“Ring around the rosie, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down.”
Dance around the roses. Fill your pockets with flowers. You live, then you are dust.
Here, in a simple chiming chant, is the story of the life cycle, the circle that is our human condition: beautiful flowing life that moves inexorably toward the inevitable, inescapable, unavoidable end, the fall.
It’s a child’s dance, danced wholeheartedly with a child’s enthusiasm and a child’s understanding that we take our pleasures now (roll them up in a round ball, the poet says to his coy mistress) because we’re going to fall down in a second. And when we do, it’s the most thrilling part.
When I play this game with the girls, I want to sing the song to the end, remain upright until the proper time, the very last word. Eleanor and Mia insist on flinging themselves to the ground early, letting loose their knees and hips in a floppy collapse, laughing. Then they want do it all over and over again.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
One of My Favorite Films
In Richard Pearce’s 1979 film, Heartland, Conchata Ferrel plays a widow who comes to Wyoming with her daughter to keep house for a Scottish farmer played by Rip Torn. The farmer and the widow are married in a lovely scene. Then a harrowing sequence shows the woman in painful, extended labor, alone with her young daughter in the middle of winter. Finally, victoriously, she gives birth. The baby dies in infancy. The young girl watches her mother mechanically scrub the wooden floor. Come spring, the woman is hanging wash with her daughter nearby when she suddenly collapses to her knees in wordless screams. The girl runs in fear to the farmer who appears out the barn door. He holds her, but lets his wife pick herself up with the help of the washline and go on with her work.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
Letter to Auntie Rena
Serena!-
Oh Happy Day! How great to hear from you! Your timing is perfect. Eleanor's birthday is tomorrow and we are busy busy making kitty cat cupcakes and doggie donuts (Nora tries to say "dog food" when we ask her what she is getting tomorrow for her birthday. Unfortunately, it comes out sounding a lot like "dog poo.") and signs for the front door - (Mia decided the wording so our guests will be greeted with "NORAS BDAY SHES 2")
Wish you were here to see it all, but I don't wish you away from paradise.
Mia's spring break starts on Friday, March 9 and we need to be back by Sunday, March 18. We haven't booked flights yet. I don't see us using all that time but that's our window. Thank you again for making us feel so welcome - we can't wait.
I had an old address for the Central message center Centro in Todos, so I sent you a Christmas card. I just guessed on the postage - it will be good luck and A Christmas Miracle! if it gets to you.
I love the sound of your neighbors. From far away, it sounds awesome, perhaps it is a different experience right next door.
The girls and I were eating a mango the other day and I told them some people, like Aunt Rena and Uncle Brent, can just go out in the backyard and pick mangoes to eat, like we pick up pinecones. They were impressed, I think. Who knows? Last night I was reading an article (from Best Nonrequired Reading, 2006) and it said children have the hyper awareness of falling in love every single day. So learning about mangoes is akin to taking a step is akin to getting your mind blown by every bit of this amazing world.
xxoo cindy
Oh Happy Day! How great to hear from you! Your timing is perfect. Eleanor's birthday is tomorrow and we are busy busy making kitty cat cupcakes and doggie donuts (Nora tries to say "dog food" when we ask her what she is getting tomorrow for her birthday. Unfortunately, it comes out sounding a lot like "dog poo.") and signs for the front door - (Mia decided the wording so our guests will be greeted with "NORAS BDAY SHES 2")
Wish you were here to see it all, but I don't wish you away from paradise.
Mia's spring break starts on Friday, March 9 and we need to be back by Sunday, March 18. We haven't booked flights yet. I don't see us using all that time but that's our window. Thank you again for making us feel so welcome - we can't wait.
I had an old address for the Central message center Centro in Todos, so I sent you a Christmas card. I just guessed on the postage - it will be good luck and A Christmas Miracle! if it gets to you.
I love the sound of your neighbors. From far away, it sounds awesome, perhaps it is a different experience right next door.
The girls and I were eating a mango the other day and I told them some people, like Aunt Rena and Uncle Brent, can just go out in the backyard and pick mangoes to eat, like we pick up pinecones. They were impressed, I think. Who knows? Last night I was reading an article (from Best Nonrequired Reading, 2006) and it said children have the hyper awareness of falling in love every single day. So learning about mangoes is akin to taking a step is akin to getting your mind blown by every bit of this amazing world.
xxoo cindy
Thursday, January 4, 2007
The Big Kid Known as Mommy
Kids keep you young, they say.
But sometimes mommy activities drag me back towards my youth no farther than the teen years.
Mia sits on my lap, laughing at the photographs of tiny animals on the Cute Overload website. With the obnoxiousness of a bored fifteen year old, I type in the Comments section, in all caps, the most obvious statement about each picture: "THE RAT IS HOLDING A CHEERIO!" "THE FERRET HAS A FEZ ON HIS HEAD!" "HE'S A DUCK! AND HE'S SITTING ON THE CAT!" I pretend I'm a wide-eyed rube with an over-bite, pointing at the funny on the screen.
Or, like a sarcastic and sardonic high schooler, I find double meaning in Nora's bedtime story, "Where is Baby's Mommy?" When the narrator asks, "Is she in the closet?" I imagine a recently out, and consequently, newly single, lesbian mommy. When the next page asks, "is she under the table?" I imagine her new drinking habit. At "Is Mommy behind the shower curtain?" I picture the little toddler discovering her there last week with "Aunt Sheila." The "alternate" reading starts to take over in my mind. By the time we get to "Is she under the covers? Yes!" how can you not feel sympathy for this little guy with the slightly depressed mom, adjusting to her new wild lifestyle?
The message of this book is no longer just a simple tale of hide and seek, it's a whole expose of the cover-ups and silly explanations we use when caught in grown up situations. "Oh honey, we're just playing!"
But sometimes mommy activities drag me back towards my youth no farther than the teen years.
Mia sits on my lap, laughing at the photographs of tiny animals on the Cute Overload website. With the obnoxiousness of a bored fifteen year old, I type in the Comments section, in all caps, the most obvious statement about each picture: "THE RAT IS HOLDING A CHEERIO!" "THE FERRET HAS A FEZ ON HIS HEAD!" "HE'S A DUCK! AND HE'S SITTING ON THE CAT!" I pretend I'm a wide-eyed rube with an over-bite, pointing at the funny on the screen.
Or, like a sarcastic and sardonic high schooler, I find double meaning in Nora's bedtime story, "Where is Baby's Mommy?" When the narrator asks, "Is she in the closet?" I imagine a recently out, and consequently, newly single, lesbian mommy. When the next page asks, "is she under the table?" I imagine her new drinking habit. At "Is Mommy behind the shower curtain?" I picture the little toddler discovering her there last week with "Aunt Sheila." The "alternate" reading starts to take over in my mind. By the time we get to "Is she under the covers? Yes!" how can you not feel sympathy for this little guy with the slightly depressed mom, adjusting to her new wild lifestyle?
The message of this book is no longer just a simple tale of hide and seek, it's a whole expose of the cover-ups and silly explanations we use when caught in grown up situations. "Oh honey, we're just playing!"
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
We Say the Damndest Things
Mia: "Mommy, this is a new way to say 'no thank you.' 'May I please no for that snack.' "
When I acted out the "hi hi hi" lyrics in The Hop Hop Hibbity Song in the car, she says, "I thought you were waving to the world."
"Mia, what did you call that place we went to eat with Tonya?" "The Yucky Pwatter. And it's a restaurant."
"Mia, what's a good thing that happened to you today?" "Miss Katie taught me to yearn." "What did she teach you to yearn?" "Everything."
"Mommy, I'm a princess and a scuba diver and I want to show you my princess clothes under my scuba diver clothes because I need to save the animals that are in a deep deep cave under the water."
Mia says, "Oh Daddy I'm going to tell you about something at school today. Something SCABBY! There was a fire part. And a loud sound from the ding-dong bell. And this girl cried. And we went outside."
"Did you hold hands?"
"Yeah."
"Midver," says Mia, making up words. "Gwimper. Be-ah."
"Why is there no gravity in space?"
During a reluctant and anxious trip to the bathroom that interrupted her play: "My fart says don't move my game!"
I'm getting more open with my tantrums. I'm using my words, too. When I scream, "Don't!" I add, "Be nice to Mommy!" Is it me against them?
"Ah choo!" Eleanor says. "Howdy how." "Ma-man," with a French accent. "D'accord!" "I say! Boom. Taste. Seek!" This is all play. But to communicate, she uses insistent monkey grunts and whines, with vague hand gestures.
I tell Mia to look at her candy watch (the new technological advancement in candy necklaces) and tell me what time it is. She says, "It's a pair half a feckle."
When we decide to drive the hybrid to the farm for pumpkins instead of walking to the farmer's market, Mia says, "I'm glad we didn't walk. That was a tired idea."
"I want Gwitter and Be Gay!" chimes Mia from the back seat. The Dick Cavett theme song is her new favorite. Strapped down in her carseat, she dances with her arms and her head and sings "Ha ha ha ha-ha ha!" But Mia is no Parisian courtesan who poorly feigns shame of her flawless jewels. When she asks why the singing lady was laughing, I offered, "she is pretending that she is sad because she is lost, but she is really happy. That she's lost." "Oh," says Mia. When Mia sings it, she is glittering and gay and purely happy in the gymnastics of the tune. Not lost one bit.
Was that "Why'd he hurt the baby?" or "Riding Hood the Baby?"
November, 2006
Eleanor is saying about one new word every day. Today was "Chair" and "Chase." Yesterday it was "oops." This is as thrilling to us as if we were scientists making contact with a new life form. Well, that's what it is, isn't it?
The Orangutan and the Chimp
Mia chatters away as she plays, her voice high, then low, acting out little plays with her toy animals. Babbling to herself, immersed in play, she bounces around the room in a diaper, an alligator puppet on one hand. "Oh wow! A baby! What's your name? Mia? No, it's Nora." She switches to another voice, monster deep, "I'm going to chew on you!" Jocelyn and I eavesdrop and crack up.
Meanwhile, Nora studies a plastic toy .. a row of trapdoors that open to reveal tiny animal busts, a hall of presidents of the animal kingdom. She clucks quietly to herself, in a hen-like squat, slowly pressing, trying, thinking, processing.
When I acted out the "hi hi hi" lyrics in The Hop Hop Hibbity Song in the car, she says, "I thought you were waving to the world."
"Mia, what did you call that place we went to eat with Tonya?" "The Yucky Pwatter. And it's a restaurant."
"Mia, what's a good thing that happened to you today?" "Miss Katie taught me to yearn." "What did she teach you to yearn?" "Everything."
"Mommy, I'm a princess and a scuba diver and I want to show you my princess clothes under my scuba diver clothes because I need to save the animals that are in a deep deep cave under the water."
Mia says, "Oh Daddy I'm going to tell you about something at school today. Something SCABBY! There was a fire part. And a loud sound from the ding-dong bell. And this girl cried. And we went outside."
"Did you hold hands?"
"Yeah."
"Midver," says Mia, making up words. "Gwimper. Be-ah."
"Why is there no gravity in space?"
During a reluctant and anxious trip to the bathroom that interrupted her play: "My fart says don't move my game!"
I'm getting more open with my tantrums. I'm using my words, too. When I scream, "Don't!" I add, "Be nice to Mommy!" Is it me against them?
"Ah choo!" Eleanor says. "Howdy how." "Ma-man," with a French accent. "D'accord!" "I say! Boom. Taste. Seek!" This is all play. But to communicate, she uses insistent monkey grunts and whines, with vague hand gestures.
I tell Mia to look at her candy watch (the new technological advancement in candy necklaces) and tell me what time it is. She says, "It's a pair half a feckle."
When we decide to drive the hybrid to the farm for pumpkins instead of walking to the farmer's market, Mia says, "I'm glad we didn't walk. That was a tired idea."
"I want Gwitter and Be Gay!" chimes Mia from the back seat. The Dick Cavett theme song is her new favorite. Strapped down in her carseat, she dances with her arms and her head and sings "Ha ha ha ha-ha ha!" But Mia is no Parisian courtesan who poorly feigns shame of her flawless jewels. When she asks why the singing lady was laughing, I offered, "she is pretending that she is sad because she is lost, but she is really happy. That she's lost." "Oh," says Mia. When Mia sings it, she is glittering and gay and purely happy in the gymnastics of the tune. Not lost one bit.
Was that "Why'd he hurt the baby?" or "Riding Hood the Baby?"
November, 2006
Eleanor is saying about one new word every day. Today was "Chair" and "Chase." Yesterday it was "oops." This is as thrilling to us as if we were scientists making contact with a new life form. Well, that's what it is, isn't it?
The Orangutan and the Chimp
Mia chatters away as she plays, her voice high, then low, acting out little plays with her toy animals. Babbling to herself, immersed in play, she bounces around the room in a diaper, an alligator puppet on one hand. "Oh wow! A baby! What's your name? Mia? No, it's Nora." She switches to another voice, monster deep, "I'm going to chew on you!" Jocelyn and I eavesdrop and crack up.
Meanwhile, Nora studies a plastic toy .. a row of trapdoors that open to reveal tiny animal busts, a hall of presidents of the animal kingdom. She clucks quietly to herself, in a hen-like squat, slowly pressing, trying, thinking, processing.
Teach Your Children Well
Sometimes you just wish for wisdom.
"I want to count the money in my piggy banks and go buy a new toy," chants Mia over and over. Christmas was a week ago and she has acquired a taste for fresh packaging, that plastic smell.
"Mia, there are children who don't have as much as you do."
"Let's go to the store and buy them things!"
"Mia, if you don't like your old toys, we should give them to children who don't have what you have." (Wait a minute. What am I trying to teach here? Generosity or frugality?)
"We can give them this," she says, pulling out a tiny piece of inconsequential crap out of the toybox. "Or this," she adds, holding one of Eleanor's baby toys.
"Um, Mia, giving to others doesn't really mean much unless you give something that has meaning for you." (What? Is this a lesson about Anti-materialism? Giving? I'm confusing myself – what's she going to get out of this?)
"Okay, I know! We can give them this!" And she holds up a chestnut plastic horse. It's about twelve inches long, one fetlock is missing, another is held in place with blue masking tape. I received this horse as a Christmas present about thirty years ago and she knows it.
"I'll feel so sad when I give this horse away," she says sincerely and I'm shocked, not only by her utter lack of guile, but by her accidental logic and her unconscious grasp of irony. She just turned the tables on me and asked me to feel what she is feeling.
How do you do this parenting thing anyway?
"I want to count the money in my piggy banks and go buy a new toy," chants Mia over and over. Christmas was a week ago and she has acquired a taste for fresh packaging, that plastic smell.
"Mia, there are children who don't have as much as you do."
"Let's go to the store and buy them things!"
"Mia, if you don't like your old toys, we should give them to children who don't have what you have." (Wait a minute. What am I trying to teach here? Generosity or frugality?)
"We can give them this," she says, pulling out a tiny piece of inconsequential crap out of the toybox. "Or this," she adds, holding one of Eleanor's baby toys.
"Um, Mia, giving to others doesn't really mean much unless you give something that has meaning for you." (What? Is this a lesson about Anti-materialism? Giving? I'm confusing myself – what's she going to get out of this?)
"Okay, I know! We can give them this!" And she holds up a chestnut plastic horse. It's about twelve inches long, one fetlock is missing, another is held in place with blue masking tape. I received this horse as a Christmas present about thirty years ago and she knows it.
"I'll feel so sad when I give this horse away," she says sincerely and I'm shocked, not only by her utter lack of guile, but by her accidental logic and her unconscious grasp of irony. She just turned the tables on me and asked me to feel what she is feeling.
How do you do this parenting thing anyway?
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