I am thankful...

I came home from work tonight, a good day of work, and this is what I found. Finn, and the picture he made at school.

"I am thankful for

my mommy and daddy."

And Kenny said, "That's what he said he was thankful for..."

and we looked at each other, in wonder. I felt dazzled. Almost giddy, but quieter.

It may just the best moment in my life, so far.

I, Maria, am thankful, for Finn. And for Kenny. For the unimaginably precious gift of a family.

Thank You. Thank You. Thank You.










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Gratitude and Good Cheer

If you write it, it will be.

This is my hypothesis, and my hope.

I am cheerful today. I am productive. I work. I work efficiently, productively, and cheerfully.

I am a good Mom today. I love my son, actively. I listen to all his questions, and I answer. I enjoy my time with him.

I love my husband today. I listen to all his meanderings. I enjoy my time with him.

I suddenly flash on that scene from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, where Harry has to write Lying is Bad or something and it shows up on his hand all bloody.

That's what I love about imagination. It can't be tamed.

I do hope my hypothesis proves true. I do hope for good cheer and productivity and enjoyment.

I guess what I'll actively try to do today is appreciate.

I'll take "gratitude" as my cue. If I can appreciate my life, and be grateful for all the colors in it, I suspect it will be a good day.

And I still might go on Retreat. But today, since I can't, maybe I'll just act like I am -

I'll walk in gratitude, slowly.





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Retreat

When did I get so GRUMPY?

My irritability confounds me; I don't know why I have it, where it comes from, and I want it to go away.

That's not entirely true. I do, sort of, know why I have it. I'm just not sure why it's bothering me right now - sometimes it's fine, that thing.

That "mother" thing. That "wife" thing. That "job" thing.

And sometimes, like now, I HATE IT. I HATE being NEEDED. I HATE being SPOKEN TO. I hate the words I usually find adorable, the "What I neeeeeeed?" coming from my son. Usually, I love it. Usually, I pop right up and respond, lovingly, "What DO you need, my darling?"

Usually.

Tonight, I yelled. I might have said something like "Go away." But in a loud voice. Louder than I want to admit. And my husband thankfully swooped in and picked up our son and left me alone, closing the door behind them. And even that makes me angry - Why did it take him SO LONG?

I need a Retreat. I crave Silence. I long for Solitude. Long-term Solitude, beyond a bath or a closed door for 20 minutes. I'd like a couple of days.

What would I like? What's my vision?

A cabin. A cabin in the woods, with a beach nearby; lots of walking trails through silent forests. The sound of the ocean, the wind in the trees, birds. Food and drink that magically appears, or is already there waiting in the cupboards. A place to cook, if I feel like it. The perfect book. Two or three other perfect books - some fiction, some spirituality, maybe an autobiography or history. A new journal. A couple of excellent pens, blue ink, fine point, smooth gliding tips. Paint and paper. A camera. A dandy little laptop. A big bathtub, lots of candles, a big warm bed with supersoft sheets and a window that looks out at a vista.

And no one - NO ONE - around.

Solitude that is peaceful, not scary - maybe there's a nunnery over the hill where I can't see it or hear it, but I know it's there, with nun doctors and nurses, just in case I need them. Maybe they come check on me in the afternoons, to make sure I'm okay - without my ever seeing them or having to speak to them. Maybe they bring me silent baskets of food.

Four days. No - seven would be best. Maybe even more.

And I would not have to talk to anyone. I would not have to think about anyone, except myself.

I don't care if it sounds selfish. I have been selfless for over four years now. I want to be selfish. I am tired. I am GRUMPY. And I need my Retreat.





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44th Birthday, 44th President...

I haven't posted in so long - for good reasons, happily.

Good family times, with Finn and I hitting our stride and not too many breakdowns, and then Kenny home on October 30.

A good Halloween, Finn happy about his costume!! The most delightful little Witch ever, with neighborhood trick-or-treating and lots of loot.

And the best day of all, November 4 - with a new President Elect, bringing new hope and such joy. I wept and jumped up and down, watching the TV, and Finn fell asleep on the couch to Barack Obama's acceptance speech. He refused to go to bed, very out of character for him - he knew something BIG was happening, he could feel it in Kenny and me. And now, he gazes at the TV, saying, "I need see Barack Obama..."

And another good day, November 8 - Lights Up! at Playwrights Project; a job well done by all, a joyful, successful special event. Deborah was happy, people were moved and thrilled - and ladies who impress me, ladies who are not easily impressed themselves, were extremely pleased. One said it was a Magnificent night. And one looked at me and said, "You are a producer, aren't you?" with just a tiny bit of awe.

And I'd like to take all the credit, but I don't deserve it all. I deserve some, and that feels good. A job well done - a profoundly satifisfying feeling.

And today, my 44th birthday. Finn serenades me right now with Old MacDonald, sung by a toy long forgotten, who was recently resurrected and reassigned favored status. A lunch at work, with balloons and my favorite meatball sub and chocolate mousse pie, all provided by my co-workers. I was planning to take the day off, but a debriefing meeting was in order and happily combined with a birthday lunch.

And a walk on the beach; a quick walk, but good enough.

And dinner picked up by Kenny, grilled chicken and rice and beans and salad. And birthday wishes a'plenty from friends and family and Facebook pals.

I am grateful. I feel hopeful.

And Old MacDonald has a tractor, and on his tractor he has a duck, and on his tractor he has a cow, and on his tractor he has a pig. Ee Ei Ee Ei Oh.

Life is good.







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Whew...

Week one of solo parenting:

3 different babysitters for Finn, for 3 different nights/weekend days of work;
I-don't-know-how-many dvds conned out of said babysitters;
1 night of working with Finn, at auditions;
3 extra days of Extended Day Care for Finn at school;
at least 3 crying, angry, sad times while there;
at least 3 okay times;
maybe 1 or 2 actual happy times;
3 school lunches (all of them eaten, joyfully);
1 sobbing fit of my own in the car, in the middle of a particularly tough day;
2 after-school visits to the blissfully quiet, empty, serene Mission Trails Park;
a couple of work crises;
1 bad haircut (Finn's, not mine);
too many calls with Kenny to count.

How do people do this?

I guess things become a routine. I guess things get easier, or one gets used to the difficulty. At the end of the day yesterday, I had never been so exhausted.

Then last night I actually slept, well, and stayed in bed dozing and sleeping from Finn's 7:15am wake-up through his early morning playing and 1 dvd until 9:00 Praise-the-Lord am.

And today I didn't officially have to work, and I was rested, and Finn was rested, and we went at his pace, and we went nowhere near school, and we went to dance class together, and then he spent 90+ minutes playing in a park while I got to talk to my sister on the phone, and we came home and ate lunch, and we read some books, and he watched his favorite movie Ratatouille while I managed to do a load of laundry AND check work email AND write part of a grant.

Today was a very good day.

Kenny comes home October 30. I can't really think that far ahead, or I might die. Life at the moment is a strange balance of:

"Think ahead. Make a list. Write down everything. Check off one thing. Move on. Check off another...."

and

"Stop. Breathe. Be. Here. Now."

Tomorrow there is no schedule. Thank you, God. There are tasks - Salvation Army and the 99cent store to shop for 2 chairs and the last few props for the set for the tour, get the house in order for the week, maybe even surprise myself and make a meal or lunch or something AHEAD OF TIME.

Who am I?

Work is just plain hard work right now. It's probably two of the worst weeks of my work-year for Kenny to be gone. But it is what it is, and he is well. Working hard, earning money, in his beloved gray, calm, green Seattle. He stays in an aerie of a room, with windows that look on a gray lake and green trees and nothing (not a single car alarm, not a boombox, not a tire screech, not a circling helicopter) can be heard. He is blissful. Lonely, missing us, but happy to be where he is.

And my work is work. Everyone gets grumpy when a show gets toward tech, and we have a touring show heading towards tech, and a set with fabric that shrank while painting, and a van to rent, and blah blah blah. And there are still shows to be booked, and income is down, and grants are due, and there's another show to program and cast, OH, and we had auditions for FOUR different plays this week, and I'm late on writing contracts for the entire artistic staff, and there's a special event to worry about, and school residencies to program, and school residencies to sell, and I don't have to do all of the work but I have do a lot of it, and everyone else does too, and so everyone is cranky, and tired, and and and.

And I'm doing my part in 2 to 3 hour bursts in between drives to and from Finn's school and in between breakfast, lunch, and dinner prep, and trying to not be the yelling, mad, "no-one-wants-to-be-her" mother.

And Kenny will be home in 12 days. Which I prefer to think of as a week, and a little bit. Because that's what it is, really. He left early in the morning last Sunday, and we made it to here, Saturday night. So now all we have to do is that same week one more time! And then we have to do a few more days. Which will be easy!

I pray.






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School pictures, Grandma pictures

I posted this because I love this picture, and wanted to share. What a wonderful swing, wonderful boys, and a wonderful Grandma & Mom.

Finn looks a little funny, sure.

He took his first school picture today. The teacher's aide reported to Kenny that he cried, and basically freaked out. They had, somewhat unwisely in my opinion, staged the school pictures in the same room where they tested kids' hearing - basically, the room where no counting or music or art or anything fun takes place - the room where adults lie in wait to do scary things to unsuspecting 4 year olds.

So Finn cried. He calmed down while he watched the other kids have their pictures taken, but it's unclear whether he was actually photographed, or what those photos will look like.

This, in a nutshell, is why I hate being a full-time working mother. I wanted to be there. I wanted to get the story first-hand, and I wanted it to be a happy story! Although that is unfair to Kenny, I realize.

Finn and I even practiced for his pictures. He showed me all his faces - surprised, mad, sad, grumpy, and happy. We agreed happy would be great for the picture.

So I don't really care what the school picture looks like. You all might have to deal with it when it's on your fridge, but I know what the real picture looks like - a happy, close-mouthed grin with shining bright eyes looking right into mine, on the most beautiful boy in the world.








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I prefer Franklin Delano Roosevelt...

and I keep waiting for Barack Obama to join me.

I want him to Stand Up and Say: "I myself look to the other, younger Roosevelt for inspiration - the one who led his country out of a Great Depression, by creating visionary programs that put Americans to work, building our nation's dams and highways and making art and teaching schools, the one who believed in the notion that we should take take of each other and brought that notion to life with the radical idea of Social Security, the one whose wife was one of the best friends to the citizens of this country the United States has ever seen, the President Roosevelt whose intelligent leadership brought our country to victory in a World War, the one who did not worry himself with colloquialisms about sticks and soft voices, but who called out to a nation to banish fear and look to the future."

Obama speech-writers, please take heed - give us a little soaring, inspirational joy. It's time. If I have to listen to that crotchety old man say "my hero Teddy Roosevelt" one more time I might scream.





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