Beginning.....yet again.

I think I better start writing again. Just begin.

In one respect I know this has to do with September. This morning it was actually cool in Arizona. Like, so cool the windows were open, I had my BATHROBE ON, and I wanted a hot latte rather than an iced coffee. So when the little chicas of the household went out for storyhour and preschool I found myself opening the DD (damn dissertation) on my laptop next to an open window.

Wow. Writing next to almost but not quite chilly air. I breathed in. What was that in the air? Not the smell of pumpkins or apple pie. But school. It was there. That unmistakeable scent of information, of schedules, of lectures, notes, books, PAPER. Of course I got excited about my research. It was fall, back to school time! Yeah! Finally. I've missed that. I never have written much in the summer.

I've realized that slowly I had become an addict to this calander. I crave the orders of weeks and weekends. Of the Friday night football game that makes Saturday seem so sweet. Of the cram filled Sunday night that breaks open Monday mornings. The rotation of months into holiday breaks and week long vacations. The endless possibility of a three month summer.

And then I paused and thought about that. I haven't written much this August either....but I don't have time to waste...to be spent waiting for someone to tell me, now, this is the time, now, go write now. Part of trying on this hat of mother/thinker is attempting to find spaces/places in my life where I never thought I could write before. Arizona is a hard place to try on that hat. It's so hot here in August that Fall seems a heavenly miracle I'm too much of a sinner to feel again.

My niece goes to a little preschool nearby. Each morning they say the date, the time, the year, the month. It is all charted on a little box filled calander in the classroom. Countless of other preschoolers do the same thing each morning. Now, there is nothing inherently wrong with knowing the date. Here's the thing though, there is something addicting about it. And we are forced to buy the sweet candy pretty early in our lives. This isn't a post about the horrors or the possibilites of year-round schooling and it certainly isn't a tirade against preschool curriculums. But it is admission of addictation. It is a realization that I have learned to only be 'creative' to be 'productive' in the confines of a calander, a chart that tells me when I should be learning, experiencing the new, constructing.....being. Traditons are important, the change of seasons is too. The march of time is something to be recognized, to be celebrated, to be mourned. But it isn't something to become addicted to. It's rock candy -pretty on the outside but ugly and it'll rot your teeth for sure.

So I'm admitting that I didn't write much this past month. (there's been a lot more than heat to think about too) But I'm also a school schedule addict and I'm recovering. I actually have been quite proud of my productivity over the past two summers. I've forced myself to churn out more work in those summers than all my other summers combined. (AHHH to have waste-ful time again). I'm learning to forge a new kind of schedule. One that isn't wedded to the schedules of the school calander. One that is much more based on a "now-grab-this moment" than "yeah, Monday's coming"

We aren't taught how to do this in our schools. We are taught to wait. We are taught to listen to others not our selves. We are taught to pay attention to the date, to the schedule, to the plan. But it isn't always our plan or our schedule. And it's a fine line to walk, this balancing of others time and our own time. It's one we have to learn and unlearn and learn again.

Daniel and I have recently decided that we have a new way to rank favorite restaurants. It's really simple: Good = waiters smile when they see the carseat and discretely pour me new water when I nurse. Bad= waiters stick us at the worst table when they see carseat and stay away from us like we have the plague.

Now, in our current hometown and economic level we can't afford much in the way of restaurants. Here they are either WAY too expensive or WAY too cheap (as in a Hotdog stand) or they are pasta (and too expensive at that, I don't pay for pasta). So it's not like we have a lot of choice ANYWAY! But we do feel that the pricepoint we are at is child-friendly. We aren't talking 5 stars or anything....especially for a three month old...I mean she's quiet unless she's hungry and if she's hungry....I got that taken care of:)

However, we are now down to three. Granted they are all FABULOUS. The staff is accommodating, the food amazing, and the pricepoints tolerable........but we sometimes laugh at our choices.

We simply go: Greek? Sushi? Thai? and that's it.

There aren't a lot of nursing moms out there with me. So far in the three months that we've had the little one I have as yet to have seen ONE OTHER MOTHER breastfeeding in public. I can't be the ONLY one but sometimes I feel like I am making some sort of statement instead of simply feeding my hungry child.

But then again, children are some sort of statement -that is something I am still getting used to. The presence of a child immediately affects how people think about you and what they assume you think about the world. And what you do with that child becomes even more of a statement.

So I'll stand by this one. Breastfeeding in public -go for it!

(and if a restaurant makes you feel uncomfortable with the baby....never go back!)

Public vs. Private

I think something that all creative people struggle with is balancing their private life with their public life. And most of the time we talk about how hard it is to find the time and space for creativity.

But there is another tension that we don't talk about as much and this is the tension between keeping the private, private and keeping the public, public.

This is probably something that fiction or maybe memoir writers struggle the most with. How tempting it is to put that conversation down you heard at the coffee shop into a novel...how wonderful is it to work out your family's drama in a book, or to live in your imaginary dream life (and maybe even give it all a happy ending). But of course, aunt ____ might not want her secrets spilled in a novel and your dad doesn't want to read about your fantasies either!

Still this tension is carried through to other kinds of writing as well. This dissertation doesn't spring from a made up interest. I am interested in childhood as a concept which affects life. And I'm interested in it in a very public way. I think for far too long children have remained an aspect of the private and we haven't given childhood a chance to speak in the public arena. Of course, however, when one makes childhood public there is a host of other issues -we have to start talking about the rights of children and how to protect them in that space. We have a responsibility to act as well once we regard childhood as a public concept.

And yet, childhood is also intimately personal and private. And should remain so. It is one of the reasons why I am putting less pictures of Fiona up on the web -she deserves a chance to make herSELF known, and not through the eyes of her momma. And I also, have to learn to write this dissertation without resorting to sharing all the details, hopes, dreams, pains of my own childhood. I have to keep it all balanced as I write. I have to decide what is of interest to me and only me and what should interest others.

In any case, this is something that challenges my writing (when I do find time to do it). How shall I balance the private and public? How shall I share with the world? How does the world share itself with me?

When its too hot to think

So we have the air conditioner on. But it's still stuffy in the house. And humid.

Window units just don't feel like central air. They don't work. They simply keep you sane. But you can't cook inside with them on. You can't drink a cup of tea. You can't sleep with a blanket. You simply can sit and listen to them hum. You can't watch tv because they are too loud and you can't hear yourself think.

If it wasn't for the wee one we would just sweat it out and at least hear the night crickets...but its just a tad bit cooler with them on, so we sweat.

She's asleep. Daddy's asleep. The dog and cat are asleep. And I'm awake. It's just not comfortable. So I came downstairs to write, to think, to read a bit of Heidegger before bed. And I realized that Heidegger is just too much when it is too hot. He makes my head hot.

So I poured some old wine over some ice cubes with a lemon twist. It's like a bad sangria...and I sewed some pants that needed hemming. And now I'm back on the computer. And I'm thinking.

I'm thinking its a bit too hot to think...but I have to use this time, when I'm relaxed and the house (except for the hum of the window units) is quiet.

Blissfully quiet.

Ok Mr. Heidegger, whatz ya got?

A Judgement

I try not to judge mothers. Motherhood is challenging and however one gets through the day with the child safe and happy, I'm all for it. That may mean that some mothers stay at home with their children all day long and do nothing but cuddle with them. It may mean that another mother goes on mommy and me trips all week long to Yoga, to Swimming, To Music. For some mothers it may mean handing the baby over to Daddy as soon as he comes home from work.
And for some mothers it means scooping the child up as soon as she gets home from work and giving her a nanny a big hug as well. And for some it means hiring a nanny so that she can up to her home office and write her article or finish her artwork or file a legal complaint.
And for some mothers it means hiring a cook or a housekeeper so that she feels sane. Whatever works.
For me, it means trying to juggle a lot of that myself and cuddle as much as possible!

HOWEVER... and I realize that this is an opinion:

I do not understand how a mother can hire a housekeeper, a nanny, a gardener, a cook, and a driver and still consider herself A STAY AT HOME MOM. Yes, she can consider herself stay at home...but a stay at home MOM! You do have to do SOME parenting at SOME point during the say.....I continue with the conversation that sparked this recent judgement:

Fiona and I often walk up to the nearby Starbucks when the thermometer goes above 86 (that seems to be our house breaking point).

Yesterday, FATHER"S DAY, we overheard some lovely dressed woman coming back from YOGA class. They were lamenting about how they didn't have the TIME to find a new housekeeper and driver for their young children. I put some of the conversation down here:

"I mean, last week, I had to skip both Yoga and Cardio to schedule two different interviews. And I was planning to go to the summer house in Vermont next week, you know, a week without the stress of the children, but I think that if I can't find a driver I just won't be able to go!"
The woman next to her replied, "I know, it takes so much time, and you really have to be careful about who you let DRIVE YOUR CHILDREN!" (my bold face)
She continued, "I had to fire my last housekeeper because she was getting her PhD and I really think that she put more effort into that work than my house."

ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME!!!

Fiona and I had to leave and brave the elements before mommy whipped out her sarcasm in a public place which currently employs the breadwinner of the house.

Seriously, parent as you will....but if you decide to have a child...please spend at least a few moments a day with them!

Work

I read this blog called, dig this chick, thanks for the recommendation KB. I like it. I like her pictures, I like that she has her business and considers herself a working mom at home. She recently posted an entry about how her house is never picked up, she always has 8000 things going at once. So she decided to post pictures of how her life/job/kids/home all mesh together. Her pics are better but here's my entry:



A pile of laundry, a cooing baby, a computer cord, my cereal bowl, and a bathtowel from trying to dry my hair that never got put away.

In any case, I've been going back and forth about thinking that parenting is a job and how I also have another job of writing this dang dissertation (I need a name for that thing!).

I think however, that I'm going to come down on the side that parenting is not a job. GASP! Can I dare say this, just after the night where I accused (wrongfully) Daniel of not pulling his weight? (he so does, I was just exhausted and the little one just wanted to lay on mommy and make her hot and it really didn't make sense for her to cry for mommy while I went to Home Depot and dropped off a propane tank too heavy for me to lift, so he went out and I stayed in and whined a bit with her)

ANYWAY, I DIGRESS.

But it can't be a job. It can't be about divvying up chores and sides and mornings. I've been trying to squeeze in writing time between Fiona time and it wasn't working because it made Fiona a chore. It made parenting a job-something to get paid for.

But we aren't paid for it. Writing is the job. Parenting is my life (or at least an aspect of it). I'm still not sure how it all fits together. But I do know that I can't squeeze her in or squeeze in writing. It has to be about having a job (writing) and then coming home or coming back to my life, a new one, this parenting one, but MY LIFE.

And it means I can't accuse anyone of not "doing" something because I can't make a chart out of it. I can't manage it. I can't simply hire an employee to do it for me. It's not a job.

Oh yeah...I'm 30!

I just wanted to say that this marks blogging for me for one year! Which means I'm 30. Wow.

I just read this letter I wrote to a scholarship committee for undergrad at Transy (side note: Daniel and I just cleaned out a BUNCH of papers that we had been lugging around for 7 years...lots of recycling opportunities).

ANYWAY

In that letter I said that I wanted (mind you that I wanted to do all this before I was 30)

-discover a cure for heart disease
-save wild dolphins
-earn a degree in biology
-live in a foreign country
-have a family

1 out of 5 isn't bad, right? (and please don't laugh at the cliches, I grew up in suburban Ohio -I'm lucky to have survived with any imagination whatsoever and I credit that to my parents who forced me outside to play).

It is so very funny how our "so called bucket lists" change as we grow....I do still want to live in a foreign land though -one with health care, vacation days, and access to good wine!

In any case this is all really a lead into a priority that I always had but never really understood the practical consequences of until experiencing them. I've always believed -without understanding- simply intuiting- that there is a place for being a woman who has a family, who falls in love, who giggles in dresses but who also thinks and does things.

Which means it's not about whether one works at home cleaning the laundry or writing a dissertation or whether one goes to an office. For me, it is about how one's doing and thinking and children and dressing and giggling are all part of a person who has to -for her sanity- make sense of it as one person, one human being.

It's not a project that one can check of a list. Feminism can't be achieved -it is a life long journey- a practice.