The Book of Joys

Ages ago, Suzi Blu made a video where she sanded and gessoed a child's board book and made it into a book of her own. I thought this was a brilliant idea. So much scope for the imagination!

As most of my readership of approximately 4 knows, both of my sons were diagnosed last year with general anxiety disorder, along with Aspergers and ADHD. Life is tough for them sometimes, and fears and stresses loom large every day. I thought that maybe we could use Suzi's board book idea to make each of them a "Book of Joy", so that when things feel dark and overwhelming, they might be able to leaf through a tangible reminder of all the good and happiness in their lives.

Sample pages (the croc one is L's and the turtle one is E's):





The books have yet to be finished, but are a source of pride, and of course joy to each of them. When we initially started the books of joy, the boys posted about them on their blog (getting some kind feedback from Ms. Suzi Blu herself!)and I discussed them with my gerds (girl nerds!)online. E & L were absolutely thrilled to learn that they had inspired Mom's friend Keeley (a really real life artist!) to make her own book of joys. Keeley has recently finished her breathtakingly lovely book and made a youtube vid of it:



Words cannot describe the awe with which my two little guys watched the video, and their excitement at being mentioned. I think it may have even inspired them to finally get on with finishing their own books (they take after their mom, strong start...wobbly finish). This process of working on and especially sharing their books has certainly brought them a lot of joy, and me too. The deepest joy is at having a renewed and hopeful sense of the world...knowing that it contains creative, caring, open people like Keeley makes even the most anxious days a little more beautiful.

The Tide Goes Out

I have been on an almost manic upswing lately. Ideas for things I want to write or paint or cook or do coming at me so thickly I'm almost having to swat them out of my way as I walk, and untangle them from my hair at night. Life has been thick with inspiration, vibrating with it, and I've had the energy and joy to receive it. Writing, reading, painting, journaling and yes, actually finding some time to take care of my children and get some pesky practical stuff done in between times.

But are you noticing the past tense? starting. to. come. down.

I am an ebb and flow kind of gal, and I'm starting to ebb. Is it the time of month? (hmmmm...note to self, check calendar) Or am I just a little raw and ragged from starting too many new things at once? Or maybe just plain, old fashioned tired?

In the past couple of days I have talked anxious, angry children down off figurative ledges more times than I'd care to recall (look under "meltdowns" on any reputable autism site if you must have more info on that one), baked cake for another kid's birthday (not my own), arranged for one son to attend aforementioned kid's birthday sleepover...his first sleepover, which included disseminating novel sized amounts of information to the other parents on anaphylactic allergies and all the attendant worry, and consoled the uninvited son by creating a similar party for him at home. I've shopped, cleaned, drawn, painted, volunteered at school and started a new story. I've talked to disgruntled substitute teachers, chatty delivery people, weeping children (also not my own), annoyed art instructors, phone solicitors, nice people with thick accents, who I feel bad about not understanding and debated endlessly, ENDLESSLY with my kids (endlessly!). Yeah, I am tired. That particular brand of mom tired, where if one more person needs one more thing from you this night, you are going to throw back your head and howl.

So ebbing tonight...but that's OK. I need to come down a little, take it down a couple of gears from the manic, driven creativity, finish the projects that I've already started, turtle a little socially... (holy mixed metaphors, Batman! I'm the tide. I'm a race car. I'm a turtle. I'm a fig...I am tired, I'm allowed!)

Anyway, plans for the evening include:
-a very, very hot shower
-a huge mug of decaf Earl Grey tea
-watching a trashy masterpiece theatre adaptation of Wuthering Heights (*sigh* Oh, Heathcliff!)
-followed by a little "A Confederacy of Dunces"
-and sleep, sleep beautiful sleep

Figs

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree.
One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
~Sylvia Plath

Just finished reading The Bell Jar, which is, of course, a brilliant book. I love the fig tree analogy above. I have sat in the "crotch" of my own tree. (man, I just can't get over hating that word...crotch. Ugh. Still conjures up memories of my mother following me into Sears' change rooms, tugging at the seat of the pants I was trying on, as she discussed whether or not I had enough "room in the crotch", in what seemed to me at the time, a booming voice that carried throughout the entire store.) Anyway, I have sat in my tree, and still do from time to time, regretfully watching a fig fall that I am unable to pluck or watching curiously, expectantly as another one slowly ripens.

Luckily I don't believe that "choosing one means losing all the rest". I think you can have a couple, maybe even a handful of dreams come to fruition in your lifetime. Although I don't believe in the possibility of "having it all". I think that's a lie they feed us women in order to keep us struggling to be good little cogs in the economy, as well as in the grand evolutionary machine all at the same time. And we buy into it so wholeheartedly. We're such a bunch of suckers! Of course, you can be the perfect mother, have a fabulous career, travel the world, get your doctorate, paint like Georgia O'Keefe, cook like Julia Child, own an immaculate home, and be as fit as an Olympian, all while dressed in the latest designer clothes and stopping everyday at noon to have wildly passionate sex with your Adonis of a husband (because obviously you also have a perfect marriage too). Of course! ...so why do many of us feel so guilty, stressed out, overwhelmed and inadequate most of the time? Must be something wrong with us women...couldn't be the impossibility of the standards to which we're holding ourselves.

My fig has been the husband, children and happy home. It was not the fig I thought I would choose. Quite frankly, I thought it was beneath an intelligent, creative, spirited young woman to be a stay at home mom. Deep in my inner heart, there was a tiny dream, wherein I saw myself laying my cheek against a small, downy head, or thrilling to a first word, or sitting content as an old woman in a room full of people that had come from my own body, like a strong rooted tree, out of which sprang life and warmth and goodness. But I was embarrassed and terrified of those dreams. Shouldn't I want more? And the question that was too painful to even ask, what if it didn't happen?

So I sat in the crook of my fig tree, like Esther Greenwood, and was too afraid to reach out and choose. Then love came. Love that was too big to even try to deny and eventually children. From the moment I first found out I was pregnant, I was suddenly filled with more surety and purpose than I'd ever known. Yup, this was the fig for me. Yet at every step I have been plagued with the guilt of an underachiever. I can't just be a SAHM?! I've spent my days and months happy, challenged and full to the brim, yet always apologetic. I made plans to go back to school or work when the boys were a certain age, just so I could explain to people that I was really more than this when they asked what I did. Then both of my sons were diagnosed with multiple anaphylactic allergies, and more recently Aspergers. I am needed at home indefinitely. There is no set date in sight when I can suddenly start proving to the world that I am more than just a SAHM. This is my fig. I am fiercely proud of the mom that I have become. I need to stop being suckered by the superwoman fallacy, and live the life I have, fully, joyfully and with no apologies.

There are still a few other figs on my tree...ripening for later. My boys will grow up and away, and my hands will be free to reach out and pluck another. The great thing is that now I wouldn't sit in that tree crotch (CROTCH, CROTCH, CROTCH!) paralyzed with indecision, I would grab and eat with gusto, letting the juice run down my chin.

Geeking Out about Coraline

Being a big fan of Henry Selick's work on Nightmare Before Christmas and James and the Giant Peach, I have been really interested in the upcoming production of Coraline.



Cool, huh? And every item in the movie has been handcrafted, which is just astounding and beautiful in this age of mass produced and computer generated stuff.

I recently completed reading the actual Coraline novel by Neil Gaiman. I had started reading the graphic novel, with illustrations by P. Craig Russell ages ago, but it just didn't grab me and I left it unfinished. Then, thanks to a suggestion from Mr. Craigland, tried Coraline in novel form, with illustrations by Dave McKean (whom I adore!), and could finally appreciate it for the lovely, unpretentious, deliciously dark, little fairy tale that it is. I really enjoyed it, and am now even more excited for the movie.



This morning my hubby emailed me this link. The creators of Coraline sent out 50 handmade boxes to bloggers (viral marketing genius FTW!). Each box is unique and includes items from the movie, and they are gorgeous and creepy, and oh, how I love them.

Movie is out in February, yay!

What do you want this year?

PS This sweet|salty blog post inspired the Varga girl resolution. (although I would have chosen a different inner Varga girl if my sons didn't like to check out my art journal...I didn't want to have to answer too many awkward questions...)

The Good Life

I am reading The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck. I had read it in my early teens, but didn't really fully appreciate it. Now having given birth myself, my awe of O-lan's quiet, monumental strength and dutiful industriousness is more profound, and being a parent, the poignancy of Wang Lung feeding the baby girl from his own starving mouth cuts deeper. And the thoughts that grow around the old man scolding because of the lavishness of tea leaves in the hot water are more persistent.

We all know how insanely spoiled most of us are here in the snug abundance of Canada, and we have so much, that we are able to appreciate less and less all the time. In my Grandfather's youth a cup of cold water on a hot day would have been a luxury, meanwhile I've been known to complain when the Prosecco isn't chilled to just the right temperature. I don't want to grow too jaded to really feel the joy in all of the small luxuries and conveniences that we take for granted, and I don't want my children to be so far removed from simple pleasures that their lives are spent in restless dissatisfaction as they wait for something really big, really expensive or really special to enjoy.

Today I am tackling the mountain of uninspiring household tasks, left undone after the luxury of a leisure filled X-mas holiday. I don't want to...but I think of O-lan stopping to make food for the men in the middle of labour and returning to work a few hours after the child is born, and I am shamed into activity. And I think of the old grandfather and the tea leaves, and I stop for a moment to appreciate the warmth of the sunny spot that I've chosen to fold my laundry in (although it's -37C with the wind chill outside), and to write this.

PS Don't you just love the cover art on this edition? Something about the colours that is really grabbing me (although they don't show up as nicely on the computer as IRL). May have to do some Good Earth inspired art journaling...

Moving Forward...Slowly

2009 -a new year, a time for plans, beginnings and resolutions, but I find myself dragging my feet. I am still on "comfort and joy", not quite ready to move on to "ring in the new". I just want another day...or two, curled up with a book and a cup of tea, Christmas tree and fireplace glowing in the background.

Time passes so quickly! The boys grow, seasons change, each new grade, age and stage passing in a blur of activity. Part of me would freeze frame life right now if I could, just for awhile. I would choose some average weekend day, where S and I sleep in, snuggle, joke. He brings me tea in bed. We read the newspaper, watch TV, talk and linger together, warm and peaceful. Then the boys come bounding upstairs, full of smiles and ginger, burrowing under the covers, knocking newspapers everywhere, tickling, laughing, arguing, hungry. Usually S takes them downstairs to start breakfast, while I stay for just a few more minutes in bed, alone and perfectly comfortable. Then our day...it doesn't really matter what we do, errands, shopping, games, playing, maybe a movie or some other outing, whatever. We're together and content. Even at the inevitable moment when a twin disagreement turns big and loud, and I'm massaging my forehead, frustrated and at a loss, I'm still content...deep down, rooted, strong happiness. The kind that doesn't depend on moods or events or things going "smoothly". I'm just happy because I am here, and here is where I'm meant to be. So I would freeze this regular day, and live it for awhile Groundhog Day style. I would pause it for an hour here or a day there just to listen to the sweetness of L's voice as he plays or E's laugh or to memorize the particular hazel-brown of S's eyes when he looks into mine.

Sentimental, yes. Sickeningly so...but I do get sentimental and reluctant at the change of year or age or the fading of a season. It's not that I don't have optimism for the time to come or faith in the longevity of this tree-rooted gladness which has grown inside of me these many years...I just can't help but mourn the passing of this year of pleasure, hurdles, work, learning, 8 year old kids, 33 year old self, husband (whose age shall remain respectfully unnamed)...just a little. I need awhile to say goodbye to it properly, like an old friend that I'm going to miss.

This friend 2008, held my hand while I was in pain, and never tired of my complaints, as I slowly discovered that pain was better accepted, than feared or fought (and how we celebrated together when I was finally well again!). This friend has laughed with me uproariously, until we couldn't breathe, until we thought we might pee, until we just couldn't laugh anymore...at my husband's jokes, at the amazing antics of my sons and at my own ridiculousness. This friend held a mirror up, although I complained of cruelness, so I could see a few things about myself that it turns out I really needed to see -man, was I pissed! But it did me good. This friend watched me as I opened up my heart to new friends for the first time in a long while, and cheered me on as I rediscovered my own creativity, telling me I was brave and wonderful and flattering me shamelessly whenever I created anything from a cupcake to a novel. We revelled together in the quiet, pleasant times and walked steadily through the bad. We read good books, drank good wine and cooked good food. We giggled appreciatively over how hot my husband is -and how dorky! We marvelled at how tall and clever and strong my sons have grown.

But most of all, this year 2008 and I loved...epic,sweeping, deep, sweet, achingly, frighteningly immensely huge love. Particularly of course, my husband and sons...how can I even describe the bittersweet triumph of watching your children grow up and away from yourself? It is inevitable, it is good, but fast. Too damn fast! My babies into children, my children into young men in the blink of an eye...and really never mine at all. They are so astounding in their unique whole person-ness, so perfect even in their flaws and challenges. This year we saw the seeds of character, growing fast, like those accelerated plant life films for science class. The life cycle of a bean in 10 seconds...the character of a man unfolding in 5! We saw courage, compassion, logic and ambition unfurl in each of them, but still with the sweetness and eager innocence of little boys. What a brilliant age! What a challenging age!

So I have loved, and have been loved. I have felt such love surrounding me from my 3 guys and my family (especially you, Miss Elizabeth!) and my friends. I find myself gathering friends, old friends that I was careless of and new friends that I am actually allowing myself to love, like pearls on a necklace, like rosary beads to run through my fingers as I say my thanks. And I do say my thanks...often, reverently, joyously, loud!

So I linger on the doorstep of this house of 2008's. I leave slowly, with a tug of nostalgia in my heart. 2009 will soon be my friend too, heck it might even be an easier relationship, but 2008 and I really did some growing together, and we were tight. It is with great fondness that I say good bye.