Being seen.

You know, I really like people who make you feel like they see you.

Do you know what I mean?

People who make you feel seen are the people you feel connected to, I suppose.

I have this teacher. And I have been having trouble in her class and couldn't place why. I think she's a good teacher and I know that people respect her. But in her class I don't get a good feeling. And sometimes I leave feeling worse than when I came in. Feeling frustrated. Feeling invisible. One day we had a substitute and it was the best class I'd ever experienced. Someone in the hallway remarked something similar so then I knew I wasn't alone. But I still couldn't figure out what it was.

Then today, I decided to reach out and complement her on the class. I did feel really good afterwards and it was just what I needed. When I went up to tell her that, she walked right past me. She looked right through me and started talking to another student. And when I waited, I saw that she was going to continue on her way. I finally got right in front of her and made eye contact so she would have to stop and talk to me.

"Great class today." I said. "I had a really rough morning and this was just what I needed."
"Oh I'm glad!" she said brightly. And then rushed right past me. To talk to someone else.

I headed out and thought that's it! She doesn't see me. I feel invisible in her class and that makes me feel disconnected from it.

It makes me want to work harder to make sure in the classes that I teach and the programs that I run, that I make a point to see everyone. 

In like a...carpenter ant. Out like a ... carpenter ant.

So, this month, this happened.

Coen had his first experience playing video games at home.

It was regrettable at the start and regrettable at the finish.  Well, I'm being quite dramatic. It wasn't SO bad. 

Tad still has his original NES (Nintendo Entertainment System) and traditionally, he and I take it out and play at our leisure from Thanksgiving to New Years.  It's like our winter holiday mindless fun.  But this year we took it out to play in February. And I thought it would be fun to let Coen try.

Well.  He. Became. Obsessed.

We talked about Mario morning, noon, and night.  We only allowed him to play on weekends in February and the first couple times, after turning the cursed machine off, he fell to pieces.  "I'm BORED now!" He'd wail.  What? Bored?  I don't know, aside from lazy summer days of endless playing, that he ever says that.  And now he's bored? Oh my gosh, I thought, the video games have seeped into his brain and now he doesn't know what to do with himself without them.  WHAT HAVE I DONE?!!!!

Now, after some good conversations, he did manage to handle the unplugging of the game much better.  But still.

After the game was over, I was always on edge--video games do that to me. And so was Coen.  And he would want me to play with him immediately after the game at which point I would just want to take some deep breaths to decompress.  Coen would say, "Please PLAY with me, Mommy!" while I turned to Tad saying, "I don't WANT to play!" Tad was always bemused as I brought the whole thing on myself.  

Yesterday, when he was playing and I was giving him extra time, Tad started mentioning how it might have been going on too long.

"Hey Daddy." Coen said. "Get off of my cloud!"
That worked both for the figurative cloud (9) to which he was referring and the cloud upon which his little Mario character stood.

So today was his last day. And during his last game, two of his friends came to call.  I let them in to watch him finish it off and, being more novice players, were full of advice for him.  I started getting stressed out that he would get upset that they knew more than he did.  And at one point, he let both of them take a turn.  "Coen!" I said nervously, "We don't have time for you to get a hundred extra lives!"

I was on the edge of panic. "Mom." he said calmly. "I'm not getting a hundred extra lives. He's just finishing the level for me."

But you know, he did fine.  Even while I accidentally set fire to the inside of our oven and threw a bucket of water in it whilst opening all the windows and remarking about how it was getting late and the time for the game was almost up.  And even when it was over and I sent him outside to play with his friends and I scraped the black off the bottom of our oven while Lucy danced around the living room yelling "Fire! Fire!" He did fine.

At that moment, Tad arrived home and to my surprise, he was not annoyed with me for having extra children in the house, playing video games way past the agreed-upon dinner time. He was not annoyed with me for having a fire in the kitchen and not two but four wild-children running around.  And of course he wasn't.  He's married to ME after all and these things are sometimes to be expected.
Coen is now getting ready to take a bath.  I just heard him say, "I'm a little sad, Daddy."

Until next year, Mario.

 

This totally happens to me.

Coen has been reading a lot of comics lately.  And this morning I was looking at his Peanuts Treasury while I drank my coffee and I found this one.  I remember this one from when I was a kid.  I loved this strip because THIS HAPPENS TO ME!

Does it happen to you? Because it happens to me.  I become aware of my tongue. Sometimes I become aware of my whole mouth.  It is indeed an awful feeling. 

Sometimes, I'm even aware of my whole self.  I'll be at some sort of event--usually one in which I am out of my element or I don't know anyone.  And I'll become suddenly aware of my whole self...how I'm acting, how I sound. And the more I try not to be aware of myself, the more aware of myself I become.  Until I feel both invisible and like fifteen feet tall at the same time.  It's much worse than being aware of your  tongue.  But if there's just one person there that I know well and knows me back..then I can say something to them about how I'm aware of myself.  And they'll either know what I mean or tell me how weird I am.  And I'll realize that they're right.  And either way, I'll feel better. 

Anyway, I thought I'd share in case any of you are ever aware of your tongue, aware of your mouth, or aware of your very self.  You are not alone.

Lovely and insane

 Yesterday was a sort of self-created comedy of errors.  I forgot my hearing aid in the morning.  I also nearly fell down like eight times on the way to my car.  I guess I should salt our walk.

At work, my cube mate Tiffany called to me.  "Alie.  Do you smell Ben-Gay?"
My response? "Sure! N-E-G-A-T-E."
Tiffany laughed and I had to get up and walk over to her to hear what she'd actually said.

We had a two-hour meeting about our data entry system and subsequent paperwork.  Sounds like a tremendously boring affair, but I was actually really interested.  I don't know if it's that I just really like the people I work with, or I really needed to know the information being presented, or I was enjoying using a combination of sign language and facial expressions to communicate with Kathy, my coworker whose job is similar to mine in structure and the sometimes unique ways in which we decide to do our paperwork and data.  Or maybe it was all three of those things.  And then at some point, I had  a hand frenzy.  And in my hand frenzy, my pen somehow flew up in the air and landed on my head.  It stayed there for a second and then fell off on to the table. And then I couldn't stop giggling. There is nothing funnier to me than uncontrollable laughter in a business meeting.

After the meeting, and the rest of my workday, we had a potluck in Coen's classroom.  As people were arriving I had this conversation with my friend:
Melissa: Alie, do you think we should get more seats?
Me: Yes, let's just eat right now!  If we wait for everyone else to get here, it'll be seven o' clock by the time we do! Let's eat!!

So after that I had my hula hoop class and I came home joyful as I do from that class. My house was quiet and Tad was upstairs with Coen. I could hear him reading.  So I went in the living room and started hooping while I turned on the TV.  Tad has programmed our TV to go straight to the NFL channel when it comes on.  OBNOXIOUS!  Anyway, he came down and found me there, hula hooping and watching some old Packers game.  He shook his head and laughed.

"Want to see the dresses I got yesterday?" I asked him?

He did. So I tried on my dress for the 40 under 40 dinner and swished around the room with it on.  Then as I left, I walked into the wall.  We laughed and then I tried on another dress I got yesterday, a red and white polka-dot sundress which I am very excited to wear when it's warm.  I spun around the playroom, where Tad was looking through his closet.  I showed him all angles, hands on my hips and sashaying about. Then when I turned to go, accidentally stepped into a box of plastic toys. It flipped up, catapulting My Little Ponies at my legs and I fell down in a heap on the floor.  Tad and I both laughed again.

"You are lovely and insane." He said.

I'll take it.

Schmalentines

It's a funny thing--Valentine's day.  Yesterday, I was at the Public Market with my parents and my kids and my sister and her kids.  I saw a line, like fifteen men long, at the flower shop and it just struck me as hilarious that all these dudes were just waiting in line to buy flowers because they're supposed to buy flowers on February 14th.  It seemed suddenly silly.  I laughed out loud at them, but most of them either ignored me or looked at me blankly.

My sister  was saying that the other night she was doing the dishes and heard a conversation between her husband and son.
Sean: Dad?  Is Valentine's Day tomorrow?
Leo: Um...noo...I don't think so.
Sean: Are you sure?  I thought it was tomorrow.
Leo: No.. I don't think it is.
Beth: Um, Leo? Tomorrow IS Valentines Day.

And my dad said that my mom had scolded him for his ignorance as well as he said, "Sweetheart, is Valentines Day February 12th or 13th?"

It's a funny thing too because, while I don't subscribe to celebrating a holiday such as Valentine's Day, as romantic as I am, because I would rather my romance come at unexpected moments, instead of on a day that everyone is doing it.

But it's February and my introvert husband is in hibernation mode.  He is retreating within himself to recharge and gather his internal energy before spring.  It's an expected time in our house.  It's part of the ebb and flow of our relationship.   But I am all flow and no ebb and it's a hard time for me because I WANT his energy.  But it's just not available.  So we were lying in bed last night after having talked about how it's okay for me to be annoyed with him for not having energy for me and it's okay for him to not have energy for me. So even though I don't do Valentine's, I couldn't help but see all the roses and cards and chocolates people posted on their Facebook pages.  I hmph'd.  "I want a box of chocolates!"  I had said.  "Stupid Valentine's Day!"

Tad held me closer.  "Do you want me to go on Facebook and tell everyone I bought you a diamond encrusted suitcase for Valentine's?"

Very funny.

Telling the troof

I promise, this is my last Maurice Sendak-inspired blog post!

He was talking about a little kid writing him a letter to say she hated his last book and she hoped he'd die, and how much he loved the letter.

The interviewer said that he seemed to find the unvarnished truth consoling, even if it's vicious ad painful
He said, 
"If it's true, you can't care about the vicious and painful. You can only be astonished."

My kids always say, "Tell me the TROOF!"

 When children tell the truth, I can only help but laugh, even if it does sting a little.
"Your breath stinks."
"Mom, why are women's breasts so floppy" (staring at me after I've come out of the shower) floppy?!
"How come your tummy looks like there's still a baby in it even though you already had a baby?"
"You look grumpy in the mornings."

Yeah, whatever. They're observations. They're vicious truths.  They don't mean anything.

There was a book that I adored as a child and still love called The Castle in the Attic by Elizabeth Winthrop.  (read it! read it to your kids!)

It's about this little boy, William who gets an antique castle and a silver leaden knight. The knight comes alive and magically shrinks William to come into the castle and embark on a journey to save his kingdom.  At the end, William must defeat this magic mirror that, when turned toward you, shows you all the horrible things inside you--all the greed and meanness and insecurity.  Powerful knights have died before the mirror upon seeing their insides--what they'd hidden from themselves.  But when the mirror is turned toward William, he just sees himself.  That's it. Just himself.  He saw his insecurities and his anger, but he already knew they were there.  So he just sees himself.

So my goal in life has been, since I read that book at age 10, to be a person who would always just see herself in that mirror.  To be a person who is always WHO I AM through and through, no matter where I am and who I'm with.  To be transparent about my own falterings.  To be REAL. 

I think when you're in that place, you can hear the truth. Let it sink in and burn a little bit.  But know it was always there in the first place.

Spanning out.

Saturday I wrote about this Maurice Sendak interview I read. 

I have just a little more to say. 

I think we're all a little more the same than we think we are.

In the interview, he was asked if he was concerned about how different children are now than they were during his own childhood.

And he said "There are rich kids. There are poor kids. That's the only difference. Some kids get more than others."

I know some of us live in small houses and still some of us have several large mansions all over the world.

But if you spanned out on the camera to a full view of our Earth, that tiny trailer in the trailer park, that small patch of land that is your own, and that set of three large mansions in three different places, wouldn't look all that much bigger than the other.  If you spanned out.

Coen's been watching a lot of space documentaries.  And that's what it made me think about.  We have all this polarization about country and religion and region and political parties.  But we're all on the same planet.

Don't we all just go home to our places and get into cozy clothing and settle in for the night?  Don't we all need food and water and shelter and love?  Don't we all just want a patch of time for peace and quiet, a book to read, a painting to create, a little music to listen to?

Aren't we all born into this world in harshness, light and sudden unmuffled noise?  And don't we all leave this world by taking our last breath and emptying our bodies of our souls and spirits?

I don't know.  Between this interview and the space documentaries and this conversation I had with friends yesterday out for lunch...  I'm just thinking... If we all just focused on ourselves.  If we look inward and realize that all we can control is what we do and how we react and what we think...  If we realized how much better it feels to just breathe in and out and BE than it does to be moving around and trying to get more more more all the time....  That land and money and politics wouldn't be so important.

And as far as these ever-changing children, however much STUFF they get, doesn't really matter.  What matters is the energy, light, LOVE, and space they get.  To express themselves. To grow on the outside.  To grow on the inside.  To spread out and tumble around and  BE WHO THEY ARE.

I know this post is sort of a ramble.  Being inspired by a writer, friends and science all at once is weird!  I appreciate that my parents encouraged me to be who I was.  My dad used to call me his "strange and wonderful child" and I loved that. Always.  My kids are strange and wonderful.  So are yours.  So are you, as a matter of fact.  I think that's what all we need to know.