The last 16.5 months of my life have been amazing. As Moira grows, I grow as her mother.
Some of that growth is fun. She learns new words. My heart melts when she says, “books!” first thing in the morning. She loves to swim. I love to swim with her.
Some of that growth is not fun. She gets new teeth. I learn that going to dinner with her at 8:30pm is a terrible idea, even on vacation. She learns to wait. I learn not to fear meltdowns in public (because, like many other animal instincts, fearing only makes them more aggressive, while not fearing seems to pacify them).
Somehow, Lewis and I thought that things with a baby would either be happy-sunshine-fun (him) or miserable-scary-impossible (me). For the past 16.5 months so many of our date nights have ended in the same conversation.
“I don’t understand this…intensity that I feel,” I say.
“I just wish you could relax and not let things bother you,” he says.
Then I freak out that I’m freaking out. Obsess on not obsessing. Get intense about not wanting to be an intense mom. …
So every blogger on in America is telling us how to respond to the shootings in Charleston. Everyone is trying to say the one profound thing that’s going to send an arrow straight to the heart of racism and explode it.
That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Because, like many have said, we need to talk about it. We, the white folks (who seem to all have blogs), need to talk about it. We also need to listen to our black, brown, and everything else friends. To fall back on my grad school vocabulary: it’s time for everyone to interrogate whiteness.
So this blog post does not contain the one nugget that’s going to change racism. …
A friend of mine coined a hashtag that makes me laugh. #ILiketoTravelBut.
I like to travel but…I hate sitting in coach.
I like to travel but…I don’t like losing money to the exchange.
That kind of stuff. But lately, I’ve been thinking more and more about travel’s place in the soul, or at least my soul. About why they call it wanderlust.
I like to travel but…I hate pulling out of the driveway.
Leaving home always strikes me with the deepest sense of regret. Even if I know I’m coming back. I know I’ll have an amazing adventure as soon as I get over it, but it always catches in my chest, just for a moment.
This year our local bookshop is conducting a reading challenge. Now that Moira goes to bed at 7:30pm, I thought, well, why not! Reading is quiet, portable, and doesn’t require me to get into a “mode” the way that writing does. As January revealed, I like a structured challenge, and I have been enjoying the Twig’s reading challenge since January 2. I’ll be reporting on my progress periodically. This quarter’s reads have reviews, last quarter’s reviews are on the previous Twig post.
AND I want your recommendations for the categories I still haven’t completed! …
Sometimes there are socially vogue rants that make me want to move to Siberia. Hating on social media is one of them.
I’m just as annoyed as the next guy by the constant dinging of my phone (so I turned off my push notifications), the 19 Facebook notifications that have nothing to do with me, and the rivers of unfiltered troll vomit on Nextdoor.
HOWEVER, I find it more tiresome when people whine about social media, and talk about how stupid it is. How over it they are. Everytime I hear that I think, “it’s okay, old man, we know you’re overwhelmed by what the kids are up to these days.” Or “yes, I know, little girl, you’re cooler than God.”
Use it, don’t use it. I don’t really care. But if you use it, own it.
Part of owning social media is understanding how it works. So lets break it down: …
I really like to be the resident expert. On pretty much any topic. Lewis maintains that my confidence in my expertise belies the depth of my actual expertise sometimes. This is 100% true. But it’s just so much more fun to be certain, facts or no facts.
So, in addition to being an expert new mom (ha), I am also an expert architect’s wife.
And I think there needs to be a manual written on how to live with architects. In my experience, it is the path of unending, highly specific bliss. I can, however, see how it might be frustrating for a novice. Which I never was, of course. So, to that end, I’m going to write another book. It’s either a how-to manual for living with an architect, or just a biography of the one I live with.
(The title and each chapter title comes from a statement spoken by my architect.)
Title: Everything I Want is Not on the Menu- the tortured life of the modern architect
Chapter One: Specific measurements are how I roll
We’re talking down to the centimeter people. There are no stray bolts or washers left at the end of projects, nothing creaks or rattles. And should a stiff breeze blow through, we will stop and recalibrate, lest we compromise the quality of the experience.
This year our local bookshop is conducting a reading challenge. Now that Moira goes to bed at 7:30pm, I thought, well, why not! Reading is quiet, portable, and doesn’t require me to get into a “mode” the way that writing does. As January revealed, I like a structured challenge, and I have been enjoying the Twig’s reading challenge since January 2. I’ll be reporting on my progress periodically.
AND I want your recommendations for the categories I still haven’t completed! …
Okay. I’ll be honest, I didn’t mind the Little Hairless Pup when she was actually little, and actually hairless. And actually not walking all over the place and pulling my fur and poking my eyes. Now, she kind of gets on my nerves sometimes. Like, sometimes, we’ll be just, like, playing, and it’s like, fine. But then out of nowhere she jams her finger in my eyeball.
The one thing that makes it worth it….is the food. …
Lewis was out of town. Moira went to bed at 7:15. Why not? I’m trying to become literate in wine. Okay, white wine, because I get red wine headaches. Okay, South American white wine, because a woman only has so much brain room for literacy.
This was a Sauvignon Gris. Not sure what my wine-expert friends would think of that, but there you go.
It was lovely when paired with a bath and a good book.
Day 27: Preparing and eating rutabaga.
Confession: I got the idea for this one from Moira’s favorite baby food. Ella’s Kitchen Apple, Spinach, Rutabaga is our best bet for getting nutrients into her when whatever solid food we’ve tried that mealtime is flat out fail.
As odd as it sounds, this was not a spur of the moment “oh-gosh-I-need-a-new-thing.” I’d been trying to get to this for weeks. Rutabaga is harder to come by than you would think.
Rutabaga as a vegetable, I found after trying a few different approaches, is, like most vegetables, best when covered in melted cheese.
Day 28: Something.
I’m not going to tell the new thing I did this day. But it involved the courage to speak my mind in an intimidating situation in which I’ve been pretty passive. Well, not any more.
Day 29: Letting Moira have “quiet time” instead of nap time
She simply wasn’t sleepy enough to fall asleep on her own. Instead of growing desperate to the point of nursing her to sleep, I left Moira in her crib for an hour. She sat quietly and played with her doll (and the curtains…and the poorly placed iPod that she could reach…) for an hour. Aside from going in to rescue the iPod, I let her do it.
When I came in at the end of the hour, she was leaning back against her womb-sounds bear, holding her doll, one knee up, elbow resting on that knee, pacifier in mouth, looking at me like, “I’ve got your nap right here.”
The rest of the day…just fine. God is teaching me that he, not my daughter’s sleep schedule is my help and my strength.
Day 30: Posting an honest response to a blog entry that moved me.
I’m not a big commenter on blogs. And by that I mean I just don’t do it. Maybe it’s because I feel like a groupie. Maybe it’s because I see the sort of things that people usually comment and think, “Dear Lord, don’t ever let that be me.”
But Sarah Bessey’s latest post about love at 2:07am hit home, and I just had to let her know.
This was a biggie. Lewis and our friend Liz James successfully surprised me more thoroughly than I have ever been surprised. I opened the door to find Liz bearing gifts and baked goods, completely out of the blue (she lives in Oregon). We then all went to a new restaurant, Lewis bought me a new jacket, and we saw a new exhibit at SAMA. I also tried mead for the first time.
Day 18: Day off
I needed a day off after all that new stuff!
Day 19: Attend the MLK March
I have lived on the East Side for 5 MLK days, and this was my first one to attend. To be fair, I was covering it for The Rivard Report, and I didn’t actually march, but I did get to feel the buzz of progress alongside national outcries for justice. And I biked further onto the east side than I have ever biked before.
Day 20: Gave an interview on the nightly news
This was not planned. I took Moira to a public meeting for the Lone Star Rail District. I’ve gotten to be quite a pro at community meetings, and it is usually appropriate to show up with my shoeless baby and my hair in a messy bun…shoulda worn a coat and tie to this one. Or at least not a frazzly bun and no makeup. I think the new chose to interview me because I looked like the kind of person who usually protests such things.
I used the machine that looks like a recumbent bike. That is the most luxurious workout my quads have ever gotten. Ample seat padding, comfortable recline. Didn’t have to change my position to change the channel on the machine’s cable tv. I felt like I should be sipping a protein shake with a little umbrella in it and wearing head-to-toe Lululemon.
Day 22: Assembled brand new dining room chairs
My final birthday present was an upgrade to our dining room chairs, which were being slowly de-caned by Moira. We chose the most comfortable coffee shop chairs we knew of, which happened to be lovely, mid-century Eames organic replicas. Fancy that.
Day 23: Go to South Padre Island
In all my years in Texas, including the 18 month actually living ON Padre Island, I had never visited South Padre. So, when the opportunity arose to celebrate the end of the Disappearing Rio Grande Expedition, I jumped on it. And took my mom and Moira with me. Because what’s an adventure without three generations of intrepid women.
South Padre was like a newer, shinier version of the central Texas Gulf Coast, or a grittier, cheaper version of the Florida Gulf Coast. Whichever paints a more accurate picture for you. Concrete sharks, yummy seafood dives, tons of tower hotels and condos, 1990’s era shopping centers, and…authentic Mediterranean food.
Day 24: Take my mom and Moira birding
In addition to putting my daughter’s hands in the Texas Gulf for the first time (which I’m not terribly nostalgic about, as I have said some pretty awful things about the Gulf, most of which does not apply to lovely South Padre), I also took my mom and Moira to the World Birding Center for two hours of coastal birding along a mile of boardwalk. My mom looked for the resident alligator the whole time, and kept portending that it would show up any moment to gobble up whatever Great Blue Heron we were watching.
Moira slept the entire time, until it was time to leave. She woke up for the visit to the gift shop. And my mom bought her half the inventory.
Day 25: Desert first
This is one of those things that people always talk about. I’ve never tried it. Until today.
Moira and I had been in the car all day. So when we got home, Lewis immediately sent me out on a 7-miler, and afterwards we all feasted on ice cream and vegetarian food, picnic style at the Pearl amphitheater. We got our ice cream first, from Lick, the most delicious ice cream I’ve ever had. We even let Moira try our ice cream.
She then later accepted our offer of falafel in good faith and was gravely disappointed.