10-The number of emails Geoff has to write for his search committees.
9-The number of hours we drove from Ottawa.
8-The number of servings of lasagne I served at dinner.
7-The number of weeks until finals.
6-The number of weeks since the Epilepsy diagnosis.
5-The number of bags I unpacked today.
4-The number of peacefully sleeping kids upstairs.
3-The number of shots Clara had today.
2-The number of grownups who have to tap away on their computers tonight.
1-The number of kids I will keep home tomorrow.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Provocative
O how I love thy law! it is my meditation all the day.-from the Psalms
I just got home from my theology class. Our professor's lecture culminated in some exegesis that he described as "wild, fun, and provocative."
Back in the halcyon days in my creative writing program, we were presented with Bukowski and Burrows and our own teacher's stuff as examples of work that could be described as "provocative." The poems were raucous and base and bestial. They put you in touch with our primitive urges, distinct moments of pleasure and euphoria. I definitely signed up for that sort of thing. That unflinching examination of our human needs. Need for company, need for being known, the need for contact. In my definitive ouvre of poems from that time, I wrote about "too many poems about rough sex and premature death." That's pretty much my definitive conclusion.
Now, in my studies at seminary, it is so different. Simply put, that writing program was, for me, a time of exploration in what it is to be human. And all of its ridiculous and beautiful implications. Seminary now is, for me, time to explore who God is. Maybe that sounds Shirley Maclaine-ish but if I am to be honest about who I am, I have to be honest and say that I am a person that needs God. And my journey toward God is huge.
So anyway, our professor was describing these certain psalms as theologically provocative because the writer refers to the Temple as God. This was controversial because the Israelite psalmist was hyperbolizing and describing the place of worship as "god." The theological implication is: Is the psalmist saying it's okay to worship a building? The professor was saying: No, remember the genre, it's a song of devotion to his God, he's lost in praise. What's essential is an understanding of the context, the genre.
Okay, maybe I'm rambling in a technical way. But the point is I love what I'm studying and this type of provocative is just my speed right now.
I just got home from my theology class. Our professor's lecture culminated in some exegesis that he described as "wild, fun, and provocative."
Back in the halcyon days in my creative writing program, we were presented with Bukowski and Burrows and our own teacher's stuff as examples of work that could be described as "provocative." The poems were raucous and base and bestial. They put you in touch with our primitive urges, distinct moments of pleasure and euphoria. I definitely signed up for that sort of thing. That unflinching examination of our human needs. Need for company, need for being known, the need for contact. In my definitive ouvre of poems from that time, I wrote about "too many poems about rough sex and premature death." That's pretty much my definitive conclusion.
Now, in my studies at seminary, it is so different. Simply put, that writing program was, for me, a time of exploration in what it is to be human. And all of its ridiculous and beautiful implications. Seminary now is, for me, time to explore who God is. Maybe that sounds Shirley Maclaine-ish but if I am to be honest about who I am, I have to be honest and say that I am a person that needs God. And my journey toward God is huge.
So anyway, our professor was describing these certain psalms as theologically provocative because the writer refers to the Temple as God. This was controversial because the Israelite psalmist was hyperbolizing and describing the place of worship as "god." The theological implication is: Is the psalmist saying it's okay to worship a building? The professor was saying: No, remember the genre, it's a song of devotion to his God, he's lost in praise. What's essential is an understanding of the context, the genre.
Okay, maybe I'm rambling in a technical way. But the point is I love what I'm studying and this type of provocative is just my speed right now.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Geeky Seminary-Humor
Geoff and I stay up in the laundry room (our office) and we work. It's nowhere as cool as the Waldman-Chabon's but here are some things Geoff has said that undo me with laughter:
When trying to set the paragraph margins for my paper, he advises, "Justification is an ongoing process."
When I whine about having another assignment to do AFTER I finish the one I am faltering through: "I'll stay up with you as late as you need . Your paper will be my paper. Your God will be my God."
And when I committed to participating in the campus-wide Day Of Prayer and Fasting, we had cranky little phone exchanges day. I pictured us feeding the kids then breaking fast together at sundown with wine and these gorgeous pork chops with pumpkin and apples. He had to do a "dinnerview" for a dean candidate. So we broke fast at 3 in the afternoon by disgracing ourselves with Mexican egg bake and leftover orzo.
I guess that's all I can think of now but I know there are more. Things get sillier the later it gets.
When trying to set the paragraph margins for my paper, he advises, "Justification is an ongoing process."
When I whine about having another assignment to do AFTER I finish the one I am faltering through: "I'll stay up with you as late as you need . Your paper will be my paper. Your God will be my God."
And when I committed to participating in the campus-wide Day Of Prayer and Fasting, we had cranky little phone exchanges day. I pictured us feeding the kids then breaking fast together at sundown with wine and these gorgeous pork chops with pumpkin and apples. He had to do a "dinnerview" for a dean candidate. So we broke fast at 3 in the afternoon by disgracing ourselves with Mexican egg bake and leftover orzo.
I guess that's all I can think of now but I know there are more. Things get sillier the later it gets.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
*all star*
Yes, I have to blog about these on the same night. I have to prioritize getting it all down over being perfectly equanimous between my boys.
Benicio was chosen to play in the all-city, Philadelphia Parks and Rec- All Star Game tonight! Glorious, glorious night! Benicio was the smallest one out there but the coach kept saying how fast he was. On the field, under the lights, he looked like my Dad might have looked at that age-- wide, squarish head, crew cut, eyes darting and bright and the quickest footwork you have ever seen.
When he was announced as an All-Star player, Benicio's first question was, "Does this mean I don't get to play with my team anymore?" And then tonight after the game, he tried to give the jersey back because he wasn't sure he should keep it. He is only halfway through his first season of organized sports and he is being recognized in this way. I weep at God's timing in this. I laugh at the way that this happens at the same time as Manny's diagnosis.
I go to these games, yell and clap my heart out, and watch our little boy play with abandon. It is an enormous joy for me. On one hand, Geoff and I look at our kids and say, "Oh, dear. What have we brought about?" And then sometimes, like tonight, on that field, under those lights, we look at our kids and say, "Can you believe this kid came from us?" The agility, movement to the ball, the quick back-peddling. The way he can break away from multiple defenders. His fool-proof Beckenbauer move.
I hope we can always remember tonight. How Benicio is still able to play without the albatross of pressure-- parental pressure, coach pressure, peer pressure. His favorite thing about playing in the Columbus Day Tournament was the patches that the teams exchange. He's lines them up and reads them over, the mascot, the team names.
Today, during the 45 minute practice I held for him and Manny on the YMCA filed. I said, "Honey, tonight you will play against the best kids in the city." He replied, "You mean I get to play with the best kids in the city that are in this league tonight?"
"Right. You are exactly right. That's what I meant."
Benicio was chosen to play in the all-city, Philadelphia Parks and Rec- All Star Game tonight! Glorious, glorious night! Benicio was the smallest one out there but the coach kept saying how fast he was. On the field, under the lights, he looked like my Dad might have looked at that age-- wide, squarish head, crew cut, eyes darting and bright and the quickest footwork you have ever seen.
When he was announced as an All-Star player, Benicio's first question was, "Does this mean I don't get to play with my team anymore?" And then tonight after the game, he tried to give the jersey back because he wasn't sure he should keep it. He is only halfway through his first season of organized sports and he is being recognized in this way. I weep at God's timing in this. I laugh at the way that this happens at the same time as Manny's diagnosis.
I go to these games, yell and clap my heart out, and watch our little boy play with abandon. It is an enormous joy for me. On one hand, Geoff and I look at our kids and say, "Oh, dear. What have we brought about?" And then sometimes, like tonight, on that field, under those lights, we look at our kids and say, "Can you believe this kid came from us?" The agility, movement to the ball, the quick back-peddling. The way he can break away from multiple defenders. His fool-proof Beckenbauer move.
I hope we can always remember tonight. How Benicio is still able to play without the albatross of pressure-- parental pressure, coach pressure, peer pressure. His favorite thing about playing in the Columbus Day Tournament was the patches that the teams exchange. He's lines them up and reads them over, the mascot, the team names.
Today, during the 45 minute practice I held for him and Manny on the YMCA filed. I said, "Honey, tonight you will play against the best kids in the city." He replied, "You mean I get to play with the best kids in the city that are in this league tonight?"
"Right. You are exactly right. That's what I meant."
Special Effects of Side Effects
We had a weekend in the trenches of Depakote side-effects. Side-effects should be called front-effects, back-effects, effects that have you holding onto your hat and your heart for dear life. We had public spitting, being told he hated us, public thrashing, kicking, hitting. Geoff and I had to wrestle Manny to the ground several times. Geoff wept because he loathes aggression. I wept because I can enjoy expressing aggression. But neither of us were prepared for these expressions toward our child.
I write here to document for later. But I also write here to document for now. To keep my head in the game, to not give up and to present myself for every new day resting on new strength, living out of a restored hope. I can help my kid through a bad cold, a night of fevers even but these light-switch temperament changes, the smirk of defiance followed by spitting, sends a deep existential chill to my very core.
This same kid, though, is capable of emerging bright and strong from the side effects, over a mercifully long weekend. Yesterday and today, we had grave apologies from Manny. We had him slamming the brakes on his anger and turn his heart around to calm himself down. We had him drink so much water you wouldn't believe it. Depakote has a period of like 17 hours where it stays in your system. The dose that was scheduled anticipated a quicker weight-gain. So we went from a glorious improvement of attentiveness and maturity to I guess too high a level for him to function normally. His affect equilibrium was off, his fuse was so short, and his first impulses were aggressive and verbally hyperbolic.
I can see the long journey ahead and I feel so tired. When I look at the small shaft of dappled sunlight in which I stand for one moment in the day when he is at play, happy and okay, I can rest there. This is enough for now. Enough for right now.
I write here to document for later. But I also write here to document for now. To keep my head in the game, to not give up and to present myself for every new day resting on new strength, living out of a restored hope. I can help my kid through a bad cold, a night of fevers even but these light-switch temperament changes, the smirk of defiance followed by spitting, sends a deep existential chill to my very core.
This same kid, though, is capable of emerging bright and strong from the side effects, over a mercifully long weekend. Yesterday and today, we had grave apologies from Manny. We had him slamming the brakes on his anger and turn his heart around to calm himself down. We had him drink so much water you wouldn't believe it. Depakote has a period of like 17 hours where it stays in your system. The dose that was scheduled anticipated a quicker weight-gain. So we went from a glorious improvement of attentiveness and maturity to I guess too high a level for him to function normally. His affect equilibrium was off, his fuse was so short, and his first impulses were aggressive and verbally hyperbolic.
I can see the long journey ahead and I feel so tired. When I look at the small shaft of dappled sunlight in which I stand for one moment in the day when he is at play, happy and okay, I can rest there. This is enough for now. Enough for right now.
Saturday, October 09, 2010
MRI No Go
I have been trying to be on a grace hunt rather than a sin hunt. That is, looking for God's hand in things, not necessarily a silver lining but the imprint of a Loving Designer on our situation. The Guiding Hand, the reason things should be this way, the structure of how things are working together. Trying to silence my searing judgement. To suspend a critical eye and to look on others with love.
That is, until Manny's MRI today. I want to know, why would you work at hospital for children if you have disdain for them? Why would you work in a radiology lab if you don't have a "testing" and good-natured spirit about the whole thing? Remind me not to sign up for a radiology appointment on a Friday afternoon of a Phillies game. I think everyone was trying to wind down to the long weekend. Especially the radiology tech who had the bedside manner of Lurch from the Addams Family.
Picture Manny harnessed down on this stupid little conveyer-belt gurney. Then they put him in the claustrophobic MRI tube. She leaves the room. I'm standing at his feet. This ridiculous humming and buzzing, then the banging! I'm trying to hug his feet and be really present for him. And through the glass, she's shaking her head at us with contempt. Then she lumbers out and comes into the room, pissed off and I am nervous that she's going to sit on me. She's like, "Emmanuel, you are moving your head all over the place!" I'm like, "We've never done this before. This is not an every day occurrence for us. This isn't easy for him. Part of the reason we're here is because he has seizures. " I say this with clenched teeth and I picture myself stuffing her into the MRI tube and using my descending elbows move from Body Combat. I know. Not so Quakerly. Sorry. Then I just look at Manny and talk to him because I know I'm getting nowhere with Lurch.
I'm trying to talk to him about how we really need this test done. How we don't want to have to come back and miss Gym Class again. Manny is sensitive to noise anyway. He says he wants to go see the kids. We leave that whole wing of the hospital, go out to the Atrium. Manny's in stocking feet. We are flushed. I want to buy him a smoothie.
After a rant about Lurch, Geoff switches places with me. In cases like this, his people-skills are awesome. I calmed myself by knitting and watching iCarly in the Atrium. Benicio was knitting bookmarks. Clara was writing thank you notes. Calliope was running back and forth from the wall to the couch.
Twenty minutes later, they come out. Geoff's shaking his head. He says will have to come back. Manny's like, "We're going to Slices for dinner." And that's just what we do.
That is, until Manny's MRI today. I want to know, why would you work at hospital for children if you have disdain for them? Why would you work in a radiology lab if you don't have a "testing" and good-natured spirit about the whole thing? Remind me not to sign up for a radiology appointment on a Friday afternoon of a Phillies game. I think everyone was trying to wind down to the long weekend. Especially the radiology tech who had the bedside manner of Lurch from the Addams Family.
Picture Manny harnessed down on this stupid little conveyer-belt gurney. Then they put him in the claustrophobic MRI tube. She leaves the room. I'm standing at his feet. This ridiculous humming and buzzing, then the banging! I'm trying to hug his feet and be really present for him. And through the glass, she's shaking her head at us with contempt. Then she lumbers out and comes into the room, pissed off and I am nervous that she's going to sit on me. She's like, "Emmanuel, you are moving your head all over the place!" I'm like, "We've never done this before. This is not an every day occurrence for us. This isn't easy for him. Part of the reason we're here is because he has seizures. " I say this with clenched teeth and I picture myself stuffing her into the MRI tube and using my descending elbows move from Body Combat. I know. Not so Quakerly. Sorry. Then I just look at Manny and talk to him because I know I'm getting nowhere with Lurch.
I'm trying to talk to him about how we really need this test done. How we don't want to have to come back and miss Gym Class again. Manny is sensitive to noise anyway. He says he wants to go see the kids. We leave that whole wing of the hospital, go out to the Atrium. Manny's in stocking feet. We are flushed. I want to buy him a smoothie.
After a rant about Lurch, Geoff switches places with me. In cases like this, his people-skills are awesome. I calmed myself by knitting and watching iCarly in the Atrium. Benicio was knitting bookmarks. Clara was writing thank you notes. Calliope was running back and forth from the wall to the couch.
Twenty minutes later, they come out. Geoff's shaking his head. He says will have to come back. Manny's like, "We're going to Slices for dinner." And that's just what we do.
Thursday, October 07, 2010
List for Mamas Before Taking Son to MRI
On the night before you take your son to his MRI, try and:
*-laugh with your friends
-read the side-effects of his meds with a glass of Merlot
-not read about the magnetic radiation your child will receive
-pack Benadryl for him
-trust the caregivers
-trust your child and his survival instincts
-not blame yourself (for having instrumentation used in his birth)
-not blame your spouse (for myriad family health history that may or may not even be relevant)
-lie with children and pray for them
*-pack knitting (Baby Dom's Blanket Buddy) and good reading material (Everyday Food, Michael Chabon, and Miniboden catalog)
-listen to The Nutcracker and look at Van Gogh's Starry Night. Both of those guys are said to have had Epilepsy.
-Drink white tea and watch your husband work on lesson plans.
-Breathe.
*Would not be possible if it weren't for the marvelous M.Davis who, in a good way, teaches me about friendship on a daily basis.
*-laugh with your friends
-read the side-effects of his meds with a glass of Merlot
-not read about the magnetic radiation your child will receive
-pack Benadryl for him
-trust the caregivers
-trust your child and his survival instincts
-not blame yourself (for having instrumentation used in his birth)
-not blame your spouse (for myriad family health history that may or may not even be relevant)
-lie with children and pray for them
*-pack knitting (Baby Dom's Blanket Buddy) and good reading material (Everyday Food, Michael Chabon, and Miniboden catalog)
-listen to The Nutcracker and look at Van Gogh's Starry Night. Both of those guys are said to have had Epilepsy.
-Drink white tea and watch your husband work on lesson plans.
-Breathe.
*Would not be possible if it weren't for the marvelous M.Davis who, in a good way, teaches me about friendship on a daily basis.
Monday, October 04, 2010
Cooperatives
The more I study, the more I realize the significance of the metaphors that guide you. The pervasive themes like: wanting to be the first Heather. Or wanting to lie below the radar, safely swimming in the still waters of conformity. Or wanting to be Jennifer Capriati, discovered for her talent at an early age. At different times, I lived by all these personae.
And then somewhere in college, I learned the theology of the servant. On the night before his execution, Christ took a humble place and washed the feet of his friends. He took this menial and gross task and made a sacrament out of it. Doing the banal, humble thing and infusing it with of all things, love, took on enormous redemptive meaning for me.
When we got married, we did this at our wedding. I chose these Kenneth Cole satin slip-ons in ivory for the express purpose of being able to slip them off for Geoff to wash my feet and for me to wash his. Yes, in the ceremony. I know, what a cheesy and cute thing to include in your wedding! And yet, it has marked us. Not only do people still remark about that eleven plus years later, but we live marked by that every day. We take it upon ourselves to allow the sacrificial work to speak into our days: making lunches, washing clothes, swiffering. Taking time and care to use these tasks as a media for love.
A week after moving and getting married, we both got jobs at the local food co-op. This funky little market was where we learned about organic and local and free-range and vegan. I was a produce manager and he was a bulk manager. We worked and ate with a born-again pagan, Dick Gregory's daughter, a Critical Mass devotee, and Cab Calloway's chauffeur. It was so odd and disparate. But we all loved food. And we were willing to sweat for it.
Fast forward to now, we have this little co-op nursery school community. Back in college, Geoff's favorite professor sent her son here. So when we moved here, we looked it up. All four of our kids call it "their school." It is also funky and little. And similarly, we are motley mix of family-styles and the children are as unique as you can imagine. I belly-ache about the weekend cleaning, and the rigorous work that co-oping involves but it is good. It is good to administer the sacrament of pre-kneading hand-washing. The benediction of the coat-zip. The blessed extraction of the wood chip from the Croc.
This has been a dominant theme in our marriage and life with kids. I like that we can be passing it to the kids. And it is good to be writing this five years after the very day that I went into labor with Clara, while of all things, I was co-oping.
And then somewhere in college, I learned the theology of the servant. On the night before his execution, Christ took a humble place and washed the feet of his friends. He took this menial and gross task and made a sacrament out of it. Doing the banal, humble thing and infusing it with of all things, love, took on enormous redemptive meaning for me.
When we got married, we did this at our wedding. I chose these Kenneth Cole satin slip-ons in ivory for the express purpose of being able to slip them off for Geoff to wash my feet and for me to wash his. Yes, in the ceremony. I know, what a cheesy and cute thing to include in your wedding! And yet, it has marked us. Not only do people still remark about that eleven plus years later, but we live marked by that every day. We take it upon ourselves to allow the sacrificial work to speak into our days: making lunches, washing clothes, swiffering. Taking time and care to use these tasks as a media for love.
A week after moving and getting married, we both got jobs at the local food co-op. This funky little market was where we learned about organic and local and free-range and vegan. I was a produce manager and he was a bulk manager. We worked and ate with a born-again pagan, Dick Gregory's daughter, a Critical Mass devotee, and Cab Calloway's chauffeur. It was so odd and disparate. But we all loved food. And we were willing to sweat for it.
Fast forward to now, we have this little co-op nursery school community. Back in college, Geoff's favorite professor sent her son here. So when we moved here, we looked it up. All four of our kids call it "their school." It is also funky and little. And similarly, we are motley mix of family-styles and the children are as unique as you can imagine. I belly-ache about the weekend cleaning, and the rigorous work that co-oping involves but it is good. It is good to administer the sacrament of pre-kneading hand-washing. The benediction of the coat-zip. The blessed extraction of the wood chip from the Croc.
This has been a dominant theme in our marriage and life with kids. I like that we can be passing it to the kids. And it is good to be writing this five years after the very day that I went into labor with Clara, while of all things, I was co-oping.
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