This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

1001 Son Days

It's really really my nap time, but I have these words that just won't stop coming out of me.  I can't clamp down this dam, but the locks are in progress to level things off for nap time.

I started a new tumblr account.  It's called 1001 Son Days

I will post photos, notes, songs, videos, stories, poems, etc., etc., etc. for 1001 days all centered on thoughts, feelings, and events relating to my first son.  This was inspired by the beautiful journal created by Nikki McClure called The First 1000 Days.

When I first saw it, it stole my breath, but I scoffed.  It was a cover. That's quite a commitment, I feared.  Envy bore up in me and the idea wouldn't go away because her art moved me.  So, I spat out that bad taste, made the leap, and will do this.  The point of the tumblr is to try to keep a record to have and look back upon (we do have photos and physical keep sakes too).  Another reason I am doing this is because I need to write and tumbling often feels like a good format when time is short or thoughts are scattered.  

I love the idea of gathering each post, when all is said and done in this particular idea line, for a book to have and hold too.

Here is a post I wrote today that won't go live on 1001 Son Days for three days.

The Mama and the Papa
It is common for older people to lay in bed at night thinking of ways to better live their lives.  When you’re older try to remember not to do this too much.  Notice you’re doing it and let it go.  Focus on your breathing instead.  We already practice noticing our breathing together, when you cry hard at night and breathe erratically.
Last night, before I let go into my breath and into sleep and dream-land, I thought about roles.  The roles we perform in life.  
When I was teaching youth reading and studying skills I was most nervous about those students closest to me in age.  I worried they’d see through me and know that I thought their humor or behavior was sometimes amusing.  I was trained not to let them see my humor too soon.  I was supposed to be an authority figure of sorts, and they had to learn to respect that before I was allowed to crack too many smiles.
Last night I thought about my new dinnertime requirement.  We eat, as a family, at seven.  You go to bed at eight.  That way your papa and I also get to sleep at reasonable time.  Or anyway, that’s my hypothesis.  I felt very firm as I talked this plan through last night with your papa. 
Then, at bedtime, I thought about rules and that somehow led to thinking that you don’t need to be exposed too often to my personal neuroses.  That is one role of the healthy parent, in my opinion.  I thought of the way your papa talks.  He might say, “I’m the papa” to you, and then introduce, “and she’s the mama.”  
You don’t need to know our names for awhile.  You need to know we’re here and we’re taking the best care of you possible because we love you so much our hearts feel gelatinous more than we care to admit. 

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