Alison Hodgson

Expert on the etiquette of perilous times.

Day 12 – Not over yet!

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Eden and I are both sporting name tags that she made out of post it notes.  I had to spell my names for her.  She wanted all of them.  I dropped my original middle name (9 letters) and gave her my maiden one (5 letters) instead.  Three names took some serious time.  She can’t write all her letters, so I had to make her a little template several times.

She was satisfied with only her first name for her name tag and has placed it on Jack’s ear because she doesn’t want him to forget her.  He’s passed out on the floor.  
Oh now she is wanting to make one for him.
You might have noticed that the only creature who ISN’T stirring is the dog.
This might be a cry for help.

Day 12

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So I was up until after 3 a.m, which – I’ll just spare you the math – isn’t enough sleep.  I feel like someone dropped a few bricks on my head and gave me some sort of emotional shot.  Anyone who knows me has seen me cry, I’m no stranger to tears and such, but usually I can hold it together about nothing.  I had several little breakdowns today.  One was at dinner, because I was thinking about what a great kid Lydia is.  I had to cover my face.  She came over and gave me a hug and got a little teary herself.

Two others came from running into a former co-worker of Paul’s while we were out shopping. She worked with Paul before he was married and has known Christopher since he was a baby. We haven’t seen her in years and she couldn’t believe what a young man Christopher is now. Her brother is hearing impaired, which I had forgotten, and she gave Christopher a little speech on how her brother has an M.B.A. and is a very successful accountant and that Christopher should never let anything hold him back.  He listened politely and smiled, but I know it has never occurred to him that there is anything holding him back.  He has no self-concept of victimhood from being hearing impaired.  He doesn’t know that he could.  The only thing that bugs him is having to change the batteries on his processor.
“I rah-eally wish that they would make batteries that last longer!”  He will moan, but that’s it. Limited time on the computer has given him more of a sense of oppression than his hearing impairment ever has.
I teared up during Carol’s little speech and out and out cried later telling my sister, Torey, about it.
I also cried after shrieking at Christopher and Eden, who had been at each other’s throats all morning.
I’m not even pre-menstrual.
I really need a good night’s sleep.
This will require me getting up and seeing that Christopher, Eden and Jack are all tucked into bed.  
Wish me well.

Happy Tuesday

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Tonight I resisted the lure of the computer and turned off the light at before 10:00 and quickly fell asleep.

A boy and his dog awoke me at 11:18 because the boy needed instructions for turning off the alarm since he thought the dog needed to go outside one last time.
The dog just wanted to run around the deck and eat poopsicles which he did for a while ignoring the boy’s cries to go to his spot or to come inside.
Finally I stormed out to the living room just as the dog pranced to the door.  The boy and the dog hustled back to bed while I locked up and reactivated the alarm.
It is now 1:47 and if you think I am happy to still be awake…
Well, I’m not. 

Sweetness

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Most people, I think, were raised on cookies or bars.  I was raised on cookies.  It would be interesting to consider the sort of people who are attracted to making bars.  There is much to be said for them, they are certainly quicker and, if you crave it, there is the option of uniformity.  It must be pleasing, for some, to be able to cut perfectly square or rectangular bars, leaving the curled up edges to be eaten in private by the baker.  This is all conjecture since, as I mentioned, my experience and expertise is with cookies.

And yet,the other day, it was chocolate chip cookie bars for which I had a craving.  I didn’t do anything about it until Lydia fell upon me crying because Eden was driving her crazy.  Eden, who can be quite a pill, wasn’t really doing anything.  I diagnosed cabin fever of the deadliest kind and, as I held my sobbing girl close, tried to think what might be a good occupation for someone who is sick and tired and generally feeling fragile.  Baking seemed a possibility.  I suggested making some bars and Lydia agreed.   That it could hit the second bird of my own craving was a bonus.   
Once we had settled on the recipe and she had begun to measure ingredients, Lydia came back and sweetly apologized for her earlier fit.  This is always her way, given a little room and some compassion  her conscience invariably pricks and she makes things right.  
Today Lydia made the bars again.  She wanted to do it herself and with the help of her sister and one of our visiting friends she measured out the wet ingredients and mixed them.  It looked strange and so she called me to check.  It was easy to see that she hadn’t fully creamed the butter and sugar before adding the eggs and vanilla.  She was worried.
I told her to start measuring the flour and I got the mixer going strong.  It soon beat everything into a creamy mixture.  It wasn’t what it would have been, but it was fine.  
“Is it going to be OK?”  Lydia asked after we stirred in the dry ingredients.
I assured her it would be and then asked, “What if it wasn’t fine, what if it was ruined?”
She thought for a moment, “We could start over.”
And in most cases we can.  Today we have plenty of butter and sugar and eggs, it only would have taken time to measure them again.
I poured in the chocolate chips and we both leaned forward to hear them hitting each other as they landed.  This is one of my favorites sounds in the world and I have taught Lydia to appreciate it too.  We mixed them into the dough and then carefully spread it in the pan.
I put the bowl in the sink and filled it with water to wash.  “Sweetie, you know if you try anything, odds are -“
“You’re going to make mistakes?”
“Yep.  And the sooner you figure out they’re nothing to be afraid of, the happier you’re going to be.”
The bars have baked and been cooled on a rack.  Lydia is cutting pieces for everyone as I type.
If you had a bird’s eye view of our kitchen today you would have probably been able to figure out I was teaching my daughter how to bake.  But you might not have known, what I am coming to understand I get to do day after day, in the most mundane situations, is that I was teaching her how to live.

Happy Monday

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We have been sick all week.
It is grey and wet.  The rain is melting the snow and the thick crust of ice has, yet again, been exposed.
It is Monday.
And then there are other variables that would have me peering around corners at people if I could get enough distance between us to actually be in another room.
Thankfully, some friends have come over.  We are going to play Wii games and make cookies and revel in being with others.  
It is a good day, not because the weather is good or because the kids are getting along or at least quiet, not because  I feel rested or because the house is clean, not because cabin fever has miraculously disappeared, but because this day is a gift and I am thankful and glad.