In recent negotiations with my mother, I've asked her to be more gentle when she wants to talk about things that might be sensitive to me. It has been a long, hard lesson to learn, but I think we're close to achieving it.
There are moments, though, that I know she's resisting saying something and can't negotiate the compulsion to do so. Knowing what she has to say might hurt my feelings or imply judgement, she finds a way around it. She has become incredibly adept at it, too, and sometimes I don't even notice. For example, this weekend at Harrison's birthday party, we were hanging out together on Sarah's front porch. We were chit-chatting about all kinds of things, taking a much need break from the whir of the six children inside the house.
My mom said, "So, when did you cut your hair?"
But what she meant was, "When did you cut off your hair that I liked so much?"
Monday, May 15, 2006
Friday, May 12, 2006
Peanut
I can't believe you're two.
I've been thinking a lot about you lately. I'm getting eager to see you since I haven't seen you in almost five months. That's too long when that's a quarter of your life thus far. Too, too long. Your mother and grandmother share all of their stories about you with me, so I feel like you are still part of my everyday life. I think about you constantly, especially about the first moments when you became a part of our lives, the ways in which you made it so complicated, and the ways in which you changed everything that would happen from that moment forward.
Recently I've been trying to think more about the music I listen to, and how it connects me to different people in many ways. The same way I rely on smells to bring me back to memories of my grandmother, there are certain songs I hear that make me think of you instantly. The first week your mother went back to work I stayed with you during the day. Whenever you were hungry and would cry, I'd try a bunch of different things to calm you down. Without fail, when I rocked you in the nursery, stroked your tiny cheek and sang Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" you'd quiet instantly. I remember several times forgetting the words and going around in a loop, sometimes 20 minutes at a time. You didn't care about this repetition as you drifted off to sleep.
It will be a long time before you realize all of the special moments you've brought to so many people already, despite being pint-sized. I love you so much, and hope you have a wonderful birthday today.
I can't wait to see you.
I've been thinking a lot about you lately. I'm getting eager to see you since I haven't seen you in almost five months. That's too long when that's a quarter of your life thus far. Too, too long. Your mother and grandmother share all of their stories about you with me, so I feel like you are still part of my everyday life. I think about you constantly, especially about the first moments when you became a part of our lives, the ways in which you made it so complicated, and the ways in which you changed everything that would happen from that moment forward.
Recently I've been trying to think more about the music I listen to, and how it connects me to different people in many ways. The same way I rely on smells to bring me back to memories of my grandmother, there are certain songs I hear that make me think of you instantly. The first week your mother went back to work I stayed with you during the day. Whenever you were hungry and would cry, I'd try a bunch of different things to calm you down. Without fail, when I rocked you in the nursery, stroked your tiny cheek and sang Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" you'd quiet instantly. I remember several times forgetting the words and going around in a loop, sometimes 20 minutes at a time. You didn't care about this repetition as you drifted off to sleep.
It will be a long time before you realize all of the special moments you've brought to so many people already, despite being pint-sized. I love you so much, and hope you have a wonderful birthday today.
I can't wait to see you.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Friday, May 05, 2006
The Dooce effect
In honor and solidarity with Dooce's latest venture, (Actually, I'm lazy about blogging and this sounded fun!) I decided to embark on my own iPod shuffle journey. My iPod, Pinky, has been a trusty soul since I got her and she has been to many different places, states, altitudes, airlines, and households. Batter up!
Song One: This Train Revised by the Indigo Girls
This is not a good start to my mock-project. ("Mockject" Doug?) No, starting with a song about the Holocaust could spell a disaster for the rest of this experiment.
Song Two: Into the West by Annie Lennox
I have always loved Annie Lennox, and when I was a teenager I used to fantasize about being her, especially in her video for "Why". My epitomized existential dilemmas of teenagerhood were attracted by the video that depicted the intricate performance of face and image. I felt protected watching her sheild herself with layers of make-up and costume. Hearing her now, almost fifteen years later, the song immediately evokes the memory of how I felt the moment the Lord of the Rings films were over -- sadness, loss, and resolution all at the same time. I was satisfied that it had been completed, but mourned losing my friends Froddo and Sam after my heart had been trained to follow their story. Wow. I'm starting to sound crazy like Annie during "Walking on Broken Glass" days.
Song Three: There is too much damn Indigo Girls on my iPod. (Closer to Fine)
Song Three(a): You Cause As Much Sorrow by Sinead O'Connor
I am transported immediately back to being 14 and pissed and ready to shave my head as a big FUCK YOU to all who'd listen. But I didn't, so I just listened to a whole lot of Sinead. The best angst-ridden lyric from that song: "You've done nothing so far but destroy my life. You cause as much sorrow dead as you did when you were alive."
Song Four: Black Tornado by Dan Bern
I found Dan Bern three years ago and have been obsessed with his Bob Dylan-like charm, except that you can actually understand him. Despite the upbeat nature of this song, the ending makes me tear up every time. He croons, "And everything is changing faster than I can describe. And all I really know to do is grab the wheel and drive and look for love, and some adventure. And I try not to let my own breathing scare me off the road. There is a tombstone of my father I visit sometimes. There is a tombstone of my father I visit sometimes." Within a year of buying this CD my nephew was born, and it wasn't until he became a part of my life that I understood the magnitude of everything. They day he was born my uncle in Vietnam died, and in the two years since Harrison's birth my grandmother's health has slowly declined. I've changed in ways I couldn't anticipate, and in dimensions that surprise me sometimes. There is a lot of freedom in how I feel now, and a lot of simultaneous joy and pain when I think about all there is to come, both life and death.
Song Five: Like seriously, WAY too much Indigo Girls! (Pushing the Needle Too Far)
Song Five (a): This is absurd and I'm embarassed and really freaking GAY, apparently! (Get out the Map)
Song Five (b): It's Only Love that Gets You Through by Sade
I can't say I've ever heard this song before. If we were in the car and the iPod was connected to both an iTrip and Tara's hand, this would get a quick *click*! I love you, Tara, and the painful, painful iPod iTrip dance you do!
Song Six: February by Dar Williams
If Dar Williams were a fictional character she'd be Mother Nature mixed with Betty Friedan. I think the most powerful songs evoke feelings and memories based on every sense, not just by creating a mood through music. I am fond of this song because it makes me think of my birthday, of course, and the long, tiring New England winter -- one that is intolerably long and hard to let go of at the same time. I love the renewal of spring, but the comfort of wood fires and fleece, too.
Song Seven: John, I love you by Sinead O'Connor
"I let tears fall like rain, apple-sized they were! Oh, the pain! And through all of those times, when you could have died, this is what you find -- there's life outside your mother's garden. There's life beyond your wildest dreams....kick off those dancing shoes, kick off those wedding blues!" Apparently all of the music I listen to is about coming of age. So, yeah.
Song Eight: Damn, these Indigo Girls are PRO-FUCKING-LIFIC! (Touch Me Fall)
Song Eight (a): Low by Kelly Clarkson
Everyone has to have some token pop. Shout out to KC and my dealer, Tara, for hooking me up with this sing-along-able candy!
Song Nine: Under African Skies by Paul Simon
Thanks to my sister, Simon and Garfunkel was the first music I ever heard that wasn't Johnny Mathis or some ESL singsongy crap. (Big trees, tall trees, big tall trees...) The imagery and melody of this song are powerful, and the african singing and drumming in the background make this song as ethereal as I imagine it is actually to lie under african skies. You know, african skies not in Uganda or the Sundan.
Song Ten (oh please be a good one!): Turn Off the Light by Nelly Furtado
Nelly Furtado makes my ears hurt not because she doesn't have musical talent, but because I never know what to expect from her music. Her second album was more interesting than the first, but I'm still loyal to this catchy favorite. Rumor has it she's putting out a new album this year. Hopefully it will contain as much complexity as this song and the rest of her albums.
So, the experiment is done. It was as much fun as I thought. I'll have another go at it next week! But if for some reason I don't blog for a while it's because I'm busy erasing the Indigo Girls off of my iPod and downloading some MAN music! (I'll have you know Song Eleven is Girl on the Wing by The Shins!)
Song One: This Train Revised by the Indigo Girls
This is not a good start to my mock-project. ("Mockject" Doug?) No, starting with a song about the Holocaust could spell a disaster for the rest of this experiment.
Song Two: Into the West by Annie Lennox
I have always loved Annie Lennox, and when I was a teenager I used to fantasize about being her, especially in her video for "Why". My epitomized existential dilemmas of teenagerhood were attracted by the video that depicted the intricate performance of face and image. I felt protected watching her sheild herself with layers of make-up and costume. Hearing her now, almost fifteen years later, the song immediately evokes the memory of how I felt the moment the Lord of the Rings films were over -- sadness, loss, and resolution all at the same time. I was satisfied that it had been completed, but mourned losing my friends Froddo and Sam after my heart had been trained to follow their story. Wow. I'm starting to sound crazy like Annie during "Walking on Broken Glass" days.
Song Three: There is too much damn Indigo Girls on my iPod. (Closer to Fine)
Song Three(a): You Cause As Much Sorrow by Sinead O'Connor
I am transported immediately back to being 14 and pissed and ready to shave my head as a big FUCK YOU to all who'd listen. But I didn't, so I just listened to a whole lot of Sinead. The best angst-ridden lyric from that song: "You've done nothing so far but destroy my life. You cause as much sorrow dead as you did when you were alive."
Song Four: Black Tornado by Dan Bern
I found Dan Bern three years ago and have been obsessed with his Bob Dylan-like charm, except that you can actually understand him. Despite the upbeat nature of this song, the ending makes me tear up every time. He croons, "And everything is changing faster than I can describe. And all I really know to do is grab the wheel and drive and look for love, and some adventure. And I try not to let my own breathing scare me off the road. There is a tombstone of my father I visit sometimes. There is a tombstone of my father I visit sometimes." Within a year of buying this CD my nephew was born, and it wasn't until he became a part of my life that I understood the magnitude of everything. They day he was born my uncle in Vietnam died, and in the two years since Harrison's birth my grandmother's health has slowly declined. I've changed in ways I couldn't anticipate, and in dimensions that surprise me sometimes. There is a lot of freedom in how I feel now, and a lot of simultaneous joy and pain when I think about all there is to come, both life and death.
Song Five: Like seriously, WAY too much Indigo Girls! (Pushing the Needle Too Far)
Song Five (a): This is absurd and I'm embarassed and really freaking GAY, apparently! (Get out the Map)
Song Five (b): It's Only Love that Gets You Through by Sade
I can't say I've ever heard this song before. If we were in the car and the iPod was connected to both an iTrip and Tara's hand, this would get a quick *click*! I love you, Tara, and the painful, painful iPod iTrip dance you do!
Song Six: February by Dar Williams
If Dar Williams were a fictional character she'd be Mother Nature mixed with Betty Friedan. I think the most powerful songs evoke feelings and memories based on every sense, not just by creating a mood through music. I am fond of this song because it makes me think of my birthday, of course, and the long, tiring New England winter -- one that is intolerably long and hard to let go of at the same time. I love the renewal of spring, but the comfort of wood fires and fleece, too.
Song Seven: John, I love you by Sinead O'Connor
"I let tears fall like rain, apple-sized they were! Oh, the pain! And through all of those times, when you could have died, this is what you find -- there's life outside your mother's garden. There's life beyond your wildest dreams....kick off those dancing shoes, kick off those wedding blues!" Apparently all of the music I listen to is about coming of age. So, yeah.
Song Eight: Damn, these Indigo Girls are PRO-FUCKING-LIFIC! (Touch Me Fall)
Song Eight (a): Low by Kelly Clarkson
Everyone has to have some token pop. Shout out to KC and my dealer, Tara, for hooking me up with this sing-along-able candy!
Song Nine: Under African Skies by Paul Simon
Thanks to my sister, Simon and Garfunkel was the first music I ever heard that wasn't Johnny Mathis or some ESL singsongy crap. (Big trees, tall trees, big tall trees...) The imagery and melody of this song are powerful, and the african singing and drumming in the background make this song as ethereal as I imagine it is actually to lie under african skies. You know, african skies not in Uganda or the Sundan.
Song Ten (oh please be a good one!): Turn Off the Light by Nelly Furtado
Nelly Furtado makes my ears hurt not because she doesn't have musical talent, but because I never know what to expect from her music. Her second album was more interesting than the first, but I'm still loyal to this catchy favorite. Rumor has it she's putting out a new album this year. Hopefully it will contain as much complexity as this song and the rest of her albums.
So, the experiment is done. It was as much fun as I thought. I'll have another go at it next week! But if for some reason I don't blog for a while it's because I'm busy erasing the Indigo Girls off of my iPod and downloading some MAN music! (I'll have you know Song Eleven is Girl on the Wing by The Shins!)
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