Today is the first day that I feel sorry for Lucas and all his wee friends at preschool. When I dropped him off this morning it was dumping rain and he looked rather forlorn, despite his being bundled in lined pants, two shirts, a sweater, rain pants, warm socks, rain boots, rain coat, and warm hat. I think even the children, who instinctively and compulsively delight in splashing and puddles and mud, are a bit sick and tired of this wet, wet weather. Miss Jennifer looks positively exhausted, which is not a good look on a teacher at 8:45 on a Monday morning. She spends all her time dressing and undressing and redressing soaked little people. We are saturated. Enough, already! At least give us a few days to dry out.

Empower me
to be a bold participant,
rather than a timid saint in waiting,
in the difficult ordinariness of now;
to exercise the authority of honesty;
rather than to defer to power,
or deceive to get it;
to influence someone for justice,
rather than impress anyone for gain;
and, by grace, to find treasures
of joy, of friendship, of peace
hidden in the fields of the daily
you give me to plow.

—Ted Loder

Tidoo is alternately 1 year old and 6 years old. Sometimes Tidoo gets to do awesome stuff that Lucas gets to tag along for. Sometimes, Tidoo is a trouble-maker. I learn more and more about her each day.

“One day, me and Tidoo went to Disneyland and we stayed there for 1870 minutes. We had to stay the night.”

“One day, me and Tidoo went to the aquarium and we went diving. We saw a great big Leopard shark and it was eating a fish. We petted the shark, but it was busy eating the fish, so we didn’t even get bitten.”

“One day, me and Tidoo killed a chicken. We went k-k-k-k, and the head fell off. Then we cut off the feet and we levered off the fur. Then, we made chicken soup out of the mesh for me and Tidoo to eat.”

“One day, me and Tidoo took the train to Canada. Tidoo drove the train. Then I drove the train. We want to move to Canada.”

Today, my lover kissed me
with a warm, open mouth.
I woke with my arms wrapped around
a vigorous small body.
Sunshine warmed my skin.
I performed useful, holy work.
I listened and I shared.
I called my mother to say thank you.
My son brought me a handful
of wilty, spent dandelion stems
without blossom or fluff.
We placed them reverently, one by one,
into a vase
to grace our dinner table.
A friend gave me a book to read.
My house is warm,
and abundant, fresh food
is in my kitchen.
In my back yard,
the weeping cherry tree cascades
pink blossoms
on leafless branches.
Tulips are coming up.
The boy is napping.

Spring is in the air today.

I just spent several hours with an exceptionally inspiring person whom I am proud to call a friend. You know how some days you wake up and realize it’s time for a change? Well, today is one of those days. Some stuff has been percolating inside me for a while, some new ideas, new goals, new perspectives. I’m trying to free them and let them be born into my world, into my reality.

I’ve been thinking a lot about creativity lately, and about the creative process. I’ve been spending a fair amount of time contemplating that creative urge and what is required to make it manifest. I’m struggling to unlock all the doors that stand between my creations and the world. They are locks I’ve placed on doors I’ve built myself. Time to let in some fresh air and let my creations outside to play.

This is getting pretty New Agey. But I’m not going to allow my Inner Cynic to smother this feeling. (Let me know if you’d prefer not to read my New Agey ramblings, and I’ll take you off the filter.) I think I’m going to allow myself to get New Agey to explore some ideas and do some inner work. Somehow, I think I’m ready to move in new directions.

So, creation walks hand in hand with discipline, I think. I’m going to let this tool, my LiveJournal, help me establish a new discipline—one that supports my aspirations and creations. I feel a powerful urge to write, and LJ has unlocked one of those doors. So, I guess I’ll start in two ways.

First I’ll breathe.

Then I’ll write.

Then I’ll breathe some more.

You know how sometimes you read just the right thing at just the right moment? Synchronicity is real.

A poem by Marianne Williamson:

Our deepest fear
is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear
is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is out light,
not our darkness,
that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves,
who am I to be brilliant,
gorgeous, talented, fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small doesn’t serve the world.
There’s nothing enlightening about shrinking
so that other people
won’t feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest
the glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us;
it’s in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other people
permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear,
our presence automatically liberates others.

—Marianne Williamson

I’m very frustrated with Lucas today. He wouldn’t nap again.

He is trying really hard to give up his naps. I’m told that this is pretty much on schedule; usually kids give up naps sometime between 3.5 years old and 5 years old. But honestly, I’m just not ready for him to stop napping. I need that time to clear my head, to think about other important things, to work and earn money, to have some quiet. Lately he chatters incessantly and won’t give me a moment’s peace! He wants a witness for his play and an audience for his stories (unless he’s singing. Then he wants me not to hear him). I need those naps!

I’ve taken to performing a super-elaborate ritual to maximize the chances that he’ll sleep. I pick him up from school. He gets to eat a snack in the car on the way home. I don’t give him juice before nap. He is allowed to play for an hour at home, to acclimate to his home space and to work out some feelings about his day at school. Then I provide warnings: Naptime is in 15 minutes. I supervise his trip to the bathroom and change his clothes: he gets a pull-up and soft, clean pants to wear. I give him soy milk. I gather his favorite stuffed bears and Tidoo. I read two or three stories, depending on which ones he picks and how long they are. We lie down in my bed together. We snuggle. I let him put his hand down my shirt to touch my “so-soft warm skin.” I close my eyes and breath rhythmically. I try to settle him down with soft words, with loves, with back rubs. I’m often in there for a half-hour or more.

Sometimes all of this works beautifully. He goes to sleep and naps for 1.5 to 2.5 hours. Often I fall asleep too, but only for about 10 minutes or so. Then I carefully extricate myself from his grasp and tip-toe out of the room. I then rush to my computer and work for as long as he stays asleep.

Sometimes his wiggling and talking never stops. He cracks jokes; he pinches. He slaps me. Sometimes I whack him back and then feel like shit. Nothing makes me madder than this little game of his. I tell him that if he doesn’t settle down, he’ll lose his opportunity to sleep with mommy and will have to go to his room. If I get to the threat phase, I’ve usually already lost the battle. Then it becomes a matter of saving face, of staying in control, of following through on my promises, of not letting him be a shit and immediately get to do what he wants. I hate this part of being a parent. It sucks.

So, off we march to Lucas’s room. I put him in his bed. He usually fights me, and jumps up immediately. I leave the room and close the door. He tries to get out. I hold the door closed. Now I’m standing in the hallway, engaged in a battle of wills and unable to work anyway. So I set the timer and tell him he can come out in a half-hour, as long as he stays in his room for that time. Sometimes that works. Sometimes he howls with rage, begs for me to come to him, promises to be good, bangs on the door, and tries to break free.

I try really hard not to let the situation escalate to this level. And I try to bring it back down as rapidly and painlessly (for both of us) as possible. Today I tried to smooth the situation by keeping my voice calm and not shouting and by putting some soothing music on in his room, hoping that he would stop arguing and just stay in there. I just needed him to do the time, at that point. Clearly, a nap was out of the question.

The consequence of not napping is a bedtime that is an hour earlier than the normal bedtime. But the consequence is so far removed in time from the behavior, that he hardly notices. I hope that will change as he matures, however.

I’m making mistakes, I know that. I’m giving him too much attention before nap, and he has developed sophisticated means and techniques for maintaining our engagement, stretching out the time more and more. But honestly, I don’t really know what to do. I had better figure it out though—he is only going to grow bigger.

I’m really frustrated right now, so I’m not really looking for suggestions or for someone to try to solve this problem for me. I already know that I’m fucking up. Something has to change.

For you know who…

An unspoken word,
A shared secret that blooms into laughter,
A silent touch
Reminds us
We are better for each other,
Because of each other,
Than we would ever be apart.
You read the thoughts in my mind
Before I can say them aloud,
Moments
That confound our friends
But lead us to hum the Twilight Zone tune
And roll our eyes,
Smiling with delight
And mischief.
Sometimes I like to lie in bed
Just to smell you when you’re not here.
It’s easy to take you for granted,
Like my own hand
Or my eyes
Because you are
my perfect companion.

I think I’ll go smell the sheets.

I’m hoping you talented people can help me with something. Do you have any writing strategies for non-fiction that have worked for you that I might share with a client? I’m espcially interested in strategies for long-term, big, or book-length projects, not just how to get a school paper done in a day.

Here are some questions that will get you thinking along the lines of what I’m looking for:

* How do you structure your writing time?

* How do you develop a rhythm?

* How do you shut up the critic/editor in you long enough to actually get words on paper? In other words, how do you honor both sides of your brain–the creator and the editor, without allowing the editor/critic to paralyze the creator?

* What are some practical strategies (turning of the phone, keeping email off, using a timer, etc.) that work?

* Do you try to write at the same time every day? Is there an advantage in occasionally approaching your writing tasks at a different time than you usually work?

* Do you set yourself a goal each session?

* How do you avoid daydreaming and writers’ block?

* What rituals do you do? (remember in the film “Shakespeare In Love,” when Shakespeare spit on his hands, grabbed his quill, and spun around before sitting down to write?)

If you have any tips to share, I’d greatly appreciate it. Or, if you know of any online resources I should check out, I’d love to hear about them.

Thanks!

My Mother Writes:

“I thought you’d like to know that Punch Ball has branched out—into Ring Ball. The inaugural event occurred last night on my red living room rug and involved the ‘donuts’ that he stacked as a baby. The rings are placed around the edges of the rug and are assigned to particular friends (not present). Much kicking and running around on the rug ensue. There is a great deal of coaching and encouraging, including several ‘Slow down, Lucas!’ comments.

“In the end, as in every great game including Calvin Ball, Lucas wins! Surprise and joy all ’round.

“A later game, predinner, involved blowing and chasing bubbles and forcing Boo to pitch an imaginary ball to a little boy whose bat was a stick, and who could hit the ball—imagine!—before it left the pitcher’s hand. Running around the bases followed, miles of running. Where can I get some of that energy?”

This is great! I love it when my mom or Ian’s mom write stories about Lucas!