home inspiration

We recently moved to a duplex a few blocks away from the beach. We're renting a three-bedroom here, and can now walk to restaurants, the library, and our local thrift store whenever we want. The house has a lot of light and huge rooms, more kitchen storage, and is in the heart of a town that I love.

So how come I'm still trying how to figure out how to like it here?

Here's the first problem: I loved our old house. I wasn't ecstatic about its location (think Anywhere USA suburbia, and you'll have a good picture), but I loved the house. It was small in a snug way, we had painted its walls nice colors, refinished the kitchen and bathroom, and after eight years there, it was ours. I moved a lot as a child; I'd lived in this house longer than any other house in my life--by a good three years.

This house, with its fantastic location and gorgeous light, is a rental. It is decorated in boring whites and beiges, and no matter how I arrange furniture and pictures, it still doesn't look pretty to me. Or more to the point: it doesn't look homey yet.

But. This last weekend I pulled out my copy of Handmade Home, and started thinking strategically. For me, nothing makes home homier than stuff I make. I'm thinking a collection of art I make with Lucy, a few craft projects, framed in some thrift store frames. Maybe, if we decide to stay here long enough, we'll paint a few walls.

I think this house (or, at least, this town) is a good place for us. It is hard for me to let go of my old house--my old home. But maybe making some memories here by decorating it and making it home will help.

Anyone have any fabulous ideas for on-the-cheap rental decorations?

feeling: wistful

Julia woke up screaming last night--
an hour after bedtime--very unusual.
I picked her up, rocked, patted.
She relaxed, head on my neck
Crooking, trembling, snorting, breathing magic.

She is almost nine months old.

I am all done having babies
I am all done having babies
I am all done having babies
I am all done having babies
I am all done having babies
I am all done having babies

Join Melissa at Making Things Up for some good, old-fashioned six-word Fridays!

do something

I just finished Half the Sky, a book about the brutal treatment of women around the world, and the amazing stories of women who have fought back, established support for other women, and pursued education, justice, and freedom. What's stunning about the book is how big a difference women's welfare can make; the authors argue that the countries that have started to tap the potential of half their population (like China and Bangladesh) have risen out of terrible poverty to a more hopeful position in the world.

I always have a hard time reading books about brutality, and this one was no exception. Truly, the things done to women--sexual slavery, domestic violence, neglect during childbirth leading to death or disfigurement, and rape used as a weapon of war--are even too terrible for me to think about. And yet how do we do something about these horrors unless we all think about them a little more?

At the end of the book, a call to arms: do something about these atrocities. Do something about the millions of girls missing because of selective abortions or neglect during infancy.

And here I am, lost. Sure, I can give money. In fact, some organizations I know of (Women to Women, Partners in Health, World Vision) that I've supported in the past, were mentioned as bright lights for women. But--what else do I do? I wanted to start by posting, and seeing if anyone else has any bright ideas. How do you support women around the globe who are struggling with vicious persecution? How do we focus our unimaginable resources to help fight these unimaginable horrors?

family swim

Lucy had her first swim lesson today.
It went better than I thought.
She was quite excited about it, had a spiffy new swim suit on, and was excited and chattering until we got to the pool. Then she started looking up and away (anywhere by the pool) and edged over to the wall.
"I'm jus' going to stay over here," she said.
"Just sit next to the water," I said. I introduced her to the swim instructor, and backed away.

Let's just say neither me or either daughter of mine is much of a water baby. Julia has only recently stopped crying when I put her in a bath; I'm proud of Lucy if she gets her feet wet at the beach, and I can barely pass the swim test for the deep end at a pool.

So. She sat on the step with her feet in the water, with half of her body twisted away from the instructor for most of the class. She kept shaking her head no when the instructor approached. I was sitting in the bleachers, out of range, but I could imagine the conversation between my sweetly stubborn child. ("You want to--" "No." "How 'bout we--" "No."

The swim coach finally stood up and lifted her into the water, and Lucy trailed through the water with her like a limp piece of seaweed. She kicked her legs. She didn't look happy, but she wasn't crying either.

And that was that. She protested after the next time the instructor pulled her in, nearly getting out of the pool, so after that, the instructor let her sit quietly and worked with the other kids.

I felt ambivalent. I wanted her to have fun, to get over her fear, and I also was a little proud of her for being her stubborn self and not cooperating.

Then the lesson was over. I went over to her, expecting her to be upset; she had not looked happy for any of the lesson.

Her face was shining. "Momma! I kicked my legs and the teacher went underwater and swam! We did tricks!" She skipped out of the building and talked about coming early the next time.

Oh, dear child. I'm thankful you're so good-natured. And watching you be stubbornly cautious like your mother makes me laugh.

ambivalence

When Lucy was nearly two, I went for a walk with a mom I know from our church. She has two older kids, and parents thoughtfully and is stylish in a casual, hip way. We pushed Lucy around the block in her stroller, and she mentored me for a good half-hour.
Then we got back to my gate, and as I pushed it open, she said, "Be forewarned: it only gets harder."

At this point, much as I liked her, I wanted to shoot her. And pray that she was wrong. Since I barely squeaked through year one, and year two was proving to be a respite, I did not want to go back to feeling utterly incompetent all the time.

And here we are, approaching year four, and I have an inkling of what she means.

See, year one was all physical exhaustion and confusion. Not fun, but also simple, in its own way. Sleeping or not: this was a problem that was starkly black or white. It had no immediate solution, but I could decide on what solution (or no solution) I wanted to try, throw it at the wall, and see if it stuck.

The solution, however, was up to me. Which sucked in its own way, but was as I said, simple.

Two days ago, driving in the car, Lucy asked, "Momma, when do I start kindergerten?"

And the answer is, well, you won't. Because we will be homeschooling.

Except. When I planned on homeschooling, I decided I would listen to Lucy's voice, and give her a say in the decision. Maybe not immediately (I think kindergarten will be at home), but at some point. And her question threw me into a turmoil.

Because really, I want her to want to stay home with me. And knowing my child, she won't, at least at first. I'm fairly certain that once I give her the choice: home? or school? she will choose school. She may like it, or not, but the point is, she probably won't want what I want. And won't be on my roadmap, but her own.

And folks, we have not even reached puberty yet.

I see so many friends of mine struggling with this issue. The friend who wants to work more, but also wants to find a safe solution for her child with health issues. The friend who tried preschool for a year, and was planning on working, but then realized her child really wanted to be at home. The father who scratched his head at his teenager's not turning in homework she had completed--and getting poor grades as a result.

Parenting is this huge illusion of control, and a huge weight of responsibility, but ultimately, the goal is to take our hands off of the reins and let our babies figure things out by themselves. Perhaps not today, but at some point.

This irks me. But I have to ask: do I want a daughter? Or a puppet?

you don't say

Today in the car we saw some horses.
"Horses are my favorite animals," Lucy said. "Along with dinosaurs, tigers, lions." She said this casually, as if listing her favorite fruits, and not some fairly large meat-eaters. Incidentally, the only time we have seen horses from not inside the car, she refused to get anywhere near them).
"Really, Lucy?" Dyami said. "'Cause I think if you saw a dinosaur walking down the street, you'd be pretty scared."
"Oh, Daddy," said Lucy. You could almost hear the pity in her voice. "There aren't any dinosaurs anymore. They all died."

shedding

Lucy got new mittens last year.
Bright pink, fuzzy, just her size.
I don't begrudge her the mittens--
Except for the pink fuzz trail
found all over our carpeted staircase.
Vacuuming stairs? Not my pay grade.

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