2014—Listen

"Are you listening to me?"

One or both of my kids has been known to ask this in a slightly petulant or demanding tone, especially if my laptop is open in front of me. Sometimes I am listening, sometimes I'm waiting for them to say what they want to say, and sometimes, often maybe, I'm distracted. Sometimes, the distraction is warranted—the file I'm trying to send to meet a deadline just crashed, a client needs a quick response to an email, I'm looking for the recipe I need to get dinner going—but more often I'm catching up on Facebook or reading an article that I may or may not really be interested in or writing a more involved message that I could write after they go to bed.

I do listen to my kids. I believe that I should get some time during the day when I can pay attention to something else, but sometimes I need to listen more and make sure they know I'm doing it.

I chose listen as my word of 2014.

Cutting back on distractions is a piece of it, being more present and aware, but I chose the word—or it chose me—in December when I found myself really listening to Kathleen's responses as I was trying to sort out her birthday party. Instead of half listening while I tried to sort out my own expectations, I finally heard what she expected and her party and December were simplified.

I need to listen to my body too. I know that when I listen to what my body needs and respond to it, I feel healthier than when I don't. Here's where 2014's listen meets 2013's enough. Sometimes my body is going to tell me, "I need a run," but it will be so cold I can't breathe or I'll have a deadline for work or I won't have enough time before Brian needs to leave for work. I want to hear the need for a run, and instead of choosing coffee and one (or five) cookies because I can't, I'll offer up to myself a walk or dance party with the kids. I'll choose the alternative that isn't quite what I want, but that gets me closer to what I need. My body also tells me sometimes that I've had too much caffeine or sugar. It tells me I need to go to bed even though I want to do so many other things. It tells me I need to stretch instead of sitting hunched over that laptop again. I need to start to listen again. I won't make a resolution to eat better or exercise more or lose weight. I won't even set goals to run so many miles or so many times a week. Instead I'm going to try to listen and respond to my body.

I'm not quite sure where else listen will take me, but it's where I'm starting this new year.

Do you have a word this year? Tell me about it. I'll listen.

Good intentions

I wrote last night in my journal (pen on paper!) about my goals and intentions for this year. I wrote about what I'd like to continue (letting go, seeing the good, opening to joy) and what I'd like to let go of (anger, frustration, anxiety).

At 4:30 AM, Kathleen fell out of bed (her bed rail, that I knew was loose when she went to bed, collapsed). We had the first meltdown of the day. My suggestion that she sleep on her brand-new Christmas present sleeping bag led to a screaming, kicking fit. Sleeping with me got the same response.

I finally got her settled in my bed. And I was wide awake. I was exhausted, knew I had a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it. I was angry with Brian for accepting a last minute overnight shift. I was irritated with Kathleen for waking up. I was frustrated that I couldn't get back to sleep. She couldn't either, so I pointed out the stars out the skylight. We snuggled, and when she asked at 5:30 to get up, I thought why not.

I made coffee and toast, and we had a picnic on the kitchen floor.

It was not the day I expected or wanted or planned for. It was long and sometimes hard. I ended with a lot of anxiety about getting all my work done and feeling a little incompetent though I suspect I'm not the first one to question the process on my new assignment and I know I'm not to blame for the schedule cram I'm in.

I'm going to take 15 minutes to breathe and maybe read and be away from my work and my desk and my computer. I'm going to try to let this day go, but maybe I'll hold onto the stars and the snuggle and the picnic.

Old Year, New Year

Last night I read through all of my posts from last year, because I love doing a kind of year in review. If I had time, I’d read through my journal from last year too, but we were up too late last night for New Year’s Eve and I was up too early in the morning for Elizabeth. I’d do it today, but my four-day vacation is over and work is piled up, and I’m still unpacking from being away.

My family celebrates Christmas just before New Year’s, so I spent this transition night with them. I rang out the old year laughing with people I love. Laughing and loving is not a bad way to welcome the new year. I’ve missed a lot of these family gatherings the past few years, and I am glad I was there, but I think my ideal New Year’s Eve would be spent at home, eating good food, enjoying a fire, and reading and thinking about where I’ve been and where I’m going.

2011 was about embracing the fullness, holding the joy and the sorrow together. It was about watching that first year of astoundingly rapid growth from Elizabeth and the leaps and bounds of Kathleen. 2011 was about starting to come back to life by making time for things I love and, in some cases, simply remembering some parts of the old me that I had forgotten (or in the case of Brian and I remembering what it was like to be us). 

I don’t make resolutions, but I like to take stock at years end and again mid-year at my birthday. I like to figure out what is working in my life and what isn’t, what I want to keep and what I want to change.

In 2012 want to continue the opening I did in 2011, the rediscovery of me. I want let go of anger and frustration and laugh more. I want to notice what I am doing, not what I can’t quite figure out how to do. I want to keep working at that priorities thing that I smugly like to think I have in good order, until I can’t figure out how to get it all done, and as part of that I want to keep work at the letting go that December afforded me this year. 

What are your resolutions/goals/hopes for 2012?

The year in review

As I sit here with Elizabeth nestled on my chest, it is hard to believe this year began without even the tiniest presence of her, not even a glimmer. Yet here she is, solid and warm and snuggly.

In some ways it was a year of waiting—waiting for Brian to finish with school, waiting to be ready to try again, waiting out my pregnancy. All that waiting was worth it. Brian graduated in May and has been working as a nurse. He's still hoping for a full-time position in a hospital that will give him the experience he feels he needs, but for now he's working, gaining experience, feeling like he is doing his job again after two years of school. Since he's been out of school, we've had more family time for walks and hikes and visits and meals and play. And of course, Elizabeth is here and healthy and settling right in to our family.

Waiting for her had me looking ahead but also had me firmly planted in the present, watching, soaking in Kathleen and her rapid change. At the beginning of this year she was just starting to totter about. Now she runs and jumps (with both feet off the floor) and dances and climbs. She shouts, "Mine," and sometimes shares. She reads, cooks me water on her play stove, delights in her swing, and wants to hold her baby sister. She seems to have gotten bigger and sturdier in the past two weeks as we remembered just how little newborns, even those who start out over 8 lbs, are. I can hardly comprehend that two years ago she nestled on my chest like this. Two years ago, she was this small. Two years already—just two years.

As this year winds down, I am remembering how to be ambidextrous—how to cut my dinner, sign my name, and do most anything with my left hand if the baby is sleeping or nursing on the right. I've learned that football hold is good for avoiding pressure on an incision, but also for making more room in a lap. Along with Good Night, Moon and The Big Red Barn, I've now memorized The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Kathleen's current favorite (bunny book!). I'm finding time in my day for two little girls who need to eat and be held and changed and sung to. We are shuffling things around making room for baby gear and two sets of diapers and 0-3 clothes along with 2T clothes. We've made room in our house for two and room in our hearts for three.

I'm sure there are things I'm forgetting about 2010, but as I sit here with this snuggly girl breathing sleepily on my chest listening for my big girl to wake up from her nap, I know I remember what matters.

Taking stock

I'm not one for making New Year's resolutions, but I do pause at the end of the year to take stock, to figure out what is working in my life and what's not, what I like and what I want to change. 

So where am I at the end of 2009? What do I want to change going into 2010? 

I have loved watching Kathleen grow and change this past year. I look at her baby pictures and wonder that it was just a year ago she was born. She is so fun right now, cruising around on the verge of walking, taking note of everything around her, figuring out how things work. I'm looking forward to exploring this world with her in the coming year, seeing things through fresh eyes. There will be walks in the snow and sugar shacks, gardening and the beach, crunching leaves and pumpkins, and eventually another birthday. It will come sooner than I think. 

I continue to miss Henry, to accept over and over again that he is gone. Through much of the year, I thought I was doing well with this grieving life. I thought I had made progress. I have made progress. But I forget that this is not a linear process, that I slide back and forth, wend round and round. Some days are good, some are hard. It will keep going this way, like it or not. I'd like to change this part of my life. I'd like to make peace with this loss and not struggle so with it, but this isn't one of those things I have control over. But I will continue to work at making peace with the memories, finding the good buried under the rubble of bad memories and holding onto the joy and hope behind the sorrow. 

And I'm busy. Finding quiet, finding time to rest and think and write is hard, so I'll wrap up now. 

Wishing you peace and joy in the new year.