"No one will write your poems for you..."

Last week at book club, we discussed No Clock in the Forest by Paul Willis. (Aside: If you happen to follow the link to check out the book at Amazon.com, don't be put off by the cover picture. It was the one thing our book club unanimously agreed on - terrible! Not at all right for this book. It almost kept me from reading the book. In fact, the author himself bemoaned this cover art in an interview.) Willis is a professor of English at Westmont College in Santa Barbara, California. His primary writing genre is poetry, although he did write a set of four novels, of which this was the first.

During Book Club, we read and discussed an interview Willis once gave about his writing career, and the line that stuck with me is what I have used for the title of this post - "I finally realized that no one would write my poems for me." Willis was commenting on all of the competing arenas in his life - teaching, committee work, family obligations, cleaning his office, whatever. But then he recognized, a bit profoundly (at least from my perspective), that of all his obligations, what he could write (create) was uniquely his. If he didn't make time to do it himself, it would never happen. That caused him to re-prioritize his time.

As I have mulled that over for a few days, I realized that it spoke into my soul a bit. I haven't been posting much to this blog since the school year started in September, but I have scraps of paper where I have started an idea and never returned to it. I have opening paragraphs for posts written in my head, half of those now forgotten. And no one will write those things for me. I suppose there is hubris in this - who says they need to get written? But I feel them bottled up in me, wanting to be written. So there it is. Perhaps I need to think about prioritizing my own time to allow for me to blog more. And so it is that I find myself typing at 11:15 PM in a quiet house, where everyone else is sleeping. (Although, in a strange meta-blog style, I am writing about how I ought to be writing more. Let's see if the creative juices still flow long enough for me to find any of those random scraps of paper and actually blog.)

Helen turns 2!

The girls in new matching nightgowns from Grandma Di.

Bread with Jam. Or, really, Jam with Bread. Helen wakes up to jam, a favorite of hers at age 2.

I am 10 days behind schedule, but Helen turned 2 and I thought it deserved a blog post. Today is my "at home all day" with the kids day, so I am able to catch up on this. Thanks to Grandma Di for about half of these photos. My camera work that day was way subpar (and apparently much of it was done by persons under age 9).

How Helen chose to dress herself for the day. Seemed about right for Feb. 4 in Michigan. (Prepared for anything.)

If the swim suit doesn't work out, you can always switch to Mom's boots, instead.

Birthday dinner with grandparents. 

The girl who took no nap all afternoon needed a 20-minute power-nap after dinner to charge up for cake and presents.

I'm two!

Video-phone-call over Skype with Uncle Jeff, Aunt Shannon, Socha. What a different world Helen will grow up in!

With her new "pup-dog" from Great-Aunt Sue and Great-grandma Helen. This is a common place to find her dog ever since - tucked firmly under her arm by his neck.

See the resemblance with John?

James helping her play her musical Happy Birthday card.

My four munchkins.

Grandpa Tom and Helen share a laugh.

Grandma Di gets to enjoy the strangle-hold.

Grandpa Tom and Maggie.

Sweet, sleeping babe.

New, noisy toy from Grandma Di and Grandpa Glen entertains  more than just Helen.

Christmas Eve Photos

Family Photo, after church on December 23

Setting up is hard to do with 6 of us

Enjoying a weekend pre-Christmas visit from Jenny's cousin Elizabeth, who drove up from Pittsburgh.

Two of the James, in Grand Blanc on Christmas Eve

The clan

John really liked this remote control "dirt bike"

After Grand Blanc, we swung over to Davison for a visit

At Meijer Gardens on December 23

Christmas Day

If you were a fly on our wall this Christmas morning, these are the things you might have heard and seen...

And then, we added children.

Waking up sleepy-head Dad.

It's a team project.

But watch out for when Dad is just playing 'possum. He might fight back.

John (age 5), in a voice of disbelief that would have made any teenager proud: "Underwear? Really?"

John (5) to his siblings, who had given him a Monster Truck game for the Wii: "Thank you! Thank you!"
Margaret (8) in reply: "Unh. Ok, no more hugging!"

Helen (22 months): ________________________ (That represents dead silence, as she methodically consumed two squares of Ghiradelli chocolate from her stocking for breakfast.)

Sorry, Mom. Can't smile. I have chocolate to eat.

James (11), in a voice of resignation (tinged with a bit of pride in having guessed the contents of the package): "May I open my socks now?"

Nope. James considered, and these were definitely not socks. (A new book light from his brother and sister.)

Margaret (8): "Oh no! Helen has finger paints? Bye bye nice new purple bathroom walls."

She liked the Harry Potter Wii game from her brothers. Can you tell?

 
Helen (22 months): "Hey! That's mine!" (So proud that this is one of her clearest full sentences yet.)

Most of Helen's presents were "recycled" - gifts we already had in the house, refurbished with new batteries as needed. She seemed fine with that. Although, her absolute favorite was the gift she had picked out for herself while shopping with me last week - a new ball.

John (5): (SHRIEK!) Thank you, Mommy! I've always wanted one! (And so, it begins. We gave in on the electronics and gave him a Nintendo DSi. Price is not so bad now that the DS3 came out. And now we may have to surgically remove it from his hands. Hoping we can all resist the temptation to let him carry it everywhere, joining the ranks of little siblings everywhere we go - kids sports events at school, doctors' waiting rooms, etc. - who are sitting comatose, glued to their portable game device or parents' smartphone instead of watching the world, talking to their parent, and generally learning through healthy boredom.)

Close-up of the kids. James was trying to look odd, because that is what 11-year-olds like to do. But, a photo with 3 out of 4 smiles captured is a success in my book. 

How to converse with a curious kindergartener

My conversation with 5-year-old John today while driving home from James's middle school Christmas concert:

"Mom, how sharp is a steak knife?"

"Um, I don't know. There are all different kinds of steak knives, and they aren't all the same sharpness."

"But what kinds are there?"

"Well, there are serrated and smooth, and different brands, and..I don't know. Why do you want to know?"

"I just want to know how sharp a steak knife is."

"Well, I can't really tell you, John. I don't know a way to describe sharpness." I was now getting a bit frustrated. I was trying to drive home in the dark, in the rain, with tired kids. Why was I having this conversation, anyway? In a flash of annoyance, I answered randomly, "Seven, John. They are seven sharp."

"Whoa!" His delighted giggle was surprised and immediate. "That is awesome!"

Sweet Mom Moment

Helen is at that age where I can be stunned at any moment with how much she has learned, and how quickly. I think she continues to be least "talkative" of any of our 4 kids were at comparable ages, but she certainly does communicate just fine. She uses just a few favorite words often, punctuated by new or occasional words for clarity, and all well-seasoned with expressive pointing and gestures.

She has been adding language, I know, because she now clearly understands so much of what we say. Just in the last few days, she will often repeat words after you, whereas even last week she would refuse to utter new sounds, even to blankly repeat them. Now, she repeats them and acts as if she has always known them and wonders why you are asking her to say them now.

Today, she had another small language breakthrough that was fun to witness. We were sitting in a small lobby, waiting for a car repair. I had brought a bag of picture books to pass the hour. The one she chose today was a chunky, oversized board book with few words. Each page had photographs of baby faces, labeled with a common emotion. Sleepy. Angry. Shy.

"Helen, look, these babies feel Sad."

"Sad." She repeated this after me, quite clearly.

"Here are some happy babies."

"Hop! Baby Hop!"

"Yes, the babies feel happy."

Our scintillating conversation went on in this vein for a while. Then she got bored and asked to nurse. She plopped sideways in my lap, snuggled her head into the crook of my arm, and requested, "Ide!" Then, unusually, instead of wriggling impatiently or pulling at my shirt, she paused, looked up at me, and said, "Baby hop!"

I thought a minute. "Helen, do you mean that you feel happy now?"

She silently grinned and nodded enthusiastically. What more could a mom really want from a day?

Helen is growing up

I came home from work today to be greeted by Helen. At 21 months, she can act quite official. Today, she appeared as if she would like to be playing the role of official greeter and tour guide, but was drawn away by another task that was even more enticing.

"Momma, baby see!"

"Yes, Helen, I see the baby," I replied, thinking that she meant herself. That was a reasonable guess, since she usually refers to herself as baby and in fact have only heard her use the name "Helen" once. However, today, she clearly indicated that I was wrong.

"No, Momma. Baby PU!

Well, that seemed more serious, since PU (as in Pee-You) is how she communicates a stinky diaper. I checked, and she was clean.

"Momma, c'mon!" Out went her little hand, fingers wagging behind, in her favorite gesture and phrase.

I followed her up the stairs, to the bathroom. There, on the floor, she was in mid-operation. She had her favorite baby doll (Baby Diana, so named by Maggie years earlier, who is nearly as big as Helen is now) on the floor. The open box of wet wipes was next to them. Helen was vigorously wiping the "PU" from the baby doll. I was very glad that this PU belonged only to a doll, since the same wet wipe then proceeded to be used to wipe the floor, the wall, the bathtub, and everything in between. Helen is a very enthusiastic house cleaner once turned loose.

Later this afternoon, I tried to get Helen to put a bib on. I prefer that for any time that she is eating, but it seemed particularly appropriate since she was now eating somewhat runny yogurt. Helen, however, has recently decided that she is not interested in wearing bibs. The one we have with the best coverage unfortunately closes with velcro, which means it is as good as useless now. Helen rips it off immediately.

This day, though, I struck upon a winning solution. I suspected that she was starting to reject a bib because it seemed too baby-ish to her. I was wearing an apron, so I decided to try that with her. We have several very small kids' aprons in the cupboard, so I tried one out. She rejected the first, so I doubted my idea, but tried just one more. Wow! When she saw the yellow apron with the red and blue flowers, she held both of her arms straight out in front of her and waited to be dressed. Then, she sat looking at her lap, amazed. She kept muttering a word to herself, and later to me, that might have been "See!" or might have been "Pretty!" When I stopped replying to this word, she climbed down off her chair, spread the apron out in front of her, and repeated her word so that I would notice.

Umm, really Helen? A fashionista before two? Sorry, kiddo, you ended up in the wrong family for that. But, I guess we can try to find her a few "pretty" things if it matter that much. :)