A Baby Song...A Love Song

Did you ever hear a song that you've heard a million times and suddenly realize that it's actually ABOUT something?

Back when I made that futile attempt to breastfeed (for which I thank god daily that it never worked out)I had a play list called Pumping Mix.

For obvious reasons.

In theory it was supposed to relax me whilst I allowed the Medela Symphony to do it's wild magic. Shortly after it was renamed the Feeding Mix. Now it's Ellie's Soothing Mix. Most of the songs I hand selected but a few I gathered off Doug's system, after sorting by Genre. Labeled as Folk, I liked the melody and added it. I inevitably skipped over it.

Until Wednesday. While Ellie was napping, I was typing, her mix playing in the background. And I heard the lines:

You'll fly away
but take my hand until that day
So when they ask how far love goes
When my job's done, you'll be the one who knows...

I had always assumed the song was about a break-up, or at a minimum a beginning. Trite folk angst. Like poor Jewel singing about her cup of coffee for one. Blah blah blah. Meloncholy whine.

It sounds, I thought, like it could be about a baby.

type type...www.google.com "Dar Williams The One Who Knows Lyrics Meaning"

aha!

So if you can find it, listen to it.

Time it was I had a dream
And you're the dream come true
And if I had the world to give
I'd give it all to you.
I'll take you to the mountains
I will take you to the sea
I'll show you how this life became
A miracle to me.

You'll fly away
but take my hand until that day
So when they ask how far love goes
When my job's done, you'll be the one who knows.

All the things you treasure most
Will be the hardest one
I will watch you struggle on
For the answers come
But I won't make it harder
I'll be there to cheer you up
I'll shine the light that guides you down
The road you're walking on

You'll fly away
but take my hand until that day
So when they ask how far love goes
When my job's done, you'll be the one who knows.

Before the mountains call to you
Before you leave this home
When I teach your heart to trust
As I will teach my own
But sometimes I will ask the moon
Where it shined upon you last
And shake my head and let me say
It all went by so fast

You'll fly away
but take my hand until that day
So when they ask how far love goes
When my job's done, you'll be the one who knows.

You're Always Meeting New People

People walk up to baby carriages and say "Now that's the life. Laying down, having someone push you around, wiping your butt for you...you eat, sleep, burp. That's as good as it gets."

Really? REALLY?

Because 30 years from now in your life that's going to be called Alzheimer's and I can't imagine you're looking forward to it.

Setting Limits

We live in a culture of "you have to do what's right for you" (YHTDWRFY) yet on the other it's "Live and Let Live" (L&LL). So what do we do when someone else's L&LL impedes your YHTDWRFY?

Since having Ellie I find myself frequently wondering "Where do someone's else rights stop, and mine begin?" Maybe it's because now I'm the mother deadlines, timeframes and boundaries have become that much more important to me. My time is, after all, no longer my own. It's stolen in chunks, interwoven with naps. I find myself fiercely protecting rights that I had long since abdicated. I find myself constantly questioning "Do I have the right to ask for this? Or to be upset by this? Or to require this?"

I find myself constantly having to assert myself - in areas where I'm confused that someone had the temerity to trespass. And when I do insist on pointing out boundaries defined by longstanding social mores, I'm shocked by the inevitable response of "Well, I was just doing what I thought was best" or "I was just doing what was "right" for me to do."

Really?

One of the downsides of living in a generation of babyboomer inspired therapy is that we now have a culture of "Just do it", "Never give up", and "You need to be true to yourself." From reality shows, to movie celebrities, to Oprah - we are a culture of post-therapy individuals that sincerely believe that as long as you are just protecting your interests, you have every right to demand, bully, cajole, enforce, sulk or steamroll over others to get your way - so long as it all flies under the banner of "I was just doing what's right for me."

Essentially, we have created a culture of narcissists wildly, adamantly, and frequently demanding their "right" to be...well...right.

Let's say you accept that. Let's say I accept that. What about the fineprint? The part of Just Do It that reads "And Accept The Consequences of Your Actions".

Why is that so consistently lost? It seems that everfyone takes the BEGINNING to heart but doesn't pay the piper. Everyone knows that in AA you have to admit you have a problem. But do they know that Steps 2-12 are about making amends?? You don't get to just say "Yep, well, I have a disease." You have to MOVE ON and do whats good for the whole.

We all love a snapshot, a headline, a catch phrase. We see and spout "Just do what's right for you" but we constantly fail to footnote that systems are interdependent. You can't just "Do your own thing" because you can't dismiss the fact that "your own thing" has implications for others.

So what do you do when faced with a group of people who take no responsibility for their actions? Who hide behind "I was doing what I thought was best." with no apologies, no sense of consequence and no sense that relationships are not autocracies.

I had a therapist once to whom I wailed that there must be something wrong with me. How could I be finding fault with 5 seperate people. It couldn't be them, it must be me.

To which she replied "Yes, it is you. The one thing each of these people have in common is that you allowed all of them into your life. So if you picked badly once, it's possible that you picked badly all five times."

...and I'll be to Scotland before ye....

My sister once said
"The only thing good about the high road is that the traffic is lighter."

So here is what I have to say about the last week and 3 days:

1. "Mom, Don't go into my pocketbook after I expressly asked you twice not to. The keys weren't in there and regardless of the fact that you were "trying to help" I specifically used the words "PLEASE DO NOT OPEN MY BAG". For all you know I could have had a 10-inch dildo, a hypodemic, or diamond earrings for your next birthday in there. It wasn't that you went INTO my pocketbook that was offensive, it was offensive that you did it AFTER I told you not to."

2. "Laurie, Ellie doesn't need 6 stuffed animals, 5 size 12 month summer outfits, 2 bibs, a lucite floating poem with an inspirational saying and a cheap splintery basket. We have discussed, at length, and over the years, the fact that you are a compulsive shopper. Do not use my daughter as an excuse to justify your inability to stop shopping. Additionally, the fact that you "hadn't bought her anything before now" does NOT absolve you of blatently disregarding my feelings on excess, clutter, unneccessary items, and keeping to a minimum 'the Ellie gifts'."

3. Doug, you are an excellent father and a wonderful man. Stop getting angry at me for offering to help. I'm not undermining you, questioning you or impuning your abilities. She's crying, you're struggling, I might be able to help. When I am holding her, and she cries, and you offer to help - I say yes.

4. Mom, I asked you if you were going to BJs and would you buy me a case of Size 2 Pampers Swaddlers while you were there. You said yes. I'm aware that a case is approximatelty 150 diapers. I'm aware that size 2's are good up to 18 pounds. I know what I asked for because she's my daughter and I change her approximately 9 times a day. I'm familiar with both her weight and size. I'm completely NOT grateful for the size 2-3s that you brought home because "You thought I'd never use all the size 2's. That there was "no way" I would so you got me what you thought was best." There is way. She weighs 15 pounds. She's not going to gain 3 pounds in 30 days. I asked for a favor because you begrudge not being needed. You choose to do what you want regardless. I now have a case of diapoers for October or November but had to stop at Target for the size 2's."

5. Lisa, If you say one more time, in any variation, that you'd enjoy "staying home all day" or that "It must be nice to be able to do what I want, when I want" I'm going to scream. You know absolutely nothing about my life, nmy days, my strugggles, my finances. What we gave up to get, what makes our lives work and where the fractures are. I had a baby, I stay home. It's not all "Pass me the remote while I finish these bon bons." Yes, I am staying home. To raise Ellie. And it's a full time fucking job. So enough about the cake walk that's my life. And don't placate me with "Oh I know how busy you must be, how crazy". Not to make a cheap shot here but actually, no you DON'T know how busy I am, or what my life is like. Not because you aren't smart enough or intuitive enough but because you are one of the worst listeners I have ever met.

I'm tired of taking the high road because someone else had "good intentions". I'm tired of looking at their motivations. I get it. I get it. They meant well, I need to turn the other cheek.

Why?

I just want to say "Don't value-add people. You only fuck it up."

Look into the Light

I had to tell Ellie today to stop staring at the dining room light.
"You'll burn out your cones and rods..."

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

A statute of limitations is a statute in a common law legal system that sets forth the maximum period of time, after certain events, that legal proceedings based on those events may be initiated.

There needs to be an Statute of Expiration. A set period of time after which you are no longer obligated, or required, to keep gifts. I find myself anxious over the sheer quantity of things we own. Daily I move Pile A to Location B. I lift, I sift, I sort. "Do we need this?" I find myself thinking. "Can I throw it away? Can I recycle it? Does anyone else want it?"

"Put it in the Basement" Doug says.
"No no no," I say. "The basement is an extension of our home! I refuse to let it be dead storage."

The issue is, I hate outright throwing things way. I'm not a collector, or a pack rat. In fact, I'm just the opposite. I can't have yardsales because the house is too empty as it is. I just hate waste. I hate excess. And I hate contributing to a landfill just because I'm bored with something. My policy is "If you can't eat it, wear it or use it within 7 days, you shouldn't own it." Snowblowers and their ilk being the exception.

"Throw it away then" he says.
"I can't! It's wasteful."
"You're just making more work for yourself."
"I know, I know" I mutter as I gather the plastic grocery bags to donate to the cobbler.

After the birth of Ellie we were inundated with presents. From hand painted bookends, to piggybanks, clothing, beach towels, hand knit afghans, onesies, bibs, socks, dolls, toys, leftover outgrown play equipment..you name it. Oh goodness, yes we were grateful. And yes, we saved, conservatively, over $2000 in items. So I thanked everyone (metaphorically that is, the notes are still forthcoming). But it was, and remains, a nightmare. I think there's a circle of hell called "Baby Returns" I was in a two month frenzy of returns. Every item had a potential value so nothing could be discarded.

"Donate it" he'd say.
"I can't! She spent (insert amount) on this. I should return it. Get a credit or something."

Off I drove - to JC Penneys, to Babies R Us, to Target, to Macys.

"It's costing you more in billable hours then she spent. Your taking two hours to return a $30 item." he mentioned one day.
"I know, I KNOW" I panted anxiously as I carried the pink and white bags to the trunk. "Receipt receipt" I mutter...

If they really loved me, I thought, they wouldn't inundate me with these things.
They haunt me.

"Save the credits for Christmas" my sister says.
I hyperventilate. Even the credits are talking up space. One more thing to track, to follow up on.

"People WANT to give you things" I hear over and over. "It's better to give then to receive.

"But I don't WANT things" I stamp out.
"They aren't for you, they're for Ellie."

ELLIE'S 4 MONTHS OLD. She plays with her opposable thumb for cryin' out loud. She doesn't "need" anything.

breathe breathe...

Jinxing the Band

So Ellie just started napping, which is seriously, one of the coolest things ever. I mean, I noticed that she slept from around 8:30am to 10am but I always assumed it was because I was wheeling her around the lake, and that the motion, and fresh air were to thank. But lo and behold (or hold me below as my old, exfriend Arianne used to say), this weekend, sans lake walk, she slept regardless. Hmm.

We woke up late, 7:30 vs 6am, after a day of swimming yesterday at my sister's complex's pool. Which is probably the cleanest public pool I have ever, ever, ever see. Nicer then a hotel's even. If we had a pool, I'd be in it ALL the time b/c Miss Ellie was tuckered out! Plus she moved her legs like a trouper in the water and LOVED it. So cute. And my feet didn't actually ache this morning...but I digress.

So picture it. It's Sunday. Doug is home. We get up, oh, say 7:30 am. Doug makes coffee, we give Ellie her medicine, there's a gentle breeze coming in the window. No one is mowing their lawn, doors aren't slamming. It's fabulous. The house is clean(ish), errands are run, nothing is looming. It's going to be an at home day. I get up and take a shower, then ask Doug to hand Ellie in. We shower for a bit, then sit for soaping. I hand her out, Daddy dries her off. (And dresses her in an abominable onesie but I say nothing because, hey, at least he tries)After a nice little feeding and a few books, Ellie falls gently asleep.

It's clear skies, and about 72 degrees. God's weather as they say. (This is a long set up for a very unrelated punchline by the way) Anyway, so I download some photo's, put away laundry, and then it suddenly occurs to me. "HEY, Ellie is asleep. As in napping." gasp! Then further..."I bet I could actually dry my hair today."

I peer out at Doug, who's been happily puttering away. "You need me?" I ask. Nope, he says. I dry my hair. Dry dry dry. Dry dry dry. Wow, I think, my hairs gotten really long. Dry dry dry. I notice gray. Dry dry dry. "I should get it colored." Dry dry dry. "Coloring is expensive," I think. "Who's going to watch Ellie if I go? When was the last time I went? It was after Ellie so it was within 3 months I know that. Maybe after August 15 I'll make an appt. Dry dry dry.

I notice, post dry, that there is a slight nimbus of frizz. Ah the humidity (you're supposed to read that as if it says "Ah the humanity".) Anyway, so then I remember that I saw, on the Style Network, this flat iron trick. "Hey," I think, "I have a flat iron" purchased at the end of the trend and never used I might add. Out it comes, I check Ellie. Still sleeping. Plug it in. Section hair. Straight straight straight. dum de dum. I'm wasting time, I think. I should be writing thank yous. But I continue. I mean, really, when am I going to get another chance? So I flat iron my hair. In my ratty tshirt and shorts. We are going nowhere, doing nothing - but dammit, I have time and I'm gonna do this.

Meanwhile, Doug putters on. Deleting files, then trying to retrieve video off the camcorder. He plays electronically. I finish.

"Do you want a muffin" I ask.
"Oh yeah, I forgot I had one" he says
(I mean this is REALLY a long set up)
So I go downstairs to the kitchen. I hear a song I love. I'm amazed that it's playing on the radio. I hum along. Then I hear a second song. That I love. Now I'm doubly amazed that it's playing on the radio. Irish folk music followed by Metallica? How can it be. then I spy my ipod nano. Plugged into an ihome base (radio thingie). First time. Who knew that that's how it worked?

I think that I just love this man with all his electronic Sunday fun.

So I start dancing a bit in place. Cleaning the kitchen, shimmy shimmy. I turn the music up louder. Singing a bit a'loud. Shimmy shimmy to 1991's "Hero of The Day"

Doug walks in. I stop dancing.

"Hey, did you straighten your hair" he asks.
I fidget self consciously. "Yes, but only a little. It was frizzy..." I stammer to a stop., embarrassed.
He comes up to hug me.
"I like it. You look cute" he reassures me. "You look like..." he pauses "It's someone from, like, before..."
I know he means when we were younger.
"Lisa Loeb? Katie Holmes?" I ask amusedly
"No no," he puzzles, then slowly, "From The Wedding Singer. That girl with the ..."
"Not the Van Halen TShirt?"
"Yes! That's it! You look like her"

I wince. NOT the look I was going for...

Jesus Take the Meal

Isn't there some thing in the Bible about people being hungry and jesus replenishing the bread and wine? Was there fish involved too? My question is "Did he really MAKE more fish appear or did the house just smell like it for 5 days"

For Christ's Sakes - it's past midnight on THURSDAY. I made haddock Monday. Where is that smell coming from????

Steve Irwin

I'm going on a picnic and I'm going to bring...an Apple.
I'm going on a picnic and I'm going to bring...an Apple, and a Banana.
I'm going on a picnic and I'm going to bring...an Apple, a Banana, and a Cantaloupe.

So Ellie, I'm going on a car trip and I'm going to bring, um, what? Every primary colored toy in the house?
Tell me she doesn't look like she's going on a Gymboree Safari...