Thursday, February 18, 2010

Oh, Right. I Blog. With Pictures.

It has been a while. Isn't it good to know that I didn't die by way of freak icicle accident? Although, there was this:

and this:

You have already read all of the blogging that you need to read about snow. One thing I will add to this: Ow, ow, my back- and other snow-shoveling-muscles. Ow. We have a lot of driveway, and we do not own a snow blower. We also can't afford to pay someone to come, ow.

Even for someone in great shape, shoveling is one of those surprise activities that will hurt you. And I'm not in great shape. I have been trying to keep up with some yoga practice, but it's hard when you have a little kid in the house.

Three year-olds, come with time limits. Over every activity, there is actually a hovering stopwatch counting down the seconds that you are allowed to enjoy productivity. I crack open my laptop, and it starts...tick tick...check email, respond to students....tick, tick...check job sites, pay a Carl's Craigslist ad....tick tick tick...write cov-


...write cover-

"MOMMY, I'm Tinkerbell and you're Queen Clarion. You have to give me the moonstone and then you can be Terrence and follow me to the island with the treasure."
-cover let-

"Mommy get up now. Follow me to the treasure. FOLLOW ME TO THE TREASURE RIGHT NOW. OR MAYBE YOU CAN BE THE OLD HAG AND I CAN BE SNOW WHITE. MOMMY MOMMY I want juice. No, warm hot chocolate milk. Lets go to the kitchen so I can pick my choice."

What was I doing? Facebook? Email? OH. Cover letter. Note to self: tomorrow, lead with cover letter.

I am glad that there are things to do like Saturday morning yoga with Steph, followed by self-satisfied post-yoga muffins and croissants. Getting away for a few hours a week to tutor has so far been great for feeling like a smart person with something to offer humanity again (and not much else), but it is good to do yoga-type things too. Things just for me.

Blogging is also one of these things...but do you see the clock? It has giant red numbers, and it's ticking loudly. It will probably take me three different runs at my laptop before I actually finish this entry.

I am spending a lot of time oscillating between two states of being. Some days are spent slack-jawed on the couch staring at the TV and hanging with Wendy, my mind as blank as the view from my back window.

Other days involve working diligently, doing laundry and cleaning and cutting fabric and sewing and sketching and knitting....

On Saturday, as I blasted music from my sewing room and danced around with Wendy, brandishing pieces of my latest creative endeavor, Carl paused, looked up from his endless poking of the coal stove, and asked, "Is it possible that you are bipolar?"
"Anything is possible." (hop, shuffle, skip)

"Not that I mind. I mean, I'm along for the ride. It might be nice to know, that's all."


We are currently juggling the uphill battle to find someone who will give us a home loan with the prospect of finding somewhere else to rent or buy by May, should we not be able to secure said loan for the house we are currently living in. This is a very schizophrenic set of exercises. Requires yoga-master flexibility in the emotional department. And a good working relationship with Google.

The words here are falling a little flat, but I'm sure you can imagine our situation. Four years of building a place into a home for our family (six years, for Carl), and we might have to walk away from it because no one will give us a loan. Because the housing market is in crisis. Because no one will give me a job. Because it's just not in the cards. I don't know.

No, I do not think I am mentally ill. Just facing down one of those crossroads in life, with what feels like my hands tied behind my back.

On the up side, I have a daughter who puts together outfits like this:

You can't really tell by the picture, but there are sparkly shoes involved. That's good for some daily levity, even if she swings from my legs when I try to strike a warrior one, or drapes herself over my back when I attempt a nice relaxing pigeon pose.
Actually, sometimes, she does it with me. She can pull off a nice tree pose.
OK, I think I've rambled enough. Also, the big red timer has been going off for at least seven minutes. Wendy Her Highness Princess Cinderella requires a slice of cheese (NOT SWISS).


  1. Random comments in no particular order: I love Wendy's sweet little stocking cap. Did you make it? I wash & reuse the heavier ziploc bags, too, especially the ones with the slider thing. And if you're bipolar, then so am I.

  2. My mom made that cap for Wendy when she was born. Frankly, I'm surprised it still fits!



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  4. Psh. I wish I made it.

    She wears it now when she is being a "pretend baby."