I feel numb these days. I don't know what to write. I just want to distance myself from the world. Cocoon, vanish, hibernate...
Tears seem to be bubbling to the surface a lot. Most of the time I'm able to think of something to distract myself, but I just want to go home and curl up in bed. Yet when I'm at home all I see are things that need to be done, washed, dusted, fixed, cleaned, organised, weeded, painted, etc.
Oh my goodness! Don't I sound dreary?!!!!
I find myself using my usual avoidance tactics. Not talking to anyone, clamming up, becoming very irritable, not being able to focus on anything. Right now it's bad. I need to figure out what's happening and deal with things.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
My Sweet Social Butterfly
I don't know how it happened. Our Daniel is so outgoing and personable - the complete opposite of his parents. I'm quite shy, withdrawn and quiet, while Daryle is... well let's just say we're not particularly sociable.
While I shrink at the thought of standing up in front of a crowd, he's not at all intimidated. On stage at his school Christmas concert he yelled "There's my Mom!" while pointing and waving, all the other children standing quietly in rows waiting for the cue to begin singing. So much for my disappearing into the anonymity of the crowd. As I sit down, my cheeks turning a brilliant shade of red, he calls out "Where's my Mom? Where'd she go?" Yikes - right here kiddo, waving back as discretely as possible.
When we're out and about, he easily strikes up conversation with anyone. Last fall, while travelling on the ferry between Langdale and Horseshoe Bay, he saw four men playing cards. Ooooo... cards. Irresistible. Over the back of our bench he watched their game intensely, and jumped at the opportunity when they invited him to join. "What's your favourite colour, animal, number, letter...?" Pretty quickly he had all four men engaged in conversation while the cards were dealt and game rules discussed. As we left the ferry terminal, he waved goodbye to his new friends as they cycled up the hill on the road heading out of Horseshoe Bay. They waved back too, what good sports.
Expressing his feelings comes easily too. He loves almost everyone and will tell them so at the drop of a hat. One of the moms of a fellow Kindergarten classmate recently told me how he had publicly declared that he loved his teacher and was crushed when she said that we don't love everybody, we like them. Apparently, a little controversy ensued: that evening her daughter asked "aren't we supposed to love everyone? Why did the teacher say Daniel couldn't love her?" The mother spoke to the teacher about how the children should be supported in expressing positive feelings and embracing kindness and goodwill, that she didn't like her daughter coming home being upset about not being able to love others. Oh dear.
We occasionally visit an elderly lady in our neighbourhood. She absolutely adores children and Daniel quite happily basks in the attention; he gives her hugs and likes to sit and chat. Any possible barriers crumble: they speak different languages and have nothing in common, but they connect nonetheless. As her health is slipping, both physically and mentally, we'll treasure their friendship while we can.
He seems to naturally feel for others, trying to help and comfort them when he sees that they're upset. Restaurant meals are often fraught when a little one nearby starts to cry. He just wants to rush over and give them a hug. Awww. We explain that the child is okay; their parents are taking good care of them, they're just hungry, tired or bored. I cherish his open-hearted empathy.
With encouragement and support, he's well on his way to becoming a well-adjusted cheerful adult. I hope his outgoing personality opens doors and presents opportunities that I've never even dreamed of. One thing I am sure of is this: he'll drag his poor socially inept parents along with him, kicking and screaming, yet all the while bursting with pride.
While I shrink at the thought of standing up in front of a crowd, he's not at all intimidated. On stage at his school Christmas concert he yelled "There's my Mom!" while pointing and waving, all the other children standing quietly in rows waiting for the cue to begin singing. So much for my disappearing into the anonymity of the crowd. As I sit down, my cheeks turning a brilliant shade of red, he calls out "Where's my Mom? Where'd she go?" Yikes - right here kiddo, waving back as discretely as possible.
When we're out and about, he easily strikes up conversation with anyone. Last fall, while travelling on the ferry between Langdale and Horseshoe Bay, he saw four men playing cards. Ooooo... cards. Irresistible. Over the back of our bench he watched their game intensely, and jumped at the opportunity when they invited him to join. "What's your favourite colour, animal, number, letter...?" Pretty quickly he had all four men engaged in conversation while the cards were dealt and game rules discussed. As we left the ferry terminal, he waved goodbye to his new friends as they cycled up the hill on the road heading out of Horseshoe Bay. They waved back too, what good sports.
Expressing his feelings comes easily too. He loves almost everyone and will tell them so at the drop of a hat. One of the moms of a fellow Kindergarten classmate recently told me how he had publicly declared that he loved his teacher and was crushed when she said that we don't love everybody, we like them. Apparently, a little controversy ensued: that evening her daughter asked "aren't we supposed to love everyone? Why did the teacher say Daniel couldn't love her?" The mother spoke to the teacher about how the children should be supported in expressing positive feelings and embracing kindness and goodwill, that she didn't like her daughter coming home being upset about not being able to love others. Oh dear.
We occasionally visit an elderly lady in our neighbourhood. She absolutely adores children and Daniel quite happily basks in the attention; he gives her hugs and likes to sit and chat. Any possible barriers crumble: they speak different languages and have nothing in common, but they connect nonetheless. As her health is slipping, both physically and mentally, we'll treasure their friendship while we can.
He seems to naturally feel for others, trying to help and comfort them when he sees that they're upset. Restaurant meals are often fraught when a little one nearby starts to cry. He just wants to rush over and give them a hug. Awww. We explain that the child is okay; their parents are taking good care of them, they're just hungry, tired or bored. I cherish his open-hearted empathy.
With encouragement and support, he's well on his way to becoming a well-adjusted cheerful adult. I hope his outgoing personality opens doors and presents opportunities that I've never even dreamed of. One thing I am sure of is this: he'll drag his poor socially inept parents along with him, kicking and screaming, yet all the while bursting with pride.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Closet Drumming
Recently I attempted to play Mom's drums and in an instant I was hooked. Now I find that I can't help myself: I must find an outlet for this desire to beat something with sticks.
In the opening scene of the movie "It Might Get Loud" Jack White makes a very basic electric guitar from a glass bottle, wires, piece of board and an amplifier screwed into place below the wires. He then plays it and comments "Who says you need to buy a guitar?" Inspired, I decide to make do with what I've got laying around the house. Lets see, a couple of long pens with strange rubber ends, and a very solid book chosen from the enormous pile on my night table (thanks Dad, I'm using your copy of "The Upside of Down" for a drum pad at the moment).
After settling Daniel into painting I rush off to my bedroom and bring out my drum pad and sticks. Ahhh, at last. Holding the sticks in my hands I raise one then let it drop onto the drum. TAT! The sharpness of the sound focuses my mind. All of a sudden I'm released - the worries of the day slip away and I disappear into the racket of my drumming.
At first I sound terrible; like pebbles falling randomly onto a tin roof. Whack-tap thud. Then as I become used to the weight of the sticks and my hands begin to better translate what my mind is thinking, the sound improves (a very little bit, mind). I'm able to do a drum roll, keep time with some music and my attempts to duplicate some snare drum music from my pipe band days are hilarious! Dah-dah te, dah-dah te, dah-dah te... I play for the entire 45 minutes of relative solitude after arriving home. As Daryle walks through the front door, I tuck my secret away quickly and resume my normal life. The one where I look after dinners and laundry. "Hi Hon, how was your day?"
All evening I long to drum. When I fall asleep I drum in my dreams. It is beginning to take over - I can feel my obsessive compulsive tendencies sharpening their focus again. The recollection of how the waves of sound washed over me comes back every time I close my eyes. It is a shame that Daryle dislikes noise in general - he actually cringed when I tried Mom's drums on Sunday. It wasn't just that I sounded awful, it was the sharp sounds and volume that really bothered him. I think I'd better keep this under wraps for now - but he'd better brace himself, I won't be able to contain it for long!
I can't wait to get home from work and play again, even if only for a few minutes. In anticipation, my foot is already keeping time to the music in my head and my hands are itching to pick up the sticks. I foresee a spree of instructional DVDs and books being borrowed from the library and the purchase of some sticks and a practice pad. Look out world - it might get a little louder!
In the opening scene of the movie "It Might Get Loud" Jack White makes a very basic electric guitar from a glass bottle, wires, piece of board and an amplifier screwed into place below the wires. He then plays it and comments "Who says you need to buy a guitar?" Inspired, I decide to make do with what I've got laying around the house. Lets see, a couple of long pens with strange rubber ends, and a very solid book chosen from the enormous pile on my night table (thanks Dad, I'm using your copy of "The Upside of Down" for a drum pad at the moment).
After settling Daniel into painting I rush off to my bedroom and bring out my drum pad and sticks. Ahhh, at last. Holding the sticks in my hands I raise one then let it drop onto the drum. TAT! The sharpness of the sound focuses my mind. All of a sudden I'm released - the worries of the day slip away and I disappear into the racket of my drumming.
At first I sound terrible; like pebbles falling randomly onto a tin roof. Whack-tap thud. Then as I become used to the weight of the sticks and my hands begin to better translate what my mind is thinking, the sound improves (a very little bit, mind). I'm able to do a drum roll, keep time with some music and my attempts to duplicate some snare drum music from my pipe band days are hilarious! Dah-dah te, dah-dah te, dah-dah te... I play for the entire 45 minutes of relative solitude after arriving home. As Daryle walks through the front door, I tuck my secret away quickly and resume my normal life. The one where I look after dinners and laundry. "Hi Hon, how was your day?"
All evening I long to drum. When I fall asleep I drum in my dreams. It is beginning to take over - I can feel my obsessive compulsive tendencies sharpening their focus again. The recollection of how the waves of sound washed over me comes back every time I close my eyes. It is a shame that Daryle dislikes noise in general - he actually cringed when I tried Mom's drums on Sunday. It wasn't just that I sounded awful, it was the sharp sounds and volume that really bothered him. I think I'd better keep this under wraps for now - but he'd better brace himself, I won't be able to contain it for long!
I can't wait to get home from work and play again, even if only for a few minutes. In anticipation, my foot is already keeping time to the music in my head and my hands are itching to pick up the sticks. I foresee a spree of instructional DVDs and books being borrowed from the library and the purchase of some sticks and a practice pad. Look out world - it might get a little louder!
Monday, February 1, 2010
My Happy Birthday
My birthday, despite myself, was lovely.
We caught the first ferry (yawn and stretch) to Langdale and spent the day with Mom and Dad.
For Daniel and Daryle, it was a particularly early start. Daniel woke Daryle up at 4:00am to show him that his very first tooth had just fallen out. Lucky he didn't swallow it in his sleep!
The day was everything I wanted it to be: low-key, relaxing, in good company, and yummy! Mom cooked a fantastic roast beef dinner complete with Yorkshire pudding, mashed potatoes, broccoli and carrots. After our early dinner, Dad played 'Happy Birthday' on his violin while the others sang. Then we enjoyed a slice of sinfully sumptuous cappuccino cheese-birthday-cake for desert. Mmmm.
Enjoyable moments defined our visit: opened my present from Mom and Dad (a book by one of this year's writers' fest authors and a beautiful pashmina shawl), tried out Mom's drums (what fun, what a racket, what - oops, that's another story...), spent time catching up with Mom and Dad, Daryle and Dad worked outside splitting wood, Daniel played Snood on Mom's computer and we all had a good time playing with Daniel at the playground.
Even the trip home and the rest of the evening went smoothly. I had just begun to get tucked into my book when the ferry began loading. Quick drive home, bit of a visit with my sister (another card and the promise of the Raconteurs' album Broken Boy Soldier), Daniel into bed making sure his tooth was ready for the Tooth Fairy's visit, crawl into bed myself. Aaaahhhh. Great day - indeed it was a very happy birthday.
We caught the first ferry (yawn and stretch) to Langdale and spent the day with Mom and Dad.
For Daniel and Daryle, it was a particularly early start. Daniel woke Daryle up at 4:00am to show him that his very first tooth had just fallen out. Lucky he didn't swallow it in his sleep!
The day was everything I wanted it to be: low-key, relaxing, in good company, and yummy! Mom cooked a fantastic roast beef dinner complete with Yorkshire pudding, mashed potatoes, broccoli and carrots. After our early dinner, Dad played 'Happy Birthday' on his violin while the others sang. Then we enjoyed a slice of sinfully sumptuous cappuccino cheese-birthday-cake for desert. Mmmm.
Enjoyable moments defined our visit: opened my present from Mom and Dad (a book by one of this year's writers' fest authors and a beautiful pashmina shawl), tried out Mom's drums (what fun, what a racket, what - oops, that's another story...), spent time catching up with Mom and Dad, Daryle and Dad worked outside splitting wood, Daniel played Snood on Mom's computer and we all had a good time playing with Daniel at the playground.
Even the trip home and the rest of the evening went smoothly. I had just begun to get tucked into my book when the ferry began loading. Quick drive home, bit of a visit with my sister (another card and the promise of the Raconteurs' album Broken Boy Soldier), Daniel into bed making sure his tooth was ready for the Tooth Fairy's visit, crawl into bed myself. Aaaahhhh. Great day - indeed it was a very happy birthday.
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