"Honey, did you get that cricket last night?"
"Yeah, I squashed that mother fucker in two!"
This not surprising coming from a man that, for father's day, sent his own father a forked spear to get rid of the rodents in the backyard......(my nana would love that rodent spearing gadget)
One of the projects I did for school this term was to experiment with an intervention (read: something a therapist does to enact change) that the professor assigned us, to be done over a two week period. I think I could study all the reasons people change, learn all the tricks to get people to change and even become successful at it but without that piece inside of me that knows how hard it is to do something different, to be better, I think I would just be running a sham. So this experiment was an intervention we, as students, were to carry out ourselves as if we were clients. He instructed us, for a two week period, to record at the end of the day three things good that happened that day and why we think they happened. Prior to the start a supposed client would fill out a small questionnaire with such questions like, how satisfied are you with your life (scale 1-5)? Following the experiment the client would fill out the same questionnaire hopefully marking a contrast between the two week period. So I did this. I made a little chart and each night I sat down and wrote three things that I was thankful for in that day. Except for on the days I forgot. Some days it was easy to come up with three things, walked to the tart yogurt shop with family for treats, financial aid check came in the mail or ate a salad with greens from my garden. On some days it was more challenging. But when I was in it I began to realize as I went through the day that I was thinking, yup, this moment right here will make the list or this day sucks, what happened. And while we haven't talked about the professors intention (because therapists always have intention) behind the intervention I can guess it has something to do with mindfulness (read: awareness of what we are doing, choices we are making in our lives, abilities to affect out happy). The questionnaire that I filled out at the start of the experiment was mostly good as I reckon I am where I want to be in my life and pretty damn happy. It was with surprise that I was even more satisfied with my life following the intervention. Tricky professor. Do I challenge you to do the same? Maybe just one idea a day for a week? No, just do it if you want to. Because you might find out you are happier than you thought you were.
She stood there for what felt, to me, like forever just watching the little boy in the campsite next to ours. His family arrived late in the day and we all took turns sneaking peaks at our new neighbors. Except Violet didn't sneak. She stood at the invisible border between the sites, hands down patiently at her side. She stood there watching, wanting to know everything she could about the newcomer. It made me feel awkward so I attempted to facilitate a meeting, perhaps a name exchange. And from there Violet proceeded at her own speed, a painstakingly slow process that, for at least an hour, involved no words. Oliver was quite a bit older than Vi, maybe by two years so while he was squirrely in his movements he wasn't as wordstruck as she. He didn't seem to get her seeming interest, indeed a strong presence in his new campsite, and lack of response to his attempts. Slowly Vi made little movements till she was in their campsite, a new fixture they weren't planning on for their weekend getaway. We just watched, helpless to parent our awestruck daughter. Things did change that night. There was a tease of marshmellow, romps through the woods looking for crab claws and once they really warmed up they ran between the two campsites squealing with laughter. Once I looked over and could only hear them inside his family tent, reading stories to each other. At bed time there was a painful pulling apart of the new friends. Violet gushed tears while Oliver delivered her gifts to make her feel better, loans for the night he called them. In the morning it was Oliver that was up first gazing in our tent. They ran around that morning, easy friends now. The distraction was great as we took down our campsite though there was a dread I felt in announcing to Violet our impending departure. But with seemingly little interest Violet, with Oliver standing next to her, declared it was time to go. With just a shrug of the shoulder they said "bye" and Violet climbed into the car. When we drove away from the campsite I couldn't catch site of Oliver I just caught a glimpse of a wave from his parents. He's come up several times since. Violet would like him to come over and play.
The tree in between.
I was either going to post the picture of Aunt Sage wielding an ax, mangling a piece of firewood, or one of the cute pictures of Violet and her interacting. The wood chopping pictures make the viewer very uncomfortable and had I not been behind the camera trying to document Sage's attempts I would have declared the whole event unsafe. Our first aid kit is simply not that well equipped. Instead, today you get cute. Because sometimes we just need a little more of that.
PS Sage still has both feet.
Vi moaned through the entire process of eating this smore as if it was just so unbearable to eat something that delicious that is that messy. Such blissful annoyances thus are found camping.
On our way down to the beach a woman passed us a starfish and asked us to carry it out to sea.
Andrew carried it gingerly as it's little tentacles reached out for something to grasp.
Then he set it free.
And came running back to us.
This morning I didn't even get any clothes out for Violet to wear. Not me, nuh-uh. Violet is in a skirt wearing phase. She is like the wicked witch wet with water in that once her eyes settle on mere shorts or leggings she melts to the ground in a puddle of unfair world. Andrew and I are usually the rulers of unfairness and so I just decided to not go there this morning. Then when we got ready to walk out into a chilly morning I asked Violet to step outside and decide for herself if she needed a sweatshirt. She first declared it would not be the gray one and then decided it was a little windy and would need her pink sweatshirt. When I got home from taking her to school I fell on the floor exhausted from this little person she has become of late. Violet has always been easy, easy, easy in regards to clothes, textures, hot and cold. She was always agreeable to dressing warm and could role with jeans or dress up in tights. Now she treats getting dressed as important as gathering gear for climbing Everest. One wrong decision and she is reckoning with the Gods who dare to disregard her need for twirl.
This strength in opinion extents to other areas as well. This morning when I placed what was a suitable cereal bowl yesterday in front of her she scrunched up her face in the most hideous display of horror. In between the sobs of emotion she snuffled out words that might describe a different, blue colored bowl that she could not bear to be without. Wait, is this puberty? Because I am pretty sure IT'S A BOWL. And if there is a preference a simple request may be more effective than the rigorous display of discomfort. Holy shit.
To counteract all this turbulence Violet is enormously gooey with love lately. She tells us at least 20 times daily she loves us. She can't stop saying it. The goodnight routine is an exhaustion of love. Smooches, hugs, butterfly kisses. We put up her big girl bed, a antique twin bed that is great. She moved easily to the new sleeping arrangement and holds her own on a bigger bed. Her legs, once lagging behind her, seem to grow daily.
Andrew and I are reaching up our sleeves in the battle with head strong Violet. We recently got her a timer and set it when we need to put a time limit on something. A few nights ago a struggle unsued involving putting on pajamas for bedtime. So we gave her 5 minutes telling her that when the timer goes off she will have to put them on. In five minutes, when that glorious timer went off, she pushed Papa out of the way and ran to her heap of bed time clothes waiting for her and put them on faster than lightning. I am not sure how long this will last but I will take every little ounce of relief in this kidstorm.
I love this one. I like the contrast of Vi's soft skin to Andrew's working hands. I like that he is painting her nails. That her name is etched in his arm. I like the nail color and the way she waits 30 seconds after they are painted and declares they are dry. I like that I am sitting next to them.
This is post number 624. No wonder I don't have anything to say. What do you want to know internet? I have been scraping the recesses of my brain for this subject I had wanted to blog about last week. It came to me driving in the car. I even know the exact place on my route to school that I thunk it. However, I have no idea what the subject was nor can I seem to find it. I feel dried up of words. Just plum out of things to tell you. Though it always happens around these times that I find a whole bunch to talk about. Waiting for that.
This weekend: a parade, family, giggling girls, cocktails, bbq's, a romp in the woods and more family time.
I have a black eye.
Inserting video is my enemy.
I need money stat.
Screaming at bedtime night after night.
I keep trying to reason. With a 3 year old.
Mom is on her way. Indy comes too.
Stroller gone. Drat.
Sick of soft foods.
Want to get off the island of me.
