Perspective

I just deleted a long post I wrote two nights ago. It was something along the lines of whining again and promising to do something about the problem. I deleted it because I got a little dose of perspective while watching the documentary Inside North Korea.

In it Lisa Ling disguises herself as a medial coordinator traveling with a surgeon to gain access into the country and see how the people live. Scary shit. Sci-Fi future-world scary. Maybe I'm just that naive, but I didn't think societies like that were possible anymore. With such ubiquitous modern communications, how could an entire country be so isolated and brainwashed? Well, the leader bans the Internet and all cell phones and controls all the media, that's how.

At the end of the movie I felt incredibly grateful I didn't live there. I felt so fortunate to be able to choose what I brainwash myself with instead of having it forced onto me from birth. And so I deleted my silly little post about the rough day I had. HA! Take that you bad, bad day! You can't be bad enough for me! Nothing like a little perspective to show me that my only problem is my attitude.

I'm not promising to never whine again, I do like whining, but for now I'm just grateful I have pictures of my cute little kids displayed around the house instead of posters of some crazy leader. I have the freedom to choose my attitude too.

Ah, Spring

I always say that autumn is my favorite season. The leaves turn brilliant colors, the air smells brisk, we celebrate our anniversary with a guilt-free dinner out. But really, I think it's spring. I think it's spring because I hate winter. Maybe I love spring to spite winter. Or maybe I love spring because it's paradise.

We're always talking about moving to a house with a "better layout." But it's pointless to talk about moving in spring because our lilac trees are blooming. I'd been eyeing those lilacs for over a month before they bloomed. I wished those nascent buds into opening, letting out their gorgeous color and intoxicating scent. I promised to bring them into our home and worship them for the gifts of nature that they are.

Lilacs were my Baba's favorite flower. I never appreciated it when she was alive, but it's so clear to me now. Whenever they bloom I cut a few for her.

Stopped at a traffic light yesterday, I looked to my right and saw a narrow walkway adjacent a small abandoned building. At the end of the walkway, furthest from the street, was a blooming lilac tree. How sad it was that this tree had no admirers. Such a fleeting natural pleasure, and no one to embrace it. I hoped that an elderly neighbor would discover it and cut all the blooms before they were spent. Both the tree and the human deserved it.

My second favorite part about spring is the one week of the year when the delicate pink blossoms start blowing off the trees. They descend like warm snow and lay fluffy and pure in the gutters of the streets. The beauty of this makes me so happy.

If I were dying, I think I'd want it to be in spring. Because at least I'd know my death was in the midst of an abundance of rebirth.

Permission to Smile

Back in January I told Robin that the only thing I wanted for my birthday (which was in March) was a long weekend alone. Three days of doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. Once he said okay I spent much of my days dreaming about that weekend: When I'd get up. What I'd read. What movies I'd rent. Where I'd go, if anywhere at all. This past weekend was my weekend alone, my own personal vacation.

But before the recap, a big juicy kiss needs to go to Robin. He surprised me before leaving when he gave me another birthday present. A - HELLO - MacBook! I was so shocked I cried. He knew I'd been wanting to write to maintain my sanity, and this was his encouragement. He may as well have asked me to marry him again, that was the reaction he got. I didn't even know I wanted a laptop! Strange how technology works. So thank you thank you thank again Robin.

I suppose I should have felt a smidge guilty about being so content alone without my family. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't be happy. They are the reason for my unconditional happiness. Of course I get bored, frustrated, sad sometimes. But basically if they're okay, I'm okay.

That said, and since I knew they'd return to me unharmed within a few days, BOY DID I HAVE A GREAT TIME LAST WEEKEND!

Ahem, I mean, it was nice.

I'd spent the previous week doing a modified version of spring cleaning so I wouldn't be tempted to spend the whole weekend with rubber gloves on. Sure, I did a thing here and there, but it was a sharp contrast to the amount of cleaning I do every day. (Really, "stay-at-home mom" is just a nice way of saying MAID.) I didn't vacuum twice a day. I didn't make 12 meals a day. I didn't bend over 400 times a day to pick things up off the floor. Here is what I did do:

Finished reading Little Children. A fun read, especially if you're a stay-at-home mom or dad.
Read the news online. All of it.
Stayed up until midnight. Just one night though, I'm not reckless mind you.
Stayed in bed until 8am every morning.
Watched Half Nelson. Ryan Gosling does do a fantastic job, even if the rest of the movie is slow.
Watched Gideon's Daughter. Good movie. Billy Nighy is a pleasure as always.
Watched Mr & Mrs Bridge. Nowhere near exciting, but Paul Newman's in it, so it's okay.
Wrote a story at Starbucks.
Chatted with girlfriends.
Sat a whole lot. So much that I think I gained a couple pounds, forgetting how much energy the kids take out every day.

I kept breaking out into a wide grin, which I would actually stop myself from doing because I didn't think it was a proper thing for a good mommy to do. And then finally I'd let myself go. I'd turn up the stereo (Dido) and lay on the couch and smile. A grateful smile. Grateful for the family I had and grateful for the things I could appreciate when the house was quiet.

When Robin came home with the kids, they were happy to see me, and I them. I took the kids to the park, then gave them dinner and put them to bed without screaming at them or freaking out a single time. I'd built up patience and resilience over the weekend and it did a world of good. Isn't that what vacations are for?

Art Appreciation

I often wondered what the big hoopla was about little kids' drawings. I'd see refrigerators plastered with papers that had nothing more on them than stick figures. Bad ones at that. I have seen the light.

While Robin was out running I gave myself a break and put the kids to bed a tad early. I told Harrison he could play in his room quietly while I watched Fellini's 8 1/2. He opted to play with all the "forbidden" toys (chokeables, tiny legos, markers) that he can only play with after Gigi goes to bed. Some time went by and he came into the living room to show me his drawing. I paused the movie and stared at the drawing for a long time, tears welling up in my eyes. Then I turned to him and said "It's beautiful," after which he very proudly smiled and shyly curled up into the couch.

This was his first real stick figure and I was so proud I of course had to post it. The metaphors and symbolism abound.

Its multiple colors represent the vast array of personalities that humans have to offer. The outstretched arms and ladles in the hands signify man's innate desire to be open with love and generous with food. The absence of shoes and clothing no doubt aims to remove all suggestions of class and status, bringing a sense of equality to this image of man. And of course the lean to the left is a sure indication of the political necessity we are now faced with.

Or, it could be a magician with wands in his hands, as Harrison says.

The Science of Sleep

We recently watched The Science of Sleep with Gael Garcia Bernal (of Motorcycle Diaries). It's this kind of film that makes you fall in love with love stories.

Gael plays a sort of artist with a vivid imagination and some difficulty separating his dreams from reality. His dreams are beautiful and some were strangely familiar to my own dreams (particularly the one of him flying through a destructed city with open cement buildings). His character breaths life into the fantasy of being creative for the sake of creativity. His art isn't great, and his inventions aren't useful. But he shows us that living life in partial reality isn't so bad a way to live.

His creativity leads him to develop a relationship with his neighbor, played by Charlotte Gainsbourg (daughter of Serge Gainsbourg, the popular French singer of the 60's through 80's, which was one of the reasons I rented the movie).

Anyway their friendship is based solely on sharing a passion for making things. The purity of this arrangement is so charming it makes you want to fall in love all over again. Until the end it's unclear whether they'll ever be romantic together, but they make it apparent in their own dreamy way that they're as close to soul mates as one could hope for.

The originality of this movie was refreshing, and its innocence was heart-warming. A solid recommendation.

The Great Equalizer

Camille Paglia's adopted son watches Sponge Bob. The child living in the home of one of the smartest women alive (and one of my favorite personalities) watches Sponge Bob.

I learned this while listening to an interview with her the other night on NPR. She was going on about the lack of spirituality in young people's lives and how that void is affecting them, making them indifferent or something. The interviewer, a longtime admirer, prodded her for a hint of how she plans to raise her young son. Camille seemed to ignore the idea that having a child somehow changes your philosophies. I took offense to this dismissal, since it seems obvious to me that having children changes everything, no matter how progressive you are. Anyway, during this exchange she guffawed and said the child was only four years old and watches Sponge Bob. Well, this made me smile.

If a woman who has God knows how many degrees allows Sponge Bob in her home, surely I'm not handicapping my son by letting him watch PBS an hour or two a day. Not that I have anything against Sponge Bob, and in all fairness I've only seen about 10 minutes of it altogether. It's just that I've grown comfortable with the gentle delivery of children's public television. No commercials to startle you into paying attention. No repetitive brainwashing promos ("right here on Playhouse Disney!") to drive you bonkers. Just one innocent program gliding into another. Camille didn't mention anything further about children's programming, so I can only assume there are other characters entering her home, any of which have a whole line of bath accessories found at Target.

After hearing this I came to the realization that it doesn't matter who you are - Angelina Jolie, Madonna, Nancy Pelosi - if you have children, you deal with the same things that the rest of us mothers deal with. Maybe they get a little more sleep or change a few less diapers, but kids are kids no matter who they belong to. They won't sleep more just because you're a brilliant professor. They won't cry less just because the paparazzi is waiting outside. And they certainly won't poop less just because you got a fresh manicure on your way to a photo shoot. Children bring all parents, even for a short time every day, to the same level of awe, love and exasperation. And they will make us watch Sponge Bob whether we like it or not.