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[dover]

Anton Corbijn     Allen Ginsberg, New York City     1996

The weight of the world          is love.     Under the burden          of solitude,     under the burden          of dissatisfaction

         the weight,     the weight we carry          is love.

    Who can deny?          In dreams     it touches          the body,     in thought          constructs     a miracle,          in imagination     anguishes          till born     in human–     looks out of the heart          burning with purity–     for the burden of life          is love,

    but we carry the weight          wearily,     and so must rest     in the arms of love          at last,     must rest in the arms          of love.

    No rest          without love,     no sleep          without dreams     of love–          be mad or chill     obsessed with angels          or machines,     the final wish          is love     –cannot be bitter,          cannot deny,     cannot withhold          if denied:

    the weight is too heavy

         –must give     for no return          as thought     is given          in solitude     in all the excellence          of its excess.

    The warm bodies          shine together     in the darkness,          the hand moves     to the center          of the flesh,     the skin trembles          in happiness     and the soul comes          joyful to the eye–

    yes, yes,          that’s what     I wanted,          I always wanted,     I always wanted,          to return     to the body          where I was born.

–Allen Ginsberg, “Song” 1954

[dover]

All real living hurts as well as fulfills. Happiness comes when we have lived and have respite for sheer forgetting. Happiness, in the vulgar sense, is just a holiday experience. The life-long happiness lies in being used by life; hurt by life, driven and goaded by life, replenished and overjoyed with life, fighting for life’s sake. That is real happiness. In the undergoing, a large part of it is pain.

D.H. Lawrence, The Boy in the Bush, Chapter 7

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Maybe This Time It’s Real

I think we have officially decided to move. Not right away, but inevitably. One more year for Win to finish up preschool at the co-op we love, one year to save up all we can, one year to find new jobs, one year to pick a town. 

For so long I have felt like a seed tossed onto fertile ground. Everyone around me is either already rooted, or slowly starts to grow, and I’m just sitting on the surface. Waiting. Waiting for conditions to improve so that I can put my roots in the ground too.  The waiting has cost far too much already, and our kids need more than a two bedroom apartment that is falling into utter disrepair thanks to do-nothing landlords. They need a yard to play in and open space and rooms of their own. Our family needs a house to build a future in. It isn’t going to happen here, and that is so frustrating because it doesn’t feel fair. We did the right things, and it wasn’t enough. Andrew has held down the same job, the same normal middle-class sort of office job that used to lead to mortgages  and lifelong careers and pensions, for ten years. Ten years of steady raises with a company that values him, and it isn’t even close to enough to keep up with the out of control housing costs. So what is left to do when you’ve played by the rules and been patient and avoided debt and lived within your means and saved what you could, and you can’t even come close to home-ownership? Just leaving. That’s the only option.

I know a little bit about what I want. A place that is old and cozy, not big, with a wood burning fireplace. Lots of trees around, and rain. Maybe a creek in the neighborhood. Someplace mid-sized, or off the beaten path a bit, but not too far from somewhere bigger. It’s probably tucked away somewhere in the north, in Oregon or Washington. I have no idea where, and now I’m obsessing. Now I can’t sleep because I have to find it. 

For so long I couldn’t see this chapter of our lives actually happening. Leaving, I mean. I just couldn’t even imagine it. And then I don’t know what it was, something yesterday just clicked inside of me. The “we have to move” conversation came up, as it has countless times over the last 5 years, and instead of living in denial, instead of burying my head in the sand and telling myself that things will just work out for us here somehow, someway, the truth of the matter sunk in. We just have to leave. It’s time.  Now I can see it. I can imagine driving aimlessly around new towns to feel them out. I can imagine emailing real estate agents. I can imagine asking my parents for a bit extra to help with a down payment.  I can imagine calling moving companies for quotes. I can imagine putting all of our things into boxes. I can  imagine dropping the kids off for the their first day at a new school. I can imagine the mixed feeling of sadness and pride. Sad because we left a place we loved, pride because we found a place to be ours.

And besides, what do we get out of living in the Bay Area anyway? We aren’t techies or foodies or into fashion or theater or academics. We’re just normal people. Many of the good friends we made here have already left. We don’t have much in the way of community. I like taking walks, I like cool weather, I like sitting inside and reading books, I like playing the piano. As a family, we like nothing more than to just be together. We can do all of those things anywhere. The four of us are a group of homebodies. So we need a home. A real home.

[dover]

Long, slow labors can be normal and healthy!

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How much worrying is too much worrying? How much do you worry?

Dropping my first grader off at school for the last two mornings has made me literally sick to my stomach. I do not feel like she is safe. I feel like the problem of gun violence and school shootings will just keep getting worse and worse and worse until it inevitably reaches me and my family.

I was trying to remember if I was afraid of a shooting when I was in high school. I was 12 when Columbine happened, and I remember the dialog being about the rarity of the event, and the unlikelihood of it happening at my own school. I don’t think I worried about it all. We certainly didn’t have any active shooter drills or lockdown procedures or anything like that. One of the children who went to this school in Florida was found wearing a bullet proof vest, which his father, a policeman, had given him. Because now it just feel like a matter of time until it happens to all of us. We’re just waiting for the next one. 

I have zero faith that anything will change. There is so much money and power involved, too many people who think--though they would never admit it outright--that their right to buy/own/use guns and semi-automatic military grade weapons outweighs my child’s right to live. To not get shot in her school.

So I have an honest question: how often to you think about the possibility of your children dying because of senseless violence? How often does that dark thought cross your mind? Because it is with me daily, and I’m reaching the point where I don’t know what to do with it anymore. Usually when it surfaces I use it as a way to remember to be present. None of us are guaranteed a tomorrow, and it could be something dramatic or something humdrum that takes away those dearest to us. So when these thoughts find their way to me I try to quickly dismiss them but also remember to appreciate how things are right now, how their little bodies feel in my arms, all perfect and whole, to give extra kisses and extra cuddles and be happy for what I have.  

If I had the means, the money, the resources, I know what I would do. I would leave this place. I would take my children to England or Canada or Austria or Germany or the Netherlands or Sweden or Belgium, to a place where they stand a greater likelihood of being safe. But we lack the means, so what else? Become a single issue voter? Homeschool? Never go to the mall or a movie theater? Move to a farm in the middle of nowhere and stay away from civilization as much as possible? What will it take to keep them safe from guns?

I don’t know how we are expected to bear this burden, this constant fear, waiting for the next gunman--the next young angry white male with easy access to legal forms of mass murder--to pick us off. When I fix her hair in the mornings I think, am I doing this for the last time? I am sending her off to be slaughtered? When I see the outfit she has picked out for the day I wonder if will cut off her body by paramedics. I can’t get rid of these awful, intrusive thoughts. I wonder if I need to find help, find a therapist to help me work through them, to help me deal. But it just isn’t fair that my children have to live in this world where first graders are killed by semi-automatic weapons in their classrooms, where parents send their high school freshmen to school with bullet proof vests, where my son’s preschool had to install a special barricading lock on a bathroom door to provide a place for 3-5 year olds to shelter from an active shooter seeking to randomly end their lives for no reason other than the fact that his high powered weapon gives him the power to do so.  

I don’t know how to stand it any longer--how to function normally, how to drop of child off at school every morning without waves of fear and paranoia, how to battle the worsening anxiety, how to stop replaying worse-case scenarios, how to stop from putting myself in the shoes of the literally hundreds of thousands of parents that this has actually happened to. Please, we have to make this stop.

[dover]

The C-Word

A few nights ago we were all sitting together at the table eating dinner when Eleanor said, “There is a word at school that the kids keep saying. It’s a weird word and I guess it’s funny because when they say it they always laugh, but I don’t know what it means.” Andrew and I shot each other a quick, wide-eyed look. The moment was finally here, the moment when we’d have to explain curse words to her. Eleanor goes to an urban public school. What bit of profanity had she heard? What sex act were the kids referring to? How would we rise to this occasion? What would we say?

I took a deep breath and said, “Ok, what’s the word? We can tell you want it means.”

“It’s...capisce.”

Cue laughter and relief. 

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A Letter to Write But Never Send

Hello,

It’s been such a long time. I still think of you fondly, and now and then you pop up in my dreams unexpectedly. I wanted to say hello again and to hear what your life as been like. I don’t know what you have heard about mine, or what pictures you may have seen. I married young. That much you know. It’s usually a risky thing to do, but for me has worked out well. I love the solid, steadfastness of him and how his touch is still electric. We live in Oakland, where the weather is always beautiful and the cost of living is outrageous. It is probably a mistake, but here we are, and here we have been for almost a decade. Sometimes when it is cold outside I think about that scratchy wool scarf you wore.

I have two children, a girl and a boy. The girl is whip-smart, beautiful, and highly dramatic. The boy is very much a mother’s last child, and incredibly affectionate with me. They will both be in school soon. They are a warm sun and a cool breeze in turn. I stay home with them during the day, and during the evenings a few times a week I teach childbirth and breastfeeding classes to make a little extra money on the side, but it’s not much. Like most mothers of my generation, I worry about squandered potential. But it’s true that you can’t have it all, and I chose them. I still read lots of books and play the piano and drink lots of tea, so I am mostly the same as I was. I remember playing the piano in the living room of your parents’ house, a house that was a second home to me for a while. I ran into your sister once a few years ago, and she told me you had moved to Nashville to play music. I wonder how it all worked out for you.  I don’t know if you will be glad of this letter or not. Once you told me we would always be friends, and I believed you then wholeheartedly. But we stopped talking so quickly and so suddenly, and aside from that one awkward college class that we happened both to enroll in--the one where we sat next to each other out of obligation rather than desire, because there was a recognizable face in a room of strangers--there has been nothing, no hint of friendship or a dropped line or even a follow on social media for all of these years. Despite that, you are in my thoughts sometimes. 

Am I in yours?

[dover]

The books I read in 2017. They total about 38, as some were multivolume books. Mostly it was D.H. Lawrence, since my goal is to read every single word he ever published.

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My favorite passage from my favorite book.

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Zoo

Today I took my kids to the zoo. I had been planning on taking them sometimes this week, just as something fun to do to pass a summer day. Last week I asked one of my mom friends if she and her kids could join us, and they were busy. I asked two other mom friends, and neither of them even replied to my text.

As the kids have gotten older, I have spent less and less time with my mom friends. For a while I was desperate for them, for play dates, for another kid to entertain my kid, for another adult human being to interact with. I would ask random moms at the park for their phone numbers if Eleanor played well with their kids. It hardly ever worked out. Maybe one or two awkward playdates or walks around the lake, then silence on both ends. But I made a small number of good mom friends (like, two) who I saw regularly, then less and less as our kids entered preschool then elementary school.

When this summer began, I wondered how I would keep us all happy and sane without the structure of school, and I told myself we would just have to schedule lots of playdates. Then early in the summer I took the kids to the park, just the three of us, and I sat on a bench and read a Faulkner novel while my kids played together, and I realized maybe we could do without the playdates. Maybe we had all we needed. They had each other. I had a good book. So the playdates have been sparse and I’ve spent a lot of time reading on park benches.

But the zoo felt different. An all day outing, where I couldn’t just sit and read. Having another adult to talk to seemed like it would make the day more enjoyable for me, so I reached out to three friends and got a “no” and two ignored texts. Fine. Whatever. We would just go alone.

This morning I packed a backpack full of sweatshirts (for the foggy morning) and snacks and sunscreen (for when the fog burned off) and away we went. It was such a fun, amazing, lovely day. I expected it to be fun for the kids, just the kids, but I honestly enjoyed myself so much.

It was just us, and we could go at our own pace and see whatever we wanted to see in whatever order, without taking into consideration the wants and needs of a bunch of other kids. I wasn’t frustrated from constantly having my adult conversation attempts interrupted by my kids. Instead I just talked to them–they had my full attention.

We started with the bears and worked our way all the way around the zoo to the elephants, then we took the new gondolas up to the top of the hill (Eleanor was scared, Win loved it) and ate at the new cafe, which was supposed to be a real restaurant, not just zoo food (it was still just zoo food, only more expensive). Then we rode all of the rides, including the little roller coaster, which scared them both but I was so proud that they were brave enough to give it a try (especially Eleanor, who only went on it because Win had his heart set on it).

Our family is such a solid unit. I know I am beyond lucky that my kids love each other and get along the way they do, and I know it is nothing short of amazing that my husband and I still prefer each other’s company over anyone else’s after all of these years. The four of us are so bonded and happy together, and we are all we need. And these kids of ours are so amazing. There's no one else I would rather spend a day at the zoo with.

[dover]

He had dreaded exposure: and behold, we cannot be exposed, for we are invisible. We cannot be exposed to the looks of others, for our very being is night-lustrous and unseeable.

D.H. Lawrence, Aaron’s Rod (493)

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Eleanor - 6 Years

She is perfect. That is the overwhelming thought I get whenever I look at her. She’s just perfect.

When she was a toddler she was so strong willed and defiant and at times it was difficult to be her parent. I felt like we were always at odds. I worried a lot about she would behave in school and what our relationship would be like as she got older, and all of the worrying was baseless. She has grown from a fiery, tantrum prone toddler and preschooler into a sweet, sensitive, affectionate, and thoughtful six year old.  She is an amazing big sister and loves her brother with her whole heart. She is constantly writing about him at school, drawing pictures of them together. When I pick her up at the end of the day she rushes to hug him first, and they play so well together around the house. She is very caring to her friends, always wanting to make them gifts and write them letters. She has lots of hugs for her mama and daddy and is always there for me when I need someone to be my helper. 

I miss her so much while she is at school. She only has three weeks left before her kindergarten year is over, and I still feel like I haven’t gotten used to having her gone for so much of the day. She has done so well this year. The adjustment was smooth (for her, if a little sad for me) and she is a great little student. She listens well and stays on task. Her reading is coming right along and she is already past her grade level, despite not really being able to read at all at the beginning of the year. The only thing holding her back is a lack of confidence. She doesn’t think that she can read as well as she can, so she is scared to try more advanced books. She wants to stick with the super easy ones, which is fine for practice, but she also find them boring. I’m excited for her to realize her potential and start really exploring books on her own. She still loves audiobooks and could listen to them for hours on end, and I can’t wait for her to reach the level where she can read the audiobooks she loves herself (like The Secret Garden and Matilda and Pippi Longstocking) in the next few years.  For her birthday she asked for “science stuff.” She says she wants to be a scientist when she grows up so that she can discover what the first lifeforms on Earth were like. Her daddy loves science too and is always finding interesting science books aimed at children to read to her. We got her a microscope and a magnifying glass, and she has had lots of fun looking at bugs and blood and spider webs with them.  She is really excited about taking a ballet class this summer. Just the other day she told me that she wants to send a card to her ballet teacher (who she hasn’t met yet) to thank her for teaching her to dance. She took a pre-ballet class a few years ago, way back when she was three, and she wouldn’t listen to the teacher or follow along with what the other kids were doing at all. She enjoyed it, but she just ran around the entire time doing her own thing. It will be very interesting to see the contrast in this latest ballet endeavor. She is so interested now in learning how to do things the proper way, and much more eager to please.  Although her personality has mellowed out and matured in so many ways, she is still very independent and has a sensitive heart. She is easily frustrated, which sometimes keep her from pushing herself to try new or more difficult things. She has a few friends at school, but no one friend who is her best friend, and if her friends are doing something together that she doesn’t want to do (like playing kickball--she hates kickball because it hurts her feelings when everyone yells “OUT!” even if they are yelling it at her), she occupies herself by walking around alone and looking for caterpillars or other interesting things. She doesn’t seem to mind alone time, but she also plays very nicely with other kids. 

She is still a very picky eater and absolutely refuses to try any new foods. She loves every sort of fresh fruit though. I guess it’s a good thing we live in California and I can buy grocery carts full of delicious local produce every week. Most days for her lunch at school I packed her two servings of fruit, a bit of cheese, some crackers or a piece of bread, and carrots. Some days she only eats the fruit. I wonder if she will ever turn a corner and start exploring food a bit more. Maybe next year? She is very tall and thin. At her checkup yesterday she measured just shy of 4 feet tall, and weighed 42 lbs. And do you see that picture where she is holding up 6 fingers? It kind of freaks me out to know that we are counting on two hands now. I know it’s cliche, but it really does feel like she was just born yesterday. I can’t wrap my head around how big she is, but I’m delighted by what an amazing person she is turning out to be.

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Got the job.

[dover]

I had a job interview this morning for a childbirth educator position at Kaiser. There are four locations nearby where they offer childbirth prep classes, and in this area they kind of have the market cornered. It feels very high stakes. A lot is riding on the outcome of this interview, including what is left of my self-esteem.

I’ve had a very hard time professionally this year. I’ve gone on a total of 12 doula interviews since January, and only ended up being hired by two of those clients. I’m on such a horrific losing streak. At this point I don’t even expect to be hired when I go for interviews anymore. I still try my absolute best to be professional and confident and warm and knowledgeable and really put myself out there, but I go home and just wait for the inevitable “Thanks but we decided to hire another doula” email. I’m not sure now much more rejection I can take. At first I just shrugged it off, because I know you can’t win them all, and then I thought it was kind of strange that I was getting so much interest but not landing any clients and set about trying to improve my interview skills and presentation, and now it has reached the point where the rejection emails send me into a pretty dark spiral of self-doubt and crying jags for days on end. 

I really, really need this job. I need it for my own psychological health. I need it so that I don’t feel like an abject failure. I need it for the income. I need it for the steady work it can offer. The other childbirth educator position I was hired for in January hasn’t turned out to be all I was hoping for. In the entire year of 2017 they only have me teaching three classes. I need more work than that. I need something that will bring in enough money to feel like I’m actually contributing to our household. 

And like I said, Kaiser pretty much has the market cornered out here. There is one other major hospital, but all the rest are Kaisers. So if I don’t get this job (which would cover all of the local Kaiser locations), I’m pretty much not ever going to get a job. My last hope would be the one other hospital, if and when they are hiring. 

It feels like a watershed moment here. If I don’t get this job, I don’t know that it will be worth it to continue trying to pursue this line of work. 

[dover]

Screaming into the void

A catalog of my failures:

Failure to pick a practical college major Failure to get into grad school Failure to launch a success post-college career before having children Failure to “make it” financially in the city I chose to live in Failure to be able to move out of an apartment that makes us miserable Failure to have enough money to add any sort of pleasure to life (vacations, travel, luxuries) Failure to do anything but make ends meat Failure to save (nest egg, down payment on a house, retirement) Failure to provide the kind of childhood I want for my children (growing up in a house with a yard in a good school district) Failure to have the bravery just to up and move from this place we so clearly can’t afford Failure to make and sustain friendships Failure to be found generally likable Failure to find steady work as a childbirth educator after searching for over a year Failure to land the vast majority of the doula clients who interview me Failure to be able to even think about applying to midwifery school because of lack of childcare support Failure to find any measure of success in any endeavor I have ever undertaken Failure to die peacefully in my sleep and just be done with it all

[dover]

8:33 PM

Win (calling out from his bedroom): Mama, I'm bored.

Me: Just close your eyes and go to sleep!

Win: That will just make me border.