Showing posts with label Baskets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Baskets. Show all posts

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Boys perplex me....

March 28, 1982

I have a lot to write down so I am going to skip around a bit.

Aja is talking so much lately as of today she says: Ball (bha), Pop (bop), Juice (jewsh), Bath (bah), Gramma (dhadwa), Baby (bahbah), Cheese (cheesh), Hot (haa), Brr (as in cold - bwww), Foot (fuh), Nose (no), Jump (jah jah jah in rapid succession), What's that? (wazah), Goodbye (quite clearly). She says other words too but I can't isolate them all.

Aja is learning to run now and she runs so fast (about as fast as my normal walking pace) that she bumps into obstructions like walls, the desk, her table, even the door (when it is shut!). She is learning things so fast now, mostly words are her main concern, every day she learns something new. Today we were reading Tuffy the Tugboat (my name for it) and we went over the same words for about 5 minutes - boy, basket, boat and kitty (Kitty is another word she already knows - she says kiggy). She found the basket because it is in another of her books "50 Words to Grow On". Every time we come to that page with the basket she points at it and I say "Easter basket". Boy, does she get a kick out of that!

She is learning the parts if the body although she cannot say the words, she understands eye, nose, ear, foot, and belly button. When I tell her that there is a baby in my stomach, she points at my belly button and then lifts her shirt up and finds hers! Oh well, she is just going to have to wait until June to find out about the baby.

I am going to deliver at St. John's hospital in St. Paul. I just changed doctors. My new doctor is named Dr. Kuhlenkemp. What a funny name. He seems very competent and I am satisfied with him unlike Stratte. I didn't know if he really knew what he was doing.

Well, Aja woke up from her nap and we took a shower. She never took a shower before and she seemed to be a bit confused, but she put the stopper in so the water got deep and she sat in it while I got dressed. Then she hesitantly got out.
 March 29, 1982

Well, I really wanted to say a bit about the baby to come. Cris and I are considering naming her Bailey if she is a girl or Harrison if he is a boy. I don't really care what sex the baby is, but a girl would be nice because I had one girl and I know how to handle girls. Boys perplex me. They have different requirements - especially in the diaper region. That is one consideration - I am not saying that I couldn't learn, of course I could. Another reason in favor of a girl would be that since Aja and this baby would be so close in age, two girls would seem to be closer friends than a boy and girl.

This baby (going on to other things) kicks a lot. It seems to be more active than Aja was. Yesterday, he or she reached my ribs. Now I will be in discomfort for as long as the baby is inside of me. My back doesn't hurt unless I sit "funny" for a long period of time, which I try to avoid doing. I can't stand for long periods of time because my feet get all tingly but I can walk long distances.

I am constantly getting contractions. It kind of worries me because I wouldn't want the baby to come too soon. The doctor seems unsure of when the baby is due. maybe he will do an ultrasound on me. That would be nice. I liked that with Aja - and you get a picture! And of course they can see how the baby is doing.

I am looking forward to having this baby - maybe it is sheer insanity. I know how much work a baby is - not to say how much Aja and another baby will be, but still I am waiting. I have gone over all my notes on labor and that sort of thing. I am confident I can deliver without medication. Although, I would ask for something if my bags of waters (sic - lol) doesn't break like the last time. Of course we will take pictures and I will bring this book to the hospital and write down how everything went.

Wow, that is pretty funny. A list of words Aja can say. I think I should ask her to bring her baby book over sometime - I can show you how obsessive I was at listing everything about her life: first band-aid, first time she watched me cross the room, first  nail clipping, etc...

I am amused about my childish ideas about baby boys and their mysterious "diaper regions". I actually am laughing out loud. The same immature thinking really shows when I explain to my 14 month old child that there is a baby inside me. I am sure she was riveted by my explanations. I talk to babies and children as if they are adults. Anthony says I do, at least. I try to reason with them like they understand my arguments pro or con against having some cereal before a bite of yogurt, or whatever. Last weekend, ianthe scolded me for snatching a ball away from Sienna before she could take it from her brother. "Real mature mom. She is only two years old." 

When I do stuff like that, I am not even thinking. I am just acting on impulse. I make a decision. For example, "Sammie will like to go on top of the cupboards." I grab Sammie and thrust her upwards, over my head, up towards the top of the cupboards. Sammie doesn't particularly want to go up top the cupboards at the moment. She has been happily grooming herself near the hot air vent. Anthony catches me forcing the cat to climb to the top of the cupboards. "Put the cat down, Susan!" I can't stop. I am singular-minded. "Susan, Stop! Put the cat down!" Cat scratches and bites. There is much damage. Blood runs down my forearms and drips from my elbows. Then Anthony gives me the "Please wash those wounds carefully. Why did you think that was a good idea?" lecture. I feel confused because I don't know why I was trying to force the cat to climb the cupboards. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. I am in physical pain and want Anthony to comfort me, not lecture me. He helps me apply the bandages.

I remember reading the books and discussing things with Aja, then with the other kids too as they were growing up. I repeated things over and over again. I am like a parrot. I find comfort in repetition. I could read the same book over and over to my children. I would have it memorized. I wouldn't even have to look at the words. I continue to have the same conversation again and again with my grandchildren. I say the same thing over and over again to my students. Repetition is my friend. Before leaving the house for work, I look at one of the cats, and seriously announce that it is "in charge" for the day.

Since I am on Spring break, I took Anthony out for lunch today. I told him about yesterday's post. How I was frustrated that Aja spoke and squealed. I recalled that my mother was pretty angry that I had named my child "Aja". She had never heard the name before, so that made it unacceptable to her. She had called me the a couple days after I had taken Aja home from the hospital. She asked, "What are you calling the baby?" of course, I thought she was hoping that I had decided to call her by her middle name "Sue". I defensively answered, "Aja, what else would I call her". I remember that. I remember how weird it was to say. Cris was at school during the day, so I spent the majority of my time alone in silence with the baby. I didn't call her anything. I stared at her. I stared at all my babies. Why would I talk to them? They couldn't understand me.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

A forgotten page and a strange flat basket

I found this page 5 pages back in my journal...

March 26, 1987

Why is
this empty
page
sitting her in
my journal when
I tried so hard not
to leave any
loose ends lying
about?

March 26, 1987

I am the stupid flat basket that you put under your paper plates in. My reeds are woven so that I cannot bend. They are loosely woven, you can see through me. I am hidden, forgotten. I was lost and now desired. I am precious and valuable, not materially but as a ghost, or as a gift. I am not transferred from hand to hand but I am kept and lost and returned only to be lost again.

I cannot see anything while I am lost. I have no awareness. Only when someone possesses me, do I become aware and can contribute myself. I am not used for my original purpose. Why am I flat? I do not know I must not retain much. I can only retain information while someone possesses me. When I am lost, I hold nothing and must be refilled when I am found again.

I am the gift of creativity. I am longed for but I cannot be aware. I must be found, for I am hidden beneath piles of mechanical rubble - the logic of today. I must be found and only found while those who seek me are not looking for me. I am not visible to those who look directly at me but only to those who let themselves be unaware as to give me awareness. Then I can enter them and become one with them.

I am not here to gratify grandiose desires but I am here to give those who are meek the creativity they so desire. I am elusive. I am not on call. I will not come when beckoned or sought. I do not wish to make those who seek me re-known. I want to stay close to the rubble so that I may be lost and found and lost and found as a wish for I am a gift, but I am not permanent.

Gifts must be given away but I am a gift in itself. The giver and the gift. I belong to Sue and only Sue. I am her own unique creativity. Right now a soldier seeks me with violence. He would kill to find me. That is why I am hiding. I will not come out under threat. Only when he is mulified and forgets that he is looking for me will I come out and in doing so, I will transform him into a prince. For awhile at least, before I am lost again. This is my way of life.

I have no idea what the heck this is about. Maybe it is a "free-association" writing for class. Maybe I was analyzing the strange crazy dream I had. I am not sure. It seems at first that I am talking about my tendency to become those who are around me. A basket that holds another person - thoughts - ideals. A basket that is nothing unless it is filled with another. 

But then I go veering off into the "I am creativity" stuff. What? Maybe that was the writing prompt. I was comforted when I went back to my original idea of being the giver of the gift. The basket that holds your burdens. That is who I am. That is who I became to survive. I am mother, provider of my children: Must Keep Them Alive. I am wife: Must Keep Husband Happy. I am never just me. Just Sue. I was never enough for myself. 

I was always uncomfortable in my own skin. I was always awkward. Clumsy Spaceship Sue - riding around in my head, behind my eyeballs - seriously - that is how I felt when I was an adolescent. How else could I explain my clumsiness? Why else would I purposely break my little finger on the brick wall outside the gym upon hearing we would be playing basketball for two weeks? Did that hurt? A little, but not as much as the humiliation of being picked last. I couldn't hold the ball, much less bounce it. I didn't understand the rules. A broken finger meant I could sit on the side and stare into space and be alone. Spaceship Sue.