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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Teletubbies and counting

The joy of a multi-layered life. After the bleakness of the last post, I was pondering what to write about. I started something on a work break earlier, didn't finish. Was standing in the living room a few moments ago, with a BRILLIANT idea - I came in to write it, but -

Finn thought differently.

He climbed up on my lap - I wouldn't say forcefully - more like with DETERMINATION.

And he said "I need play Teletuvvies. I need play Teletuvvies on the computer. I need play the TIGER."

So we did. We went to pbs.org and then to PBS kids and then to the Teletubbies and we played Guess the Animal shape, which is the game you get to when you click on the Tiger.

I forgot what I was going to write about. And that's okay. The present is enough, I think.

Because earlier, Finn counted. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10....

which he's done for a while.

Then he kept going - 13, 14, 15, etc - 20!

which he has also done, for a while.

THEN he continued - 21! 22! 23! 24! 25! 26! 27! 28! 29...

..... (big eyes, questioning me... I whisper "30")

FIRTY! FIRTY 1! FIRTY 2! FIRTY 3! FIRTY 4! FIRTY 5! FIRTY 6! FIRTY 7! FIRTY 8! FIRTY 9!

You get the idea. We went on to 40, then he kinda drifted away.

He is 4 years and 2 months old. And he has learned to count - and count, and count.

I was blown away. I don't know if it's exceptional or not, but it sure feels that way. A massive shift in understanding, the power of ten, the addition of a number in front of another number and how that unfolds and unfurls, pattern after pattern, into infinity

Amazing, don't you think? I do. I love him so much, and I just feel full of hope when I see him learn.



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Autumnal ramblings

Of a mental sort, at least.

It is the Autumnal Equinox. I got a voicemail this morning, from my dearest friend, wishing me a happy one. Wishing I could join her for a circle of women. I wish that, too.

Leaves will be getting wet, underfoot, soon, on Whidbey Island. I remember a Samhain with Tom Cowan, when Janine was still alive, a circle of wild power at the Marsh House. Is Joy still there, I wonder? Her cat died that night. Sassafras, I think. A cold, wet, windy night with a moon somehow peeking through, and the body of Sassafras quite, quite dead. And we buried her, together. Joy's white hair whipping around, her powerful old body digging into the earth.

I think that happened. Although I might have made it up.

I miss Janine. And Joy. Janine I know has passed on, and I know she's happy there, wherever she is, lighter than air, flying about on pale purple wings I imagine, tending the souls who are hurting, everywhere in the world.

It is the season of dying.

May not seem like it here, in the land of sun, but it is. What part of me will die this Autumn?

What part do I want to die? What part do I want to purge, shed, peel away?

There is so much weight on me. I feel heavier, in every way, than I have in a very, very, very long time. Psychically, painfully heavy. Oppressed, I would go so far to say. And I would like to shed THAT. I would like to shed the weight of regret, of dishonesty, of escapism, of addiction, of un-tended to pain. This is my call, my prayer, for this Autumn.

I intend to shed. I intend to jettison my flotsam. I intend to peel away, I intend to surrender, I intend to heal.

Finn sings behind me: "Down came the rain, and washed the spider out..."

Yes.

Yes.

Please.

Please,

Aho.







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Sunday at the Beach with Friends

That is where we are headed, today, to celebrate a friend's birthday. That is our PLAN, anyway.

We met them at the beach a few weeks ago, these friends, new friends we first met at a 4th of July party and liked, friends who are artists and teachers and workers for Obama, people right up our emotional alley. That over there to the left is a picture of our encampment. Sea Wall / Sand Castle designed and constructed by Ken, to save us all from the waxing surf.

Makin' friends - as I posted before, it's a process. It's why we miss home, Seattle, so much - all those people who know us, who have known us for years and years, who showed up to birthday parties and Solstice parties and who opened their doors to us on Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter and summer picnic gatherings.

We miss them. We miss YOU - since you're probably the ones reading this.

And now we are here, in the southern corner of the United States, and we're trying to make new friends.

And Kenny & I reverb back to adolescence, wondering Will They Like Us, Are We Weird, and sometimes (frequently) end up staying home with our heads under the covers. Which we can easily disguise as Playing Fort With Finn.

But today, I think, we are going to be brave. We're goin' to the party. Or at least we're gonna try.
Deep breath.

Wish us luck.






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Reprieve...

The job is not there, the one he was going away to do. My husband is staying here, at least for now.

He may travel north, to help another friend, soon - and I hope that he will, that he does, I hope this for him.

And I feel a little, tiny bit guilty. Because truth be told, I was silently screaming to the heavens:

"DO NOT LET HIM GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

I was afraid. Afraid of being the ONE, single parenting, and afraid on a superstitious level that something BAD might happen. That he might not come back.

I was afraid of a lifetime of single parenting. And I was afraid of losing him. And I was just plain afraid of the inconvenience and stress and all of that, of driving Finn to and from preschool and working and hiring babysitters and and and blah blah blah...

the hamster-circle of worry.

And now I don't have to. He's staying here, with us.

For a little while, anyway. Yeah, maybe he'll go up soon, to help Bret on the big paint job. And I'll be okay with it then. Really, I will. I promise. I won't scream silent prayers for divine interference, for adjustments in the cosmos that allow him to stay here. With us.

My husband. My bipolar bear.

He sits outside in the sun right now, talking to his friend. Sounding remarkably mature, calm, spiritually fit, loving.

Will he sound like that when he comes inside? I doubt it. Maybe he'll surprise me. But I seem to get the wounded, snarling side more often. I don't know why.

Have you ever felt that? Have you ever been that?

What side of me do I give him, I wonder...





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