I found a handwritten note in my office today. I must have written in back in 2009 when I was pregnant with Marshall. I probably intended to include it in my 33 Weeks post, but I didn’t. So here it is now.
33 Weeks
Baby kicks while I’m talking to other people. They don’t know, so it’s like I’m living in my own little universe. Baby is already demanding his mother’s attention.
Livia has been learning about tools and woodworking at school. Here is a conversation that we had one day after she got home.
Livia: I got to use a drill at school today. A real live drill!
Mommy: That’s great. Maybe someday you can be a builder or a furniture maker.
Livia: That would be great, because then I could build my own house. I could have more than one house. I could have a guest house. I could have a house for me. And I could have a house for my children!
Heard around the house:
Hey, hey, hey! Cups are not shoes!
If you want to live a memorable life you have to be the kind of person who remembers to remember.
— Joshua Foer
This quote showed up in my random quotes today, and it seemed so fitting that I had to mention it. I haven’t been writing much on my blog lately. In part it’s because my laptop died. It took weeks to get everything back up and running. In part it’s been because I was sick, and then I hurt my back, so I’ve spent a lot of time in bed.
Primarily, though, it’s because I just haven’t been writing. That’s bad, because my memory is absolutely terrible. It fails me so consistently that I no longer trust it. I do trust what I’ve written down, though, so I use my blog to back up my memory. It’s a great backup, but only if I take the time to write things down.
To some degree, our personalities are the product of our collected memories. If I have nothing to remember, then I will be no one. That’s a terrifying thought, an unacceptable thought. I want a memorable life, but if I’m going to be a person who “remembers to remember,” then I must remember to write!
There is more treasure in books than all the pirate’s loot on treasure island.–Walt Disney
I found that quote on a RIF post on Facebook. The irony is that now people watch Disney movies rather than read the books on which they were based. My husband and kids watched The Jungle Book recently. It was a good movie. The book was also very good, though, and the odds of most kids ever reading it are low. My kids might, because I own the book and treasure it, but maybe not. The screen is so much flashier and hard to ignore. It’s easier to watch a story than to read it, and everything’s on screen now, thanks in large part to Walt Disney. So I agree with the quote, and I want to like it, but I can hardly bear the irony.
Dear Chick,
I know that writing sometimes seems an impossible task. There are distractions that splinter your thoughts and steal your time. Sometimes clarity completely eludes you. When you’re inundated with the many ways to phrase a thought, it’s hard to choose just one. And then sometimes the words grate against each other. Why? Why can’t they just get along?
I don’t know. But if experience has taught me anything, it’s that there is a time for perfectionism, and there is a time for just getting things done, even if it’s poorly. So, when the words flow smoothly, go ahead and aim for perfection. But, when the words refuse to play nice, you gotta just spit them out and leave them where they fall.
I also suggest you stop worrying about how you’ll be judged for your words. You will be judged. But then, so is everyone else. That doesn’t seem to stop them from expressing themselves, though, does it? Incessant self-editing is not healthy.
One last thought: the blog isn’t free. If you’re not going to write, then the money is wasted. So the least you could do (and I do mean the least) is to write one measly post per week. If you can’t handle that pace, you don’t deserve to have your own domain name.
Sincerely,
Chick
Dear Livia,
In May you had your first father-daughter dance. I didn’t know too much about such things, having never been to one myself, but I did know that a girl who’s going to a dance needs a dress. So, I took you to the mall.
While we were shopping, you told anyone who would listen that you were going to a ball. You always called it a “ball,” because that’s so much more dramatic, but then you tried to clarify by saying, “It’s also called a father-daughter dance.” For some reason, that only confused people. They thought you were going to two dances!
One dance was enough, and one dress was all we needed, but we had to go to five stores to find it! Once found, it was The Dress, and you adored it. You accessorized with a butterfly necklace and butterfly headband that you already owned. On the night of the dance, your father gave you flowers to wear. You were the Belle of the Ball.
As the mom, I didn’t get to go, but what I heard is that you enjoyed eating sweet treats all evening and walking barefoot along a window ledge in the high-school cafeteria, where the dance was held. I saw some pictures of the dance later, and I was relieved to see that I had dressed you properly. I don’t do everything right as a mom, but in this I did well. Not only did I got you your gear, but I also got you bathed, did your hair and nails, and helped you get dressed. Real mom stuff.
You were so pretty dressed up as you were. But you should also know that you always shine. It’s most obvious when you’re all decked out, but the shine is always there, no matter what you wear.
Love,
Mom
We’ve had a lot of rain lately, and I’ve been hoping it will knock back the gypsy moth caterpillars. I’m not optimistic, though.
Places I’ve Found Caterpillars So Far:
From my journal 5/6/17:
I am outside with the kids. The sun is shining.
Rhyme by Livia:
I wish I was a bee to take a sip of a weed
And if I was a bee, I would bee so happee
And if I wasn’t a bee, then that was a bad thought.
Rhyme by Mom:
I am sitting in the May sun with my daughter and my son, and we’re having so much fun.
We all have notebooks now. Livia’s using a very small notebook. Marshall has a composition notebook that I gave him. I am helping the kids to write. We are getting a lot of sun. I had hoped to do some writing of my own, but the kids clearly have another plan in mind. Livia is writing poetry. Marshall is complaining that he has nothing to write. We were speaking in couplets. We are exercising our imaginations and we are good at it. I will be surprised if they don’t both turn out to be writers and/or artists.
Livia is now working on a rhyme about dogs and hogs. Her silliness is enchanting. Sure, I could be writing the great American novel, but this is better in its own way.
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