Missed Connections

I miss my daughter today. Terribly.

So I just did this little thing I've been doing for the past year: I stop, and close my eyes, and take five breaths. And I pray, or meditate, or focus...I don't know what you really call it...but I take five breaths and think about the person or situation that's on my mind.

I didn't really know what to focus on. My ache because she wasn't here? No. Connecting with her? It seemed weird and invasive and needy to try to connect with her mentally while she was playing at daycare.

So I ended up just kind of thinking about connecting. About how I don't necessarily get my daughter. I think she's kind of strange and somewhat off putting with her constant verbal labelling of everything and her extreme introversion and her occasional tendency to bite, and on and on. How do you connect with someone you don't really get?

You spend a lot of time with them. A lot of time. So that's-a what I'm going to do. Moment by moment, build my connection.

Ida Maria

And here's a little punk pop to cleanse your palette.

Oh my God! I can't get this out of my head:

Random acts of Lawrence Welk

I stumbled upon this when I was trying to find the Le Chic video for the last post. I think we need to jump right in. Shall we?

Aaaaaaaaaah Link Out!

Things I wrote a while ago that I am finally posting:

Watch her sleep

Innocence and Peppermints

Poopsamillion

Babe in Arms

Country Mouse

Gender fender

Anonybabe gets dressed in unisex stuff a lot. Her middle name is actually a boy's name, although it isn't common here and sounds girlish to the American ear. As a rule, I don't push her towards girlie stuff much, unless it's a girlie thing I'm into.

I love flirting with gender lines. I don't know why. Even though I come across as fairly prim and proper when you first meet me, I secretly love thwarting convention. It's pretty childish, probably stems from a repressive upbringing, whatever.

I want Anonybabe to learn what I believe: that although there are biological differences between the sexes (and how), gender roles are a lot more up in the air. They are social constructs that she can flaunt, or abide by, or choose to help redefine. I want her to know she has that freedom.

I don't think Anonybabe looks particularly boyish until I look back on pictures of her dressed all in brown or sporting her blue hoodie with jeans and black converse. Am I turning her into a boring-wardrobed butch kid just because I don't like frills or pink?

I need some broader and more satisfying ideas of what it means to be a woman than the ones I grew up with. It's a little unimaginative to run screaming from nail polish and Aquanet to blue jeans and short hair just because, fuck you, I can. Which is exactly what I did when I went to college. At 18, I went from lipstick and hair bows in Arkansas to baggy khakis and short hair in Illinois. Because I imagined I could finally get away with it. Because I wanted affirmation for something other than the way I looked in a pair of jeans. Because I relished the opportunity to define myself by something other than my looks. The only way I could imagine doing that was to be as nondescript as possible. I was angry. I was sheltered. I was unimaginative and could only think in binary terms: gussied up, or dressed down. Smart or pretty. Female or male.

It has taken me a long time to learn how to try to look good for me. Pregnancy helped with that a lot. Damn, I was in love with my body then.

But I see these pictures of Anonybabe in her blah clothes and I feel like I haven't moved forward much at all. To a place where I can indulge in all the joys of being a woman and the joys of being masculine. To let them all coexist and come to full bloom when and how they may. Anonybabe needs more than just binary options.

Sigh. I've come a long way, baby. But I have a long way to go.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

P.S. Friends of mine: The pink hand-me-downs you sent are getting plenty of play on Anonybabe. She insists on them frequently.

Let me confide who I'm liking these days

I'm sorry I haven't blogged in a while (Jesus, this smacks of all those times I wrote in my diary as a girl: "Diary, I'm sorry I haven't written in a while; I'm going to try to do better." Not to be pessimistic, but my fervent promises to write regularly generally ended with an even longer dry spell.)

Anyhoo, I hope to write more. It's generally therapeutic. I feel there's a subtle inner shift going on with me and I've been a little more protective about letting it all hang out. Plus, I like each of you people I've given this link to and sometimes don't want to let all my ugliness hang out in front of you. I've been feeling pretty ugly lately. Plus I've been avoiding this big school writing assignment. I hope to shit that turd out and start keeping it regular. We'll see.

I've just been stuck in a morass of laziness and self pity. And occasional business and good times. Living my life and/or shutting down a little emotionally. You've been there, right? Periods of retreat? Of course you have. And if you haven't....I...don't really know what we're going to talk about at parties.

Country mouse

Just climbed the stairs to my el stop. It's morning, and the sun is shining in a straight shot from Lake Michigan 20 or so blocks down a major street onto our platform and right into my eyes. If I squint, I can see some skyline in front of an explosion of light. Chicago's skyline is awesome. For years it was the one thing that took my breath away when I would drive in from work in the suburbs or round the corner on Lake Shore Drive. Here lately I have to will myself to even look at it.

Anonyhub and I have talked about moving to the countryside for so long. We just didn't know where or when or how. Neither of us are self-starters, and that's putting it mildly. I certainly like being enveloped in the arms of a employer. I have a rebellious streak, but only to get attention. If I'm honest with you and myself, I'll admit that I feel safest and surest when I'm carrying out someone else's orders. I prefer to do my real living in secret. I'm an introvert born and bred, after all.

The point...is irrelevant, but somehow I got here from this: Chicago, the city, she has been good to me. Very, very good. But the siren song of the country never stopped calling and it's time to start heeding the call. To see another place for the first time and soak it all in. Chicago has been a feast for my eyes - the beautiful and the ugly - but not really for my senses. I spent a lot of energy shutting things out rather than letting them in. And I want to live where I can walk barefoot in the dirt and grass again. That act is a prayer and a meditation unto itself. So many of my friends are talking about doing this, about moving outside of the grid with their kids, trying their damnedest to tend house, grow vegetables, pursue those dreams that have been percolating for years. Just as the city was our calling 10 years ago, the house and the solitude is our calling now. Many of us have parents who did the same thing. Up and moved to Louisiana, or Canada. Tried to build a house with their bare hands and live simply. Most of them live in baby boomer houses in baby boomer suburbs now, but we can still learn a lot from what they did. Why they did it.

I really don't know

This whole daycare thing has me in kind of a limbo-induced funk.

Last night, while cleaning out a basket of old papers, I finally read some photocopied articles about homeschooling that I got from a home school association meeting I went to months ago. In them there were a couple of choice quotes from students who were encouraged to follow their interests. Like...throw all of their energy into following their interests instead of worrying about what they should learn. The idea is that kids especially (and adults too, when they don't have it quashed out of them) are naturally sponges who adore learning. Who can't help but do it. And if you constantly arrange a tasty buffet of learning opportunities in front of them, they will just eat it all up. They will love to learn, and love life (if I read the subtext correctly).

I love this philosophy. It appeals to me. It resonates with me.

But it makes me think, why the hell am I pushing my daughter into daycare if she doesn't want to go?

I got a panicky feeling several months ago that my daughter needed to be more challenged in lots of ways. She needed to be around new ideas and new activities. She needed to be around new people so she could figure out how to handle herself. She just needed more. More than Anonyhub and I could give her. So we enrolled in a couple of classes at the YMCA. Swimming. Gym time. That went pretty well. Then I decided to go visit a couple of daycare/preschools. Montissori based. One had a fabulous group room for 3-6 year olds. It was bright and vibrant and ordered. But their room for 2 year olds looked a little sad. All the 2 year olds looked like they wanted to be home with their mommies. So I decided to visit a home daycare where an ex Montissori teacher kept 8 kids by herself. It seemed great, in theory. Really great. So we signed on.

And here we are, this morning I dropped Anonybabe off for day 6, and she sobbed and sobbed. She did not want to go. I took lots of time to sit with her, in the driveway, inside the door, and still she howled. Several people now told me she's doing it to get my attention, that she's fine once I'm gone. But if she's doing it to get my attention, shouldn't I listen to her? Don't get me wrong, I don't stay home every time she gets upset that I leave. Far from it. I go to work 40 hours a week and I leave Anonybabe crying with babysitters on occasion without a backwards glance. But this...seems to be getting worse rather than better.

And I...I know Anonybabe needs to socialize with other people...I do want her to learn how to do that...but is there a way to do it successfully so that it is more on her own terms? So she initiates it when she's comfortable? I'm a huge freaking introvert, so I may be a little too protective when it comes to social discomfort. Although I love being with trusted friends and family, it is absolute torture sometimes to have to hold a conversation with people I don't know. I know from experience that throwing myself into the deep end of a pool doesn't necessarily teach me how to swim through a daunting situation. Sometimes I drown in it and then I'm spooked from it for a good long time. If Anonybabe hates this daycare, these perfectly nice people and children so much...I'm not going to force her to deal with it.

I'm going to try this daycare for a few more weeks and if she still doesn't want to go, we're starting over. She still needs more socializing, more learning opportunities, more, more, more.

But I'm not going to drag her kicking and screaming the whole way. I wouldn't want that for me. My parents drug me kicking and screaming plenty of times. Did that help me or hurt me? I really don't know.

Day Wear

That was awful. I just dropped Anonybabe off, sobbing, at her daycare. Granted, she sobbed about several things this morning: the fact that she had to wear a sweatshirt, that I wouldn't hold Francis while she tried to put on his shoes, that I cleaned her high chair tray. So she was a little tightly wound today to begin with. But yesterday her eyes looked red and puffy when I picked her up from daycare, like she'd been crying on and off all day.

Sigh. We're going to give this a good long trial run. But so far, things are not trending in the right direction.

*****Update*******
She was, of course, fine after 2 minutes. She played me like a Nintendo 64.