JacKwonDo, jam, hermit crab drama continues

Ol climbed into bed with me at 4am; 45 minutes later, I realized just how god-forsakenly early it was and returned him to his room. It was at that point that I heard the narrator's voice emanating from Jack's room, deep in the bowels of the Harry Potter #4 book-on-tape. I tiptoed to Jack's door -eager to catch him in the act; last week he lost these CDs for this very reason and had just regained their presence in his room last night- and flung it open. There he sat, simultaneously entranced and gaga with fatigue. Displeased, I grabbed the CDs, ordered him back to bed, and then returned to my own. Something of this nature always happens when Tom is gone. Maybe they don't pull this shit on him. Hmm... in any case, I've felt a bit peaked all day. Yet there was packing to be done, jam to be made, Tae Kwon Do to attend and so forth and so on. Oliver drew pics of girls while I made apricot-peach-almond jam this morning.

As if all lady knowledge coalesced in his mind at precisely the point at which he came across a large sheet of paper, he sketched a new tableau of Princess Leia (smudges on the sides of her head to represent her "cinnamon bun" hair), Padmé (a pinhead-sized dot atop her head signifies a pony tail), and Wonder Woman (always with a tiara on her forehead and golden lasso at her hip). I liked the fence of strong women that resulted! He said I couldn't tell anyone about it. Oops.

My inner voice then suggested that I really might want to get a start on packing because we leave at such a horrid time tomorrow morning, so I headed to J's room to gather his things. What did I spy in the hermit crab tank? A single leg/claw, a bit of aftermath from last week's cannibal murder. Apparently in the days just after the crime, despite the fact that T bought several new shells for Max to consider, he (Max) slunk around his home in the buff. At one point T became a combo of irritated and concerned with the crab's naked body and shoved him into a shell. Max wore it briefly before going nudist again. Then what does he do? He climbed right back in the damn, too-small shell he's had since last December. It seems he ate Yoda for no good reason as Y's shell just sits there, an empty and forlorn reminder of a kinship that is no longer.

Max is on his own now, folks. We are not buying him a new friend, and when he goes, that's it for our life with hermit crabs. Good lord.

My mother-in-law came over to help while I packed, god love her, so I got that taken care of, ran a few errands and dropped dinner off at the Grands (Nanny's chicken salad; caprese salad; chocolate chip cookies; bread and jam for tomorrow). They are moving into an assisted living facility in two weeks, and I will really miss seeing them. Fortunately, their new home is no farther from mine than their current one, so I can still take the boys to visit which will be lovely. Oliver makes them each a card every day that I cook for them, and I know they adore him as he does them. It's been such a lovely, special "job."

By 5p I was dragging arse, but Jack has blue belt testing coming up at Tae Kwon Do so we really needed to get a class in before leaving. MIL stayed with Oliver (what would I do without my MIL?!), and Jack and I boogied to his class. I love the studio- the instructors are so great with kids, so dedicated to teaching them this craft, and J has come to love it. He needs some coordination so this is good for him. And, while the teachers are always kind, they do ignore random verbiage which is a fabulous lesson for J. For example, in the middle of class today, I heard Jack ask, "does anyone know when my birthday was? I'll tell you! Ok? It was July 4." WHA? Why would that have possibly seemed like an opportune time to share that fact? It wasn't, and no one responded. Thank you Tae Kuk.

When these little guys, cute little pencils all of them, don their sparring gear, I can never help but laugh. There is so, so much gear, like a dozen pieces, and though it's lightweight, it looks heavy. They all end up looking like bobbleheads in boot camp. Jack had his purple belt stuck in his jock cup at one point. Hilarious.

Home, shower, bed, more jam. I've just made a wonderful new one: black velvet apricot + pluots + Cognac (friend and fellow canner, Bevi, had the idea of adding Cognac!) + a bit of black pepper. Deeelishuss.

I'm off to make some dinner and then hit the sack in anticipation of my 3:45am wake-up call. To Louisiana we go, and next Tuesday, I return without my little ones! They are staying with my parents for their annual Big Boy Week which is always awesome for everyone involved. I'll be back with you tomorrow.

The space between

Many years ago, when I was an angsty teen plodding my way through high school, I spent too much time making construction paper sunflowers to turn my bedroom walls into a garden of cheerfulness I didn't always feel. I was also heavily committed to keeping a journal of quotes I found inspiring or meaningful, those that seemed to perfectly encapsulate just how I felt. In retrospect, quite a few of those were so totally cheese-tastic that I can't bear to read them today. One, "Pain is the difference between what is and what you want it to be," falls completely into the read-and-groan camp, yet it does make a good point about the purgatory space that lies between two competing entities. I knew to be true, before I went to BlogHer and communed with 4,000 other women, many of whom were mothers-in-the-weeds like me, that what I most wanted deep down was a much better balance in my life between my children and all else. I am so grateful to be able to stay home with my boys, to be the primary person raising and loving them every day. But, and it's a big one, children are like mostly-cute parasites, and the dynamic between the boys and me, presently, is not one that is healthy; they too frequently remind me of leeches gone wild, long overstaying their medicinal welcome. J&O are sucking more than their fair share, and I am burned out in a deep way. The kind of burn that comes from years of giving, being, doing, loving at 100+ percent, as opposed to that you might feel after pulling an all-nighter or pining away on an all-encompassing project for a week or two.

Let me be clear that I am not complaining. Rather, I am attempting to restructure the way the three of us interact when we are a trio so that I don't have a mess of snakes writhing in my gut by 9am each morning (anxiety). I need to be able to take and count on real breathers while my children are here; they need to learn to respect my limits and to stop demanding so much so often.

I realized when I left last Thursday that I felt almost as ill from stress and  mental fatigue as I did from the pneumonia; figurative sickness is as real and damaging as that which can be diagnosed in a petri dish, and the two in combination are negatively symbiotic. Three days with adults, learning and talking and networking and sharing, was an empowering reminder that we, each of us, are just as important and valuable, as are our children. We... I deserve just as much love and kindness as do Jack and Oliver. The happier I am, the better mother I can be, the better I can teach them that mothers aren't just moms but also women doing amazing things, in tiny and huge ways.

And so I came home with a promise to myself to stop, cease, put the brakes on the energy suckfest that often is a day with my boys. Just because they want to talk and be challenged and stimulated and amused every minute of every day does NOT mean that I need to or should be the one to provide that. And I shouldn't apologize for standing my ground for reasonable limits.

Elisa Camahort Page, a BlogHer co-founder, told us that a mother once told her that when her children complained about her working, she never apologized or demeaned her work to them. On the contrary, she said something to the effect of, "I can't do X with you right now because I get to do this exciting work, but I'll be really excited to do the next X with you later." I really liked this way of framing work: that if you have work you love, you're lucky to get to do it, and it's important/critical to take the time to do it well. Yes, my primary job is my children. That's what I chose and am enthusiastically committed to. But I am just not a 24-7 mom. I tried that, it didn't work and never will.

And as I've learned more about myself, the woman I am, what makes me happy, what makes me tick, I've been reminded that one of the best and hardest parts of life is that very dynamism. It is thrilling to, at this age, discover new passions, and it's challenging to restructure life in ways that make space for pursuing them. I believe that my boys will be better for the growth that will result from my doing that. I will too.

Facebook page created- thanks readers; Shiro plum-basil jam

Alrighty roo, thank you to all the readers who wrote with suggestions regarding my Em-i-lis Facebook page name. As it turns out, FB (like Twitter), accepts underscores, so I went with Em_i_lis which is similar to my Twitter handle, @em_i_lis. And so, if you are on FB and would like to go "like" (yes, please) my new page, you may access it here: Em-i-lis Facebook page. Oliver and I just had a ball making jam and a video together. He's a great help in the kitch, and I hope to post the video soon! Preview:

Oliver: "IT'S JAM TIME!!!"