The commune (oops, I mean the fishbowl)

I read an interesting article on Mothering.com today about what they call “co-housing”. It begins like this:

“Gone are the days when a trip to the grocery store meant stopping by your neighbor’s house to see if they needed a gallon of milk or an errand run while they tended to a new baby. Front porches are no longer used as an opportunity to invite friends up for an evening chat and glass of lemonade. And children no longer linger in yards littered with games, unsupervised play, and laughter.”

uh, not totally gone since they just described my neighborhood that I so fondly call the fishbowl. It turns out that now they are designing housing areas to mimic the one I live in… that’s about 90 years old and on a military installation. You know, the one I complain about on this blog?

Now granted, we don’t meet all of the things they describe in the article… we don’t have a community center where we eat communal meals. Although we do share meals an awful lot. We don’t have a no cars allowed policy on our street. We just yell at cars driving too fast because everyone who lives here knows the kids play and ride bikes every afternoon. And let’s just say that the number of people on my street that would fit the definition of hippie are limited to well, me. I do have a subscription to Mothering magazine after all. But really, that’s a stretch.

It just surprised me how much the article summed up my feelings. On good days, I really like certain aspects of living this way. I know that the dutchkid and I will dearly miss the long leisurely afternoons of playing outside with the other kids. But sometimes it really drives me nuts not to just do my own thing. And to not have some space. I was talking with one of my neighbors over the weekend, and she is feeling absolutely smothered by someone who doesn’t observe the same boundaries as the rest of us… if you’re unlucky enough to live practically on top of a person you don’t get along with, it can be misery.

They do talk about some of the cons at the end of the article… “Is it intrusive to you when a neighbor comes by for a few eggs or with an invitation to stop by for a glass of wine?” Why YES, sometimes it is. “If you value exclusive privacy, you might want to stick to traditional living.”

I should write them a cautionary tale, since I for one will be glad to sink back into suburban anonymity when we move. But it did make me realize that living in a commune hasn’t been all bad.

The Lost Weekend

It was a very rainy, lazy weekend around here. My dh was in class again this past weekend (yet another thing I will not miss when we leave here) so the dutchkid and I were left to our own devices. I think we were in our pajamas for the majority of the weekend. We didn’t even go to church yesterday, and for no good reason other than mama laziness.

I should have spent more time at the piano. I am in somewhat of a slump in that regard. The thrill of my new pieces is gone, and we are down to the nuts and bolts of memorization again. The Bach prelude is done with the fugue in progress. And now I’m working on scales, I never really did learn the harmonic minor ones, which my teacher has set about to remedy. Even worse, I will likely have to play them at an audition… that makes me feel like chickening out right there.

This morning was spent finishing up a sewing project (more on that later) and going to the commissary. Wherein my child saw fit to spill coffee beans all over the aisle, have a gigantic meltdown and then the deli lady scolded me for taking my child to the commissary when she needs a nap. What they say is true, the threes are definitely harder than the twos.

It’s a Monday, what can I say?

Feeling a bit owlish…

As I was doing the dishes this evening and the dutchkid was playing in the kitchen, I heard our owl return. Maybe it’s not the same one, but last summer I could often hear one hooting softly at night. Our house is surrounded by big old trees, a bit urban, but otherwise the perfect place for an owl I would think. Maybe they eat squirrels? I hope so, those critters overrun our neighborhood and I’ve been irritated at them ever since they discovered my window bird feeder. They consistently manage to knock the feed trays down to spill all the seed.

But anyway, hearing the owl again tonight made me remember what I had been meaning to post. I actually won something the other day! I like to get my daily fix of beauty on Today is Pretty, and she gave away several prints of her photos recently. I was so excited I actually won and I got my first choice: wowl. I love it! I wish I could capture my owl on film. I may have to try before we leave here.

Skirting the problem

I finished up this little skirt last week. I’ve had the pattern since last summer but just hadn’t gotten around to making one. It’s very simple to sew and the pattern is free! (You can find it here, from who else but my favorite pattern maker).

There’s just one problem. The dutchkid won’t wear it because it’s not a dress. Sigh.

I had to convince her to wear it for the photo with the “help” of jellybeans. I tried to tell her that it was just like a dress, but she could wear her favorite shirt with it! No dice. I had hoped to supplement her wardrobe with a few of these, because the ban on pants around here is starting to make me crazy. Almost as crazy as her obsession with wearing tights. It seems this is destined to be the summer of the sundress. I may have to hide the tights.

Reveille

I’ve written before about the unique sounds of living on an Army post. Being roused by the “I don’t know but I’ve been told…” of someone calling cadence, or being comforted by the sounds of other people awake and suffering at the crack of dawn. Since we rarely live on post it’s been sort of a novelty during our time here.

It’s standard on many military installations of various branches to play Reveille. (for my civilian readers, it’s the bugle call that comes to mind when you think of the Army getting soldiers out of bed). I knew this, and always found it quite charming. A different bugle call, the Retreat, is played at the end of the duty day (about 4pm). However, they are normally played at the post headquarters, which was far enough away so that we couldn’t hear it during the past months we’ve lived here. My dh reminded me of that last week, because the headquarters building is being renovated, and guess where their temporary home is!

I remembered this morning when it sounded from across the street. I thought it was supposed to be at 8am but it was 7:30. Of course being the anti-morning person I am, I was in bed. And it sounded again at 8. AND they follow Reveille with a cannon blast. My poor older lab, who’s a touch neurotic about loud noises, was beside himself.

It just doesn’t get any more Army than that. But did I say I was going to miss living here? I lied.

And you thought I was joking

about the pollen didn’t you. This is my porch:

I swept it yesterday. Oh Zyrtec, how I love thee.

I guess these make it worth it…

Happy Spring!

Dusting off the rose colored glasses

I’m in the honeymoon phase of living here. The phase before the pain of really preparing for the move, but I can see the end of our time here rapidly approaching. I can’t believe tomorrow’s Friday, and we’re already halfway into March. I didn’t get anything constructive done, like take some stuff to the thrift store to be consigned, or go through the boxes in my basement from the last move. Maybe I’ll just leave the junk in them and sort it all out when we get there. Or better yet, just get rid of it, except I just know I’ll need something as soon as I throw them away. Plus, you know, we’re moving back to colder climes, so we might actually need some stuff we haven’t in a good long while.

The weather here is beautiful, warm enough to enjoy being outdoors without breaking a sweat by virtue of breathing. I catch myself counting the things I’m going to miss about living here. We have found a rhythm and I’ll be sorry to see it go. I am looking forward to the new place, and I’m hoping that our upcoming trip out there will really get me excited… but I didn’t think I would get so attached to here. Weird. Soon enough I will be anxious to get about the business of getting moved, but for now I am content with where I’m at. This is new and uncharted territory for me. Normally the military makes my roots shallow and I’m all about how good life will be whenever we get to where we’re going.

But what if my expectations are too high? What if (I can’t believe I’m actually typing this) I actually miss it here while I am living in Colorado? That’s just wrong. The overwhelming pollen here must be addling my brain.

Éirinn go Brách

I’m not Irish, of course, although sometimes I wish I were. (What would that make me then? Irishican?) So I love it that “everyone’s Irish on March 17!” The picture is from a vacation we took in Ireland in 2004. It was a whirlwind trip, but we fell in love with the countryside. Particularly the Gaeltacht areas of the Western coast (where the Irish language is still predominantly spoken). We dream of going back. For now I will have to settle for looking at old pictures.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Better

Look what I found on my porch this morning!

Thank you for all the kind comments on my last post. It’s nice to know that people care. I feel like I have my equilibrium back again, or at least a better perspective, which is always good.

The last part of my week was quite indulgent, I used the gift certificate my dh had given me for Valentine’s to get a wonderful massage. AND I finally found a pillow for my bed that I can sleep comfortably on, which was worth the considerable number of pennies I paid for it. I think that might be the secret to life, enough sleep on comfortable pillows.

Pity Party

(names have been changed to protect the innocent)

dutchkid: “Mama! Look! There’s Daniel!”

me: (waves to Daniel)

dutchkid: “And that’s Daniel’s big sister.  (pause) I’m not a sister, I’m a big girl.”

And then my heart broke into a thousand pieces as I was walking through the preschool parking lot.

Just feeling sorry for myself today.  I have a headache that won’t be shaken.   The questions, both my own and from others have started again.  I have found myself  in situations where it was implied (ok, maybe I read into it) that one child just didn’t count.  One child doesn’t represent enough hardship to win in the great motherhood badge of honor/pissing contest.

I was pretty successful at keeping our failed frozen embryo transfer buried somewhere in the back of my mind until  just recently.  Since the dutchkid’s birth, I haven’t seriously considered doing IVF all over again.  I still don’t think we will.  But I still wish for another child.

I suppose it’s normal for these feelings to wax and wane.   I know I sound like a broken record, but I always DO feel so lucky that I have my daughter at all, and some days I am happy with our little family of 3… and some days innocent comments or unintentionally thoughtless ones  just make me want to cry my eyes out.   I don’t know how parents who choose to only have one child deal with this.   So often people want some sort of explanation as to why we only have one, and I think to myself, “why the hell should I have to justify this to you when I didn’t choose it?“

I have this unshakable feeling that I won’t have another biological child, and I am slowly coming to terms with that.  But what I really want to know is when my feelings won’t be so raw about it.  Does it ever go away?