flying through life with my hair on fire...i am a planet called mom, with four moons in my orbit.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Heavy Reading



I love books. To me, they're sensual beings, full of possibility. Remember High Fidelity and Rob's obsession with his record collection? I have a similar attitude toward books (perhaps I should try ordering them autobiographically). There are books piled on a bureau near my closet, hidden away in a cupboard (which makes them even more full of possibility since they're not always visible), on two bookcases in the bedroom, along one wall in our home office, and tucked away in the shed. I even keep books I know I'll never read, including old textbooks.
I no longer carry a bag full of books with me everywhere I go. My kids cured me of that habit, although I did trade the weight of books on my shoulder for that of a child on my hip. But I still have at least one book tucked in my purse or computer bag. Right now, that book is Sula, by Toni Morrison. She writes like a dream and achieves that important and elusive goal of writing--to communicate the ordinary in an extraordinary way.
The picture above is the stack of books, Sula included, that is on my reading list for a class I'm taking at the community college. We've already read Winesburg Ohio and Mrs. Dalloway. I'm halfway through Middlesex and it's phenomenal. Anyone who is so inclined to post a list of their favorite books in comments, please do!

Sunday, February 19, 2006

Basketball Diary



This is Soren's second year playing on his elementary school basketball team. When he first joined up last year he didn't know much about the game beyond the fact that basketballs are round. I giggled quietly in the bleachers during practice as Soren stood, Ferdinand like, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on everything but the ball. I watched as he learned to dribble and assimilated the rules. Then, I emphatically leapt out of my seat and cheered his first basket during a game, embarrassing him no end. All the while I encouraged him to play smart, fair, and be kind (lessons that extend far beyond the court, of course). I was thrilled, and admittedly a bit smug, however, when "our team" proceeded to win nearly every game and likely would have won the district title had we had enough players. In the end, due to our player shortage, we had to forfeit a key game and ended up with third overall in the league. We celebrated with a pizza party and each kid received a trophy, medal, and tee. I was beaming, of course, and Soren couldn't stop staring at his trophy.

Since that stellar season I have noticed a change in Soren. He's more coordinated. A bit more focused. Soren learns differently than other kids, and so struggles with how things are taught in public school. He's a kid who can hear a cool fact once and remember it forever...but doesn't always interpret what he reads accurately, in the moment, and his retention is not as lasting when he sees something as opposed to hearing it. I am the opposite, so this has been hard for me to understand. Regardless, basketball helped my drifting son find a bit more solid ground beneath his feet. The result: more confidence and less difficulty with his schoolwork.

I have never really worried about Soren's compassion--he's a deeply empathetic, understanding child (though his sisters might beg to differ). Thus it was no surprise to me to watch Soren show his opponents genuine kindness before, during, and after a game. I can't take all the credit for this...he was hardwired to be compassionate from birth. But I do offer encouragement for understanding how others feel when perspective is lacking, and as Soren is maturing he's beginning to remind me here and there of my own philosophy when my chips are down.

We are now nearing the end of Soren's second season in basketball and it's been a bit more rough this go 'round. The kids have only won 2 games (out of 8, I believe) and I have been bummed right alongside them. But for every loss I remind Soren of the goal--to play well, be fair, and have fun. This is elementary school, after all.

So I was angered and frustrated when I overheard a petty verbal tussle between two audience members at the most recent game. There were kids huffing up and down the court, playing their young hearts out, while to my right a mother and grandmother were rooting against our team whenever they didn't feel they could root FOR theirs. "Miss it, miss it!" I heard them say as one of our more sensitive beginning players toed the free throw line and tried to sink the ball. He missed. He couldn't hear them, granted, but I could, and so could that boy's mother.

To my left, a vociferous father whose son towers over all the other players. This boy is playing for the first time, this year, and is determined and getting better at the game every day. I know this boy's father and, of course, the boy--they're on "our" team. But I was embarrassed by the dad's inappropriate and loud remarks encouraging our team to foul the other players. Of course, it was inevitable that the comments from both parties would be redirected at each other in the form of accusations and put downs...condescension from the dad on "our side" and ugly comments about our children being "dirty players" from "their side."

And I just shook my head, wishing the right words were available. But what can one really say in the face of such hurtful ignorance? I didn't know then and I barely know now. I just looked out at that court full of kids--my own amongst them--and hoped like hell the limitation of these parents didn't seep down to them.

The picture at the beginning of this post was taken last season. That's my boy, the smiling redhead, loving every minute of this game. Looking at him, I can stop worrying...just a bit. He knows what this is all about, and he's having a hell of a good time.

I NEVER THOUGHT I'D DO THIS.




Blog, that is. At the risk of opening myself up to scathing comments (assuming anyone even happens by this little spot in the bigger picture) I have to confess that I have always thought of "blogs" as nothing more than platforms for self-indulgent whiners to showcase their drivel.

There, I said it.

Another thing...I love words. When Soren, who's in fifth grade, brings home his weekly spelling list I have a grand time helping him memorize not only the spelling of such words as "euphemism" and "magnanimous," but I also thrill to the idea that he's learning them. On evenings when he's particularly focused and interested, I share other personal favorites with him: onomatopoeia...fractious (a word commonly applied to 20 month-old Graysen)...bombardier...reticent... somnambulate....and my all-time favorite ever: floccinaucinihilipilification. Running through spelling lists and musing about the language allows me to live vicariously and forget my childhood humiliation when my quest for spelling superiority fell apart on the word "leasable" in sixth grade. Following on the heels of that debacle my spelling brain in middle school must have been playing tag with my math brain (which is always AWOL) and I was eliminated because I couldn't spell "spaghetti." For shame. I recently watched the National Spelling Bee on cable at a local Mexican seafood eatery (the other televised choice: a Spanish variety show featuring something in drag--I think--a mute person in a wrestling mask, and lots of frenetic dancing) and was glad, for the first time in my life, that I hadn't taken my knack for the arrangement of letters further than I did back then. Watching those skinny kids with huge pieces of cardboard strung around their necks trying to speak coherently into the mic about words the likes of which I'd never even heard...no love lost there. Really.

But I digress.... considering my interest in words I must say that the other reason I've never "blogged" before (no, Themestream doesn't count. REALLY!) is that the very word BLOG sounds like something you'd extract from a kid's nose. MY kid's nose, in fact. It sounds...yukky.

But then I started reading blogs. Not everyday, mind you, but here and there. Following webboard links, I'd find blogs at the end of profiles, people I didn't know from Adam, or Eve for that matter, sharing their lives with whomever happens to surf on by.

Stories....

As a writer, I love to read stories.
As a writer, I love to write stories.

So I was tempted to write a blog of my own, but kept thinking "nah...I don't blog...." Then, when I got over my reservation about joining ranks with the blogging for reasons previously stated I ran into the seemingly logical excuse that my life simply isn't interesting enough. With four kids I don't travel much...I don't engage in high-risk activities aside from sometimes driving a smidgen too fast...nobody I know has a terminal illness...nobody is being born (all done, thanks!).... I am also aware that there are people out there, fellow bloggers some of them, who would rather chew on roadkill than read about another Jane Doe's passel of sproglets. So, I figured that until I was faced with something fabulously compelling, I'd just keep a lid on things and go about my days.

But then I realized something. I crave peak experiences but it's really pretty rare that such events define the overall course of life. Life is that ebb and flow that is as interesting as one makes it. And honestly, there's never a dull, boring moment around these parts.

If you're sick of reading motherly dispatches, I can grok that. But if you, like me, wake up every morning to find smallish feet in your face...if you, like me, find that your days are all about other people's mundane details (particularly if those details involve such things as the placement of Hello Kitty hair ornaments, appropriate application of sparkly lip gloss, and toothpaste-tube-squeezing lessons)...if you, like me, have anything whatsoever to do with other people's butt hygiene (or if you ever used to be concerned with this), if you, like me, decided on a passionate whim (or four) to create something so precious that someone once likened this act of creation to choosing to allow your heart to walk around outside of your body for the rest of your life...then I hope you stop by frequently. This is one crazy, fabulous planet!

Saturday, February 18, 2006

flying through life with my hair on fire...i am a planet called mom, with four moons in my orbit. soren, age 11, is my dramatic, gentle boy who lives in his own universe...mirabai, my 9 year-old poet and golden girl...chiara, 5 year-old girl of light and dark, as her name means...and graysen, 20 month-old baby fury with laughing eyes....c'est ma vie.