Margaret and I went grocery shopping today. The little girl is nearly two now and questions are her favorite form of entertainment. She sat in the shopping cart as I debated between the bacon that cost $4.69 and the the bacon that cost $11.99. (Side Note: this is QUITE a quandary. Expensive vs Affordable, Thick vs Thin, Natural vs. Nitrates, Joy vs Alright That'll Do.) As I debated ($4.69 won out), she questioned.
"Mommy. what's that?"
"Sausage"
"Mommy, what's that?"
"Cheese"
"Mommy, what's that?"
"The offal of chicken, pork and beef, ground together until it is nearly liquid. It is then put in articial casing and called Bologna. It is also delicious. Let's get some."
She asked questions in every section of the grocery store and I, (more or less) answered. She wanted to know about all of it, and I, being well versed in every form of food, was able to teach her. It was simple and it was sweet. Today, she discovered raw chicken, pita bread, vitamins and eggplant. I could not match her enthusiasm for the eggplant, but to each her own.
(Mom rant: Who decided it was a good idea to have HUGE M&M figures that hold candy in every corner of the dairy and produce departments? Do you enjoy my child screaming for "Chockchit" when we pass them? Yeah. Me neither.)
After we checked out, I loaded her and all of our processed meats into the car. She asked questions the whole way home.
She and I are not really different. I have so many questions.
Lately, there have been many about being a woman. We have the power to lift our men all the way up to heaven, to teach our children about the stars and eggplants, to create and dance and sing.
And yet. And yet there is also so much pain. So many problems uniquely associated with, or more severe for, our sex. We have the power to change the whole world, but we also have the capacity to hurt for the whole world. We are crippled by depression, weight gain, insecurity, and a lack of self. We can love our neighbors, family and our God, but if our hormones aren't quite right, or mental history not so pretty, we become lost. In so many ways we are superman with the kryptonite built right into us. Why?
It will be nice to walk around Time and Space with my Lord one day. It will not be so different from a trip to the grocery store with Margaret. I will have a lot of questions to ask. He will have the answers. I am sure it will be simple and sweet.
I just hope we get to pick up some bologna along the way.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
There's no place like home
Margaret has insisted one wearing this pair of shoes every day this week. They have looked lovely with blue, clashed with orange and been worn at least twice over footie pajamas.
I tried to teach her to click her heels just like Dorothy. What the shoes lack in Oz sparkle, they make up for in shine. So, the clicking heels lesson commenced.
"Margaret! Say it with Mommy! There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home! Now click your heels!"
She ended up kicking herself in the ankle instead. HARD. This was followed by some crying accompanied by a somewhat justified sense of betrayal. I could see it in her eyes,"What kind of mom teaches her baby to kick herself in the leg FOR FUN?"
Ummm. This kind.
I guess some things are best left to Judy Garland. A tough lesson, but one that needs to be learned sooner rather than later.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Family Magician
The chores associated with the title, “Domestic Goddess”, have come to me with much difficulty. I understand, in theory, the benefits of a consistently clean house. It is much nicer to curl up into a straightened bed at the end of the night. The kitchen floor is quite pretty when its’ had its’ daily sweep. Heaven knows, that once the living room is cleared of toys it becomes a place I actually want to be. I know that dusting, wiping, scrubbing and picking up, are all necessary for our little house to function better as a home. I guess it just never occurred to me that I would be the one doing all the dusting, wiping, scrubbing, the oh-my-word-is-that-messy-again cleaning. The comprehension of this fact was swift and harsh, a guillotine of gender role realizations.
(Side note: Riley is a huge help and to date has done more laundry than I have. Full disclosure requires me to state that I am actually forbidden from doing laundry as I tend to ruin 1 out of every 8 loads.)
I stopped working in August and it was then that I began to try to define my role as a stay at home mother. I decided part of my work at home would be a house nicely ordered and scrubbed. A place ready for good times and dinner by the time our lovely Riley returned home. It seems to me that cleaning the house, making the bed, mopping that @#$% white tile floor AGAIN, is all service. Service for my husband who works so hard for us all day. Service for my daughter as she plays in a clean room and learns by example. Maybe even service for God, as I emulate him in the organization of matter and express gratitude through care of my earthly surroundings. I believe this is true. As a woman I am uniquely made for service; I was happy to find another opportunity for it in the home. My first week home from work was chock-a-block full of good intentions and high thoughts.
And then.
And then it hit me.
It is not merely that I do not care for housekeeping. I actually have no idea how to go about doing it. Dusting for example…apparently, and I only know this by looking at my windowsills, it has to be done more than once a month. It is not enough to clean just kitchen countertops as the cabinets insist on getting dirty, too. I was reading a blog on housekeeping a few months ago that instructed me to alternate cleaning baseboards and ceiling fans. There are people out there cleaning their baseboards?
The enormity of my ignorance was all consuming.
On top of it all, my ineffective housecleaning seemed to take all day. I am not talking about that common mom complaint, “I had the house cleaned by 10 am and the kids had it torn apart by 10:30am.” No, there was never a point when I could say the whole house had been cleaned. Rather it would go something like, “I had my bed made by 10am and was thinking about tackling the kitchen by 3pm.” I was actually cleaning the house all day. This was both embarrassing and discouraging.
This morning, I came across a short story published in the 1940’s by Shirley Jackson called, “Family Magician”. In it, Dad has died and Mom is left with two children, Dottie and Jerry. Their circumstances are strained and the atmosphere in the home feels the same. One afternoon a woman named Mallie, a la Mary Poppins, drops into their kitchen and informs the family that she will be taking care of them for a while. And take care she does. She serves each member of the family, creating a home out of good dinners and good conversation. She seems to sparkle and, although the children never gather any proof, they just know she is magic. Beds are made before she has even gone into the room, enough cookies and lemonade wait on the table for a baseball team she didn’t know was coming over, “it seemed as though she could straighten a room just by standing in the doorway and looking around hard.” She is, in a very real sense, the nurturing presence I would like to be.
One day Dottie, the teenage daughter, says,
“I wish you’d teach me some of that magic, Mallie.”
Mallie was making a salad but she looked at Dottie and said, “What do you need magic for, Missy? You’re doing alright without any.”
“YOU know,” Dottie said. She sat down and Mallie just went on making the salad…, “Look at all you can do – making dresses and doing housework without lifting a finger, and all that.”
“I only do work fast so’s I’ll have more time to do other things, “ Mallie said… “I’m real busy and busy people don’t have time to for everything they want to do. So I make time.”
“That’s it,” Dottie said. “I’m real busy, too. I want to learn some magic.”
Mallie laughed. “Tell you what I’ll do, honey. I’ll teach you how to make a pie. That’s all the magic you’ll ever need.”
And golly if she didn’t teach Dottie right then and there how to make a pie; just pushed the salad off to one side and went to work…It was a pretty good pie too – apple…And after that Mallie taught Dottie a lot of other things – and she told Dottie over and over again, “that’s all the magic you’ll ever need.”
I read those few lines and the silliness of my situation came to me quick and bright, a shooting star of gender role realizations. The scrubbing, the picking up, the oh-my-word-what-is-that-in-the-kitchen sink cleaning, is not an end in itself. It is simply the preparation for all the goodness my day can contain. It is the broccoli you have to eat before your parents will let you have ice cream. Is this really SO bad? The broccoli is good for you and GUESS WHAT? It is followed by a big bowl of ice cream! I love Mallie. The beds in her house are made, the floors are clean, dinner is in the oven and because of that, she has the TIME to sit down with Dottie and teach her how to make a pie. Can you imagine having the time to make a pie JUST BECAUSE you wanted to?
I can’t clean a room by just, “standing in the doorway and looking around hard.” I know, because I have tried. I can, however, understand that I am cleaning with a purpose. I will work fast so that I can provide my daughter (and myself) with days full of adventure, learning and joy. I will better understand the priorities of my life. Some days the house won’t get clean. I will know it is okay to push the salad aside, so that Margaret and I can bake a pie.
I think that’s all the magic I’ll ever need.
(Side note: Riley is a huge help and to date has done more laundry than I have. Full disclosure requires me to state that I am actually forbidden from doing laundry as I tend to ruin 1 out of every 8 loads.)
I stopped working in August and it was then that I began to try to define my role as a stay at home mother. I decided part of my work at home would be a house nicely ordered and scrubbed. A place ready for good times and dinner by the time our lovely Riley returned home. It seems to me that cleaning the house, making the bed, mopping that @#$% white tile floor AGAIN, is all service. Service for my husband who works so hard for us all day. Service for my daughter as she plays in a clean room and learns by example. Maybe even service for God, as I emulate him in the organization of matter and express gratitude through care of my earthly surroundings. I believe this is true. As a woman I am uniquely made for service; I was happy to find another opportunity for it in the home. My first week home from work was chock-a-block full of good intentions and high thoughts.
And then.
And then it hit me.
It is not merely that I do not care for housekeeping. I actually have no idea how to go about doing it. Dusting for example…apparently, and I only know this by looking at my windowsills, it has to be done more than once a month. It is not enough to clean just kitchen countertops as the cabinets insist on getting dirty, too. I was reading a blog on housekeeping a few months ago that instructed me to alternate cleaning baseboards and ceiling fans. There are people out there cleaning their baseboards?
The enormity of my ignorance was all consuming.
On top of it all, my ineffective housecleaning seemed to take all day. I am not talking about that common mom complaint, “I had the house cleaned by 10 am and the kids had it torn apart by 10:30am.” No, there was never a point when I could say the whole house had been cleaned. Rather it would go something like, “I had my bed made by 10am and was thinking about tackling the kitchen by 3pm.” I was actually cleaning the house all day. This was both embarrassing and discouraging.
This morning, I came across a short story published in the 1940’s by Shirley Jackson called, “Family Magician”. In it, Dad has died and Mom is left with two children, Dottie and Jerry. Their circumstances are strained and the atmosphere in the home feels the same. One afternoon a woman named Mallie, a la Mary Poppins, drops into their kitchen and informs the family that she will be taking care of them for a while. And take care she does. She serves each member of the family, creating a home out of good dinners and good conversation. She seems to sparkle and, although the children never gather any proof, they just know she is magic. Beds are made before she has even gone into the room, enough cookies and lemonade wait on the table for a baseball team she didn’t know was coming over, “it seemed as though she could straighten a room just by standing in the doorway and looking around hard.” She is, in a very real sense, the nurturing presence I would like to be.
One day Dottie, the teenage daughter, says,
“I wish you’d teach me some of that magic, Mallie.”
Mallie was making a salad but she looked at Dottie and said, “What do you need magic for, Missy? You’re doing alright without any.”
“YOU know,” Dottie said. She sat down and Mallie just went on making the salad…, “Look at all you can do – making dresses and doing housework without lifting a finger, and all that.”
“I only do work fast so’s I’ll have more time to do other things, “ Mallie said… “I’m real busy and busy people don’t have time to for everything they want to do. So I make time.”
“That’s it,” Dottie said. “I’m real busy, too. I want to learn some magic.”
Mallie laughed. “Tell you what I’ll do, honey. I’ll teach you how to make a pie. That’s all the magic you’ll ever need.”
And golly if she didn’t teach Dottie right then and there how to make a pie; just pushed the salad off to one side and went to work…It was a pretty good pie too – apple…And after that Mallie taught Dottie a lot of other things – and she told Dottie over and over again, “that’s all the magic you’ll ever need.”
I read those few lines and the silliness of my situation came to me quick and bright, a shooting star of gender role realizations. The scrubbing, the picking up, the oh-my-word-what-is-that-in-the-kitchen sink cleaning, is not an end in itself. It is simply the preparation for all the goodness my day can contain. It is the broccoli you have to eat before your parents will let you have ice cream. Is this really SO bad? The broccoli is good for you and GUESS WHAT? It is followed by a big bowl of ice cream! I love Mallie. The beds in her house are made, the floors are clean, dinner is in the oven and because of that, she has the TIME to sit down with Dottie and teach her how to make a pie. Can you imagine having the time to make a pie JUST BECAUSE you wanted to?
I can’t clean a room by just, “standing in the doorway and looking around hard.” I know, because I have tried. I can, however, understand that I am cleaning with a purpose. I will work fast so that I can provide my daughter (and myself) with days full of adventure, learning and joy. I will better understand the priorities of my life. Some days the house won’t get clean. I will know it is okay to push the salad aside, so that Margaret and I can bake a pie.
I think that’s all the magic I’ll ever need.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Peace Like A River
I could clean out all the closets in my house or I could write just a little here in outerspace. The organization of the closets seem to be the best choice; I opened one last night and a lawn chair fell onto my head. So...there is some work to be done there. On the other hand, writing here has it's charms. I don't think anyone really reads this, so no risk, AND I get to sit while typing...comfort while pretending at productivity.
Closets lose. Meggi wins.
It is now 2011 and the life I am living is beyond what a scoundrel like me should hope for, let alone deserve. I am possessed of a husband who loves me and a daughter that dances. The walls of my house are standing and the roof is new. Last night Riley came home from his promising new job and the table was set, the potatoes perfectly baked and I felt a grandness in our small lives. This isn't luck. Me, 25 and in love with everything around me. Luck is not that creative. This is blessing, protection, modesty, love, God, truth and faith. I know that my goodly parents and my God raised me for this life, those baked potatoes, this moment. I am a daughter of my Heavenly Father and I KNOW IT. There is light in that knowledge and it will be bright in the darkness that visits me. The potatos will sometimes burn, not all nights will be set tables and love. It is alright. I know that I am being waited for in the home of my Heavenly Father. It could have been so different. There could have been so much less.
I am grateful. I am happy. I am delivered.
Closets lose. Meggi wins.
It is now 2011 and the life I am living is beyond what a scoundrel like me should hope for, let alone deserve. I am possessed of a husband who loves me and a daughter that dances. The walls of my house are standing and the roof is new. Last night Riley came home from his promising new job and the table was set, the potatoes perfectly baked and I felt a grandness in our small lives. This isn't luck. Me, 25 and in love with everything around me. Luck is not that creative. This is blessing, protection, modesty, love, God, truth and faith. I know that my goodly parents and my God raised me for this life, those baked potatoes, this moment. I am a daughter of my Heavenly Father and I KNOW IT. There is light in that knowledge and it will be bright in the darkness that visits me. The potatos will sometimes burn, not all nights will be set tables and love. It is alright. I know that I am being waited for in the home of my Heavenly Father. It could have been so different. There could have been so much less.
I am grateful. I am happy. I am delivered.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
I see you...
Margaret.
Favorite new phrases: "Come on", "You ok?", "Daddy's back!", "More Chockchit?" (chockchit = chocolate), and "I am Margaret Zuzu".
Favorite book: Goodnight Moon
Favorite food: Beans
Favorite drink: Almond Milk
Favorite friends: Mommy, Daddy and Blanket
Favorite Outfit: Cowboy Boots, Polka Dot Tights, Tutu and Heart Hoodie
Favorite Disney Princess: Ariel
Favorite Indoor Activity: Dancing
Favorite Outdoor Activity: Dancing
Still hates baths.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Popcorn Poppin' on the...
Riley flew up to Oregon yesterday. He is gone until Monday. I hate it.
Blog confessional...I was almost excited about this alone time. I don't remember what it is like to be by myself. It has occurred to me lately that I might not mind remembering. This weekend was to be the perfect walk down memory lane. (Yes, I still have a 22mo old at home with me, but Margaret sleeps nearly four hours a day and then goes to bed at 7:30 each night. That is a lot of Megan time.)
There was considerable determination to be ultra productive in Riley's absence. I was going to make serious headway on my writing, acquaint myself with a yet to be determined literary classic and maybe master some basics of the french culinary tradition. You know, nothing much.
Riley has been gone for just over 24 hours. Margaret has been napping like it is her job. The weekend of Megan is well underway. And...the writing is pedestrian, I can't focus on reading and, let's face it, french food is just a titch trendy right now.
My bed is empty. Margaret doesn't get my jokes. The "i am lonely" self pity eating has gotten out of control. I am currently consuming my body weight in popcorn...I made yesterday.
I remember now what it is like to be by myself and I cannot believe it is only Friday night.
This Guy. I like him.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Captured
I think I have a lovely smile. I have seen it reflected in mirrors, windows and the odd clean spoon. I know it exists. However, there is little record to this effect. Point a camera lens at me and that smile disappears leaving something very, very different in its place. In most photographs I appear to be baring my teeth in an effort to intimidate some very menacing animal in the distance.
Unpleasant.
Enter one Heather Mildenstein. Heather is the creative force behind, The Coterie Blog, a lovely haven of whimsical delights. Mrs. Mildenstein is an expert in many fields, and I thank my lucky stars that photography is one of them. We will be sending out a Christmas card for the very first time this year and it is all thanks to her wonderful work.
Unpleasant.
Enter one Heather Mildenstein. Heather is the creative force behind, The Coterie Blog, a lovely haven of whimsical delights. Mrs. Mildenstein is an expert in many fields, and I thank my lucky stars that photography is one of them. We will be sending out a Christmas card for the very first time this year and it is all thanks to her wonderful work.
Not bad, right?Feel like documenting your family this Christmas and looking good while doing it? Contact Heather at heather@thecoterieblog.com (she is great with kids!)
Monday, December 6, 2010
Today
Dear Margaret,
Last night was a hard night.
I read a story about a mom just like me that lost a daughter just like you.
Your Dad held me while I cried in our bed.
Have I mentioned how sweet our Riley is? He wanted to go wake you up so that you could cuddle me better.
It was very tempting.
I decided to let you sleep.
Today has not been hard.
We have so much fun together.
Every morning you play in your crib, chattering with people I can't see.
Finally, you call for me and I open the door to your room. You shout, "HI MOMMY!"
Hi baby girl.
Our days are filmy with fun and frolic.
You help me sweep. We dance. We read. You yell. I laugh.
You love The Little Mermaid, soup and singing.
I love you.
Tonight will be a better night.
I am going to stop worrying about tomorrow. You give me too many good todays.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
From this moment on...
Cowgirl Margaret
Dear Margaret,
You turned 18 months old yesterday. I am not much for the marking of milestones. I forget anniversaries and birthdays...even when they are my own. Ideally, I would have you believe that this forgetfulness is the result of my being so preoccupied with saving the world. I can just hear the conversations on the playground that this explanation would lead to...
"oh my mom forgot it was my birthday because she was curing world hunger, what did your mom do for your birthday...bake a cake?"
In reality the forgetfulness most likely stems from my distaste of change I cannot control. Every birthday takes me further from the life I am living and closer to stiff joints and chronic hemorroids. I grow attached to a moment so quickly and then find myself surprised when it trips away. It seems we are given everything, down to our very breath, just so it can eventually be lost. Your dad cannot understand how I lose so many things that matter (my first anniversary gift) and so many things that do not (those darn pizza gift cards... WHERE ARE THEY?) Maybe I lose things quickly, before they are treasured and lost anyways.
I already know that you, my darling girl, are not something that I can keep. I know that. And yet you, my little star traveler, my girl that is not really mine, I can love you wholeheartedly and without fear, even as I know you will not always be here, even as I know I will one day lose you.
You turned 18 months old yesterday. I am not much for the marking of milestones. I forget anniversaries and birthdays...even when they are my own. Ideally, I would have you believe that this forgetfulness is the result of my being so preoccupied with saving the world. I can just hear the conversations on the playground that this explanation would lead to...
"oh my mom forgot it was my birthday because she was curing world hunger, what did your mom do for your birthday...bake a cake?"
In reality the forgetfulness most likely stems from my distaste of change I cannot control. Every birthday takes me further from the life I am living and closer to stiff joints and chronic hemorroids. I grow attached to a moment so quickly and then find myself surprised when it trips away. It seems we are given everything, down to our very breath, just so it can eventually be lost. Your dad cannot understand how I lose so many things that matter (my first anniversary gift) and so many things that do not (those darn pizza gift cards... WHERE ARE THEY?) Maybe I lose things quickly, before they are treasured and lost anyways.
I already know that you, my darling girl, are not something that I can keep. I know that. And yet you, my little star traveler, my girl that is not really mine, I can love you wholeheartedly and without fear, even as I know you will not always be here, even as I know I will one day lose you.
In this moment these are some of the things I absolutely treasure about you, Margaret Zuzu Bingham.
Your mouth was built for the new words that spill out of it daily. As of today you say: cheek, hair, ear, toe, mouth, eye, nose, baby, foot, nana, no, uh oh, daddy, mom, papa, side (outside), water, dog, where'ditgo?, cracker, choco (chocolate), hot, cold, ouch, night night, I know, nug (nugget), gankgoo (thank you), please, thereyougo!, anel (Daniel), Mey (Jaimie), Keke (Katie), Tay, mine, on, off and gamma (grandma)
When I sing while I am cleaning, you sing "lalalalalala" and twirl
I know you are happy when you hum and shake your hips back and forth. This happens before and after every meal and each time I hand you your blankie
You call your blankie, "baby"
Today I caught you rubbing different containers, lathering up your hands and then applying the phantom product to your hair like it was gel. You must be watching your daddy get ready in the mornings.
At night now you sleep like a big girl, on your back, arms and feet stretched out, this made me a little sad...
You kiss me a hundred times a day. Always on the spot that is closest to you, generally my knees and my toes.
When you are being quiet, it is always because you are in your room "reading" to yourself out of Goodnight, Moon.
If you want my attention, there is no "mommy" or "mama", only "mom", you are my teenage toddler
Happy 18 months, Margaret. Thank you for teaching me the importance of a milestone and the moments leading up to it.
I love you.
Mama
Saturday, August 7, 2010
I capture the...
Riley and I sat down to watch The Dark Knight while it rained outside. I started crying about 15 minutes into the silly thing. Motherhood makes darkness, even the predictable kind found in summer blockbusters, more potent than it once was. The transformative powers of parenthood are odd. Having Margaret made me so much stronger and, at the same time, so much more vulnerable. Some sort of Superman/Kryptonite complex? (Maybe I should go outside...too many comic book references.) Riley is finishing the movie while I distract myself with our little blog. It plays on in the background and I think I could have written the storyline and dialogue myself. The creation and dispersion of ugliness requires little talent. Shadow is easy, it is the light that is hard to capture.
Us, in the light.
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