Spoiled Only Child

To Do: Stop writing these damned lists

Guess what? I'm alone in my house. Alone! Well, Mia is here, but she is upstairs in bed, blessedly quiet. This is such a rare occurrence for me, and I am almost intoxicated with the freedom to sit on my couch alone with this computer and gather my thoughts. I never have time to gather my thoughts, which it occurs to me now, is maybe why I feel like I'm going a little crazy.

Sometimes I feel like there's a tornado in my head, this constant swirling cloud of thoughts and worries about all the millions of things that need to be done. The work obligations, the Spanish studying, the exercising, the meditating, the cleaning, the cooking, the shopping, the gardening, and on and on and on it spins. My way of dealing with it is to write endless To Do lists. There are lists on every scrap of paper in this house. They are shoved into my work bag, piled on the coffee table, stuck to the fridge. They are scrawled on the backs of receipts and those annoying cards cards that come in magazines. You know those tiny envelopes that come attached to a new shirt, they have a button inside? There is one in my nightstand drawer with a miniature To Do list on it. I do it in hopes of calming myself. To stretch a metaphor, it's kind of like yanking the debris out of the tornado, so it doesn't keep going around and around, hitting me in the head every time. If I put it on the list, I can take it out of my head.

But I'm not sure this method is working out. Because my life is becoming one endless To Do list. Every spare minute I'm thinking about what's on the list, what I could be doing to cross something off it. And once I put something on the list, it's very very difficult for me to take it off. Making strawberry shortcake is on the list, dammit! I will make that happen even if it means I don't get one spare minute all of Saturday, even if it means that I have to end the day with my back screaming from too many hours on my feet. The list rules all. And every time I cross something off, I think of five more things to add. The faster I run, the longer it gets. Sometimes I feel like my home is a metaphor for my life. Clutter is like a living, breathing force in this place. I work all the time to keep it stacked in the corners, rather than strewn over every horizontal surface. I fantasize about living in a peaceful, uncluttered space, but I never get any closer to the reality. Every time I pick one thing up, five more appear.

I know I'm being ridiculous. I know, in the depths of my soul, that it's never all done until you're dead. Life is always cluttered and crazy and too much and not enough. We all have days when we are tripping over the toys on the floor, cursing, wishing it could be easier. I know that the key to happiness is finding peace among the chaos, letting go of the to do list sometimes and sitting quietly in the mess, knowing that it is the stuff of life. But right now, I'm having a little trouble finding my peace. I think I'll make it my goal to head into this weekend without a To Do list. I'm a little scared just typing those words, but I'm going to try it. I'll tell you how it goes.

Beach trip from hell

Let's talk about expectations versus reality. What I expected for my Memorial Day weekend was this: Drive to the beach with Mia, arrive around lunchtime, have a picnic and frolic for several hours. Then, drive to our boat, where Mr. SOC was working on painting. Have a drink at the tiki bar, eat a leisurely picnic dinner, put Mia to sleep in the tent, drink a beer while looking at the water, get a nice night's sleep on our comfy air mattress. Then wake up and play around by the water, or maybe take a second trip to the beach before heading home. Sounds like a lovely weekend, doesn't it?

What I didn't bank on was getting stuck in traffic and spending more than four hours getting to the beach. By the time we finally got there, and then couldn't find a damn parking spot, I was on the edge of hyperventilating. By the time we planted our chairs in the sand, we had 2 hours and 40 minutes before we had to crazily rush back to the car, hoping to make the 5:25 ferry. We missed the ferry, of course, and the next didn't arrive until 6:05, so we sat by the side of the road for half an hour. I drank a beer to try and relax myself as I saw all my lovely visions of the weekend evaporating.

When we finally got to where Mr. SOC was, it was 7 p.m. and I'd been driving or in transit for about eight hours for our less-than-three hour stay at the beach. There was no time for the tiki bar, and I was totally grouchy and stressed out. We finally put Mia to bed, hoping to relax and have a beer together. But she absolutely refused to sleep, flopping around the tent, moaning and yelling, "I'm not tired." She didn't fall asleep until about 11:30, giving me another near anxiety attack thinking about what a misery she was going to be the next day. Finally in bed, both of us pumped up with stress, Mr. SOC couldn't sleep. He is tossing and turning--and keeping me up. Finally, around 2 a.m., he leaves to sleep on the boat. I probably fall asleep around 3 or 3:30, and Mia wakes me up at 6:45. I feel like I'm going to die. From the looks of Mr. SOC, he does too.

I drag myself up and go to the coffee shop. I decide to take Mia for one more day at the beach and then head home. We speed the 30 minutes to the ferry dock, arriving in plenty of time, but there are too many cars ahead of us. We can't get on the ferry, the next boat doesn't come for two hours, and there is absolutely no other way to get to the beach that doesn't involve driving four hours. I give up and drive the three hours home. I spend the rest of the day nauseous with exhaustion, trying to hold it together with Mia, mourning the trip that should have been. 

I recognize now that much of the misery of this trip was self inflicted. If I had been able to take what came, without imposing my schedules and expectations on it, it could have been different. I could have enjoyed myself, rather than looking at the clock with dread and yelling at Mia over and over to "Hurry up!!!" But I just couldn't do it. I was stressed to the point of wanting to scream. There wasn't enough time. This wasn't going according to plan. Ugh. I'm just glad it's over. No more beach on Memorial Day.  Must go meditate.

Dear Mia,

This week I am working the nightshift, and to make up for not seeing you in the evenings, I took you out for a special before-school treat today. We went out for bagels and then to the park, where we rode the carousel and the train and walked around the lake. Some of the highlights were: the buzzer going off in the restaurant to tell us our order was ready (your shout of glee was so loud the whole restaurant knew our order was ready), finding a forgotten pacifier on a bench (it is now your most prized possession), letting a ladybug crawl on your finger, and saying hello to two honking geese. You were so full of wonder and enthusiasm, practically glowing with pride that you were out with your mommy on a special trip to the park on a school day. 

It was the kind of day I've always dreamed of having with my daughter, the kind of day I remember having with my own mother. At the end of the summer, she always took me out for lunch at a "fancy" restaurant at the mall, and I always got the very fancy hot dog wrapped in puff pastry. And one day when I was in elementary school, I will never forget, she pulled me out of school early for no reason at all just so we could spend some time together. I will always remember her standing at the front of the classroom, telling the teacher I had a dentist's appointment—and my delight, when we walked out of the classroom and she told me there really was no dentist's appointment. She just felt like picking me up early. I want you to have the same kinds of memories, of special time spent with me, of knowing just how much you are cherished. It's amazing how easy it is to skip doing these kinds of things, because we are so caught up in our routines of getting to school, getting meals on the table, taking baths, cleaning up, doing errands. But today reminded me just how important our unscheduled time is. Those will be the days you remember, I hope.

It's so nice to be able to think happy thoughts about you, and our relationship, because things have been really tough for the past couple months. That's part of why I haven't written one of these letters in so long, because I didn't want to write, "You are a little monster and I am going to sell you!" For weeks it has felt as if you were constantly on the edge of some crazed and irrational tantrum, looking for a reason to lose it, unable to cope with even the smallest bumps in the road. A request to change your pants or put on your coat could be met with 20 minutes of flailing, screaming and rolling on the ground, biting your own hand in fury. Every request, for more milk or snacks or help putting on your coat, came as a bratty demand or a scream. Those that weren't met immediately turned into meltdowns. 

But then about a week ago, it was if a switch flipped. You are sweet and fun to be around, constantly making lovely observations about the world, happily doing what you're asked. And I find myself thinking about you all day, melting at the memory of your sweet smile. You are my girl who loves pink with a passion, and despite my best efforts to shield you from the forces of marketing, would like nothing better than if every one of your possessions was pink and covered with the faces of the Disney princesses. (I draw the line at buying Disney Princess junk.) Colors seem to be how you process the world right now. Everything is defined by its color, every person identified by their favorite color. You are fascinated by letters, and learning to write them. You love to count things. You go up to 12, and then begin randomly calling out numbers like sixteen and twelveteen. And you are beginning to draw pictures. People with arms and legs and faces, rather than aimless scribbles or endless spirals that you called lollipops. You are growing up. I can only hope I am enjoying you enough along the way.

Love,

Mommy

The Women, by T.C. Boyle

If only there were more novels like this one. So, so, so wonderful. I was sad to finish it. I think it will be like The Corrections for me; I'll spend years looking for one even close to this great. The book is a historical novel, based closely on the life of Frank Lloyd Wright. So you not only get to read a great story, but you learn about this fascinating historical figure and his work. I learned that Wright was into organic architecture, which was integrated into nature, and despised the "gingerbread" architecture of San Francisco. Can you imagine, hating San Francisco? And yet, I can also see that he is at least partly right. 

But this is not a book about architecture. It is about Frank Lloyd Wright, and the women who loved--and were destroyed by--him. It paints him as a true genius, a magnetic and enthralling personality who left an indelible and beautiful mark on the world, but also as a true narcissist, proud and vain and self-centered. He built a homestead in rural Wisconsin, Taliesin, a sort of mini-universe that he filled with people who worshiped and served him. He was always straddling the edge of bankruptcy, and became a sort of low-level crook who constantly ran up tabs that were never settled and finagled loans that he never repaid.

He truly rode the roller coaster of life, leaving his wife for a mistress--a huge and very public scandal at the time--building Taliesin as a sort of love nest, and then having a servant at the house go crazy and murder the woman, her two children and four other people at the house while he was out of town. He was a charmer and a romantic, who had many women and even more children. But the only person he truly loved was himself. He exacted a heavy toll on those close to him. They paid for the gifts he gave to the world. I so want to go see Taliesin and Falling Water now, but trips to rural Wisconsin and Pennsylvania don't seem to be in the plans.

Revolutionary Road, by Richard Yates

If you haven't already seen the movie, go get this book. It's about a husband and wife who think they are better than suburbia, with all its conventions and nosy neighbors, and yet have ended up there anyway. And they find themselves sucked into the mundane life they never wanted, the office job, the home improvement projects, the child rearing and the neighborhood social scene. At one point, miserable and their marriage in trouble, they make a plan to extricate themselves, sell the house, leave everything and move to Europe just for the adventure of it. But the pull of regular life is just too strong and it doesn't happen.

This book was about the very issue that I've struggled so much with lately — whether we can be true to ourselves, live the lives we really want, from within conventional society. Can we have our nice houses and lawns and office jobs, and still be our authentic selves? Or do we give too much away in the service of maintaining it all? It is so easy to get sucked into the routines of normal life that we close ourselves off to all the adventures of the world. It's as if this couple is standing before a plate glass window, looking at all that the world has to offer, but can't touch it. At one point, they almost break through, but an invisible hand pulls them back from such a radical move.

It all ends disastrously for them. The wife just cannot accept her mundane existence. I'm hoping my own struggles will have a happier conclusion.

Re-entry

Oh my god I have been slacking on this blog. We got home five days ago from a mini-vacation to New York, and I think we are still in mourning. What an incredible city it is, with all its amazing ethnic food and its fabulous neighborhood bars and its mind-blowingly great off-Broadway theater and all its young dreamers and its crazy, unrelenting, pulsating life. It is a beautiful place, but there is a part of me that wonders whether it's worthwhile to visit. Doesn't it just remind us of all that we don't have in our hometowns, of all the dreams we aren't pursuing, of all the great dumplings we could be eating if only we lived there?

I jest, of course, but there has been a bit of a rocky landing here at home. I am totally out of sorts, still tripping over my unpacked suitcase and bursting with anxiety about all that needs to be done--and not dealing at all well with an extremely moody and tantrummy 3-year-old who is getting over her three-day spoiling from grandma. I was invited to a party yesterday, and I promised to go, an then I forgot all about it. (My god, do I feel guilty about that.) That's just how life is for me post-vacation. I need a week to reacclimate. But I'm trying to remember this very unglamorous scene from New York: It is dark and raining, and a young girl is coming toward us on the sidewalk, bent forward under the burden of an enormous laundry bag, getting soaked as she makes her way to the laundromat. No matter where you live, much of your time is spent slogging to the laundromat in the rain. The idea that there is a perfect shining life somewhere is purely fantasy--except maybe if you live on the coast of California.

Let's see...what else? Oh yeah, my kid is a total brat. At any moment she can turn from adorable nymph into screaming, maniacal beast. Two nights ago, Mr. SOC had to physically restrain her while she screamed like a cat in a death-match. And this morning, she started Mother's Day off right by waking at 2 a.m. and having a screaming hour-long tantrum about ... I don't even know. The door wasn't cracked the way she wanted it. She wanted the hall light on, no she wanted it off, no she wanted it on. And now the door is wrong again. And now she needs a tissue. And now she has peed her pants. And now the door again, THE FUCKING DOOR! And all the time thrashing and running around her room and making the awful cat howl sound. We were both on the verge of hitting her. All she wants is to watch TV and eat candy and have us serve her fresh cups of milk and change her underpants, since of course it is too much trouble to go to the damned bathroom half the time. We have really fucked her up good, I think.

So on that note, happy Mother's Day everyone!