Manny- I got Bey Blades that come in a set with a Stadium. I got a Videoscope Lab-- with slides of a piece of lettuce. I plan to find a butterfly wing and put it under it.
Benicio- I got these night-vision goggles. Also a remote control plane. Also a little box of candy. Then a tiny Sprite. Also I got a laser pointer. I know I will have fun with these things.
Clara-I got a sewing machine. I am going to sometimes sew with it. I got some soda like Benice. I got Cheetos and a skateboard and I will use it outside in summer. There's a T-shirt that matches it. Also, popcorn and a Mulan doll. Then I also got a set of Fancy Nancy books. I also got a towel to go on your head. Also a metal toy bird. I want to put it in my room on my toy shelf. I got a jar of candy. These little two roundheaded people. Ones a kitty and one's a baby. Also some yarn in purple. I plan to knit and crochet with it.
Calliope-I got a Princess Belle Barbie, a little Sprite. I got a purple towel to wrap around my head. Also two tea sets: one is fake and one is fake too. Also I got Cheetos but not a sewing machine or a skateboard. I just got all the things I got from Santa. I shared my things with Clara.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Trying to Remember This.
Jonathan Edwards: "He didn't tell them, 'Instead of pleasure, seek God,' but 'Seek your pleasure in God.'"
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Art Requires Protein
I have resisted here the narcissistic practice of thinking that my kids are mini-me's. That they are somehow extensions of me or that they exist for my pleasure. However, my Calliope had a moment today where she was doing something that I remember exactly and viscerally:
She was drawing, knees to floor, pen in hand. And right on her lap, she kept a piece of meat, which she munched periodically. During the curlicues of princess hair, she would break, take a bite, then continue.
She was drawing, knees to floor, pen in hand. And right on her lap, she kept a piece of meat, which she munched periodically. During the curlicues of princess hair, she would break, take a bite, then continue.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Swinging for the Fence or the One He Avoids Grading
Okay, so I finished my last exam. And I have to say, that I was at the top of my game. Pitched forward, poised and clicking away, undaunted at the questions. Or I thought I was at the top of my game. It was an essay test. Question 1 is from the readings-- how does the author frame the Old Testament as pre-figuring Christ? Got it. Then another one from readings. It was a stretch bc I had to harmonize two articles-- one which I read and one that my printer made wonky. Unfortunately the wonky one was by a Catholic theologian. I really wanted to answer it well as a nod back at my professor's nod at Catholics. So I took a crack at it. Then the third question was about the 23rd Psalm as a prophetic text to be read in the voice of Christ. I totally loved that interpretation so yeah, I sailed through that one.
Then, by the light of the fire that Geoff built, I was halfway through my alotted time and my energy started to flag. The question about Adam and Eve's knowledge of good and evil and when they had that knowledge, I started to get that sinking test-taking feeling. I shifted in my seat. But I threw some "typology" and some "dominon" into the mix and pretty soon I had a paragraph. Okay and then there was this diagram of Dominon and I was supposed to interpret how it was the Kingdom of God and how it described prophecy fulfillment. I pretty much eeked that one out. And then with like fifteen minutes left, I had to answer the application question, which I felt good about. A chance to sum it all up. I like a tidy conclusion so that went okay.
I logged out. Signed the honor pledge. Submitted it. Sweet victory. Five pages of blood, sweat and hermeneutical tears.
Then I breathlessly read over it and read very clearly at the top: PLEASE ONLY ANSWER THREE QUESTIONS. And my eyes re-focused and I could see the sections where he was giving us choices of which questions we wanted to answer. So basically, I answered two extra questions. He will either grade me with a flabberghasted enthusiasm for my brilliant as well as COPIOUS answers. Or he will see Mike Legaspi's little sister's crazy, Mary-worshipper zeal, and then proceed to shove my exam to the bottom of the pile. My scattershod attempt to throw my knowledge, Pollock-like, all over his carefully-structured exam may not be interpreted as an awesome thing.
The great thing is, the unbelievable thing is, it's okay. This semester, I have seen fresh-faced Southerners flummoxed by the tough-grading here. I have seen Fujimori's hipsters stymied by the elusive and seemingly non-existent "A." And frankly, I am no longer starry-eyed at my professors. With their ties and hiking shoes, they are human like the rest of us. They take forever to give our papers back. And because of their schedules can only give the most meager commentary back. It really forces one to sit back and say, oh yeah, I'm not here for the prestige. Or the A. I'm here to look harder and more intently into God. A score or a grade does not have a verdict on me.
Then, by the light of the fire that Geoff built, I was halfway through my alotted time and my energy started to flag. The question about Adam and Eve's knowledge of good and evil and when they had that knowledge, I started to get that sinking test-taking feeling. I shifted in my seat. But I threw some "typology" and some "dominon" into the mix and pretty soon I had a paragraph. Okay and then there was this diagram of Dominon and I was supposed to interpret how it was the Kingdom of God and how it described prophecy fulfillment. I pretty much eeked that one out. And then with like fifteen minutes left, I had to answer the application question, which I felt good about. A chance to sum it all up. I like a tidy conclusion so that went okay.
I logged out. Signed the honor pledge. Submitted it. Sweet victory. Five pages of blood, sweat and hermeneutical tears.
Then I breathlessly read over it and read very clearly at the top: PLEASE ONLY ANSWER THREE QUESTIONS. And my eyes re-focused and I could see the sections where he was giving us choices of which questions we wanted to answer. So basically, I answered two extra questions. He will either grade me with a flabberghasted enthusiasm for my brilliant as well as COPIOUS answers. Or he will see Mike Legaspi's little sister's crazy, Mary-worshipper zeal, and then proceed to shove my exam to the bottom of the pile. My scattershod attempt to throw my knowledge, Pollock-like, all over his carefully-structured exam may not be interpreted as an awesome thing.
The great thing is, the unbelievable thing is, it's okay. This semester, I have seen fresh-faced Southerners flummoxed by the tough-grading here. I have seen Fujimori's hipsters stymied by the elusive and seemingly non-existent "A." And frankly, I am no longer starry-eyed at my professors. With their ties and hiking shoes, they are human like the rest of us. They take forever to give our papers back. And because of their schedules can only give the most meager commentary back. It really forces one to sit back and say, oh yeah, I'm not here for the prestige. Or the A. I'm here to look harder and more intently into God. A score or a grade does not have a verdict on me.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Elving, Interrupted
Okay, so another thing to add to the list of why I feel like a dinosaur in grad school: Apparently, the exam will be administered online with the honor system. It was put online last night (When one would expect the live exam to take place). But instead, you get to choose when you take it. Login, get 2 hours to take it, logout. My study buddies are all full-timers so they are waiting to take it until Thursday.
When I found this out, I was really thrown into a tizzy. My thought process went like this: I should just take it when I thought I was initially going to. But then I wouldn't get to study with a group. But what about all the plans I made--bake Geoff's birthday cake, a carefully-scheduled PTO meeting, bedrooms to paint? In the end, I have made lurching attempts at studying. Reading and rereading the professor's take on Ruth as a proto-resurrection story. Going over the days of creation for the twentieth time.
I spent time with an old friend this morning. And it made me want to hunker down in my house. She had three hens, stoked her woodstove, and had paperwhites on the windowsill that held so much promise. I keep my index cards in my back pocket, and have to soldier on until tomorrow's study group. Maybe I'll lay out my painting overalls and the trowels.
By Friday, I will be a woman liberated. I will throw myself headlong into stoup-making, the swags, and all the merriment to be made.
When I found this out, I was really thrown into a tizzy. My thought process went like this: I should just take it when I thought I was initially going to. But then I wouldn't get to study with a group. But what about all the plans I made--bake Geoff's birthday cake, a carefully-scheduled PTO meeting, bedrooms to paint? In the end, I have made lurching attempts at studying. Reading and rereading the professor's take on Ruth as a proto-resurrection story. Going over the days of creation for the twentieth time.
I spent time with an old friend this morning. And it made me want to hunker down in my house. She had three hens, stoked her woodstove, and had paperwhites on the windowsill that held so much promise. I keep my index cards in my back pocket, and have to soldier on until tomorrow's study group. Maybe I'll lay out my painting overalls and the trowels.
By Friday, I will be a woman liberated. I will throw myself headlong into stoup-making, the swags, and all the merriment to be made.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
One Down, One More Tomorrow
Last Thursday, I had the unique experience of taking an exam and knowing most things. I was able to answer every question with something from my memory. I know that sounds sort of basic but my entire test-taking life, there would always be questions that stymied me. I remember taking French exams in high school. I would seethe with a mounting frustration-- She never went over this! What in the world is this jibberish? Or totally in my error, I would have grids with Latin conjugations that would just stare back at me with these blank fields. And I could see with every space, the visual reminder of time that I could have spent studying instead of any number of awesomely dumb adolescent practices.
So I sat there at my own computer with my Human Personality Exam. I went through all the questions with a rough answer. Then went back up and fleshed them out further. A little more explanation. Another reference to the case-studies. The questions were like, "In class, when I have said X, what have I meant?" Or "Sin is the cause of sin. Explain."
Unlike dishes, when I answered the question, it was done. There was a sublime sense of completion when I went over the exam for the last time. The exam punctuated the end of the class, the end of the study of that topic. Unlike laundry, which multiplies under beds and dust which mounts in the eaves. I like having a work of my own, something besides running the house. Even though, I am deeply tied into the house and all of its upkeep, it's refreshing not to have my identity in it.
So I sat there at my own computer with my Human Personality Exam. I went through all the questions with a rough answer. Then went back up and fleshed them out further. A little more explanation. Another reference to the case-studies. The questions were like, "In class, when I have said X, what have I meant?" Or "Sin is the cause of sin. Explain."
Unlike dishes, when I answered the question, it was done. There was a sublime sense of completion when I went over the exam for the last time. The exam punctuated the end of the class, the end of the study of that topic. Unlike laundry, which multiplies under beds and dust which mounts in the eaves. I like having a work of my own, something besides running the house. Even though, I am deeply tied into the house and all of its upkeep, it's refreshing not to have my identity in it.
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
My Body, My New Friend.
I took two Body Step classes in 24 hours. During today's class, I had this thought: I don't need the body I used to have. The body I have now is the one I need for now.
I took my first prenatal yoga class back in Jamaica Plain. It dovetailed well with the birth class we were taking at that time. "Relax, relax, relax like your life depends on it." This was my script at that time, a first-time mama, full of anxiety and a strict desire to do right in my new role. There, in the dim studio that smelled of patchouli and feet, we were trying to be vessels for our babies. I did some of my best meditation and prayer there, it was the first place I felt Manny move.
Post-natally and for years thereafter, that yogic relaxation was essential. Let labor happen, let your milk down, relax about the co-sleeping, ease up on the scheduling. Let your baby sleep. The most challenging thing in my first yoga class was to hold a pose for the length of a contraction. Then at my first yoga classes here in Philly, pregnant with Clara, I began to understand yoga as an exercise of strength. Strength for labor's marathon, for sure. But strength for conviction to do a homebirth, strength for a noetic resilience to put my face into the wind and accept what was ahead.
Physically speaking, though, during those years, I was soft. Not like sedentary soft but soft like an inviting bosom for nursing. Soft like a comforting place to rest after a toddler's fall. Now, though, a different strength is called for. The strength to hold down a drug-affected 9 year old whose feet are almost as big as mine. The strength to carry that 9 year old out of a bad MRI. The physical discipline to get up at 6 sharp, retrieve a forgotten violin, and still chase down the bus.
I used to feel the fatigue and hunger of a woman whose body was a vessel for a growing baby. Coming downstairs at 9pm hungry for dinner as if I had never eaten the full dinner I had, in fact, eaten at 6. Those languid breastfeeding sessions, when I would get up and eat bananas and a whole quart of yogurt. Now, however, my fatigue rushes on me when I sit down in front of a movie. And my hunger is much more distinguishing--I want a plate of warm, perfectly-seasoned food with seltzer and a lemon wedge. If it's not going to knock my socks off, I usually hold off on eating.
I think my salt and pepper hair are forming my new body-image. Where it used to be soft and Marmee-ish-- a soft but potent femininity. I really like the strength that I have, even though I'm not used to it. I guess more of a Binoche from Dan in Real Life, mysterious and complicated but can outrun her fitness instructor. Or Mrs.Felicity Fox--a landscape painter who can disarm a bad guy and throw him over her leg. And I don't mind that silver hair is associated with aging because yes, I am aging. I don't mind that I will never have a flat belly. Because yes, I have carried children. And if you remember when I was pregnant with Calliope, my belly was unbelievably fecund. I really don't miss that. I wanted to be a mom while I was still young. Young enough to chase the hell out of them. Young enough to take a kickboxing class with them, us doing jump-kicks side by side in the mirror.
I took my first prenatal yoga class back in Jamaica Plain. It dovetailed well with the birth class we were taking at that time. "Relax, relax, relax like your life depends on it." This was my script at that time, a first-time mama, full of anxiety and a strict desire to do right in my new role. There, in the dim studio that smelled of patchouli and feet, we were trying to be vessels for our babies. I did some of my best meditation and prayer there, it was the first place I felt Manny move.
Post-natally and for years thereafter, that yogic relaxation was essential. Let labor happen, let your milk down, relax about the co-sleeping, ease up on the scheduling. Let your baby sleep. The most challenging thing in my first yoga class was to hold a pose for the length of a contraction. Then at my first yoga classes here in Philly, pregnant with Clara, I began to understand yoga as an exercise of strength. Strength for labor's marathon, for sure. But strength for conviction to do a homebirth, strength for a noetic resilience to put my face into the wind and accept what was ahead.
Physically speaking, though, during those years, I was soft. Not like sedentary soft but soft like an inviting bosom for nursing. Soft like a comforting place to rest after a toddler's fall. Now, though, a different strength is called for. The strength to hold down a drug-affected 9 year old whose feet are almost as big as mine. The strength to carry that 9 year old out of a bad MRI. The physical discipline to get up at 6 sharp, retrieve a forgotten violin, and still chase down the bus.
I used to feel the fatigue and hunger of a woman whose body was a vessel for a growing baby. Coming downstairs at 9pm hungry for dinner as if I had never eaten the full dinner I had, in fact, eaten at 6. Those languid breastfeeding sessions, when I would get up and eat bananas and a whole quart of yogurt. Now, however, my fatigue rushes on me when I sit down in front of a movie. And my hunger is much more distinguishing--I want a plate of warm, perfectly-seasoned food with seltzer and a lemon wedge. If it's not going to knock my socks off, I usually hold off on eating.
I think my salt and pepper hair are forming my new body-image. Where it used to be soft and Marmee-ish-- a soft but potent femininity. I really like the strength that I have, even though I'm not used to it. I guess more of a Binoche from Dan in Real Life, mysterious and complicated but can outrun her fitness instructor. Or Mrs.Felicity Fox--a landscape painter who can disarm a bad guy and throw him over her leg. And I don't mind that silver hair is associated with aging because yes, I am aging. I don't mind that I will never have a flat belly. Because yes, I have carried children. And if you remember when I was pregnant with Calliope, my belly was unbelievably fecund. I really don't miss that. I wanted to be a mom while I was still young. Young enough to chase the hell out of them. Young enough to take a kickboxing class with them, us doing jump-kicks side by side in the mirror.
Thursday, December 02, 2010
Answers and Stuff
Even in his injured state, Geoff is partnering with me and helping me. At a very weak-sauce hour, I fell narcoleptically asleep as if head-struck. I was wearing not only my day-clothes but this included not only earrings but slippers and a scarf, too. I awoke at 4am flustered and confused fretting about a little talk I'm giving this morning. I found that Geoff printed out the 3 papers that are due today. They were neatly placed on my computer. He had even clipped them with the Italian paper-clips I love. My toothbrush lain on the sink's edge, pasted and poised-- lonely. Last night's coffee, half drunk sits mocking me in the mug.
I still have the big paper due tomorrow. But last night, Geoff wrought the Tooth Fairy's visit, lunches for the day, and all is right with our world. All the answers for today's questions have been answered. And that is all that I need right now.
I still have the big paper due tomorrow. But last night, Geoff wrought the Tooth Fairy's visit, lunches for the day, and all is right with our world. All the answers for today's questions have been answered. And that is all that I need right now.
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