The Wendy House

hello/goodbye

2011-11-01T18:14:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted on this blog in a long time! Really, I haven't been a very consistent blogger since, ummm, 2005 or so! I think it may be time to say goodbye to blogging for me. I'm not going to delete this blog, but will probably end it here. Check my website (http://www.wendywisner.com/) for updates on my writing life.

xoxo, Wendy

Martha's Vineyard

2011-07-22T19:53:00.000-07:00

What pure pleasure it was to go to Martha's Vineyard and read at their little library. Ben had a blast, of course, and remembered the Vineyard well from when we went there last year. I got to walk the island and see all the old sights. I was three years old when I lived there but I remember it quite clearly.

The reading was very nice, with several local residents attending, many of whom bought my chapbook. The West Tisbury library is gorgeous, and it's next door to an amazing sculpture garden which I spent a good twenty minutes walking through (alone) before the reading. I read with Leah Nielsen, who was wonderful. We discovered that we share a publisher for our first books.

On my way out, I dropped a few books off at Bunch of Grapes bookstore. They had me autograph them and they'll be displaying them on their "Vineyard Authors" shelf. Ben in particular was thrilled by that idea: "Mommy's book at a real bookstore!"

I'm so glad I went, despite the fact that I fretted quite a bit over the cost of staying at a hotel for multiple nights (the only way to make it bearable with a child). In the end, I felt rich with poetry, with ocean, and with the meager sales of my books. So worth it. It reminded me why I do this writing thing at all, and will keep me going as I continue to revise my new book.

Tell Me

2011-06-25T12:57:00.000-07:00

Next week Ben starts summer camp. Tell me I will stick to my promise to write each day he is there. I haven't made this kind of committment to writing since he was born. I'm ready.

To do:
1. Revise that pile of new poems
2. Revise my manuscript
3. Be brave
4. Don't answer the phone, put away the dishes, vacuum, water the plants, etc.
5. Be brave

End of June: Boy

2011-06-25T12:50:00.000-07:00

Because you study him, each and every part, when you're the mama.

loving...

2011-06-15T11:33:00.000-07:00

~ happy (almost) naked children, warm weather, sprinkers
~ basil growing on our windowsill, picking it at dinner time, throwing it into whatever i'm cooking
~ danny home much more often. boys, boys, boys! there is so much chatter around here when they're together!
~ marveling at the very new sunflower (also grown on our windowsill). there's nothing like the feeling of growing and caring for something and watching it grow. miracle of miracles. it never gets old.
~ watching myself get older, wiser, enjoying the little extra moments i've had lately to reflect. poems brewing.

Graduation Day!

2011-06-13T13:45:00.000-07:00

taking a breath

2011-06-08T13:36:00.000-07:00

These past few weeks have been too busy and too stressful. I've felt the stress in my body.

When I feel it in my body, I know that something has to change. So today I caught up on some sleep (thank you dear sweet husband), took a long walk, let some housework go, canceled some plans so I could rest (thank you mom and friends for understanding), and spent some time at home with my family.

I must remember that it's OK to say no to stuff sometimes, that I can't change the world each day, and that taking things slow and keeping things simple is the best way to live.

Ben is done with school next week, Danny will still have a light schedule until July. So time to stay home when we want, go out when we want, minimize computer use, and catch up on some reading. Retreat into myself, and savor the summer days with my family.

I will be thinking about my new poems, and the manuscript I want to revise. In July Ben will be in camp five mornings a week (wow!) and I hope to get some of this writing stuff done (i.e., my "stay-at-home writing retreat"). Until then, I hope to get myself in the mode of reflectiveness and quietude that make poetry writing possible for me.

the last of them

2011-05-31T20:10:00.000-07:00

These are the last of the May photos. Our photo project has died down, and soon will come the task of Ben and me putting together our photobook.

Ben is still very focused on photos of food, and spends many meals asking me to photograph each bite he takes. He's also been wanting pictures of his spills, particularly the milk that spills from his cereal bowl each morning. He likes each unique spill shape. Sometimes I've been too busy to take pictures while he eats, so I tell him to take a picture in his mind so he'll remember it. I wasn't sure he'd buy that, but he does. He really likes the idea.

He and I have definitely been paying more attention to the flowers and trees we see, each bud, each leaf, each tree trunk. The details.

And now Danny's wrapping up the school year and we are both so grateful to have him home, and so proud of what he's accomplished this year. This means that the concentrated time of me and Ben all day is coming to a close for a few weeks. Usually I feel nothing but relief to have an extra parent around, but the other day I was feeling a little bit sad. These past few months have been sweet between Ben and me.

Goodbye Dogwood Blossoms

2011-05-21T13:38:00.000-07:00

New Photos and Updates

2011-05-19T19:26:00.000-07:00

This has been a very busy and rainy week, and Ben and I haven't been as focused on taking pictures. But here are some highlights.

We were dazzled by different colored threads at the fabric store. Ben is really into rainbows and rainbow order, so these were very satisfying to him. We were at the store helping Danny get paint and fabric for the show he directed this week (hence our very busy week).

The trees of the week were Japanese Maples and the Weeping Beech we saw at Old Westbury Gardens. The Weeping Beech was giant and magnificent, and we were both fascinated and unsettled about the many carvings in the trunk.

And of course, chocolate ice cream, which Ben has declared his favorite food on earth. I have about 15 photos of him eating this bowl of ice cream. He wanted to preserve each bite before it was gone. That's just the kind of kid he is.

Not pictured here are the gazillion math problems he's been talking about and wanting to solve. Now that he's an expert reader, he's all about math and numbers. I don't know how, but we've moved into the territory of negative numbers and addition with carrying. Today we were in the waiting room of a doctor's office. He was counting crayons in a box (and probably making sure they were in rainbow order) when he said to me: "8 minus 16 is negative 8, right?" I still don't know how ordering a box of crayons got him there, but OK. Later today he was measuring each strand of spaghetti with a ruler before eating it.

Each day I wonder more what exactly will happen to this child once he goes to school. He hasn't even finished nursery school!

I'm working on several different writing projects at once, some poems, a book review, and some little essays about breastfeeding (not sure exactly what they are and what will happen with them).

Life is good. We're all looking forward to Danny's schedule becoming less busy. And there's so much to look forward to this summer, including a poetry reading I'm doing in Martha's Vineyard, where I lived when I was very young, and where the poems in my chapbook take place.

poem writing . . .

2011-05-15T19:16:00.000-07:00

I'm a little bit behind on my picture posting. I've been spending my nights writing poems. Tree poems and others. I'm grateful for this creative streak. And I'm always happy when doing creative stuff with the boy inspires me too. I have never bought the notion that motherhood should stifle me as a writer.

I'll post some new pictures soon.

Trees!

2011-05-11T19:00:00.000-07:00

The idea for the photo project started with my desire to learn the names of trees. I am woefully ignorant on the subject, and I figured it would be a good project for Ben who is obsessed with classification systems and memorizing facts. I bought our new camera so that I could have a smaller camera to carry around as we photographed the trees we identified. It quickly became clear that it would be most fun to photograph anything and everything, and thus began this project (which, for Ben, is still very much centered around food)

Slowly, but surely, though, we are both learning to identify many of the trees we see everyday in our neighborhood and at nearby parks. Sycamores, maples, lindens, redbuds, magnolias, birches, persimmons, dogwoods, hawthorns, oh my! Such beauty. I feel so happy to know their names, as though I am meeting them for the first time. And I notice details I never would have noticed: leaf shape and texture, the patterns on the bark, and of course the stunning flowers (dogwoods are my favorite). Even the shadows each tree casts on the street as I'm walking home.

This is one of my most favorite things about having a child: exploring the world for the first time, through his eyes.

No poems yet. I think I'm storing them up in my mind.

Windowsill Gardening Progress

2011-05-08T19:15:00.000-07:00

Sunflowers and marigolds. Blurred close-up by Ben. We're so proud of our almost-flowers.

Thursday and Friday

2011-05-06T19:08:00.000-07:00

Blowing dandelions ~ Making a math game out of hole-punch circles ~ Admiring the paint tiles at the hardware store & making a rainbow of our own

Not pictured here are the many pieces of food Ben has requested photographs of. He wants to preserve them before he eats them. They will make it into our printed photobook, but they weren't interesting enough for this blog!

Rainy Day

2011-05-05T19:35:00.001-07:00

two more

2011-05-04T19:48:00.001-07:00

anything beautiful or interesting

2011-05-04T08:06:00.000-07:00

Ben and I have started a project for May. We just got a new digital camera, and we have decided to take pictures each day this month. Anytime we see something interesting or beautiful, we capture it. Ben has been taking some of the pictures, and certainly directing the shots. So far it has been a fabulous way for us to appreciate the world around us, and see it in ways that we normally wouldn't. (A few poems could come out of this!) Here are some from the first few days of May. I will try to update the blog with the pictures most days. Enjoy.

Stay-At-Home Writer's Retreat

2011-05-02T19:06:00.000-07:00

I need to go on a writer's retreat. I have a stack of new poems that need my attention, and a manuscript I want to revise. It's been years since I've been able to immerse myself in my poems for days on end, to live, breathe, walk, and dream them. Most of my poems are conceived in those in-between moments of life -- on the drive home from the grocery store, as I'm unloading the dishwasher -- then written late at night, the house empty and quiet.

I can't go on a writer's retreat. I don't have the time or the money, and neither I nor my little boy are ready for such an extended separation. But I realized the other day as I mapped out the next year or so that it's now or never. This month I'm writing a book review, and this summer I'm going to work on painting the apartment and doing all those last minute repairs and touch-ups I need to do in order to get it on the real estate market. After the summer, it's all about finishing my lactation coursework and then studying for the IBCLC exam. But today I saw the light: in July, Ben will go to day camp three and a half hours a day. I had been thinking I'd use that time for house stuff or other miscellany (there is just so much of that), but I realized today that the summer is made up of three months, and I can dedicate one to my poems.

So July I'll be on an at-home writing retreat. Not only will I use those precious hours while Ben's at camp to write, but I'll actively say NO to any extra responsibilities or obligations (these seem to pop up all over the place), turn off the internet as much as possible, read books of poems instead of books about breasts (just had to say that!), and immerse myself in my poems.

July can't come soon enough.

Ben and Me

2011-05-01T20:34:00.000-07:00

600 Square Feet

2011-04-02T18:48:00.000-07:00

I have begun the process of readying my apartment to be on the real estate market. Decluttering, cleaning, clearing out, etc.

It has brought up a lot of thoughts and feelings, though not the ones I expected. I braced myself for a battling of wills and feelings of loss, especially from the boys. I'm generally good at getting rid of old and unwanted stuff, but I was concerned about Ben and Danny, who like things to be very predictable, especially when it comes to their stuff. Surprisingly, Ben has been very happy to say goodbye to his baby toys or any toys that he's not "into" anymore. He's in a phase where he likes to proclaim what his likes and dislikes are, and has been very happy to dispose of games or toys that don't meet his criteria for greatness. And Danny has been fine too. I think he finally gets the purpose of moving things out so the apartment looks spacious and clear for potential buyers.

My thoughts have centered around an investigation of our lives, and the choices we have made, and will make in the future. First I asked myself how we survived four years of raising a child in so little space. 600 square feet sounds unthinkable to most families (though maybe not those who live in a city). But the fact is that most of the world's families live in spaces this small. Although we didn't think too much of it at the beginning, staying here for so long has been a choice. We have decided to live in the area where our parents live (well, most of them), where it is relatively safe and clean, and accessible to the city. And we have decided to live on one income, and a teaching artist's salary at that. I have grappled with this for years: "if only we had more money, more space, etc." But we wanted to live in this area and have the lifestyle we've chosen, so this is what it is.

And the fact is, we have not only survived in so little space, but we have flourished. I gave birth here, breastfeed in every nook and cranny, practiced yoga, wrote poems, cooked delicious food, made love, stayed up late talking, and spent countless hours on the phone counseling nursing moms. My son has been born, breastfed, learned to crawl, walk, talk, play, make art, learned to read, dance, sing, make up stories. He's slept beside us, slept in his own space, slammed the door in our faces, dragged us to the window to show us a sprouting sunflower.

The problem is not the space, but the stuff. There is just too much of it. I have already cleared out a bunch of clothes, books, and toys. Half of them have been trashed or donated, and half are going in storage. There is not a lot of stuff we actually use on a day-to-day basis, or even once in a while. Most of the stuff that was cluttering up the shelves and closets should either have not been here at all, or been stored in the attic that we don't have. Most is simply not necessary: even the things I thought I would feel sentimental about, I do not miss. I am keeping the important stuff, but when I actually look and consider each thing, I see how little of it actually is important.

How much do we think we need that we simply don't? Why do we hold onto these things? Doing all of this is making me want to really consider the ways that I spend money, hold onto things, and see my life. I want to live simply and meaningfully. Yes, the idea is for us to find a place to live that offers a little more space as our child and family grows. We also want access to more outside space, and a storage room would be stellar, but our needs are small, and our hearts are big.

By the way, I recommend the book Organized Simplicity by Tsh Oxenreider, which I have been reading as I declutter the apartment. It's a great mix of spirituality and practicality, both of which are necessary for a task such as this.

Windowsill Gardening

2011-03-21T19:07:00.000-07:00

thoughts and updates

2011-03-11T14:10:00.000-08:00

I have a lot on my mind, a lot going on, so much I have wanted to say to the world, and yet, so little time to write it down.

I've been having thoughts about motherhood, what I see and hear every day talking to new mothers, not just about breastfeeding their babies, but about the storm of new motherhood, how it changes you so suddenly and in such unexpected ways, and how no one really tells you this. There is so much letting go you need to do, and so many mothers are trying desperately to hold it all together. I want to write about how much they will miss this time, when all they do is hold the baby, because I am starting to miss it now, my four year old son stiffening up in my arms and running away.

And I have also wanted to write about nursing a four year old because most people don't know I'm still doing it. I hardly notice it, it's so slight and seldom, and yet, so much a part of his life still, that nightly nurse. I never realized just how normal it would feel to still be nursing him. Or how tender I would feel about it, that little snip of babyhood still here, hidden in the dark.

And I have also been thinking about my poems, and the poems of other mothers who write, and wondering how it is to be a poet and a mother at this time, in this world. I wonder what the similarities are in perspective, the differences. I have been wanting to talk to, interview, compare stories with other poet/mothers. There are many out there whose work I admire.

I am looking forward to spring. Truly and deeply. I'm planning a major cleaning out/decluttering of my apartment, including some repainting of walls and removal of furniture. We're getting the place ready to be sold sometime in the next year. The goal is to be out by the time Ben starts kindergarten. It feels good to have a deadline.

In poetry news, my second book manucript was a finalist for Carnegie Mellon Press. This is a press I'd love to be published by. I have the letter taped to the refridgerator. I need the reminder that my work is valuable. It's so easy to give up hope sometimes.

Write!

2011-02-18T18:58:00.000-08:00

A reminder from Ben. In his "fancy" handwriting.

Hooked on Phonics

2011-02-14T18:53:00.000-08:00

Ben is completely Hooked on Phonics. He loves the workbook, the instructional CD's (he has a crush on the woman who does the voice over on them), the flashcards, the sticker chart, and especially the little beginner books you get to read as you progress. I never thought this kind of thing would be fun, but it is. It's a system, a game, and Ben is enthralled by it all. He's basically been doing it, along with other reading activities we've purchased or invented DAY and NIGHT. I'm not exaggerating. Last week he was waking up in the middle of the night reciting phonics blends. Thankfully, that is over. It's especially intense when Danny's home because the two of them go crazy with it all, making their own flashcards, writing stories about words and letters. It's sort of crazy, but he's happy. He loves this level of involvement and organization. Reading makes sense to him, and whatever doesn't make sense to him he wants to figure out. It feels endless and immense to him, the way the letters fit together to make words, the blends. But it's something he can get to the bottom of.

He's also been quite focused on those big questions like how the world came to be, and how the human race started. What an amazing age! We spend so much time talking and discovering. I love it.

January

2011-01-26T19:11:00.000-08:00

It has been a whirlwind of a month with holidays, blizzards, birthdays, cross-country travel, and a little boy becoming more and more obsessed with learning to read by the day.

I have always loved words and letters, but his level of obsession and concentration is in a league of its own. And I certainly wasn't reading this well as such a young age. Danny was, though. It is thrilling, but I worry. About school, about adjusting. Though he may be reading at a very high level in kindergarten, he will still have the heart of a five year old boy, and I wonder how that will play out for him. And I also think about how much I love spending these hours helping him learn, letting him have the power to lead the way in how and when he learns. I don't want him to lose that when he goes to school. He loves preschool and it's great for him, but it's part time so he has plenty of time to play and wonder and learn at home.

We are only now getting back to "real life" and routine. Next week marks the beginning of Danny's last semester of school, and includes student teaching on top of everything else he does. So back to life for me, too, writing, doing my breastfeeding counseling and lactation education, cooking, cleaning, and caring for my little boy. I am grateful that although Danny will be gone much more, he will be home for dinner most nights, and I will have the break of preschool three afternoons a week (how else would I get any of that other stuff done?).

My goal for the next month or so is to concentrate on my writing, and specifically to send my manuscript off to publishers. I came home from California to a VERY good letter from a respectable and favorite press of mine. I was a finalist, and the letter called my manuscript "publishable." They invited me to submit again, and told me that I would not have to revise it. This was an interesting part of the letter. I know the point was that they thought my manuscript was ready to be published and didn't need to be changed as far as they were concerned. But it's hard not to want to revise it. I mean, why didn't they choose it if they thought it was so perfect? What does it need to win them over? I have heard good things from other publishers, but I wonder what it will take to go from finalist to published. Probably just landing in the right hands at the right time.

Anyway, this letter sets me off on a good path, and motivates me to do the work, sink in a bit of money, and get my book published. The hard thing will be letting the other things go for a little while, to truly put all my energy into this. I feel so often that I am balancing so many things, and writing gets put aside. The poems get written (they always do), but my writing life is on the back burner. So I'm giving myself the rest of this month and all of February to make writing the main priority in my life.

Amen.

Poetry Happenings & Four Years Old

2011-01-03T12:55:00.000-08:00

I will be reading at The Bowery Poetry Club (http://www.bowerypoetry.com/) this Friday, January 7th at 8pm with the amazing poet Jan Heller Levi. Jan was my teacher in grad school, helped me put together my first book, and is simply one of the best poets and people in this world. I'm so honored to be reading with her.

***

Two of my poems have recently been published. My poem "Nursing: Two Years Old" appears in the most recent issue of the minnesota review, and my poem "His First Week" appears in the new anthology Mamas and Papas: On the Sublime and Heartbreaking Art of Parenting. The journal and the anthology have been patiently waiting on my bureau, and I am excited to read them once the whole holiday season/Ben's birthday party mayhem is over.

***

Ben turns four tomorrow! Hard to believe. I spent the morning telling him his birth story. He loves the part about how the midwives told me to stop pushing for a second, unfurled the fingers of his fisted hand, removed the cord from around his neck, and then told me to get on with the show . . .

Birth is so cool. Happy birthday, Ben.

2010

2011-01-01T18:55:00.000-08:00

These past few days I have been scrambling to go through and organize the last two years of photos. Having pictures on the computer is one thing, but I grew up with beautiful photo albums of my childhood. My dad was and is a great photographer and photographed me constantly as a child. These albums told the story of my life, and I wanted to do that for Ben. As I went through them, the pictures that stood out and really moved me were pictures like this, when things were still for a moment, and Ben was lost in thought, relaxed, totally himself. Many of the pictures are loud, fun, creative, adventurous, colorful, playful, but these seemed truest to our lives, the most basic and down-to-earth. These are the moments that move me, that makes it feel like such an honor and a privilege to watch this little boy grow into himself.

I have goals/resolutions for the new year, but rather than list them all here, the main thing I want is to find more moments like these in my life, moments where time can stand still, and life can be savored. In fact, there are so many things on my year's To-Do List that taking time to pause will be essential! Mindfulness, savoring, loving -- these are my top goals for the new year.

(I wouldn't mind getting my manuscript published, selling my apartment, and finishing my IBCLC requirements -- all while being a full-time mom -- but that's besides the point!).

Happy and healthy New Year to all!

coming up for air

2010-12-13T19:16:00.000-08:00

I just sent in the final draft of my research paper, and have officially finished my 3 credit college course. I am well on my way to fulfilling the prerequisites to sitting for the IBCLC exam in 2012! I still have a bunch of breastfeeding credits to fulfill but I will breeze through them. It was this 3 credit course I was worried about.

The research paper I wrote was about the importance of breastfeeding within the first hour after birth, and the week that I was finishing it, I had the honor of being at my friend's birth. It was beautiful and I got to see her daughter breastfeed in that first hour. What a way to learn!

Being at a birth was thrilling, amazing, moving, and miraculous. The labor was smooth, my friend was a goddess, and I sobbed with joy the moment that baby came out of her body. It's really like they say -- you know a baby is coming, but it is a total shock when her life and soul just suddenly fill the room.

I must say that I found the hospital environment very stressful. Doctors, interns, nurses shuffling in and out as though nothing was happening, breaking the flow of labor over and over. The fluorescent lights, the fetal monitor, plastic cup of ice chips. My friend, thankfully, was able to tune all of this out, and give birth to her baby in peace, but I found it all so difficult to swallow. Homebirth truly was the way for me.

Now that my coursework is behind me, my plan is to focus on my poems. I have to set up more readings for my chapbook, and I want to send my manuscript of poems out to more publishers. I did a bunch this fall, but I need to do more. I feel like it's ready, and I'm ready for it to find a home. I have a bunch of poem revising to do, and I'm hoping that immersing myself in the poems will inspire some new ones. Sometimes that's all it takes.

I'm also going to start getting the apartment ready to be put on the market. I wanted to have it on the market by now, but my current goal is this spring, which leaves me the winter to do a major decluttering (which I feel like I'm always doing!), cleaning, and perhaps a painting touch-up here and there. The whole prospect of selling and moving is daunting, but I'm going to take it step by step, and with as light a heart as possible. I moved around a lot as a child, and it was always pretty traumatic for me. This time I need to make it OK, for me and for Ben.

Happy holidays to all, and my these next few weeks be filled with love and peace.

Thanksgiving

2010-11-25T19:09:00.001-08:00

I haven't posted in a while. My lactation coursework has kept me busy, as has my breastfeeding volunteer work, but beyond that, I just haven't been venturing too far into the online world, which is a good thing. Just getting cozy with the family, taking walks in the brisk cold, practicing yoga, getting deeper into my own head, finding a spirituality in my life I haven't been in touch with for a while. Goodness abounding.

But I wanted to pop in to share a list of thanks I wrote today. Everyone at my Thanksgiving wrote one and shared it. Ben loved writing his*, and wants to do it more. I agree.

Here's mine:

I am grateful for my son, who teaches me to live in the now, and see the world with fresh eyes;
I am grateful for my husband, whose faith and love are unwavering;
I am grateful for my extended family, whose love and generosity fill my days even when we are not together;
and I am grateful for my growing ability to trust that what will be will be and it will be good

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

* Ben was thankful for gumball machines with woo-woo's (spiral ramps that gumballs travel down), every kind of vending machine, his cousins, golf, and his family.

Home

2010-10-26T18:45:00.000-07:00

I've been having some thoughts about home, about now. I had a lot of angst this summer about where we live, wanting out of apartment life, wanting a house with a yard, wanting more space. Danny and I were making plans of where we'd like to live, how to make it work. It was going to involve selling our apartment, renting in the area we wanted to live for a while, and buying when we were ready. That plan is still here, but it will not be happening as soon as I hoped. I called our co-op board, and found out that the worth of our apartment has significantly dipped in the past six months, so we would lose too much money if we sold it now.

As strange as it sounds, this has come as a sort of relief to me. As much as I want to move, I hate moving. And after I heard the news, I decided, well, I'll be here for a while longer, so I might as well make the most of it. We're doing some little apartment renovations, re-organizing, and beautifying. We're trying to make it as cozy, uncluttered, organized, and aesthetically pleasing as possible. I like this kind of project, and it has been fun to buy new bedspreads, armchairs, storage bins, etc.

And I've been trying to enjoy our neighborhood as much as I can. The community we feel at Ben's school has been lovely and Ben and my daily walks to school have become a great way for us to be more in touch with our neighborhood and the nature around us. The pictures above are of Oakland Lake, which is a few blocks from our house. Ben and I took a little walk there today. The foliage was stunning. It may not be a backyard, but it's right outside our door.

The main thing is that I'm trying my best to live in the now, and enjoy what I have. The future house/less urban community plans are still here, but I'm trying to think of them as happy, future gifts instead of frustrating, unattainable desires. And it seems to be working. Thoughts are so powerful, and a conscious decision to change them is sometimes all it takes to feel better.

Besides all this, I've been happily sending out my chapbook (you can order it here if you are interested), booking some readings from the chapbook, sending out my new manuscript, and brainstorming some ideas for a writing retreat for poet-mothers. Plus, taking a zillion breastfeeding calls, and working on my IBCLE exam prerequisites (including a full-fledged online college course I just started a week ago). So VERY busy. But happy.

Chapbook, Dress-Up, Earthworm

2010-10-03T16:47:00.000-07:00

My chapbook is now available for purchase. You can get it here, from my revamped website: www.wendywisner.com/books.html. Thanks to those who have purchased a copy already -- I'll be sending them out early this week. It's lovely to have something out in the world. My next task is to book some readings.

* * *

Ben is in a major costume phase. And not just costumes, but characters. For a while now, he has proclaimed that he's someone else. For months he was Peter Pan and Pinocchio, then Diego from Go Diego Go (not a favorite of mine) . . . the list goes on. And when he's someone else, he's someone else. Anyone who accidentally calls him Ben gets corrected, or if he's cranky, then downright reprimanded. Let's just say he's extremely committed to his character. And now things have gotten more elaborate, with us acting out whole scenes, and him spending the whole day in character.

The interesting thing is that he's decided when he's at school, he's just going to be Ben. He seems to take the whole school thing very seriously. He likes following the rules, the ritual of it. It's interesting to see this aspect of his social self develop.

School has been a good thing for us both. I have found the extra time very helpful, and so far the experience has been very stimulating and satisfying for him. I like the half-day afternoon schedule because we have time to do dress-up, art projects, and writing in the morning, then we're off to school and we both get to do our own stuff.

And one of the most lovely parts of the day is the walk to school. It's three blocks away, but I learned soon to give us at least twenty minutes. Not only do his little legs take longer to get there than mine, but he always likes to make many stops along the way. Here he is stopping to watch an earthworm inch its way across the wet sidewalk.

I hope you're enjoying fall as much as we are!

the arrival

2010-09-24T18:26:00.000-07:00

It was quite a shock when this box full of chapbooks arrived on our doorstep this morning. Well, not a shock, exactly. I sent the proofs back to Pudding House several weeks ago, but hadn't expected them to come this soon. Plus, life got in the way: end of summer, start of the school year, a whirlwind of weeks. At 8:30 this morning, I heard a big plop outside our door, but I thought nothing of it. Then, at 10:30 when Danny was leaving for work, he opened the door

to find this box of books. We opened it quickly, Danny took his copy and dashed out.

Ben was completely oblivous to the momentousness of the event, but he was who I shared it with after Danny left. He was much more interested in the paper shreds that came in the box than the book itself, but he shared in the excitement of the moment, telling me about some complicated project he wanted to do with the paper shreds (sorry babe, but I heard nothing you were saying). Ben was very intersted in finding all the black paper shreds, since they were scarce.

I like the color, and the simple, but evocative art. It's my little book. It feels just right for the poems that I have lived with for the past eight years. Here it is. You can see our apartment's pool in the background. It's the closest I get to ocean around here.

I like the blank black page that Pudding House puts at the beginning and end of their chapbooks. Ben likes it to, and thought it would be cool to tear it out and cut it into little pieces.

Like I said, I am feeling a bit caught off guard. I must now set up readings (a book party maybe?) and update my website with a page for the chapbook, and a PayPal button for ordering. Not sure when I'll find the time to do any of these things, but I will. Probably a lot of late-night computing in my future.

Right now, I'm feeling grateful, and oh so very very tired.

photos of the week

2010-09-19T19:15:00.000-07:00

Peter in the park.

A hurricane ravaged Queens last week. Here's a tree a couple blocks away from us. Terrifying, and also terribly beautiful. Look at those roots.

My pensive boy. After my post last week about his intensity, and non-stop energy, I kept noticing how quiet and inward he can be. And perhaps he was more intense last week because of the start of school, including more time away from Danny, who also returned to school and work. His teachers, of course, say that he's very mature and cooperative, that he likes to follow the rules. Go figure. Wild at home, tame out in the world. A good way to live, I suppose.

Fall

2010-09-16T18:39:00.000-07:00

Fall is my favorite season, and much going on in the House of Wendy. Here's Ben standing at our front door on his first day of preschool. He loved it. The parents accompanied the children on the first day, and by the end of the day, one of the teachers said to us, "He'll have no problem when you're not here. He's been playing without you, and he's talking to all of us like a grown-up." Yep. That's him.

I'm looking forward to the bits of free time preschool will give me (let me stress the word bits -- it's two hours and twenty minutes three days a week). I'll be studying for the IBCLC exam, managing my LLL group, and sending my manuscript out (more on that later). And taking some deep breaths in and out.

Have I mentioned lately what a great ball of energy Ben is? Oh boy. Lately, he doesn't want to stop for one second. He's constantly inventing games, starting projects, dressing up, acting stuff out, writing notes, drawing pictures. It's totally fabulous, but there's hardly room to breathe. And he's just so committed to whatever it is he's doing that it's hard to manage the everyday tasks of eating, dressing, etc. Today it was time for bed and he noticed that he'd left a golf ball in the hallway (he's totally obsessed with miniature golf). Danny wasn't home and he decided that Danny should pick it up when he got home and bring it into the bedroom. OK, fine idea, I guess. Then he decided we needed to write Danny a note to tell him. I was so ready to go to bed, but I said we could. I suggested that I write the note and he just sign it. He insisted that he write it (I mean, what was I thinking?) and rather than argue with him and prolong bedtime even longer, I told him how to spell and write each word. Twenty minutes later . . .

Really, it's all very good, but it's the intensity of it that sometimes drives me crazy, and sometimes actually worries me. I can't even tell you why it worries me, it just does. His mind is always buzzing. He's been that way since he was a baby. I used to look at the other mothers, casually wandering around a store with their babies zoning out in a stroller. Ben always had to be held and he was always looking around at everything, watching my reaction. I suppose I worry that he'll never calm down, won't find peace in the world. Or will be unable to function in some way. I don't know what. I guess he'll just be an artist :)

Ben and I spent the afternoon at a little beach/park in Sea Cliff (a beautiful little Long Island town) and while we were wandering up and down the boardwalk, listening to seagulls and the sea, inhaling the salty scents of the bay, I realized how deeply I want to live near the water. My earliest memories are of living on Martha's Vineyard, falling asleep to the ocean, all that good stuff. Danny and I have been making plans, having long discussions of where we'd like to raise our kids, eventually buy a home, and we're trying to figure out how to make it happen in a place near the water. As much as this buying-a-home-someday-thing has caused me much angst over the past year or so, talking to Danny, and making a serious plan for how to make it work, has been very therapeutic. There are possibilities out there, and having the power to make these decisions feels good. How very grown up!

And I feel, finally, that my second book manuscript has come together. These past few weeks, I was able to make some of those deep cuts you have to make to find the final form of a book. I cut out poems, several of them, the ones that were just placeholders, bridges from one poem to another, but actually just filler. Good poems, poems that had been published. They had to go. I feel good about what I have. I think somehow having the chapbook accepted for publication helped me to see my manuscript in a new light. I'm excited to send it out this fall.

Also excited for apple picking, Halloween, root vegetables, tumbling in leaves. Oh fall, I do love you so.

beauty

2010-09-10T16:55:00.000-07:00

Poetry Chain Gang

2010-08-31T13:46:00.001-07:00

5 Questions with me at the Poetry Chain Gang. Thanks for suggesting me, Suzanne. What a cool project!

Feeling a little overwhelmed over here. This month is so full! I have a book review due, I'm teaching a breastfeeding class, I'm beginning an independent study breastfeeding research course, I'm taking a CPR course, and Ben is starting preschool. AND I may be getting a job. Yes, a real job with a paycheck and everything. I'll only be working one day a week, but it would be the first steady paycheck I've brought in since Ben was born.

To top everything else off, Ben has been a little, ummm, intense lately. He's decided he wants to write these long sentences and stories. In his own handwriting and everything. It's great, but he gets frustrated and freaks out a little every time something goes wrong. Which is does, because he's only three-and-a-half years old! He's also decided yet again that he doesn't want to get dressed or use his potty unless I beg him. He just wants to stay home naked and play and work on letters. So it's been one of those weeks.

OK, off my CPR class. Home to get some sweet sleep tonight.

Good News!

2010-08-20T19:38:00.000-07:00

I'm very excited to announce that my chapbook, Another Place of Rocking, will be published by Pudding House Press. I'm not sure of the release date, but should be in the next few months.

The chapbook is a prose poem sequence about my early childhood on Martha's Vineyard with hippie-activist parents. It was written pretty soon after I finished my first book, Epicenter. I wrote a lot about my childhood in Epicenter, and as I was revising it, I decided to go deeper into a specific time, the years that my family lived on Martha's Vineyard. We lived quite the bohemian lifestyle then, walking around barefoot, my parents making very little money, long days at the beach, my dad immersed in leftist politics -- and I became interested in what all that meant to me. I read several memoirs about hippie kids, red-diaper babies*. I was very young then (2 and 3 years old), and what I remembered were images and feelings more than anything. So I started writing, and I ended up with a long sequence of prose poems. The poems are little snapshots of our life. They are about loving a place, a time, the red cliffs of the island, my father's red hands, my very young perception of what it meant to want to change the world. John Lennon's death plays a prominent role in the poems too. It's about leaving the island, one of the many places I'd leave in childhood. The poems were written quickly.

I finished the poems in 2003 and started sending them out as a book-length manuscript in 2004. I did that for about five years (whew!). The book was a finalist for several major awards and many of the poems were published in journals (see the sidebar of this blog for links to some of them), but the book just wasn't getting published. Then I got a very helpful letter from an editor who said that she liked the poems very much but just didn't think they could sustain themselves as a full-length book. It was a moment of humility for me. I think I was kind of anxious to publish another book, and didn't see another way to publish the poems. At the same time, I knew what I had written was a long poem, and not necessarily a full-length book. The poem fit the page requirements of a full-length book of poems, but I always felt it was of a different form than a traditional book of poems.

A lightbulb went off in my head when I realized I could try publishing the poems as a chapbook. I had always pictured the poems in a small, slim volume -- I realized a chapbook is what I had meant all along. So I cut out some of the poems (it was actually easier than I thought, even when I had to cut poems that had been published in journals), and started to send it out as a chapbook. I sent it out this way for a little over a year. It was a finalist for a couple of contests, and then Pudding House accepted it (they review submissions and tell you their decision within 24 hours so that was exciting!).

The whole thing is very exciting and little bit strange because the poems feel so ancient to me. My life is so different than it was when I was writing those poems, and I have been working on some very different poems for several years now. But I'm so happy that my Martha's Vineyard poems have found a home, and I think it will be a good experience to delve back into the poems, and into that time and place as I read from it and discuss it with my readers. It also feels very good to have the chapbook out in the world so I can move onto my next book.

I hope to set up a bunch of readings and do a little chapbook tour. I will let everyone know when it's available and how to order it. Oh the sweet joy of having my art out in the world!

* My favorite hippie kid/red-diaper baby memoirs are Split: A Counterculture Childhood by Lisa Michaels, Life Without Water by Nancy Peacock, Pagan Time: An American Childhood by Micah Perks, and the highly acclaimed The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls.

Literary Mama : Poetry : On His Second Birthday

2010-08-06T13:26:00.000-07:00

My poem, here. So happy to have a poem on Literary Mama. I've been reading LM since becoming a mama!

Literary Mama : Poetry : On His Second Birthday

***

Some other poetry news to share soon....

No Hit!

2010-07-30T19:03:00.000-07:00

Ben has started to work on his handwriting. I love those rough approximation of letters. It is pure beauty to me. In this one, we decided to write one of our "house rules" down. Cracks me up how official he wants things to be. (By the way, Ben rarely hits, mostly when he's tired or when another child has hit him. All normal behavior for his age, but all met with discussions between him and me about the importance of using words over hitting, etc.)

I have doing some writing of my own. I've realized, kind of by necessity, that the last few poems I've written have been fragmented, bits and pieces sewn together over a period of time. There will be a larger theme I'm working on and I'll write a bit of it here and there. Each bit becomes a section of a longer poem. It seems to work well; I can delve into the poem in a deeper, but less concentrated way. And it mirrors my life, these small moments I have to be with myself, to write. I haven't had an official writing session in weeks, but here I go, still making poems. Grateful, grateful.

And although this summer has certainly been wrought with a zillion financial worries, it has actually proven to be a lovely summer so far. Danny is home more, I've gotten some of my lactation education out of the way, reorganized our apartment a bit, gone to parks, pools, playdates. The difficulties of the toddler stage seems to have subsided for the most part, and Ben is developing into quite the little-big boy.

I've rediscovered my love of long, vigorous walks this summer, taking as many of them as I can, listening to loud music on my headphones, and absorbing the sunlight. Then I come home baked and drenched in sweat, sit in front of the air conditioner, and drink a tall glass of ice water. Pure bliss.

Happy Boy

2010-07-19T19:13:00.000-07:00

These pictures were from a few weeks ago, taken during our trip upstate, and looking over them again, it strikes me how incredibly happy Ben looks here. Just so energetic and alive. And I want that. I want him to feel that way a lot. I know it's normal for children to feel heartbreak, boredom, fear, etc. But when you're a mom, you just want your child to feel happy. You feel, well, responsible for it.

I don't walk around feeling guilty or worried anytime Ben is unhappy and I know I will not be a perfect mother or always make the best choices for him. I had a bumpy childhood, but I know my parents did their best, and I'm pretty happy about how I turned out. But there is one thing that gets me, one thing I truly do want to do differently (besides have a marriage that's intact, but I'm not too worried about that). I want to have a house. My dad had a house when I was older but I never grew up in a house. Always apartments (many of them, that we left after just months or maybe a couple of years). I never had a backyard, a lawn, a garden. I want that for my children. I want it a whole lot.

In a way, it's a simple desire, one that most middle-class educated people can afford. But it seems pretty unattainable to us now. For one, we live in one of the most expensive areas in the country. The amount that we pay for our one bedroom apartment could buy us a nice sized house in most other places. To afford a decent house around here, you need to either have two high incomes or one ridiculously high one. A teacher's salary just won't cut it.

The reason we're living where we are is a good one, though. Three of Ben's grandparents are here, as well as his aunt and uncle. He sees them all a bunch and they give us plenty of support (not to mention free babysitting). So it seems hard to ever leave. And yet, and yet. There are so many places I'd love to raise my children, where I could afford to have the lifestyle I want (jobs, community, art, etc) AND have a house.

I know you can't have it all. We spend plenty of time outdoors and in other people's backyards. I'm proud of how we've used our small space for these years. It has taught me that you don't really need that much to raise a child. I would even be happy with a house as big as our aparment (OK, an extra bedroom would be nice). I'm just tired of my home being squished into a big apartment building. I want quiet and solitude. To open the back door onto a small square of earth we can call our own.

Reading Tomorrow Night!

2010-06-24T11:23:00.000-07:00

Come hear me read tomorrow night in the Stain of Poetry Series! I'll be reading at 7pm at Goodbye Blue Monday in Brooklyn. All the details can be found here.

Gratitude List

2010-06-11T18:36:00.000-07:00

We had a serious blow this week: my husband's salary has been cut significantly. Luckily, we still have health insurance. There has been a lot of talking, figuring out, reconfiguring, etc. It's all going to be fine, but it puts things in perspective and has helped us both see what is important in life (love, family, passion, pursuing your dreams), so rather than dwelling in the icky, sticky land of money muck, I thought I'd make one of those gratitude lists. Because really, I have much to be grateful for.

Gratitude List

1. Book-making: Ben has taken to book-making again after a long hiatus, and is currently working on a book about the adventures of Ben the Ghost as he travels in and out of the letter "D."

2. Broccoli-eating: Ben has also reunited with vegetables, and has been happily eating a bowl of broccoli every day. He was on a serious vegetable strike for a few months. I kept telling myself it would pass, laid off any pressure, and it did.

3. New books of poems: I have an unopened book of poems waiting on the dining table for me to read.

4. Danny, my husband: I like him, and he likes me.

5. Iced chamomile tea with honey: I've been having a nice tall glass every afternoon, and I so love it.

6. Libraries: OK, I may owe almost $50 (ooops!), but we made out with quite a few books and movies from the library this afternoon, including four books of children's poems (Langston Hughes, Nikki Giovanni, and two anthologies). Which leads me to....

7. Children who can sit through a poetry reading: OK, I need to brag for a moment, but my little boy sat through 25 minutes of me reading my poems last Friday night. I don't know how he did it. There was some squirming. There was some extra chatter in the room. But he did it, and told me later that he liked some of the poems, and wants to write his own. Bless his heart.

8. Unsweetened Lemon Kool-Aid: Our dishwasher was seriously stained with who knows what, and thanks to an internet tip (I love the internet!), I put a packet of this stuff put in the soap dispenser, ran the empty dishwasher, and you would not believe how sparkling white my dishwasher was. I felt like a wizard. Makes you seriously wonder what the heck is in that Kool-Aid.

9. Midwives: I'm so glad that the Midwifery Modernization Act is getting closer to passing. For those of you who don't know, with the closing of St. Vincent's Hospital, NYC midwives have lost their ability to practice. St. Vincent's was their back-up hospital and there are no doctors willing to back them up anymore (medical malpractice, I think). The Midwifery Modernization Act would make it legal for midwives to practice without a back-up doctor. I was happy to write some letters and make some phone calls, along with many other people in NYC and beyond, and I am very glad things are moving forward. I do dearly love my midwives, who helped me have the safest, gentlest, homebirth I could have dreamed of. See www.freeourmidwives.com for more details.

10. June: The beginning of summer, my mom's birthday, and Danny's lightest work schedule. Ironically, the news of the pay cut came at our favorite time of year. The school year is winding down, and Danny's workload always lessens before the summer season start. We've had some four and five day weekends recently, and scattered days off here and there. Ben is so happy to have Danny around, as am I. I've been taking care of household projects (like the stain in the dishwasher), and really enjoying the extra help with childcare. It's warm, but not too warm, and summer is ahead of us.

Reading Friday

2010-06-02T19:34:00.000-07:00

Come hear me read poems this Friday at the Hillside Public Library in New Hyde Park!

Poets on the Hillside Series
155 Lakeville Road
New Hyde Park, NY

June 4th, 7pm

www.poetsinnassau.blogspot.com

Martha's Vineyard, 2010

2010-05-25T19:15:00.000-07:00

I lived in Martha's Vineyard when I was a very young child (18 months - 3 years). I have many early, vivid memories of it: beautiful, intense, mythic, peaceful. I've been back a handful of times over the years, but this past weekend was special: I took my mother and my boy. What a joy to see it all through their eyes. The stuff poems are made of.

Here are some pictures. The house is the house we lived in. And yes, the cliffs are red as ever.

On the Ferry to Martha's Vineyard

2010-05-22T18:39:00.001-07:00

Poems Please

2010-05-18T18:41:00.001-07:00

I always feel badly when I haven't blogged for a while. Not that I have such a huge readership, or that I have anything tremendous I'm waiting to say -- I just like to check in with the old blog, to get back in touch with the writer in me.

I have many excuses for my absence this time. Baby sick for a week (he's not a baby, but he is when he's sick), husband working crazy long days for the past few weeks. Wanting to collapse at the end of the day. No energy for reading, writing, anything.

Ahhh, but the things will be easier soon. Summer's closer, my husband will have a few weeks off. I have hope that I will make my way back into the world of poems. Maybe read a few, write a few more. I wrote quite a lot in April, and have written nothing since. One month can seem like forever, like you'll never write a word again.

What I need to do is find a book of poems to read. A perfect book I can devour in several short chunks, and which will be exactly what I need to feed me. Any suggestions?

And The Winner Is....

2010-05-01T07:18:00.000-07:00

The poetry giveaway has ended, and a winner was selected this morning (through a cool random number generator: www.random.org).

Lindsay is the winner, and she will be receiving Epicenter and Lucifer at the Starlite soon. Thank you all for entering and I hope to do this again next year.

Boy

2010-04-30T19:56:00.001-07:00

Time to Write

2010-04-30T19:35:00.000-07:00

I love this article about writing, motherhood, time. I feel like I've been meaning to write something like it for a while, and have written bits and pieces of it here on this blog and in my head.

One of my biggest worries about becoming a mother was not having enough time to write. I had spent my twenties (pre-motherhood) planning my life so that I would have "time to write." I was either in college or teaching at a college, and would set aside as many mornings as I could each week to write. I even had a little office to write in. And I wrote. Sometimes. Mostly I revised, sent my work out, read a little, spaced out. It was valuable, and I got things done. But first drafts of poems were often written here or there, when I was moved by something I had encountered or thought about. Revising often happened this way too, on the subway, as I was washing the dishes. My creative juices flowed as I wandered through my life, not as I sat in my little office with the red gauzy curtains.

Either way, I was very attached to those writing times, and was relunctant to give them up once my baby came. And it's true -- I didn't write my first postpartum poem until my son was three months old and he and Daddy went out for a couple of hours. These writing times have continued throughout the years and I value them, but there are not nearly frequent as they used to be. And yet, the poems are being written (and somehow, published too). I write most drafts on the fly, in my head in those rare moments when I get to space out a bit, and then on paper or the computer when Ben is asleep or out with Daddy. My life is full -- full of life. And that is what I need for writing.

I still want a room of my own again someday, I still want hours and hours to wander. But I have a new trust in writing, and a deeper understanding of it.

The Nitty Gritty

2010-04-19T13:22:00.000-07:00

Be here now? I wish I could take my own advice sometimes. Today all my worries are here, in the forefront of my mind, and I can't seem to push them away. Anxiety is a strange thing; it seems gone for a while, and then it suddenly sweeps over you and smacks you in the face. "Yuck!" as Ben would say, when he tastes a food he doesn't like.

Sometimes I feel like I paint an idealized version of motherhood here on my blog, on Facebook, to my friends. I do love it and wouldn't trade it for anything, but it's hard to keep all the other parts of my life in check while taking care of a three-year-old all day. Yeah, I find time to counsel breastfeeding moms. Yeah, I find time to work on poems and publish them. Yeah, I find time to clean the house, cook, practice yoga, whatever. But it's all in little short spurts, and it sometimes leaves me, well, exhausted and depleted. So much of my energy is being used to make sure everyone and everything else is tended to that I don't get time to feel my own stress as it ebbs and flows during the day. I don't have many moments to burst into tears or kick the wall. Thus the anxiety that seems to come out of nowhere and knock me over.

And another confession? My kid is great, he's full of ideas and energy, he's creative, he's can read and do simple addition, etc. But I'm starting to realize that he's, well, quite "a handful." I know all young children are demanding in their own ways, but Ben is a ball of intensity just like his father. He follows me around the house talking, talking, talking. It's rare that he'll play by himself. It has always taken him forever to fall asleep because of the constant chatter and narrative going on in his head. He's willful as anything, and will hold his own in any argument. I'm not complaining, really, but since today's post is written in the name of painting the nitty gritty of motherhood, here it is.

By the way, I have never liked the labels that people (including me in this post) use for kids like Ben ("intense," "a handful," "high needs," etc.). When their energies are channeled well, intense children are often gifted children (another term I dislike). Not only that, but I think parents tend to parent their children differently if they label them as a certain kind of child. But it has been helpful as of late for me to put a name to the little boy energy that fills my days and nights.

OK, off to the health food store with the boy to get some much needed treats!

Today

2010-04-15T19:25:00.000-07:00

We were well slept, the weather was beautiful, we had nothing else scheduled, and we spent a good three-and-a-half hours at the park. I think it helped a lot that there was no schedule -- no rush to get out of the house, no rush to get home. We took our time savoring each thing at the park, nothing felt like it was going to be cut off. And spring was everywhere, most of the trees flushed with leaves, some with buds. We shoveled sand, fed the ducks, got ice cream from the ice cream truck. Nothing particularly amazing happened, but it felt so damn good to be at the park with my boy.

Today made me realize how rushed I often am, how full my mind is with other stuff. These times with my boy -- this is it, this is the only time I get. Screw everything else. Be here now.

Poetry Books Giveaway

2010-04-07T18:29:00.001-07:00

In honor of National Poetry Month, I will be giving away two books of poems. Kelli Russell Agodon came up with the idea for the giveaway, and I love it. Basically, from now until April 30th, you can enter by leaving a comment on this post. I will randomly draw a winner on May 1st, and then send out the books (postage paid by me). The two books I'm giving away are Epicenter, by me, and Lucifer at the Starlite by Kim Addonizio. So enter away, and Happy National Poetry Month!

Projects

2010-04-07T18:11:00.000-07:00

Spring has sprung, and today it was more like summer here (85 degrees!). We were in Florida for a week and are back. Today was the first full day that Danny was at work, and as soon as he was gone, Ben said to me, "Let's do projects!" By "projects" he means arts and crafts, making things, etc. I love when he requests projects, and I realized that we hadn't done one in a while. I asked Ben what made him want to do one, and he said "That's what we do when Daddy goes to work." That made my day. I love that he thinks of the two of us doing creative stuff together, keeping busy that way. It's not like we spend every second of our days like that. There's a lot of down time, movie watching, cooking, cleaning, eating. But doing that kind of stuff together is what I live for; it's a big part of why I have decided to spend these years home with him. So we made a rock ladybug (his idea -- we read about them in a book months ago). It turned out so cute. The googly eyes will dry overnight and it should be ready by morning.

***

Some nice poetry news around here. A check for $50 for my poem that was in The Bellevue Literary Review last fall. A poem acceptance (not official yet, but soon). And just the feeling that my manuscript is something worth sending out. One of my teachers from grad school read it and gave me her enthusiastic seal of approval. She's showing it around too. I've made a list of presses who have liked my work in the past and I'm starting there.

***

I'm writing a poem too. It's about a lot of things, but it started by me just writing about my day. Like the most boring details (or most interesting, depending on how you look at it), and then it went somewhere interesting. I like when that happens.

Watching Pocahontas

2010-03-22T13:52:00.000-07:00

Doing paperwork, eating a snack, getting the boy a snack, then a wipe for his hands, fast-forwarding the scary parts, answering emails, straightening up the dining room table, trying to pay enough attention to the movie to explain the major plot points, thinking about the poem I want to write later and the ones I need to revise, answering more emails, fast-forwarding more scary parts, making a list in my head of phone calls I need to make, asking him if it's too boring as I watch him doze off, hoping I'll have time to doze off too, turning the TV off before the credits are done ("NOOO!!!!"), turning it back on and finshing this blog post.

Natural Weaning

2010-03-12T18:46:00.001-08:00

The antropologist Katherine Dettwyler was right. If you don't nightwean or sleep train, children naturally start sleeping through the night at around three years old. At least that's what has happened with Ben. I read her article when Ben was a baby, and I kept it in the back of my mind throughout the years. It has been fascinating and lovely for me to watch my baby gradually let go of his nighttime waking and nursing. I know I'm in the minority in this department, as most people in America aren't nursing their children past six months, let alone past three years, let alone during the night. But it has always just felt right for me and it's downright fascinating to watch a natural weaning unfold. My experience was that there was a lot of back and forth, sleeping great for a week, sleeping horribly the next week, but the overall trend was that the wakings slowly dropped off over the years, from too many to count in the first year, down to 3-4 by 18 months, 2-3 at 2 yrs, and 1-2 at 2.5. Sickness, teething, bad dreams, developmental leaps, etc. all increased these nightwakings. And when I say that Ben sleeps through the night now, he sleeps from night until early morning, nurses a bit and falls back asleep until 8 or whenever he wakes up. And will wake up more when he's sick or whatever.

Somehow, my interest in natural weaning is tied in with my interest in poetry. Maybe if there are poets who are fascinated with the natural world, I am fascinated with the natural human lifecycle. I have always written of birth, babies, sex, breastfeeding. They have always been part of my poems, the "body" of my poems, part of the drive behind them. When it comes to birth and breastfeeding, I want to live close to how nature intended me to live. I know I sound crazy to some, but that's how I feel. It's a very personal preference, obviously, and I know that many women don't have the option for whatever reason to do as I've done. And who knows what obstacles I may encounter in the future that will make my next birth less natural or my next breastfeeding experience different.

And let me just say that I am far from a natural mother in every way. I use disposible diapers, let my boy eat junk food, watch TV daily. But aside from "I need to finish my dinner. I'll nurse you when I'm done," or "My God, this is the fourth time he's nursed this afternoon; let's see if I can distract him with a computer game," I haven't restricted breastfeeding very much at all. Time will tell when this boy weans. But neither of us is ready yet.

No Tell Motel

2010-03-09T18:53:00.000-08:00

I am the featured poet this week at No Tell Motel. New poems of mine will appear daily; two are up so far. Enjoy!

www.notellmotel.org

Why I Need Poetry

2010-03-05T19:46:00.000-08:00

Because after all the giving to my son, my home, my husband, my friends, my parents, the women I counsel; after all the worries, the bills, the budgets, the cleaning, the food shopping, meal preparation and eating; after all the TV shows, the emails, the phone calls, the books, the broken sleep, the worries, the worries -- there is that moment when I go into myself, remember who I am, the moments beneath the moments of my life, where I can touch my psyche, the burning in my bones, and endless desire that drives me.

climbing, by Lucille Clifton

2010-02-13T18:55:00.000-08:00

I was shocked to learn that the poet Lucille Clifton died. She was so alive to me, it just doesn't make sense that she's gone. I wish I had ever heard her read.

She was one of the first poets I read in earnest. I picked up The Book of Light at a bookstore when I was 15, and read the first poem, "climbing." It was the strangest thing, because after I read it, I could have sworn that I had dreamt the last line the night before. It felt so familiar. And reading it today, I see how much of her language and sensibility, her urgency and desire, have influenced my own poems.

You will be missed, Lucille.

climbing

a woman precedes me up the long rope,
her dangling braids the color of rain.
maybe i should have had braids.
maybe i should have kept the body i started,
slim and possible as a boy's bone.
maybe i should have wanted less.
maybe i should have ignored the bowl in me
burning to be filled.
maybe i should have wanted less.
the woman passes the notch in the rope
marked Sixty. I rise toward it, struggling,
hand over hungry hand.

Lucille Clifton

Is Winter Almost Over?

2010-02-08T18:59:00.000-08:00

I'm writing another book review for Lilith Magazine. Gotta love the free books. Kick-ass ones too, the latest by Alicia Ostriker and Maxine Kumin, two grandmothers of women's poetry. I'm not sure I'm the best book reviewer in the world, but Lilith keeps asking me back, and I keep churning them out. I probably shouldn't renounce my book reviewing skills so publicly, but sometimes I think I'm just better at writing poems than prose. Who knows.

I'm tired. It's the dead of winter, we were all sick last week, still recovering. I'm ready for the next thing.

Today Ben and I made homemade clay. It's awesome. Tomorrow we'll make some creatures from the village Hi-Hu-Ha, and bake them in the oven. We've previously made a guy named Funny who had a whole slew of mice-bat children, and Mickey Mouse and his family, all of whom live in Hi-Hu-Ha. But those were made of playdough and could not be preserved. I took pictures, but had to secretly throw the creatures away after the playdough hardened and got all crumbly and gross. So I'm glad we'll be able to preserve the next batch of villagers. I live for stuff like this. Making stuff with Ben is my favorite part of the day.

Speaking of making stuff, I had to put my manuscript away. I was tinkering too much with it, and starting to lose perspective. When to let go? It always takes me a couple weeks to know the answer. So it will sit on the shelve for now, patiently I hope. It's very close, almost ready to send out, but not quite. I remember this with my first book, all the tinkering, then the waiting, then the tinkering, until, one day, I decided it was done. It just kind of became clear.

Off to bed to hibernate until spring.

Bits and Pieces

2010-02-03T16:04:00.000-08:00

Sitting here with Ben watching Dora. Not my favorite show, but I suppose it's wholesome and entirely positive. Just annoying and artless. Oh well.

Ben will be starting preschool in the fall. I'm excited. Not just for the extra time for myself (three days a week for two hours at a time, so not much, but something), but also because I think preschool is FUN, and I'm excited for Ben. I love the easels, and big tables, the colorful carpets, the projects, the play. I loved school from preschool to second grade, then things went downhill until college. There were some highlights here and there, but it was mostly pretty drab and uninspiring. Shouldn't learning be invigorating and lively?

There has been a lot of good learning at home lately. Ben is learning to write letters and sound out words. It's thrilling to me. He's telling long elaborate stories, and is so much fun to be around.

I've got a lot of projects on my plate. Still tweaking with my manuscript, but it's close, very close. Just trying to make it more cohesive. I want to take risks with it, I want it wild. I want it to speak to people, I want it to be entirely my own.

Soon I will unveil my breastfeeding classes/counseling website. Very fun to design, and it warms my heart to be able to begin my lactation business -- I really do feel good about helping new moms. It's funny, for a while after Ben was born I had been feeling that I didn't want to go back to teaching, and I was worried that if I stopped I would be less of a writer, somehow out of the loop. And there is a loss there -- I did love being part of a university, sometimes bumping into former teachers and other writers. But really, being a stay-at-home mom, and now getting involved in breastfeeding counseling, have done nothing but fed my writing, given it extra life and passion.

I'm looking forward to spring, but I'm enjoying the cozy feelings of winter, and the occasional snow.

Wordle!

2010-01-14T13:34:00.000-08:00

Isn't this cool? It's a wordle ("a beautiful word cloud") generated by the website wordle.net. You paste in a web address or a bunch of words, and it generates these images for you. I love it. This is one of the manuscript I'm working on. The biggest words are the ones used most often. I have been staring and staring at it. It's so true. I see my first book in it, other books I've read over the years. Very cool.

***

Also, a poem of mine, here: Damselfly Press. Happy to be included with some rockin' women writers!

On Turning Three, and Writing Poems

2010-01-11T17:44:00.000-08:00

Ben turned three and he got his first short haircut. He'd had trims before, but mostly to keep the shape that his baby hair grew into. I like this though. He looks like a little boy to me. I love being able to see his whole face. He looks like me here, the eyes.

Suddenly (and not so suddenly), things feel easier to me. Not just mommyhood -- everything. And nothing has changed, really. I had a big crisis of faith this summer, heightened anxiety, and worked through it. And now the things that felt hard just don't feel so hard. The mind is a powerful thing.

It feels good to be working on a book manuscript, and for so many of the poems to by suddenly (there's that word again) published. It will probably still be some time before I have a book again, but now more than ever, I feel like I will.

I've had some thoughts about writing and being a mother. When I was pregnant, I was preparing myself for the worst: that I wouldn't write much at all for a few years, at least. I was willing to sacrifice that, but I was still unhappy about it. I soon learned that I would have time, not as much as I once had, but time nonetheless. It was like it was before: I had to make the time, make a little appointment with myself (and in this case, my husband, the babysitter). But there were certainly fewer opportunities to have that quiet room and an empty notebook. But then I realized that it didn't matter. Most of the poems I have written in the past few years were written quickly, while the baby napped, while he was nursing on my lap. And the ones that really mattered didn't need that much revision.

I guess what I'm saying is that I'd always been taught that writing is a practice, that you must sit down in a quiet room and make yourself write, that you must try, that you must exercise the muscle. And this isn't bad advice: many of my poems were written this way. You truly do never know what will come unless you try. But I think it's also true that poems will come because they're meant to, and you will find a way, a time, a blessed moment. I have been trusting that more, and not worrying as much about my "sitting down to write times." What I need those most for are revising, arranging book sections...and yes, sending out poems.

It seems to me that living a full, passionate life is what makes the poems come. And being a mom, at least for me, is just that.

Three Poems

2009-12-28T18:25:00.000-08:00

Three poems of mine are here: http://fertilesource.com/. It's nice to have poems on the web because you never know who will read them.

Happy holidays! And happy almost-birthday to my little boy.

Good Things Brewing

2009-12-16T19:45:00.000-08:00

Last week, in a frenzy, I finished my Lactation Educator-Counselor course, and as soon as all the grades are in, I will be certified! This means that I can offer breastfeeding classes and counseling AND I will have the credits I need to one day sit for the Lactation Consultant Exam (IBCLC). It was a crazy amount of work, and my great husband and little boy were so supportive and gave me time to finish it. I learned so much and am thrilled to be starting this. It's good. It feels right to me.

Now that I have a bit more time, I want to put the finishing touches on a book of poems I've been working on for the past year or so. Danny will read it (he's always my first reader), and then I'll send it to a beloved teacher of mine from grad school. I should probably find some other readers, but I think it will be ready to send to publishers in a month or two.

It's amazing to me that I have had the headspace and time to work on careers and poem projects. It seems like yesterday that I couldn't leave my boy for more than the fifteen minutes it took to take a shower. He'll be three in two weeks. Yesterday I was away from him all day. Danny even gave him his nap. Beautiful and strange how easy it felt for all of us.

Fall

2009-11-01T17:54:00.001-08:00

Forgive me. I haven't blogged in over a month. Everytime I sit down at the computer, I have something else to do: answer emails, watch lectures, write papers. Every free moment I have has a task attached to it. I am happy. I am learning everything under the sun about breastfeeding help and counseling. I will probably sit for the IBCLC exam (lactation consultant) within the next few years. I will resurface again, after my class is over in December. This spring I plan to finally get a draft of my second book manuscript. A beloved teacher of mine has asked to read it, and I want to send it to her this spring. And maybe to others.

Here are some pictures of my boy this fall: pumpkin picking, apple picking, Halloween. He was Peter Pan. Danny was Captain Hook. Can you guess who I was?

Oh, September!

2009-09-25T12:03:00.000-07:00

I was very happy to receive my contributor copies of The Bellevue Literary Review. Ben was there as I was browsing through it and he asked what it was. I told him it was a book that had a poem I wrote in it, and he asked to hear the poem. I'd read him my poems once before, and he hadn't liked them (he was very flat and matter-of-fact about his distaste for them!). But this time he liked it, and wanted more. So I read him some more poems from the issue, and some from my book. He seemed to perk up anytime there was imagery in a poem, which makes sense. At one point he asked of a poem that was addressed an abstract "you": "Who are you talking to?" I said, "Whoever wants to listen," and he was satisfied with that response. I showed him how poems look on the page, the broken, shorter lines. He liked it. I'm glad.

I'm really enjoying this course I'm taking. I decided to do it because I'd like to teach breastfeeding classes to expectant moms, but I've been getting more excited about heading in a new direction, and possibly becoming a lactation consultant (IBCLC). The coursework is one of the prerequisites to taking the IBCLC exam (as is the volunteer breastfeeding counseling I've been doing). I'd definitely need a lot more clinical work along the way, but I'd have up to five years after I take the course to take the exam, so it's definitely a possibility. I'd probably want to be a lactation consultant in private practice, in which case I could make my own hours. It sounds like the perfect career for a writer/mother. And the hourly pay is good. I'm a little intimidated by all the science involved, but I've already picked up a lot of the science along the way, and I think I could handle it.

The pictures on top are from Ben's friend Nora's birthday party. There are so few pictures of all of us, and I like these candids. It was a gorgeous and good day. September is one of my favorite months. We hope to go apple picking this weekend or next, and pumpkin picking in early October. I can't wait.

Gratitude

2009-09-13T15:29:00.001-07:00

I have been quiet. I haven't wanted to write -- poems, prose, blogs, anything. I haven't wanted to take pictures of my life, of Ben. I haven't wanted to record. Just be.

I am feeling good. Very good. Better. I am loving fall, finding the darkness comforting.

I am reading and rereading Jane Kenyon, her poems, her interviews and essays. I started because I read Donald Hall's account of her death (and life), The Best Day The Worst Day. Oh, I do love her. She's probably among the three most dear poets to me. I'm going to reread each of her books this fall. It's going to help me revise a manuscript I'm working on. I can feel it.

I've been sending out poems from this manuscript like crazy. Two per week starting this month, which is a lot for me!

Did I tell you how much I love fall? Dark red leaves, yellow school buses, cool breezes, root vegetables.

I fell in love with Danny in the fall. Can it be sixteen years ago?

And I remember three falls ago, Ben growing like mad inside me, my pumpkin belly, lighting a candle in the dim afternoon while I lay in goddess pose on the yoga mat.

I an indebted to fall, and to my loves, and I will try my best to offer my gratitude.

Moon Week

2009-09-05T11:49:00.000-07:00

One day when we were upstate, we were playing in the lake looking at the bright blue sky, and I asked Ben if he liked the sky. "No," he said. "Really?" I asked, "How about the clouds?" "No," he answered. "How about the sun?" "No," he said, "Just the moon. I love the moon so much."

When we came home we declared it moon week, and celebrated the moon. Circle and cresent moon bananas, several moon drawings, moon books from the library, trying to locate every book in our house that had a picture of the moon in it, evenings walks to view the moon (which became full as the days passed), learning to spell the word "moon," and lots of moon talk. It didn't last a whole week, though. I think I was the only one still into it after day 3 or so. But Ben likes the theme week thing, and this morning he told us it was bug week. Yipee!

***

On a completely unrelated note, I've been investigating the possibility of taking coursework to certify as a breastfeeding educator (i.e., teaching breastfeeding classes). I had been thinking about doing the postpartum doula thing, and I will probably do that eventually, but teaching breastfeeding classes here and there sounds much more possible in terms of committment and childcare. I'm still investigating whether there's enough of a demand for such classes in my area, and which program is best, but it's on my mind, and it feels good.

As the years go by, I definitely see myself doing work in the breastfeeding (and birth) field. It has always felt like a calling to me, and having a child has only reinforced that. But I do have one particular worry: I'm a poet, a "professional one." I want to continue publishing, doing readings, having some kind of recognition in the poetry world, and though I know that there are successful poets out there who don't teach at universities, I feel a pang of guilt and worry over the fact that I have sort of given up my academic pursuits. I'd love to continue to teach, but I want to teach POETRY (not comp or lit), and I want to teach people who are interested in writing it. And I don't want to move half-way across the country to find such a job.

My dream "job" (which probably won't happen until my kids are in school) would be to piece together a schedule where I could do some breastfeeding/birth work AND teach poetry workshops. I'd be happy to teach a workshop at a college, but I'd also love to teach children, inmates, senior citizens...whatever. I just want to share my love of poetry with others and help them find their voices.

***

Why do I like blurry photos (like the one above, taken on one of our moon walks)? Must be the dreamer in me.

At the lake . . .

2009-08-31T13:26:00.000-07:00

loving

running into the water

playing in the sand

reading

resting

looking out the window

sinking my feet into wet sand

trying to bottle the tranquilty

as we enter the next season

Trust

2009-08-18T11:44:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking about trust.

Trust yourself, I tell a new mom. Trust your body to birth, to make milk. Trust your instincts. Pick that baby up, hold her close to you, stay with her, stay with her all night.

I look at Ben, who has been nursed, rocked, or otherwise "parented" to sleep each night for his whole life. Last night he rolled into his crib (sidecarred to our bed) and announced that he was going to put himself to sleep. It was a joke, really, his endless chattering, kicking, laughing, standing up to jump. And patient as we were to watch it happen, we had to convince him to come closer, listen to another story. I doubted then, for a moment. I imagined some "sleep expert" looking in on the scene, criticizing us for never teaching him to put himself to sleep. And then I laughed, Danny picking him up in his arms, starting the story about the piece of corn who serves melted ice cream to the peanut. Can you think of a better way to fall asleep than that?

I have been thinking about a more existential, spiritual trust. Trust that my life will hold together, that it means something, that the suffering of the past is over. Just because there was loss then does not mean there will be loss now. Trust in the life I have built for myself now. Trust in myself to heal.

Trust in my poems. To be written. To be important. To be poems that you would like to read. And trust that it's worth it to make the time, to turn off the phone, to put away the vacuum, to skip the yoga.

And what if, I thought, lying in bed with Ben, watching Blue's Big Musical Movie, of all things -- what if this was good enough? What if it didn't matter if another poem is published, if the soft dough of my belly stayed soft forever, if I never taught again, read again, etc. What if being a mom was all I was going accomplish in life? And what if I really didn't care, and I'm just too embarrassed to say so?

Trust that I care, that I don't care, that it matters, that it doesn't matter. Trust my instincts. For life, for mothering, for writing, for love. Trust my husband, my home, my bed. Trust my desire to end each night with a dish of ice cream, then something salty, then water. Trust my son sleeping beside me, my husband clicking away on his cell phone, the hum of the air conditioner, the dark stormy night. Trust that summer will end. That I won't be afraid.

No!

2009-08-14T12:12:00.000-07:00

OK, I'm about to brag about my boy. He wrote his first word! No, he can't hand write yet, and it wasn't a very long or complicated word. It's very age-appropriate, actually. Yes, that's his handiwork up there! As Danny and he were leaving to pick me up from the train station (I was out. Can you believe it!), he arranged his little word up there on the door, and told Danny that they wouldn't leave the house yet because of it! What a silly boy. Danny convinced him to move the "n" to a different spot and then they both agreed it was time to go. Oh boy! Melt my heart.

I'm off to write. My mind is spinning off in all different directions. A to-do list that's multiplying as we speak, chores to be done, plans to be made (we MUST get to a beach before summer is over), phone calls to make. It's one of those days. And it's my writing day. So I will take Ben's lead and say NO to everything else, put my pen to the page, and write.

Scissors and Dreams

2009-08-07T13:16:00.000-07:00

Ben has discovered scissors, and his dreams.

Mostly, he's been cutting tape (and decorating his face with it, as you can see) and strips of construction paper. He's into the act of cutting more than the actual result, although I suppose you could say he "created" something with his tape-face idea. And yes, he's using child-friendly safety scissors. Reddish-pink ones. He likes the color pink.

Monday morning he woke up and said that he'd been on a boat while he was sleeping. Oh, how excited we were! "That's a dream!" we said, "tell us more." He told us he was looking for home. That was about all he knew. Then the next day, he woke up for his early morning nurse (which puts him back to sleep 95% of the time, but not this time) and began to tell me another dream. He was on a silver tunnel-slide, it was dark inside the slide, Daddy was there, and there were many, many slides. He wanted to go there later today ("after nap"). Oh, how heartbroken we were to tell him he could only go there again in his dream. But we will be on the lookout for a playground with many, many silver tunnel-slides.

There were two poems this week, one new, one old, that did it for me, got under my skin, rang through my body. I'll share them with you.

The new one is by Suzanne Gardinier, an strange and amazing poet I've discovered. It's from her new book, Dialogue with the Archipelago.

Dialogue 78/Drinking

The man who will give his days to his gambling/Who will say I break my balls for these guys
And drink Married to his company Who will say/We've got to put their feet to the fire
His eyes flat Lips turned to razors hasn't/arrived yet He's still a boy
Dreaming barefoot in a seat by the window/Drinking from his mother's breast

And then, perhaps my favorite Emily Dickinson poem, which I understood in a new way this week:

#280

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading – treading – till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through –

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum –
Kept beating – beating – till I thought
My Mind was going numb –

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space – began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here –

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down –
And hit a World, at every plunge,
and Finished knowing – then –

Small Hands

2009-07-31T09:35:00.000-07:00

I love to watch his small, capable hands making art, music, a sandy beach made of clay, a ball pit for his animals made of beads. I love how he narrates these worlds to me. If I go into the kitchen he follows, still talking. He's like Danny that way, the words so important, his need of your full attention. His wide, funny smile.

And I am proud to watch him out in the real world, interacting with other children, using his words instead of his body to negotiate toy sharing, turn taking, etc. Sure, he's a toddler -- he'll grab a toy here and there, he'll lie on the floor crying when he doesn't get what he wants. But somehow, his social personality is very civil and even tempered. At home, he lets loose, and is as intense as anyone, but he seems to know how to keep it together in public. What a sweetheart.

Sometimes I feel as though I've spent my life waiting for the next thing, imagining it, obsessing over it. It's like my brain doesn't know how to operate any other way. These years as a mom have been spent wondering how on earth I will fit another baby into the picture, how we will ever afford a larger home, where my kids will go to school, when I will have more time to write, etc. But it's OK not to know. It's OK to let each thing happen when it will. Look at what I have now. I have everything I need, everything I wanted.

the middle of summer

2009-07-24T06:44:00.000-07:00

Here's my boy when he hasn't had a nap. So handsome, some cute, and so tired. There has been a lot of nap skipping lately. He's at a point where he can kind of sort of get by without one, and he knows it, so he tries to avoid it. Most of the time, fatigue gets the better of him (thank you God for nursing), but for the past few weeks, it has been a struggle. Which makes for some very long and tiring days for this mama. And of course, this has to happen during the summer, when Danny's workload is heaviest, and the car is most unavailable. And it's rainy! So picture me stranded in the house with an unnapped boy trying desperately to keep everyone happy. Let's just say there have been lots of bubble baths, cookie making, and (sigh) movie watching. I do so love hanging out at home with my imaginative, smart, super-fun toddler, but ten hours of it is just too much. There, I've said it. The rant is over. Now let's move onto the love.

I'll tell you what I love. Getting the proofs for my poem that will appear in the next issue of Bellevue Literary Review. I've always admired the journal and am very happy to have a poem in there. It's a poem I wrote while pregnant and I wasn't sure it was too weird or something. But now I look at it, and I'm like, hey, that's not weird at all. Maybe it helped that I was looking at it in a pdf file -- so much more official. I'm just thrilled for more of my new poems to be out in the world. I like them. I want homes for more of them. I'm working on it.

I'll tell you what else I love. I've started my work as a breastfeeding counseler, and I love love love it. It feels so good to offer that kind of support to new moms. Just for mothers to know that there's someone out there who so wholeheartedly wants to support their desires to breastfeed and mother their babies through breastfeeding -- it seems to go a long way with the women I've spoken to so far. The information and suggestions I give are certainly useful, but the emotional support is equally, if not more important here. I love it. I love getting the phone calls, and stealing time away from my busy day to sit in the bedroom with The Breastfeeding Answer Book out and open...

And now I will enjoy this precious morning to myself. To write, to submit, to book review, to do, ummmm, everything.

Questions with Ben

2009-07-17T12:34:00.000-07:00

~On Birth~

Mommy: What was it like in my belly?
Ben: It was like milk.
Mommy: Did you sleep there?
Ben: Yeah, on our bed.
Mommy: You mean the bed we have at home?
Ben: Yes.
Mommy: What color was it in my belly?
Ben: Yellow, like naked.
Mommy: Do you remember being born?
Ben: No.

~On Growing Up~

Mommy: When do you think you’ll be done having mommy’s milk?
Ben: When I’m five.
Mommy: When do you want your own bed?
Ben: When I’m thirty-one.
Mommy: When do you want your own room?
Ben: Thirty-one also.
Mommy: Where will you work when you grow up?
Ben: At the Great Neck Arts Center and Vic Hanson and Levels and do puppet shows.
Mommy: Will you have children?
Ben: Yeah.
Mommy: Who will be their mommy?
Ben: Mommy will.

~On Death~

Mommy: Grandpa Benjamin and Grandpa Nathan aren’t alive anymore.
Ben: They’re babies.
Mommy: Yeah, it’s like that.
Ben: It’s like they’re in a different house far away.
Mommy: Yeah, it’s like that too.

Artifacts of the Week & That Face

2009-07-10T12:02:00.000-07:00

~ The new issue of Lilith, in which my review of Women Poets on Mentorship: Efforts and Affections appears (a great and personally inspiring book).

~ And (gasp!) is that a check? Written out to me? Why yes it is. Lilith pays their writers! What a blessing. In fact, this is the second paycheck I've received since Ben was born. The last one was from Lilith also. They have been good to me, and I'm writing some more reviews for them now. It has all inspired me to seek out more paying freelance writing, and I've been floating around some ideas...

~ The stick is from Grace Avenue Park. Ben has taken to bringing pieces of nature home after we've been out. It's a lovely habit, and I encourage it. Ben said this stick was a giant potato bug and we were supposed to go home and make a "raccoon" for it so it could turn into a butterfly. Gotta love the logic.

~ Up in the right-hand corner is a copy of The White Album borrowed from the library. We're very happy that Ben has started to listen to it. The early Beatles stuff is great, but I like the later, grittier stuff best. Oh man, we listened to Dear Prudence twice this morning, really loud. And Savoy Truffle blew me away. Unfortunately, Disc 1 is scratched, so Julia started to skip. But at least I heard the first verse, which brought tears to my eyes: "Half of what I say is meaningless..."

~ And buried under it all, a puzzle we picked up for 50 cents this morning. We also got a great train/number/color puzzle for $1. And yesterday we got a barn with animals, a tractor, a pretty farm girl, etc. that is compatible with Ben's Mega Bloks, which he loves loves loves...all for $5. Go yard sales!

Cut off at the top, yes, but look at that face. I think his eyes are settling on a grayish hazel. So distinguished.

A Day in Summer

2009-07-07T13:16:00.000-07:00

dress-up at home

then a walk to the park

a ride on the swing to soothe a broken heart (long story, but let's just say the bottled water wasn't cold enough)

trying new things (he climbed UP the side!)

home to paint the world outside, and dictate a new story to mommy

admiring the work as it dries

Solstice Week

2009-06-26T11:24:00.001-07:00

Ben had been getting so excited about going to the beach that we had to gather every shell and rock in our house and create our own "beach in a jar." It was my idea to put the shells and rocks in a jar, but it was Ben's idea to add water and call it a beach.

How happy and proud he was when it was done. (The small jar contains a rock he found in a pond; when he brought it home he insisted we put it in water so it wouldn't miss the pond too much.)

Visiting with our friend Genny, and admiring her garden. Looking for worms and ladybugs! Sheila's left leg, and baby Cole's cute little feet dangling on her belly.

And cozying up at home. Naked of course. Ben reading Pat the Bunny to his bears, Pink Bear and Car Bear (named Car Bear because he used to live in our car; we kept him in there to entertain Ben when he was a baby). Ben has been telling endless stories about these bears. They're 10; they like The Beatles, Max and Ruby, and Blue Clues; they sleep in their own beds; they don't have their mommy's milk anymore (no word on how old they were when they weaned). They go everywhere Ben goes, and he loves them "so much."

~Happy Summer, Everyone!~

A Rainy Afternoon Alone

2009-06-18T15:23:00.000-07:00

How grateful I am for this long afternoon alone. Rainy and dreary, yes, but all mine. This has been a stressful week or two -- nothing specific has happened, but every little thing seems to be setting me off. I've been feeling tender. Like I need a good, long cry. But who has the time to cry while chasing around and caring for an active, vocal, vibrant little two-year old?

Things are subtely changing, maybe that's it. Somehow my boy turning two-and-a-half seems big to me. He's still most certainly a baby in so many ways, but he seems more and more like a kid. It's not just that he's finding his voice (a gentle way of describing the notorious two-year-old tantrums). He looks longer, his face has lost some of its roundness. He doesn't need me to help him up and down the steps (though I stay close by). He has developed a new sense of empathy, displaying real concern over my tummy aches, seeming to really understand that it hurts his friend's feelings if he grabs her toy.

But anyway, back to my afternoon. I ate a bowl of food, lit a candle, and read the latest incarnation of my manuscript. (The title that you see some of up there is probably not the title.) I feel, for the first time, quite certain that I don't need to write anymore new poems. And for all the tweaking I do here and there with sections and stuff, I seem to always come back to the same order, the same arc. So that's probably what it is. I will certainly be doing line edits, and reshuffling the poems a bit, but I'm pretty certain I am done with the basic writing of it. That's big, and feels, too, like a new chapter of my life beginning. I have started a new folder on my computer for new poems. I have three in it so far.

Oh, and some nice news! I've been asked to do mini-reviews of three poetry books, which means that I will receive free poetry books. And a little cash for doing the reviews. They look like good books too. Now if only some of the journals reviewing my poems would get back to me. Rejection, acceptance, whatever -- I'd just like to find out what is going on. Why has it been taking so long lately?

Soon the boys will be home. I'm going to go look at my poems again.

Magic and Awe

2009-06-14T11:27:00.000-07:00

We found this CD player for Ben on sale for $5. He had been disappointed that he wasn't allowed to use our stereo, so we got him his own little stereo. He learned how to open and close it, handle the CDs very carefully, press play, go to the next track, and change the volume. And it went from there. All week, any free minute we had at home, Ben was situated in from of it, listening, of course, to The Beatles. It must be genetic. We've got strong Beatles-obsession genes on both sides of the family. And Ben is truly obsessed. He wakes up and tells me which songs he wants and in what order. He has requested songs in the middle of the night. He asked his "Mommy and Me" teacher to turn off the tape of nursery rhymes and put on "Can't Buy Me Love." And he asks us to "read" the CD booklets. He wants us to tell him which Beatle is which, the song lists for each album, and anything else of note. It hasn't always been pretty -- he has been known to flip out if the wrong song comes on, or if we don't find the right track fast enough (this is usually if he's tired or something). And it gets a little boring for us after awhile. The same songs over and over. But then I look at him, so totally absorbed, in music-heaven, and I am so proud and happy.

I wonder if all two-year-olds are like this. Ben seems to get so totally absorbed in whatever he's into, and doesn't want to do much else. It was like that with drawing, and then with making tents and tunnels on the couch. He's passionate. He wants to get to the bottom of each thing, learn as much as he can. Then he's over it, it's gone, and he's onto the next thing.

I love watching him learn, discovering it all with him. Sometimes the idea of him going to school doesn't quiet make sense to me -- he's so self-directed, and learns so much on his own, it's hard to believe school could give him the attention he needs. But he does love playing with other children, and the "teachers" we meet at his "Mommy and Me" classes have a great rapport with him, so I know it will be nice for him when the time is right. And there will still be time for him to pursue his interests his own way. But the magic and awe of his life right now -- I don't want it to end.

Ben's Beautiful Smile

2009-06-08T14:30:00.000-07:00

A year ago, I was worried sick over Ben's teeth. He had the tell-tale signs of decay: a light brown line across his front tooth that could not be scraped away. For three months, as I fretted, researched, called dentists etc., I saw that line spread like wildfire from one tooth to another until all four front teeth were affected. It was awful.

All the research I did, and each dentist I spoke to, suggested that breastmilk (specifically breastmilk consumed while sleeping) was the cause of this decay, and that prompt nightweaning was the only way to halt the decay. My gut instinct was that this could not be so. Humans were meant to nurse at night, into toddlerhood, and had been doing so for eons -- why would something so natural and wholesome be damaging?

And whatever the cause, how on earth could I nightwean my little boy? I can see it even clearer now: he was still such a baby, and was not ready to stop nursing at night. We would have, of course, survived (many people nightwean young toddlers gently and successfully), but it was simply not how I envisioned our nursing relationship progressing. It seemed to me that nursing to sleep was one of the seven wonders of the world, and it made me happy to give that to Ben. I remember one afternoon, walking and nursing Ben in the baby carrier, looking down at his warm, sleepy face, his soft flutter-sucks, his body drifting off into milky sleep. My heart ached. How could I let this end so abruptly, when neither of us were ready?

The research was sharply divided. Dentists across the board said breastmilk on the teeth at night caused decay, and recommend that "habit" stop as soon as a baby's first tooth appeared (how many babies would wean prematurely if sleeptime comfort nursing was taken away from them?). Breastfeeding advocates mostly said this was hogwash, and that breastmilk had little, if anything, to do with decay. This was supported by own experiences: all the breastfeeding toddlers I knew nursed at night and had no decay.

And yet, my instincts told me that even if breastmilk didn't cause Ben's decay, it must have played some role, as he consumed so much of it both day and night. I finally found an article (published by La Leche League) that made the most sense to me. Essentially, this article explains that breastmilk alone does not cause much more decay than water, but that breastmilk mixed with solid foods can be damaging to the teeth in certain vulnerable children. This made a lot of sense to me -- I knew we had been lax about cleaning Ben's teeth before bed, and that he had slept many nights with a mouth full of food particles mixing with breastmilk.

So I had a plan before me: keep Ben's teeth as clean as I could both day and night, and work on repairing the damage. My heart was still wracked with guilt, worry, and an enormous amount of uncertainty, but I decided to go with my instincts and not change our nursing patten unless this plan did not work.

The first dentist we took Ben to did not want to participate in my plan. "I know it will be hard," she said, with a sympathetic little pout in her face, "but I'm very strict about nighttime nursing." When I asked her if there was anything she could do to halt the decay, she said no, and that if I didn't nightwean, I would be giving my child cavities.

On the advice of a mom in my La Leche League group, we took Ben to a different dentist. Dr. Mercurio was not covered by our insurance, but she was gentle and soothing. She did believe that night-nursing had contributed to Ben's decay, but she also recommended dietary changes, increasing toothbrushing frequency, cleaning the mouth out after nursing to sleep, and a very conservative amount of fluoride to protect the teeth. She gave him a fluoride varnish as well.

We were very diligent with our plan. Ben protested, but soon became used to our routine of brushing his teeth three times a day. We were very strict about sugar in his diet. Xylitol had been recommended as a tool to decrease to the cavity-causing bacteria in the mouth, and we developed a routine of putting Spry, an indigestible xylitol gel, into his mouth several times a day. We reluctantly did the fluoride too, but were happy that the dentist recommend cutting out all fluoridated water, and using half a pea-size amount of fluoride. We also gave him a swig of water in a medicine dropper after he'd fallen asleep to clean out his mouth.

And (gasp!), things began to improve. Each time we came back to Dr. Mercurio, she said that the decay was stablilizing. After a few months, we started doing fluoride every other day instead of every day. We let him try ice cream and juice (both of which he fell in love with), and became somewhat more relaxed about occasionally missing a brushing. Eventually, I stopped giving him those nighttime swigs of water.

Now, one year later, Dr. Mercurio has declared the decay completely arrested. We're going to decrease the fluoride to once every two days, and the goal is to stop it altogether if things still look good in two months. I can't tell you how happy I am. I feel accomplished (and lucky -- this amount of tooth care doesn't always work to halt decay in young children) because I worked my butt off to take care of Ben's teeth, and my work paid off. But I am also proud that I was able to let my instincts guide me on this one. I was getting opinions left and right about what I should and shouldn't do, but I knew what I had to do. I wasn't sure if it was the perfect choice, but I followed my heart, and it all worked out in the end.

Ben has been brave throughout it all, sitting in the dentist chair month after month, being patient as we stick that finger toothbrush in his mouth over and over again. And yes, he still enjoys his nighttime and naptime milk. What a good boy. What a beautiful smile.

My Aquarius Streak

2009-06-03T15:57:00.000-07:00

Our apartment building faces the pool on one side (and a tree-lined street on the other side, thankfully). For the past few days, the maintenance guys have been getting it ready for the summer season. And Ben and I have been watching, Ben standing on his stool, me behind him. The first day they covered up the pot-holes and dents with some white goop. We remembered how the pool had filled with snow in winter. The next day they painted it sky blue. Then yesterday they cleaned it, and began filling it with pool water. This was, of course, the most exciting step. Now Ben needed to stand on his desk chair to see. It was like a giant bathtub with so many water spouts gushing water. Then it started to rain, and the apartment filled with the sound of that gushing water and the pitter-patter of rain. We listened through the wide open window.

I'd been having a lousy day. Lots of nightwaking (yes, we are still teething over here -- his very last tooth is half-through), and a queasy PMS-y stomach. The sounds of water as I walked in and out of the living room reminded me to relax. And I remembered a special moment during my labor with Ben. The doulas had just set up the birth pool, and my contractions were picking up, getting really intense. I was starting to feel entirely overwhelmed by them. Sarah was holding the hose over the pool, and Cori told me to listen to the sound of that water, that it would soothe me. And I did, and it did soothe me (I believed anything anyone told me during labor, which, in my case, worked to my advantage).

All this is feeding into my desire to live by the water, a desire which has been steading rising up in me over the past few years. It has something to do with spending my early childhood on Martha's Vineyard, and having my own child now. One day it might happen, but right now, I don't want to think about what I don't have.

For My Mom, Born Beautiful and Free on the Summer Solstice

2009-05-31T18:38:00.000-07:00

From my mom, who read my blog for the first time:

Dear Wendy, I read your I guess it is called blog. I loved the pictures of you and Ben, your writing and the feelings expressed . . . I will read more later. Love, Mom.

I love my mom. I love and appreciate her more since becoming a mom. She was the original "attachment parent" before they had a name for it. She wrote poems before I was born, and when I found them as a teenager, I saw deeper into her heart and into my own. I can't believe she raised two young girls as a single mom. She stayed home for almost three years with my sister even though she could barely afford it, and when I asked her how she did it, she said "I had no choice."

Two weeks ago, at the end of an exhausting week, Ben up all night, teething, tantruming, my body depleted, my mind fuzzy, I ran into my mother at the train station. I wasn't sure how I was going to make it through the rest of the day, and I was starving out of my mind (all night nursing can do that to you). My mother had apples and cheese, a bottle of cold water. I ate and drank and was cured. Then we rode the train together and looked out the window, Ben on my lap, my mother across from us, the train rocking past Little Neck Bay, past the town my mother grew up in, and onto Great Neck, where I spent my teenage years and where my mother lives now.

Thank you, Mom.

self-portraits, time alone

2009-05-29T13:20:00.000-07:00

I had a rare half hour alone in the house the other day. Housework was miraculously done, laundry folded, the boys had had dinner out, so that wasn't looming. Too short a stretch to get into writing. I was tired of surfing the web. So I did what I've done since I was a teenager and found myself alone at home. I looked in the mirror, tried on clothes, took my hair down, put it back up (as a teen, I would have experimented with make-up, but I have no real interest in that anymore). And as an added touch, I photographed myself.

Somehow, this is how girls connect and discover themselves. We are looking for a feeling in our faces, our raw selves, the face we don't show the world, the one we wish we did. Beauty, yes, the kind we see on TV and magazines, yes we want that. We want to find it the way no one else can. But we know beauty is mixed with pain, and we are looking for that too. All of it, there in the mirror.

And this time, I was looking for the mother in me. How has motherhood changed my face, my beauty, my pain? I see it for a second, and then it's gone, and it's just me, the same face I've had since I was a baby, and I was under the microscope of my parents' eyes.

Afternoons on the Couch

2009-05-22T18:55:00.000-07:00

Probably my favorite time of day is from 4-6pm. Mornings are usually spent out at playgroups, libraries, classes, parks, etc., and though these times are generally fun and satisfying they involve preparation and travel, both of which take more patience and effort than is often comfortable for a two-year old and his mommy. Then home for lunch and nap, one transition after another. He naps, and I regroup, glancing at my poems, surfing the web, dragging myself onto the yoga mat, breathing and moving, and probably snacking afterwards. Then he's up, and we're both refreshed, with nothing to do until dinner time.

It's quiet, it's just of the two of us, and I try not to make too many phone calls, catch up on chores, etc. I try to be there for him, let him guide me in play. A month or so ago, this was the time of art, Ben and me at the kitchen table drawing, painting, making stories. Lately, though, he wants nothing to do with art (or at least that kind of art). He has realized that what he draws doesn't really look like what he intends it to. Before, just the movement of his wrist and the explosion of line and color were enough. "That's a staircase! That's a big big Ben! That's a fair in Great Neck!" he would proclaim. Now, he's just frustrated. Recently, he wanted to draw an earth. "Oh," I said, "You know how to make a circle. That's all you have to do." So he made a circle and threw the marker down. "That doesn't look like the earth!" he shouted. "Mommy do it." And it went on from there: frustration each time he tried, so I stopped suggesting we draw, and he stopped asking. I figure it's just a phase, and he will pick up his pen when he's ready. I understand. It's like that for me with my own art.

The new thing is playing on the couch. Naked, of course. All he wants to do is make tents and caves with blankets, use the pillows to turn into turtles and fish. And he wants me to come inside with him, the two of us curled in the dark together. Or we'll read book after book, discussing each page in detail. And of course there's his CD player and headphones. He's got the whole Beatles catalogue of songs memorized. And let's not forget his monkey-body climbing all over the couch and me, standing at the top and jumping into my arms. We've got a room full of toys, but we stay on the couch, this soft little spot, this safe, cozy place.

Fleet

2009-05-14T14:14:00.000-07:00

A rough week, Ben's second-to-last tooth breaking through (yay! it's finally here), sleepless nights, early morning wake-ups, full-fledged tantrums on the floor. And me, usually a well of patience, cracking several times. I was hungry, I was tired, and every time I sat down for a meal, he would cry.

Some moments of beauty, though. Three new poem drafts for me, and a book in the mail, Stacie Cassarino's Zero at the Bone. Ben's new favorite books: Rosemary Wells' Yoko series, endearing books about a Japanese cat named Yoko. Ben's ongoing obsession with The Beatles, spending many long sessions listening to them on his headphones, giving both of us a needed break. And his brilliant idea: each time we read the Yoko books, we must start by listening to "Oh Yoko" by John Lennon. Does he know how incredibly cool he is to think of that, to want to do it each time?

I was thinking about these rough times. There have been so many of them these past two years: teething, developmental spurts, illness, and God knows what else. When I'm really in it -- awake for two hours in the night, holding his crying, taut little body -- it sucks. But I'm always quick to reassure myself that it will be over soon. Soon I will be gazing at his sleeping body, soon he'll be gazing up at me, smiling as he nurses. And soon he will be all grown up, off to school, off to college. I am quick to remember how brief this time in my life is. I am good at remembering that. Somehow, my age-old fixation with loss, with the fleetingness of life, has served me well.

Swelling, Spinning

2009-05-09T11:49:00.000-07:00

All week I have been working on the poem I started the other day. Actually choosing to work on it during my breaks. I know I have something good when that happens. It's about flowering trees and my father. Full of words like shed, scatter, disperse, flying, swelling, spinning, gone.

Yesterday was a good day. Me and Ben at the park looking for bugs. He was scared of the bug he found on our dining room floor that morning, but at the park, all he wanted to do was find more and more bugs. Ladybugs! Green bugs! Flies! Little tiny red dot bugs! I wish I knew more of their names. After nap, onto the library, where we checked out bug books, Rosemary Wells books, and Babar books (in preparation for a children's exhibit at the Nassau County Museum of Art that we want to go to). Besides bugs, his interest/obsession of the week has been The Beatles, so we checked out A Hard Day's Night and Yellow Submarine. Home, we ate pasta on the floor and read the books. Then we popped some popcorn and watched A Hard Day's Night, which meant fast-forwarding it to the songs, and watching Can't Buy Me Love 127, 573 times.

OK, one more look at the poem, then yoga. Happy Mother's Day everyone!

Blurry Photo of Me and Ben on the Train

2009-05-05T13:30:00.000-07:00

Faith

2009-05-05T12:51:00.000-07:00

I wrote a poem today after a dry spell. I'm not sure if it's any good, but it felt good to be writing, to go into that place. And I realized while writing it that I need to have more faith in my poems. I have to believe in them. Sometimes they're good. Sometimes they're poems I'd like to read.

I want to have more faith in everything. My poems. My decision to lend these years of my life to raising my children. My marriage. All the big things, I guess. Sometimes I worry that the things I love will dissolve before my eyes.

This year I have been paying attention to flowering trees. Magnolia trees have petals for a week or two. Already the redbuds are shedding their petals all over the sidewalk. It alarms me how quickly this beauty passes.

And now this post is turning into a post about loss. But maybe it's good to go there sometimes. Just to say it lessens the burden.

Week in Review

2009-05-03T14:35:00.000-07:00

Beauty.

Funny face, reminds me so much of Danny.

Listening to The Beatles on his new CD Player!

Each time he listened, how completely absorbed he became.

Working on his new picture/story: Girlfabee in the Water. The notepad where I wrote it down.

A Good Morning

2009-04-25T11:12:00.000-07:00

Danny home, nowhere to go. Sleeping till 8:30, nursing and lounging in bed until 9:15. Into the living room, playing with buttons and pom-poms. Breakfast. Danny brings the laundry down. I start soup so it will be ready for lunch: lentils, garlic, onions, a zillion carrots because that's what Ben likes best. Danny and Ben watch Blue's Clues. Soup's done, mop the kitchen, clean the bathroom. Blue's Clues is over. Crying, wanting more. Consoling: more tomorrow when the sun comes up. More nursing. Ben's idea: let's draw a picture of Mommy and Ben nursing. I draw the people, Ben draws a tent around them. Now time to take out all the toys in the entire house (it seems). Stuffed dogs, piggy bank, stacking cups, pencils, books, marbles. Read Fox in Socks. Can't believe Ben remembers N-O-W spells "now." Soup's almost ready, add the alphabet pasta. Danny puts the laundry in the dryer. Sit down for lunch. Lots of talk about letters, the sounds they make. "Don't know what sound "W" makes," Ben says. Danny and I grinning from ear to ear. The table filling with "Wha" "Wha" "Wha"! Soups done, Ben asks for ice cream, takes raspberries as a substitute, thank God. I clean up, Ben plays with the metronome, TICK TICK TICK, his arms covered in raspberry juice. Danny picks up the laundry. More play, change diaper, light the naptime candle. More play, blow out candle, run run run to bed. Brush teeth, read Chicken Soup with Rice, get cozy, nurse to sleep, Danny and I lying beside our boy half falling asleep ourselves.

Naptime

2009-04-22T11:09:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it takes ten minutes, sometimes forty-five, usually somewhere in between, but after all the nursing and walking and stories, after his body is still, and his breathing is deep, I step away from the bed, turn on the baby monitor, and walk into the living room.

I know that in an hour or two the room will be filled with toys again, but for these hours of mine, I want the house clean and clear. So I put away the toys. I load the lunch dishes into the dishwasher. Sometimes I vacuum the carpet. I do it as fast and simply as I can. Then I get a mug of water or Roma (may favorite coffee substitute) and sit at the couch facing the window, computer open and ready.

Usually nothing. Usually reading blogs, answering emails, Facebook, the Mothering forums. Sometimes I'll look at a poem. Once in a blue moon I'll write one. It's quiet. Today the sounds of rain. I could write one. Each day I could. Maybe I'm storing them up. I'm afraid of getting cut off. It's my time, I think, the poems can wait. And they do. Mornings alone, an empty house, Danny and Ben on an outing.

Then yoga. I roll out my trusty green mat. Some days I'm so tired all I can do is breathe and move. Some days I open and open and tap into energy I didn't know I had. Some days my thoughts are racing so fast I feel like a fool trying to center myself here in the middle of my living room. Some days the symmetry of my body calms me. Some days (and they've gotten rarer and rarer as he gets older), Ben call me in to nurse him back to sleep. It's amazing how fast the milk flows when I'm in the middle of yoga. The interruption used to annoy me, but now I'm more aware of how fleeting these deep needs of his are, and how much I'll miss them as he outgrows them.

Then more computer. Maybe I'll give Danny a call. Maybe I'll open up a book of poems and read a few. But soon he's up for good. "Mommy come," he calls.

House

2009-04-20T11:06:00.000-07:00

I want a house. I've always wanted one. A garden, a porch, quiet, space. A house of my own. I have the family for it. I enough stuff to fill a house. But we live in a one bedroom apartment. It's cozy, it's easy to clean, and most important, it makes it possible for me to stay at home with Ben, and for us to live near our parents. You have to have a zillion dollars to afford a house here, and we're staying put, so who knows about this house thing. Usually I'm OK with it. After all, I've lived in apartments all my life. Sometimes I imagine house-living and I feel afraid of being too far away from everyone, of somehow losing the closeness we have now.

Usually I'm OK with it, but last night was one of those nights where I wasn't OK with it, and I lost some sleep. This happens every few months, when I realize that even when my kids are in school and I'm back to work, even when Danny gets his teaching license, even when our income increases, even then, we may never have a house. Neither of us want to work crazy hours, neither of us are in business. We both want time to do our art. And we happen to live in one of the wealthiest areas in the country. It's hard when you want it all.

But this morning, it didn't matter. There was rain outside the window, legos on the coffee table (which doubles as the toy chest), art at the kitchen table (which doubles as the lunch table, the writing table, the bill paying table), our plants on the windowsill, and the knowledge that life is long, complicated, and full of surprises.

Days of Red and Pink

2009-04-13T18:55:00.000-07:00

Small hands making pink.

Red shred of shirt.

Camouflaged copy of The Comstock Review, in which my poem "Milk Dreams," appears.

Mr. Ben

2009-04-07T08:47:00.000-07:00

Ben’s on a Mr. Book kick. He likes their small size and the goofy, but charming pictures. Danny was saying that these books appeal to the collector in kids, and it’s true. Ben and I spend a bunch of time looking at the back of the books with the picture-lists of all the different “Mr’s.” When we found Danny’s collection of Mr. Books in his mother’s attic, Ben was blown away.

Somehow, Ben tolerates the stories in the books. Some are better than others (Mr. Busy is the best I’ve read so far), but they’re kind of boring, clunky to read, and very predictable. They did inspire a little Mr. story from Ben, in which “Mr. Ben” and several other Mr. characters go to Home Depot to ride the elevators and look at toilets.

I’ve been rereading Victoria Redel’s two books of poems, Already the World, and Swoon. Both gorgeous books that I highly recommend. I was particularly moved by her poem “Where She Goes,” from Swoon. I’ve been thinking about divorce, single-mothering, and children, so it struck a chord.

Where She Goes

After he takes them for his Sunday and she is alone,
free, the envy of the married mothers,

the envy of herself all the fetch-them-home-
from-school days of the week—she rides the train

down to stores lazy with out-till-dawn girls
who call her Honey. She lets them dress her up.

These never-sleep girls declare her fierce
in a satin halter and pants. I’m someone’s mother, she says,

holding up softened breasts. Don’t even tell us, they say zipping
her into something once all too alive.

It’s one o’clock. She does what they tell her.
There are five hours left.

She waits all day to call the kids to say good night.

Write That Down

2009-04-03T20:24:00.000-07:00

Soon after his second birthday, Ben became obsessed with drawing pictures. I'd spend long stretches at the kitchen table watching him. To make conversation, I started asking him what he was drawing. He was so quick to respond: "star train track," "so many people in the rain," "people and ladybugs." I began writing his titles on the pictures and putting them on the wall opposite his chair. I remember one day after dinner, the wall now completely full of pictures, and Ben narrating, "There's the zoo train picture. So many stickers. There's Grandpa Les eating so much fruit. You made those pictures. Mommy put them on the wall."

Soon his pictures became more elaborate and I realized he was telling stories. So I began to write those down too. I asked him if he wanted to write a book, and he said "Yes!" It all made sense. He would get into drawing a certain kind of picture, and draw several of them. I would write down the "story" of each picture and staple it together.

Now he has three books: Les is Outside, Myla When She Was a Little Girl, and At the Fair in Great Neck. The process has been very rough, of course. There are days that I feel excited to start writing, and he's not into it. Or he wants to draw an unrelated picture, or "mess up" (in my opinion, of course) one of the existing pictures for the book. The best is when he grabs my notepad and writes his own "letters" on it, making it very difficult for me to read what I've written. But the best thing so far is when he began to request that I write something down. "It's spring and summer and Ben is squinting in the sun . . . write that down," he said one morning while I was making breakfast. I rushed into the room. I was breathless with joy.

My little writer boy. Who would have thought.

My Two Beauties

2009-03-30T11:52:00.000-07:00

The Blue-Black Light

2009-03-29T19:43:00.000-07:00

I wanted to blog again, but so much had changed. I didn't want to betray my old self, the poet-girl who taught college classes in NYC, lived in Brooklyn, loved the hustle and bustle, her morning tea, staring out the red curtains of her office window. So much had changed. So much has changed. It has taken me these past two years to settle into my new life. Now I can say it: all I want is this. Motherhood, mothering, mama mama. It is all I ever wanted, and I care little if I ever teach again, submit my work, write a poem. And of course, I have written, submitted. It's all happening, maybe better than before, maybe not. We live in Queens now, in a smaller apartment to save expenses, no office for me, no time at the morning window. And yet, and yet.

I wanted to start blogging again to record this life. Our hours together. The art, the books, the talks. I am listening to his poems, and I am writing them down. Then, after I nurse him to sleep in the blue-black light, I am writing my own.

All Day He is Making Art

2009-03-29T11:10:00.000-07:00

A Yellow Ben Going Down a Slide

Play-doh Snowman #1

Multimedia

Little Painter Boy, Thinking

Play-doh Snowman #2

Mother World

2009-03-24T12:04:00.000-07:00

Ben's universe is completely mother-centric. The cups he is stacking are little Bens and the big blue one is Mommy. Our plant is Mommy and all the buds are little Bens waiting to be born. We have a mommy penguin but we lost the baby penguin. Yesterday Ben said, "The mommy penguin misses her baby." Every baby doll in the house is named Ben. All the mommies give their babies milk. And not just the mammals, either. My mom told Ben that ducks don't nurse their young, but he didn't care. All the ducks, all the penguins, the lizards, the dinosaurs -- they all nurse, and I bet if I asked him their names, Ben would say "Ben."

I wonder when this will change. I wonder when he will sit alone on a tree like Little Bear, and begin to stare at the wide, wide world. Will find a friend like Emily? Will they play until summer is over? And after she leaves, tears on his cheeks, will he crawl into my lap for comfort, to rest awhile?