Rain, rain, rainy-rain-rain. Rainy.
What's your favorite rainy day song?
Violet and I were talking about our favorites this morning. Here are our top three:
First, my all time favorite: Early Morning Rain, sung by Eva Cassidy.
And we can't leave out this one!
But for some reason this is the one that seems to stick in my head every time we have a rainy day:
I just sat down at my computer to drink my mid-morning tea out of my commemorative Moon cat mug that Tyler made for me a few years ago (just an average morning here), and whaddya know, the first news item that popped up on my screen was that it's National Cat Day today.
There's been so much horrible news lately, and often I am consumed by it; I am filled with worry and anxiety nearly every morning when I drop my daughter off at kindergarden, and it keeps me up at night.
Last night, as I lay awake staring at all of my worries dancing around the dark room, out of the blue there came these strange noises from the basement. I swore someone was breaking into our home. So, naturally, all lights on, planning my exit strategy with the girls, and Tyler bravely up to investigate ---
Nope. Not a burglar. Not a creeper. Not an axe murderer.
Just our tiny lady cat, Pigeon.
She was pulling out the drain in the basement sink.....of course! (What else would a cat be doing at 3am??) I told myself she probably was going after a giant spider, and forgave her-- because really there's not much else you can do.
So, cats. Why do we love and keep them? I always joke that living with our two cats is a little like living with two squirrels. They are everywhere, and get into everything. They climb stuff they shouldn't. They ate/tore a hole in one of our doors when they were kittens. They steal food-- recently Pigeon stole a block of cheese off the coffee table during a dinner party-- they jingle around the house and climb our curtains.
But we love them anyway.
Tyler and I were recently talking about why we feel it's important to have animals in our home. Like music, like art, having an animal in your house fills the unseen spaces with this energy that extends beyond what we could do alone as humans. We see our children relate to these creatures-- they learn how to care for something in a gentle way-- they learn hands on (quite literally), how to build a trust between another creature through their actions. It's been a good thing.
So, anyway, on National Cat Day, I would like to share some of my favorite photos with you of past and present cat-kid fun.
Enjoy!
I am going to write about something that I don't write about very often, and I am going to do it in 20 minutes without stopping because sometimes there are topics that just need to be let out-- not thought and wrought upon. So here it goes: Loneliness.
Loneliness in motherhood is a very real thing. I'm not talking about depression, I'm not talking about regret or resentment. Often all of these topics are pooled together in mommy-writes-about-being-mommy articles.
For me, loneliness is its own beast. Here is the main thing I want to say about loneliness: it's not always such a bad thing, but it's a presence.
I find as a mom that this loneliness is very hard to get away from. Even when I'm surrounded by other people. Even when my husband or my family or my friends are with me, the loneliness is there. I have been trying to figure out why. It has something to do with my mind not being able to ever be completely present in any topic other than parenting-- in any given situation I am usually thinking about the baby. When there is something that is so completely dependent on you, you can't help but think and fret and worry almost constantly.
And so even if you work (as I do), or see friends often (as I do) or have a very supportive partner (as I do), I feel lonely because my mind is always off, alone in this space of when did the baby last eat, is the baby about to lose it in this store, is she ok sleeping on her tummy in her room, did those peas upset her stomach, is this nap going to throw the whole night into a tale spin, is she ok in the childcare at the gym, is she going to get trampled on, is that bump on her hand from a spider, have I had enough calories and water today to keep her fed and happy through the next few hours, etc.....
I think people wonder sometimes why I talk so much about my kids. I used to wonder that about parents before I had my own children. Possibly it's because our lonely minds that are usually off bouncing around in the darkness by themselves thinking about sleep patterns and teething are desperate for a little feedback. The zombie apocalypse could be here and I swear I would start up a conversation with one of them about carseats.
Parenting groups help because we're all in the same boat. And exercise helps, as does playing the piano-- the mind is made quiet through movement and noise.
..But here is one more thing that I'd like to say before my time runs out on this post and the baby wakes up:
Dear world,
I know that I talk about my kids constantly. And I know that my eyes glaze over when we start to talk about pretty much anything else. Art, history, politics, music, books, fitness. These are things you are interested in, and I am interested in them too! Someday I will windex my mind, and fully engage with you in a conversation about one of these topics, but for now I have let my mind give in slightly to the loneliness of parenting. I love being a mommy. Really really love it. But I often find that I am fighting myself, defending myself against my own projections of myself, that it's not enough to be just a mom in a world where I could be doing a million other things. But golly I do love it. At least I do most of the time. Even if it means that my mind is off roaming around in this lonely dark woodsy place, rummaging through thoughts of baby food and cradle cap.
There are some days when it feels like it's all for nothing, and I miss being able to sit and give myself completely to a project that I'm working on, a drawing, an article-- or even read a book without having to stop and go back a few pages because that's where my mind started to wander off.
But there are also those moments when I feel like I'm the luckiest woman on earth, and that my mind which seems alone and away and distant so much of the time is actually producing something quite extraordinary and beautiful. Here is one of those moments from this morning:
So, what are your thoughts on loneliness and parenting?
I remember when Violet was a baby. I was completely overwhelmingly determined from day #1 to get her on some sort of schedule. I'm not completely sure why-- I think it was just my own natural response to new motherhood. She wasn't eating well. She wasn't sleeping well. It felt chaotic and we needed something stable.
She adapted well to a schedule, she always has. It's the kind of person she is-- she likes things tidy and tied, set, scheduled organized. I can admit now, I longed for a cuddly up-for-anything baby who would fall asleep in my arms, drunk on milk. But that wasn't who she was. And, in retrospect, I think I needed the routine as much as she did-- the routine of feeding her and then swaddling her and putting her down in her crib to fall asleep independently, while I gathered my wits and wrung my hands a bit...
I struggled as a new first time mom, really really struggled, and she struggled a bit too. But in a weird way, our struggling to figure it all out solidly bonded us together, and today we couldn't be closer.
Anyway-- Being a mom the second time around has been quite different. Eloise is such a different person. She is that round cuddly happy-go-lucky soul, who eats and smiles and gurgles. When she was tiny, we held her almost constantly because she demanded it, and and we loved it and it didn't seem so hard to be needed every second of the day the way it did with #1. We've been enjoying our little journey with her, relaxing a bit more this time, and letting the baby lead the way in terms of routines and scheduling.
That being said, I have started working lately on getting our little Eloise on more of a schedule. It started kind of by accident-- now that she's six months old it seems as though her naps and mealtimes are kind of naturally organizing themselves-- so I've been trying to encourage it because her happiness suddenly seems to expand exponentially when she is well rested and fed, and it's nice to know what to expect from the day so that I can plan when to work, cook, go out, etc..
Long story short: here is what the schedule of our 6 month old looks like on a good, ideal day:
7:30am: wake up, nurse, play, take V to school
10:00am: nurse, nap in crib (mommy works)
noon-3pm: lunch (solids), play, nurse, go out -Eloise naps in the car or stroller or carrier
3:30pm: pick up V, go home
4pm: nurse
5pm-5:30pm: nap in crib, (mommy gets dinner ready)
6pm: dinner with the family, solids for Eloise
6:30~7pm: bath (sometimes), nurse, bed
10:30pm: dream-feed
2am: nurse
5:30am: nurse
7:30am: wake up, nurse....... etc.....
Sorry to everyone who isn't a parent of a 6 month old, I'm sure this is absolutely uninteresting. It's helpful for me to see it typed out though because, as I mentioned above, this is what happens on "ideal" days. Often it will get thrown off if she happens to wake up earlier or later, or if I decide to do anything in the evening that requires staying out past 6:30... we do not run a prison after all :)
Still, I feel grateful and lucky to have a basically very happy and up-for-anything baby. If she gets off her routine, she still seems pretty happy. The only hard part about these "off" days is that I often don't get everything done that I've planned on doing. So dinner becomes some sort of thrown together tuna sandwich meal, and my plans to go to the gym or do my painting work get pushed to another day. But, life works itself out, and we carry on, and she remains jolly. Here she is on an off day:
Several years ago, when we first moved to Seattle, I bought a scooter. Sort of a Vespa type thing, but not a Vespa, a Honda Metro. It was black and white. Like a checker board. Like a piano.
Here is what it looked like:
Man, I loved it. When we first moved here I worked in a produce warehouse where I spent half the time bagging kiwis, and the other half of the time interviewing pear and beef farmers-- true story, another blog post. Tyler was in graduate school, and we lived in this funny/darling little studio apartment under the steps in the house on Woodlawn street. We didn't have much money, and lived off of the free produce that I got from my job. We would get to take home all of the leftover produce at the end of the week, so I would pop open the seat and fill 'er up with lettuce and parsnips. It became a salad on wheels.
My scooter was a cheap fun way to get from here to there, and it was part of a very special phase of life, and I loved it.
Well, life moved along, we had a kid, and my poor scooter became this sad abandoned pet who sat in the rain with a dead battery year-round, because riding a scooter with a baby is neither a safe nor sane idea.
Eventually, in preparation for our move to India, I decided it was best to sell it to someone who could appreciate it and ride it every day.
I'm not going to lie, it was a very sad day for me.
But what made it not-so-sad was that I told myself I would use my scooter money one day to buy something else that I've always wanted-- something part fun, part necessary, part completely indulgent--
--a piano.
My friends, I have been saving my scooter money for years, and finally about a month ago, I bought my piano. It looks like this:
It's been years since I've really played with any sort of obedience or dedication. But I have been playing every night now, practicing my site-reading, playing through my grandfather's old lessons (also another blog post) and plunking out the chords of various Pete's Dragon tunes that Violet begs me to play.
It's everything I hoped it would be. It's brought this other-life-ness into our house. It's thrilling. Kind of like riding your scooter onto a ferryboat and then along an island road. It's me, sitting with this machine, thinking only of the moment at hand; the air filled with beautiful noise.
Eloise is 6 months old today. This morning I am celebrating by eating an enormous caprese sandwich-- something I only get to have once in a blue moon-- putting my feet up, snuggling in with the cats and drinking some coffee.
The baby naps.
She is such a truly good little person. I think 6 months might be the most perfect age. Because she's still such a little huggable squishy bear baby. But she's not so delicate. She can sit up now-- really quite a feat of wonder considering just a few months ago she could not even hold up her own head or keep control of her hands that were constantly attacking her face. Upright sitting-straight, like a well practiced yogi. No longer just sky and leaves and faces staring down; she can look out at the world as a vertical being.
She has learned to smile and laugh in every sense; she recognizes humor and love and fun.
Every day is something new, and a celebration of welcoming.
Yes, Welcome! More and more everyday into the world and into your own being and into your senses.
Welcome child. You're a rockstar. You're a pal.
You are in and of this world.
You are growing up too fast, every second is a celebration.
6 months gone, and so tonight we'll celebrate with pulverized pea soup, and tapioca pudding.
We love you, Eloise.
