Confession Saturday: Cross-Country Move Edition

I confess, I'm drinkin' out of a fire hose.

This is what my big brother used to say to me every time I asked him how he was during his grad school years. Me: How are you? Him: I'm drinkin' out of a fire hose. I thought I was drinkin' out of a fire hose during grad school, too -- two jobs and full-time school. I confess, I had no idea.

I confess, I have committed ZERO acts of literature in the last two weeks. Unless you count getting lost late at  night in Wuthering Heights and The Deep End of the Ocean. Perhaps it's a little strange that my old reliable escape-into novels are, well, utterly heartbreaking. But it works for me.

Even though I truly believe everything with the move will work out fine, and that we will find happiness and abundant life in California, my body doesn't believe it. I confess, I haven't eaten or slept very well since the news came down from on high. I confess, Advil PM is my new best friend. Ensure Plus is my old arch nemesis, but I've resigned myself to it for now.

As usual, all my favorite people in the world are rushing to my side to help. Those near are stripping some very-80s wallpaper, replacing cupboard pulls, and hanging pictures. Those far are sending their good thoughts and words of support. My parents have come from far to near to do all sorts of helpful things. I confess, I have the best friends and relations.

I confess, I'm getting pretty good at getting houses ready to sell. Lots of practice recently. I confess, I'm afraid to jinx anything, but let me just say I could live without this little song and dance for a good long time after this go-round.

I confess, I miss poetry right now. I know it will be waiting for me when I can get back to my desk. Which has been moved downstairs at the stager's directions. Sigh.

I confess, when people ask me how I'm doing, all I can think of is the bookmark my BFF gave me a million years ago. It says:

Oh, I'm fine.
Just fine.
Perfectly fine.


Really.
I'm fine.


Fine.


(Really, I am!)

I confess, I've missed my bloggy-life during all the hubbub. I'll be around as often as I can until the fire hose turns off.

Confession Saturday: The You Had Me At 'It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife' Edition

"The Gentleman offered his services,
took her up in his arms,
and carried her down the hill."

I confess, January gets me down.

I confess, the first stanza of In the Bleak Midwinter by Christina Rossetti is playing on 'loop' in my mind.

I confess, I feel I ought to be more forbearing about winter considering where I live.  However, instead of pulling myself up by my bootstraps, I cope through escapism.

I confess, last night when Husband asked what I was reading all I said was, "Guess."  "Mr. Darcy?" he said, laughing.

I confess, it's true.  January always sends me straight to Jane Austen and also to Masterpiece Classic.  Also to hot tea and lots of dark chocolate.

I confess, I want to be the young maiden sitting in a window seat with a prospect of the gah-den, opening the wax seal of a hand-written letter, calling to the servant for tea.  (However, I always remind myself, they didn't have central heat or flush toilets back then.  There is that.)

I confess, I was glad to see on Facebook yesterday that another friend is escaping with Jane Austen, too.  It's nice to know I'm not alone.

I confess, I have an "I heart Mr. Darcy" bumper sticker on my mini-van.  It's true.

I confess, Reader, on the next four Sunday evenings you will find me glued to the TV watching Downton Abbey (which is set much later than Austen's novels, but alas, Masterpiece has no Austen on the schedule this year from what I can tell).  At night, I will be in bed early reading Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Sense & Sensibility, and Persuasion.  Next I will move on the Bronte Sisters.  Next maybe A Room With a View.  After that perhaps I will stoop to Austen fan lit.  I confess, I'm not above it.  By then it will be, I hope, March, and I might imagine that winter will end after all.

I confess, I'd love to know if you have favorite books/movies that you escape into during the bleak midwinter.


P.S. Image above is public domain via Liam's Pictures From Old Books.  I'm quite sure the scene is from Sense & Sensibility, when Marianne falls on the downs and Willoughby finds her and carries her to safety, sparking their romance (oh, the drama!).  And my long and rambling title comes from the first line of Pride and Prejudice.

Confession Saturday

I confess:

~I almost gave up my writing time today to wrap presents.  Almost, but not quite.

~I am a fair weather composter.  Hello, 20-below windchill, and hello, garbage disposal.

~After many years of jeans that were too big, and a few weeks of jeans that were, well, just a little too small, I have learned anew the blessing of a pair of jeans that are Just Right.

~I realize that I am my own worst enemy when it comes to making lists.  Which is why I usually don't make them.

~There were many years when the only reason I ever got dinner on the table was the T.V.  O, drug of children, O, help of mothers.  I confess, I am glad to be through those years.

~I confess, yesterday my nine year-old taught me what TTFN means:

Ta-ta for now.

Confession Saturday: Halloween Edition

I confess:

~One up-side of having arthritis in my hands is that I am no longer expected to participate in carving pumpkins (sing it with me now: "Always look on the bright side of life...").

~I let my kids watch an episode of the Simpsons when I saw this link on Book of Kells.  I confess, this is the only time they've ever watched The Simpsons.  Will I let them watch it again sometime?  Quoth the Mother, "Nevermore!"

~I had to laugh yesterday when two of the teachers at Sister's nursery school passed me by in the hall at pick-up time, one saying "Happy Frickin' Halloween!" and the other saying, "I HATE Halloween!"  (Of course they spoke discreetly so the kids wouldn't hear).  I confess, I admire them for being willing to have a Halloween party for 2, 3, 4, and 5 year-olds.  If I were them, I'd charge double tuition on the day of the Halloween party.  Can you imagine helping 25 costumed two and three year-olds with bathroom breaks on the day of the Halloween party!?

~I confess, I'm a Halloween curmudgeon mostly because it means extra work for me (cookies, costumes, kids strung out on sugar for days on end).  But I do love to watch the kids have so much fun dressing up, going out at night (a rare treat), and sorting through their candy stashes.

~I confess, Halloween is one of the few times of the year when I wish I were more naturally extroverted.

~My very favorite thing about Halloween is its otherworldliness.  Long ago, some believed that the border between this world and the Other World (the world of spirits and souls) became thin at this darkening time of the year.  Some historians theorize that Halloween began as a Celtic celebration of this phenomenon (others disagree, but this is a confession, not a history lesson).  I confess, I believe these "thin places," where worlds brush up against each other, still exist if we are on the lookout for them.

~I confess, I am very excited to have a tall stack of new-to-me reading material to sink into as the days shorten and the air chills.  I will share more about this soon.

I hope you and yours have a fun and happy Halloween!

Confession Saturday: Back to School Edition

I confess:

~The school year routine is kicking my butt.  Our boys get on the bus a few minutes before seven a.m.  This makes for very early mornings for the Mom Trying to Write.  NB: The school bus schedule cuts right into my best time for writing.

~And yet, I love the school bus and consider it one of the best examples of how far we have come as a species.  From ooga-booga cave people to a long, yellow machine that appears at the end of my driveway twice daily: once to whisk away the children, and once to discharge them back into my open arms.

~My use of the word "routine" above is inaccurate.  Routine as in a sequence of actions regularly followed; routine as in a fixed, unvarying programme.  Whatever school-year routine this family eventually falls into has not yet coalesced.  We are stumbling along, and so far everyone has arrived at their intended destination on time, and with their lunches.  This is about all I can manage so far.

~Preschool just really doesn't last that long.  9:00 to 11:30.  Long enough to make you think you'll have a little time to do a little something.  Next thing you know you're racing back over there for pick-up.  And yet, I confess, I have really enjoyed going to the bathroom all by myself with no one pounding on the door, calling my name.

~I have already caved on my resolution to make the boys pack their own lunches every night.  By the time dinner dishes are done, I'm too tired to even contemplate opening that can of worms.  And they'd have to get up at 5:30 to do it in the morning.  For now, I'm letting it be enough that they pack Monday's lunch on Sunday evening.  Amen.

~I have the ugliest shoes of any of the mommies at school.  I accept this about myself.  Amen, again.

~I confess, I appear at school just often enough to check out everyone's shoes and to appear "involved" (as in experiencing or participating in an activity) but not often enough that people think of me when they need a volunteer for something.

~I am dreading -- as in anticipating with great apprehension or fear -- the start of first grade homework this week.  Although AJ is sometimes quite irresistible, he is not always so.  And he comes home from school so tired I can barely squeeze hanging up the backpack out of him.  Even that task can reduce him to a puddle of tears.  Who is the patron saint of homework?  I will be on my knees praying as the spelling words and math "home-links" (I confess, I hate that word) start coming home on Monday.

~I confess, despite the early mornings, despite the disruption of my writing time, despite the brevity of preschool and the dread of first grade homework, I never forget how lucky and privileged we are in this country to have access to free, public education.  I am, every day, grateful for the awesome -- as in, informal: excellent -- schools my kids attend.  Amen, amen, amen.

(Photo is public domain from wikimedia commons; all definitions from OED).

Confession Saturday

It has been ages and ages since my last confession.  I am here to tell you that there are still plenty of small guilts and worries running around my little brain, but fewer of the Big Guilts.  Without further adieu, I confess:

~I am sometimes my own worst enemy when it comes to finding time to write.  It's hard for me to turn away from my mother/wife role in order to claim writing time for myself.  For example, this morning Husband offered to take all three children with him to do the grocery shopping so that I could have some time to write.  I said thanks-but-no-thanks, maybe we should all go together, that would be easier for you. Sometimes Husband knows what I need even more than I do.  He insisted on taking the children.  I confess, I'm so glad he did.

~Lately I have been telling the children "Mom has to work" instead of "Mom's going to write for a while." I confess, this seems to help them (and me) take my writing time a little more seriously.

~I confess, the Summer of Revision has been going along only in fits and starts.  I have not devoted as much time as I would like to re-seeing old poems, but I have been braver and more focused on revising the new work I've generated this summer.

~I have not put away the winter clothes yet.  At this point, it no longer seems reasonable to "change the closets" (as those of us in northern climates do twice a year) since winter is just around the corner.

~I confess, it's a little dramatic to say "winter is just around the corner" in August.  But, truly, it feels that way to me sometimes.

~I confess, as the year begins to turn I start buying what I think of as Peasant Vegetables in increasingly large quantities.  Cabbages, turnips, parsnips, squashes, rutabaga, carrots, potatoes.  The Peasant Vegetable urges have just begun; I bought a turnip yesterday.  The urges will increase in intensity until one day in January, when I will look into the cupboard and find six butternut squashes staring me in the face, at which point I will mutter, What was I thinking?

~I confess, I'm a peasant at heart.

~I grew up without air conditioning, so I'd like to think I could very well live without it.  However, I confess, when our AC unit starting making squealy noises on Tuesday night, it was all I could do not to burst into tears.  In my defense, we have had lots of very hot and humid weather in these parts.  (BTW, the AC unit is still plugging along....... fingers crossed).

~I confess, I sometimes feel more like a referee than a mother these days, as the Three Lovelies have become quite expert at finding a way to argue about almost anything, including who "gets to" set the table (Really?  They're arguing over who has do to a chore?).  There are times when I want to sneak out the back door amidst the fracas and see how long it takes them to figure out I'm gone.  I confess, it helps when I remind myself that This Is My Job right now.  A few years ago, it was my job to wipe posteriors and faces and the floor beneath the high chair 75 times a day.  Now, it's my job to teach them how to work things out with kindness and civility 75 times a day.  Breathe, Mama, breathe.

~I confess, the house is a mess and there are several loads of dirty clothes in the laundry room, and I am going to ignore all that and write some poems.

Confession Saturday

I confess:

~I've been calling Saturdays "Submission Saturday" lately. My goal is to submit poems to one journal or contest every Saturday (inevitably, there will be some Saturdays when I don't submit, but it's good to have a goal). I confess, I hate submitting poems. When it comes time to submit, even my best poems look weak and scattered to me. I confess, I submit them anyway and each day I walk down to the mailbox and/or check my e-mail saying "Hmm, I wonder if that rejection I sent off for will come today." I confess, this joke makes me feel better when the rejections do come in.

~I confess, the Inner Critic is a loud mouth but the Inner Critic is not as loud as Me. (Take that, Inner Critic!).

~I have been waking up at 4:30 a.m. three mornings a week to write. I confess, when I skip a morning I start to get nervous and panicky that the Muse might've dumped me in the interval. On the other hand, if I wake up every morning at 4:30 I'm way too tired by, say, Wednesday. I confess, I'm a little bit proud of myself for being both (a) committed, and (b) measured in my approach to finding time to write.

~Husband just took the three lovelies to the grocery store to do our weekly shopping. I confess, he has raised himself up to Hero Status in my mind by doing this. Three cheers for Husband!

~Crabby Mommy has been hanging out around here a little too often lately. She has been ordering people around, and she means NOW! She has been doling out ineffective punishments, rather than taking the time to discipline (root: instruction given to a disciple). She has, for the sake of getting-done-what-she-wants-done, in some moments, forgotten the long-term goal of this endeavor we call Family Life. Zen Mommy and Crabby Mommy had a long talk this morning. Zen Mommy is back in the driver's seat. I confess, I hope she stays there for a while.

~This time of year always feels too busy to me. There are spring sports (I confess, I could do without youth sports altogether until age 10). There are spring concerts. There are spring plays. There are spring carnivals. There are spring volunteer appreciation days. There are spring field trips. I confess, the Introvert in me wants to hide under my bed until June 15th when it's all over for the year. Perhaps Zen Mommy could have a talk with the Introvert, too.

~I confess, I would rather buy poetry books than new clothes. Which is why I buy poetry books instead of new clothes. Please, somebody tell the fashion police I have other priorities. OK, OK, OK, OK, OK, I admit it: I wish I were both poetry-literate and fashionable.

~I confess, I'm the Lunch Lady today so I've gotta run! Happy weekend, Everyone.

Confession Saturday: April Is Poetry Month Wrap-up Edition

I confess:

~ I am happy to announce the two winners of the Poetry Book Giveaway here at Both Fires. My friend and fellow South-of-the-River resident, Sarah K, will receive a copy of Denise Levertov's Selected Poems; and Sam will receive a trio of three books from the Laurel Poetry Collective: Tom Ruud's Unable For the World to Sleep, Deborah Keenan's Kingdoms, and Su Smallen's Weight of Light. Congratulations to Sarah and Sam, and thanks to everyone who participated in the giveaway.

~ I used the random number generator at random.org to select the winning comment numbers, but can't for the life of me figure out how to embed a screenshot of the winning numbers in this blog post. Sorry, I'm just a Powit, not a computer whiz.

~ I did not write a poem a day for NaPoWriMo, but I did write sixteen poems during the month of April. That's more than my usual productivity level by far.

~ Submitting to two contests this month (both with 4/30 deadlines) just about did me in. I confess, I no longer have the stamina I had at 18 or 25 (I would say "or at 30" but, sadly, my stamina was long gone by then). Then again, I didn't have nearly as many children then as I do now. The exercise of pulling poems together and sending them out was enough of a win for me. I really enjoyed it.

~ Even though I'm poetry-exhausted and thought I wouldn't write another poem for at least a week and maybe six months, another draft made its way onto paper this morning. I confess, I love the Muse.

~ I'm also happy to announce that my source at Laurel Poetry Collective gave me some of their overstock, so I have several consolation prizes to send out to people that are not Sarah K or Sam. I'll be continuing to draw names over the next few weeks and will send the additional books out as I go. So, good luck, again!

~ I confess, I almost hate to tell you this but......... May is --wait for it-- Arthritis Month. What do you think, should I try for an ache a day? I confess, if I weren't laughing about this, I'd be crying.

~ I confess, I have spent entirely too much time inside writing poems lately. I'm going outside to play with my kids. Happy May Day, all.

Confession Saturday

I confess:

--In my unending quest to be a Good Enough Mother, I have once again turned to the adhesive cure-all commonly known as duct tape. AJ's backpack went through a much needed cycle in the washer, and came out worse for the wear with a hole near the top. I confess, I briefly considered trying to actually mend the backpack, but the duct tape was right there beckoning to me, You know I'll work. You know it will be easier. Come on, just do it. Done. AJ is not happy.

--When I took the Bean to the dentist on Friday, I brought along Denise Levertov's Selected Poems to read. I confess, instead, I read the Oprah magazine. Oprah magazine has always seemed such a contradiction to me. It's full of articles on self-esteem and "you're beautiful just the way you are," squeezed in amongst hundreds of slick advertisements for beauty products, clothing, and other must-haves. And how about Dr. Phil who has become a multi-millionaire by dispensing common sense advice? I'd have been better off with the Levertov, and such beautiful lines as these from her poem "A Map of the Western Part of the County of Essex in England," which describes her childhood in Essex and how our environs and our beginnings, literal and otherwise, can form us:

"...now I know how it was with you, an old
       map
made long before I was born shows ancient
rights of way where I walked when I was ten burning with
      desire
for the world's great splendors, a child who traced voyages
indelibly all over the atlas, who now in a far country
remembers the first river, the first
field, bricks and lumber dumped in it ready for building,
that new smell, and remembers
the walls of the garden, the first light."

I confess, when I first read the words who now in a far country/remembers the first river, my heart skipped a beat.

--I have always thought it ironic that in order to tell one's children "Don't talk while your mouth is full," one must inevitably talk while one's mouth is full.

--This week my Lenten focus on peace took a backseat to mere coping-with-the-moment. Husband was on the west coast all week beginning on Sunday, I had an inner ear infection that, conveniently, began on Monday morning (good: the only symptom was dizziness; not so good: I couldn't drive all week), and the children were downright naughty. Naughty as in "disobedient; badly behaved" (OED). Naughty is a word we don't use much anymore, but sometimes the shoe fits. Also, I confess: I yelled. I confess, I feel small and unskilled when just one week of single parenting practically does me in, and I have so much admiration for the single parents of this world who do it every day, every week, all the time, for years.

--I know I'll be a spiritual grown-up when I can remain peaceful amidst the chaos. Maybe next Lent.

--I confess I could not have made it through the week half so well without all the friends who helped me with driving, errands, and other mom-type jobs. Thank you for being my Village.

Reader, have a peaceful week, and when things go wrong don't forget the duct tape!

(Oops - I almost forgot: Read the whole poem here).

Confession Saturday One Day Late

I confess:

--I went to real confession this week (modeling desired behavior for The Bean), and it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. It probably helps that the confessor is one of my dear friends. I confess, I always feel like I have to have a good enough sin -- you know, sinful enough -- whenever I go to confession. At this point in my life, the old standbys from childhood and adolescence don't cut it: I'm not mean to my brothers or disobedient to my parents anymore. Looking into the deep, dark, truthful mirror isn't always fun, and the sins these days seem a lot deeper and more damaging, but overall I'm glad I went.

--I had nothing to say to The Bean afterwards when I asked him how it went for him and he said, "Well, it was fine, Mom. I mean, it's only a belief so it didn't really affect me." Which would also explain why my jaw dropped last night as we returned from 4:30 Mass and he said, " That was GREAT!" I confess, so far my strategy for The Bean's religious formation is to keep my mouth shut, go to Mass whenever possible, and try to model living a good, kind, thoughtful, godly life.

--I am physically incapable of typing the year 2010 without typos, backspacing, and trying again. And again. And again. I confess, it wouldn't bother me so much if I didn't have to type it pretty much every day.

--I had two things wrong in my Pride and Prejudice and Chocolate post. (1) Persuasion is not on Masterpiece tonight; Northanger Abbey is. Persuasion airs next Sunday, February 21. (2) There are no pinafores in Pride and Prejudice. That must have been some other Jane Austen book-cum-movie, maybe Sense and Sensibility.

--The Olympic Anthem makes me cry. What is that? I mean, does it all go back to watching the Miracle On Ice in the 1980 Winter Olympics when the U.S. hockey team beat the Soviet Union? Or is it something else?

--I confess, I was a nervous wreck on Friday when my favorite high schooler climbed up on my roof to rake some of the snow off. I was so nervous that I called his mom, KK, to ask if I should run right out there and tell him to get-down-right-now-for-god's-sake-before-he-hurt-himself. KK was very reassuring and promised me he had done much more dangerous things and lived to tell the tale. I have learned to let go, she said. I confess, I am glad to have wise women in my life whose children are older than mine, and from whom I can learn things like how to let go.

--I didn't write at all last week. I slept in every morning. I completed all my many household tasks with patience and devotion. I let the writing desk sit alone but, I hope, not lonely (I confess, I left my desk lamp on all day every day as a symbolic message to myself: You may not be writing this week, but we'll leave the light on for ya.). I confess, when I'm not writing it is much easier to get enough sleep and to run the household smoothly. My days were less stressful. On the other hand, I know what happens when I go too long with out writing. So yesterday morning, I was back at it and have four new drafts to work on. Yahooooooo!

--I confess, I feel like a nerd for downloading this font that is supposed to look like Jane Austen's handwriting (based on her letters):



Happy Valentine's Day to you, and may you find some Whimsy somewhere in your week.

Oh, and here's a little something just in case you need a good cry:

Confession Saturday

I confess:

--It has been two-and-a-half months since my last confession, and it has been at least five years since my last Confession and maybe longer (I can't quite remember who was born, what I was wearing, or how I had sinned -- all pieces of data that would help me figure out when it was). I confess, I am not looking forward to going back to Confession, but I know I have to do it because The Bean is receiving the Sacrament of Reconciliation this winter. I have mixed feelings about the sacrament: on the one hand, there is something healing about admitting one's shortcomings and receiving forgiveness; on the other hand, I confess, I think the world would be a better place if we confessed our sins to the people we actually hurt by our actions or omissions, and received forgiveness from them.

--The last time I bought new pajamas for myself, the year started with "19--." I am quite glad to have a new pair (pictured at right), which I found on sale at Garnet Hill. I confess, you know it's bad when the Spouse and Budget Monitor says, "Um, you really need to get some new pajamas."

--I have the best of intentions and the worst follow through on pretty much everything except cooking meals, doing laundry, and managing whatever parenting task is before me in a given moment. We had family photos taken in August and I still haven't ordered any; there are people I've been wanting to have over to our "new" house for over a year now; and I haven't sent out my Christmas cards yet. I confess, even though my kids aren't babies anymore, it sometimes seems like just doing the Musts (to wit, cooking meals, doing laundry, and parenting) takes up most of my time and all of my energy. My friend M. assures me this will change in a few more years; I'm holding her to it.

--I made plans with The Bean's teacher to visit his class once a month to talk about writing/being a writer, and I'm nervous about it. I confess, I'm kind of shy in large groups, and I don't feel confident about planning talks and lessons for second graders. But I do think it's important to give children lots of ideas for Possible Selves (let me just say that a writer never visited one of my classrooms during my school years), so I am going to swallow my fear and do it.

--I confess, I trick my kids into reading classic stories by buying comic/graphic novel versions of them. My strategy is this: to hook them on the stories young so that when they have to read them later in life they'll already be comfortable with the story and will have the capacity to actually fall in love with the text. I confess, this makes me think of my long-standing suspicion that much of child-rearing is just brainwashing.

--I confess, January has seemed like a long slog to me so far, and I've been a little off my game: the poems are coming slowly or not at all; the snow is deep and covered with muddy slush around the edges; the boys' felts from their boots smell like a deep, dark swamp; and everyone around here still seems to want to eat three meals every single day! Then I read this post over at Coolclan, and felt more settled. Do what you're doing.

I confess, that sounds doable to me.

Confession Saturday - On Sunday

I confess:

--I am beyond thrilled to have learned a trick for avoiding bifocals. When I went to the eye doctor last week, the nurse told me that with my prescription, if I'm having trouble reading up close, I can just take my glasses off. I tried it at the grocery store while reading labels, and it works! I confess, I have every intention of milking this trick for all it's worth -- I'm hoping to get a good fifteen years out of it, or more.

--I am also beyond thrilled to have put on thirteen pounds since last year at this time, thanks to a new medication and a resulting stretch of better health. I confess, I feel hesitant to express joy over weight gain in our skinny-loving culture, but I feel so much more feminine and generally healthier with a little meat on my bones. And, to all those who wish you could lose five or ten pounds, I want to say this: savor your extra weight. Consider it an insurance policy against illness, famine, stress, and long stretches of frigid weather which should be arriving any day now.

--I confess, one of the best things about weighing more is being able to have a whole glass of wine without getting tipsy! Woo hoo!

--I sometimes have a hard time knowing how to balance Real Life with The Dream. For example: I would love to pursue an MFA in creative writing (The Dream), but then there are three children who (we hope) will be going to college someday (Real Life). What's best to model: pursuing your own dreams or making sacrifices for the people you love? Can I model both if I spend what little we have saved for their college on myself? I confess, I think it might be easier to decide if I wanted to pursue a lucrative career that could potentially add to the college coffers, but I don't know of too many poets who are raking in the big money.

--I have no idea how I get so very behind on my e-mail when I don't even have a job.

--I am just a Baby Blogger. I have no idea how many people, if any, read my blog. I don't even have comment notifications turned on, so sometimes I don't see the comments until weeks later when I am looking for something in an old post. I know some bloggers get all the stats on their blogs and can tell how many readers they have, how many links to their blog have been made, and even what search terms people are using to find them. I confess, I don't know how to do any of that, but I'm just going to keep plugging away over here at Both Fires because it's fun for me.

--I confess, Advent is my favorite liturgical season of the year, and I wish you a time of joyful waiting, of hushed and holy moments, of silent nights.

Confession Saturday

I confess:

--I have been avoiding an On My Nightstand post for several weeks, because, look at that scary pile (and it grew even taller and scarier after I took the photo)! I confess, I have purged my nightstand and am starting fresh, with the hope of doing one more On My Nightstand before the end of the year. In the meantime, if you are looking for a nice volume of poetry to enjoy as winter creeps toward us, try New Tracks, Night Falling by Jeanne Murray Walker. Her poems examine what she views as our current cultural darkness (fear, alienation, distance, suspicion), as well as the signs of hope, togetherness, faith, joy that we can find despite it.

--I forgot to send a snack for AJ's class on Tuesday, my assigned day on the kindergarten snack calendar. I remember looking at it and thinking, Oh, yes. Can't forget the snack on November third. After which, I never thought of it again. I confess, the worst part of it was not feeling like a bad mother (which I did); the worst part were the copious tears shed by AJ, who mourned the fact that the class didn't get to say "Thank you, AJ" like they would have if only I would have remembered. I confess, I briefly considered saying It was Dad's fault! But I didn't.

--It has been just over one year since we moved into our current house, from the city to the suburbs, from multiple levels and basement laundry, to one-level living and main floor laundry. I confess, it has worked out better than I ever could have imagined. Even though I miss my old neighbors, and even my little house, I am so glad we made the move. But, I confess, every time I drive past my old house I cry, and I grouse about how the new owners are obviously neglecting the gardens and why don't they open the shades up, anyway??

--I made Husband promise to do the cooking after he retires. I confess, I have every intention of holding him to it. By the time he reaches retirement, I will have cooked approximately 13,800 dinners during our married life, and I'll be ready for a change of pace.

--I am now a full three years behind on our family photo albums. I confess, I would rather, read, write, or nap than compile family photo albums. And don't even talk to me about scrapbooks for the kids. It's not happenin'. But I confess, I really admire the people who do keep up with family photo albums and scrapbooks for their kids.

--I don't know what to say about the recent shootings at Ft. Hood and in Orlando. These events, and others like them, are unfathomable to me.

--Every time I sit down to write a confession, I think I really don't have much to confess. Until I start writing. Then all the confessions start tumbling out. I confess, I wish I had as many poems tumbling out as small guilts and worries.

Four Days Without Daddy: One Big, Long Confession

I confess, I am always amazed at how quickly my standards fall when I am temporarily called upon to be a single mother. (Wait -- did I say fall? I meant plunge). Prior to each of Husband's business trips I am all steadfastness and sunshine with myself and others. "No problem!" I say brightly to Husband, my mom, my friends. "I'll ask for help if I need it." I am smiling, smiling. I am saying things like, "We'll take it easy around here. Have a nice quiet week. Easy dinners. Early bedtimes. Y'know." Maybe I schedule an extra babysitter; maybe I ask someone to help with driving kids here and there. All in all, I think I have everyone (even me) convinced that we'll make it through with flying colors.

"Come back!" I always say as he kisses me goodbye. A joke, kind of. "We'll be fine. Don't worry about us."

**

Once he's gone, I can gauge my success at coping with temporary single parenting in five basic areas: Patience, Trash/Recycling Removal, Dinner, Basic Grooming and Bedtime.

Day 1:
Patience is flowing like a river! Dear, please remember to take your shoes off and hang up your school bag. What would you like for a snack? Yes, of course you may create a beaded, glitter-festooned "I Miss You Daddy" card for your father, let me just plug in the hot glue gun for you. Boys, please remember to be peacemakers with each other even when you disagree. Trash/Recycling Removal is promptly completed by me with thorough attention to sorting, rinsing, flattening, and removing from the living environment. Dinner is something everybody likes. Spaghetti, maybe tacos. "Oh, Mom," they gush, "you are the best mom in the world," I know, I think to myself and smile, I know. Basic Grooming is attended to lovingly with caring, maternal hands and warm washcloths. Baths for everyone! Fresh towels! Two passes at the teeth: your turn, then my turn. At bedtime, an extra book, an extra-long cuddle. Everyone gets a turn with the prayer book to read, or "read" (depending on age and skill level), a favorite passage. They're all tucked in tidy and sweet at 7:45 - and yes, you may read for fifteen minutes before you turn the lights out. After they're all in bed, I luxuriate in a warm bath so I'll be one step ahead in the morning. Clever girl.

Day 2:
Patience is hangin' right in there. Did you put your library books in your bag? Well, put 'em in. Do you have your lunch? Well, get it. Yes, you have to wear a jacket. No you may not watch TV before the bus comes. No you may not play Legos. Stop arguing. Please. Put away your laundry. Now, please. Please stop arguing, boys; find a nicer way to say it. I don't want to ask you again to put away your laundry. Please. Trash and recycling removal is done by The Bean. Dinner is passable: tunafish sandwiches and tomato soup. Sliced apples. Glass of milk. Cookies for dessert. Basic Grooming is covered at the, well, basic level. We can skip baths tonight, but let's wash faces and brush teeth. Here, I'll help. One book tonight, and I'll sing a prayer. Bedtime is moved up to 7:30.

Day 3:
Patience is wearing thin, and the threats begin. If you don't pick up your Legos now, no TV later. Everyone to the bathroom for teeth brushing now or it's straight to bed with no book! Quit arguing! Right now! Popcorn for snack, no you may not have an apple to go with it. Boys, cut.it.out. Trash and recycling are stacked together in the trash bin, which is beginning to overflow. I gingerly step inside the trash bin to push it all down..... maybe we can squeeze in one more day. Dinner is hot dogs and a fruit cup. And a glass of milk. On paper plates. Basic grooming consists of me calling out down the hallway, "Make sure you brush your teeth and wash your faces!" At bedtime, there is one book, one mumbled Our Father, and all are tucked in by 7:15.

Day 4:
Patience: Whatever you're going to ask me, the answer is no. Can I -- NO! Could you help me --? NO! But, Mom --? NO! What? Your finger's stuck in a toy otoscope? Here. Here's a bar of soap. See if you can get it unstuck yourself. Trash and recycling are overflowing and occasionally falling out of the trash bin, but at this point I decide to wait until Husband comes home and let him deal with it. Dinner is a fruit cup. Basic grooming: "Did you guys brush your teeth today? Did you brush them yesterday? Well, at least make sure you brush them tomorrow." Tonight, no book, you may read in your beds. Prayer is me muttering under my breath I hope to God your father's flight is on time tomorrow. All tucked in at 7:00

**

Tomorrow finally comes. By the end of four days I am exhausted, drained, impatient, and utterly unconvinced that I am cut out for this line of work. But still, still trying to smile. Every five minutes for hours one of the children asks me, "When will Daddy be home?" Soon, darling, soon, I say in a dazed kind of way from my perch on the couch. And finally, just in time for dinner, the murmur of the garage door lifting, the clunk of his car door, the jingle of keys. "Hello, dear," I say as he walks through the door to a cacophony of shrieks and cartwheels from the children, "We're so glad you're home. We missed you, but we were fine, fine." I plop a pot of soup on the table for dinner. A can of mandarin oranges as a side dish. A definite step-up from last night. You know, to celebrate. We gather at the table, a family again. Yes, I'm tired and frazzled but all feels right in the world. That wasn't so bad after all, I think to myself, and I start looking forward to a cup of tea and a hot bath.

And then, I confess, I start crying when he tells me he has a conference call in a hour.



Happy Halloween, everyone!

Confession Saturday - one day late

I confess:

--It has been one month since my last confession. But not because I haven't had any small worries or guilts in the last month (I'm a mother, after all).

--I find the beginning of the school year to be a stressful time. There are hand-me-downs to try on, and usually some clothes to buy to fill in the holes. There are school supplies to gather and shoes to buy. There is the annual ream of paperwork -- emergency forms, immunizations, etc. And in our family, there are allergy care plans, and asthma care plans, and EPI-pens and inhalers to gather and bring to school. There are meetings with teachers and school nurses to talk about what to do in case of an allergic reaction, or an asthma attack. I confess, I had a lot of help getting the kids ready to start school this year (thanks Mom and Dad!), but it still wasn't easy.

--I have enjoyed the balance that the school year gives me: some time with the kids, some time to myself. I confess, toward the end of the summer, I was a bit frazzled.

--I do better all day long if I start the day with a few minutes of silence and solitude.

--My life is better when Husband pays the bills. For the first several (nine or so) years of our marriage, I paid the bills. Even once the kids were born and I would have to get up at four in the morning twice a month so that I could do the work of paying them, I did it. But especially during the times when we had a lot of medical expenses, I would just get so stressed out and frustrated at how much money we were spending because of my illness, that Husband finally offered to take over the bill paying. I am so grateful to him for that. I am a happier, less-worried person now. Not that I would recommend total ignorance of your family's financial state of affairs, but I confess, sometimes it's better not to know the details.

--I confess, I really, really, really, really LOVE the school bus. And yes, I mean the one that picks up the boys at the end of our driveway, and drops them off at the end of our driveway. Any time someone wants to talk to me about how government is a failure and messes up anything it touches, I have two words for them: SCHOOL. BUS. My tax dollars hard at work and worth every penny.

I confess, I hope you have a week devoid of stress, guilt and worry. I hope you have a week full of balance, peace, help, and well-functioning government.

Confession Saturday

I confess:

--I bought my own birthday present this year (pictured at right). In my defense, Husband was in India on my birthday. I have a bracelet from my favorite jeweler in the whole wide world, Becky Thatcher, that is designed for interchangeable tops. So, the present was actually a new stone for the bracelet, not the bracelet itself. Becky Thatcher is a northern Michigan jeweler who works with lots of local materials (e.g., petoskey stones), and then also with some not-so-local materials (e.g., gold, diamonds, and pearls). The not-so-local stuff was not-so-much in my price range, but this gorgeous Leland bluestone was. Happy birthday to me!

--I confess, Leland bluestone is an industrial byproduct of iron smelting, but is made beautiful by the waters and waves of Lake Michigan. Being from humble roots myself, I try not to hold the bluestone's humble roots against it. (If you want to know more about Leland bluestones, click here. And if you wonder why anyone would make an 8 minute Youtube video about a stone, it's because we Michiganders are a teensy bit obsessed about hunting for local stones.)

--I gave up on what was to be my vacation book, The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe, and instead read the much lite-er Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs. Udolpho is kind of the standard-bearer gothic novel, a classic, a must-read. Udolpho was hard to get into. Udolpho was printed in this tiny, cramped, practically microscopic print (I'm not kidding -- I almost bought a magnifying glass after the first few chapters...... and I'm not that old). I confess, I feel defeated by a mere book! I hope I get back to Udolpho someday. But really, it was a relief to set it aside and pick up something easier. And I would recommend Friday Night Knitting Club for a fun summer read.

--I also gave up on sunscreen this summer. Someday, when one of my kids gets skin cancer, I'm going to say to myself, "It was the summer of 2009, I just know it." But most days, it seemed like a minor miracle to even get them fed, dressed, and out of doors, my voice trailing after them, "Get a hat on your head to keep the sun off!" I vow to do better next summer.

--MP3 players really do make a fourteen hour car trip more bearable for everyone.

--My kids had more hotdogs and popsicles this summer than they have had in their entire lives up to now. So far, they are still alive and kicking. See:



AJ, Sister, and The Bean at Antrim Dunes.

Confession Saturday - on Tuesday

I confess:

--We haven't seen 4th of July fireworks since July of 2001 when I was pregnant with The Bean. I know other families with young kids do it somehow, but I confess, I can't stand the thought of the late bedtime meltdown(s) that are pretty much guaranteed (based on past attempts at late bedtimes). I confess, I love fireworks and think they are one of the most beautiful man-made creations along with stained glass, fine jewelry, grand architecture, and illuminated manuscripts.

--I sometimes wonder if introverts (like me) are really cut out for at-home parenting. I confess, I am completely exhausted from talking to three young children all day long!!!! At the same time, I do love and cherish these days we have together. If only I didn't need silence to recharge my batteries.......

--I haven't written an decent poem all summer. I confess, even though I know I shouldn't let it bother me, it bothers me. A lot.

--I am at a complete loss to understand the intense media focus on Michael Jackson's death and memorial service. Or maybe I am at a complete loss to understand our society's relationship with fame and famous people. I grant that he was an incredibly talented musician and performer, and I particularly love his early (Jackson 5) work. And I am sorry for his family and close friends who are grieving. But how is it that 7 of the 21 headlines on one of the major news websites all have to do with Michael Jackson, including one that asks "How Are You Honoring MJ Today?" I confess, I have no such plans.

--I confess, I am thrilled that my children are getting old enough to brush their own teeth, make their own sandwiches, and unload the dishwasher! I am also thrilled that they are all old enough to be in the pool for swimming lessons. No little helpers in the bleachers. I read a whole article in The New Yorker yesterday, uninterrupted. I confess, it was heavenly.

Confession Saturday

I confess:

--I am writing this as Husband watches the Red Wings game and as I try to watch the Red Wings game but my mind keeps wandering......... to a poem I'm working on, to the cooking-ahead I need to do before we go on vacation, to the coffee cake I need to make tomorrow morning, to my favorite songs from when I was a kid, to one time when I was watching the Red Wings at Peterson's on U.S. 31 in Eastport, which I think is the last time I watched the Wings game with my parents and brothers.  I really want the Wings to win, but I confess, I have the attention span of a squirrel when it comes to professional sports.

--The Bean was home from school all week with a bad virus, and I really enjoyed not having to scramble around in the morning to get him out the door on time.

--When it comes to nursing the sick, I am no Cherry Ames. No, I am not nearly as patient and compassionate as I would like to be.  On the other hand, The Bean is - shall we say - an enthusiastic patient (I did love those Cherry Ames books when I was a kid, though).

--I love bacon.  And Journey (for which I can be absolved because was born in the early 70s).

--I don't really believe in the orthodox concept of Hell, but if there is a Hell, I am quite sure it is an eternal version of Chuck E. Cheese's (where we spent our morning) or Sam's Club (where we spent our afternoon).  I confess, that thought is enough to make me want to go to Confession, just in case.

(P.S. I confess, I had to laugh when Sister corrected my pronunciation of Chuck E. Cheese's. "No, Mama!" she said, all indignant, "it's Chuck E. Cheese-us! Same as Jesus!")

Confession Saturday

I confess:

--I told my kids that all the cottonwood seeds that are blowing around everywhere are actually woodland fairies who are returning from their winter quarters for summertime.

--I am inexpressibly glad that neither of the boys wanted to play a spring/summer sport this year. No scrambling around to fix an early dinner, find the uniform, baseball glove, shin pads, water bottle, sunscreen, lawn chair, and dash to the baseball/soccer field twice a week.

--I can't remember the last time I washed my bedspread. I confess, it might have been as long as two years ago. Which wouldn't matter as much if it weren't a cream-colored spread that shows every bit of dirt.

--I also can't remember when it was that I last washed my hair, but it might have been Tuesday (as Husband has often said, "If you can't remember, it's probably time to wash it again.").

--I have one of almost every color of Burt's Bees Lip Shimmer lip gloss and none of them looks good on me. I confess, I hate being without some form of lip color, and on the rare occasions when I have found myself with bare lips, I have bought the whole spectrum of Burt's Bees, one at a time. Even though they are not terribly expensive ($3-$4 each), I hate to think of how much money I have spent on lip gloss that looks bad. I confess, I still do believe it's better than nothing. (Funny story: one time when I bought one, the check out person said to me: "Oh, thanks for paying for that lip gloss. Most people just steal those.").

Happy beautiful spring weekend, everyone.


(Image is public domain, Edwin Austin Abbey's "Fairies")

Confession Saturday

... by the skin of my teeth.

I confess:

Even though Husband was away all week on a business trip and didn't get home until late last night, I signed him up to take the kids to the dentist at 7:30 this morning. And I confess, it was lovely to eat my breakfast in peace. I confess, I ate cake (it's true) and yogurt with mangoes and strawberries. And almonds. And yes, hot coffee.

I have not put my clean laundry away in over a week.



















I buy specialty toothpaste for myself and I don't let anyone else use it. I confess, it costs about $5 per tube and I generally have two tubes going at once (variety is the spice of life). My favorite flavors are fennel and cinnamon-clove.

Even though we just moved into this house at the end of October, the drawers, cupboards, and closets already need to be cleaned out and reorganized.



















I confess (oh, this one is hard to admit), I have an aversion to playdates. For one thing, I don't like the word. It sounds too cutesy or something. I also don't like being a social secretary, so my kids hardly have any playdates unless another mom initiates it. And since I'm confessing here, I confess that I sometimes find it difficult to have extra kids in the house; three usually feels like plenty. My favorite way of having the kids play with other kids is for them to go knocking on neighborhood doors until they find someone who can play. Or, to call someone spur of the moment to see if they can come over. I do understand that playdates are part of modern parenthood so I try to be a good sport about them....... at least from time to time. I confess, this aversion may be related to the fact that I'm an introvert.

I forgot to mention in my post on motherhood one of the most important ways I've learned to take care of myself: by hiring someone to help with laundry and cleaning. I confess, I always thought we couldn't afford it. And then when we didn't have a choice anymore (when my arthritis became so bad I couldn't do laundry or cleaning), we somehow found a way. I confess, I think more moms and healthy moms should hire household help - - it is a wonderful way to take care of yourself. A few hours a week goes a long way.

I confess, the fact that someone else actually does my laundry makes not putting it away feel even more egregious.

But I'm learning to live with it.


(P.S. I confess, I had some trouble posting this & I hope subscribed readers didn't get twelve e-mail updates).