I used to pack a bag, throw it into the back of my Jeep and drive up to the mountains for the day. I would walk out into the woods by myself, find a spot and park it there. I would sit quietly and think consciously. I would sketch. I would climb the boulders in the river. I would lay with the sun on my face, my body draped across a river rock, while the water rushed around me. I would be alone.
Now a trip to the mountains entails packing for a family of four. Things I never dreamed about hauling up to the woods are now a necessity to survive a three hour road trip. Ipods. Portable DVD players. Cell phones. Snacks. Drinks. Fifteen changes of clothes.
Armed with enough to survive a holocaust, we took the kids to the mountains last weekend. On the way home, we introduced them to creeks with rocks they could climb, smooth stones they could skip, woods they could run in. They weren’t impressed. “I’m supposed to POOP in the woods?!”, my five year old exclaimed. When my husband led him to the perfect pooping spot, he peed on a tree and then came out and said he was finished. No problem. Sure. No big deal. Until the car ride home when he confessed that he wasn’t pooping in the woods ever and that he needed to go… right. now.
I never got to lay on a river rock and listen to the sounds of the river. I was too absorbed in making sure that no one suffered a brain trauma climbing over those slippery-when-wet rocks. Just hearing the sound of the water was enough to remind me that I need to get back out there. But still, it’s different. Now there are people depending on me. I’m not so carefree anymore. I worry about going out into the woods alone. What if? Ideas that never occurred to me in my youth, now creep into the recesses of my mind and keeping me bound to civilization. But seeing my kids play in the little waterfall in the creek… is worth the sacrifice.
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
Evolution
Cupping the tinder of our humanity
in our shaking hands, we blow.
Yearning for a new spark to
take hold and roar to flame;
looking for a new hope to warm us.
We hold soft the ember
retrieved from the empire’s ashes.
We remember the fall of civilization.
How the people cried for salvation,
sifting through the remains of
wasted lives, once so shiny with
elegance, polished bright to hide
the truth, the fear and the longing.
We are learning to make fire,
as we paw through the cinders
of our own devastating mortality
waiting for the spark that will take us
forward, forgetting what we have lost,
warming us, as the night grows bitter.
in our shaking hands, we blow.
Yearning for a new spark to
take hold and roar to flame;
looking for a new hope to warm us.
We hold soft the ember
retrieved from the empire’s ashes.
We remember the fall of civilization.
How the people cried for salvation,
sifting through the remains of
wasted lives, once so shiny with
elegance, polished bright to hide
the truth, the fear and the longing.
We are learning to make fire,
as we paw through the cinders
of our own devastating mortality
waiting for the spark that will take us
forward, forgetting what we have lost,
warming us, as the night grows bitter.
Sunday, February 06, 2011
The Support Technicians Lament
Oh God, have you forsaken us?
They call to us! Oh glorious ones!
“My PC is frozen!”, they cry
“Have you rebooted?”, we exclaim.
“How do I do that?” they weep.
“My printer isn’t printing”, they wail.
“Is there paper in the tray?” we ask.
They are quick to anger, not knowing
that last time we asked,
the paper tray lay bare
“I have a VIRUS”, they yell at us
Panicked that someone has,
(through the computer),
reached into their wallet stealing
the sacred credit card numbers
The plea to us, unseen
“My presentation is due, in FIVE minutes!
And I’m not done with it yet!!!
And my PC is NOT WORKING!!!”
They panic, they cajole,they ask for a Supervisor.
We use the hold button.
We laugh, we exclaim, we smoke.
We come back, business ready,
endless cups of coffee our fuel
“How may I help you?”, we ask the next.
They call to us! Oh glorious ones!
“My PC is frozen!”, they cry
“Have you rebooted?”, we exclaim.
“How do I do that?” they weep.
“My printer isn’t printing”, they wail.
“Is there paper in the tray?” we ask.
They are quick to anger, not knowing
that last time we asked,
the paper tray lay bare
“I have a VIRUS”, they yell at us
Panicked that someone has,
(through the computer),
reached into their wallet stealing
the sacred credit card numbers
The plea to us, unseen
“My presentation is due, in FIVE minutes!
And I’m not done with it yet!!!
And my PC is NOT WORKING!!!”
They panic, they cajole,they ask for a Supervisor.
We use the hold button.
We laugh, we exclaim, we smoke.
We come back, business ready,
endless cups of coffee our fuel
“How may I help you?”, we ask the next.
Saturday, February 05, 2011
You are Getting Sleeeeepy
We approach the building at a run. He is running, I am fast walking behind him, carrying a bag larger than his little brother. He flings open the door to the sleep clinic and runs towards the elevator. This is exciting. I have promised him electrodes. Little brother and Daddy are staying home tonight and only Connor will sleep in the clinic with Mommy.
We check in and are shown to our room. Connor inspects the room quickly, ooo and ahhing over the shower once he sees it’s equipped with a shorter nozzle for little ones or patients in wheel chairs. He is certain to secure a promise from me that he will be able to take a shower in it in the morning. He sits so patiently asking the nurse no less than one hundred questions about the electrodes, paste and wires. He wants to know what the wires do, where they will attach and what she will see when she monitors it on the computer. He’s brave. Not bothered by hard plastic taped under his nose or the electrodes attached to his scalp. I call him robot-boy. We talk about what super-powers he has with his new wire Super-suit. He is sleepy.
Three hours past his normal bedtime the nurse intercoms into the room. Would we like something to drink? A soda? Perhaps a muffin or a pack of crackers? Connor blurts out, “I’ll have a soda, and a muffin please.” “Nice try,” I respond. I order a Ginger Ale and ice water for Connor. It makes me feel guilty. I feel bad that he can’t have a muffin, but he’s tired and I don’t want him awake any longer because it’s been a long day, (for me).
I settle him in and grab Percy Jackson and The Lightening Thief. Some of my friends think I’m ridiculous for reading this book to him. It’s too old for him. Their kids don’t know words like hallucination or quest. Their kids don’t ask them questions about the Greek Gods and the history of man. Their kids aren’t captivated by chapter books. Mine is. He can’t get enough of it. The main character has ADHD. I remind him of this every time I read it to him. ADHD kids can be heroes too. I read. He sleeps.
We wake once in the night, because he’s woken up and frightened by the thing taped under his nose. He panics, he wants it off. The nurse says they’ve gotten enough data from it and removes it. He falls back into the bed on his side and resumes the snoring and kicking.
In the morning, I am told that he did not sleep well. He snored, kicked, talked and ground his teeth all night. I knew that he snored a little, but I didn’t know it was this serious. He’s not sleeping well. I learn that it is possible that although he is sleeping for 12 hours, he’s really only sleeping five. This could account for the years of difficulty focusing, hyperactivity and defiance. After years of taking one step forward and two steps back, I feel like we are standing on solid ground. We can fix this.
When we walk out of the sleep clinic; he is not running. He is not excited, but I am. His euphoria has worn off, but mine is just beginning. I am exhausted from a night of sleep deprivation, but I can’t stop smiling. We head off to Starbucks to celebrate with a cup of coffee and a hot chocolate. The sun rise is beautiful.
We check in and are shown to our room. Connor inspects the room quickly, ooo and ahhing over the shower once he sees it’s equipped with a shorter nozzle for little ones or patients in wheel chairs. He is certain to secure a promise from me that he will be able to take a shower in it in the morning. He sits so patiently asking the nurse no less than one hundred questions about the electrodes, paste and wires. He wants to know what the wires do, where they will attach and what she will see when she monitors it on the computer. He’s brave. Not bothered by hard plastic taped under his nose or the electrodes attached to his scalp. I call him robot-boy. We talk about what super-powers he has with his new wire Super-suit. He is sleepy.
Three hours past his normal bedtime the nurse intercoms into the room. Would we like something to drink? A soda? Perhaps a muffin or a pack of crackers? Connor blurts out, “I’ll have a soda, and a muffin please.” “Nice try,” I respond. I order a Ginger Ale and ice water for Connor. It makes me feel guilty. I feel bad that he can’t have a muffin, but he’s tired and I don’t want him awake any longer because it’s been a long day, (for me).
I settle him in and grab Percy Jackson and The Lightening Thief. Some of my friends think I’m ridiculous for reading this book to him. It’s too old for him. Their kids don’t know words like hallucination or quest. Their kids don’t ask them questions about the Greek Gods and the history of man. Their kids aren’t captivated by chapter books. Mine is. He can’t get enough of it. The main character has ADHD. I remind him of this every time I read it to him. ADHD kids can be heroes too. I read. He sleeps.
We wake once in the night, because he’s woken up and frightened by the thing taped under his nose. He panics, he wants it off. The nurse says they’ve gotten enough data from it and removes it. He falls back into the bed on his side and resumes the snoring and kicking.
In the morning, I am told that he did not sleep well. He snored, kicked, talked and ground his teeth all night. I knew that he snored a little, but I didn’t know it was this serious. He’s not sleeping well. I learn that it is possible that although he is sleeping for 12 hours, he’s really only sleeping five. This could account for the years of difficulty focusing, hyperactivity and defiance. After years of taking one step forward and two steps back, I feel like we are standing on solid ground. We can fix this.
When we walk out of the sleep clinic; he is not running. He is not excited, but I am. His euphoria has worn off, but mine is just beginning. I am exhausted from a night of sleep deprivation, but I can’t stop smiling. We head off to Starbucks to celebrate with a cup of coffee and a hot chocolate. The sun rise is beautiful.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Assignment
Imagine your life is now a book. Write the blurb for it.
Janice is a small time Mom with big time plans, when she suddenly finds herself trapped alone in the house with her two small boys for the ENTIRE Summer. It doesn’t take long before she’s swept away solving one mystery after the next. WHAT IS that in the bathroom drain? WHO magic markered the DOG? Why is his poop BLUE?! This page turner is sure to have you on the edge of your seat, wondering, what IS that in his MOUTH? When she’s not solving mysteries, she’s taking deep breaths during the tender moments of teaching the children that maxi pads are not band aids and the hose cannot come into the house. You’ll fall in love with the way she repeats herself 500 times a day and makes a healthy dinner out of a can of chickpeas and a bottle of organic ketchup. You really don’t want to miss reading; They’re Cute When They’re Sleeping.
“Birth control at its finest!”
~ The Boston Globe
“Behold the wonder of children”
~ New York Times Book Review
“Janice amazes us again and again with her ability to tell which one is lying”
~ The San Francisco Chronicle
Janice is a small time Mom with big time plans, when she suddenly finds herself trapped alone in the house with her two small boys for the ENTIRE Summer. It doesn’t take long before she’s swept away solving one mystery after the next. WHAT IS that in the bathroom drain? WHO magic markered the DOG? Why is his poop BLUE?! This page turner is sure to have you on the edge of your seat, wondering, what IS that in his MOUTH? When she’s not solving mysteries, she’s taking deep breaths during the tender moments of teaching the children that maxi pads are not band aids and the hose cannot come into the house. You’ll fall in love with the way she repeats herself 500 times a day and makes a healthy dinner out of a can of chickpeas and a bottle of organic ketchup. You really don’t want to miss reading; They’re Cute When They’re Sleeping.
“Birth control at its finest!”
~ The Boston Globe
“Behold the wonder of children”
~ New York Times Book Review
“Janice amazes us again and again with her ability to tell which one is lying”
~ The San Francisco Chronicle
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