Days Like This

Some of this certainly rings true?

Ha... Ha... Happiness

Still a bit weary--but this picture's sole purpose is to make me chuckle. At is in his "Prestige Worldwide" tee and a Wonder Woman apron, with hesitance about plunging his hands into the dough displayed in every inch of his being. (The long-ago speech therapist was right--sensory play is the answer.) And of course, being in the kitchen with At is its own happiness too.

I guess I would not have felt so hurt yesterday if I were working on a good project... and I have identified a couple of writing projects I could tackle. I haven't actually started them or anything though. Haha.

I am Loved, I am Enough

 I just needed a reminder of love today. Last week, I didn't get a teaching award I was nominated for (it went to someone amazing, but I still feel sad.) and today in student evals in addition to the usual notes about grading and reading load, a student suggested that I had made them feel stupid and that I wasn't "fond" of them. The one thing I always want to do is create a safe space and teach with tenderness, so that comment cut me so bad.

On top of it all, my planner has consistently been showing me that while I have been doing alright taking care of the fam, myself, and home, I consistently have little to record in the professional section--I'm not writing, editing, publishing. I need to stop cycling through distracting myself through every media available to me.

Plotting

What shall we plant in our veggie plots?

Receiving and Handling

These lovely flowers from L and T yesterday and a giant thing of hand sanitizer they found somewhere--it was a porch drop off made of Purell pure love.

I've been isolating from the kids because of having been exposed last week (we think), and have been making the kids dinners (masked and gloved) that "feel like a hug" to make up for the lack of physical contact. They're calling these "hug dinners" and have asked and received chickpea salad, mint chicken (rotisserie-style chicken with a whole bunch of mint leaves and ghee) and puff pastry pizza.

Yesterday they wanted nachos and hmmm--meeting that request while also honoring the family health chart requirement of significant protein and including all five colors of veggies was challenging. But I met it like a champion--veggie sausage, mixed frozen veggies, and beans cooked with onions and taco seasoning and semi-pureed so the whole thing took on the consistency of refried beans. And that's how we met the requirement even before adding the usual toppings (chopped onion, salsa, avocado).

Here's to the Chroniclers

Over at the NYT, Teju Cole says true and clever things about chronicling life in this pandemic, and it reminded me of all the bloggers who update frequently, and are giving credence and structure to readers' experiences via their own daily meditations.  I miss my old blogging peers from the time of the Mutiny and people I met there including Cole himself. I remember him saying something faintly nice about a poem of mine here once upon a time, and how it made the rest of my week/month--something like that. Ha.

I've tried to get the kids to keep journals; Nu got as far as decorating the cover of the new notebook I gave them; At scoffed, but he's quite tweety, so there's that. Anyway, these days, I'm starting internet meanderings with: Ana Begins, Grumpy Ramblings, Harry Times, Not of General Interest, Shu Box, Something Remarkable, and Stirrup Queens.  Updating here daily has helped me remember and process these days--yes I've cried every day for the past week, but apparently I've done so for discrete reasons. (Not really; it's mostly been related to living in the pandemic, but at least I have a list of different things that set me off.)

Here's a link to Cole's essay and some pull quotes where he articulates the anxiety of articulation in the right now.

Teju Cole: We Can’t Comprehend This Much Sorrow: History’s first draft is almost always wrong — but we still have to try and write it. 

"This year has been a blur, but I remember one day clearly: Sunday, March 8. It was the last day I ate at a restaurant, the last day I went to a concert (Red Baraat at the Sinclair in Cambridge, Mass.) and the last day I hugged a friend. It was also the first time I thought that I should begin writing about what was going on.

"That thought was immediately followed by its negation: Why bother? The same incidents, the same references and the same outrages would inevitably be picked over by other writers; for all our social distancing, we’d all be crowding around the same material. I also knew that anything I wrote could soon be — in fact was almost certain to be — contradicted by new developments. But what worried me most was that certain points of emphasis in my writing would later prove to have been misjudged, and that this would somehow reveal that my heart had been in the wrong place all along.

Full-blown Weltschmerzen

I had barely laced up my shoes for a walk-run when Nu texted to say there was a deer in the yard and "they look like they're injured." I think I smiled that the 12-year-old was generously using their own preferred neutral pronoun "they" instead of "it" to refer to the deer. Anyway, I climbed back upstairs, and we looked at Nu's deer through the rumpus room doors. 

The poor thing was badly hurt--way more than I expected. Both back legs were bloody and one leg had no hoof, just bone peeking through. It was surprising how they didn't look like they were in pain--actually they seemed very calm and unafraid, although they left when Nu tried to give them some blueberries. 

We called The Humane Society who said they weren't licensed for wildlife and told us to call the non-emergency police line where no one picked up. Nu and I texted friends down the street to be on the lookout. Nu said as we both started to cry that the deer would probably die from the injury or get euthanized, but there ought to be treats and kindness in the meantime.

The thing that really gets me though was how the deer looked at us--unmistakeable eye-contact through the glass doors from 15-feet away. A bit pleading, like--can you help me? I had to go cry in the shower for a while. We didn't know how to help.

Incidentally, that's exactly how I felt when my cousin shared this video (it has English subtitles) about the plight of the migrant laborers in India yesterday on the cousin groupchat. I kind of went off the deep end so she called to check on me and panicked when she couldn't reach me (because I was in the shower crying yesterday too).