What Waiting for Daddy Looks Like

We do a lot of waiting in our family.  Mostly for one person.  It's true, though he claims it's not.  We know it can't be helped, he's just such a busy guy and everyone just wants his autograph.  Or something.  I'm not really sure what they want, but I wait because I kind of like that guy.  For better or for worse and all that, right?  To look on the bright side, it's taught me to be patient and creative.  I've learned to fill my time.  I always, always (comma!) carry a notebook with me.  I fill it with comments, conversations, quotes, all the hilarious things my children say, or something I overhear at the dining hall.  If you read your words in a book of mine someday, just know I probably don't remember it was you that said it.

I usually carry a book and a couple of magazines.  Yesterday I carried, The Atlantic, reading in a rather unbelievable way, why we should no longer think of marriage as the highest ideal for society.  Believe me, I have an opinion about that.  But not right now.  I'm just writing about waiting.

Waiting can be boring but it can also be good.  It's the only time during the day I get to read.  It's the time I actually sit down and watch what my children are doing or playing.  The other day, as we were waiting for the Daddy, in his office (oh yes, he just loves loves loves when we wait in his office.  We work wonders in there), I had my camera.  And this is what I documented.  In a rather blurry way...

This is a very old hat.  It should probably be in a museum.  Instead all of my children try it on every time they walk into the office.  Smashing ensemble, yes?

Sister Act!  Combine it with a cane and some glasses from the lost and found and we've got somethin' goin' on.

Cope didn't get into this sister act.  Darn those ipods.  Or maybe it was...lucky her?

Nelson rode that scooter up, down, and all around that office.  Around and out and inside out...

And then I got really bored and started taking pictures of pictures.  Here is that man we wait for, living out the quarterback dream and throwing that football for a ....TOUCHDOWN.  He must have made it too, because all those football players gave him their autograph to display in his office.

And here is where I said the words I really didn't think I'd ever say...Oh my gosh, we look so young!  Alas, it's come to that.

Then Brynne rowed her boat to shore.

And blew that bull horn so loud, in the hopes that Daddy would come running in to see what all the hullabaloo was about, and we wouldn't have to wait. any. longer!

Yes!  It worked. Nelson capped it off with a spectacular slam dunk, all while riding that nifty scooter - Mission Accomplished!  And then we went to a funeral where we mostly just ate the food and to a baptism where we mostly just ate the food.  But at least we were all together and not waiting for Daddy.  Gee, what do you do for fun, when you have to wait?

P.S.  Dear English Major, I know you'll read this at some point and want me to correct some grammatical mistakes after far too many people have read all my mistakes, so I'm ahead of you on this one.  Would you put a comma between the words love love love?  See above for example.  I wait for you, you correct my grammer.  Win win!

Anthony Shadid

Every morning my alarm goes off at 6:33 a.m.  Some days it goes off earlier so I can run around the block.  Then I shower, and while getting dressed, the alarm sounds for the second time.  Every morning at 6:33.  I have had this alarm clock since college.  Gregor hates the way it looks (very 80's) and keeps saying we need a new sleeker one, but I look at it fondly, and think of all the days it woke me (and my roommates...sorry) up at 5:30 for a military conditioning class, a 7:00 Spanish class, 6:00 to wash my hair.  Now I keep it across the room, on the dresser, so I can see the glowing lights, but can't reach over to whack it for ten more minutes of sleep.

The alarm is not set to that annoying beep, rather, the news.  It is often the only news report I get during the day.  Sometimes I am barely conscious, slipping in and out of dreamland as the BBC reports on Syria, an author interview, or the latest middle east peace talks.  Other times I wake immediately, curious to hear The Book of Mormon musical review, Obama's speech on tax cuts, Mitt Romney's latest problem, Whitney Houston.  If it makes it to the weather I know we're in trouble.  The weather report means it's 7 and the quiet napping house turns into a hullabaloo as we have to jump out of bed, shove something that's called breakfast in our mouths, and hurry children out to the door for school.  We all too often hear the weather.

Today I listened to sad news.  New York Times journalist and pulitzer prize winning photographer, Anthony Shadid, 43, died as he was carried over the border into Turkey by one of his colleagues.  They were out on assignment.  Shadid died of an asthma attack and couldn't be revived.  Sad, that they were on their way out.  Sad that is was asthma and he may have been saved had he had medical care.  Sad for the world, as he wasn't one of those celebrity-chasing paparazzi.  He was brilliant, poetic, and truth-seeking.  He was shot in the shoulder on one assignment, captured and abused in Libya, then later rescued by British forces.  Out he went, again and again, all over the world on assignment.  I love that phrase, "Out on assignment."  It's scary business.  So completely admirable.

I often dream of traveling to foreign lands to report and write a story.  I even looked at an opening last month, a job posting for a foreign correspondant intern.  You'd live on nothing, in a dingy apartment, reporting on the volatile mideast, staying up all night waiting the latest scoop, in fear for your life.  And yet, so appealing!  But I could never leave my children to do that.  I'm doing the job I wanted most.  For now, I can only read about others doing it for us, and subscribe to National Geographic, thanking those journalists and photographers that show me Sudan, Egypt, and France.

There are some people, I believe, who were born to do something very specific.  Like Marie Curie, Einstein, Motzart, Lincoln.  Most of us though, can choose to do any number of things, pulled in directions that highlight our talents, our obsessions, and especially our weaknesses.

I am reading about the butterfly effect, a scientific theory, and an oft-used fiction device.  In Stephen King's latest novel, 11/22/63, Jake goes back in time to stop the assassination of President Kennedy.  But it's incredibly difficult.  The past, he says, is obdurate:  stubbornly persistant, resistant to change.  If he changes one thing, or if he changes the past too early, even if he thinks it's for the good, how does that change the future?  Will his good intentions actually make things worse?  If President Kennedy had lived, would we have had Vietnam?  How does one single person change history?  We all do it.

Do you ever wonder who you are raising?  Will your little toddler grow up to be the homeless man on the corner?  The neurosurgeon?  The lawyer?  Teacher?  An absent or devoted father?  Mother?  Artist?  Will your children be depressed?  Organized?  Hyper?  If we had better mothers and fathers, we wouldn't need journalists covering wars.  The little things really are the big things.

From Wikipedia:  "In chaos theory, the butterfly effect is the sensitive dependence on initial conditions; where a small change at one place in a nonlinear system can result in large differences to a later state. The name of the effect, coined by Edward Lorenz, is derived from the theoretical example of a hurricane's formation being contingent on whether or not a distant butterfly had flapped its wings several weeks before."


Fate versus agency.  What is "meant to be," and what is completely determined by our own choices?  I believe in accidents but I also believe God intervenes.  But not all the time.  Is anyone ever taken before it's time for them to go?


I did not know Anthony Shadid, did not know if he was a good husband or father, but he was a great journalist and I look forward to reading his memoir that comes out next month, House of Stone: A Memoir of Home, Family, and a Lost Middle East.  A great title.  Home.  Family.  The most important stuff.  NPR has a great article here.  


Flap your wings, your little butterfly wings.  And change the world.

All Things Valentine

According to a report in the journal Social Psychological and Personality Science, 84% of couples who have been married for more than 10 years say they are "very in love," intensely in love," or "very intensely in love." This has made me smile for days.  If you haven't been married for ten years or more than you should be happy too.  Apparently it just gets better!

I'm a little bit embarrassed to post these next pictures in case you think I'm really crafty or something.  I'm not.  I have a hard time following crafty directions.  But a few days ago I looked around the house and thought of Ms. Clavel.  As in...Something is not right...And afraid of a disaster, she ran fast and faster...This house needed some valentine love.

So that's what we did.  Until finally, Gregor had to gently pry the scissors out of my hand, saying, "I think we have enough hearts." 

I recruited child slaves (read: children) to create great works of art.

Brynne and Cope made "Rock on" valentines.  Gum was 4 for a $1 at Mr. G's.  Couldn't pass it up.

I saw this great idea from Martha Stewart.  You iron crayon shavings in-between sheets of waxed paper and then cut out hearts.  Of course mine looked nothing like hers.

But we liked it.

I finally made that rose wreath.  Of course my roses looked nothing like the magazine roses.

More like giant begonias?  I like begonias as much as I like roses.

I thought I'd go all out and make the cream cheese frosting rather than use the can.  I did not make the cake by scratch (let's not go overboard!) because I like cake mixes more than cakes from scratch.  And after eating one of these cupcakes with the homemade cream cheese frosting, I decided I like the canned frosting way better.  Lesson learned:  KISS.  Remember your English class?  Keep It Simple Stupid. 

And finally, we heart attacked each other on Sunday night.  This is where everyone writes one nice thing on a heart for each person in the family.

Our favorite was Brynne's note to Nelson:  "I like Nelson because he is nice and plump lick a plum." She meant to write, "like," but the "lick" reduced Nelson to a hysterical laughing lump on the floor.

Nelson's nicest valentine was to the dog.  "I like Lord Tennyson because he's totally awesome."

Kisses.

XOXO.

On Pooh and Such

1.  I cannot sleep with noise.  Any noise.  And hence, no matter how badly I need or long for a Sunday nap, I never get it.  I now sit on the couch watching home movies from 12 years ago when we were the dorm parents to 12 boys (so big!), I was a new mother (so young!) and Cope (so cute!) was a new baby.  It's almost as satisfying.  Cope is offended.

2.  Now on to yogurt.  I refuse to buy Stonyfield yogurt without a coupon.  It's more than DOUBLE the price of my favorite generic brand.  But I almost always forget to print the coupon and then can only gaze upon the Stonyfield Banilla while reaching for the generic vanilla.

3.  Blog matter 1:  See those social media buttons above?  I can't get them to go on the BOTTOM of my posts.  Julia from Diary of a Word Nerd emailed me directions.  I will share if I'm successful.

4.  Blog matter 2:  Under my picture (on the right) Gregor is confused when I describe my (our) children as "delicious."  This is not confusing.  They are delicious.  You understand, right?

5.  Blog matter 3.  Someone commented that they weren't able to "follow" my blog.  What is the advantage to having a "following button?"  What exactly does this do for you?

6.  The other day Gregor said, "You shouldn't wear that dress anymore."  But I liked the dress.  "If you knew what it looked like from the back you wouldn't wear it."  Apparently it was a tad too snug.  Well.  That's embarrassing.  Couldn't I have been informed, like, three hours earlier?

7.  He also informed me that a comma is necessary between the words really and really.  As in that book I'm reading is good.  It's really, really good.

8.  Good thing I married an English major.  He's by far my best educational investment.

9.  The Canon Rebel is on sale at Sam's Club for $599.  But I can't have it until I land a big assignment.  Do you have one for me?

10.  Cope came downstairs the other night, sleepwalking.  She does this often and you never know if she's awake or not.  Usually it makes Gregor and I laugh like crazy because she says the funniest things.  This time she was sobbing and said, "Christopher Robin is never coming back to the forest and he left Pooh Bear all alone!  He just waits there, just waiting and waiting forever and Christopher Robin never comes back and I'm sooo sad."  And then she sobbed very hard.  And this made me very sad too because she's Christopher Robin and I'm Pooh.

The Last Day of Blogfest

It's Day Three, the last day of the I'm Hearing Voices Blogfest.  Thanks to Angie Cothran and Cassie Mae for hosting the blogfest.  I've never done anything like this and as soon as I registered, I had a great bout of panic and immediately wished I had never entered such a thing - people were going to judge my writing!?!  But, it turned out to be a great exercise and less traumatic than I thought.  It's also been fun to get comments from other encouraging writers.  So, thanks to all!  This was much fun.


Today it's all about emotion. My assignment is to make you feel in 250 words or less.  

My father would stay with us until we were almost asleep, before heading to the care center, our mother’s new home.  When he rushed us to bed and turned out the lights right away I didn’t get mad.  I knew he was anxious to go see how Vienna was settling in.  She had thrown a terrific scene when we’d left her that evening and he would most likely be with her all night.  But instead of leaving right away, he paused, and sat down.  Little Bitty put her arms around my neck and I started my usual story.

“Peter came to the window,” I whispered, “Because it was Wendy’s last night in the nursery.  Nana was tied outside.” Bitty giggled again.  My father squeezed my foot but I was sure he smiled in the dark.

“…and when they flew to Never Land, Wendy with the yellow hair found the lost boys.”

“Wendy with the yellow hair,” Bitty whispered.

“Yes,” I said.  “All night Wendy told stories to the lost boys.  She sang to them and rocked them to sleep until they remembered their mothers again. Then all the boys wanted to go home too and not be lost any more.”  Bitty sucked her thumb and fell into sleep beside me.  Soon I was in my own Never Land slumber too, hovering between the real world and my longed for imagined one where Wendy was very much real and our father never sat all alone on the edge of my bed.

Dialogue

Wednesday's Challenge for I'm Hearing Voices Blogfest:  Have two characters introduce each other using only dialogue—no backstory, no internalization, just dialogue between the two. Max 250 words.


“This isn't your room anymore.  You get to share with Daddy now."

"Daddy?"

"I mean Jed.  Your husband."

"Husband."

"Do you know who your husband is?"

"Um… Jed!"

"Very good!"

"Where's Jed?"

"He'll be home soon."

"Oh."

"Do you know who your children are?"

"Um…Gwyn and Bitty."

"What about Gus?"

"Yes!" 

"No silly!  There is no Gus."

"No Gus.  Where's Jed?"

"He's working."

"I'm hungry."

"How about some cardboard?"

"Okay."

"No!  You don't eat cardboard."

"Okay.  This is mom and dad's room."

“This is your room now.  You get to share with Jed.  You get to sleep here because you live here now."

"Where's Jed?"

"He's working, remember?"

"I'm hungry."

"Mama?  Can you tell me about the gun?"

"Mama?"

"Vienna, I mean.  Tell me about the gun."

"My name is Vienna."

"Yes.  Tell me about the gun."

"I gave it to Gaysie.  She needed it."

"When did you give it to Gaysie?"

"What is your name?"

"Gwynavere!  You named me!"

"I did?"

"Oh geez."

"How old are you?"

"I'm ten.  How old are you?"

"I don't know."

"Oh don't cry about it.  It's okay."

"Where's Jed?"

"Mama, I think that gun was for me.  I think you knew that I was the one who was going to need it."

"Mama?"