Today I let myself be myself in all my un-glorious glory.

Nathan has been home sick for most of the week with a stomach bug and a bad cold. This has meant spending four nights on his floor, being abruptly woken every hour or two to deal with vomiting or coughing or a nose that needs to be blown. This has also meant spending four days glued to his side, because when he's ill, Nathan cannot bear to be apart from me.

Needless to say, I'm a bit of a mess right now, in more ways than one.

So when my neighbor called, the extremely nice woman who works as an aide in Nathan's school, who genuinely likes Nathan, who noticed that Nathan hasn't been in school, who asked his teacher what was going on, and who then volunteered to drop off any work or papers for Nathan, when that neighbor called to ask if she could stop by and drop off a folder for him, I'll admit I went into panic mode. There I was, after three o'clock and still in my pajamas, hair pulled haphazardly up into a clip, unwashed, a big zit glowing right in the middle of my forehead, aware that all the surfaces of the house were overflowing and that Nathan was still in his pjs, too, and that they were displaying evidence of his tendency to use his sleeves as tissues.

My first thought was, how can I get out of this? My next thought was, how quickly can I pull on clothes and straighten up myself, the house and Nathan? My final thought was, I'm too tired for this.

I told her to come over, saying little more than that we were still in our pajamas.

Though I did put on a robe, I did nothing else. I fixed nothing, changed nothing, cleaned nothing. I had been dealing (mostly on my own) with a sick child for four days and I was exhausted. I didn't pretend and I didn't apologize.

I was authentic.

A small victory, to be sure, but a victory all the same.

 

 

I wish to dare to start again.

I wish to dare to not apologize or justify or rationalize.

I wish to dare to forgive myself.

I wish to dare to jump right in and begin writing as though I'd never stopped.

I wish to dare that all is well.

 

**Jamie Ridler's Wishcasting Wednesdays**

Really, how many? Because it seems like every cuisine has its own multiple versions.

I found this recipe in the same cookbook as my first blogged rice and bean adventure (Bringing Back the Flair)--Madhur Jaffrey's World Vegetarian. 

Nigerian Red Kidney Bean Stew with a Peanut Sauce

Begin by soaking one and one-half cups of dried kidney beans overnight. Drain soaking water, add six cups of fresh water to the pot and bring to a boil. Partly cover, turn heat to low, and cook for about two to two and a half hours.  Don't drain. Gently stir in two teaspoons of salt.

In another wide, medium pot, fry one medium onion (finely chopped), two garlic cloves (finely chopped) and one-half large green pepper (cut into a small dice) until the onion is translucent.

Add one teaspoon ground cumin and one-quarter teaspoon cayenne pepper. Stir once.

Pour in one cup canned tomato sauce...

...and one tablespoon of fresh lemon juice.

Add one-half cup of water, stir, and bring to a simmer. Turn down the heat to low and simmer gently for fifteen minutes.

Meanwhile...

...put one and a half tablespoons of plain, creamy peanut butter into a small bowl. Add about six tablespoons of the bean juice to the peanut butter, mixing as you go. Add this mix back into the pot of beans and stir.

Add the tomato mix and gently stir.

Serve over rice.

Official score: Eight out of ten chef hats.

For the first time in a long time, September feels like autumn here in Maryland. The wind has a bite to it and it's briskly moving the rainclouds in front of the sun and then away again. Thirty seconds of intense brightness, five minutes of gloomy darkness. Repeat. 

September has always been the beginning of the new year for me, and having Nathan in school reinforces that. Now, rather than January, my thoughts turn to what I've accomplished...and what I haven't. Now, I revel in Nathan's excitement at being in the first grade. Now, I see just how much he has grown when I try to put him in last year's pants. Now, leaves are beginning to change color, displaying new beauty. Now, leaves are falling to the ground, taking away my all-to-brief sheltered privacy. Now, hours of quiet alone time await, and plans begin to percolate. Now, the house is empty, and there are no true excuses left.  

Thirty seconds of intense brightness, five minutes of gloomy darkness. Repeat.

These are difficult things. So difficult, in fact, that it's easier to create some chaos, rather than confronting what is. Is my baby needing me less and less? Look over here at this list of errands that must be done. Realizing that even though I say I'm a writer, I haven't really produced much of anything? Start a fight with the husband and see how that distracts. Stir up as much trouble as possible and then declare, dramatically, "I can't deal with any of this until things calm down."

Or...

This year, I could decide that it will be one of great hope and positive change. This year, I could realize that I can confront what is without judgment. This year, I could sit with my feelings. This year, I could ignore the chaos without and seek the calmness within.

This year, I could just forgive myself.

 

So here it is--

An entry, dammit!!

Okay, now that that's done, we'll see what I produce tomorrow.

Outside my window...cherry blossom and dogwood leaves performing their dance together in the wind.

I am thinking...about going outside and finishing a letter to a friend.

From the learning rooms...little boy journal entries and expanding our reading horizons with new subjects.

I am thankful for...the freedom to stay home with my boy.

From the kitchen...a moist sour cream coffee cake...just as soon as I get off the couch.

I am wearing...light green pjs covered in little pink flowers.

I am reading...no, devouring, murder mysteries.

I am hoping...for rain.

I am creating...a short story.

Around the house...beach towels, books and art supplies scattered everywhere.

One of my favorite things...a cup of good coffee, first thing after I get up.

A few plans for the rest of the week...nature adventures, story crafting, talks with good friends.

Here is a picture thought I am sharing with you:

 

*This entry comes courtesy of The Simple Woman's Daybook via lucy.

 I feel like I'm FINALLY getting this...it's not the wreckage, it's the letting go. It's freeing myself up to open myself up, to be messy, to do it wrong.

I got caught up in a painting project (nothing ecstatically fun--just painting a room) last weekend, and I never got around to posting. I did, though, bring the journal along for the ride, leaving it in the middle of the floor. Oddly, not one drop of paint fell on it, and I was compelled to flick the brush at it.

Other than that bit of forcing, it was a glorious two weeks of free flowing wreckage. I ripped with abandon.

 

I drew lines.

 

I began my sticker collection.

 

I found the perfect word.

 

I handed over the journal to Nathan and two of his little friends and they had their way with it.

 

I did the preliminaries for one of the projects:

 

 

It's now just waiting for me to get around to doing the laundry.

 

And the most daring thing of all?

I showered with it.

 

It's hard to tell from this pic, but it really did get wet. Admittedly, I put it toward the back of the shower to begin with, but I soon forced myself to move it closer to the front, and by the end, I was shampooing my hair over it.

I've been keeping the journal close to home, but now I know I'm ready to push my boundaries even more--I'm going to stop being so shy about it.

Look out world, the two of us are going adventuring.

 

 

 

 

It was still feeling a bit awkward, timid even, so I cracked the spine and hurled it across the room.

Not bad.

Then I smeared some of my precious Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab "Arcana" perfume over a page.

See how the smears have turned the page translucent. Yummy. (Yes, Laura, this is aimed at you.)

The next two were rather mundane:

 

 

Yawn. 

I decided to go to one of the really scary ones:

 

No, there aren't pictures of the flames--wisely, I decided to concentrate on experiencing the moment, rather than capturing the moment on film. It quickly got out of control. (Peter Gabriel is sooo right--you can blow out a candle, but you can't blow out a fire.)

 

As you can see here, I had to stick it under the faucet, and even then, it flared up again and had to be doused one more time.

What did I learn this week? That I'm still tense and uncertain, fearful of doing it "wrong." It's supposed to be fun (and is, when I do it), but I overthink it, making it into such a big deal that it's hard to get started.

What else did I learn this week? That this is actually a pattern with me, with my creativity. I want to be playfully creative every day, but instead, I put it off and end up doing a lot in one big burst. The burst is fun, but the agonizing in the days before really isn't.

Unnecessary drama.

So I'm pledging to do it differently this upcoming week. I will keep it loose, do a little bit everyday. I will, for a change, enjoy the ride on the river, and stop thinking about my final destination.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I take a deep breath.

I've been focused on Nathan's kindergarten year ending and not on the journal. 

And that's okay.

Mark has the day off and so we were both there to see Nathan get off the bus for one last time. Then, realizing I was about to explode with tiredness (yes, that's possible), I announced I was taking a nap. I picked up my journal, went to the bedroom, turned on the window fan, and snuggled into bed with it.

We snoozed together. I may have drooled a little on it.

I got up, made coffee, savored the taste. Went back to the bedroom for my journal and randomly opened it as I walked to the kitchen. The page invited me to get coffee on it. I contemplated sticking my finger in the cup and dribbling just a little, but then laughed at myself. That's not the point.

 

I held it over the sink and poured.

Isn't it delightful how you can begin to see the page beneath it? I turned it over and it said to poke holes in it.

 

I obliged.

I especially like how some of the holes look like they're crying.

I gratuitously poked a few more holes.

I'm starting to really get into this...