Day 5 of 5x5: Cool connections

I'm breaking my 5x5 Creative Challenge streak. Sorta.

Here's 1 snap:

And a 1-ish minute writing exercise:

I love interconnectedness. I love that pictured here with this Dirty Mayor cider is another 5x5ing friend and a friend who might 5x5 before the month's end. I love that the might-5x5 friend, a writer, randomly met another writer friend in a Brooklyn hallway years ago and, yesterday, made the connection that I knew her too because I liked a FB picture of her kid hanging with Tony Danza. I dig the awesome synchronicity of the fact that, just two weeks ago, I spoke on the phone with a dear friend of the writer-friend that still lives in Brooklyn—the mom of the "Tony Danza kid"—because she's soon moving to Burlington. From Virginia. And she's a writer too.

I think I just racked up five intergalactic connections. So I'm gonna count this post as a creative success. Over and out. 

Day 4: 5x5 Challenge - Expiration dates.

Four days in, not posting would make me feel guilty. But time-intensive posting also will induce guilt. So here I post quickly. Meaning finding five snaps—no formatting—and spending five minutes on the EXECUTION of the writing.

5 Snapshots: 

5 Minutes:
It's raining. Truly raining. Not sprinkling (a Western PA term that a friend on Facebook just reminded me is a really weird and gross way of saying light rain showers). I just want to lie and listen to it, maybe read until it's really, really late. But there is lots of laundry to be done. Because no one has any clean socks around here. It's sandals season. But tomorrow's relay day so Jules wants to wear his sneakers. I could dig through baskets for a matching pair—but I've been at that for weeks so it seems time to dive in and attack the problem head-on.

We keep accumulating stuff. And more stuff. It seems that half of my life now is about managing this stuff—mostly unsuccessfully. I never used to be into flowers. They die. They're here and gone. What's the point? I used to think. Now I know: That's exactly the point. It's obvious when it's time to toss wilting blooms, or rotting broccoli, into a compost pile. There's of none of that purgatory holding-on like I tend to do with clothes that are in 62% flattering and look brand new or 96% flattering and starting to fray—or with mugs that aren't my favorite but they're just a few spots away. You acquire them, you appreciate them, you share their goodness and when they've expired, you're grateful for the sustenance that brought you. But you don't hang on. You move on.

(PS: The Danmade mug is not in the purgatory pile and never will be. If forced to make a choice, I would donate every other mug I own and drink from this cup every single day. Olin: Don't get any ideas.)

5/5 Creative Challenge: Day 3

It's my Day Three of The 5/5 Creative Challenge. I'm on a streak. (And totally digging new posts by 5x5-ing friends: Amanda... Hilary. Who's next? Angela? Sarah? Another evolved "by 5" from Anna? My day today felt fleeting and fast in so many ways.

5 Snapshots: 

5 Minutes:

The hum of the dishwasher is both domestic and calm—a contradiction 'round these parts. Today, I edited a story that suggested a white noise machine in the bedroom for better rest, and also recommended stroking your man's hand or doing an activity he really likes, like watching sports, because it will make him feel good and therefore improve your relationship. I cut that part out. 

Both boys are in a flow. Jules is making a end-of-year card for his bus driver. "What comes after the 's' in vacation?"  Uhh....

What does a 16 look like? Kai talks over Jules, who gets frustrated and talks louder. "Mummmyyyy... what's next?" 

"Well, there's actually no S; a T sounds like SH," I tell him, damning the idiosyncratic spellings of the English language when his face starts to crumple. He recovers. Turns out he hadn't even gotten anything down on paper yet. Phew. "So an H comes after the T?" 

"What. Does. A. Six. Teen. Look. Like.??"

I silently draw the figures of a 1 and a 6 on the sheet in front of Kai. Satisfied, he starts to copy them, neatly but backwards. Lately, though, he's had a burst of interest and skill when it comes to scribing. It's cool. 

I spell out the rest of vacation for Jules, recognizing that a tiny mistake could throw him over the edge. He writes it all down and then proceeds to write, on his own, after "I will miss you on summer vacation," "But I will still see you." I am not so sure about that. But I don't say it. I'm trying to check my tendency of squashing magical thinking. In fact, I'm trying to do more magical thinking myself. 

Tap, tap, tap. It's Kai's pen bouncing impatiently on my shoulder. "Now what, Mama?"

My head is spinning. It's all so fast. By the time I react, they're on to the next thing. 

Day 2: 5/5 Creative Challenge

While there's work-work to be done, I'm sticking with my 5/5 Creative Challenge commitment, with the idea that it's going to get my brain moving in the right direction. Here's today.

5 Snapshots: 

5 Minutes:
I drove home with my window down and my radio tuned to the station that plays half good music (stuff that may exist on my own playlists)—and half songs I'd never pay money to hear. As each new car came close, in the opposite direction, its VROOM amplified—then faded as it passed. The onomatopoeia occurred to me—and also how much this sound sounded like the simplified version of it we share with kids. I thought of sheep and how it's true in this case too—sheep sound like humans trying to sound like sheep.

Little tufts of white cotton-looking things floated in front of the windshield. I remembered 12 years ago when I moved here that June and saw giant clouds of this stuff billowing down Battery Street. It was nothing we had in New York City or Western PA. It was beautiful. And bizarre. I wondered what it did to allergy sufferers.

I was feeling good, grateful I'd chosen to go to my writing group, despite not having completed the short assignment, even though I felt I had too much else I should do. But I went anyway, knowing that these fun and funny, clever and creative people would help lighten my mood.

And driving back home to my to-dos, with a few Angela-recommended City Market-scored snacks and some new inspiring Scouts Honor Co. designs, it occurred to me: I'm getting better at knowing what I need to keep my soul from slipping into a total slump—and making a break for it.

It's (not-perfect) participation | 5/5 Challenge: Day 1

At least 5 days ago, my friend Christina invited me to participate in the 5/5 Challenge Creative Challenge. The gist of it is this: Each day in June, you snap five photos and you write for 5 minutes. And then you post it all on your blog. Finally, I've gotten my shit together enough to give it a go. It sort of worked, if you count mediocre snaps and an interrupted writing session. But that's my life. 

5 Snapshots: 

5 Minutes: 
I hear them from down the hall, in Julian’s room. K is singing, “and I try… and I try and I try…”  J is sighing, exasperated. He’s exhausted. And wants to go to sleep but Kai—who took a monster nap this afternoon—is wired. “Where are you going?” “I’m going to see Mom.” 

Now he is here. No, he is there. At the top of the steps, talking down to me—except that I’m in my room. On my bed—which is covered with piles and piles of clothes. Mine. Pulled out of baskets but not yet put into drawers. It’s this dumb thing I do. 

“Mom, i’m not tired.” I know that this is probably true because when I tried to wake him at 4:30 this afternoon—asking him to play soccer, or to draw with me, he said no. He said he needed space. He said that he wanted to keep sleeping there on that couch. And so I let him—because the weekend was long and busy, with T-ball and swimming and birthday partying and grandparents. He’s awake and now I need space. But I tell him to sit here with me and he does, so sweet, so quiet. And he puts his head on my lap. This silence won’t last, I know.

“That’s a LOT of words.” He’s totally engaged in my typing. And now it’s time to  stop. And time to put this dude to bed. Again. Here we go. 

This is what pure joy looks like.

Everywhere, everyone is tense. Schedules and budgets. Planning and execution. Too much and too little. Communication snafus, snippy exchanges. High stakes, limited resources. At home, at the office, generally around town. I know experience is all about the lens. But it seems everyone's lenses are kind of cloudy right now.

Nearing the end of the kids' evening routine, 30 minutes later than was ideal, Kai disappeared. Then there was giggling coming from the guest room. I opened the door and there he was jumping up and down, up and down—making swirling 360's, oblivious I'd even entered the room. I started to make him stop, demand that he brush his teeth RIGHT NOW but the look on his face—pure joy—was something I hadn't seen all day. So I just let him keep going. Then I grabbed my phone and snapped this shot (and also more, many more). Then I let my feet slide out from under me and slumped down,  next to the bed, watching him. Julian came in and joined me. A few minutes later, we three went to brush teeth and then upstairs read books. Then Julian went to bed. Then Kai ripped one of Julian's Tibetan prayer flags and chaos ensued. Then, Kai was taken to his own room. Then he escaped. Then on and on and on (Two hours later—like RIGHT NOW—Kai is asleep. I think. UPDATE: He's NOT.)

After all of this, I logged into Facebook to see so, so many photos of rainbows (some double) and groups of adults exuding the same sort of joy that registered on Kai's face earlier. Their joy was more hard-won, I know, but pure and sweet, nonetheless. The Burlington School budget passed! Woo hoo! Phew! Perhaps the tide is turning. Perhaps smiles will spread.

There's a momentum to mastery.

He comes in to J's room, from his own, wailing: "I waaaaant a piece of paper. I want to write."

"No. It's bedtime. Either go back to your room, or climb up there. I point to the top bunk.

"Well Julian has papers."

"He does. But we're reading them. Do you want to listen to Julian read equations?" I choose my words carefully, picking a sarcastic string, for the benefit of Olin, who has come in to retrieve Kai.

"whhAhhh...." Kai sorts of fake cries. Jon walks out of the room, half smiling. Jules, who is reclining with his head on my sideways knees, turns toward Kai and generously offers: "Do you want to hear math? It's so fun."  Julian has been reciting every character of every worksheet he completed in kindergarten this week (and then stapled together into a "book"). He seems to find this book enthralling. Kai, not interested, climbs up to the top bunk. His whining eventually settles into the sound of thumb-sucking.

"5 + 5 = 10. 10 + 0 = 10."

Seven or eight pages in and Julian is still immersed in this book. I, on the other hand, am immersed in his face—and its sweet, focused expression. It's a mix of curiosity and confidence, pride and passion. It strikes me that if we held all of our conversations face-to-face and truly observed others when they were speaking, we might be that much more empathetic and engaged and interested. I think about how much I distract myself with my phone, text when I should call, call when I should meet. I make a note to remember this.

Lately, the pace of Julian's mastering new milestones is sort of blowing me away: riding on two wheels; starting to swim underwater; beginning to read; hitting line drives—and not off a tee. Every time, it seems that one day something just starts to click and—BOOM—he's got it.

Kai too. Until just recently, he had no interest in writing his name. Then, Friday night, he came home from a BBQ with Jon and Jules, obsessed with writing "K's." It was 9:30 pm—but he was insistent and getting him into bed seemed like a losing battle so I just let him go. He did a bunch. And then drew some a's and i's—an a random-yet-artful pattern. He decorated an entire envelope full of "his letters." (The envelope was a card for Maria's baby shower—which made it that much sweeter.) He was so proud.

I have a theory: Summer is accelerating this milestone crushing: the bike riding, the swimming, the line-driving. Our fair weather is so fleeting here  in VT that you have to jam as much stuff as you can into the short season. And then, when you're in the practice of mastering, you just keep moving. You make letters. You calculate equations. You persevere at sounding it out. Yes, I think that must be it. Momentum.

What do you think?