April Showers, Part 2

In my last post I wrote about coming to terms with the rain and learning to appreciate rain.  I lied.  So I am going to come clean, even though my car didn't.  

That's right -- after all the rain, my car is still covered in icky green pollen.  Every time I go to my car the pollen layer is thicker.  I accidentally smear myself with the pollen when opening and closing car doors or squeezing past my car in a parking lot and it makes quite a mess.

I only wanted the rain to come so it would clean off my car.  Why do I care?  I am vehemently opposed to car washes.  I can't fathom paying to clean my car, not to mention the waste of water.  That is the job of rain.  Rain isn't just god for nourishing plants and animals, but it is great for cleaning.  Best of all, it's free.

Every winter, my husband and I have a disagreement over getting the car washed.  He wants to take the car to get washed after a layer of road salt has crusted the car.  I resist.  Surely it will rain and take care of the grime.  Then it usually does rain and the car is clean.

But today the rain didn't clean my car off.  In fact the rain seemed to make the pollen shroud worse.  The rain spread the filth around and left marks in the layer of green mocking me about it's power to clean.

Rain is just a tease sometimes.  I don't really embrace it -- unless when it comes again tomorrow, it finishes what it started and cleans off my car. 

April Showers

It's raining today.  Normally I don't like the rain.  I don't like getting wet unless I am in the shower, pool or ocean -- when I am prepared to get wet.  

You can't go outside and play when it rains.  Shoes get wet and make awful squishing sounds.  Hair frizzes unattractively.  Carrying a wet umbrella inside is awkward.  Rain, rain, go away.

The first time I recall embracing rain was about eight years ago, when I was in India.  I was living in India during a sustained period of drought.  I think it rained twice in nine months.  I welcomed that rain.  I felt such an imbalance because of the lack of rain.  The drops were huge.  Each individual raindrop was like a grape falling from the sky.  The ground rejected the rain and flooded.  Trees that were so starved for the water lost limbs and leaves, but many trees simply bowed down to the rain and lay scattered in the streets.

In Rome I grew to dislike the rain again.  The day I moved to Rome seemed to coincide with the start of the rainy season.  I had no idea Rome had a rainy season.  Thailand, yes.  Cambodia, sure.  Rome?  Come ooon.

The rains came with our arrival in October and didn't stop until February.  The Tiber River was about to flood.  I had no idea that Rome averages more rain annually than Seattle (47 inches vs. 37.1 inches/year), and I never wanted to live in Seattle.  I bought some stylish rain boots and sucked it up.  I was living in Rome after all.  I suffered through three rainy winters in Rome happy at least that it wasn't too cold a rain.

Today, back in the US, I embrace the rain once again.  We need a rain shower.  Not only for the May flowers, not only to help our garden grow.  We need a cleansing rain to ease the allergies and clean the film of green off of everything.  

I also need this shower as I enter my spring.  My time of renewal and hope.  I need this rain to clean me off and get me ready for my growing season.  Later today I may jump into a rain puddle to celebrate, but I will do it with my rain boots on -- squishy shoes are still yucky.

Mmm... Black and White Cookie

Mmm... Black and White Cookie
Originally uploaded by elkie456

I forgot my daughter's lunch today.  I didn't even know I forgot it until we were almost at school.  I thought Abby's bookbag seemed lighter today when we left the house, but in the car as I was flipping through the morning radio stations to find some music (near impossible during the morning drive), an image of a task not completed filled my head -- the daily morning ritual of PACKING THE LUNCHBOX.

How had I let that happen?  Every morning I pack the Tinkerbell lunchbox, although some days there's a request for the Hello Kitty lunchbox. (Yes, 2 lunchboxes. I know I spoil her.)  Where had my routine crashed like a "Sad Mac"?  Who knows? 

The high I had been experiencing since being anointed Queen of Needle and Thread in our house had dissipated.  Thankfully Abby cheerfully offered, "It's ok mom. I'm not mad at you."

I recovered nicely by pulling into a market a few blocks before school.  At the market I fashioned a makeshift lunch of fruit salad, a small challah roll, and a small bottle of water.  But what else could I buy for Abby's lunch to take away my shame of forgetting the lunchbox?  

Then I saw them. Black and White Cookies.  I saw the cookies and thought of the Seinfeld episode that featured them (The Dinner Party).  Seinfeld said, "If people would only look to the cookie all our problems would be solved."  I quickly added two black and white cookies to my purchase.  I rarely if ever put cookies in Abby's lunch.  Today I did.  They were my non-verbal apology to my daughter for forgetting her lunchbox.  I felt I needed to do something special for her even though she already had shown compassion for me.

The cookies worked. At the end of the day my oversight was forgotten and all Abby could talk about was how great the black and white cookies were.  She said, "Mom, those cookies were so delicious.  When can you forget my lunch again?"

You Reap What You Sew

In my previous posting I wrote about being needle & thread-challenged.  Well, after the miracle of the dragon tail (the one time I put thread to needle), it turns out that I am now considered the Master Sewer/Tailor/Seamstress in our household.

My daughter, Abby, has a well-worn and well-loved pooh bear (pictured), which was my husband's when he was a boy.  Pooh, like Joan Rivers, has had several rounds of cosmetic surgery -- some more successful than others (it's hard to match a button eye perfectly after 30 years).

Pooh's most recent hospitalization occurred about a year and a half ago when I enlisted the help of a good friend to replace a lost eye and stitch Pooh's torn ear back together.  It was beautifully performed outpatient surgery in the park after-school.  Pooh was able to go home with Abby that night.

Anyway, at bedtime tonight, Abby told my husband that Pooh's ears need some work and "now that Mommy sews, she can fix it."  I guess I better sign up for some sewing classes -- STAT.

MOOving On

On Friday I was happy to pull the Cow card from a deck of Animal Oracle cards.  Its attributes are Nourishment, Motherhood, and The Goddess.  The cow was with me as I indulged in a wonderful massage and celebrated my recent motherhood achievements.

The concept of motherhood is something I have struggled with.  I wanted to have children and I love my daughter, Abby, very much.  However, I didn't want to lose my identity.  I have thought that to be me and to stay true to myself I needed to raise my daughter while still continuing the life I was living before.  

The career-driven self I had developed didn't want to go quietly.  It didn't like watching kids cartoons or playing with dolls.  It was very vocal and somewhat bitchy.  

At times I am not the most patient, understanding or tolerant mother, but I know that I am a good mother.  Since Abby's birth I have struggled with wanting to resume my career versus staying home with my daughter.  Due to a series of circumstances I have not been able to return to my career since Abby was born.   I think the decision to stay home or to be a working mom is a difficult decision that is made for many different reasons by women everywhere.  In general, I don't think there is a right or a wrong choice.  It's a very personal decision.

Last week I embraced motherhood by undertaking that cumbersome school ritual -- making a costume.  I had to send Abby to school in a costume of an animal from a book for World Book Day.  Abby chose Puff the Magic Dragon.  At first I resisted.  Sewing is not my cup of tea.  I don't even sew a button back on if it comes off a pair of pants.  I spent a night scouring the internet for local costume stores and spent the next day trying to buy a costume for Abby.  I found a bear costume, but she didn't want to wear it.  Abby was adamant -- Puff the Magic Dragon.  She told me, "come on mom.  You can do it."

Finally something in me wondered why I wasn't supporting my daughter's choice and then I saw the sewing challenge ahead of me and I was ready to slay the dragon of making a costume for my daughter.  I bought some green clothing for Abby to wear and then I went to the fabric store and bought material and stuffing.  That night I cut, sewed and stuffed.  Several hours later I had a dragon tail and dragon ears attached to a headband.  It wasn't pretty, and the stitching looked like 5-year old Abby sewed it herself, but I was proud of myself.  More importantly, Abby was thrilled when she saw the dragon costume the next day and told me she was proud of me.

For some reason sewing the costume made me feel more like a mom than tucking Abby in at bedtime or giving her a band-aid when she has a cut.  Maybe its because my own mother wouldn't have hesitated to make the costume I wanted and she would have done it well.  I didn't think I could measure up.

Later, I was talking to my mother about her skilled costume design when I was a girl.  My mother confessed that she never made my costumes.  My mom had relatives make my beloved flower pot costume, my can of coca-cola costume and my beautiful bridal outfit that I wore when I was 5.

I realize now that I don't need to measure up to my mother.  I need to measure up to the mother that my daughter knows I can be.

"Women do not have to sacrifice personhood if they are mothers. They do not have to sacrifice motherhood in order to be persons. Liberation was meant to expand women's opportunities, not to limit them. The self-esteem that has been found in new pursuits can also be found in mothering." -- Elaine Heffner

Why Interno Sette?

Interno Sette was the name for my apartment buzzer in Rome. The buzzer didn't work much of the time we lived there, but I have always loved something about those two words.

We lived in apartment number 7 in Rome, Italy. Rome is famous for its 7 hills.

Seven is an interesting number. It's a prime number. There are seven days in a week and seven deadly sins. God rested on the seventh day. Seven wonders of the ancient world spread out like the Seven seas.

Some interesting facts about Seven:

• There are 7 spots on a common ladybug.
• Seven is the number of holes in the heads of most mammals.
• 7 is the number of vertebrae in the necks of all mammals.
• 7 is the neutral pH value between acidity and alkalinity.
• There are 7 Chakras.

Until today I have spent a lot of time thinking about the number 5. I had my daughter 5 years ago. For the past 5 years my life has been full of craziness, upheaval and uncertainty, change and loss.

I think I will stop focusing on 5 and start thinking about lucky number 7.

Here we go

So I am finally doing it.  I am taking Reya's suggestion and am going to do some writing.  I have been thinking about it for years but always had an excuse.  I am out of excuses.

I have been through some challenging times over the past several years and I want to find my way -- to be enlightened about myself.

Some things I will be exploring in this blog:

• the conflict I feel about being a mother, a woman, and my identity -- who am i?  what should i be doing with my life?  what happened to my career?  where do i go from here?
• my disconnect with my body -- after 5 miscarriages, how do i learn to love my uterus again?
• culture shock and travel adventures -- what have i learned from my experiences living in India and Italy as the spouse of a diplomat?  how can i find a better term than "trailing spouse"?  how do i prepare myself and my family for our move to Senegal in 2010?

Here we go...