Finding time

Something I've learned upon having two children: 24 hours is not enough time for everything that needs to be done in a day.  
There's a reason why I haven't written in a while-- with two children there is only so much time every day that one gets to spend on things other than the tasks of daily life--  and lately I've been spending my extra few moments on other things that recharge my soul, mostly larger goals and projects-- also gardening and activities that clear my head.  

I've been thinking a lot lately about the concept of budgeting in relation to hours of the day.  As an artist, it is always my goal to have at least two hours a day to devote to my work.  Two hours out of 24 doesn't seem like it should be that hard to capture, but with two children it's often hard to find.  Still, it's not impossible if you focus on little things.  For example:  
--Cooking in batches instead of singular meals every day slashes a little time  (we've been slacking on this lately; definitely need to get back to it again)
--Joining a new gym, despite the heartbreak, gives me back an hour and a half of time normally just spent driving.
--Experimenting with illustration markers instead of paint allows me to chisel time off set up and clean up
--etc.....

Also, (and I'm absolutely serious when I say this) I've been putting my insomnia to good use lately.   Usually there is at least an hour or two every night after I've been up with the baby when I'm just awake in bed, my head racing around the world a million miles a minute.  I've been trying to focus that energy lately, and use it to think hard about projects and goals that I want to make happen.   Insomnia is a funny thing--  someone once told me that insomnia stems from your brain forcing you to think about stuff that it isn't allowed the time to think about during the day.  I think a lot of great ideas can come out of a little insomnia, especially if you just give your brain a slight push in the direction you want it to race in....

Anyway--  in summery, it's been a while since I've written in this bloggy blog because my time is just so limited and is being used in other ways.  I love writing about my children, but lately I just need my extra minutes to use in ways that give my mind a bit of a break from mommy hood.

I'd be curious to know how other mom and dads do it:  How do you chisel out those moments of the day for yourself?   What are your strategies for finding time for yourself?  

Swim Lessons

You bring this beautiful tiny child into the world,
you love her, and feed her, and clothe her.
You wipe her little scratches with cotton,
and you save some of the curls from her first haircut.
You teach her to read, sound out letters, add blocks and bottle caps,
teach her numbers,
buy her ice cream when it's hot.
You take good good care of her, and turn into a beast mother when she gets pushed down on the playground.  You hold her at night, tell her stories, sing songs, work the glue stick, wash hands, trim nails--

You do everything right and good.

Then, one day, you make the decision to put this most precious thing on earth into Swim Lessons.

Now, my kid is usually up for trying most things, and sticking it out, and being brave.  I can usually convince her to like almost anything---
But...
I think I have discovered my child's personal hell: Swim Lessons at the community center.

It's a freezing cold soup of noisy, splashing thrashing kids (ages 6-16), and husky-voiced teachers who refers to my child as "buddy", or "What'sYourNameAgain in the bird swimsuit".

I'm sitting there watching from this plastic chair remembering exactly what it felt like--  (this is often the cruel torture of having a child who is your personal duplicate)--  I want so badly to put her in swim lessons and watch her take off and have fun, but I realize very quickly that these big group lessons are taking my girl back to a place of fear and dread--  definitely not the feelings I want her to associate with swimming.

Now, there are always two options as a parent-- one is to tell your kid to just deal with it; do it; get over it. (Admittedly, this is often the right option for many things...)
But the other option is to regroup-- sit down with them, listen to their fears, and possibly find a better option that will work for them (and for you).

Learning to swim is important, and for a child who thrives on order, this Lord of the Flies type environment is probably not going to do it for us.
So, now it's back to the one-on-one lessons at Safe 'n' Sound under the Chinese food restaurant on Lake Union.   They are good (pricey), but good.  We took her there a while back-- and she learned more in just a few weekly 15 minute lessons than I think she would probably learn in an entire year of every-child-for-herself group lessons.  

But I'd be interested to hear other parents' thoughts about swim lessons.  When I was a kid, and rejected the freezing cold chaotic horror of group swim lessons, my mom started sending me to swim with my awesome Mary Poppins type older cousin every week who gave me a fun mini private lesson at the pool near her house--  I now realize that this was fairly similar to Safe 'n' Sound.  Once I learned to swim with a bit more confidence, I loved it and even eventually joined the swim team.
Kids learn in different ways, and I personally feel like swimming is one of those things where you really need to respect your kid's learning style.  
So, moms and dads out there-- what you do think?  How did your kid learn to swim??

Sleep.

Sleep.

To sleep or not to sleep.  

Just let me sleep.  

Why don't you sleep on it.  

Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep.  Ever so quiet and not a peep.  

I swear to everything up and down that sleep is the hardest part about having a baby.  Just when you think it's good and golden, and everyone has gotten used to their pillows and the silent stars in the sky twinkle and smile-- just when you feel like you've made it--  

--it's all crashed to pieces again.  There's a tooth or a tummy ache.  There's too much napping during the day, or not enough. Or there's just some sort of separation despair that comes and goes--- 

Her little brain is growing.  I can tell that she understands almost every word I say.  And she's walking-running everywhere.  

Here little body and mind is buzzing like crazy with all of this growth, and with all of these little electric wave-lazers shooting this way and that, it's no wonder really that she can't settle down for a solid nights rest.  

But man oh man.  Sleep.  I pray every night for a stretch that's longer than two hours.  

When I'm finally sleeping I dream of having even more sleep.  

Then it's morning, and I tell myself that it's only 13 more hours until the kids are in bed again (bless their tiny beautiful little hearts)-- and then I can get into my pajamas and bathrobe and try once more to have an easy sleepy night.  

Someday sleep will return to this household and someday I will stop accidentally putting the cream cheese away in the cupboard.   

   

1 Year

You are in the kitchen playing with a toy car
You are the house filled with flowers
You are all things bright, strawberry blonde eyelashes, and yellow balloons
--headstands; falling down;  tripping over belly laughs
--tiny tantrums in the grocery store-- chewing a hole in the bandaid box before we buy it
But you are my happy place, my daydream in the dentist's chair.
You are my midnight voyager; polka dotted pjs at 2am; a sigh and snuggle, and back to sleep.  A year of 3 hour increments.  
You are the morning sun, and every day a little bigger, smarter, doing more--
--pointing with a finger, trying to say bird.
 Bringing me a book; today my slippers.

When you were born I loved you instantly.  You slid right into our life and you found your slot; an easy milky-sweet baby.  In a house of three semi-solemn people, you have made us laugh and smile every day.  Over this past year you have transformed our family into something completely new and different.  You have a voice that is all your own, and it has left me speechless and completely in love.

So happy birthday, Eloise.  Today you are 1 year old, and you are magnificent.

One, two, there....

four, five, six...

seven, eight, nine...

ten, eleven...

and twelve.  

Monday meditation

With two kids I often find myself feeling as though I am trying to do at least twenty things at once and consequently am getting nothing done.  This is the constant struggle -- it is as simple and as complicated as finding some sort of balance.  

In the quiet moments, I work.  I am grateful that my work is meditative and soul-refreshing.  My mind gets fidgety with project ideas.  But I tell myself to be patient.  Take it bird by bird; we do what we can with the hours of the day, and these days with the kids flip by so fast.  Eloise, already, is walking away from me.  So cherish this moment to sit on the floor, and hold her hand, and teach her the difference between red and yellow.  

These little moments are important.  They grow into larger moments, and then one evening you are sitting on the couch after dinner watching your older child create a symphony out of her books and animals.  She is the conductor.  She is dreaming big these days, and it's incredible to watch.

Meditation now--  

Give yourself this time to watch the rain

It is spring, and dreams are growing 

Be patient, be present.
Beautiful big things are happening in the quiet moments.

11 Months

11 Months today, my baby
I refuse to call you a toddler yet--
--even though you started toddling this month, and we are having to teach you the heartbreak of "No" when you throw your food or chew the windowsill--
you are still my baby for one more month.
Sweet silly Eloise, on the go, discovering books and birds.   We love you.

PS: These chair photos are getting more and more difficult to take of you, you wiggly thing.  It's a good thing we only have one month left!

Garden, Early Spring

Eloise and I spent some time outside today looking at all of the early springlings.  Daffodils, camellias,  magnolias, quince --Everyone is waking up early; the crocus must be surprised to see them all.  

Our garden is mysterious and magical to me.  I don't quite understand how things grow, why they bloom or don't bloom, why or when or how to prune things...

All I know is that I am grateful every day to have a garden.  Our very own garden.  I am excited for the summer when it will transform my girls into jungle explorers and fairies.    The days have their ups and downs, but the garden out the window is constant in its change; a refreshing reminder that life moves along and circles around.  

We've been in our house a year, and in that year we've seen our garden through its entire cycle.  We're getting to know the older resident shrubs and trees of our yard, and I am over the moon excited that the sacks of bulbs I planted last fall didn't get eaten by squirrels.  

We have paths of oyster shells, and a stump piled with stones.  We have dandelions to blow and parsley that survived the winter.   We are a lucky bunch, and I am grateful every day for the things that grow outside our front door.