Things I've Done Right

I was driving down Dolores Street last week, on my usual route back to school to return Max to his rightful owner for the evening, having my usual half-attentive conversation with Django in the rear-view mirror, when something he sign-said struck me. It wasn't what he sign-said, really,or even that he sign-said whatever he did. It was more like seeing a giant tracer -- like an arc of light that stretched all the way back to last summer's sign language class at Kaiser, dipping and swerving since then through the hours of bootleg Signing Time DVDs on constant rotation in my tv -- spelling out for me in bright neon letters: "See, you've been doing something in parenthood really right!"

At that point, I think I laughed aloud at my own train of thought, and put my mind back on the road. But later I got to thinking about how easy it is to get caught up in all I do as a parent that's -- well, let's just say -- not-so right. As a little experiment, I decided to look back at this week's photos, most of which were taken at Margo's super-fun birthday party at Glen Park playground, to see if I could find any other evidence of good parenting amid the flotsam and jetsam of my maternal mind. Pictured here are the results:

Photo 1)
As already mentioned, I figured out that some tv is great tv.
Photo 2)
I let Django work hard, on his own, at physical tasks I know he can accomplish.
Photo 3)
If he decides he'd rather not face a challenge he started in on, I help him bow out.
Photo 4)
I practice not-helping until/unless he asks, (sometimes) even when it scares me.
Photo 5)
I gratefully accept the kindness of strangers -- like the gift of this pulled-out-of-the-post-garage-sale-trash-bin Elmo -- even if it seems a little gross at the time.

Begrudging Birthday-Mama

I usually love birthdays, especially mine. But this year I just wasn't in the mood to have one. In fact, it's fair to say I've been pouting about it for over a week now. I resisted all attempts to cheer me up and demands that I make plans to celebrate. The harder people tried, the surlier I got. Until -- well -- my birthday actually arrived. It's here now. Today. And you know what? I'm happy.

I'm happy that back in December I planned to meet some folks for happy hour at The Speakeasy last night, unrelated to my birthday. Happy that Brad & Joey took the initiative to bring fancy and delicious cupcakes to the event. Happy that my friends invited my other friends, against my will, and that many of those friends also brought sweet and thoughtful gifts which I would have said they shouldn't bring. Really happy that Aunt Jenny didn't let me bully her and Uncle Steve out of driving the 8 hours RT to San Francisco to be here less than 24 hours. But I'm most happy, happiest of all, that I woke up age 40 today with a precious toddler poking at, and naming, the people in the room and our body parts -- beginning, as always, with our eyes.

I suppose what's been dragging me down this last couple weeks has been all the change on its way to our world. I don't want to work FT next school year. I don't want to decrease my time with Django, nor his time with Max & Mommy Tedra. Yet, it appears I must. I don't know where I'll be working or where Django will be learning, growing & playing. And this little bit of not-knowing -- a not-knowing I recognize as temporary and totally manageable -- has cracked my demon closet wide open. Even though nothing has changed yet, I feel a state of limbo lurking all around me, pressing in. Melodramtic, but true.

Time to stage-dive again, I suppose, letting the loving, upstretched hands of family and friends carry Django and I through to whatever awaits us on the other side of the summer. But like everything else about being a parent, stage-diving requires a leap of faith. I'm still working up to it.

Baby's First Art Exhibition

Last weekend Cousin Marin, Aunt Jenny & Nana came to the Bay Area, because Cousin Marin really wanted to see Frank Warren's Post Secret exhibit at the Bedford Gallery in Walnut Creek -- and really, really, wanted to see Django, of course. A wonderful time was had by all. Cousin Marin got to see the exhibit, and us. Nana completely avoided having to parallel park her car in the city. Aunt Jenny got to sleep in a little, which is incredibly rare. I had all my meals paid for. And Django was the center of attention, as well as showered in gifts and sweet treats. Oh, wait...that's not so unusual.

Anyway, Cousin Marin took a bejillion amazing photographs with her fancy digital camera -- of us plus intriguing bits & pieces of the city. My triptych here of Django high-fiving Nana at the gallery is just standing-in until such time as Cousin Marin emails me better photo-memories of the weekend.

It's been so nice to see so much of family this month. But it's reminded me that I'm really not a "grown-up" yet. I used to think I would be when I lived away from home. Then I thought I would be when I didn't live in a dorm. Next I thought for sure it would happen once I lived alone. After that I decided it wouldn't really be true until I no longer needed to use a laundromat. Finally, I thought it did happen when I moved into an apartment with laundry AND heat. Now I realize there are at least 2 more steps to the ladder: comfortable couches and a guest bedroom. I'm sure everyone who's sat or attempted to sleep on my couches would wholeheartedly agree.

Yay, Laura!

And big thank you to Laura's sister, Liz, for helping me get this photo addendum to last week's post done so quickly!!

The Homeland

I'm sure everyone has some sort of soft spot for their homeland. If mine had a shape, it'd probably be a tumbleweed.

Last weekend Django & I made the long trip to the San Joaquin Valley for Poppa's birthday and Bryn's wedding reception # 2. It was a lovely visit all around. We stayed up late Friday night practicing people's names -- though Laura's somehow became "Shaya." We spent Saturday out at the California Living Museum (CALM,) watching racoons play, foxes & bears nap, reptiles slither and big birds haunt. But what Django liked best was the train ride, his new cap, the petting zoo, the tunnel at the playground and the ice cream sandwich at the end. (Help with more photos, Laura?!) Sunday we went to the park for a spell during the day, but whiled away the evening with Unk, Scrabble, Rummikub, International Rummy, homemade tacos & fine wine.

While out on an early evening stroll with Django, Poppa and Unk, I suddenly felt inspired to burst into song -- The Streets of Bakersfield to be exact. Unk subsequently felt inspired to have his iPhone play along. Django & Poppa just enjoyed the spectacle of us all rolling down the street like a karaoke-mobile.

They say home is where the heart is. I say, don't be surprised if you find your inner teenager there, too.

Antidotal

Today, Tedra & I got the terrible news that we will not be able to jobshare at Sanchez next school year. At first all I could feel was outraged, but now -- a few hours later -- grief and fear have come to roost as well. What better time for a trip through this week's photos and videos, then, allegedly in search of blog fodder, actually in search of a reason not to spend the evening curled up in a little ball on the livingroom floor.

At the ripe old age of almost-40, I think maybe this is what it means to be a grown-up. Not that you feel any differently about anything really, just that you sometimes act differently in response to it. Sometimes.

I don't like to complain, especially about teaching. Teachers are expert complainers, you see, and for good reason -- there's a LOT to complain about in the profession. But it's like arguing with a lawyer. It's a trap, and it distracts you from the real opponents. That having been said, I just can't believe that in a female-dominated profession of such insane importance to society, people & politicians haven't at least found a way to make early parenthood and teaching somewhat reconcilable. It just plain doesn't make sense.

Ok, enough steps down that dark alley again. I'm going back to my 'happy place' of toddler bubble baths and young, fork-inspired love.