We celebrated Abby's second birthday last weekend. This picture is from right after she had blown out both candles on her cupcake. The entire time that everyone (a crowd of grownup relatives, plus a couple of cousins and her brother and sister) sang "Happy Birthday" to her and during the whole candle-blowing experience, I was moved to tears. She has grown so much emotionally. I had never seen her so completely thrilled and proud. I had never seen her so aware that everyone was making a big fuss about her. It is the beginning of her self-consciousness, and at this particular moment, that awareness was marked by joy and affirmation and pure glee. As one of my friends said, she looked like she was busting. I think it was the best thing I ever saw.14 November 2009
Happy Birthday, Baby Girl
We celebrated Abby's second birthday last weekend. This picture is from right after she had blown out both candles on her cupcake. The entire time that everyone (a crowd of grownup relatives, plus a couple of cousins and her brother and sister) sang "Happy Birthday" to her and during the whole candle-blowing experience, I was moved to tears. She has grown so much emotionally. I had never seen her so completely thrilled and proud. I had never seen her so aware that everyone was making a big fuss about her. It is the beginning of her self-consciousness, and at this particular moment, that awareness was marked by joy and affirmation and pure glee. As one of my friends said, she looked like she was busting. I think it was the best thing I ever saw.
I'll See You Reach the Wizard, Whether I Get a Heart or Not
Abby walks into things. Sometimes, because she's thinking about something else, or because her thoughts have already jumped ahead to the end result of her trek across the room, she doesn't see the obstacle right in front of her and she walks SMACK into the corner of a counter, or straight into a chair, or directly into the dog. In a way, it's admirable the way that she bumps and falls -- flat out, WHAM, KNOCK, SPLAT. No catching herself, no double-takes, no fear, just some bruises and a few tears, and then she's off again, usually in pursuit of the same goal.
My walking is going pretty well, although still not great. My balance is still bumbly when I'm tired, and my right leg just won't get with the program. It's really easy to knock me over -- just ask the dog, the baby, the hatchback on the minivan. There's been a noticeable improvement, though, since I got some orthotics from the podiatrist. These were to correct my arches which went blooey when I got pregnant, apparently, like everything else did. My abs and back -- my core -- continue to be weak and I think that's the key now.
When Abby and I spend the day together, it doesn't take a detective to notice the similarities. We both have to use our arms to push us up from a lying-down to a sitting-up position, and to stand up. We both stumble around and are easily knocked over; our balance is unenviable. Her strong legs both work just fine, and she doesn't limp like Mommy; even though she likes to play with my cane, God willing, she'll never need it. But it is really remarkable how similar my physical state resembles that of a baby girl who's really still learning how to walk.
I've started taking a walk for exercise each day. I love it. I never understood it when my parents (and other old people) said, "I have to keep moving" to address their pain from arthritis, etc., but it's absolutely true. When I keep moving, it's like the Tin Man finding the oil. When I sit too long, conversely, getting up and moving to the car is really ridiculous -- my legs hardly work at all and I limp along like Igor.
I'm helping to lead an adult ed class in my Episcopal church called "Living the Questions." One of our sessions recently described the ancient/modern practice of walking the labryinth. I used to think that labryinths were mazes, but in fact there is no way to get stuck in a labryinth -- the point is not a challenge, but a meditative experience of walking in a pattern that has over the ages been shown to ease the mind, open the spirit, allow for God to step in.
On one of my recent walks, it had just cleared after a heavy rain and there were worms and bugs all over the place. What I noticed was they were all walking the wrong way. It's hard to explain what I mean -- they just all seemed to be walking in a direction calculated toward their immediate demise. And they were everywhere. Like people?
The modern thing for a boss in an office is not to have you come to their office. It's to come to your space and say, "Walk with me," and make you walk along beside them while they lecture/motivate/berate you. Jesus said "Take up your cross and walk with me." Very different, I think. For one thing, His invitation was optional, although I think it broke his heart when people refused him.
I've given up on walking next to a boss and, I think, given up on walking in self-destructive paths with the other worms. I'm trying very hard to walk with Jesus, and trying to keep moving, to keep the joints oiled. I keep bumping along, though, running smack into things when I'm not looking up and knocked over a bit too easily. Being a mom has, as usual, completely changed the equation, though. Watching Abby learn to walk, I realize that whether or not there is hope for my walk -- literal or figurative -- the most important thing is that she will walk long and strong and true, and I'll help her the best I can. Like the creaky, rusty old Tin Man said to Dorothy, "I'll see you reach the Wizard, whether I get a heart or not."
My walking is going pretty well, although still not great. My balance is still bumbly when I'm tired, and my right leg just won't get with the program. It's really easy to knock me over -- just ask the dog, the baby, the hatchback on the minivan. There's been a noticeable improvement, though, since I got some orthotics from the podiatrist. These were to correct my arches which went blooey when I got pregnant, apparently, like everything else did. My abs and back -- my core -- continue to be weak and I think that's the key now.
When Abby and I spend the day together, it doesn't take a detective to notice the similarities. We both have to use our arms to push us up from a lying-down to a sitting-up position, and to stand up. We both stumble around and are easily knocked over; our balance is unenviable. Her strong legs both work just fine, and she doesn't limp like Mommy; even though she likes to play with my cane, God willing, she'll never need it. But it is really remarkable how similar my physical state resembles that of a baby girl who's really still learning how to walk.
I've started taking a walk for exercise each day. I love it. I never understood it when my parents (and other old people) said, "I have to keep moving" to address their pain from arthritis, etc., but it's absolutely true. When I keep moving, it's like the Tin Man finding the oil. When I sit too long, conversely, getting up and moving to the car is really ridiculous -- my legs hardly work at all and I limp along like Igor.
I'm helping to lead an adult ed class in my Episcopal church called "Living the Questions." One of our sessions recently described the ancient/modern practice of walking the labryinth. I used to think that labryinths were mazes, but in fact there is no way to get stuck in a labryinth -- the point is not a challenge, but a meditative experience of walking in a pattern that has over the ages been shown to ease the mind, open the spirit, allow for God to step in.
On one of my recent walks, it had just cleared after a heavy rain and there were worms and bugs all over the place. What I noticed was they were all walking the wrong way. It's hard to explain what I mean -- they just all seemed to be walking in a direction calculated toward their immediate demise. And they were everywhere. Like people?
The modern thing for a boss in an office is not to have you come to their office. It's to come to your space and say, "Walk with me," and make you walk along beside them while they lecture/motivate/berate you. Jesus said "Take up your cross and walk with me." Very different, I think. For one thing, His invitation was optional, although I think it broke his heart when people refused him.
I've given up on walking next to a boss and, I think, given up on walking in self-destructive paths with the other worms. I'm trying very hard to walk with Jesus, and trying to keep moving, to keep the joints oiled. I keep bumping along, though, running smack into things when I'm not looking up and knocked over a bit too easily. Being a mom has, as usual, completely changed the equation, though. Watching Abby learn to walk, I realize that whether or not there is hope for my walk -- literal or figurative -- the most important thing is that she will walk long and strong and true, and I'll help her the best I can. Like the creaky, rusty old Tin Man said to Dorothy, "I'll see you reach the Wizard, whether I get a heart or not."
06 July 2009
Dimpled Elbows, Anyone?
I wouldn't trade being myself for being someone else. I wouldn't trade my own bizarre personality -- after all, I have been my friend for a long time -- and I certainly wouldn't trade my husband and kids for anything -- they are the best and give my life incredible joy and meaning. I wouldn't trade my hazel eyes or my shoulders, though I would give away my calves and my dimpled elbows for free. I like myself, but I think I might be disappointed in myself.
I have so many women friends about whom I think, "she is so much more ___ than I." I have a friend who is a successful lawyer, a fabulously popular, funny, cute and fashionable gal who knits and sews her own adorable kids' adorable clothing. I have another who is the apotheosis of New England -- smart and witty, outdoorsy and capable, resourceful, competent, hosting parties for hundreds of important financiers at her home while apparently singlehandedly running her church and a Girl Scout troop, keeping a menagerie of house pets and raising two daughters with brains and beauty. A new friend of mine has a perfectly imperfect, rustic, gorgeous old house, and a beautiful, wild, verdant and creative garden with a life to match, plus the most beautiful, naturally curly mane of hair. Another new friend has published a book and is working on another, and one gal can do literally any crafty thing she sets her mind to. A woman from high school works for a nonprofit dedicated to eradicating poverty (what, there wasn't something more important to do?) and another friend works on liberal policy issues for the Center for American Progress (and looks great in a Diane Von Furstenberg dress).
I guess the point is, I wouldn't really want to be one of these other women rather than being myself, but I long to do the things they do. My life feels very stale outside of my relationships with my husband and children. I do have three kids, but my friends have kids, too, so that's no excuse. What is it that I don't have in me? Is it something that can be cultivated? Can I learn? And if I can't learn to have a life as full as these, can I at least learn to stop wishing it were?
I have so many women friends about whom I think, "she is so much more ___ than I." I have a friend who is a successful lawyer, a fabulously popular, funny, cute and fashionable gal who knits and sews her own adorable kids' adorable clothing. I have another who is the apotheosis of New England -- smart and witty, outdoorsy and capable, resourceful, competent, hosting parties for hundreds of important financiers at her home while apparently singlehandedly running her church and a Girl Scout troop, keeping a menagerie of house pets and raising two daughters with brains and beauty. A new friend of mine has a perfectly imperfect, rustic, gorgeous old house, and a beautiful, wild, verdant and creative garden with a life to match, plus the most beautiful, naturally curly mane of hair. Another new friend has published a book and is working on another, and one gal can do literally any crafty thing she sets her mind to. A woman from high school works for a nonprofit dedicated to eradicating poverty (what, there wasn't something more important to do?) and another friend works on liberal policy issues for the Center for American Progress (and looks great in a Diane Von Furstenberg dress).
I guess the point is, I wouldn't really want to be one of these other women rather than being myself, but I long to do the things they do. My life feels very stale outside of my relationships with my husband and children. I do have three kids, but my friends have kids, too, so that's no excuse. What is it that I don't have in me? Is it something that can be cultivated? Can I learn? And if I can't learn to have a life as full as these, can I at least learn to stop wishing it were?
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