December 16th 2015
Under the wonderful direction of their Assistant Teacher Ms. KariAnne, ClaraJane’s Classroom Room 283 presented some lovely Winter Songs.
2016-12-16 Dance Like Snowflakes [43 seconds]:
[For whatever reason this one took me three months to post. I really loved the performance that day and still do.]
Monday, December 14th 2015
So what if I can’t help it?
Apparently they can’t help it either.
So there.
Monday, December 14th 2015
And you grab him by the hand at school breakfast:
And he spreads the cream cheese on your bagel, personally:
(Gavin ever at his own table)
Or you happen by -from grabbing your plastic knife- and lean in for a hug:
And class hasn’t even started yet. ♡
Saturday, December 12th 2015
Somehow amid December gigs -on a Saturday no less- we found a window of time to attend The Nutcracker Ballet! For our family this is unprecedented. Yet our girl is four now, so the timing seemed perfect. Not to mention her brother happened to be out of town, so the moment was ripe to escort our girl on a magical date with mom and dad. ♡
Of all the Nutcracker productions in greater Boston, we sought one that was; a) modestly priced, b) a peaceful (non gig-like) commute, c) not involving an undignified mad rush (ya know, like with time to take said four-year old to potty before curtain, stuff like that), and d) not sold out. We put on our finest and pointed towards the Jose Mateo Dance Company in Dorchester, Boston. In the end we enjoyed solely option “d.”
Instead, friends joined us, and the ballet we did manage to see was lovely.
What ClaraJane fell in love instead was having Zaida -normally Gavin’s playmate- all to herself. Zaida even comes replete with a baby brother to lord over, disdain and feel superior to. Bonus. In ClaraJane’s princess dress and purple stomping boots there was much rejoicing.
Afterwards, the young ladies were escorted by their men to an elegant and sophisticated homespun urgent dine-in pizza gnosh funtime.
By night’s end, amidst mournful tears of bittersweet parting, all’s well that ends well for lucky young lasses.
Friday, December 11th 2015
When I open my eyes this morning my daughter is showing me a giant costume ring on one finger and a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile.
“I got married!” she says.
“Wow! Overnight?” I said, Who did you marry? Or was it to yourself?”
The blushing bride leans in to my ear and whispers, “My brother!”
We lookeover at him, konked out on the pillow in the pre-dawn haze, mouth agape, snoring faintly. We giggle.
“Does he know anything about this?”
Thankfully I remember myself at that age, declaring I would marry my dad when I grew up, and so far we haven’t had any tragedies remotely Greek in nature, so I’m not too worried.
“That’s fine when you’re four,” I tell her, “But when you’re older you’ll need to find someone else to marry.” And then I catch myself, “Except you might not need anyone at all, who knows?”
“No I want to be married,” she says, “I might need someone to cook for me, because I might be a horrible cook like you!”
More giggling. And yes, the truth hurts, but man that girl is funny (and smart).
I explain that won’t happen because she cooks with Daddy all the time and she’s already a great cook (!), but that she can get married when she grows up or whatever she wants.
Here is the happy couple later that morning waiting for the bus. Like most males, the Boy seems to have no idea what hit him. Take my husband for example, who had no idea what was happening when I married him. I guess that’s one bonus of marrying a man while prisoner in a fog of chemo; he pretty much has to do whatever you say, such as cook wonderfully for the rest of your natural lives together. Ahhh. ♡
Tuesday, December 8th 2015
My doctor posited this question to me yesterday.
It turns out -and this will come as a surprise to exactly no one who knows me- that my brain chemistry is “hyperactive.” (I know right?) This causes me to be compulsive and emotionally reactive and hyperactive. (Family members could certainly add more descriptors here.)
So this year, among many prongs of therapeutic effort on my part, a gentle medication has been added to the mix, a “mood stabilizer.” Of course I was afraid I’d lose my creative energy, my unique spark and panache. But then it became apparent early on that, a) that ain’t never not gonna happen, and b) what I hopefully stand to lose is the very edge that makes me such an overbearing, hyperactive, over-reactive pain in the ASS.
So as we’re titrating the dosage and getting the balance just about right, she brought up sleep because that is one of the factors necessary to enable the medication to work. Of course it is a factor we all need in order for anything to work in our lives. (Der.) And I -you- need “8 hours a day.” (Ha.)
That’s funny, I told her, because with getting the kids off to school every morning now on account of hubby’s new job, it won’t be possible on the mornings after my night jobs. “You could go back to bed,” she says bluntly.
Say whaaaa?
“That’s what lots of moms do in order to take care of themselves,” she continues.
Now, that’s probably bullsh*t and I don’t know any moms who do that. But we should.
The wheels of obviousness turned slowly in my head. “Huh!” I’m like. What a radical freaking concept. “It seems like it would feel selfish, but it’s not because then you could take better care of your f-a-m-i-l-y. Huh!”
So I’m feeling really weird today, because in the face of a messy house with a messy bedroom and dirty kitchen and unrecognizably FUBAR swirl of papers, to-do lists and emails… that is what I did. I grabbed all the cats (count ’em, 3), and mercilessly dragged them into the messy bed with me to see what would happen.
Now it’s hours later and I’ve no idea where my family is, no magical fairies came by, I feel guilty about the house and neglected correspondences, the cats are still lying about -apparently guiltless- and it’s almost time for me to go to work.
So this day is a wash, other than I will soldier forward with the faith that 1) my ever tolerant husband remains tolerant, and 2) the dividends of this radical act will materialize in due time. I guess.
I mean, my mom always calls it, “The Secret of Life.” Sleep that is. I’ll posit that it’s the Secret *to* Life. Apparently the Dalai Lama puts it this way, FWIW:
And I stand corrected (well lay, I lay corrected), I do know at least one bad ass Goddess mom who performs compensatory sleep (even if she probably deserves more of it); my sister Amanda.
Also, I want to add one other factor that my Captain Obvious doctor alerted me to. Something equally well known as the boring old norms as “8 Hours of Sleep,” and that is; keep alcohol to an average of 1 or less per day. That’s all the female body can process. More than that not only taxes the liver but interferes with the brain by suppressing it’s inhibition (you know, the prefrontal cortex, the part which enables us to be civil, think rationally, make healthy interpersonal choices and be human).
For better or worse the light for this insight finally went off for me after an unfortunate fit of pique (er, Mom-rage moment) last spring which came on so suddenly it had really jarred me. The good doctor conferred my suspicion that my physiology had been off balance from recently having over-imbibed. (Again, der.)
So I have been more careful since then, albeit with some exceptions and I am not perfect. I also write this because I am not special. It is not just my medication and my brain chemistry whose wise function may be damaged in the aftermath of over-indulgence; it’s everyone’s.
It’s kind of pathetic how long it takes -and how many times it takes- to learn and relearn and really learn some of the most basic facts in life.
Next thing you know Dr. Obvious will be telling me I need to drink more water or something. Sheesh.
December 2015
Re-introducing our new kitten… DARTH SNOWFLAKE. Yep, final answer, that’s his name (and she’s a boy).
Having moved from Rolling Acres Farm in Ohio to the CircusKitchen condo in Cambridge, we were so lucky Auntie Liz offered to do the veterinary work on Darth Snowflake. (Super thanks, Super Liz!)
“What’s distemper?” the kids ask.
“It’s what mommy gets when she loses her cool.”
“Ohhh,” they say.
Now that Darth Snowflake has been treated for worms, rabies, distemper and fleas, he is free to do as he please;
Like Hang with the Gang.
Or as Daddy put it, “Darth Snowflake is free.”
From *Daddy’s* FB feed no less (the guy who wanted “nothing to do with” new kitten, and who helped name him):
He keeps going under our bed (safer from coyotes) and coming out covered in dust bunnies.
Speaking of bunnies:
Darth Snowflake seems to prefer Fluff, on account of all the danglies sticking out of her face, there for him to “play” with.
Meanwhile Peter Parker and Flash Cat are trying to handle it.
Poor Flash Cat –so dumb but nice– tries to figure out what he thinks of the new arrival. He tries to have opinions, but I’m afraid it’ll never happen.
Peter Parker seems more Zen about it.
The house cats are amazed and confused to see the former farm kitty work through table scraps:
They just don’t get it.
But they’re coping somehow.
Now that I am the new Food Lady in his life, sometimes Kitten follows me around till I carry him, so it’s a good thing I still have some baby slings on hand:
Also babies (former babies):
Sometimes things get feisty, and thankfully we have a whip for that:
And apparently a ginormous tree full of props.
I am in fact embarrassed by these riches, yet sharing them here is one of my ways to honor them. I hope you can forgive me, as Peter Parker seems to have forgiven Darth Snowflake.
In fact much of the time I’ve been composing this morning, they’ve been sitting on me holding… paws. Playing a slow game of “Mine is on top,” “No, mine is on top,” “No, mine…” etc.
So from my ridiculous abode to yours, I wish you;
1) An embarrassment of riches,
2) Peace on Earth, and
3) May your paw be on top… at least some of the time.
Monday, December 7th 2015
The kids were so excited to get to school today to say hi to the NEW Head Chef, their DAD!
Gavin wrote his Daddy a personal note and headed for the food, while ClaraJane bee-lined right to the source:
Here the diminutive yet indomitable “Janet” schools the new Chef on the register,
And tells his daughter where to go:
You can tell how ferklempt I am by the blur in my photos above. I mean, this is not about me but I’m amazed at the concept of all my babies going to the same school now, like every day for the entirety of the foreseeable future. Also, Chef goes in super early so it’s up to me now -and only me- to get those rascals up and off to school; EVERY DAY. [Shock face emoticon.]
This must be nothing compared to the pressure he’s under. Already I had one teacher say, “OK so we’ll be expecting really delicious food coming out of there from now on!” Well, the menu is dictated on a district level, although it has actually been deemed the best in the country.
[See: https://k12.niche.com/rankings/public-school-districts/best-food]
Even so I had one mom say it reminds her of Orange is the New Black, when the prison food was replaced by pre-fabbed packages. And one Dad said, “Are they still using Styrofoam plates in the cafeteria? That really bothers me. Maybe Paul can take care of that.” Grr.
At the same time, everyone I ran into is delighted and happy for us. Students welcomed him over the loud speaker during announcements this morning, staff and teachers were surprised and thrilled, and our principal said she is “really, really excited!”
Because I had to put limits on how much a wife can annoy her husband on his first day on the job, I don’t yet have a shot of him with All the (Lunch) Ladies, but here they are in the staff photo on the school bulletin board:
Paul’s new Gang
Finally, from the upcoming school newsletter: Look Who’s Cookin!
Our kitchen has a new Head Chef, and it is none other than Tobin Dad, Paul Oberhauser! Originally from Minnesota, Paul has been a chef his entire career, including several years cooking on tall ships sailing around the Caribbean and several Boston area restaurants. For the past 7 years he has been part-time fishmonger/consultant at New Deal Fish Market in Cambridge and full-time Dad to his two Tobin students, Gavin and ClaraJane, who are thrilled to have their Daddy at school. Chef Paul is honored to be working in the district of schools ranked #1 in Best Food in America. Welcome Chef Paul!
It’s already having a good effect on students. ClaraJane for one, forgoing her usual cereal in favor of warm french toast; “Guess what,” she says, “I ate all my breakfast!”
Friday, December 4th 2015
Mainly because it’s a struggle for me to be interested in the topic, I’m grateful to have finally gotten the kids back to the dentist.
Also because Gavin has monster teeth (like his mother’s) growing in where he lost baby ones, I’m capturing this fleeting moment, as ever.
Also because ClaraJane was too afraid to cooperate before, but this time her brother used sweet humor to reassure her;
And it worked!
That’s the thing with unicorns; everything they do feels enchanting when you’re their mother. Well ok not everything, but take for example your 4 year-old diligently showing off how carefully and thoroughly she knows how to brush teeth;
Actually at the risk of bragging, I did receive one of the best compliments as a mom on this visit. The kids and I were horsing around between treatments, and one of the staff members asked if I was the mom.
“Yeah can you tell?” I said.
“No actually,” she said, “Most moms are telling their kids to be quiet and stuff like that. You act more like me with me niece and nephew, wrestling and stuff.”
I told her I know what she means, because I work with kids too and frankly the parents are do likely to be such an overbearing pain in the butt. “My main objective here is basically to keep all the bodily fluids where they belong, and no trays of dental tools getting knocked across the room.”
“Well you have a lot of energy,” she said.
“Well I also haven’t been with them all day, so my interest in them is still pretty fresh.”
She laughed, and then polished my daughter’s teeth.
Friday, December 4th 2015
Or is it GUN threat day?
Yes, today is a gun threat day, it’s hard to keep track. This is the 4th one in two weeks where are school system has received anonymous emails threatening mass violence in our schools.
As parents fret and stress and wail about what to do, yesterday my course was perfectly clear; I had a Mindfulness group to facilitate. I also had homemade muffins to share, not to mention children to calmly steward to school with directives that the world needs an EXTRA amount of love today.
Everyone’s senses are heightened because, even amidst the endless numbing stream of gun violence and mass shootings that are now a daily or twice daily occurrence in the U.S., SOME of them (Columbine, Aurora, Sandy Hook and now San Bernadino, not to mention PARIS) blast new holes in our awareness of moral outrage and, unfortunately, fear.
It seems some technically clever asshole has found away to exploit this latest episode in our cultural climate by dropping anonymous -and as of yet untraceable- email threats on our town. We now have flanks of police and bomb sniffing dogs greeting our kids at school. And fortunately this isn’t add bad as it sounds on account of our “People’s Republic” is a magical town with wonderful police and who doesn’t love dogs?
So as I maintain a strong, calm supportive presence in our school community, and slug it out fighting the Good Fight on Social Media, trying to stay credibly informed while engaging the like minded and (perhaps more importantly) the unlike minded alike…
I pause here to explicitly perform some thankfulness; to practice wellbeing, and because I have so frigging much to be thankful for.
1) This ridiculous new kitten, and the way she -HE!- came into our lives.
2) My husband going for his new JOB orientation today (what?!)
3) The new regularity, logistical challenges and income that will bring to our family.
4) Our school, about which I could (and do!) speak volumes
5) Our town, which IMHO is the most perfect size, culturally rich, politically accessible, resource abundant, safe, healthy and academically endowed city possibly on earth. (I know, sounds like a biased exaggeration and everything.)
6) Our home, which we are simply inordinately lucky to have (even if o did work harder for it than anything else in my life since rowing.)
7) Oh yeah, my career, which is NEVER boring and always engaging, even when it is cruel and unusually annoying. It also pays well -WHEN I get it- and affords me some random down times (like this one) which quite possibly o love the most.
8) My DBT group class from which I have derived so much insight, gasification and mutual support, and which just ended for me. I will miss it even though I’m happy to move on. Because
9) Mindfulness. Lest I misrepresent myself, I must admit that at this nascent stage I’m still not only a beginner, but I still talk, write, read and think about it more than I actually practice it. I’m still overcoming a life long propensity towards, kinetic …intensity. (Just ask my family.) Stopping whatever I’m doing has long been the hardest thing for me …do. All the more reason practicing Mindfulness should be an imperative for me. The health benefits -for me and family- are astounding and resounding.
10) The local Mindfulness Network, of which of likewise only scratched the surface. I won’t detail it here, I’m just honored and deeply pleased at the road ahead. Because in fact, I believe with Mindfulness all things are possible, AND I believe it possesses the key to cure almost all of Mankind’s ills.
I do. We’ll see.
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