King of the Carrot Flowers

This morning Chai came up to me, beaming, and told me, "Mom, I love your heart. And I love Sparrow's heart, and I love Daddy's heart!" Work was gentle and facebook was dull. I have a new child client who is speech delayed and indiscriminately affectionate. I remember times when I didn't notice that, children seizing my hands or climbing in my lap just felt so good to me. I'm happy to get to know and work with him even though I'm weary of play therapy, I feel so badly for children who are scarred by inconsistency and shame. In the evening the rain cooled the angry earth and when we walked to visit the horses I could smell every plant on the street. We went to the park and I felt like running in the field (not very far because my pelvis is a delicate cage, I can tell it's eager to twist with a little more weight on it) and stood in the clover circles and Chai and Sparrow chased me. I made them crowns of clover and they looked so beautiful in their tangled wild baby hair. I wanted a rich black and white picture. We lay on our backs and watched the gray clouds moving, Sparrow climbed all the way up the ladder apparatus and is fearless on the slide. Chai told me he was Captain Hook and that we had to stay on the ship so he could take our orders (pirate cheeseboogers, pirate tacos). We sang "Pirate mokey, pirate mokey, just for you, just for you," and practiced swinging on the big swings. My friends really are gone, they're not part of my life the way they were. But most of the time, I still feel happy. Chai was explaining to us in the car, "Remember when I was a baby, and I played by the bridge, and you were holding me, and Sparrow was taller than me?...but Baby Tarzan doesn't drink milk because he isn't born yet. He's still in your belly." Do you think it's possible that maybe at least part of it will be nice?

You have shown me the sky, But what good is the sky To a creature who'll never Do better than crawl?

I have mixed feelings about Aldonza/Dulcinea. I see the insinuation, which I'm sure my grandfather loves, of the effect is can have on people when you see them "not as they are but as they may be/should be." Such elevating treatment maybe helps some people aspire to make needed changes or improve their quality of life. I'm sure my grandfather would state that this is how the Savior sees us, in our potential, not in our current reality. But it was difficult to watch how much this disturbed Aldonza. She keeps admonishing Quixote to "see me as I am!" At one point she begs "Won't you look at me, look at me, God, won't you look at me!" and Quixote continues to cover his face and plea with her never to deny that she is his lady. I also felt sad that the storyline reflected the virgin/whore complex so literally--Quixote describes her as "sweet lady, fair virgin!" to the obscene delight of everyone at the inn where she is prostituted. Why couldn't she not be a virgin and still be of worth, still inspire a knight to noble deeds (also problematic)?  There is some bitterness in the viewer recognizing that no matter how flowery the speeches made to her, she will never be high born, she will never be "pure" in the sense that he believes she is. I can see how there is something sweet about his insistence that she has value even when she is bitterly spitting that she is nothing ("born on a dung heap to die on a dung heap") and her eventual shift to believing in a higher way of life, seeing the beauty in the world and in herself, is touching. But she also shares with him her own raw, violent story, and she truly had some ugly things happen to her that he completely dismisses and is unable to hear. He invalidates her lived experience, and that was difficult to watch. I understand that his madness and inability to integrate reality with his delusion is part of the profound theme that the play explores, but I wish it could have been possible for Aldonza to be seen as a whole person, seen and heard, and still told she is worthwhile. That Quixote could have endured hearing her story and told her, your sexual history doesn't matter, I still see you as Dulcinea. What happened to you wasn't your fault and it's not who you are. Those are the words I would crave from a Savior...not someone with his hands over his ears.

Hoy dia...oy, dia! We left and I immediately missed the sun-spun angels. I can't ever let go and relax completely no matter how much I wanted to get away beforehand. But is there anything more lovely and more temperate than walking in the SLC Farmers Market with Jonny and picking out soap, inhaling rosemary and lemongrass? Sawadees for lunch and we talked about "getting organized." The immediate changes are to do grocery shopping once a week and plan it out, each cook twice a week,  clean the kitchen on the night the other cooks. When the basement is done we want to have a tech room and a toy room, never-to-be-seen-again this time. Those changes will come hard for us, but the way we've been is costing us so much money, energy, and time. I told Jon I'm scared about our relationship and he said the same thing as always, we should do more dates but no babysitters. I suggested we make the effort to carve out the time even if we don't leave home.

We stopped by Daniel's and met a squalling Samuel who triggered me. I don't want to do it. I just don't. I cried and Jon said he'll do whatever he needs to do, "raise it as his own," whatever. I don't need to search far for stories of more desperate situations than mine. I mean triplets, Gaza, watching your children starve, having your children be tortured in front of you. But I still feel such pain and resistance welling up in me and worst of all I know it affects an innocent child and very possibly even a fetus, so during this time of gestation, even my feelings aren't completely mine, I need to calm down and work through my anger and disappointment so the quiet cricket won't be poisoned by the salt of my wrathful blood. It is a complete invasion with no privacy and of course I don't want to hurt a baby, but part of me sees it all as submission this time. Submission to extra-concentrated motherhood, submission to losing more of my mind and my time with the sweet kids I already have, because that's what I'm supposed to do, who will do it save I? Jon reminded me that the baby didn't ask for this. I know, I know! but that doesn't make it easier. We are always so gentle when we get to be alone together. We touch each other and lean in. I miss the time we never had and the time we never will have.

Third eye blind

Tonight I watched their blond little heads bob in the sunlight streams while they ran through the sprinklers. Then we painted, and they boldly mixed and swirled, and Chai told me "This is a painting of WIND!" Earlier today I talked to Frimet and told her my story--much less intense than the rigidity of Hasidim but still, we both realized it was something like it--and I told her about how good exploring has been for me and how it has helped me recognize what I truly want out of life and allowed me to release so much that sat on my desperately trying chest for years. I am excited to hear more from her--this woman who also birthed her second child (a daughter) on a cold January morning, who had an arranged marriage at 18, who shaved her head for her patriarchy. I am really excited about writing a piece for the Forward, even though Naomi warned me about trolls, just to be able to be involved and to write something seems so worthwhile. Naomi is so sweet and encouraging. Most definitely my exodus has brought us closer. After the call with Frimet Doug and Emme took the smalls to the dinosaur museum and Jon and I went to check out our Quiet Cricket. It meant so much to me to have Jonny there and to be able to spend a few minutes alone. He got teary when the technician let us hear baby's heartbeat. It was fun not to just see the baby but to see through the baby! The chambers of the heart, the pocket of the brain that stores spinal fluid. I don't know them, right now I just know where is blood pumping through a one-pound system and a cute little arm tucked up by the face and I'm so sad it's happening so soon. I wish so much I had been able to space babies out better so I could enjoy them more. It is exciting, though, the unknown and a new thing struggling to survive, resting its feet on my cervix. Please please please be safe, and grow strong, and come gently, and be known to us.

known to us.

"Each body a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth."

All of us are languishing in our house without AC, stripped down to our underwear, hugging with sticky skin, but Jon is languishing a little harder. His morale is very low (he says he stopped existing a few weeks ago) and just like the verse in Ecclesiastes, when one is weak the other is strong. I feel infused with new energy and I feel my time of confinement is over. Yesterday, I realized there was no fear in me, and that there may be torches lit on the mountain but no army to charge down. I'm free. I've been making food and planing activities. I feel more confident that I have something to contribute even if I am not endorsed by everyone. I'm getting excited for the summer healing circle, which thing I never would have supposed. I am going to worry less about how many and just hold the space for any who need it. Christina is going to help me hang lights in the trees. Jon and I drove around Hobblecreek looking at pavilions. Kelly's Church is the one! It was so beautiful and holy up in the canyon with the smell of rain rising and looking for places to create a circle within the trees. Jon reached over and squeezed my leg and was enjoying my excitement and my teasing him. I'm so glad we're together! The kids mercifully fell asleep in the back (poor things, it is too hot within and without sometimes) and we put them gently to bed with the the rain padding outside, and watched a movie. Sparrow toddled out shortly and sat between us, sweet-legged, twisting to lean on me. "MamaDaddy," she babbled. She kept asking for water, which she calls "Larrrgheddy" in kind of this gargling voice like she is speaking through a bubble. She wore an elastic on her wrist and it made her feel pretty, she kept twisting to look at her arm. She is so open and unconsciously lovely! She loves to be centered in my lap and to pull my face down to hers and tell me, "Mahmee." Why is she so dear? She's started saying "No" all the time also, which has leveled up her sass exponentially. I love July, love falling asleep on the couch watching shows with Jonny, I love my beautiful children! Chai told us today, "Wait, guys. I have to talk to you about ghosts. I have to talk to you about Olaf."

But nothing happened. Not a sound.

Early mornings are my time with the quiet Cricket. Sparrow lays next to me, clutching my arm, sucking down milk while we wait suspended in our hot bubble of a room. The fan gives us a sleepy reprieve even though it's too loud and harsh. It feels so good to get any air at all. I count the months every morning, as if they'd suddenly be different. I feel some of the anticipation of opening a present. I feel a creeping horror when I imagine Sparrow's heartbreak, the short space of my arms already filled, walking around jiggling a warm lump instead of being able to sit and talk, the aches of lying on my side all night, the bleary rapid aging of never sleeping, the exhaustion that leeches my energy so I'm no good to anyone, brainless, charmless, doughy, empty. I guess not having friends this time will make it easier. I remember the condemnatory words, hum them in isolation, and it burns. But then I ask myself if I want to be bullied, if I want to be controlled, if I could have just snapped my fingers and gotten over it, easy hurdle, right? What's another one? Last night Sparrow smashed her bottle in my face when she lay down next to me and I wailed "Why did you hurt me?" Please don't hurt me!" and she sobbed and sobbed with her huge elephant tears. She has such a tender heart, like I do, and I think I scared her. Afterwards I comforted her and told her, it's okay, it's okay. I made basil pasta with vegetables and we ate dinner together, said our prayer, listened to the Christine Jessop podcast (love!), Jon told me about talking to his parents and the eternal gulf. We will each always think it's the other's fault. Jon says he needs to learn how to speak a different language; I think that it doesn't matter what language you speak if no one believes you have anything worthwhile to say.