Thursday, November 11, 2010

Struggling to not be me

My life used to be quiet. REALLY quiet. Cats and NPR kind of quiet. (Well, except for the Karaoke part.) Now, it's not so much. You know - the kid thing. Two kids. Dog. Cat. White picket fence and all that. And it really IS all that. It does live up to the hype. I love everything about it. So the noise thing? I've adjusted. It's been totally worth it. (At least a good 90-95% of the time.)

But the kid thing? I'm still trying to adjust. Not to having them, of course. That part, I've got down pat. I've got my own, I borrow my friends', I work with them. The kid thing is great. Even the loudness. Especially the loudness. The adjusting part is to not being ME around them. Or rather, to not being the 'first reaction' me.

Because right now, there are about 10 kids in my backyard (I'm estimating). Only one of them is mine. They are all loud and rambunctious and doing all the things that kids are supposed to do: They are kicking balls as hard as they can across the yard (and I only had to tell them once to please stop kicking them into the window, so bonus!) They are swinging swords (okay, fine, light sabers) at each other. They are whacking things with plastic bats. (Only once did I have to tell them to please quit hitting my metal planter with the big wooden stick.) They are attempting to break into the house to fill Super Soakers (and it will be a failed attempt, because once I found the first random kid wandering out of the kitchen, I locked the doors) They are raiding my garden and throwing the last of my tomatoes at each other. They are climbing on things the wrong way, and landing on each other, and someone, I just know it, is going to get hurt.

And this is where I have to stop myself from trying to stop them. My first reaction is to say, "stop that! Its dangerous! You could hurt someone, or break something," But I don't say that. I don't let my fear of something stop them.

Because this is what they should be doing. They should be yelling and running and climbing and falling and throwing and almost getting hurt, and maybe actually getting hurt, and getting over it, so they can get up and do it again.

And I get to watch and listen to it all, because my office faces the yard. I wanted to be able to keep an eye on the kids while they play but still be able to work. And this seemed like such a great idea. But now I hear them all the time. And see them. Ian just came out from behind the shed, carrying a cardboard container of what I hope is only dirt. Julia is climbing up the slide, backwards, in bare feet, and someone climbs over her to go down the slide. One boy is standing on a swing, holding on to it with one hand and trying to climb up the frame. Ian is now, I think, planting something. I have no idea. I'm trying really hard to not open the window and ask what they are doing. I think of the physics concept - that the act of observing something changes it. And I don't want to change a thing.

So as I sit in my office and hear random shouts of cherry bombs (cherry bombs!? What do they know about cherry bombs?), I close my curtains. Because somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember not being observed by grownups when I played. I remember being kicked out of the house and being told to go play somewhere, anywhere. I remember going into the woods in the morning and coming back before dark. I remember wandering around construction sites, the smell of clay permanently embedded in my mind. I remember climbing the pine trees behind my house. They were sturdy at the bottom, but as you got to the top, they were thin and would sway in the wind. I would get scared when I looked down, but I loved the view, and loved the smell of the pine, and hated the sticky residue on my hands. But the residue was my proof that I did it, so I loved it, too.

I remember going down to the creek, and climbing on the rocks, and reading the graffiti left by previous generations. And I remember almost getting hurt. And definitely being scared of things (the big kids, the dark, the unidentified noises, the mysterious makers of the randomly discovered forts). I remember the excitement of coming home at night, having survived another day of being a kid.

It's hard to survive something when your mom is standing over your shoulder, protecting you from the little bumps and bruises that may come your way, or when she's watching out the window, telling everyone to play nice and be fair.

I do want him to be careful. And I want him to play fair. But I really want to just be a voice in the back of his head, telling him to think about what he's going to do, but then after thinking about it, to DO it. Because I REALLY want him to climb the tree. I want him to scrape his knee on the rocks when nobody is around to help him, and feel the pain of picking the little rocks out, and know the relief that he gave himself from doing it. Because the next time, it might not be gravel in his knee. It might be a broken arm, or a broken heart. But he will know he can do it, that he can get through the fear and the pain. That he can survive taking chances. That he can survive being a kid.

This is a lot to think about, when I'm also thinking, dude, you guys are so loud, and man, you are totally going to break that! And do you know how long it took me to GROW those tomatoes? I have to stop that voice. So I close the curtain. The real one. The mental one. I go get more coffee, and I wonder, briefly, what my other kid is doing upstairs, because she's being awfully quiet. And quiet, NPR and cats notwithstanding, isn't always a good thing. And then I tell her to go play outside.

Monday, July 5, 2010

You won't remember this...

Oh how I love Jeff Scher. I just discovered him, purely by accident.

Technically, I'm working right now, as I avoid cleaning the cat box and the basement and the kitchen, and avoid going outside to work in the garden because it is literally a hundred degrees out, and since I just got back from taking my children bowling, I'm also avoiding them, but really, it's totally for their own safety at this point, so yes, I'm working.

And by work, I mean, Hmmmm.... what's happening on today? And then follow some story to another story to another story about summer (ugh, which feels like it's just rubbing itself in my face at this point, but I digress) which leads me to a story about an artist named Jeff Scher, and the next thing you know, I'm on his website, and oh, you have got to go there, too.

He creates these amazing little films. I bounced around his site a bit, looking at this and that...and then I saw "You Won't Remember This"... about a baby. His baby. And you may already know this, but I kind of have a thing about babies. And it made me want to go hug and kiss mine and pick flowers with them and maybe even take them back to the bowling alley some day.

Well, maybe.

So what are you still doing here?? Go! You have a film to see!

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

new site followup

quick update - the site is done, I sent an email to the company for it to go live, but they haven't done it yet. Keep checking back - it should be up any hour (day?)


news news shoes shoes shoes

What's new? The website! Whoo hoo! I finally updated it! There are actual pictures, and slideshows, and text that isn't out of date! (For at least a week, that is.)

I know I'm excited.

It's not that I hate working on the website. I think it's kind of fun, actually. But it's fun in the way that working on my garden is fun. There are moments I want to throw in the trowel because it isn't anything like I imagined it would be (few things are, though). And then there are moments when I IM everyone I know to say, "Dude! You have to see this!! What do you think?" Because I am nothing if not needy for very instant feedback. (Yes, I did just write "very instant" - it's faster than simply "instant".... the world has gotten faster, and "simply instant" is sometimes still too slow. I am not ashamed to admit that I stand at the microwave and whine. But when you need to reheat your coffee, and you just put in more cold milk, it takes f o r e v e r. Seriously.)

But I digress.

Which is actually part of the reason the site takes so long to get updated. I have a tendency to digress in my life. Work on the website... look for good images to put on the slideshow that nobody has seen, get caught up in retouching a file that you want to use, next thing you know I'm rewriting a marketing piece to use that image, then I have to send it to Steff for her opinion (she rocks the printing world), and once I'm on with Steff, well, that day is shot. Because now Steff is in ROME. So to make up for the lack of hanging out in person-time, we now hang out online. We're totally unproductive. And as a side note, I recently discovered that it's totally possible to shoe-shop online in two different countries at the same time.

So now I have way too many shoes (how many different pairs of black strappy sandals do you need? I'm up to six, I think, but they are all different, and all totally cute.), and I think I can completely blame Steff for this. You see, Steff and I wear almost the same size in shoes, but slightly different. A 9 always fits one of us, depending on the shape. If I get a pair and they don't fit, I am sure they will fit her. So I have been putting together a box of random things to send to her. It started out as just cookies and a book, but let's just say, in the traditional Washington style: "Cookies were eaten." And the box was too big for just a book. So what the heck, let's throw in that pair of shoes that didn't fit but were oh so cute. And one pair became two, and now I don't even try on the shoes when I'm shopping at Marshall's and I have Josie with me, because in the back of my head I have this little voice that says, "oh, it's okay, if they don't fit, you can put them in Steff's box." And dude, they have some way cute shoes at Marshall's. And sometimes I'd get them just because I'd think, oh, this is going to be so funny when she opens THIS pair of shoes. (Yes, I am now actually buying shoes with the hope that they don't fit so I can have an excuse to send them to Italy.) There are other things in the box besides shoes, I swear. But not many.

So last week, Steff's husband Dave was in town, and offered to take back with him "The Box". Until I told him what was in it. And then he said something about how he only brought one extra suitcase, and maybe mailing it WAS a good idea after all. But I think it was because he didn't want to go through security and have to explain why, in his suitcase with his military uniform, there was also a pair of black leather 6 inch dominatrix heels.

It was an impulse buy.