Whimsy

I love my dad. I think we have a lot in common as far as personality - both of us a little high strung, a little prone to depression and social neediness, both introspective but thriving on friendships and being around other people. I think a few years ago he went through a low point of sorts when he was struggling to figure out what to do with his time - unable to find meaningful work or social contacts. Things seem to be looking up for him now.

The other night at dinner, he was being so funny - he had stuck a couple of little white dots on the side of his index finger and made a closed fist and then wiggled his thumb up and down so it looked like a little misshapen face was talking. He was using a funny voice for it too. My daughter was laughing like mad. One of the little dots kept falling off, so he stopped. Later in the meal, someone noted that it was International Talk Like a Pirate Day, and he said, "Arr, well in that case, ay'll just stick my one eye back on and..." and at that point I was laughing so hard I missed the rest of what he said.

To really get why this was funny, maybe you had to have known him a long time and known how he used to be (from my perspective, anyway) sadder and more emotionally fragile. I remember years when he was so miserable at his job, and other years when he was so miserable trying to find a job and not succeeding. To see him so relaxed and whimsical and able to be silly like that was wonderful.

Then later in the evening he was setting up my daughter's travel crib for her to sleep in, which is the kind that folds up into a bag, and my mom made some comment about how it was like setting up the Big Top, and he started singing this tweedling ridiculous falsetto circus music as he jiggled the legs into place. Which was hilarious to me all over again. I am so glad to see him happy like that.

Special-Needs Girl

I'm editing a book about special-needs kids and educational strategies. The whole process is presented as being very encouraging and caring - if Tier 1 strategies like working in small groups don't help a kid who's having trouble learning to read, then the team meets to develop plans for more intensive interventions, like working one-on-one with a teacher to practice reading skills. There's never a word about blaming the child. It's all very positive and geared toward just helping him or her get up to speed. The underlying theme is that if a child is trying and not succeeding academically, it's not a personal failing, it just indicates that the child would benefit from a little extra help.

I like this philosophy so much - it's really refreshing and I almost feel like I'm getting a bit of therapy on the side, just from reading it. Because I am so angry at myself and ashamed of being infertile. I keep blaming myself for it, half-hoping someone will say "It's not your fault," but no one ever does, so I go right back to mentally bashing myself. There are these messages floating around and getting into my head that if I just relaxed, or tried harder (whatever that means), or ate better, I would get pregnant like all my friends who get pregnant without even trying. Which boils down to my infertility indeed being my fault.

Anyway, as I'm reading this book I have such sympathy with the kids who are struggling to learn to read, a basic skill that everyone around them seems to be picking up with no problem, and I can imagine how frustrated and sad they feel, and how painful it is for them to judged "stupid" by their peers. And what a breath of fresh air, like a guardian angel, a reading therapist might be, someone nonjudgmental who knows that they're doing their best and can sweep in to help them before they really sink into the mire of self-hatred. That's what I need. An infertility therapist to come save me.

What Am I Doing with My Life?

I just spent an entire day indoors, working on my computer. A glorious late-summer day it was, too, in the 70s with warm sunshine and low humidity and brilliant blue skies. All day, as the time was passing, I was longing to be outside, and conscious that this day would never come again. And now it's gone.

The reason I was chained to my desk was that I stupidly said yes to a bunch of different freelance projects at different times, and they all arrived on top of one another and are due soon, so I'm pretty much working all weekend. Sometimes the freelance life really gets me down. It has allowed me to maintain a decent income after I cut my hours back to half-time at my regular job, and I get to spend a lot more time with my daughter this way, and we save money on childcare. But it often means that I don't get any time off. In the evenings when other people are relaxing in front of the TV with their feet up, that's when I have to go to work - even though I spent the day taking care of my daughter and cleaning the house and running errands and cooking, and I'd like to rest too. Sometimes I find myself really looking forward to the weekend just because the freelance work is piling up and it will be my chance to crank through some of it while my husband babysits.

I weigh this lifestyle against the alternative all the time. If I was a normal person, with a full-time job, I'd be enjoying a three-day weekend. I'd have gone out to spend the day with my husband and daughter - they rode the train, went to the playground, had lunch downtown. We'd have had fun together. Then we'd have come home and the two of us could chat, or read, or whatever while she napped. Then we could have a family dinner and go watch our Netflix after she was in bed. A great day.

Instead, I just worked on the computer for 12 hours more or less straight, with breaks to get a cup of tea or eat junk food. Once I went out on our deck and breathed in the sunlight and fresh air for a few minutes, leaning on the railing with my face raised, and tried to just absorb some of the day through my pores. Then I went back inside.

And for what? I don't earn very much freelancing, no more than I do at my jobby job. But once I've agreed to do an assignment, I have to follow through with it. And when I'm offered one, I'm always scared that if I turn it down, they'll never call me again. So I get myself into these fixes. Yesterday was like today, and tomorrow will be the same. All for a little bit of money, when I would rather have had the day.