Kudos for My Gentle Exercise Article (Posted Here for Easy Reference When I Feel Like a Failure)

A thank you I received from a UCD doctor I interviewed for my July 06 article on gentle exercise:

“Dear Ms. Wilson:

I can’t tell you how many calls I received on the piece that you did. All positive, of course. I didn’t even know the piece was out until late July when several colleagues and patients commented on how much the loved the article. You really captured the essence of the importance of exercise in the community.

Bravo,

Hot Shit Doctor”

Recent Published Work

In case anyone is eager to keep up with my freelance writing career … I have, depending on how you count them, 2 or 4 short pieces published in September’s Sacramento magazine. One is a stand-alone piece on the upcoming Waldorf parents/educators conference, which is probably only of interest to me. The others are part of a big article on “cutting-edge nutrition.” Four different writers contributed short pieces to that nutrition article, and I covered the topics of fiber, “food combining,” and pre- and probiotics. Isn’t that exciting?

September is a pretty big issue, which I also proofread. There are some interesting articles in a special section about downtown Sacramento and new urbanism and smart growth, if you happen to be an editrix who’s into that sort of thing (Dakini). Also, the magazine is expanding it’s food section significantly.

http://www.sacmag.com/media/Sacramento-Magazine/September-2006/Cutting-Edge-Nutrition/

Kindergarten

Lucas has started at the Red Rose Kindergarten! Wednesday was his first official day of school, after a 1-hour “orientation” on Tuesday that involved a tour of the classroom and yard that focused on the important things, such as where all the toys are kept. On Tuesday we all had a circle time together too, and I think because I was there he was a little clingy and nervous.

Wednesday was a different story, however. Ian and I both took Lucas to school. There were more parents in the play yard than kindergartners. He was so cute in his play clothes with his new stuff bag that grandma made and his lunchbox (with handmade cloth napkins inside). He proudly posed for photos at the front gate and in front of the sign, and immediately started playing in the yard; he climbed a tree, and crossed a footbridge, and greeted his friends.

When it was time to line up and go into the Red Rose classroom, he gave us hugs, changed into his inside shoes, and marched inside without a backward glance. No tears. No whining. No clinging. He was ready. We parents hung around after the kids went inside and were given carnations and name tags to wear and a book about Waldorf education—one I’m pleased that I haven’t already purchased! We mingled and ate cookies and drank tea.

Later that day, when I picked Lucas up, he emerged grinning from ear to ear with his empty lunchbox in hand. One of the teachers caught my eye and gave me the thumbs up. She knows I was concerned since he is among the youngest children in the class.

So, he’s had three days at his new school. A couple of times he’s told me he’s “sick,” which is his way of expressing a little anxiety about a situation. But each morning, he has proudly strode off to the car with dad to go to school without a whimper. I’ve been dosing his moring cup of water with a Bach’s flower essence tincture called “Rescue Remedy.” It’s something those Waldorfy homeopathic people recommend for nerves and stress. I don’t know if it works, but it seemed worth a try.

We’re trying to get our schedule back to school days with an early bedtime for Lucas, but it’s tough after Burning Man. It didn’t help that Wednesday night was grandma’s birthday and Saturday night we stayed out really late at a super-fun party.

On Saturday morning, I hung out with my mother for a while. I took her to Sac Waldorf School and showed her the play yard. We peeked into Lucas’s classroom and then toured the rest of the school. She hadn’t ever been there before, and was impressed with the place. I think she’s onboard with our decision. We’ll be inviting the grandparents to the Harvest Festival in October.

Secret Confession

It’s a boy.

My heart is broken. I am so disappointed. I never wanted two boys. I never saw my life like this. My whole life I’ve thought I’d someday have a daughter. It’s what I always pictured, always knew to be true. And now I am miserable. I’m not happy about this new baby boy. I feel broken and hollow inside. Like my hopes blew away in yesterday’s afternoon breeze. I am completely ashamed of the degree of my sadness, ashamed to admit to anyone how wrong I feel this is. I feel guilty. I feel like I’m a terrible and shallow person. I am ugly and evil.

It’s not what I wanted. It’s not fair. I wanted a little darling. I wanted someone I could relate to. I wanted my daughter to grow up and be my friend and companion and confidante. I fear I will never have this type of relationship with my sons. Oh God, my sons.

I wanted someone to cherish and be feminine with. I wanted dresses and hair clips and ballet lessons and horses and unicorns and fairies. I wanted someone to shop with and do silly things like get facials and someone to talk about feminism with. I wanted someone to share my interests. I wanted someone to share what I know about men, women, friendships, relationships, goodness and truth with. I am afraid that as my children grow, they will grow farther and farther away from me, instead of toward me in closeness. I wanted someone to be with me when I am old and alone.

I am so sad and I am shocked at this pain. I feel inconsolable. I want to change it. There is no way to change it.

I cannot talk about it. I can’t talk to my mother or father, Ian’s parents, or my friends. Our family knows, and I cannot show this to them. I keep crying like an idiot. I don’t want to tell people my baby is healthy, has all his parts, and looks great on the sonogram screen. I don’t want to share the pictures. I don’t think I can fake happiness right now, even though I am relieved to see he’s whole and apparently healthy. I’m not ready for this. I’m not strong enough.

I don’t want people’s sympathy. I don’t want cheering up. I don’t want to hear people blow off my despair because little boys are nice too. I don’t want to hear how great it will be for Lucas to have a little brother. How two boys are so much fun, or whatever. I don’t want my sadness and disappointment to be known because I’m ashamed and embarrassed to feel this way, nor do I want it minimized because it’s the biggest and darkest and most powerful feeling of grief I’ve ever felt.

I don’t want to hear people say they feel sorry for me. I don’t want to hear how great a mother I’m going to be for my sons. I don’t want to hear how it will all be all right as soon as I hold my new baby—that I’ll get over it. I don’t want to get over it.

I want a girl baby.

Barely Coherent and Melodramatic Words About Burning Man

Burning Man.

It burned me up and out and lit the fire in my heart again. It wasted me and renewed me again and again each day I was there. I was schizophrenically me and not me at the same time; my roles were mixed-up and rolled together and it made me freer and more confused than ever. It. Was. Hard. Mothering and being mothered. Nurturing and being nurtured. Intimate insiders busting out and brand-new outsiders getting in. I didn’t like the theme. Yet I lived the theme. Hopes were dashed and fears realized. Other fears blew away in the wind and new hopes were born in me. Sometimes I was all there and other times I was lost and nowhere and without a compass, except the Man. My man. The Sun. My Son. Emotions gripping and then vanishing. Nature and Elements clung to my skin. There was no escape, yet through surrender, I escaped all. I. Was. Sober. Nothing but a little caffeine to fuel my urges. Baby inside, boy outside. Peeingest Burning Man Ever! Being semi-recognizably pregnant on the playa brought attentions both unexpected and sometimes undesired. I felt simultaneously my most beautiful self and my most awkward and invisible. At times I was fully surrounded by my dearly beloved, reveling in their quiet presence. At other times I felt distantly separated despite their nearness. My husband and lover—alone with me at last. REJOICING in our togetherness. It was both quiet and desperate, both beautiful and sad. Thank you, Agents.

In a word, I am now RAW from the dust, the heat, the art, the effort, and the impact.

  • About Sara

    Thanks for visiting! I’m Sara, editor and writer, wife to Ian, and mother of two precious boys. I am living each day to the fullest and with as much grace, creativity, and patience as I can muster. This is where I write about living, loving, and engaging fully in family life and the world around me. I let my hair down here. I learn new skills here. I strive to be a better human being here. And I tell the truth.

    Our children attend Waldorf school and we are enriching our home and family life with plenty of Waldorf-inspired festivals, crafts, and stories.

    © 2003–2018 Please do not use my photographs or text without my permission.

    “Love doesn’t just sit there like a stone; it has to be made, like bread, remade all the time, made new.” —Ursula K. LeGuinn

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