Friday, January 30, 2015
Thursday, January 29, 2015
It strikes again, and then some
I am sitting on my bathroom floor smearing pantene on my head and combing my hair with a fine tooth comb. Lice, it turns out, is a hearty creature, and is not actually gone from my house yet.
Silas and I went glamping in California for the weekend with a bunch of old friends, which meant heated cabins to sleep in and campfires to cook on -- perfect -- an easy walk to the beach for sunsets and moss covered boulders for the kids to climb on, and handfuls of smooth stones to skip into the silvering water.
Somewhere along the path through the woods from the beach to the campsite, Silas's towel must have brushed (and brushed and brushed against) poison oak, the towel he then used to dry off after a shower. Our first morning back in DC found his trunk covered, and face and arms blotched with angry rash. For a couple of days and nights Silas spent most of his waking (some nocturnal) hours in a hot roaring shower or oatmeal/baking soda bath.
In the meantime, Maeve struck up a case of conjunctivitis, and this morning we found Eden's head had been harboring a handful of (now poisoned) bugs. Disgusting. And it of course raises the question of where else might these bugs be hiding...
They do not appear to be anywhere but on her head, but have we missed one? one teeny little egg that will hatch to wreak further havoc and make us begin again at square one, meticulously combing each morning and daily loading the dryer with sheets and blankets?
So here I am, combing out my own hair on the bathroom floor (because there's a heat vent here and our house is drafty), guessing that one day we will be free of lice again. Because we will, won't we And poison oak? And conjunctivitis? And.......
Silas and I went glamping in California for the weekend with a bunch of old friends, which meant heated cabins to sleep in and campfires to cook on -- perfect -- an easy walk to the beach for sunsets and moss covered boulders for the kids to climb on, and handfuls of smooth stones to skip into the silvering water.
Somewhere along the path through the woods from the beach to the campsite, Silas's towel must have brushed (and brushed and brushed against) poison oak, the towel he then used to dry off after a shower. Our first morning back in DC found his trunk covered, and face and arms blotched with angry rash. For a couple of days and nights Silas spent most of his waking (some nocturnal) hours in a hot roaring shower or oatmeal/baking soda bath.
In the meantime, Maeve struck up a case of conjunctivitis, and this morning we found Eden's head had been harboring a handful of (now poisoned) bugs. Disgusting. And it of course raises the question of where else might these bugs be hiding...
They do not appear to be anywhere but on her head, but have we missed one? one teeny little egg that will hatch to wreak further havoc and make us begin again at square one, meticulously combing each morning and daily loading the dryer with sheets and blankets?
So here I am, combing out my own hair on the bathroom floor (because there's a heat vent here and our house is drafty), guessing that one day we will be free of lice again. Because we will, won't we And poison oak? And conjunctivitis? And.......
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
a tiny poem about a sleepless night
There was nothing unusual, I just hadn't done it before,
pressed "Clean Oven" on the control panel and watched
digital scrolling letters tell me the door was now locked.
The smoke came up through the heating vents
until my eyes watered in my bed, and I kept dragging
downstairs to make sure the wall wasn't on fire,
which it never was, though the kitchen was all smoke.
I opened a small window and let flurries dampen
the sill all night while upstairs the heater roared at us.
The son woke with a throat raw, with pain in the head,
woke and cried each time he coughed. The daughter
murmured from sleep, stuttering questions to herself
as I lay beside her on the other side of the wall watching
the clock move, listening to the baby cry phantom cries.
Somewhere in the night that felt too bright with moon
and street lights coming off the snow, we all stilled
and finally slept, and then it was morning, the smell of smoke
thinned, kitchen floor like stone, and the oven surprisingly clean.
pressed "Clean Oven" on the control panel and watched
digital scrolling letters tell me the door was now locked.
The smoke came up through the heating vents
until my eyes watered in my bed, and I kept dragging
downstairs to make sure the wall wasn't on fire,
which it never was, though the kitchen was all smoke.
I opened a small window and let flurries dampen
the sill all night while upstairs the heater roared at us.
The son woke with a throat raw, with pain in the head,
woke and cried each time he coughed. The daughter
murmured from sleep, stuttering questions to herself
as I lay beside her on the other side of the wall watching
the clock move, listening to the baby cry phantom cries.
Somewhere in the night that felt too bright with moon
and street lights coming off the snow, we all stilled
and finally slept, and then it was morning, the smell of smoke
thinned, kitchen floor like stone, and the oven surprisingly clean.
Saturday, January 03, 2015
A Saturday Afternoon as January Begins
It is Saturday afternoon. 40° and raining, raining. I am still battling sinusitis – wrapped in a blanket on the couch with my face pounding, reading Amy Poehler's new book Yes Please.
Upstairs Maeve and Eden are taking a bath and playing some game which involves an insanely loud and long splashing and then Eden's voice, "are you okay honey?" over and over and over again. And every once in a while she breaks into the 1980's commercial jingle for "water pets water pets" that was on some cartoon Ben's dad taped in the 80's and recently burned onto a DVD.
In the basement, Ben and Silas are building legos while they listen to an audio rendition of the first Harry Potter book. This last month, Silas and I have devoured the first three books together, so when we found out Ben and his work cohorts would be going to Harry Potter Land this month on a business trip, we gave him the first book to read to earn such a trip. Somewhere over this weekend, reading turned into listening, and Silas joined in.
Rain falls from the white sky. Winter is sprawled across the scene through the living room window – skinny bare branches and the few exposed shaggy squirrel nests high up. It is January, awash with water. We begin again.
Upstairs Maeve and Eden are taking a bath and playing some game which involves an insanely loud and long splashing and then Eden's voice, "are you okay honey?" over and over and over again. And every once in a while she breaks into the 1980's commercial jingle for "water pets water pets" that was on some cartoon Ben's dad taped in the 80's and recently burned onto a DVD.
In the basement, Ben and Silas are building legos while they listen to an audio rendition of the first Harry Potter book. This last month, Silas and I have devoured the first three books together, so when we found out Ben and his work cohorts would be going to Harry Potter Land this month on a business trip, we gave him the first book to read to earn such a trip. Somewhere over this weekend, reading turned into listening, and Silas joined in.
Rain falls from the white sky. Winter is sprawled across the scene through the living room window – skinny bare branches and the few exposed shaggy squirrel nests high up. It is January, awash with water. We begin again.
Monday, December 29, 2014
A Hair Wash
For Christmas, Silas gave Eden a bag of travel conditioners and a hair wash (by him) in the sink.
So today while Maeve napped, and I sat beside a pile of calico critters on my bed, Silas and Eden stood in the bathroom.
I heard the sink go on.
Eden: I can just was my hair.
Silas: No Eden, I am supposed to do it FOR you.
Eden: ok.
...
Silas:Eden, your hair is a rat's nest!
Eden: I know.
...
Eden: My head's going to go down the drain!
Silas: Your head is not going down the drain.
Eden: No, but my hair!!
Silas: Put your head back in the sink
Eden: But it will go down the drain!
Silas: No, it won't... I need you to make your head flimsy.
...
Eden: Owww, my neck
Silas: you have to tell me if your neck hurts!
...
Silas: Eden, do you want a towel?
Eden: Umm... my dress is soaking, but no.
...
Eden: Silas, do you want to know why my dress is soaking?
Silas: yeah
Eden: because you've been pouring water down my back every time you poured it on my head.
They are probably 20 minutes in to the process now and the conditioner is just starting to go on.
So today while Maeve napped, and I sat beside a pile of calico critters on my bed, Silas and Eden stood in the bathroom.
I heard the sink go on.
Eden: I can just was my hair.
Silas: No Eden, I am supposed to do it FOR you.
Eden: ok.
...
Silas:Eden, your hair is a rat's nest!
Eden: I know.
...
Eden: My head's going to go down the drain!
Silas: Your head is not going down the drain.
Eden: No, but my hair!!
Silas: Put your head back in the sink
Eden: But it will go down the drain!
Silas: No, it won't... I need you to make your head flimsy.
...
Eden: Owww, my neck
Silas: you have to tell me if your neck hurts!
...
Silas: Eden, do you want a towel?
Eden: Umm... my dress is soaking, but no.
...
Eden: Silas, do you want to know why my dress is soaking?
Silas: yeah
Eden: because you've been pouring water down my back every time you poured it on my head.
They are probably 20 minutes in to the process now and the conditioner is just starting to go on.
Friday, December 26, 2014
On Christmas Gifts (out of order post)
Ben and I have been reading a book called The Advent Conspiracy, which challenges the perfunctory/last-minute/gifts-for-sake-of-gifts giving we often do at Christmas, and the low tenor we've culturally developed that more is more and more shows love.
Instead, because Christmas is such a personal gift with God's presence at it's very center, the authors challenge us to give gifts that are personal, that offer our own presence and spending time together, that may even be costly in time or creativity or thoughtfulness.
So we started brainstorming. Even the kids have been thinking. Eden was trying to think of something for her grandparents who live near the beach and decided to sweep their patio next time she comes in case it's sandy (which it never is). Silas, who watches me tug a brush through Eden's hair as she winces every morning, decided to buy her some nice-smelling conditioner (!) And along with a couple of other little things, we're giving each of the kids a present that involve spending time with us.
Eden and I went to New York a few weeks ago to throw Ben's sister a baby shower and have an retreat just the two of us. At the shower, I was talking to a lovely woman who owns a store in LIC whose philosophy is to sell only things that are fair trade or manufactured responsibly and humanely -- sickening to think about how many things are not manufacture that way. She said that it is definitely expensive to shop responsibly, especially for clothing, but that where she's landed is that it's our responsibility to do that, or if we can't afford it, then to buy consignment and thrift -- don't add to the landfills or fuel the fires of indecent labor around the world.
I was instantly convicted (especially about all my H&M purchases) because, of course, she is exactly right. I'd like to live and shop like that, also.
Then that afternoon I bought earmuffs and a hat for $12 combined from a street vendor… OH to live by our own convictions!! Maybe we get to start by baby steps. I sure hope those count for something.
Merry Christmas and enjoy each other's presences.
Instead, because Christmas is such a personal gift with God's presence at it's very center, the authors challenge us to give gifts that are personal, that offer our own presence and spending time together, that may even be costly in time or creativity or thoughtfulness.
So we started brainstorming. Even the kids have been thinking. Eden was trying to think of something for her grandparents who live near the beach and decided to sweep their patio next time she comes in case it's sandy (which it never is). Silas, who watches me tug a brush through Eden's hair as she winces every morning, decided to buy her some nice-smelling conditioner (!) And along with a couple of other little things, we're giving each of the kids a present that involve spending time with us.
Eden and I went to New York a few weeks ago to throw Ben's sister a baby shower and have an retreat just the two of us. At the shower, I was talking to a lovely woman who owns a store in LIC whose philosophy is to sell only things that are fair trade or manufactured responsibly and humanely -- sickening to think about how many things are not manufacture that way. She said that it is definitely expensive to shop responsibly, especially for clothing, but that where she's landed is that it's our responsibility to do that, or if we can't afford it, then to buy consignment and thrift -- don't add to the landfills or fuel the fires of indecent labor around the world.
I was instantly convicted (especially about all my H&M purchases) because, of course, she is exactly right. I'd like to live and shop like that, also.
Then that afternoon I bought earmuffs and a hat for $12 combined from a street vendor… OH to live by our own convictions!! Maybe we get to start by baby steps. I sure hope those count for something.
Merry Christmas and enjoy each other's presences.
The End of December and Expectations
I'm sitting in bed with a swollen cheek and bag of frozen corn against my face. Instead of leading writing group this morning at Miriam's, I sat in an endodontist's chair looking up at patterned wallpaper as he leaned full-weight against the tool in my mouth. Since I'd forgotten headphones to drown out the sounds of drill and scraping, I had him give me a play-by-play narration of what he was doing, and I still can't picture it.
There's no pain quite like a toothache -- dull aching deep in the face. One morning when I woke up, it hurt into my eye. It's a helpless feeling, a tooth ache.
In Costa Mesa, our friends who were homeless had toothaches from time to time and several teeth missing all together. Here in DC there are some amazing dental services, but there there really weren't, and as the doctor tugged stitches into my gum, I couldn't help being grateful that the infection was out of my mouth.
Today, my throbbing jaw is trumping the rest of what I've nearly sat down to write about day after day: our house filled to the brim with visiting family (13 kids!), the lice left behind, the combing and sheet-washing that ensued, the saran-wrapped slabs of Christmas cookie dough in the fridge, my sister and Ben playing guitar and piano together belting out Christmas carols and "Radioactive," gifts of presence more than presents, and the sun that soaked everything pure gold this morning as I drove empty roads to the endodontist with my mom.
Christmas, with all of its planning and countdown, often ends somehow differently than we'd expected -- whether it's someone's reaction to a gift, or an expectation of something we'd receive, or hopes we didn't know we were sitting on, or the general deflation of the season's sudden end.
This year, I didn't expect to need my sister to come over and systematically comb through every piece of my possibly lice-infested hair, dry winter-scalp and all, several days in a row as we watched a bad movie or talked hoping the comb would come out clean. I didn't expect Silas's glassy-eyed fevers nor our having to miss Christmas Eve Chinese food dinner, didn't expect time for just the two of us to snuggle in my bed reading Harry Potter nor for Ben to face time us so we could watch the cousins open their cousin presents. I didn't expect a day in bed all day today nor my jaw throbbing enough to make left over dumplings hard to chew. Nor did I expect my mom to walk in with a vanilla milkshake nor Silas to grab my hand and pray for my surgery this morning before I left the house.
What I keep thinking is how all of this embodies the whole point of Christmas, and all of our need -- Christmas: a steadiness come to Earth to sustain us as our circumstances change and buck our expectations. It's a celebration of Immanuel, literally translated "with us is God."
As we live steeped in our own expectations, may we all learn more and more about this.
There's no pain quite like a toothache -- dull aching deep in the face. One morning when I woke up, it hurt into my eye. It's a helpless feeling, a tooth ache.
In Costa Mesa, our friends who were homeless had toothaches from time to time and several teeth missing all together. Here in DC there are some amazing dental services, but there there really weren't, and as the doctor tugged stitches into my gum, I couldn't help being grateful that the infection was out of my mouth.
Today, my throbbing jaw is trumping the rest of what I've nearly sat down to write about day after day: our house filled to the brim with visiting family (13 kids!), the lice left behind, the combing and sheet-washing that ensued, the saran-wrapped slabs of Christmas cookie dough in the fridge, my sister and Ben playing guitar and piano together belting out Christmas carols and "Radioactive," gifts of presence more than presents, and the sun that soaked everything pure gold this morning as I drove empty roads to the endodontist with my mom.
Christmas, with all of its planning and countdown, often ends somehow differently than we'd expected -- whether it's someone's reaction to a gift, or an expectation of something we'd receive, or hopes we didn't know we were sitting on, or the general deflation of the season's sudden end.
This year, I didn't expect to need my sister to come over and systematically comb through every piece of my possibly lice-infested hair, dry winter-scalp and all, several days in a row as we watched a bad movie or talked hoping the comb would come out clean. I didn't expect Silas's glassy-eyed fevers nor our having to miss Christmas Eve Chinese food dinner, didn't expect time for just the two of us to snuggle in my bed reading Harry Potter nor for Ben to face time us so we could watch the cousins open their cousin presents. I didn't expect a day in bed all day today nor my jaw throbbing enough to make left over dumplings hard to chew. Nor did I expect my mom to walk in with a vanilla milkshake nor Silas to grab my hand and pray for my surgery this morning before I left the house.
What I keep thinking is how all of this embodies the whole point of Christmas, and all of our need -- Christmas: a steadiness come to Earth to sustain us as our circumstances change and buck our expectations. It's a celebration of Immanuel, literally translated "with us is God."
As we live steeped in our own expectations, may we all learn more and more about this.
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