Weird

My stepdaughter thinks we are weird. We = her dad and me. Mostly him, because he was at the school, doing a science demo in her brother’s class, and he stopped by her lunch period to sit with her. With his guitar.

His presence there was clearly the Worst Thing Ever. She literally kicked him out. Poor dad was puzzled because at home she is affectionate and very trusting of him. They often have long, serious conversations while I make fart sounds for the little boys.

I get it. She’s in 4th grade and the popular girls are in her class. And they saw her and her dad (with said guitar) in the lunch room. Totally weird.

My mind went to 7th grade when I had 3 friends, a girl who went to a different school, and two boys. I don’t know what it was about me, but the girls were mean. I suppose I was an easy target. I was a late bloomer, a bit naive, a dedicated student.

One morning, I wore a new hooded sweatshirt (a Chanukah present from a cool store in the mall) to school. It had multicolored stripes. I felt very grown up for my 12 years. As I was waiting outside for the bell to ring, The Most Popular Girl walked up to me. I though she was going to tell me how cool my shirt was. Score.

Nope. She told me never to wear it again. She already had it, and I knew that when I bought it, and how dare I wear it to school. What if we had dressed alike. How embarrassing. And she stomped off, laughing with her friends.

That is my memory of it. I don’t really remember much about 6th and 7th grade. My mom says I cried most days after school from one horrible incident with the Popular Girls or another.

It is kind of pathetic, but I still worry about my friends. It is difficult for me to see my friendships clearly. There were times in middle school where I was close enough to popular to be invited to birthday parties and to the mall. But something would happen, I have no idea what, and I wasn’t good enough any more.

I’m an adult now with a husband, children, a house. I don’t worry about wearing the same clothes as anyone, but I still don’t feel confident in my friendships. Thanks, a lot, Bitches.

I can see, looking back, that the way I dealt with them is the same way I deal with impossible people now. I wonder if that is just Me or if I can really change my reactions, change my flight into a fight.

I wonder how my life would be different if I hadn’t experienced that bullying in middle school. Would I have pushed myself in a different direction without fear of rejection? Would I still be trying to shape myself into someone else to fit in?

I wonder how to help my step daughter. She is quiet, studious, pretty. Will she have the courage to stand up for her love of math and science? Will she be able to find a group of friends that she likes and that like her?

Being a girl is hard.

Wrighting

I am many things these days: Mom, Wife, Step Mom, Chief Cook and Bottle Washer, Actor, Theatre Teacher, etc.

I am also a playwright. I wear this title hesitantly. Calling oneself a writer of any kind is a big deal, and I’m still developing my skillz.

It is not “playwrite” nor “playright” but “playWRIGHT.” One who puts things together, who makes things. Like a shipwright or a cartwright.

I put stories together. I’m working on a play now, no title yet. It has taken me over a year to get to it, trying on science plays (I am not the person to write a science play for kids, it turns out), community based theatre (I still want to work on this project, looking at stories from the local Latino Community and Pennsylvania Dutch community, but what I began writing was not for kids), and finally, my old stand by: story-based theatre.

I read a fantastic book of Latino Fairytales (because I want to write something of interest to people in my community, in Reading, Berks County, Pennsylvania, Mid Atlantic). There is a fast-growing Latino population here, and the best way that I know to build bridges of acceptance among people is through art. My art is theatre. 

I read a story about a girl, a witch, who could fly. And I used that story for inspiration to write this play. My friend Kirsten said, “You are developing quite a style, an impresario-storytelling-fantasy-shifting-time-space-continuum-soft-and-warm-friendship style.” I can own that. 

I wrighted this play. I can’t own all of it; it is a collaboration between me, my community, and the original creator of that story. But I am feeling more confident calling myself a playwright. 

 

Something good

Abraham sits on the floor with a wooden spoon, 2 small mixing bowls, and an empty gallon jug of milk. He stirs the spoon around the bowl, picks up the milk jug and pours it into the bowl, puts it down, reclaims his spoon and finishes mixing. He is completely focused and completely open to play. (Now he puts the milk jug in the drawer of baking things).

This creative-drama teaching-mama couldn’t be prouder.

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Bubby, my maternal grandmother, swears she was the first one to play pretend with me, sitting on her porch, “eating” ice cream. Did that event lead to who I have become? Will Abraham carry the memory (probably not consciously) of this free play and continue to play as a child, teenager, and adult? I don’t even mean in the theatre, I mean in his whole life.

(now he is trying to balance the milk jug upside down in the other bowl)

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I see him working so hard, playing so hard. I observe him, narrate what he does, add in objects to compliment his play. But then it is time for a diaper change and he screams, throws his head back, and tries to escape my evil clutches.

And I think to myself, I must do this too. In what parts of my own life do I rear my head back and try to escape?

And I think he and I have the same reasons: lack of control. When we play, we are free. But then we have to change the diaper and leave the comfort of freedom behind.

It is so hard to be a baby. So easy too. I’m so grateful for the time to see him struggle and see him be free.

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12

Abraham is 12 months old. Until tomorrow.

Here are 12 things I don’t want to forget about him (inspired by Sandra Boynton’s Little Pookie)

1. He wakes with a smile. Immediately, he wants to look out the window, play with the alarm clock and cordless phone, and, if I’m lucky, snuggle.
2. He likes to feed himself. With a spoon.
3. He likes to screw lids onto jars. Or anything.
4. He loves to dance to music. He plays with his magic cube, plays the tabla, plays xylophones, claps when I sing.
5. He has discovered gravity: he throws things down the stairs, he pours water in the bath, he drops food for the dog.
6. He gets very excited about food. He yelps, flaps his arms, and giggles, reaching for whatever I’m preparing for him. And he eats everything. He cries for raisins, claps for hummus, and loves liver.
7. He has begun throwing tantrums. If he doesn’t get his way, for example, if we have do something terrible like puts coats on before we go outside (because it is winter), he arches back and screams.
8. He loves playing peek-a-boo chase. I go in another room and hide behind a chair or wall. I surprise him and he chases after me. I hide again, surprise, chase. Etc.
9. He knows what he wants and remembers things. We went to the park in early January on a warm day and I let him play on the toddler playground. A week later, we were at the park, swinging, and he turned, reached for the toddler playground, and whine-giggled (which is his way of saying he wants to play over there). And he played in the same way that he did the first time.
10. He still loves nursing. I was so nervous that he wouldn’t. That because I wasn’t making enough for him, he would tire of my low supply and go 100% bottle. But he didn’t.
11. He doesn’t walk yet, but he manages to get around without crawling. He sort of kneel-walks/hops. It is hilarious, especially when he dance-kneel-walks. 
12. He has become brave and very friendly. In a new place, he takes off to explore, looking over his shoulder to make sure I’m watching. And he approaches people, smiles, and waves goodbye. You can’t help but smile to look at him (and I’m not just saying that because I’m his mom). Love my Little Buddy.

Paula Deen Cookbook

This is the best thing I’ve ever seen all day.

Extrovert

I had a realization tonight. I think I am an extrovert.

Not the life-of-the-party kind, but the needs-to-be-with-people kind. 

I’m terrified of people but I also really like them. Big groups, no thanks. But small groups, ok. And one-on-one, especially if it is someone I like, yes, please.

I like going up to the cafe to write. In part because I don’t look up and see dishes/toys/cute faces who I want to play and talk with. And in part because if I time it right, my friend-neighbor will be there with her daughter and my work will turn into coffee with a friend. At the very least, I can chat with the barista and sometimes random cafe-goers if the mood strikes. 

What do I do with this realization?

Cloth Diapers

Over the past year, a few friends have asked about my cloth diapering experience:

I have a few different kinds. I have bum genius one-size, all in ones. One size means that they can fit a (large) newborn to a toddler, adjusting with snaps in the front to fit different sizes. I love that aspect of them, because I don’t have to buy more as Abraham grows. They are easy to change because they are one piece, like disposables. But they take FOREVER to dry. FOREVER. For this reason, I would not recommend using them exclusively. I hang them outside all day in the summer, and in the winter, I usually hang them overnight and then put them in the dryer with a load of other clothes, so I’m not wasting energy.

I also have some bum genius pocket diapers and one happy heinys pocket diaper. I like these a lot. I can stuff the pockets as much or as little as I need to. They all came with pads to put in the pockets to absorb pee, and you can add other pads or other absorbent materials too. I stuff them when the have dried and then they are still easy to deal with for my husband or a babysitter (or me; have you ever wrestled a one year old with a poop?).

I like snaps rather than velcro or aplix to close the diapers. Abraham can undo velcro, and I don’t really want him to change his own diaper (I mean, I do, but I don’t…).

I didn’t start using cloth until Abraham was 5 months old. I had a C-section and couldn’t keep up with the laundry anyway for a while. Then I was just exhausted. When I was able to keep up with the regular family laundry, I added in the diapers. I wash them every other night, so they don’t stink. I always rinse the poop off right away, but the pee can hang around for a day or two.

I use a disposable at night. With cloth I had to change him throughout the night, which would wake him and make him very sad. I figure cloth isn’t worth it if it stresses us out! I also use disposables when we go visit grandparents or other traveling.

I have some friends who use a little piece of cloth in the diaper as a liner, so they don’t get poop stains. I just hang them in the sun and they bleach out pretty well.

I have a large wet bag to keep the pee diapers in at home and a travel wet bag that comes with me.

I don’t always love dumping poops into the toilets or washing diapers every other night, but to me, it is worth it to keep his little tush in cloth.

Some people manage to make their own diapers or use a cheaper system, but I bought the diapers we have on ebay, which helped keep the cost somewhat lower.

Did I forget anything? Do you use a different system? This works for me, but it is not even close to the only option! Good luck!