Pine Nuts and Pussy Willows

Today Cole put a pine nut into/up his nostril. When I wasn't looking. I know that Cole is not the first child to put something small into an orifice that shouldn't go into particular orifice, but I'm still a little shocked, what with this being our first time. I might call my grandmother; her son did the same with a pussy willow.

Or I might just write about it on the internet, perhaps so other Friday mothers can beware of child saying, "Nose. Hurt. Nose. Hurt. Nose. Hurt," followed by briefly violent expulsion of said nut.

The Unveiling of Not for Ourselves Alone

I've decided that some compartmentalizing could be good for me, though I'm terrible at it, and that is why I have created Not For Ourselves Alone, my new blog. Notforourselvesalone.blogspot.com because I'm obsessed with Elizabeth Cady Stanton--and she first said "Not for Ourselves Alone" and then Ken Burns made a documentary about the suffragists and this is what he called it. I plan to use Friday Moms to post about--well--motherly sorts of things. Stories about my kids--and maybe a couple of photos, too. Photos of your kids. That kind of thing.

Not for Ourselves Alone. It will be a place where I keep all of my moods. And I plan to have good, great moods as well as bad, mad. I plan to keep writing about religion, it is cathartic, and I plan to write about things that make me laugh, like Cat Butt Gum and words people say, things that I find absurd i.e. Mr. Bush or Life is Good wear, things that I find difficult--like sadness, things that I don't understand--like Wal-Mart or God, and things that I like--like people and literature and alcohol and commas (even if I don't use them correctly). I also plan to post some photos--hoping, soon, to post some from the Greg and Kari wedding. Images with pirate boys, and ships sailing, baskets and flowers and banners, little girls. Pink.

I'm inviting people to visit my new blog--because this is the internet and the internet is public and yes there is a thrill in being read, being discovered (Thank you James for getting me thinking about the public and private domains of writing, the desire to reveal, the desire to disavow.). However, having said this, I am sometimes made terribly nervous by posting. Especially when people worry or are made nervous or sad by what I have written. So part of me wants to say, "Don't read. Don't read." But then why would I post if I didn't want you to read?? So I guess I'm saying, "Do read. Do read." But only when and if you want to. And of course you're going to want to visit so that you can know where to purchase some Cat Butt Gum.

Cheers.

Jane

4.a. secret information, especially about an actual or potential enemy

I take responsibility. I hope it's not too late.

Working on It

Sat down to write to see what would come out.

React. How to? Make it personal or make it bigger? A God? I've mostly thought yes when I haven't been thinking no and then there's this man telling me that there has to be one and that we don't have a choice but to choose God. And I'm thinking about my other choices, even if this makes my life more complicated and I have to think or drink, sometimes.

To see true sadness. It's not something one sees every day. True--as in not feigned or because one thinks it is the right thing to do at the time. Or because one is bored or one wants attention. True--as in the kind of sadness that makes a person alive. The other side of numb, the opposite of depressed.

Before the service and on the way to drop the children Aidan asked, "Why do people die?" "For lots of reasons. Sometimes people are sick. Sometimes other reasons," I said. We didn't talk about why people kill themselves. She's only almost four--and I was tired, hot, sad. Though I know she'll ask some day and I'd like to provide an answer that doesn't involve God being the only choice. So I'm working on it.

Working on it. Not afraid or ashamed to say that I'm working on it without God. Which means looking for incongruity, the grey, the grapple. Not going to do it alone, either. Going to do it, life, with the people I love.

The people I love.

Telling Stories

When I tell stories, let's say on the phone or to a person I know or to a person I don't know, I tend to take a long, a very long time. Of course I need to include background information, my shift in mood every second of every minute, details like the color of the sky, the curl in hair.

With photographs, visual details may be present, enough for me to shut up a bit, but when I look at one of my photos on its own without any of its brothers and sisters, the story seems incomplete. I want to know what happened before and what happened after and what happened in between and what was happening outside of the frame, next to the frame, in the heads of the people inside and outside of the frame. If a million people had cameras and could take pictures of people taking pictures I might be satisfied. But that would take the fun out of things, like the joy of guessing and wondering--and inventing elaborate stories to tell about what happened outside of the frame, inside the heads.

I say all of this before posting four pictures as a way of explaining why I'm posting FOUR pictures and as a way to say no, never, really can one completely capture a little person, or a big person.

But I get a kick out of trying.

Validation

Go to mypyramid.gov. Track your activity. Select Household Activities. Select everything you do in a day. Everything. Food preperation standing. Carrying small children. Implied walking (putting laundry away). Implied standing (folding laundry). Reclining with baby. Putting household items away. Food shopping, with or without cart. Bathing, dressing, feeding. Carrying objects 1-15 lbs. upstairs.

The list goes on.

Finally, a video game for stay-at-home moms. Tomorrow I will try for a new high score.

To Love through

How much do I love the person who wants to give me the money that he has been saving up doing repairs at bikeshop once a week so that I can fly to San Francisco to see my friend Jason and his new baby Liam? How much do I love him for getting that I want to go, only, so that I can return? For understanding that marriage is a construct, perhaps outdated, but that a relationship between two people who love each other can transcend status quo, a determination to question all and any values passed down by my Mormon parents, economic theory?

Enough to tell the internet about it. And as many people as will listen.

Always. For Tad. To love. To love. Through. To love through.

Curls, cheeks and lips

Yesterday. His unpaid phone bill and almost no way to reach him. An almost decision to stay in this country. Excuses that hurt. An email from my mother-in-law. Walking, offered a ride. 50 degrees. Convertible, top down. And as he drove away I cried because I wished that I'd taken it. For other reasons too.

So that when day ended with violin lesson I was too tired to fight, music a release and a relief. Aidan asleep on couch--curls, cheeks and lips.