good enough swimmers I don’t have to be in the water with them unless I want to be. I even packed a lunch one day so the girls could stay down there as long as they liked and Ian and I took shifts watching them. As long as they liked turned out to be seven hours. Aden caught her first (dozen) fish by baiting a hook with pepperoni. Quinn built sandcastles decorated with rocks and feathers. Mona was simply thrilled with everything, from watching fish underwater through her goggles to spotting dragonflies. I entertained myself by carving violin scrolls in the shade.
I’m still not convinced that in the long run owning the cottage will be an affordable thing to do, but right now it makes me so happy to be able to keep it in the family and be able to offer its use to people I love the same way my grandparents did. I love it there.
But more importantly my kids love it there. To have a place that peaceful to call our own is wonderful. When we first got up there I was still doubting myself just a little about taking that kind of financial leap of owning a second house. But the moment I knew it was right was when Mona came in after her long day of swimming. She was out of breath, having beaten her dad and siblings up the hill to be the first at the table where I had dinner waiting. She plunked down in the chair next to mine and dug in, more content than I’d ever seen her. As Mona gazed out the window at the trees she said quietly, “I love living in the country.”
I love that for a few weeks every year I can give that to her. I’m already looking forward to our next real vacation.
Friday, November 8, 2013
Permission to do what now?
Quinn brought me a permission slip to sign this week. His class is going on a field trip next month to see The Nutcracker. Sounds lovely. Wish I could go, too! At least, I thought I did, until I read the permission slip.
It's a generic sort of catch-all kind of permission slip. So, for him to watch a ballet, I had to check off if Quinn was allergic to anything, if he needed medication, if he had asthma or kidney disease or other conditions.
But the one that made me laugh was having to circle his level of swimming expertise. (We chose "cannot swim" because his particular doggy paddle will not get him far in an emergency.)
Sounds like one hell of a production! If the audience's swimming skills are an issue I'm a little worried for the pit orchestra down below the stage. But hey! Have to keep things fresh to appeal to today's kids! (Just need to remember to pack his water wings along with his lunch before he heads off to the ballet.)
It's a generic sort of catch-all kind of permission slip. So, for him to watch a ballet, I had to check off if Quinn was allergic to anything, if he needed medication, if he had asthma or kidney disease or other conditions.
But the one that made me laugh was having to circle his level of swimming expertise. (We chose "cannot swim" because his particular doggy paddle will not get him far in an emergency.)
Sounds like one hell of a production! If the audience's swimming skills are an issue I'm a little worried for the pit orchestra down below the stage. But hey! Have to keep things fresh to appeal to today's kids! (Just need to remember to pack his water wings along with his lunch before he heads off to the ballet.)
Tuesday, December 8, 2015
Relief
I finally found doctors willing to help me. Today is the first day in a long time that I feel more like a normal person. It's wonderful.
I have given up on Columbia St Mary's hospital system here in Milwaukee, and am switching our whole family's medical care to Froedtert. I have always liked our primary doctor at CSM, and we've gone to her since before we had children, but she's moving her practice to suburbs farther north in the new year anyway. Keeping a relationship with her might have been our only incentive to stay, but with that ending I had no reservations about starting over somewhere else.
The pain in my breast that began back in July started getting so bad over Thanksgiving weekend that it was destroying my ability to function. I tried swimming without using my right arm for a couple of days, but finally had to admit swimming was out. I had to set aside a bushing job at work because I couldn't brace the instrument against my body in order to get at it properly with my tools. (Thankfully that job is on a long timeline, so it will still get done.) I couldn't walk at a normal speed. I couldn't lift many things. I was constantly elbowing away my children when they'd try to hug me. Sleeping was hard because I'd have to find one position and not deviate from it all night or suffer excruciating pain.
I spent all of last Monday trying to get any doctor at CSM to listen to me. The nurse at the breast center that did the biopsies and the ultrasounds and the mammograms were sympathetic, but said that since I did not have cancer there was nothing more they could do for me. They couldn't even prescribe anything for the pain.
I have given up on Columbia St Mary's hospital system here in Milwaukee, and am switching our whole family's medical care to Froedtert. I have always liked our primary doctor at CSM, and we've gone to her since before we had children, but she's moving her practice to suburbs farther north in the new year anyway. Keeping a relationship with her might have been our only incentive to stay, but with that ending I had no reservations about starting over somewhere else.
The pain in my breast that began back in July started getting so bad over Thanksgiving weekend that it was destroying my ability to function. I tried swimming without using my right arm for a couple of days, but finally had to admit swimming was out. I had to set aside a bushing job at work because I couldn't brace the instrument against my body in order to get at it properly with my tools. (Thankfully that job is on a long timeline, so it will still get done.) I couldn't walk at a normal speed. I couldn't lift many things. I was constantly elbowing away my children when they'd try to hug me. Sleeping was hard because I'd have to find one position and not deviate from it all night or suffer excruciating pain.
I spent all of last Monday trying to get any doctor at CSM to listen to me. The nurse at the breast center that did the biopsies and the ultrasounds and the mammograms were sympathetic, but said that since I did not have cancer there was nothing more they could do for me. They couldn't even prescribe anything for the pain.
Friday, November 14, 2014
Bike Trip to the Fabric Store
It seemed like a good idea. It really did.
But before I get into that story I feel the need to share some pictures of leaves because this Fall has been particularly beautiful. (These are from right outside my front door and from the park nearby. Don't let anyone ever tell you Milwaukee's not beautiful.)
But before I get into that story I feel the need to share some pictures of leaves because this Fall has been particularly beautiful. (These are from right outside my front door and from the park nearby. Don't let anyone ever tell you Milwaukee's not beautiful.)Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Fish out of Water
We found out today that our Y is closing at the end of the month. It's thrown us for a loop because we've had such a nice routine going: We drop the kids off at school, head for the Y where I swim and Ian uses the gym, home by 9:30 with a little time to breathe before going to work around 10:00.
I've been trying all day to track down another place to swim. The trouble with swimming as a chosen form of exercise is being dependent on someone having and maintaining a pool. I wish I didn't loathe running or something that didn't require needing more than myself and maybe a decent pair of shoes to do it. But I swim. It's pretty much the only form of exercise I don't hate. So I need a pool.
It looks like my only real option is going to be the local county pool, which is perfectly nice, except that they don't open until 9:00. They also don't have anything for Ian, so we will have to split up to go exercise, which is too bad because we were able to help each other stick to the routine when we went together. I haven't quite figured how this will work. I may have to keep a hair dryer at the violin store since I will likely have to go straight there from the pool. It's cutting it all very close, but again, I don't really have options.
I'm more sad about Mona losing her Swim Team. I don't know if I will be able to convince her to try a different one, and I will miss our whole family going to the Y on those two evenings a week.
Anyway, not the end of the world by any means, but disappointing. Maybe once we figure it out it will be for the best. The county pool and a gym membership will be cheaper than the Y, and both are much closer to home.
Still, I'll miss the Y. We originally signed up when we were eligible for six months of free membership while Ian was deployed the first time. It was a great place in the winter to let the kids all run around when I was going stir crazy at home. We've enjoyed many a wacky hour in the racket ball courts, I appreciated the towel service, and every lifeguard was unfailingly nice.
We have until the 31st before they close their doors, so in the meantime we will just keep swimming. Not too thrilled to have to give up a routine that's worked so well, but I'm sure we'll adapt.
I've been trying all day to track down another place to swim. The trouble with swimming as a chosen form of exercise is being dependent on someone having and maintaining a pool. I wish I didn't loathe running or something that didn't require needing more than myself and maybe a decent pair of shoes to do it. But I swim. It's pretty much the only form of exercise I don't hate. So I need a pool.
It looks like my only real option is going to be the local county pool, which is perfectly nice, except that they don't open until 9:00. They also don't have anything for Ian, so we will have to split up to go exercise, which is too bad because we were able to help each other stick to the routine when we went together. I haven't quite figured how this will work. I may have to keep a hair dryer at the violin store since I will likely have to go straight there from the pool. It's cutting it all very close, but again, I don't really have options.
I'm more sad about Mona losing her Swim Team. I don't know if I will be able to convince her to try a different one, and I will miss our whole family going to the Y on those two evenings a week.
Anyway, not the end of the world by any means, but disappointing. Maybe once we figure it out it will be for the best. The county pool and a gym membership will be cheaper than the Y, and both are much closer to home.
Still, I'll miss the Y. We originally signed up when we were eligible for six months of free membership while Ian was deployed the first time. It was a great place in the winter to let the kids all run around when I was going stir crazy at home. We've enjoyed many a wacky hour in the racket ball courts, I appreciated the towel service, and every lifeguard was unfailingly nice.
We have until the 31st before they close their doors, so in the meantime we will just keep swimming. Not too thrilled to have to give up a routine that's worked so well, but I'm sure we'll adapt.
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Goodbye Y
It's so strange navigating this week without factoring in trips to the Y.
We went to Swim Team as a family last Thursday (although, ironically Mona was the only one who didn't swim--her coaches threw a dance party). Friday I did my laps as usual before work. And that was it. Now it's closed and we're not going back there anymore.
We've been going there for a long time. Here are my kids in the playroom at the Y when we first signed up:
One of my favorite places to let the kids use up some energy was the racket ball court. We never actually figured out how to play, we just always got as many balls as we could and let them all fly. (Yes, occasionally someone got bonked, but life is like that.)
We went to Swim Team as a family last Thursday (although, ironically Mona was the only one who didn't swim--her coaches threw a dance party). Friday I did my laps as usual before work. And that was it. Now it's closed and we're not going back there anymore.
We've been going there for a long time. Here are my kids in the playroom at the Y when we first signed up:One of my favorite places to let the kids use up some energy was the racket ball court. We never actually figured out how to play, we just always got as many balls as we could and let them all fly. (Yes, occasionally someone got bonked, but life is like that.)
Monday, July 18, 2011
The Really Hard Talk (Babble)
People often refer to explaining sex to children as ‘the talk.’
Parents fret about having ‘the talk’ with their kids and wonder how
young is too young, etc. I’m not worried about talking about sex with
my kids. We’ve doled out bits of information as seemed appropriate and
taught our kids the proper terms for anatomy for years. In my mind
there is no one ‘talk,’ there is a process of adding to my kids’
knowledge over time about their bodies and how bodies work. This
doesn’t make me squeamish or nervous. It’s just simple information.
The really hard talk, as far as I’m concerned, is about evil. I think our true loss of innocence begins not when we learn how reproduction happens or explaining the connections between sex and love, but how human beings who look and act and talk just like people we know are capable of monstrous acts and unpardonable crimes. The world can be a horrifying place. That’s not a truth I’ve looked forward to sharing with my children. They see so much beauty it’s tempting to never draw back that curtain to expose the horrors that exist in our midst, but not to do so is dangerous at some point. It would leave them too trusting, too vulnerable, if I let them remain innocent forever.
My children are sensitive. I’ve written about this before, and how I worry that they will be too fragile if they don’t learn to accept that bad things happen in the world. But it seems to me that knowledge of evil comes on a need to know basis, and that need to know is determined by how much they are in charge of themselves. If I can adequately protect them from danger then they don’t need to know about it. But if I send them off into the world without me, they need to be able to protect themselves.
Aden is nine and a half. She looks older than she is because she is tall, but emotionally she is a young nine. She has a soft spot in her heart for animals and she is a deeply sentimental person. Aden is also capable enough that we’ve started extending her more freedom and responsibility. We don’t need to walk her down the street to get to her friend’s house. We’ve been able to leave her in charge of her little brother for short stretches when we need to. She’s even been able to go down the two blocks to Target for us to pick up milk when we run out. It’s exciting to see Aden growing up and becoming a more independent person, able to maneuver in the world without our guidance every step of the way. I’m proud of her for that.
But then I read the news about the killing of Leiby Kletzky last week. I wept at my bench in the violin shop and hoped no customers would come in. That is the nightmare that makes loving parents rein their kids in close and not want to let go. That story is too horrible for words. What are we to do with it? There are no lessons to be learned from it, aside from the fact that life isn’t fair and that I will never understand people who can harm children. I think about that poor little boy and the unspeakable grief his family is suffering and wish it could be different, but I have no such power. All I have are tears.
So I did what probably many parents did after reading that story. I hugged my children and sat them down for a review about never ever ever getting into a car with a stranger. That people who hurt children usually seem very nice but it’s a trick. That no trustworthy grown-up asks children for help finding a puppy or counting kittens in a van. I told my children if someone makes them nervous they are to run, and be loud, and to find someone they know. All the rules about being polite go out the window if something is suspicious. That if anyone ever tells them to keep a secret from their mom, that’s a warning sign. They can tell me anything. I am home base. I love them no matter what.
These are hard lessons to teach sometimes, because I don’t want to scare my children. The odds are that nothing will ever happen to them just walking around our neighborhood, or running off to Target for something. But they still need to understand that something could happen in order to make decent choices and remain out of trouble. The problem is I don’t want to go into detail about WHY they should avoid these bad people. I tell them there are people who want to hurt children and leave it at that.
Or, at least, I did until last week. I ran through the ‘bad people safety review’ and then the kids went off to play and later we went to the Y for swimming lessons. Quinn and Mona took swimming this summer, but Aden chose not to. She just played in the small pool on her own or with friends until her siblings’ lessons were over. Last week as I sat in the pool observing Quinn’s class, Aden swam over to me. She cuddled close and was her cute playful self, and then she said she had a question. Aden wanted to know if a kidnapper did get her (and she interrupted herself to assure me that she knew it would never happen, but still….), what would the kidnapper do to her? What kinds of things do kidnappers do to children?
I debated in my mind what to say. Do I keep my sweet girl innocent? Or do I pull back that curtain? That’s not an easy decision to make. But I decided she needs to know. She needs to be aware of why I get scared when she isn’t where I expect her to be when we give her a curfew or if she wanders off on her own in a crowd.
I held her hands and gave her the bare facts of the Leiby Kletzky story. I did not tell her that the monster who killed him dismembered the body and dumped it in garbage cans. I said an eight-year-old boy tried walking home by himself, but that he got lost and asked the wrong person for help, and that man tricked the boy into coming home with him and killed him there. Aden’s eyes filled with tears. “He was only eight?” she asked. I told her it was the scariest story I’d heard in a long time and that it made me cry, too.
Aden hugged me there in the pool. I told her I didn’t know why some people are just bad, but she needs to know they are out there so she can do sensible things to help keep herself safe. Then Aden realized how upset the whole thing made me, and in typical Aden fashion she decided to balance things out to make me feel better. She doesn’t want me to be sad. We read Charlotte’s Web this week for her book club, and when it made me cry she suggested we take a break.
There in the pool she managed a smile and asked if I wanted to see her float on her back. I told her of course I did. Aden floats beautifully.
The really hard talk, as far as I’m concerned, is about evil. I think our true loss of innocence begins not when we learn how reproduction happens or explaining the connections between sex and love, but how human beings who look and act and talk just like people we know are capable of monstrous acts and unpardonable crimes. The world can be a horrifying place. That’s not a truth I’ve looked forward to sharing with my children. They see so much beauty it’s tempting to never draw back that curtain to expose the horrors that exist in our midst, but not to do so is dangerous at some point. It would leave them too trusting, too vulnerable, if I let them remain innocent forever.
My children are sensitive. I’ve written about this before, and how I worry that they will be too fragile if they don’t learn to accept that bad things happen in the world. But it seems to me that knowledge of evil comes on a need to know basis, and that need to know is determined by how much they are in charge of themselves. If I can adequately protect them from danger then they don’t need to know about it. But if I send them off into the world without me, they need to be able to protect themselves.
Aden is nine and a half. She looks older than she is because she is tall, but emotionally she is a young nine. She has a soft spot in her heart for animals and she is a deeply sentimental person. Aden is also capable enough that we’ve started extending her more freedom and responsibility. We don’t need to walk her down the street to get to her friend’s house. We’ve been able to leave her in charge of her little brother for short stretches when we need to. She’s even been able to go down the two blocks to Target for us to pick up milk when we run out. It’s exciting to see Aden growing up and becoming a more independent person, able to maneuver in the world without our guidance every step of the way. I’m proud of her for that.
But then I read the news about the killing of Leiby Kletzky last week. I wept at my bench in the violin shop and hoped no customers would come in. That is the nightmare that makes loving parents rein their kids in close and not want to let go. That story is too horrible for words. What are we to do with it? There are no lessons to be learned from it, aside from the fact that life isn’t fair and that I will never understand people who can harm children. I think about that poor little boy and the unspeakable grief his family is suffering and wish it could be different, but I have no such power. All I have are tears.
So I did what probably many parents did after reading that story. I hugged my children and sat them down for a review about never ever ever getting into a car with a stranger. That people who hurt children usually seem very nice but it’s a trick. That no trustworthy grown-up asks children for help finding a puppy or counting kittens in a van. I told my children if someone makes them nervous they are to run, and be loud, and to find someone they know. All the rules about being polite go out the window if something is suspicious. That if anyone ever tells them to keep a secret from their mom, that’s a warning sign. They can tell me anything. I am home base. I love them no matter what.
These are hard lessons to teach sometimes, because I don’t want to scare my children. The odds are that nothing will ever happen to them just walking around our neighborhood, or running off to Target for something. But they still need to understand that something could happen in order to make decent choices and remain out of trouble. The problem is I don’t want to go into detail about WHY they should avoid these bad people. I tell them there are people who want to hurt children and leave it at that.
Or, at least, I did until last week. I ran through the ‘bad people safety review’ and then the kids went off to play and later we went to the Y for swimming lessons. Quinn and Mona took swimming this summer, but Aden chose not to. She just played in the small pool on her own or with friends until her siblings’ lessons were over. Last week as I sat in the pool observing Quinn’s class, Aden swam over to me. She cuddled close and was her cute playful self, and then she said she had a question. Aden wanted to know if a kidnapper did get her (and she interrupted herself to assure me that she knew it would never happen, but still….), what would the kidnapper do to her? What kinds of things do kidnappers do to children?
I debated in my mind what to say. Do I keep my sweet girl innocent? Or do I pull back that curtain? That’s not an easy decision to make. But I decided she needs to know. She needs to be aware of why I get scared when she isn’t where I expect her to be when we give her a curfew or if she wanders off on her own in a crowd.
I held her hands and gave her the bare facts of the Leiby Kletzky story. I did not tell her that the monster who killed him dismembered the body and dumped it in garbage cans. I said an eight-year-old boy tried walking home by himself, but that he got lost and asked the wrong person for help, and that man tricked the boy into coming home with him and killed him there. Aden’s eyes filled with tears. “He was only eight?” she asked. I told her it was the scariest story I’d heard in a long time and that it made me cry, too.
Aden hugged me there in the pool. I told her I didn’t know why some people are just bad, but she needs to know they are out there so she can do sensible things to help keep herself safe. Then Aden realized how upset the whole thing made me, and in typical Aden fashion she decided to balance things out to make me feel better. She doesn’t want me to be sad. We read Charlotte’s Web this week for her book club, and when it made me cry she suggested we take a break.
There in the pool she managed a smile and asked if I wanted to see her float on her back. I told her of course I did. Aden floats beautifully.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Things that are easier with two adults in the house (Babble)
I’m looking forward to my husband coming home for all kinds of
obvious reasons, but there are lots of little ones that present
themselves every day that seem highlighted as we get closer to that
magical date. Here are the ones that jumped out at me in the past
couple of weeks:
Changing a futon cover. This is much harder when the only people around to help were born this century.
Trying on clothes. It’s not just hard when your kids are little and scrambling around the dressing room, it’s also annoying when they are old enough to share their observations and opinions while you’re trying things on. (Not that they are wrong, I just don’t enjoy the critique.) With the exception of a few things I ordered through a catalog back in the winter I have all the same clothes I had when Ian left. Not that I’m a big clothes shopper, but I just have a feeling if Ian was stop-lossed for the rest of our lives I would be wearing the same six outfits until the kids left home or I died, whichever came first.
Finishing any yard work. Impossible. I know there must be single parents who do this, but I can’t figure out how. Inside chores I can handle because if all the kids are in the house with me somewhere I’m not worried about them. Keeping track of three kids running loose outside is trickier, especially since the younger ones want to follow the older ones into dangerous territory. Yard work has to be done in daylight, so it’s one of the few things I can’t do after they go to bed. I can whack weeds for a few minutes at a time at best before someone wants to bike someplace out of sight, or needs help crossing the street, or I have to restrain Quinn from flagging down yet another ice cream truck. Our yard will look so much better when Ian comes home.
Attending parades. This probably wouldn’t come up too often anywhere else, but one of Milwaukee’s nicknames is ‘Festival City,’ and there are events and festivals all summer long. (Summerfest, Asian Moon, Indian Summer, Irish Fest, German Fest, Pride Fest, Festa Italiana, South Shore Frolics, Bastille Days….. Good grief if you are bored and within driving distance of Milwaukee you have no excuse for it.) There are fireworks almost every weekend and lots of parades. We skipped a big parade and street festival with fireworks this weekend and my kids didn’t care because we just did a lot of that for 4th of July. I knew the Independence Day events in our neighborhood park would be trouble without another adult along, but I didn’t see a good way out of it.
4th of July (even though all of this was on the 5th for us for some
reason this year—Milwaukee is not famous for doing holidays on the
actual days) is something our city definitely does right. I’ve always
liked the 4th of July, but when we moved here I was absolutely charmed
by all the festivities in our neighborhood park. The day starts off
with the parade, then there are kids’ games in the park and a contest
for decorating bikes and wagons and baby buggies, a talent show, live
music, and fireworks after dark. We also sometimes have giant sausages
that run races and dancing dogs, but that’s a different post.
Anyway, without another adult to help with potty breaks, etc., I told the kids we could do the parade and the fireworks, but we’d have to go home in between. I knew even that would be too much in the heat, but how can you deny kids a 4th of July celebration? You can’t. So we went, they got tired, and when Quinn asked for water and I gave him some it was the beginning of the end. I don’t know if the bottle was the wrong color, or if I gave it to him with the wrong hand, but when a three-year-old hits his limit you can do everything right and he will still fall apart. I ended up carrying his bike while he stomped along by his sister and hollered, and a block from home Mona had a wipe out on her scooter and scratched up her face and her knees. I instructed Aden to work on getting her grumpy brother the rest of the way home while I went ahead and tended to Mona’s wounds. On top of it all my Birkenstocks betrayed me and my normally most comfortable sandals cut up the tops of both my pinky toes. I had to bandage myself up along with Mona before I could go back out and scoop up screaming Quinn and dump him on the couch where he slept until almost dinnertime. Fireworks went infinitely better because we went with my neighbor. It’s so freeing to have that second adult along!
(Mona snuggled up with Julie at the fireworks show. Those aren’t rosy cheeks on my little girl, those are her scooter accident scratches, poor thing. She heals fast, though, and now looks fine.) I am done with parades until Ian gets home.
Watching scary movies. I’d really like to see Shaun of the Dead but I keep bumping it further back in my Netflix queue. Until there is another adult around I can’t afford to be thinking about zombies while there is laundry that needs doing in the basement. Someone needs to be a grown up around here, and scary movies make me less of one for short periods.
Taking naps. Sometimes I could really use a nap, but unless I can convince a quorum to do it with me, there’s just no way.
Parties. I can do play dates and I can handle people staying with us no problem, but I’m still relieved Ian happened to be home during Aden’s birthday bash. If I had to throw some kind of emergency party between now and when Ian comes back I would have to enlist another adult to help out. On the actual 4th of July (not to be confused with all the excitement on the 5th) a friend came over for the afternoon with her two kids and they stayed for dinner. Just being able to split the work up a little by having her set the table while I cooked, or having her cut up the watermelon while I stirred things on the stove was pleasant and civilized somehow. I felt less like a zookeeper and more like a hostess.
Going swimming at the Y. Quinn is the only child in the world who has never peed in a swimming pool. This is good, but it means at least once when we’re in the pool I have to take him out to use the bathroom, and depending on how busy the pool is I usually end up dragging both girls out to go with us. Plus having all three kids with me in the changing room can be a bit much.
I would say grocery shopping, even though it’s definitely easier to do that alone if there is someone to leave the kids with, but this is one area I have finally mastered, primarily due to the convenience of Aden being older. Aden pushes one cart with her brother in it, and they make up stories about the different food items in the cart (“Oooh! The watermelon is your new friend! Should it have a play date with the cheese?”) Mona pushes a second cart, and I walk ahead and pretend I’m trying to lose them as I look for what I need. If I act like they can’t keep up with me, they actually pay attention to where I am and stick pretty close. (This is especially handy in Target when they are getting pokey–I just slip into the next aisle saying, “They’ll never find me over here,” and next thing I know they are all at my side.)
Anyway, no matter how good I am about making them use the bathroom before we start shopping, someone has to pee by the time we are on the other end of the store. This used to make me insane because the hassle of getting everyone to the bathroom in time and leaving the cart outside the bathroom, etc. was never ever fun. Now either Aden can take herself, or take one of her siblings if they need to go, and they catch up with me in frozen foods. So it’s still an event to go shopping with all three kids all the time, but it’s never bad anymore. They don’t whine or cry, they are just slow and distracted because they are kids. I’m used to it, but I’m still looking forward to buying food by myself again from time to time.
I’m so lucky that most of my problems aren’t really problems. Life without Ian is inconvenient and not as much fun, but we still have a very nice life. It’s just not the life I want most. Many people never gets anywhere near this close to what they want, so I don’t take that lightly. Life is great. I can hardly believe it’s about to get better.
Changing a futon cover. This is much harder when the only people around to help were born this century.
Trying on clothes. It’s not just hard when your kids are little and scrambling around the dressing room, it’s also annoying when they are old enough to share their observations and opinions while you’re trying things on. (Not that they are wrong, I just don’t enjoy the critique.) With the exception of a few things I ordered through a catalog back in the winter I have all the same clothes I had when Ian left. Not that I’m a big clothes shopper, but I just have a feeling if Ian was stop-lossed for the rest of our lives I would be wearing the same six outfits until the kids left home or I died, whichever came first.
Finishing any yard work. Impossible. I know there must be single parents who do this, but I can’t figure out how. Inside chores I can handle because if all the kids are in the house with me somewhere I’m not worried about them. Keeping track of three kids running loose outside is trickier, especially since the younger ones want to follow the older ones into dangerous territory. Yard work has to be done in daylight, so it’s one of the few things I can’t do after they go to bed. I can whack weeds for a few minutes at a time at best before someone wants to bike someplace out of sight, or needs help crossing the street, or I have to restrain Quinn from flagging down yet another ice cream truck. Our yard will look so much better when Ian comes home.
Attending parades. This probably wouldn’t come up too often anywhere else, but one of Milwaukee’s nicknames is ‘Festival City,’ and there are events and festivals all summer long. (Summerfest, Asian Moon, Indian Summer, Irish Fest, German Fest, Pride Fest, Festa Italiana, South Shore Frolics, Bastille Days….. Good grief if you are bored and within driving distance of Milwaukee you have no excuse for it.) There are fireworks almost every weekend and lots of parades. We skipped a big parade and street festival with fireworks this weekend and my kids didn’t care because we just did a lot of that for 4th of July. I knew the Independence Day events in our neighborhood park would be trouble without another adult along, but I didn’t see a good way out of it.
Anyway, without another adult to help with potty breaks, etc., I told the kids we could do the parade and the fireworks, but we’d have to go home in between. I knew even that would be too much in the heat, but how can you deny kids a 4th of July celebration? You can’t. So we went, they got tired, and when Quinn asked for water and I gave him some it was the beginning of the end. I don’t know if the bottle was the wrong color, or if I gave it to him with the wrong hand, but when a three-year-old hits his limit you can do everything right and he will still fall apart. I ended up carrying his bike while he stomped along by his sister and hollered, and a block from home Mona had a wipe out on her scooter and scratched up her face and her knees. I instructed Aden to work on getting her grumpy brother the rest of the way home while I went ahead and tended to Mona’s wounds. On top of it all my Birkenstocks betrayed me and my normally most comfortable sandals cut up the tops of both my pinky toes. I had to bandage myself up along with Mona before I could go back out and scoop up screaming Quinn and dump him on the couch where he slept until almost dinnertime. Fireworks went infinitely better because we went with my neighbor. It’s so freeing to have that second adult along!
(Mona snuggled up with Julie at the fireworks show. Those aren’t rosy cheeks on my little girl, those are her scooter accident scratches, poor thing. She heals fast, though, and now looks fine.) I am done with parades until Ian gets home.
Watching scary movies. I’d really like to see Shaun of the Dead but I keep bumping it further back in my Netflix queue. Until there is another adult around I can’t afford to be thinking about zombies while there is laundry that needs doing in the basement. Someone needs to be a grown up around here, and scary movies make me less of one for short periods.
Taking naps. Sometimes I could really use a nap, but unless I can convince a quorum to do it with me, there’s just no way.
Parties. I can do play dates and I can handle people staying with us no problem, but I’m still relieved Ian happened to be home during Aden’s birthday bash. If I had to throw some kind of emergency party between now and when Ian comes back I would have to enlist another adult to help out. On the actual 4th of July (not to be confused with all the excitement on the 5th) a friend came over for the afternoon with her two kids and they stayed for dinner. Just being able to split the work up a little by having her set the table while I cooked, or having her cut up the watermelon while I stirred things on the stove was pleasant and civilized somehow. I felt less like a zookeeper and more like a hostess.
Going swimming at the Y. Quinn is the only child in the world who has never peed in a swimming pool. This is good, but it means at least once when we’re in the pool I have to take him out to use the bathroom, and depending on how busy the pool is I usually end up dragging both girls out to go with us. Plus having all three kids with me in the changing room can be a bit much.
I would say grocery shopping, even though it’s definitely easier to do that alone if there is someone to leave the kids with, but this is one area I have finally mastered, primarily due to the convenience of Aden being older. Aden pushes one cart with her brother in it, and they make up stories about the different food items in the cart (“Oooh! The watermelon is your new friend! Should it have a play date with the cheese?”) Mona pushes a second cart, and I walk ahead and pretend I’m trying to lose them as I look for what I need. If I act like they can’t keep up with me, they actually pay attention to where I am and stick pretty close. (This is especially handy in Target when they are getting pokey–I just slip into the next aisle saying, “They’ll never find me over here,” and next thing I know they are all at my side.)
Anyway, no matter how good I am about making them use the bathroom before we start shopping, someone has to pee by the time we are on the other end of the store. This used to make me insane because the hassle of getting everyone to the bathroom in time and leaving the cart outside the bathroom, etc. was never ever fun. Now either Aden can take herself, or take one of her siblings if they need to go, and they catch up with me in frozen foods. So it’s still an event to go shopping with all three kids all the time, but it’s never bad anymore. They don’t whine or cry, they are just slow and distracted because they are kids. I’m used to it, but I’m still looking forward to buying food by myself again from time to time.
I’m so lucky that most of my problems aren’t really problems. Life without Ian is inconvenient and not as much fun, but we still have a very nice life. It’s just not the life I want most. Many people never gets anywhere near this close to what they want, so I don’t take that lightly. Life is great. I can hardly believe it’s about to get better.
Thursday, February 25, 2021
Testing the Waters
Last night I got to swim again for the first time in nearly a year.
With the exception of occasional walks on the treadmill while watching Star Trek, or travel home from work on foot, any real physical activity became one of my basic losses of the pandemic. Right around my birthday in mid-March 2020, my county pool shut down. There is talk it may never reopen. In the meantime, the impact on my body of no longer swimming a few times a week hasn't been good. I feel less capable in my skin, like I've suffered a power drain.
So I asked around to see if there were any pools in our area that had found a way to allow people to swim safely, and I found two. One is north of us, a bit far, a bit expensive, but has excellent protocols. The other is south, closer, cheap, but a bit more lax. The one to the south was incredibly convenient (no reservations, evening hours), so my oldest daughter and I decided to give it a try and see if we felt safe there or not.
At first, it didn't look promising. There were swim lessons going on, and too many people indoors without masks for our comfort. I left my mask on until the last minute and got into the pool. I figured once submerged, it couldn't get much safer. I have noticed over the years that the odds of my even picking up a common cold were greatly diminished when I swim regularly, most likely because soaking for long periods in chlorine kills anything I might have picked up. Aden stood at the far end of the pool where there were fewer people and waited for most of them to leave before she took off her mask and ventured into the water.
But then after the swim lessons ended, and the parents and children cleared out, we had the entire pool to ourselves! A lone lifeguard sat off to the side in a mask and looked on while we didn't drown. After a little while, they shut off some of the overhead lights and turned on the lights in the water to make it glow, which was really beautiful.
I hadn't intended to swim a whole mile, because I didn't want to make my body too sore after such a long hiatus, but it felt so nice to move I went ahead and did it anyway. The first few laps felt good and familiar, but also like a strange adjustment. My back didn't seem to understand what was happening, then got used to it. By lap eight, my arms were feeling it, but they got used to it, too. By the thirty-sixth lap, I knew I would be sore today, but it was nice to know it would be the good kind of sore. Not the feeling-old-while-I-get-out-of-bed kind of sore. Sore like I earned something. Sore like I can feel my body working the way it's supposed to.
Aden simply enjoyed floating about and being out of the house for a change. She agreed a pool to ourselves (or even at some point with a couple of other people in the other lanes) was not a big risk. We are going to do our best to stick to a regular schedule and swim a few times a week.
One of the things I appreciated while doing my laps again was the ability to think and sort out ideas. I can do that in a way in the pool that I can't quite do anywhere else. And as I was literally testing the waters again, returning to something that used to be normal and now feels noteworthy, I started to imagine what it will be like building toward an old life that seems new again.
I have orchestra back. It's different, and now carries an undertone of anxiety not related to simply sorting out rhythms and fingerings by a certain deadline, but it's part of my routine again. It requires I keep track of the days once more. I have to plan ahead to have gas in the car, and to eat before I leave to be someplace on time. "On time" has not been a concern for many months.
I'm working on a project for the Racine Art Museum's "Peeps contest." It was canceled last year, and my kids and I couldn't find any Peeps in the store anyway. (One of many unexpected shortages due to Covid.) I received a notice in the mail inviting our family to please participate this year. The Peeps contest is back! As are actual Peeps. I'm looking forward to sharing more about that as our projects come together this week.
"Looking forward to" is a nice phrase I haven't gotten to use in a while. There have only been vague plans and unfinished chores and no structure to anything. I didn't normally think of myself as someone needing structure, but I know better now.
I don't need rules so much as rhythm. I've missed anticipation, interaction, conclusion, accountability, and a predictable level of repetition that allows you to plan. I've missed planning things.
I told Aden I really believe she'll be able to start college in the fall. Finally. She's not convinced. She's had this rug pulled out from under her twice now.
I believe this past year has been hardest on her of anyone in our home. Virtual schooling as worked out very well for Mona, and doesn't seem to bother Quinn. This year would have been an adjustment for Ian anyway having retired from the Army, so he was already going to have to sort out what role to play at home now. I have good days and bad. But Aden was supposed to be able to finish her senior year of high school and spend the summer with her friends and move on to a college adventure. I was going to send her care packages and enjoy hearing stories of life on her own when she'd visit at holidays. Instead she's been without direction or a social scene that requires she get up from the couch. Compound that with the guilt of being anything short of grateful for a home where she's safe and a family that is healthy, and it makes for a fairly dismal gap year.
But I really do think with a year of her college figuring out what works and what doesn't, people getting vaccinated, better and more rapid tests becoming available, and her own new habits for staying safe, Aden will get to go away to school. Which means thinking about things like packing, and classes, and... And all the things a 19-year old should be thinking about. I'm excited for her.
We're a long way from normal. And there are some things about the old normal that I don't think I want back. But swimming again on a regular schedule is a big step in the right direction for a change. I feel it in my muscles today. And I feel it in my heart.
Thursday, March 31, 2022
Spring Catch Up Post 2022
Just taking a moment to jot down some of the interesting things going on before those memories are overwhelmed by all the new interesting things coming up.
Kid update:
Quinn is doing fine and seems to be enjoying high school. He's at the end of a truly non-eventful spring break, but when I asked him how it's going, he said it's been boring and he's enjoying that very much.
Mona graduated from high school last semester and is almost done with a virtual semester at UWM. She hates it and will leave after finals. But I keep telling her watching assigned YouTube videos at our dining room table is NOT COLLEGE and she should not make any decisions about the value of higher education based on this experience. She was accepted into art school for the fall, but is unconvinced about going. In the meantime we have a lead on a brief internship this summer that could be valuable, and we're looking into possibilities for art careers that don't require school.
Aden, meanwhile, is finishing up her first year at UW Stout and she loves it. There were a couple of alarming (especially for parents from afar) incidents in the dorm earlier this term (an intruder in the night and a fire on a different floor), but those seem to have been resolved. I'm proud of how well she's adapted to life away from home. She has made good friends, loves her classes and teachers. . . the school has been a good fit. I miss her, but I'm really happy for her. (She did choose to come home for spring break a couple of weeks ago, rather that go off with friends somewhere. I appreciated the snuggle time on the couch with her, eating popcorn and watching season two of Chuck.)
Peep update:
We have delivered our entries into this year's Racine Art Museum Peep Art competition! While Aden was home over spring break we started a giant Sparkle Peep, and she and Quinn and I entered it in the group category. Mona created the spectacular Peepzilla for the individual adult category. Sadly, she had to clip the ears off of two Peeps on the tail for her piece to fit in the box they use to test the size requirement, but I'm proud of her for doing it. People need to see her wonderful work. (And I told her I can reattach those bits when she brings it back home.) More Peep stuff after the opening at the museum this coming week.
Instrument update:
I have been working very hard to finish three instruments that I got behind on during the pandemic. I started two violins and a viola a few years ago, and then wasn't in a good mental place to work on them for a while. I finally decided the only way out is through, and made myself get into my shop every day.
I think the big trick for getting back to work on something I've been avoiding, is to break it down into chunks that aren't overwhelming. For instance, corners on violins are hard. Three instruments times two plates times four corners per plate is way too many corners to face on an average day. But if I go into my shop with the expectation that I only have to do one, then that I can do. One stupid corner. Not all 24. Just one. Once I'm actually doing the work, I remember why I enjoy it, and usually wind up doing more than the minimum. But if something goes wrong? Then I still don't feel like a failure because I usually surpassed whatever my goal was in the shop at that point anyway.
My hope was to get one of these instruments done in time to submit to the first ever International Celebration of Women Luthiers exhibit in Georgia recently. I didn't make it. But I got close! All three instruments are "in the white" and just need some last bit of preparation before varnish.
Atlanta update:
I did make it to the International Celebration of Women Luthiers in Georgia myself, though! It was an amazing weekend. I got to see some spectacular instruments and bows, and unlike other competitions and exhibits, I got to try the bows! (Most of the time you can only admire the pretty bows, not use them.) Several of the builders with things in the exhibition were there for a panel discussion, and on the third day we got to hear professionals play everything in a hall so we could compare all their qualities. Honestly, there wasn't an instrument I didn't like.
But easily the best part of this trip was the people. I got to meet so many remarkable women that I'd only ever interacted with online, and everyone was welcoming and supportive and inspiring and kind. They invited me along at every turn to dinners and shop tours and I felt so included. There were so many new friends that instantly felt like old friends. My heart was so full after this trip.
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| The lovely Huthmaker Violin Shop! |
Performance update:
We had such a wonderful concert with Festival City Symphony earlier this month, and there is another coming up next weekend. I'm grateful to be playing in an orchestra again, however, I am ready for the break after the season finale. But orchestra people are among the best people. It's nice to be among them again.
Time Management update:
One of the things people ask me most often is how I have the time to do all the different things I do. The answer is I don't. I have to steal that time from other places, most often sleep, exercise, and cleaning. All that instrument work was happening mostly between midnight and 3a.m. Which meant if I was going to be awake enough to work at the shop I had to cut out swimming in the morning. And the house is a mess, because if I don't clean, it doesn't get clean. Everyone else doesn't mind living in a pit, apparently, but it still bugs me. However, I would rather be remembered for having created a few nice things than for not letting the dishes pile up. There will be time to clean. (And when the kids leave the house one day, most things will STAY clean after I turn my back, which is a very exciting concept.)
But! Now that I'm in the varnishing stage with those instruments, breaks are built in. Once you put on a coat of something that needs to dry, well, you have to leave it alone until it's dry. Which means I'm back to going to bed before midnight, and I started swimming again. (House is still a mess, though. Oh well.)
We did take a moment to dust and reorganize the Mold-A-Rama collection recently. We were contacted by someone writing a paper about zoo souvenirs, and wanted a sample of what's on our mantel. Quinn and I spent an hour cleaning everything and putting them in a new order, and that was fun to revisit so many memories. (We really need to get down to the Oklahoma City Zoo before the year is up.)
Covid update:
Overall, it's nice to feel things transitioning back to something normal. Numbers are looking a lot better here in Wisconsin, but I really wish people could take the pandemic seriously just enough longer to get past things a bit. I'm one of a very few people in either of my orchestras still wearing a mask, and we still require them at the violin store. I only ever see one other person in a mask at the pool. I know too many people struggling with Long Covid to treat it lightly, and until we are squarely in 1% territory, I'm keeping my mask on in public places. Besides, I need to stay healthy for my travel plans!
Travel Plans update:
I'm returning to my varnish workshop in Chicago at the end of April! And right after that, I'm going to ITALY!!! Lots of planning for all of that. More soon.
Writing update:
Not much to report, other than lots of rejections for my latest novel, but we'll see. I'm signed up to pitch it to live people at the end of April. I'm also working on a kids book project, and a followup to my violin repair diagnostics guide that will actually walk people through doing some simple repairs. (There are other repair books out there, but they are boring. Mine should be less boring.)
General state of the world and brief TV show update:
There are so many things in the news that make me unbearably sad. I don't understand why it's so hard for people to be kind. That sounds Polyanna-ish and naive, but still. I get tired of people who are rash or illogical or selfish, and that's all the news seems to be filled with from the smallest stories to the biggest. Among the biggest is obviously the war in Ukraine. My dad was a pacifist, and I lean that way most of the time, but it's hard for me to see how doing anything short of driving Putin back to Russia without concessions will result in anything but long term strife for democracy around the world. That may be worth real sacrifice on all our parts.
Out of curiosity about Ukraine and its leader, we recently watched the first season of Volodymyr Zelenskyy's TV show "Servant of the People." It's very good. Well made, funny, and it's obvious how the man got elected president for real (with 70% of the vote) after doing a charming dry run on his fictitious program. It's also obvious why in peace time he disappointed his constituents a bit since there is no way for someone to live up to what a fictional character can achieve on TV. In war time, I don't think they could have asked for a better president.
The meta element while watching the show is startling. Obviously to watch someone play the role of the president of a country, knowing he then became the president of that country, never gets less remarkable. But there are so many sweeping shots of Ukraine looking beautiful, and every time I watched the opening credits, I wondered how many of those sites are still standing and how much is in ruin. The references to Putin are painful.
And in a really chilling moment in the last episode of the first season (and please please please Netflix, put up the other two because I really want to see what happens next), Zelenskyy's character has an imagined interaction with Ivan the Terrible, where the latter lays out an argument for ruling with cruelty trying to convince him that Ukraine belongs with its Russian roots. The president insists to his imagined death that Ukraine belongs with Europe. For a comedy show and at this time, it's deeply poignant.
Well, now I'm just talking about TV, so it's time to wrap this up. The funny part about any kind of "journal" is that you only have time to write when there is nothing going on. All the interesting things are hard to take time to describe. My life has been busy and interesting of late! Looking forward to making more time to share the things coming up.
I leave you with Lake Michigan looking beautifully blue:
Friday, July 17, 2015
Escape to the Cottage
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| Mona at the cottage |
It was wonderful to be at the cottage. It's the one place where I don't feel obligated to really do anything most of the time, and I need that periodically. It's a place to just kind of be.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Major Stay-At-Home Dad (Babble)
Often when people find out he’s in the Army and has served in Iraq they make a point of telling me to thank him. Usually it’s people who have never met him, and they use words like hero. I agree, but not for all the same reasons.
Ian’s is the ultimate stay-at-home-parent struggle in some ways. In his job as an officer in the U. S. Army Reserves he has earned honors for his contributions and accomplishments, including a bronze star for his last deployment. He is one of the smartest, kindest men I’ve ever met and exactly the kind of soldier we want representing us in a foreign land. If anyone can find effective solutions for some of the problems the Army faces, it’s Ian, so he deserves whatever recognition he gets.
But the really hard work he does is staying home with three kids, and there are no medals for that.
No one wants to shake my hand in awe when then they hear he stays on top of the laundry and manages play dates and gets dinner on the table night after night. My father took me aside during a visit to our home once, and said, “Ian is amazing.” My dad admitted he wouldn’t have the patience for handling Mona or keeping track of Quinn or negotiating endlessly with Aden. Ian shouts more than he’d like (we’re constantly explaining to the kids that they are teaching us to shout by not doing what we ask the first 4 or 5 times when we ask nicely) and tells me sometimes he wishes he could do better, but that’s just being human. He has done the endless driving back and forth to school and has no problem grocery shopping with all the kids in tow. He takes them to violin lessons and choir and swimming and birthday parties and dentist appointments and the zoo. He clips nails, gives baths and knows all their friends’ names. He does all of this knowing at the end of the day when I come home they will run to me and say they like me best. If the situation were reversed I couldn’t handle it. I would find a way to withhold ice cream out of spite, I’m sure. Ian just shrugs and says, “YOU still love me, right?”
And I do. Ian is my best friend and the person I trust most in this world. He’s smart and funny and he makes me feel beautiful even when I haven’t bothered to run a brush through my hair. My day doesn’t feel complete until I’ve had a chance to tell him about it, even if it’s just to describe a funny scene I watched on The Office or to remind him we need eggs. When he was gone for 15 months during his last deployment I felt ungrounded. My days floated together in a way that was unsettling. I felt less real. Ian enables me to be more myself when we’re together. He clears obstacles from my path so that I can accomplish more. He’s told me I create beauty that the world needs and I should be given the freedom to do that. He made it possible for me to go to violin making school, and our violin store would not exist except for his hard work. Thanks to him I’ve built instruments, written novels, and performed some wonderful music. Without him I’ve discovered I turn into a cleaning machine and a nag.
I can’t stand that he’s leaving. He loves me enough that if I put my foot down and told him to stay I know he would. The problem is I love him enough not to do that. He has supported me in everything I’ve ever wanted to do and has dedicated a good portion of his life to making my dreams a reality. How can I not do the same for him? I don’t fully understand the part of him that chose to be an Army officer, but I would never forgive myself for denying him something that he found important. I don’t want him to resent me or regret his decisions. I want him to look at me and feel I help him be his best possible self. I want to clear obstacles from his path, too. I love him and will support him from home as best I can.
It’s going to be a long year.
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