Monomania

If you know me even remotely well, you know I suffer from a crippling affliction. There might be a fancy word for it in some psychological disorders manual. There may even be treatment. But I wouldn't know because just thinking about the affliction makes every inch of my body twitch with disgust.

Simply put, I am hypersensitive to a select category of environmental stimuli. It isn't sensory specific. In fact, the only one of my senses it does not seem to affect is my sense of taste. Seriously.  I can and will eat just about anything. Aside from that, I am an equal opportunity afflictee.

I hesitate to tell you this in case you decide you don't want to hang out with me anymore. I have to let you know that it does not always produce the same effect in me, and sometimes I am quite good at ignoring the problem. But at other times, it sneaks up on me. It starts as a minor disturbance in the force: I notice something. A noise. Especially a noise that is repeated. And then I can't stop noticing it. And before I know it, I can't tune it out, can't concentrate on anything else, can't hear what is happening around me. I am consumed, in a monomaniacal attack of Dostoyevskyan proportion.

It almost always starts as an auditory affliction. A pop of the gum. A squish of food in the  mouth. Any and all chewing, slurping, snorting, sniffling, loud talking, foot tapping, pencil pouncing, pen clicking, dry mouth smacking, foot shuffling, nose breathing, mouth breathing, water dripping, cat meowing, kazoo playing, dental floss flicking, nail clipping... And then it morphs. I can't stand to hear it. Can't stand to see it. Can't stand to smell it (the smell of a freshly chewed piece of gum makes we want to vomit). I equally detest the feel of certain items on my hands: silk that snags; berber carpeting, paper towels, and the eraser I use every day to clean my chalk board.

This isn't a recent problem. It goes way, way back. And I mean way back: sitting at the breakfast table with Brian and Jared, before school, early 80's. Cereal crunching and milk slurping. Vomit. My mother tells me that I had to do my braids until they were just perfect. That the ribbing in my socks had to line up straight. That I couldn't stand to have a single wrinkle of my shirt touch my skin when tucked into my pants. That I never ran across the yard, but rather followed the sidewalks, the cross walks, the driveways. The universe had an order, and I couldn't bear to see it undone.

I am starting to see this emerge in Bela. She's impossible to dress. Socks touch, armholes bother, sleeve elastic annoys, waistbands cause meltdowns, shoes aren't tight enough, tights are too tight. And she's starting to remind everyone that it is "mean" manners to eat loudly. "Mom, Mae is chewing with her mouth open and it's gross."

Is there any hope for her? This is not an easy burden to bear. I have been known to leave movies because I can't escape the sound of popcorn being munched too aggressively. Finish exams early because the guy next to me is sniffling. Yell at my husband because he flosses too close to me. Will she emerge from her childhood as a dysfunctional adult? Crippled by her sensitivities?

I'm not worried about Mae. She chews with her mouth open, wears wet underwear for hours at a time, farts audibly, hacks and clears her throat with gusto, and talks at incredibly loud levels. She's going to be just fine. But what hope is there for Bela and me in a world such as ours?

By the way, I was inspired to write today's blog by a snot snorting skateboarding dude taking an exam in one of my classes this afternoon. And I happen to be writing this entry while sniffling away the remains of a two week old cold and chewing my gum with my mouth open. Let's face it. It's only you all that annoy me. I'm pretty ok with myself.

First Day of School

 Wednesday was the first day of school. Bela became a kindergartner and Mae, my little Mae, went to her first day of preschool. She woke up that morning and came into my bed very early. With messy hair, sleep heavy in her eyes and urine heavy in her pull-ups, she told me she was ready to go to school. It was 6:30 a.m.

Bela and Lucille

Mae on the tire swing

      Now this is Bela's third (and last) year at City Garden Waldorf School, so Mae knows her way around the place already.  But until Wednesday, her adventures at the big kid school were limited to the (admittedly amazing) outdoor play space. She has been itching to get inside to play with those toys. So while all the other kids were outside saying hello to friends not seen during the long summer months, Mae and Chris sneaked inside so Mae could get her little hands on the goods.

Bela

Enjoy these photos of the girls' first day. I took them to school but had to run off to work. Chris stayed to document.

Mae sneaks into her classroom

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kids Clothes Week Challenge

Hi! If you sew (or knit or crochet), check out the Elsie Marley blog and the cool Kids Clothes Week Challenge she is proposing for the week of September 20th. I have a lot of half-finished projects and half-a** ideas I could work on that week, and really... I could use the motivation. The soaring temperatures inside my apartment towards the later part of this summer deterred me from doing much sewing (or knitting, or cooking, or cleaning, or cuddling). No one likes to sit in front of a 1930's singer sewing machine for hours with sweaty thighs. 

I'm including here one of my favorite photos of Bela and Mae from last summer. It captures them so well. Mae is wearing an adorable sun dress handmade by my mother-in-law, Paula. Bela is wearing a dress I interpreted from a Japanese pattern. It fit her much better this summer.

Oh, Toluca

Toluca - 1981

Labor day is the official end of summer. Not the official astronomical end, but socially and scholastically speaking, we bid farewell to the hot summer months this weekend. And although I am an enthusiastic fan of the early days of summer, usually by the end I'm jumping on the Autumn bandwagon.

My kids perhaps disagree. Bela is a fearless swimmer. She revels in the act of throwing herself into a large body of cooling water on the hottest of hot icky city days. She showed absolutely no fear this summer: she didn't dare go shallower than 4 feet in the big pool; she swam off into Lake Michigan and made me cry in public when I couldn't find her; she jumped in to Wandawega Lake and swam from the beach to the floating platform with me scrambling after her; and she threw herself off of the infamous Wandawega rope swing and into the dark watery abyss below more times than I can count. On the other hand, Mae - while she also loves a good dip - is a lover of all things fruit. From our first strawberry picking trip in June, to blueberries, blackberries, peaches, and raspberries, that girl has picked and put away more fruit this summer than I care to reflect on.

But me, I'm all about Fall. Summer has taken its toll. I'm tanner and blonder than I care to be. I've donned a bathing suit more times than I like.  I've been slow roasted to a sloppy mess in my steamy Chicago apartment with no air. And in general, I'm tired.

So Labor Day marks the beginning of an exciting time of year for me. And every year possible I mark this seasonal change by spending a weekend eating gross amounts of doughnuts, corn dogs, and fried chicken with ravioli in Toluca, IL.

So here we go, a list of the things we love about Toluca, Oh Toluca:

1. Grandma's house (Mae walked in on Sunday and said, "I love this house. This is a good house.")
2. Ravs and broth (ravs and sauce, ravs and chicken...) from Capponi's and/or Mona's.
3. Climbing the jumbo.
4. The Santa Fe Railroad that sends trains blazing through town every 5 minutes.
5. The Labor Day Carnival
6. The old red wagon that is still in Grandma's garage. (See photo above)
7. The old, grassy, cracked sidewalks.
8. Walking to The Supreme House of Cheese for doughnuts in the morning.
9. The smell of grandma's basement.
10. Hanging out with my family in a home filled with so much history.

So thank you to Rick, Holly, Matt, Amanda, Calista, Leah, Aaron, Aunt Jane, Uncle John, Jared, Eli, and Grandma B. for making yet another labor day so full of family and joy. I love you all!

Obsessions

I've been dwelling a lot  on the concept of 'transition'; that space between ending and beginning, old and new. Specifically, I've been obsessing about the moment. Is it ever possible to detect it? The exact moment something changes from being one thing to being another? As a parent, I'm plagued by this. I don't realize one phase has ended and another begun until much, much later.

But Wednesday night, as I was sitting outside The Old Town School of Folk Music , waiting for my first clawhammer banjo class, I was positive that I witnessed a major transition: the time of night when the undulating orchestral performance of the cicada ceases, and the chirping of the cricket takes over. It was...magical. And since then, I can't but help to see all the transitions around me.

Last night I was outside during the exact moment the sun set and the sky changed color. By next week, the golden watermelon and honeydew that have of late weighed down my farm box  will be replaced by kuri squash and pumpkin. On Tuesday, my preschooler becomes a kindergartner, and my toddler becomes a preschooler.

I think it's important to spend some time noticing the transitions in our lives. Maybe it's even ok to obsess a little about them, the way I have been known to. We need to slow down. We have to take a look. And then, of course, we also need to let go, let ourselves be carried away at times as well. Sometimes I don't notice the little changes in my children because I'm in the trenches. Let's be honest, from day to day they can seem like completely different, unrecognizable people, only to return to the old kid we knew so well. It's hard to tell when true change happens.

And that's why I've started this blog:  to document their lives, our life together - both in minute study and in sweeping generalization. Between you and me, the day that Bela transitions to pronouncing 'basket' instead of  'baskick' will be a sad, sad day for me and mine. My biggest little girl is growing up.