The second installment of that other post and also, the end of pregnancy
What a title! My writing is getting excellenter by the minute.
So besides enjoying this wonderful apartment (I still love it! Today the kids were playing outside on the porch while I made lunch and then we all sat outside in the sun and ate - Ivan had also a major meltdown, but no, really, it was great! I love it that the kids can play outside by themselves, yet within my eye sight and ear shot.), I did the following since Christmas:
- searched for new apartment (called realtors, looked at apartments, got depressed)
- found apartment, convinced landlord to pick us over someone else, coughed up deposit and first month rent
- helped move everyone and everything from one place to another
- scheduled moving help that didn't end up coming, scheduled piano movers that did a great job
- wrote and rewrote what felt like 200 IKEA shopping lists
- hired cleaning lady to take care of old apartment (one of the best $120 I ever spent)
- drove to IKEA about 3 times, or was it 50?
- faced the death of second car (1998 Dodge Caravan with over 200 000 miles on it) the week before the move
- researched dead car removal options, donated car to Outreach and had it towed
- shopped for car loans
- looked, found and bought new car
- grew a fetus to the final stages, ruining abdominals and back in the process
- survived.
What can I say. I am so tired. I know I would've been tired throughout all those months either way. Two little kids and a pregnancy are more than enough to squeeze the last calorie of energy out of you. Add the above list and it's a miracle I'm still here, basically. The biggest problem is when you feel like you can't possibly go on one more minute, but miraculously your body doesn't follow suit... and so you just keep going. You can even though you know you can't, because there is no other option. On one hand I hate being in that position and it feels like when you have kids that becomes your reality to one extent or another, whether you want it or not. On the other hand, it is a new sense of strength and success. It might seem like a regular thing on the outside, or it might not even seem like anything, but it's enough for me to know how much it took to make it through some (or most) of the days. It might be a high price to pay for knowing yourself and your capabilities, but it's worth it. It's one of those things that are crucial in life, but can't be obtained on a demand-basis. I can't say I'm not scared about all the things coming up in my immediate future. Sleeplessness alone... yikes. At the same time, I find a certain satisfaction in this feeling of being in the middle of a really big hill, or a big hole... one way or another, it's a big climb and the end doesn't feel close, but on most days I feel I am doing a pretty good job staying in the fight.
A sense of purpose helps. It makes the unimportant, fussy things of life fall away more easily and you redefine your expecations in a way you didn't think was possible. And most of the time you don't feel depressed about it. Even on the days you think "Why am I even trying?" (And those are frequent. Very.), you can't afford not to and it makes a difference. You don't see it while you're digging yourself out of it, but a while later, you do.
The kids take it all, every day. At the same time, they show it all back to me. I can't take credit for their awesomeness, but I'm not ashamed to take credit for the fact that they are still here, alive and healthy and pretty decent to be around. I'm sure I'm not doing things right a lot of the time, but I'm fighting and I know it's something that will show in the end, whether they realize it or not.
That said, I really can't do this one more minute longer.
The last few weeks... installment #1.
Let me start with the moving. I've been wanting to write for a while, but all I could ever think of was how tired I was and how exhausted. Those were my two main topics. Who wants to read about that, really. So. The good part: We moved and I love the new place. It's been a month now and I'm still feeling very relieved and happy when I look around me. It's just like I was hoping it would be and I'm surprised how nice surroundings affect my mood so positively. I mean, it makes sense that a nice place makes you feel good, but then again I wouldn't have liked to admit earlier, to what extent it actually influences my daily outlook on things. For one, this place is much more cheerful... because of the interior colors, the high ceilings, the additional light (natural and artificial) and a smart distribution of space. There a lot of other details that help, like nice doors, window frames, fixtures and stuff. I'm not usually someone to think much about fixtures and countertops, but I do appreciate that someone else does, because now I get to benefit. I realize now that I had gotten used to a lot of things in the old place, that nevertheless kept bugging me in the background. Every time I'd look in that corner or the other I'd see something that needed improvement, yet I had no possibility to change it, so eventually I just kept looking away and that created a permanent state of discomfort. Still not a big deal in the scheme of things, not so relevant when it comes to the meaning of life and similar issues, but quite unhelpful when your life is already chaotic and frantic and lacking in the quiet-enjoyment-of-things-department. So yeah, the new place is nicer. It makes me feel more calm, more peaceful... which are quite high on my wishlist. I am very grateful for that.
And then... the new place also has more space, but very usefully arranged for our lifestyle. I have been able to solve so many little organizational problems, so much so, that I am a little frightened and embarassed that such practical and mundane things like hooks and recycling bags can make me so happy! It's been a month now and I still marvel at the fact that now I have space for a separate recycling trash bin in my pantry, which will be picked up by the regular trash removal company instead of me having to sort it all in the garage and then drive it (yet another errand!) to the local recycling company. Also, I have a pantry! I don't need to go to the garage to get a new box of cereal. I have my washer and dryer by my bedroom! Yet another garage trip saved. I am caught up with laundry for the first time in months! I have enough lighting to iron in the living room. I can see the tv from the kitchen! A window by the sink! A stove with a timer! Hooks and cubbies in the entryway, so the kids can reach it and hang their own stuff. Enough room for toys! The windows in the kids' rooms low enough so they can look outside... On and on goes the list.
Maybe it is really just the sum of all these small improvements that makes me feel better... or maybe it's the freedom to be able to find satisfying solutions to problems of space and organization. I don't know. My daily work includes overcoming a lot of very mundane obstacles. It's very hard, nearly impossible to be efficient with little kids. They are the epitomy of inefficiency and "not-goal-orientedness". Getting everyone dressed, cleaned, fed and out the door at a certain time every morning without screaming your face off is like trying to organize a union with only cats as its members ( You: "Cat, realize the potential of solidarity with your sister cats and commence marching in one single row!" Cat (throws herself on the floor whining): "But I don't waaaannaaaa! Can I have candy? How about GUM? GUM!!!"). Frustration is a very mild word to describe what happens to one's psyche. Minimizing the chances of bumping into things, spilling them, knocking stuff over, not finding your keys, picking the same things off the floor repeatedly, incessantly... moves up the priority list very quickly. You don't want to bump into that unstable paper bag full of recycling cans when you are already FRUSTRATED and MAD and trying with the last ounce of self control not to let it all out on your child... You see what I mean? This is where I want to hug my new apartment. It's not a big deal in the really grand scheme of things, but it means a lot in the endless string of tiny events that shape my life right now.
Eh, the bad part? We had to move. I was 7 months pregnant. I have two toddlers. I could go into more details but I just spent a ridiculous amount of internet space gushing about an apartment, so I will spare you. Just go back and read those three things a few more times: moving and 7 months pregnant and two toddlers. Aren't you feeling tired just reading it?
(I added a few more photos of the apartment here. I will be adding more as we continue setting up...)
Posted at 10:55 PM on March 14, 2008 | Comments (3)Snow Day!
An explanation for all those unfamiliar with the term or its meaning. In Connecticut a snow day is basically any day it snows. Impending snowfall of more than an inch (2.5 cm) is classified as "snow storm" and is announced on TV, radio and the mayor's emergency phone notification system! (This means you get an automated phone call with a recording of the mayor advising you of the upcoming "storm" and its official rating - "Level 1 snow emergency!" You are told to move your car off the street. This is not a joke.) Subsequently all schools for that day are closed as are all government offices. Even though there are several snow days every winter there is great fear and panic among the peoples (as is appropriate behavior during an emergency) of having to possibly leave the house and make your way through snow banks that can go as far up as your ankles. Traffic collapses. But the nice part for kids (and teachers) and me is that we can stay in pajamas, pretend it's Saturday, watch TV and generally just relax. Until it's time to go outside and enjoy the snow for what it's meant for...
In short: Time is passing.
I've said this before I believe: I don't consider myself a baby-person. Twelve months of nursing and carrying and rocking to sleep is just about enough for me. It's a lovely stage, despite the devastatingly little amount of sleep, but still... I never get wistful about it. Maybe that's still to come.
But anyway, I have two kids now that have definitely moved on from babyhood and for the first time I am finding out what it's like to have children, not just babies. Two things are happening: one, Veronika is no longer a toddler and two, my children play together. In some ways I am becoming a parent all over again, because dynamics are shifting so strongly. I didn't know family could be like this, not from this perspective and it makes me SO happy. I suppose things are moving into the set-up that I was envisioning before I had children, when I thought of lots of people around the table talking, and not me frantically feeding screaming mouths. I'm living with two little people now, who are gradually showing their own personalities and we are turning into a family as opposed to two adults with babies .
I have conversations with Veronika now, we talk about the books we read or what happened in preschool or what we'll do for Christmas and she shows preferences for what to do, what to wear and I can tell her emotional life is getting more complicated, too. Not such great news for me, as I realize I have to be more careful and the opportunities to mess up are endless, but I am still so in love with it all. I didn't know what it was like to have older children and I feel like the gift I got in August 2003 is still just being opened. These feelings are so precious to me, because motherhood seems so basic sometimes and seeing your children develop into people, partially with your help, is what closes the circle in a way. I've been feeling liberated from just feeding and cleaning these oblivious seeming little creatures and have found myself just enjoying their company. I truly see this as a gift, because the work is so hard sometimes, there is no time or energy to enjoy your kids... at the end of the day they sometimes really remind me too much of work to want to hang out with them.
Ivan is still quite little of course and there is a lot (LOT) of whining involved, but I see already that his toddlerhood is different than Veronika's, because he has a big sister and he is constantly challenged by her in one way or another. I love, love watching them interact. For them, their relationship is a given, taken for granted, like the air they breathe. They are not aware, but I am and I consider this my bonus, my... time. They are synchronized sometimes, feeding off of each other's moods and energy, they thrive on the togetherness... until things get too close, too much and they will extricate themselves recklessly, physically if necessary, but it is obvious that this doesn't change anything in the end. They are brother and sister and they love each other. Naturally.
People call these "precious moments", which they are, but they are more than that, they are the eternal kind in my opinion. There's two kinds of moments in life, the practical and insignificant ones and the eternal ones which show a permanent reality, moments like birth or moments of love. The circumstances and surroundings are just as fleeting and insignificant, but the content will stay. And so I've had lots of these lately - to the point where I realize things are going to be different. I will have a small baby again and in some ways start over, but I have my older children to remind me where it's all going and what things could (will) be like eventually. There is no better feeling to make you excited about having another one. They will fit right in, the love will literally multiply and there will be another present to open for years and years to come. With lots of gray hair on my part and slightly jittery fingers and big bags under my eyes. But what can I do... I'm just a fool.
Posted at 09:57 AM on November 28, 2007 | Comments (2)I don't like running
Yet it seems to be the cardio of choice at my biweekly gym visit. The bikes drive me crazy because I can never figure out the setting, it's either too hard or too easy and I end up wasting precious minutes (Yes, minutes! No need to spend any more time at the gym than absolutely necessary!) trying to figure out the machine instead of huffing and puffing. The elliptical... eh. I used to love it, but now those arm things are getting to me, I just end up jerking myself back and forth. The only other cardio I occasionally "enjoy" (It's exercise, duh.) is the enormous stairmachine. I climb and I climb and I sweat, oh, it's so hard, but in a steady way, you don't really notice you're out of breath until you've already climbed a mountain.
But anyway, the treadmill. I have made progress from walking with occasional running to running with occasional walking. It's a big deal for me. About twenty minutes almost of running only. Go me! I can do it! Cheer! Sorry, that was the budding American in me. (Shush, the Europeans are watching!) What has been a tremendous help in this achievement is my iPod. Running with music is so much easier. You can always trick yourself when you get tired: "Ok, a little more, just until the end of this song!" Stevie Wonder works well for this. A lot of his songs just never end. He just doesn't know how to stop and there's usually some kind of choir and they all just go on and on about the flying dolphins and the sealoving parrots. 6 incline and there I am shouting along in my head "A black man!" "A yellow man!" "A white man!". Weird, huh. Never said I wasn't.
It's hard to find good workout music... you don't want to get too caught up in subject matter. I can't be resolving any "issues" while I'm paying attention to my intervals (2.5 minutes easy-paced running, 0.5 minutes superfast superincline), it helps if it's a little... simple. Teenybopper music lends itself to that. Catchy beat, check. Upbeat attitude, check. Simple melody, check. Make that "Pon de replay" by Rihanna. It just makes me want to jump. Not like it's ever going to join my list of memorable music. It just makes me move. Mission accomplished.
My current favorite for running though is "Leave me alone (I'm lonely)" by Pink. Please disregard the infantile lyrics (and profanity), I beg you. Just put it on and try to resist the urge to run run run. I love when it comes on unexpectedly and I have to increase the speed because I never seem to be fast enough to keep up with the beat. Even though there's a wall in front of me or a glass window looking onto a dreary back yard, I am jumping in long imaginary leaps, high on plain old adrenaline. Ah, Pink. I can always count on your unbridled immaturity channelled into fast-paced POP-y beats.
Then when I'm done, feeling relaxed and proud of my accomplishment (and so relieved it's over and I can go home now), I load the John-Mayer-playlist and hum along nodding in agreement... my body, you are a wonderland, yes!
Posted at 08:45 PM on August 21, 2007 | Comments (10)