Kathleen M. Basi's Blog, page 51
October 15, 2014
Random Unconnected Thoughts For A Wednesday
He has progressed from “Butt-Man” to “Bite Mine.” Ahem.
1. If I ever write a memoir, I think I will call it Snuggles With Batman.
2. I have been running around town this week in the incessant rain-drizzle-downpour-deluge-drip with Michael wearing his Batman jacket. It’s supposed to be a 3T but, well, you can see how it fits. He calls the hood his “helmet.” How adorable is that? Everywhere we go this week, people react the same way: a funny combination of a gasp and an “awww” that rides a parabola to the top of the vocal range. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this universal a reaction to one of my kids–even Julianna. College girls, middle-aged secretaries, the guy stocking shelves at Staples, the speech therapist…everyone. Michael is sick of it. He’s taken to hiding behind my leg and burying his sour face in my jeans.
3. I’ve been working long-hand a lot lately, such that I had to wear an Ace bandage on my left hand when I went to bed last night. My poor tender joints aren’t accustomed to writing anymore. But I’ve been working on brainstorming/outlining a new novel (oh happy day!), and it’s more portable than a five pound computer. The only problem is that my husband didn’t recognize the notebook as a writer’s tool when he was cleaning the computer desk over the weekend. He stuck it back with the kids’ art notebooks.
I can’t imagine why he thought it might have been one of theirs.
Pay no attention to that mess behind the author. She’s working on it. Slowly.
4. I got a haircut this week. She was asking me what I wanted, and I said I didn’t know (as usual). We were right on the edge of doing the same old–just a trim, thank you very much–when I said, “I’m a little conservative on hair. Sometimes I think I should just sit down and tell the stylist to do something, and see if I like what comes out.”
“Oh, then we’re doing it!” she said. “You said it!”
I like it!
5. I was listening to a Jason Evert recording yesterday for a magazine article I’m writing, and he told this story about his daughter waking him up by standing on his face. I thought of the parts of my anatomy that are perpetually sore from the beating given them by my children, and had a moment of longing for some extended solitude. Having an empty house for a couple of days sounds like Heaven. But then I got to thinking about how quickly I get bored and depressed. “Brooding artist” is my husband’s new joke…not always in reference to me.
6. Doing first grade math with Julianna is excruciating, even the second time around. She’s not getting it any better this year than last. Well…maybe a bit better. But she has this talent for staring blankly at me. I look at the simple problems on the page and I want to weep. She doesn’t understand the concept that 6 + 2 = 8 and 8 – 6 = 2 are at all connected. My overpowering sense of panic and helplessness is a confirmation, as if I needed it, that I am not now and will never be called to home school my children.
7. Look what we saw just now putting Julianna on the bus! How pretty is that?
October 13, 2014
The Big News
Friday morning when I came home from Jazzercise, speech therapy, and a Wal Mart run, this is what greeted me:
Today I’m focusing on a final whirlwind run through my manuscript to make sure it’s clean so I can send it out. See you Wednesday!
October 10, 2014
Lines In The Sand
Photo by Eva Blue, via Flickr
I’ve ceased to be surprised by major shifts that happen without apparent preparation. That seems to be the rule in adulthood in general and parenthood in particular. There was that day in October 2012, when I woke up with no inkling that the throwaway Loseit.com account I’d started just to see what the fuss was all about was about to kick me into the weight loss I’d been dreading and procrastinating for years.
Likewise with parenting. Each of my boys has gone through an identical series of food-related stages. Stage 1: eat whatever given, no problem. Stage 2: lose interest in feeding self, but will open mouth if Mommy is willing to spoon feed. Stage 3: lips sealed shut. By the time Nicholas hit that stage I had three children, one of whom genuinely couldn’t feed herself, and I simply wasn’t going to fool with it with Nicholas. I told myself, “Pick your battles.” Finally one day, out of nowhere, I realized I had to pick the battle. Now he eats great, and Michael is well along in Stage 2.
These decisions, which seem like they would be planned out in advance, frequently are just the opposite. You don’t know you’ve reached the line in the sand until it leaps up and slaps you upside the head.
I’m having one of those with Nicholas.
I’ve often held back talking about Nicholas because I don’t want the public record of his life to be skewed by my parental frustration. Several times a week, I think, “Oh, God, there is no way I can do this every day for the next thirteen years. The misery! The drudgery of trying to mold this boy into a good human being!”
(Yes, just exactly that level of “written” melodrama. Ahem.)
Putting this reaction out there for the world to see feels really unfair to Nicholas, because if I express this sentiment to anyone, anywhere outside our closest loved ones, they will look at me with bewilderment. In all other environments he is a stunning social success, a joy to be around and a boy everyone adores.
I have been expending crazy amounts of parental mental energy trying to figure out how to modify my approach so as to get better results. And I feel like I’m having limited success.
However.
Last weekend, I told him to hang up his school uniforms. He did. At least, he said he did. Then one morning this week he had no uniform pants that fit. I knew there weren’t that many pairs in the laundry, so I went in his closet and found twenty-one, yes, twenty-one, pieces of hanging clothes stuffed into the dark recesses of the closet. Not just uniforms. Everything he owned.
Dishonesty = a line in the sand.
So as I type, I am sitting beside Nicholas as he folds, doesn’t fold, procrastinates, fools around, and generally tries to get out of laundry duty. I’ve generally eschewed consequences like these because God’s honest truth is, they’re more of a punishment for me than for the kid. I’ve been sitting here for AN HOUR, and for the first twenty-five minutes he folded exactly ten socks. I had to give him six instructions for each of those ten socks, because he was deliberately placing them in wrong piles and wrong directions. He thought if he irritated me enough, I’d do it for him, or give up.
Unfortunately for him, I know a line in the sand when I see one, and I’m not staring down the barrel of a deadline.
Friday morning addition, before posting:
Midway through the project his attitude changed beautifully for the better. But because he moped, sulked, and procrastinated for an hour before starting, and was so uncooperative up front, the job took him right up until bedtime. No screen time, no books. I snuggled with him in bed and we had a conversation about dishonesty, and why it’s so important that we tell the truth. Namely, if I can’t trust you, then you’re going to miss out on chances your big brother might get because I can trust him.
It was a good conversation, but whether any of this will make a lasting impression is a question yet to be answered.
October 8, 2014
Ruminating On The Rat Race
Photo by brandsvig, via Flickr
The weeks fly by so quickly, and every moment under pressure to accomplish as much as humanly possible. More than is humanly possible, to tell the truth. No matter how much I accomplish, it never feels like enough. I’ve always viewed myself as a juggler, but nobody can keep this many balls in the air. Something’s going to give. In my case, it’s housecleaning and, well, down time.
And I thrive on it. I do. As I was doing dishes last night, it occurred to me that even though I loathe all tasks related to cleaning, I was feeling unusual satisfaction, simply because I had made so much writing progress during the day. My writing is my play time, and really, who gets to play first and do the work later?
But the clutter makes me crazy. There’s the clutter of physical space—Michael ripping out and scattering the sheets of a tiny party-favor notepad. Shoes everywhere. Jackets on the floor. Lights left on at every turn. Kids who deliberately step on whatever book or couch cushion they’ve thrown on the floor. (Do all kids come with a built-in “destroy everything on sight” feature?)
But there’s also the clutter of time. I can’t even begin to describe the scheduling gymnastics involved in my life. I don’t detail it because I live in dread of having someone force me to quit whining by proving how much worse theirs is.
But one thought keeps coming into my head, over and over:
We weren’t meant to live like this.
I love my work—love every moment of it, even the parts that cause me anguish and anxiety. And I love having the best of both worlds: part working mom, part SAHM.
Image via http://pixabay.com/
But there is a tradeoff to pushing so hard. During the day I try to use every kid-free moment to work, but that means I never take time to sit on the deck with a cup of tea, or flop across the couch and watch a TV show. I won’t even take a nap unless my brain is so muddy that I simply can’t string words together.
Basically, I’m pushing all the time. Pushing to work while the kids are at school, and pushing to clean house and do homework and do all that Mom stuff the rest of the time. My brain is constantly making and remaking plans for maximum time efficiency.
And while I know there are many other people doing the same thing, day in and day out, even if the details are different, I can’t help feeling that this isn’t how things are supposed to be.
This is the point where I’m supposed to offer a solution in five simple steps, but the truth is I don’t have one. And really, there isn’t a simple five-step procedure you can follow to figure out these kinds of things. You have to weigh and measure and try and re-evaluate on a daily basis. Today, I’m just giving myself permission to ramble.
Ramble along with me, people. Tell me I’m not alone. Tell me how you weigh and measure, and what you try that works.
October 6, 2014
The Way We Talk To Each Other Matters
In the spring and early summer of 1994, I was a sophomore in college. I spent the late semester gnashing my teeth about who got which solo parts in the orchestra, and my summer working on the farm. I was aware enough of the world to know something awful was going on in a country I’d never heard of on the other side of the Atlantic, but it was hard to get worked up about it, especially since there was nothing I could do.
Fast forward twenty years. Someone somewhere on the internet mentions a book called Left to Tell, a memoir of the Rwandan genocide. I check it out of the library and suddenly I am carrying it around the house reading while I prepare food and unload the dishwasher, because I cannot put it down.
It’s a horrible story, and Immaculée Ilibagiza doesn’t pull her punches. This story is compelling and so nauseating because of the way people turned on neighbors and friends. People they had been interacting with, going to school with, working with, worshiping with, for years. Ilibagiza tells of kids who grew up as friends suddenly hacking those friends to death. And over what?
Photo by billadler, via Flickr
An ethnic distinction so subtle, they had to have ID cards to make it clear, because they simply couldn’t tell by looking.
We can’t imagine something like this happening in America. We have free and open media that doesn’t spew the kind of ugliness toward groups that she describes in the leadup to the genocide. Our open elections and diverse population prevent us from ever falling down this kind of path.
Well, sort of.
Photo by cobalt123, via Flickr
See, it was language that stirred up the hatred. Propaganda that was so outlandish, reasonable people didn’t give it credit. They just ignored it, figuring nobody could possibly be swayed by language so dehumanizing, so polarizing, and so obviously not based on reason.
And a huge amount of the political, philosophical and religious discourse in America also fits that description.
Photo by tuaussi, via Flickr
The political fundraising letters, written in cataclysmic terms full of bold-face and italicized language, making sweeping generalizations about the motivations and even the worth of those who think differently from you and threatening apocalypse if you don’t act RIGHT NOW.
The Facebook diatribes beginning with the words “I’m sorry, but…” (or any other number of inflammatory openers).
The anonymous (or not anonymous) comments left on blog posts and news articles, ripping into previous commenters with scathing derision.
The email forwards whose only purpose is to stir up self-righteous indignation and “mobilize the base” (which translates to “move to the extreme position and dehumanize everyone who doesn’t come with you”).
Photo by Les_Stockton, via Flickr
Political ads of all stripes, narrated in a tone of voice full of derision and scorn while using half-truths and skewed facts to bamboozle a lazy electorate into thinking issues are black and white, when really they are very nuanced and can only be prised apart by–gasp–the application of REASON.
What I’m listing is not at the same level as what Ilibagiza describes. But it is definitely on the same spectrum.
We do not want to be on that spectrum.
So I’m just asking everyone to stop and think before you react. Before you make any statement about gays/Muslims/Catholics/Protestants/damn liberals/damn conservatives/whites/blacks/cops/municipal leaders/homeless/poor/fat cats/fill in the blank. What sort of tone of voice are you using? What sort of descriptors? Are you using your God-given intellect, or are you expressing bigotry and prejudice through an emotional reaction?
Think about the human dignity of whoever you’re tearing into.
The stakes are too high not to.
October 3, 2014
Julianna in the Spotlight
…in honor of Down Syndrome Awareness month.
#1: Julianna and Lightning
Julianna has discovered the beauty of lightning. “Oh, eet ees pwetty!” she says, pulling up the shade to look beneath it. But only during the day. At night she still screams and has to sleep with Daddy when a storm wakes her up. Which is why Wednesday night, every time a distant rumble of thunder signaled the approach of another line of storms (and there were many), I went into her room and turned the lullaby CD back on. I did that three times in the night, in case you were wondering. But it seemed to work.
#2: Julianna and dangerous consonants
Tuesday evening she was reading books on the iPad while she waited for Alex’s piano lesson to be finished. We were on a razor-thin schedule, so I told her to pack up with five minutes to go. She perched on the end of the couch. “Mommy, can-can-can you fowd?”
Envision me turning that one over in my mind. Foe. Fold. Ford? Fold? “What do you mean, fold? Fold the iPad?”
“Yes!”
“Julianna, that doesn’t make any sense. Just give it to me.”
When the iPad launched across open space, I realized, rather belatedly, that “Fowd” was supposed to be “Throw.” As in, “Can I throw you the iPad?”
You can tell how serious this girl is about her birthday cakes. Even when they’re not for her birthday, but Mommy’s.
#3: The unexpected interpreter
For a child I have so much trouble understanding, it is ironic that on Thursday morning, Julianna was the one who interpreted one of Michael’s words for me. He’s been pointing outside through the week’s storms (reminder: there were many!) and shouting, “Wah-tee! Wah-tee!”
Now, “Water” is either wawa or wah…trrrrrr, so I was completely flummoxed. “Water? Raining?” I said. “I don’t understand, Michael.”
Julianna sighed. You could almost see the face palm. “No, no, no, no. Lightning, Mommy.”
Oh, lightning. Why didn’t I think of that?….
#4: The I-Know-I’m-The-Center-of-the-Universe
She comes up from religious ed to choir practice at 8p.m. every Wednesday and never fails to enter with aplomb. But even for her, this week was notable. “Hey! Hey! Eveebody! Wait, wait, WAIT!”
Once everyone’s attention was on her, she sort of self-destructed for a minute. “I-I-I-I, guess what?????!!!!” (Yes, every one of those punctuation marks was in her speech. I swear.) “Guess WHAT?????!!!!! I-I-I-I- have lockdown dooweeel! In-in-in-in my CLASSROOM!”
(That would be “lockdown drill.” Drills are a big deal to Miss Jujubee.)
#5: The Oblivious-To-Reality
Wednesday night after choir, Christian asked Julianna if she’d used the bathroom. Assez facile. Or not.
“Yes!” she said.
“You used the bathroom? Are you sure?”
“I-I-I aweee deeed!” (Wye-Dee, “already did,” has become more subtle in recent months.)
“You did? I don’t believe you. When?”
“Um-um-um, on FWIDAY!”
#6: The Time-To-Grow-Up, Tinkerbell
When I came into her room this week and found three sets of pajamas and four sets of clothes, along with dirty underwear and socks, on her floor, I sort of, uh, lost it. I’ve been on the boys for months, thinking to get them into good habits and then, when I don’t have to ride them so hard, focus on getting Julianna on board. But this was ridiculous. She and I had quite the “come to Jesus” meeting. For goodness sake, I told her, you are seven years old. You are not a baby anymore. You can’t act like one. You have to clean up your clothes! And put them away where they belong! Poor girl was too stunned to be upset. Ahem.
#7: The Consummate Manipulator
Julianna had a substitute swim teacher last week. Young, good-looking guy. No earthly idea what he was walking into. She giggled, she simpered, she charmed…and she did not one lick of work. I was only half paying attention, being deeply involved in my mobile write-at-home mommy gig, until he got out of the pool and came over looking forlorn. “Um, can you tell me how they get her to work?”
“What do you need her to do?” I asked, setting my computer aside.
“Um….everything.”
Bonus: Mean Mommy Really Does Love Her Girl
I started to tell what I did to get Julianna to cooperate with her sub, but the fact is, it sounds mean. There’s a woman I know who works closely with people with Down syndrome, and she is as passionate an advocate for them as she is committed to the idea that we can’t pander to manipulation. People with DS struggle with “intellectual quotient” but very, very often they are off the chart on “emotional quotient.” This means (among other things) Julianna knows how to get out of anything she doesn’t want to do by using her disability to her advantage. Julianna likes to pretend she doesn’t understand. Sometimes she genuinely doesn’t. Sometimes she’s just jerking the marionette strings.
I love on her and hug her all the time, but I’m also trying to learn to treat her like an ordinary human being who has ordinary expectations and standards for behavior. It’s very hard. The instinct is to protect and the exhaustion level pushes me to save the battle for some other time, when _______ (a time that never, ever comes).
So I am a mean mommy. And a loving mommy. And no, they aren’t mutually exclusive.
September 29, 2014
Going Dark
Photo by Robbie Veldwijk, via Flickr
I have quite a few projects in the hopper right now, and some of them are pretty big. More and more lately I have been finding myself searching for the quick post rather than the substantive, just to make sure I have something up. But while I was trying to figure out what to blog about this morning, I found myself grudging the time required to post at all. I’m really on fire about these writing projects, and I’d rather concentrate my energies there.
So I’m going to go dark for a few days. I’ll see you back no later than a week from today, and perhaps sooner if I feel so inspired. Have a great week!
September 28, 2014
Sunday Snippets
It’s been a busy several weeks months and I have not been participating regularly with the Sunday Snippets crowd over at RAnn’s This, That and the Other Thing. I’m joining today as we share bloggers whose writing we enjoy. I share:
Everyone Was Staring, the blog of my good friend Kelley. I pestered her for years to start a blog before she actually did so.
Stop Running gives a slice of life from one of our seminarians (soon to be deacon) who is studying in Rome.
Of interest to the Catholic crowd in my bloggy world:
I joined Margaret Felice’s series ‘How Can I Keep From Singing?’
And what happened the day I played piano for the holy day…
September 26, 2014
Julianna’s Portraits, Going Mobile, and Other Quick Takes
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The fall portrait taking has begun. Julianna looked so pretty on Sunday morning, I sent her outside with Daddy and the camera–and Nicholas, who tagged along as a roadie. Care to weigh in?
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Random picture of my kids at a recent Down syndrome group event–a music therapy night
One thing about having That Child Who Won’t Shut Up, Even When He Has Lost His Voice…for the first time, I know what one of my children is doing all day at school. In copious detail. Wow!
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The write-at-home mom gig has been mobile for a little over two weeks now, and I’m in love. I’ve always hated laptops but my ability to finish projects in an efficient manner has skyrocketed. I no longer have to upload from the NEO to the computer in real time and then go back and correct the formatting (italics, bold, centering, em-dashes, hyperlinks, apostrophes). But the new reality of my life–for now, at least–is that I am emailing versions of documents to myself for download on the home computer and the laptop. Built-in backups, baby. So far I’ve managed to stay off Facebook on my laptop; I’ve only logged on twice, and that only for genuine business communications. I’m using the computer appropriately, in other words.
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In cleaning out my NEO bag to transfer to my computer bag, I stumbled across this quote:
“The prayer comes before every action and at the conclusion of every deed–but in the middle, we work!”
In other words: don’t sit around praying and waiting for God to fix things. You have a job to do, too!
This was a quote from Fr. E., whom I mentioned once before, in my somewhat disastrous Mommy-Is-The-Assumption-Accompanist story. I love his homilies for their simple, direct way of phrasing things, a gift of translating from native tongue to English.
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This? This is worth the long video.
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Do you ever get junk mail that makes you think, “Hello? What in my purchase history could POSSIBLY make you think this has ANY chance of making me buy something?”
Case in point:
Yeah, I get it. Or not. Really, people. You picked the wrong person to send this to.
And this is illustrates why copywriting is one area of word-smithing in which I have less than zero interest.
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Don’t forget to enter my friend Kelley’s Branson giveaway!
September 25, 2014
A Shoutout for a Giveaway
I’ve been thrilled to plug my good friend Kelley’s blog on this site a time or two. She’s a great human being with a hysterical sense of humor and a sharp, witty eye for the ridiculous and the beautiful in the world.
