This Is My Point Of Origin

A snowbird wakes up to snow.

Today is my only day off each week. I got to sleep in. When I went to bed the sky was very busy with itself. When I woke up the sun was shining on three or four inches of fluffy crunchy snow! I had to run outside in my pyjamas to investigate before cars, kids, dogs, and industrious snow shovelers came out to muck up the painting the night drew for me. Yes, for me. But I'll share with you too.

This is my very much loved Japanese snowball tree actually covered in snow! I adore these little trees and laugh when it is dripping in white happy pom poms.

All the light here is blue. Hard to get good pictures. Here's the "front" of our house. Sun shining on my little kingdom.

It piled enough that today is all about watching accumulated snow drifts drop randomly from branches as the sun warms them just enough to loosen the grip. Wonderful!

This metal gate leads to our funny little enclosed garden area which I plan to cultivate much this year. I love that it is entirely closed in. I want wild flowers in there this year. I think I'll dig up parts of the lawn in a couple of weeks when it's less frozen and sprinkle some wild flower seeds. You need to do this in the fall or winter so that they'll get frozen or cold enough to bloom well in the spring.

Chick loves the snow. My Internet will be temporarily turned off today while we get fiber-optic wire connected so I'm going to do two things: make real snow cones with strawberry syrup I froze from the summer and I'm going to throw snowballs for Chick to catch.

We are wondering if I can buy chains for the Vespa. If I could, I'd totally learn to put them on. How awesome to go for a slow ride in the snow to the store on my sweet little Vespa! Without chains, riding this thing would be like asking to die today. That would be a lot less fun than, say, enjoying a Friday with hot PG Tips tea and real snow-cones. Yes, I'm going to invoke Laura Ingalls Wilder's spirit!

One thing that makes me sad is not being able to dress like her anymore. One of the reasons I get so angry at myself for not being capable (so far) of having a little self control and losing some weight. I used to dress like her all the time.

Ah well.

In spite of the spiritual lows of yesterday- I am enjoying every minute of this perfect winter because it's the winter I always dream of having. The last two years here we've gotten a little snow, enough to make me laugh and run around in it and feel so glad not to live where it never snows! But it is so fleeting usually. Melts fast and stops too soon. We've been getting this snow for days now and just when I think it's all over, it starts again. It was almost all gone yesterday (perhaps a little part of my low ebb) and then like magic it starts up in the late afternoon in huge dry flakes sticking to everything and piling up so fast I couldn't believe it.

Winter is my literal point of origin. It's when I was born. It is the season that wakes me up, turns my mind on, and I am generally less depressed in the cold, dark, rainy, (and snowy!) days of winter than I am at any other time of year. Although gardening has allowed me to come to appreciate all the seasons, winter will always be mine. Something I cherish and think of as my personal, I don't know, there really aren't a lot of words to tell it. It's mine.

I have a lot of friends who suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder and I totally respect how so many people feel the opposite of me about this season. The dark short days, the low temperatures, the lack of sunshine, the low clouds, the winds, the storms, the bleak dying off of everything that used to be growing and sprouting and flowering.

I am sorry that the season that makes me feel the most alive and happy has the opposite affect on others. But it doesn't diminish my own joy and I can't help but take my smiles out in the world with me. I've learned to commiserate with those who don't share my excitement at 40 mile an hour wind and rain storms because when the heat of summer comes and everyone around me is glowing and smiling and reveling in it I will be moaning and hiding and breaking out in heat rashes. I always appreciate it when a sun lover stops to acknowledge my discomfort. So I try to return the generosity.

Though I never expect them to apologize for it. Why should anyone apologize for loving any kind of weather? We all have our season, the one that brings us the closest to nature, and therefore to ourselves.

Mine is now.

When is yours?

All cooped up

Snow days suck. I mean, it doesn't suck to have snow lying around, and I love it when it's falling, but when your kid stays home two extra days in the week...let's just say I'm tired today.
This is why I've decided that Philip is now going to take over the role of mom. Or, er, the main child care aficionado. When Max was born, it was all about mom and baby. Mom's bloody breasts and baby, more like. (I love to divulge information that scares off all but the hardiest of souls from my life) I stayed home with Max every single day from dawn til bed time, and then in the night when he woke to feed him, and any other time the Dad magic wasn't strong enough. A year later it was still about mom and baby. I stayed home with him every single day from dawn til night. Dad began permanently taking over the bathing routine which was a big relief.

Don't think Philip didn't give me breaks, he did. He played with Max, he fed Max on the week-ends, he bathed him, he walked him in the stroller, and he took him grocery shopping every Saturday afternoon to give me some space so I could clean the house without worrying about the junior element. Philip is a great dad; much more helpful than your average guy (probably mostly because I was a harpy about it). But let's face it, with children the star really shines on the bond between mom and baby. For a long time. Which is beautiful. Yes it is. I totally appreciated my role as a haloed Madonna and child; reveled in my soft fuzzy nest of three in which I was the nurturing mother goddess.

(Excuse me while I go vomit. I thought I could take it that far, but I really can't. In case you don't know it, I hate the word "Goddess". It always sounds so smarmy and reeks of pretend victory over an over-rated patriarchal society in which we should all already realize that women wear the real pants.)

We kept hearing that Max's insistence that mom do everything would fade eventually into an obsession with Dad. It never came. Mom had to put him to bed, mom had to administer food, mom had to dress him, mom had to fix him when he broke. We worked hard to break up the baby chores so I wasn't doing it all. But you get tired of a wailing kid who, through no conscious fault of his own, has already sucked the life blood out of you. You give in. Sure, mom will do it this time.

He started preschool right before he turned three and it was the most blessed break, that extra nine hours a week not being on mom duty. I loved playing with my boy for all those years. We painted, we scribbled, we made train tracks, we built with building blocks, we arranged cars and made them have picnics and races. We took walks, we bicycled (I had him in a seat in front, we went everywhere around town on my bike), and we watched movies. We dug dirt in the back yard, we visited friends, and we banged on pots and pans. But by the time he turned three, his "playing" requirements, which were already very specific, got more challenging. I couldn't just make all his cars have picnics all day long, they had to engage in fighting evil. With car chases, jail breaks, and all that good action hero stuff.

He no longer wanted to paint or dig in the dirt. It just got harder to entertain him or to please him in play. So imagine my relief when he goes to kindergarten and uses up his brain to learn all day and gives me six hours a day in which to not have to make hot wheels talk and fight evil. In spite of that, he was still largely mom-centered. Which is natural, to a degree. And yes, of course it makes me feel like a superstar.

My ability to conform to his idea of fun has been weakening for the last couple of years. But yesterday, I realized that I dread it now. I want to draw or paint, or cook, or do puzzles, or read to him. He wants to have sword battles with me during which I know I'll get hurt, not him. He wants to wrestle, to skateboard, to have lego battles, or to play video games with him. I'm no longer fun. We don't like the same things. Which makes me feel guilty. I hate video games, I hate playing war with legos (though as I have mentioned before, I do love to build with them, but that's not enough for Max. He wants me to really engage in playing with them.) He is constantly angry at me for not wanting to learn card games, and for not enjoying playing "war" with the cards. I would love to ride around on our bikes like we did together for years, but he won't do it.

It's dad time now. It has arrived. Max doesn't understand how come things have changed between us. He doesn't realize that it's him who is growing older, who has different ideas of fun now. Philip, when he really decides to pay attention to Max instead of drifting off into his own strange waking dream world, is an excellent companion for his own son.

No one has to say it. I realize that if we had other children, Max would probably need less of our focused attention because he would have a built in play mate to fight with instead of us. I admit that it's a weak point in our one child family. When we lived in our old neighborhood I never felt it was a weak point because when I could think of nothing for us to do together, we would go to a neighbor's house and he would have a great time. Now we hardly have anyone for him to play with. So it's all on us to be his play mates. Every day, day in and day out.

Yesterday he was home all day long. All day long it was a struggle to keep him satisfied and occupied and I will admit that he spent a lot of time watching movies. While I failed to make bread, not two times, but three. (I had a final failure last night with cornbread.) Mom's aren't supposed to ever admit that having a child is a burden or that they are tired of playing with them. After playing with my kid for six years, mostly uncomplainingly, I'm tired of kid's games. He's supposed to be playing with other kids now, or spend more time with his dad.

Since moving here and starting our store, for which I have to make a lot of things, Philip has been, by necessity, forced to spend a lot more time with Max. He has taken over the role that I used to have. He's now the primary care giver. All summer long he took Max to the beach and the skate park. Or to Portland to the science museum. It's been a huge relief to me.

Yesterday's "snow day" has made me realize that dads are the new moms around here at the Williamson Ranch. It's about time.