Gerbily Words To Live By

"But don't despair. Better to find this out now than later. Too many people force themselves forward on a certain path because it's what they think they should do. Life's too short for that. Just keep asking yourself what makes you happy."

--The Gerbil Farmer's Daughter by Holly Robinson

My kids. R. Writing.

Embarrassing

I wonder how long someone can abandon their blog and still come crawling back.... Seems like I'm trying to find out, eh?

R.M. noticed the other day that I hadn't written a thing in about two months.

And now - there you go - as if I cued him up, the baby's just awakened from a nap and crying.

That's about explains it. One wonderful creation has consumed me.

Shut Up Already

So, yesterday I mentioned that I was trying out an Artist's Date. Writer and creativity teacher Julia Cameron coined the phrase many years ago in her book The Artist's Way. An Artist's Date is time that you set aside to go out and do juicy things to help inspire your creative spirit - take a walk in nature, go shopping at a craft store, treat yourself to experiences that get you out of your daily rut.

For me, the date was a bit simpler, having been tied down at home being baby mama for the past few months. I didn't really need anything flashy. No sir. So I simply parked my butt in a restaurant with some tasty Chinese food and one of my favorite non-alcoholic beverages (iced tea), pulled out a spiral notebook and began to free write. An idea for a novel has been churning around in my head for a couple of months as well as some shorter articles. While sitting there, I finally had a chance to just open up and slap down the words on the page.

Oh, you see, I've got lots of story ideas locked in my head. The problem is I can't seem to tell myself to shut off the part of the brain that tells me all the reasons why they're stupid, why doing something else right now is more important (online shopping, anyone?), why no one wants to read them and even if they did I don't have what it takes to capture it on paper. All the self-defeating stuff that Cameron has spent her life trying to teach people how to push past so they quit drowning their creative self in addictions and distractions.

How on earth did I get to this point?

I spent the early part of my life and career churning out stories for newspapers. Sure, the stories were handed to me: events, people, places forming out of the daily ether rather than in my head. But the writing process is similar. Tied to a daily deadline, I had no choice but to block out time every day to write and produce. I didn't have the luxury of spending a lot of time agonizing about whether or not it was good enough or letting myself go off and chase shiny objects (unless there was a possible photo op and news story). I just did it.

I just did it. What a concept!

If I could just make writing a habit, get myself to sit down and push past the daily demands and distractions, even for ten minutes a day...who knows?

I'm on page 2 of the novel now. It's fun and hard all at the same time. The words come out in spurts as the story unfolds in my head. Now I just need to sedate my inner editor/critic and keep going.

The Empty Stroller

By the third kid, you begin to think you get used to the "firsts."

Today was our baby's first day at day care. I was so ready. The breast milk pumped and thawed, bottles prepared, spare clothes labeled. Had it all planned out: I was going to drop him off for a few hours to let him get used to being cared for by others and get me back in the routine of keeping my s--- together handling the kid stuff while staying on top of the job. After two kids, it seemed like it would be easy peasy.

So I checked him in, dropped off his stuff, kissed him goodbye and then wheeled the stroller back to the car. Then I glanced down at it. Empty. The Biggest Loser episode that we watched last night flashed in my mind - contestant Abby and the sudden car crash that killed her infant boy, daughter and husband. In those few seconds, I remembered what it was like without him in our lives before he arrived and imagined what it would be like to lose him.

Though I shook off the morbid thought quickly, I still couldn't get the sight of his empty stroller out of my mind. My baby's taking one step forward to grow up. And growing up means leaving mommy and daddy one day. Just because he's one more kid at the end of our kid train, the firsts don't mean any less. The hard firsts don't get any easier.

As for the Littlest J., he did just fine being without me for a few hours (save for the explosive bowel movement that wrecked his brand new, first day of day care outfit). And I pulled myself together too and managed a bit of an Artist's Date - more about that soon.

So we got through this first. And maybe I won't take the next one for granted.

I've Been Avoiding You

It's not you. It's me.

I've stayed away from the blog for the past week as the topic most on my mind is one I'm not sure how to broach:

The Impending Visit of the Mother-in-Law.

My anxiety level has been rising as the arrival gets closer (this weekend). It probably started when R. announced a few weeks ago that she had finally bought her plane ticket. And then rose quickly when I realized that no return date is set.

I've only spent a few days with Amma at her mother's house in Kerala. We've talked on the phone many times but we've never lived under the same roof for any extended period. Living with someone always involves getting used to quirks and likes and dislikes and either learning to set boundaries or just letting go. R. says she might want to cook for us and help with the baby, household jobs that are currently a big part of my daily life. This creates the natural "opportunity" for either getting lots of welcome help or discovering ways to rub each other completely the wrong way. Then there's my natural introvert nature: periodically I need time alone to recharge myself, away from conversation and interaction with other people. Will it offend her if I regularly disappear?

It doesn't help that I just finished Leaving India, an interesting chronicle of a Gujarati family's migration across the globe. A few choice comments generalizing about the Indian mother-in-law spiked my anxiety even more:

Whole soap-opera series revolve around the drama of mother-in-law versus daughter-in-law....Offscreen, almost every daughter-in-law has horror stories, especially if she has lived with her in-laws for any length of time. Some of these complaints are no doubt exaggerated or manufactured, but....Certain mothers-in-law have made a career of acting the martyr part.

Whoa.

The author goes on to document her cousin's horrible relationship with her mother-in-law, in which the in law, among other things, threatened to burn herself to death with kerosene and worked to isolate her son's wife from her family.

Of course, I guess the story and generalizations could and probably could happen to any daughter-in-law from any country. But just to freak myself out even more (I'm good at worrying about things that haven't even happened yet) I searched the web for tales to prove the above generalization and found a whole web site dedicated to reports of hellish in laws of the female kind which included several juicy tales from wives of Indian men.

Whatever happens will happen. I'm assuming that I'm fearing the worst and the coming visit will be filled with both a mix of sweet moments and the usual bumps along the way that I have with my own family when they visit. If any tales of horror can be told, I'm not sure how much I'll be checking in and reporting on this blog. In fairness to my husband and my new "Amma" I've got to give us all a chance to learn how to live with each other.

Heaven knows I'm no Snow White or Cinderella. For all I know, Amma might be Twittering about me while she's here.

Dear Insured

Your health insurance has contacted our subrogation department regarding an injury you sustained on August 20, 2009. Please fill out the attached questionnaire regarding the nature of your injury.

Date of incident: Wait a minute. Isn't this already in the cover letter? Why do you need me to tell you again?
Nature and location of the injury: I gave birth to a baby boy. In a hospital.
Did you file a police report: Do I need this to get the birth certificate?

I'm sure the tort lawyers will get on this immediately upon receipt of the submitted questionnaire. Stay tuned.

A Husband by Any Other Name...

It has to be told. I have now committed an unpardonable relationship sin.

Oh, I could offer some excuses: it was the middle of the night. I was sleepy and worn out from a round of breastfeeding. It was dark. I have postnatal brain shrinkage. Indian guys and half-Lebanese guys look really similar in certain lighting.

But inside these excuses just don't fly: I called my husband by my ex husband's name!

When it happened I was beyond horrified. Intending to ask R. to roll over a bit on the bed so I could cuddle with the baby for a few minutes after feeding, I uttered the name of the father of my first two children. My eyes flew open as soon as I heard my mistake. I waited for R. to react. He moved over as requested, but didn't so much as utter a word.

The next day I waited for him to say something about it. And the day after that. Apparently my error had escaped his notice, though. A few times I began to confess what had happened, but didn't know quite how to tell him.

Then I almost did it again. I found myself thinking of the ex's name sometimes when I started to speak to R. So I knew it was only a matter of time before I did it again. To try to break the curse that had apparently infected my tongue, I broke down and told him.

He shrugged. Said something about muscle memory and how having a baby must be triggering familiar patterns and responses in my brain. He seemed so casual about it.

Truly, I probably knocked him over with the hug of relief. At least I'd like to think that I did.

So far that Husband No. 2 is my favorite husband. I hope I might even remember his name now.