wednesdays are for completing the to-do list

took three days to get through monday's list, and now it's done. if course, the laundry has begun to pile up again, and so have the dishes, but ain't that just the way.
in between slaving over the list, a few really good things happened:

- discussion of the first ten chapters of _the grapes of wrath_ with my beloved reading group, in which the conversation ranged far and wide (and was accompanied by cheryl's beautiful tapenade and brooke's tasty gin-and-tonics (mine was virgin))

- long, lovely and much overdue conversation with gina, which ranged far and wide

- getting a hard copy of my second published academic article in the newest issue of "college composition and communication," which was four years in the writing and publishing

- making the summer's first batch of cold-brew toddy

- making my first-ever chicken marbella, inspired, again, by cheryl, who, with gina, anna and michelle, is one of my culinary muses

what's new with you?

mondays are for getting down to business

to do:
- collect dirty laundry and throw it down the chute (i do like that last part)
- clean bathroom
- clean bedroom
- pick up toys
- clean the kitchen
- buy paint for the spare room
- write meal plan
- grocery shop

done:
- browsed online
- had one cup of coffee

"low like the moon" and a digression on testicles as a euphemism for courage

when i was pregnant with ben, and scared that i wouldn't survive the rite of sleepless nights, i made a mix of music to get me through the wee small hours. never used it in the wee smalls, but i'm listening to it now. like music does, it takes me back to those raw, green days before he was born and i knew transformation was coming, but not what form it might take. he and i were both waiting to be born, back then. the phrase "with child" comes to mind...in a way, you come into the world with your child. and now we're learning to make four-word sentences. we can run around, we're very good with a spoon, we have sweat that smells like dusty grass, instead of the baby smell.

and now i'm going to be born one more time right along with another baby boy. i hope for a little gentler arrival this time. i can feel the change coming and i'm happy, but going back to the beginning requires a certain kind of bravery. (it takes balls, really. although "balls" brings the wrong connotation to mind altogether... why isn't there a word for maternal bravery? why don't we have a slang word for bravery referencing ovaries? as in, "wow, she's got ovaries"? the presence of testicles shouldn't be the euphemistic litmus test for courage. just a little linguistic detour, please excuse.)

and now it's late - can you tell? - and i should sleep, but i'm staying up to listen to music.

the wee small hours mix:

fuel for fire - m. ward
poughkeepsie - over the rhine
blue moon - cowboy junkies
keeping awake - the innocence mission
someday some morning - jeff tweedy and wilco
wait up - jeff tweedy and wilco
a thousand tiny pieces - the be good tanyas
midnight moonlight - the be good tanyas
god bless the child - billie holiday
i found a reason - cat power
the wind - cat stevens
hold on - david gray
low like the moon - jeff tweedy and wilco

against parting ways again

today at noon, annabelle and henry climbed into the suburban, and violet stood in the yard with her head back and tongue out, trying to get some raindrops for the road. caron and i hugged and ben ran back and forth on the wet porch, soaking his socks. i always hate saying goodbye to my friend and her three little fireflies. they came and played for a little while this morning on their way out of town. they live in illinois now.

but when we met (six years ago? how old is annabelle? we met just before she was born), she moved me into a new phase of my life. she's the bridge between my student life and my grown-up life. caron first took me to the church where we worship now, she introduced me to the people who are now my best friends, she reminds me about things like typewriters and being a good wife and the value of a well-timed gin and tonic. when we met, she and jason lived across the hall from daphne in the glen arlo apartments. now andrew, ben and i live one block from the glen arlo, and she lives just a couple hundred miles east of here.

"in the morning, through the window shade
when the light pressed up against your shoulder blade
i could see what you were reading."

for you, andrea wiebe

andie, if you're reading this, go to paste.com and listen to the free stream of the soundtrack to "away we go" (you have to scroll down pretty far on the page to find the box labeled "paste station", and click the album streams link). it sounds like a mix you'd make. cheers. i miss you.

the president unplugged

i just woke up from dreaming that i went to a show where obama was playing feist covers. solo, with an acoustic guitar. i remember his version of "1234" and "the limit to your love." he was pretty bad. i don't know what any of it means, but it was totally vivid, complete with banter between tunes and rueful apologies for his poor musical ability. pregnancy brings on lots of detailed, good-quality dreams for me. sustained plots, some of them.

related to the earlier post...

my mother-in-law just sent me an essay on raising kids, by anna quindlen, and this line was good:

"Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes
multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless
essay. No one knows anything."

an essay. i love it.

nope

i'm starting to get really happy about having a baby. in the sight of god and everybody, i blubbered and blathered about the bad time i had during the first four months. and it was bad. i do not recant. but now that my viscera and inner madwoman have settled down (hey - a shout out to bertha, rattling around up there in the attic), i'm starting to feel good. really good.

also, i'm napping a lot (because ben's a good napper).

also, it's summer, the daytime of my year.

also, ben is now funny and talky and can now occupy himself, given the presence of dirt and a kitchen spoon.

but one factor contributing significantly to my pre-baby happiness is my total lack of obligation to the universe of books and magazines about the care and feeding of a baby. and worse, those promoting the products, the wardrobe, the attitude, the organic nutrition scheme, the eco-friendly neccessitities, the paint colors, the schedule, the sleep plan and the intellectually-stimulating toys new parents must provide in order to validate themselves as breeding human beings. i do not want to pimp my stroller. i will not think about losing the baby weight until i have the baby. and i don't need a quiz to tell me if i'm nesting or neurotic. thank you. i cheerfully extend my middle finger to the magazine aisle and the new parenting section at borders.

it's a newfound freedom, mind you. i read everything the first time, and it made me totally crazy. none of it helped as much as grandma arlie's tentative remark that from all she knew, babies aren't ready for a schedule until they're six months old and until then, just hold them and sleep when they sleep. i would add that it doesn't matter if you're keeping up your fashionista edge (a joke, in my case, anyway) or swaddling your baby in designer organic fibers.

but new parents can't really help themselves, i know that perfectly well. it's terrifying to have a first baby. books and magazines feel neccessary because you don't know what's about to happen. so if you gotta read them, you gotta read them. just take comfort in knowing you won't need them next time. and you'll be happier. and you do not need to buy all that stuff.

boy

ben is throwing bits of sand out of the sand box in direct violation of my orders to keep the sand in the box. our new script for such moments is as follows:

me: ben, you know that throwing sand is a no-no.
ben: (continues to throw sand)
me: ben, look at me.
ben: (sort of looks at me out of the corner of his eye and ceases to throw sand)
me: throwing sand is no-no. can you say "okay mommy"?
ben: okay mommy. (vigorously rakes the sand but, thanks be to god, does not throw any more)

now he's off to rake the grass with his yellow rake, talking to himself about his bucket. he takes his baseball cap off, shakes his hair, and puts the cap back on real sharp, like a pro. back to raking. more cap adjustments. something is bugging him about the cap. i offer to hold it, but he ignores me and settles into his car with a sigh, turning the wheel and beeping the horn, which is broken so he has to make the beeps himself. he is amazingly grubby. tonight's bathwater will be gray. he grabs his sippy and guzzles water, then tosses it in the sandbox. sigh.

i love that boy.