Georgia's Journal

…their different personalities come out.

Before I turn in at night, I go between their bedrooms, shutting windows, turning off fans, covering them up. They’re mostly used to it, and whatever commotion I make rarely wakes them.

But when they do “wake”, Savannah moves a bit, tries to sit up, and speaks in a loud, gibberish dream speak. Although her volume works properly, her tongue and throat don’t; always funny. Once, I did make out, “Stop, Seth!”

When Seth rouses a bit, he never says anything but opens his eyes into slits and tries to move his hands and head. He has no control over them so they’re very spastic; also funny.

When Arwen gets woken, she looks at me and says very clearly, “I love you, Mama.” She either raises her arms for a hug or blows a kiss.

We didn't bake them, but it was one of a few lessons Seth got today at lunch. I said if y'all want ice cream, you'll either have an egg or nuts first. (They already ate a day's worth of fruit.)

On his own initiative he put the kiddie chef coat on, and cracked his first egg into a little pan of butter. He read, yes he's reading a LOT now, the egg carton said "organic free range". He learned what a range is, where animals can run and play. He learned the song "Home on the Range" which I got stuck in my head while we were cooking. He learned that even though the butter is salted, I like to add a bit more to our eggs.

He ate it and returned to the kitchen to fry Savannah's egg also. Funny that he cracked her egg yolk but not his own. He was not intimidated by the heat, which means I had to add a little fear to the recipe.

The memory of it cancels out their squabbling in the backyard later.

I was kickin' back, digesting after supper tonight when Seth said to me, "I know what my Power is."

This sounded like superhero mythology to me, so I perked up. I could hear the capital "P" in what he said and asked him to explain.

"My Power is Strength." He loves making muscles with both arms. He's very lean. Even his tushy has about the smallest amount of fat on it that a six year old boy's tushy can have and still be a tushy. So he's all muscle, but there's no bulk in his biceps. Very cute.

He continued, "I've been getting a lot of boo boos." He showed me his latest boo boo, a scratch created by sliding on the tanbark at recess today. He reminded me that I'd once said the more boo boos he gets the stronger he'll be.

I remembered then the conversation we'd had a few weeks ago. With so much repetition, trying to get through their selective hearing, (almost always with orders) I never know how much children actually hear, my guess is, more than most parents realize. I believe they especially hear concepts, the little sponges. They can make the same request 3 and 4 times in the hope that I'll finally give them the answer they want. Then when I explain an abstract, albeit unsolicited, thought, they can grab on with their minds in the right phase of development to completely understand, and even make the practical application to themselves.

But tonight I had to correct him about our old conversation. The boo boos will make you tougher. He made his muscles. He told me that I could be tough too. I said, "Oh, no. I don't wanna be too tough. I'm a mama." He walked out of the room with arms flexed saying, "I wanna be TOUGH."

Savannah had her first piano lesson a week ago tomorrow. So I'm prepping for her second lesson. I'm not really a piano teacher, but it all falls into place, especially since she's had some music in school and played the recorder, just like I did when I was young.

I'd been waiting for a full size piano. We have a nice keyboard, one that works through Garage Band, full-sized keys, but only 4 octaves. My friend Lucy and I are exchanging Spanish lessons (para mi) for help with her English pronunciations and obscure words. (Her English is very good.) She is learning piano from her husband. She is motivated and ambitious, and I'm grateful for those qualities' rubbing off on me. She was my impetus for finally sitting down to Savannah's first lesson.

And wouldn't you know it, I now have the option to choose between two different pianos which need homes, for free. I've yet to get contact numbers, and they could have very well found new homes already. But it's lovely how these things seem to work out.

On a related topic, I spent some time singing a week ago. I cleaned the kitchen with Emmylou Harris on, and when I finished cleaning, I had to just sit down and sing. She demanded it. I noticed a long time ago that my voice is much better with a strong dose of confidence. Last Monday, I sung with more confidence than I've ever felt. It was so uplifting that it made my stomach hurt. And I've actually avoided doing it in again in the last week. I'm hoping for singing lessons, but I have more pressing projects right now.

But as a result of the singing, I did pick up my guitar; it had been a year. Then when I tried to tune the thing, the second string broke. The strings were old anyway. This brought me yesterday to our music shop on Main street which I've thought of going into for the last 3 years. I got the strings and a guitar stand to keep it out and easy to pick up again, for anyone in the family who wants to play.

Why does one choose an author? With so many writers vying for my precious time, the authors I choose vary greatly, but must have similarities, since they all have me in common. It’s probably just good, simple storytelling. We have chemistry with people we meet, even people we see on television. I can tell right away if I’ll like a comedian. Chemistry reaches from the paper too, between writers and their readers.

I passed Ayn Rand today in Barnes and Noble, well, what’s left of her. There’s one who never grabbed me but only because I once tried reading her philosophy. Obviously a good thinker, her sentence structure and vocabulary was reaching too far above my head. It irked me. What’s the good in that great vocabulary and intellect when a person is obviously only reaching a handful of people? Perhaps we all just write the only way we know how.

Auster’s Man in the Dark was good. Surprisingly uplifting, for a girl who has a soft spot for the elderly (the protagonist). I’d said the mother in me wanted to paint for this author a happier room, but he’s done it himself.

My nine year old approached me this afternoon while I was reading and told me, "In 5th grade, we get to dissect a squid and owl pellets."

"Owl pellets?" I asked. I assumed she meant owl poop.

"You don't know what owl pellets are?" she asked suddenly. And there it is, I could see it. She loves to find something she knows that I don't.

She explained that they will dissect the indigestible parts of the mouse from the owl's stomach, bones, hair and such... I looked at her in disbelief and asked, "What?" a couple of times.

This is disgusting to me. Really glad she's getting a great education but glad for once that mine was apparently not as good as it could've been. All we ever dissected were frogs. I googled owl pellets. She's right, of course. I was taken to a site that marketed the pellets for sale in bulk to classrooms, along with a book called Owl Vomit.

Two of our children have what looks like the flu. They are all right. Arwen is actually singing and prancing around like nothing happened. But Savannah had been pretty cheerful after 3 days of absence from school, then stopped eating ‘cause nothing felt good in her sore throat. She laid around a lot yesterday.

I’m not one to run to the doctor whenever a bug hits, unless there’s a symptom obviously inconsistent with bugs they’ve had in the past. (Savannah’s strep test was negative on Wednesday.) So when the preschool said Arwen needs 2 days symptom free, instead of the typical 24 hours, and the elementary school said Savannah may need a doctor’s note to come back to school, that know-it-all parent reared her head in the back of mine.

Something about telling a grown woman what to do with her children really steps on our parenting toes. (Daddies too, I’m sure!) I’ve not seen any reason why swine flu is worse than the regular flu. Thousands die in the U.S. every year of the flu, mostly old victims, I understand, who actually fall prey to pneumonia.

But in talking to others, I realized the caution I should heed in taking care of my children. Like every now and then, when one of them gets a bloody wound, I realize how parents must’ve worried before medicines became more available in this country, about a small wound turning gangrenous. We are diligent about vitamin C, not too crazy on the sugar which lowers the immune system, washing hands when we get home…. but come 11 o’clock, I skulked around their bedrooms, listening for the dreaded rattling of pneumonia in their little lungs.

I heard a story of a woman who’s 3 year old girl had been sick. The hospitals were full, and the girl seemed to be getting better. They laid down on the couch together while the girl’s lungs eventually filled with water, and she died beside her mother.

So I’m skulking, listening, asking questions about chest pain… thank you mayoclinic.com…. and they are playing right now, getting pretty loud actually. Savannah finally found yogurt and honey slid down very nicely, and she immediately perked up!

You know what makes this flu different? People I’ve spoken to are realizing that, at this point, no American’s have died, but 150 Mexican’s have. Now why is that? Are so many living on corn wraps and beans? living in poverty? without medicine? or proper education? I’d like to hear why. I’d like to hear someone in the media spell that out for me.

Fictional mothers, there’s something I could collect. When I want to feel domestic and motherly, I put The Royal Tenebaums movie into the dvd player. Etheline Tenenbaum, with her patient tone of voice, embodies maternal ambition, longsuffering, and purpose.

After seeing Etheline, and the movie ends, I wanna go put down my deposit for Savannah’s ice skating, give a lesson on the piano, rearrange the puzzles and board games, replace dead batteries, and frame their art work. Good Mama.

Ethel: “Well, I don’t think it’s very intelligent to keep an electrical gadget on the edge of the tub.”

Margot: [in tub] “I tie it to the radiator.”

The movie is about much more than Etheline, and I recommend it if you enjoy dark comedies.

I can tell that a good dose of caffeine makes me talkative, actually, happy. My words flow very easily. I find myself driving and wish I could write something down, or I wonder where that iPod recording attachment is…. It’s deceptive though, because caffeine makes me feel a bit too smart, too funny. And normally I’m not too much of either.

Over the last month, I can tell that even without caffeine, there’s a point in the morning when my mind becomes much more clear. I brighten up and ideas begin flowing, but instead of just sitting on them like I do when I’m distracted, the ideas need to come out. This happens at about 9:30 or 10 o’clock. I can’t help but think that the caffeine disguised this feeling and postponed the discovery. Knowing this, other distractions can be, hmmm, controlled? at least diverted (meaning 10 a.m. is puzzle or movie time for the kiddies, the little darlings) and my time used more wisely. Likewise, I can use caffeine before a group activity because it makes me more sociable.

When are you at your best? When are you most creative?

I recently started a helpful book, Training Your Brain in the Teach Yourself series:

For creative and imaginative thinking, force every last bit of breath out of your body, especially by squeezing the muscles of the stomach and buttocks. Hold this state as long as you can and then allow the breath to rush in and appear to fill all the cavities of your body, from your abdomen up to the upper regions of your chest. Raise your shoulders to suck in the last breath. Hold as long as you comfortably can. Repeat three times.

It goes on to combine physical prep with writing exercises, almost comically. I look forward to really putting these to the test. Someone looking through the window would be really curious to see it all.

The book toggles between details in research and practical applications, explaining in understandable terms why the brain acts as it does and how to get the most out of it. My favorite application so far is how I can arm my children for learning. Because emotion is linked to learning, believing in a positive outcome greatly influences a child’s (or adult’s) chances of first success, influencing future success. Imagine a first failure and the difficulty one has in getting ahead on the next try. This means building them up in confidence. Also, when I drop them off at school, I no longer say, “Have fun.” I know they’ll have fun. Fun is what children are all about. I deliberately say, “Listen to your teacher.” or some other nugget of wisdom they’ll appreciate some day.

Train Your Brain also supports wonderful things I already knew, such as eating good chocolate, the darkest you can. If it’s not your favorite, gradually move up in cocoa percentage. I’ve gotten used to it and find that I’m quickly satiated with just a bit of dark chocolate. Eat meat for breakfast. I love getting breakfast from the fried pork tenderloin I made the night before, cold from the fridge. More to come.

I do love an underdog. Shame on the people in the audience who rolled their eyes.