patchwork girl

We combined Vernal Equinox with Easter this year, since they were so close together.  I prefer to celebrate them separately for a variety of reasons, but it was alright.  On Saturday night, we left baskets outside for the fairies: bread and a hardboiled egg wrapped in a cloth napkin, and a jar of milk.  In the morning, lo and behold, the baskets were returned just inside the door, laden with little toys and candy, but mostly matching melamine plate sets for the girls.  I have to wonder when it's going to "click" that the treats are the same treats in the grocery store, and that Wegman's logo is on the chocolate bunny.  Maybe next year, we'll switch to more homemade treats and toys.

I hosted dinner for my extended family, and it was -- like Christmas -- surprisingly stress-free and enjoyable.  I made an asparagus risotto with lemon and mint, and "earthy portobello salad" drizzed with black truffle oil.  That was it!  My grandfather and his lady friend brought the ham, my great aunt brought a frittata, and my mom brought the desserts.  The girls really enjoyed all the attention, and everyone seemed to enjoy them.  Baby is a mugger.  By which I mean, she really makes a lot of goofy faces.  Her signature look is to roll her eyes up towards her brow and stick her lower lip out, with a trace of a grin.  Kid was a tad prickly, but overall, tolerable.  She sulked and refused to come to dinner because no one played Candyland with her before dinner, but in all probability she whipped it out five seconds before I said, "Time to eat!"

She made (in her words) "angry promises," that she wouldn't eat anything and she wouldn't play with anybody!  I told her that was fine, but reminded her that angry promises are ones we don't necessarily have to keep when we feel better.  She's really been a trial lately, quite frankly.  Re-reading the Louise Bates Ames books (Your Four Year Old, Your Five Year Old) have reassured me that she will someday stop being such a pain in the ass.  Or at least, a lesser pain in the ass.  She's acting a lot like the five and a half year old phase is described, actually, which is ahead of schedule, but of her, it's typical.  She is moody and completely contrary.  No matter what you say or think or do, she will espouse the opposite opinion, choice, or action.

It helped that it was brightly sunny yesterday, even though it was only in the 20s, so the house felt light and open and bright.  Today it's cloudy and snowy again, of course.

I've felt very hibernatory and simultaneously restless lately.  Not just physically, in not wanting to go out, but also emotionally.  I haven't wanted to write, because things in my head feel amorphous, swirly and unformed, and they're not ready to be forced into written coherence.  The persistent and predictable angst and restlessness that I feel every March makes me wonder what a seed feels like just before it sprouts.  All these immutable forces pulling and tugging on your insides, seed coat disintegrating, a sense of things changing but no real idea what or why.  A seed can't see above the soil, and yet it sprouts up there, just the same.

I think I'll have to channel my restlessness into starting spring cleaning and decluttering -- mind and body.

Kid is totally kicking my butt today.  Sometimes I think the only thing that's 
going to get me peacefully through her childhood without scarring her with my exasperation and resentment is going to have to be a frontal lobotomy.  

For me, that is, not for her.

 Also?  Vox's posting interface works like shit in Opera.

I haven't been blogging as much here as I would normally be wont to do, for a stupid reason. I've been trying to get my "public" blog up and running, but I just can't seem to do it. I can't find the time to do the template just so, I can't get the banner just right, and I don't want to write much there until it looks like I expect it to. So ... it stagnates.

Back in "the day," I used to write daily with the exception of vacations or internet outages. Or, you know, childbirth. It wasn't necessarily good writing, but it was a nice record to have.

I'm missing out on a lot, though, by not writing that often anymore. I'm losing recordable moments, and my train of thought keeps falling off the track.

I spent some time this weekend with my friend, knitting and sipping coffee and talking. Both of our Big Kids are very close in age, and both are acting like manic depressives. We concluded it was a phase related to whatever neurological changes accompany beginning to read. Which was a relief, because I was starting to imagine incipient mental illness in Kid. She's been wildly moody, tearful, and regressing a bit: hitting, putting things in her mouth, having accidents. At the same time, she's sounding out a lot of words, writing, and spontaneously doing addition and subtraction. So, I'm trying to ride it out.

I remember reading an analogy once of brain development in children: That if their brain was a tower of blocks, when the next big developmental stage comes along, new blocks aren't built onto the existing structure, the whole thing comes down to be rebuilt. I have no idea if that's really accurate (and no interest in wasting time tracking down the article) but it helps me find more patience with the crazy cycles. It was easier to be patient when she was a baby and everything was "teething." Now, when they can act out with words and actions instead of crying, it's easier to assume it's a discipline problem.

Baby's going through her own phases, but hers are much more mild, because she's a much less intense kid. I remember vividly how tough Kid was in her twos, and so far, Baby has been a much more easily managed two year old.

The worst part is that they're both whining like mad lately. It's March. It's a bad time to whine at me. And Kid has two whole weeks off from preschool this month, which is a recipe for bedlam. I'm trying to plan a lot of activities to keep Kid from bouncing off the walls and my head.

I'm really ... really looking forward to summer.

Yesterday it was over 60. Today, it's 30, and sleeting.

When I got ready to take the kids to karate, I decided I didn't care what the temperature was, darnit, I was sick of wearing winter coats. So I went looking for the fleece pullover I was wearing yesterday. I vaguely recalled taking it off in the kitchen and putting it on the baker's rack, but when I came in, it was crumpled on the floor. I have these wild kids, though, so it came as no surprise that they should pull it down and fling it for no apparent reason. They do weird things like that.

So I grab it and give it a shake and pull it on, and rush out the door.

While I am sitting, watching the class, I keep getting whiffs of pee. I look around. I look at the guy beside me. I look at the chairs. I sniff Baby. No clues.

I try to discreetly sniff myself. That's not easy to do, you know. I sniff my sleeves and I sniff my collar, and smell nothing. But every once in a while, the unmistakable scent of pee wafts up to my nose.

As we drive home, I get another whiff and I exclaim, "What the heck? Why do I keep smelling pee? Where is it coming from?"

"It's not me!" chimes Kid, immediately.

"I didn't think it was you, but I keep--"

"Although I forgot to tell you and maybe I should have told you before and I hope you won't be too upset but remember this morning when I accidentally peed my pants in the kitchen? I used your fleece to clean it up."

Yes, it's a glamorous life, folks. Not just anyone gets to wear pee when they go out. It's like Soccer Mom meets Heroin Chic.

Classy.

Sparring.

See, I'm writing about this a lot because it's big, psychologically, for me. There are a lot of mental hurdles to jump in getting comfortable with it. I think it's really important to jump those hurdles, though. They're not positive.

There's the hurdle which is the ingrained desire to please people and be "nice." This is hard to do when fighting is generally considered undesirable, and you don't want to hurt anyone or make them mad. It's especially difficult when the people actually WANT you to hit them and try hard. Big internal conflict.

Yesterday's was 50% suck and 50% almost-fun. That's an improvement. Free sparring was the suck. I don't like the open-endedness, the unstructured format. Fortunately, I had instructors working with me mostly on combinations, and not too much free sparring.

I actually had fun in the drills and point sparring. There, I felt more comfortable because the object was to get a point, and avoid being scored on. It was easier for me to shift into a more competitive zone and stop worrying so much. I actually won several rounds, but that was right at the beginning, so maybe they were all just taking it really easy on me. Probably. Very likely.

I feel slow, stupid and uncoordinated. But learning combinations is helping oodles, because I had the idea we were supposed to just figure it out as we went along.

I'm sure he'd probably be aghast to hear me say this, but my Dad didn't really teach me to be assertive or competitive. He did -want- me to be, but only on the field/in the gym/on the track. At home, in general life, I was completely dominated. At home practice usually ended in yelling (him) and crying (me.) So I'm not sure how he expected that the miniscule amount of the time I was playing a sport I was supposed to completely switch gears into this tough, confident, aggressive player, when at home just about everything I did was wrong. Confidence comes from achievement. I did not have achievements. I had a vast series of Not Good Enoughs.

It's taken a really long time for me to realize that I am not, inherently, a quitter, nor am I lazy. That there's nothing at all abnormal about not wanting to participate in activities -- chosen for you -- where someone is continually critical or even angry about your performance. In fact, I've discovered I'm pretty darn persistent when it comes to goals I've chosen for myself.

Back to sparring, so, it's kind of hard, mentally. I realized this a bit when I was reading about other people's fears about it, and most people voiced fears about getting hurt. I realized that I'm actually not afraid of getting hurt (much), I'm afraid of looking stupid, getting people mad at me, or being completely dominated/humiliated. The last two are pretty irrational and alllll baggage.

And only doing it will get rid of those.  So ... gotta do it.

I think it's a milestone:  my baby just put on pants all by herself.

Then, inexplicably, she remarked, "I yook just yike Betty Boop!" 

Late winter is all about waiting. Waiting for spring. Preparing. Last week, after the chemical joy that is Ritalin got back into my system, I got down with that nesting instinct.

I finished painting the living room, and installed those new bamboo blinds I mentioned. I also rearranged the furniture, and the living room is an entirely different space now. It's peaceful, and I've felt inspired a few times to do yoga in there. It's been a long time since I felt like doing yoga.

Yesterday, I watched the girls playing in the attic -- the room where they sleep -- and thought about the toys strewn uselessly and ignored in the playroom, and moved everything up into the attic. It's now "their room." It's the only room in the house that is carpeted, and it has the pretty skylights, and they seem to really like it up there.

It feels a little silly, because we now have two unused bedrooms on the second floor, but one is for my sewing stuff, and one will be a "spare room," until one of the girls or both girls grows back into it. But it's also nice, because both of those rooms can stay relatively neat.

My next projects are painting the hallways upstairs and the bathroom.

Karate is a blast. We're learning crescent kicks, self-defense for lapel grabs and bear hugs, and a new kata: Naihanchi. I still dislike sparring -- especially Friday's class, where it was just orange belts, and the other two oranges are big, and very strong, and hit hard.

But you know, I love the internet. I Googled, "I hate sparring," and found lots of people talking about it, and discovering that lots of black belts still feel nervous before sparring helps a lot.

And! This is So Cool! There's a new-ish person at the dojo whom I've been in class with a lot lately, she is a yellow belt, and we had belt grading the same day this month. We've been chit-chatting, and mentioned that she's a professor at the university. Then she said she taught Evolutionary Biology.

Oh, my jaw dropped. Because, as you may or may not know, I've got a recent (over the last 3-4 years) and burgeoning interest in evolutionary science, particularly evolutionary psychology, and to be smacking a bag around with a person who teaches Evolutionary Biology is ... unbelievable synchronicity. I was just telling Hubby a few weeks ago that learning about these fields was like discovering a new dimension for me, and it neatly wove together a lot of my interests, and that, when I go back to school (for I WILL go back to school) I wanted to pursue something in evolutionary science. I am going to pick her brain and maybe try to set up a coffee date with her or something. It's so fortuitous I have to do my best to get to know her.

I'm meeting lots of interesting people at the dojo. My most regular partner is still in high school, she's from India, and I love to chat with her about henna and haircare and yoga. One of the other orange belts loves Harry Potter. I sit with her sister during the kids' classes, because she has three near the ages of my own. It's also nice to chat with some of the other moms who have slightly older kids, because I get a lot of info on the schools and other horrifying developmental milestones I have to look forward to. I think one of the brown belts (and a mom) lives about three streets away from me, and a few of the young black belt instructors have added me on their Facebook. ;)

Last week I felt bummed by the lack of opportunities, but this week I feel like the opportunities are brimming over. I'm seeing a lot of regular faces and meeting a lot of new people.

I didn't connect this at the time -- I never seem to -- but I am so emo when not on the Ritalin. This perplexes me. On one hand, I'm glad I have it. On the other, is there nothing else that can balance me this effectively? I mean, something I don't have jump through hoops to get and pay a pharmacist $50 a month for. (It's a bit of a rhetorical question; I've tried everything I've seen via Dr. Google and Swami Google. Fish oil, B vitamins, etc.) Eventually, I should make that appointment with the naturopath.

I'm also not feeling so bummed about the weather, which is still a big stinking pile of sh-- snow. So yeah, Ritalin. Who loves ya, baby?

I haven't written in a while.

The short version of t'ings:

My insurance company sucks.  Decided to withhold Ritalin for a week to require my doctor to fill out pre-authorization crap.  After six months on the script.  Assholes.

Sugar thing was doomed from the start without Ritalin.  Sorry.  Please Play Again.

Eldest daughter in a moody adolescent-ish phase where she often hates me.

Fecking winter!  Oh, so done with winter.  Hitting that phase that comes along every year when I run out of steam, start getting cabin fever, feel like a hungry bear who woke up too early from hibernation and is pissed off.

Got my orange belt last weekend, though.  Huzzah!  Also had a long overdue date with my Hubby.  Another huzzah!

Probably due in part to that previously mentioned cabin fever, I encouraged my husband's desire for a new TV, and tonight, we replaced our ten year old hulking monster of a television with a sleek 40" LCD HDTV.  It's gawrgeous.

I also finished painting the living room and got new, dark colored bamboo blinds to replace the long wispy ill-fitting white sheer curtains.  Can't wait to get those up.

I've also been knitting.  Knit up a disastrous Calorimetry; what a waste of beautiful yarn.  Am working on Belt du Jour from Stitch 'n' Bitch Nation, and just ordered yarn for Knitty's Dashing.

Last but not least, I am despising my wardrobe.  All of my bras are past their expected lifespan, I only have one pair of jeans that fit, which have now got paint on them, maybe three pairs of shoes.  Two cardigans, one regular sweater.  No jackets, one pair of slacks, one button up shirt.  I've not been replacing things as they wear out or I shrink out of them, so I need so many things I don't even know where to start.  On the other hand, I have lots of pajamas and eighty kajillion t-shirts.

So there's my version of brevity.  Har.

The two grain free weeks were interesting.  I'm not sure I can form a lot of coherent thoughts about it.  I knew I used them as a crutch, and the first week I lost three pounds, but after that leveled off.  It wasn't particularly hard, the only thing that tempted me was Italian bread, but I did not succumb.  Overall, though, I'm not sure there were any revelations from the experience, and my, er, digestive wellness was entirely dependent on the ratio of vegetables/fruits to anything else I ate on any given day.

So I broke the grain free fast with some Timbits on the two week mark.  I am planning to continue to cut back my grain consumption a lot, but don't see any point in a complete ban.

Yesterday I started the next two week experiment: no sugar.  Oh, the humanity.  I really love sugar.  I'm not sure sugar loves me, however.  And I have altogether too much of it.  While I was gung ho to lose grains for a while, I was actually fearing and dreading trying to give up sugar.  So far, it's been okay, but I am waiting for a hard craving to hit that will send me prowling the house like a caged tiger.

It's been known to happen.

And good timing I have.  Fortunately, my hubby got me roses for Valentine's Day, not chocolate.