book chat - summer break edition

I'm taking a break for the summer. Well, sort of. First I need to read the new horse book by Jane Smiley. I'm actually looking forward to this one. I like Smiley a lot and this is her first middle grade fiction piece. And it's about horses!

And then I need to read the last two Percy Jackson books. I am so tired of this series. I just don't give a rat's ass anymore if Percy does or does not defeat Voldemort....sorry, Kronos. But, if you are an elementary school librarian you have to read all the Percy Jackson books to be respected. It's the only way to show kids you know your business. So, onward I read. (The only thing I'm getting from these books anymore is lots of neat name ideas. The next kid, cat, or warthog I'm in charge of naming is going to get something cool like Demeter. Demeter Bradfield. You heard it here first.)

So, after I read three more library books, I'm going to read something just for me. I haven't decided what it will be, but it will be grown up and wonderful.

And then it's back to the shelves so I can get started on the 2010-2011 Mark Twain Award Nominee Books!

working

This is my first summer "break" as a mom. (I do not count last summer. Last summer didn't happen. Ramona was teeny and she cried a lot. I never saw the sun. I was a basket case.)

One of the best things about being a teacher is having the time off. I gladly trade what I lose in money for the time away from work. As a working mom, it is really a wonderful prize to have two months at home with my baby girl. Also, I get a lot of nice little week long breaks throughout the school year.

I have done a lot of thinking about the meaning of work in the last year. Before Ramona, I was uninterested in housework. Every night I did work for graduate school and enjoyed my television. I created huge messes. But I was working hard.

In the last year I have thought about how much I would prize having some time to wash my kitchen floor or do a load of laundry. I swear to god, for the greater part of this school year I was either teaching, pumping milk, nursing a baby, or patting a baby to sleep. I was working hard.

Now, I'm home all day with Ramona. Working hard.

I am done trying to figure out what I think work is. I envy women who have older kids that have time to keep their houses lovely. But then, a few weeks ago my cousin stopped me from giving my nephew a bottle saying, "oh you get to feed babies all the time, let me!". I think of feeding a baby as work and she thinks of it as a treat! I used to hate the idea of cleaning my house, and now I beg Brian to take Ramona so I can be alone with my broom. Irony!

That's the thing: All thinking leads to irony, really. Labeling one thing as hard and not hard is silly. Deciding that one thing is work and the other is not work is pointless.

So, I'm at home with Ramona right now. I am working hard at every job that falls into my lap. This is fine. But in general, I'm doing a lot less thinking. A lot less judging. A lot more working.

sweet, sweet little ramona

Nicole and Brandon Parigo from Parigo Studios came over to do Ramona's one year photo shoot yesterday. Brandon shot a little video while he was at it and this is what he came up with:

Ramona from P A R I G O S T U D I O S on Vimeo.

See why I'm so exhausted all the time! See why we think she's the bee's knees!

Thanks to Brandon and Nicole, we are lucky to know you. Life is impermanent, nothing stays the same. Having these beautiful reminders of our girl is nothing short of an ordinary miracle.

is it possible?

How is it possible that I only posted three times in the month of May?

Well, I was busy. And I was crazy. Totally crazy. I tore around the month of May pulling my hair out.

But a lot of things happened to me and I learned things.

Things like this:

I stopped nursing Ramona. My plan was to nurse her for a year and then stop, but I wasn't going to be too hard on myself about when to actually kick the habit. I figured we would just get there. We got there one evening about a week ago. I was nursing her to sleep when I realized I was clenching my teeth. She wasn't exactly biting, but she was sort of grinding her teeth on me. I simply wasn't enjoying doing it. I hated the idea of being done, but I honestly wasn't enjoying the actual event anymore. I walked out of her room and announced that I was done. The next evening, I gave her a bottle. I wrapped my arms around her tight. I put my face on top of her head and breathed her in and exhaled over and over again. It felt amazing. (I still miss nursing her though, but it's ok.)

My mom and I went on a road trip to Northern Iowa to hear a public talk given by His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet. I took diligent notes. I planned on writing extensively about this teaching. But, then I got crazy and life took over. But it's better this way, because the thing about Buddhism is that there really isn't much to it. I could go on and on with every little quaint/profound thing he said, but I won't. I'll just spit it out:

Soften your heart. Be warm hearted. Teachers, your job is to teach the brain, but most importantly, teach the heart.

And, I met Karen Maezen Miller. I went to a morning workshop led by her and the incredibly sweet and kind, Jill Tupper. Maezen said a lot of things, but two really stuck with me. She said, "this life of ours is hard" and she also said "if I didn't have my practice on the cushion, I would not be able to practice at the sink". I realize now that having a daily practice isn't an item on my "to do list". It isn't something to think about. Buddhism isn't something to think about, or read about. Buddhism isn't something to talk about. Buddha sat, Maezen sits, I will sit. I will sit and sit and sit. I will sit because it is the only way to follow the path. When do we actually have the practice we say we have?

Now, we have it right now. It's all possible, now.

book chat - Crow Call

I've been reading Crow Call by Lois Lowrey to my students, because it's a great example of a personal narrative. The absolute best thing about being a librarian is reading great books aloud. I love when an author has given you something amazing to perform. Crow Call is like this. You do not just read this story, you perform the part. I feel like taking a bow at the end of this book. The vocabulary is advanced and intricately woven. This is not a read a loud for the young, this is for older students, 4th and 5th graders.

Crow Call is about a day Lois Lowery spent with her dad soon after he got home from the war. I would guess that she was about ten years old at the time. He is a stranger to her and she feels self conscious calling him daddy. He buys her an overgrown men's hunting shirt, because it is rainbow colored and she really wanted it. Then he takes her out for breakfast where they eat pie and joke around. The mood changes when they set out for the real reason for the trip. Hunting crows that have been eating their crops.

"I want to scamper ahead of him like a puppy, kicking the dead leaves and reaching the unknown places first, but there is an uneasy feeling along the edge of my back at the thought of walking in front of someone who is a hunter"

She is torn between the fear of hunting and the fear of disappointing her dad.

When the crows come out in response to the crow call, she becomes wrapped up in the delight of being a bird.

"Listen, Daddy! Do you hear them? They think I'm their friend! Maybe their baby, all grown up!"

Of course, her dad doesn't shoot the birds. How could he?

"I feel there is no need to say thank you - Daddy knows this already. The crows will always be there and they will always eat the crops; and some other morning, on some other hill, a hunter, maybe not my daddy, will take aim."

This story has inspired me to write my own personal narrative. Something from the long past. I don't know what it will be yet, but I'm going to keep Crow Call close for inspiration.

problem, not a problem

My work inspires me to write, it also takes up a lot of my writing time. This is a problem and a not-problem.
9:08 AM May 7th via Twitta

I said this. I'm lucky to do the kind of work I do. Work that pays well enough, and encourages me. It also takes up my time. And it distracts me from my family.
Speaking of distraction....this has been a crappy week. We are still kind of reeling from this, and then this happened:

Our dogie is home safe. We got so lucky.
3:24 PM May 10th via Twitta
Our dog is found!!!
9:01 AM May 10th via Twitta
I keep hoping I will find her hiding in my closet.
7:15 PM May 9th via Twitta
It just went from zero to blame in like 5 minutes.
6:41 PM May 9th via Twitta
I think we might have lost our dog. I feel so careless and horrible. I hope she comes home soon!
6:04 PM May 9th via Twitta

I let you read it backwards so you would know ahead of time to expect a happy ending. Yes, we lost our dog. It took us about seven hours to realize she was missing. This is like the opposite of paying attention.

This life has been such a huge distraction.

I was at school until 8:00 last night trying to get an important project done. I didn't get to see Ramona before she went to bed.

I haven't had time to write about the things I really want to write about. I haven't had time to take the breaths that I really want to take. I haven't had time. But at least I know I want to. Right?

The bad thing about all of it is that I know better. I know this is what I have to work with. I know there isn't some better, more manageable life around the corner. I know this is me. The mom that sometimes is working too late to see her child, the person who lets her dog go missing for seven hours before realizing she is gone, the woman who has been washing her clothes one outfit at a time all week. This is me,this is me right now.

happy birthday, beautiful

Ramona's birthday didn't go as planned. I was going to spend the evening before her birthday reminiscing about her birth and getting ready for her big one year old birthday party. I was going to write a post about the day she was born. I was going to write a post about her fun party.

What happened is that we got sick with a horrible stomach bug. All three of us, and then some. We had to cancel her party.

But I still did a lot of reminiscing. As I went to bed the night before her birthday, I thought, "this time last year I thought she would never come". I went into labor with Ramona with a bang at midnight. From nothing, to two contractions and then broken water. By 6:17 am we had our little girl. I will never forget the moment she was put in my arms. I felt choked. I couldn't squeeze out words. I held a sob in my body. At that moment, holding Ramona, I felt there was no difference between mother and daughter. I felt like I had been born enumerable times. And I felt shock at seeing Ramona again. I felt certain that I knew her, like I knew myself, like I knew nothing.

I've felt a lot of other things in the last year, things less pure than that. Things muddied by life and expectation. But that moment. That moment of holding out my arms, and getting back myself. That moment I will think of in my last breath.

I was disappointed that we had to cancel her party and were too worn out from our illness to make her first birthday very special. We took advantage of the fact that she's one and had no idea that a fuss should be made. That evening I decided to make her a special birthday dinner. Not some crappy baby food, but a real meal. Scrambled eggs, toast, and banana.

I'm going to just cut to the chase and tell you that we discovered that night that Ramona is allergic to egg. We had to rush her to the doctor. Ramona is fine, it was as small of a deal as a big deal can be. But the limitless possibility is what scared me, and still scares me. As we were rushing to help, I was trying to determine how bad this really was. Could she breathe? Was her silence a bad sign? Am I going to lose her in this seven minute car ride?

Friends, my child didn't come close to that. But my mind went there. My brain eeked out, screamed out the words, "Are we going to lose her?"

Today, my baby girl, Ramona Maple, is one year and 3 days old. She walks beautifully and doesn't say a single word. She speaks her own cute language of strung together syllables. She is willful, but sweet. She loves jokes and dancing. And I feel never-endingly fortunate to be her mama.
Happy Birthday, Beautiful.