I've got a bad case of the winter blues. I wanted to upload some fun pictures today but the camera isn't working. I have a bunch of work to do on the computer and I can't find any of the information I need to use. I spilled an entire cup of coffee on myself (splashing in my face), the stairway walls and stairs (I am as graceful as a water buffalo). I don't know how to get out of my funk. Usually exercise is the way to go, but we went to a spinning class yesterday and it almost killed me.
I had a brief reprieve from my current rotten state last night - we had a lovely family dinner and watched the Golden Compass (we finished the book last Thursday). On Friday night when I put the kids to bed, I told Seamus that tomorrow (which at the time I thought was Sunday) we were going to have his favorite dinner and watch a movie. He was so excited. Before I went to bed I realized we had changed Pizza night from Saturday to Friday and so he was going to wake up and find out that he had another day to wait to see the movie...He handled the whole thing pretty well, probably better than I did. And so by last night, he was a little crazed with anticipation. It is always amazing to me that he can follow such complicated plot lines and story nuances. I have mixed feelings about TV and movies - but there is nothing better than reading a book we all enjoyed and then watching a movie and talking about how they were different, how curious that someone else's ideas of how a character looked or talked can be so totally different (or exactly the same) as our own. It is amazing to see a fantasy palace, a dusted covered city or a flying machine come to life and it is fun to watch the kids expressions at the creative possibilities that books and movies provide.
More when I can get the stupid (thank God Finn can't read because I'd catch hell for saying "stupid") camera working...
Monday, March 02, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Personal Lessons.
So yesterday I found out that I didn't get a spot in the MFA program at the U for next fall. I was surprised and not so surprised, but it doesn't change how badly it feels to be disappointed. I've been thinking about what this experience has meant to me, how its affected me and therefore what I've learned. This seems like one of those things I should be blogging about. I'm still a little raw, but even just one day has given me new perspective.
Well, I guess the first thing is to understand how this got started in the first place. Last summer I had a moment of clarity that revealed to me how much I missed being in a community of writers/learners. And I got motivated (and maybe more importantly) - I got organized. I applied to take two classes in the MFA (Master of Fine Art) program at the U of M and was sort of shocked when I got in (this acceptance was only to take the classes - I had to give a transcript, a personal statement and a writing sample). I completed both class with James's support and got As. At the end of that process I applied to the full MFA program (the acceptance rate is less than 1%). They took 4 people in nonfiction this year (hundreds of applicants).
So I've been waiting to hear since the end of December and yesterday I finally got the letter. It was short and to the point and I cried. The whole time I was crying, I was thinking "I know what real sadness is - I've been though much worse things- THIS is not that bad." And yet, I cannot pretend that this rejection didn't cause me real grief.
Seamus, you asked me why I was crying and I told you that I didn't get into my school, and you tried to be comforting (which was actually very comforting). We went to mass and to Grandma and Grandpa's house and I was still sad and a little weepy. I'm 33 years old and my parents are still parenting me. My dad held me in a really long hug and my mom made us all food. No one really understands your disappointment and suffering like your parents, I suppose because you are forever a part of them and vice versa. My dad said, "You know the U of M is a fabulous place, really an amazing school. But even really great places make mistakes." And it was about the nicest thing a dad could say.
I'm realizing that its been so long (I can't even remember an example) of when I had taken a risk, really put my hope on the line. Risk has a unique definition for everybody. I was not fearful of having kids - so welcoming the three of you into our lives was never a scary thing for me (for a lot of people, I think this is the single most frightening thing they ever do). Staying home full time did not cause me huge personal conflict either - things happened naturally and so these were relatively simple decisions. I think many adults spend most of their lives trying to avoid taking personal risks, in fact I think people often will avoid risk taking at almost any cost. I'm not sure that this is true - but it feels true to my experience. Its not comfortable to stretch. It's scary. Sometimes its paralyzing.
As a child, I remember being pretty fearless, pretty magnanimous. But at some point we worry about being embarrassed, about feeling let down, about not being good enough. I suppose its an impossible goal, human nature is a strong creature to fight against, but I hope you never stop taking chances because you're afraid to be embarrassed, to be vulnerable, or to fail.
And so I look at the three of you and think that I never want you to shrink from reaching high, from applying yourself even though the odds are against you. I don't want you to get so comfortable that you stop wanting to grow, or change. Timidity should never define you. I am so grateful for this experience (tears and all). It is not an ending for me but a new beginning. I learned that it is satisfying and terrifying to put yourself "out there" but that in the end, you cannot not fully know who you are until you trust yourself enough to open your arms, your heart and your life to higher goals.
I think this will make me a better parent because it has reawakened in me the sense of responsibility to encourage you to see that satisfaction can only be gained by hard work and tough choices, and maybe most importantly to recognize that there is always opportunity in disappointment. I suppose what I've long believed is that it isn't our successes that define us as much as our ability to embrace hardship with grace, dignity and the eagerness to move forward.
Well, I guess the first thing is to understand how this got started in the first place. Last summer I had a moment of clarity that revealed to me how much I missed being in a community of writers/learners. And I got motivated (and maybe more importantly) - I got organized. I applied to take two classes in the MFA (Master of Fine Art) program at the U of M and was sort of shocked when I got in (this acceptance was only to take the classes - I had to give a transcript, a personal statement and a writing sample). I completed both class with James's support and got As. At the end of that process I applied to the full MFA program (the acceptance rate is less than 1%). They took 4 people in nonfiction this year (hundreds of applicants).
So I've been waiting to hear since the end of December and yesterday I finally got the letter. It was short and to the point and I cried. The whole time I was crying, I was thinking "I know what real sadness is - I've been though much worse things- THIS is not that bad." And yet, I cannot pretend that this rejection didn't cause me real grief.
Seamus, you asked me why I was crying and I told you that I didn't get into my school, and you tried to be comforting (which was actually very comforting). We went to mass and to Grandma and Grandpa's house and I was still sad and a little weepy. I'm 33 years old and my parents are still parenting me. My dad held me in a really long hug and my mom made us all food. No one really understands your disappointment and suffering like your parents, I suppose because you are forever a part of them and vice versa. My dad said, "You know the U of M is a fabulous place, really an amazing school. But even really great places make mistakes." And it was about the nicest thing a dad could say.
I'm realizing that its been so long (I can't even remember an example) of when I had taken a risk, really put my hope on the line. Risk has a unique definition for everybody. I was not fearful of having kids - so welcoming the three of you into our lives was never a scary thing for me (for a lot of people, I think this is the single most frightening thing they ever do). Staying home full time did not cause me huge personal conflict either - things happened naturally and so these were relatively simple decisions. I think many adults spend most of their lives trying to avoid taking personal risks, in fact I think people often will avoid risk taking at almost any cost. I'm not sure that this is true - but it feels true to my experience. Its not comfortable to stretch. It's scary. Sometimes its paralyzing.
As a child, I remember being pretty fearless, pretty magnanimous. But at some point we worry about being embarrassed, about feeling let down, about not being good enough. I suppose its an impossible goal, human nature is a strong creature to fight against, but I hope you never stop taking chances because you're afraid to be embarrassed, to be vulnerable, or to fail.
And so I look at the three of you and think that I never want you to shrink from reaching high, from applying yourself even though the odds are against you. I don't want you to get so comfortable that you stop wanting to grow, or change. Timidity should never define you. I am so grateful for this experience (tears and all). It is not an ending for me but a new beginning. I learned that it is satisfying and terrifying to put yourself "out there" but that in the end, you cannot not fully know who you are until you trust yourself enough to open your arms, your heart and your life to higher goals.
I think this will make me a better parent because it has reawakened in me the sense of responsibility to encourage you to see that satisfaction can only be gained by hard work and tough choices, and maybe most importantly to recognize that there is always opportunity in disappointment. I suppose what I've long believed is that it isn't our successes that define us as much as our ability to embrace hardship with grace, dignity and the eagerness to move forward.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Family Retreat.
Last weekend we took a "family retreat" - which means that the five of us went to the cabin with no other families and brought lots of books (and snow gear). We thought this would be a nice way to celebrate Valentine's with the kids (and frankly just get away from some of the distractions of daily life).
It was such a lovely weekend. The kids were great. We slept a lot. I finished a book. Obviously, some family hottubbing. We played cards, put together puzzles and hiked in the woods (James did most of the hiking, but I did get outside twice).
When we got home, we discovered a box of new costumes from Aunt Pat Chancer (the only hand me downs from gigantic Jason my kids would ever be able to wear) and cards for each of the kids from grandma Barbara. Seamus told me this was the best weekend ever! And it kinda was. I'll add the costume pictures at a later date (they deserve their own post entirely - let's just say there is a lot of fur involved...).
I am so grateful for James and the kids, sometime we need a little break from the daily routine to remind ourselves how blessed we are. I've been caught up in the waiting game for the University of Minnesota and I didn't realize how much it was affecting me.The kids have such rich imaginations - I love that they hardly need any toys, just eachother and a stick (well, mostly we can't stand the sticks, but they certainly entertain the boys).
James shoveled a "rink" for the boys - the snow and ice wasn't ideal for skating but that didn't bother anyone at all (Seamus says he prefers boot hockey anyway).
Friday, February 13, 2009
The Little Dictator & Other Must Remembers...
So Mary Jeanne has a funny little habit. 
When she's relaxing, she likes to stick her right hand in her shirt (often and drink her milk) while surveying the room. Since she often is behaving like a dictator and the boys are her minion, we've taken to calling her Napoleon. She is finally starting to talk and her most frequent word are "sorry" (since she's usually hitting someone) "candy" because she has her mother's sweet tooth and "where daddy go?" because she is pretty much exclusively interested in James during the day.
So Finn was having a hard time going to bed last night (we went to visit aunt Helen and so no one had a nap during the day).
He was having a hard time settling down and got himself so worked up that he was "deep breath crying" - the sort of crying that is interrupted by deep, sad breaths. As often happens when he gets like this, he started talking about how he only had one grandpa left, how he wanted to go see Grandpa Dan and then how much he missed Grandpa Tom. I told him that we'd go see Grandpa Dan soon and that if he wanted to talk to Grandpa Tom, all he had to do was close his eyes, think about Grandpa Tom and then tell him all about his day. I told him that since Grandpa Tom was in his heart, he'd be able to hear him and I knew he'd love to listen to Finn's stories about the Valentine's party. Finn looked as me as if he was very annoyed and said "He cannot hear me." I said that when I missed Grandpa I just closed my eyes and talked to him and that I was sure Grandpa could hear me. Finn sighed and said: "Mom, that's because you talk so loud." Umm. Maybe. Goodnight.
Seamus has also had some real doozies lately too. He and his friend Jack have been fighting a little over the last week and Jack's mom and I haven't known quite what to make of it. Before bed, Seamus was telling me that Jack doesn't like girls and since Jack is his boss, he was no longer able to play with girls at school. I told him that Jack doesn't have a sister and so maybe he didn't know that girls are as much fun as boys and that we can play with whatever kids we have fun with no matter who they are. I thought that was the end of the conversation, until I picked the boys up after school this week and I mentioned to the teacher that we were having a little trouble in paradise. She started to laugh and told me that there is a little girl in their class who likes to sit in between Jack and Seamus and rub Seamus's back. The teachers have been laughing about it and saying they were going to have to keep a special eye on these three. We have lots of conversation about how to be a good friend, about how friendship doesn't always mean agreeing or liking the same things, but that good friends always say sorry and always forgive. By Thursday the boys were back to being best friends (even hugging and saying I love you when I dropped off Jack - very metro of them) and so I'm wondering how they've resolved this - I guess we'll see.
Seamus is also making us a little crazy because he's decided to use our parenting techniques back on James and I. For example, when we don't let him do something he wants, he often tells us that we cannot read him stories that night (if we still don't acquiesce, I've been told I don't get to read stories for as many as four nights). He also tells me that my behavior is disappointing him. That I'm breaking his heart (sometimes he actually clutches his heart under his shirt). That this is my last chance. Or that he's going to count to three. It only infuriates him when I don't listen to his punishments and I can see the wheels in his head moving (why does this work when she says it to me????) It's equally frustrating and satisfying because I often have no idea how to respond and yet I'm glad to hear that the things I say to him are sinking in.
He is literally growing out of his clothes at a breakneck rate and you can almost see his developmental changes as well. We witness lots of "I love yous" followed with random tear bursting emotional meltdown about how we are truly the meanest parents in the whole world (AND I MEAN IT). He is preparing us well for MJ's teenage years right now.
Again, as we were preparing for bed, he was mad at me and being mouthy. I told him that he was a lucky boy to have me, because, without me there was no him. (I realize this sounds stupid, it sounded stupid to me as I was saying it, but he's left me speechless quite a bit lately). He replied: " No, mom. I came from God (insert irritated, deep breath pause), you only HAPPENED to be there. Jeez."
In the photos, Seamus is showing off his new favorite shirt - specifically he wanted me to take a picture of his number 10. There you go.
Peace be with us all.
When she's relaxing, she likes to stick her right hand in her shirt (often and drink her milk) while surveying the room. Since she often is behaving like a dictator and the boys are her minion, we've taken to calling her Napoleon. She is finally starting to talk and her most frequent word are "sorry" (since she's usually hitting someone) "candy" because she has her mother's sweet tooth and "where daddy go?" because she is pretty much exclusively interested in James during the day.
So Finn was having a hard time going to bed last night (we went to visit aunt Helen and so no one had a nap during the day).
He was having a hard time settling down and got himself so worked up that he was "deep breath crying" - the sort of crying that is interrupted by deep, sad breaths. As often happens when he gets like this, he started talking about how he only had one grandpa left, how he wanted to go see Grandpa Dan and then how much he missed Grandpa Tom. I told him that we'd go see Grandpa Dan soon and that if he wanted to talk to Grandpa Tom, all he had to do was close his eyes, think about Grandpa Tom and then tell him all about his day. I told him that since Grandpa Tom was in his heart, he'd be able to hear him and I knew he'd love to listen to Finn's stories about the Valentine's party. Finn looked as me as if he was very annoyed and said "He cannot hear me." I said that when I missed Grandpa I just closed my eyes and talked to him and that I was sure Grandpa could hear me. Finn sighed and said: "Mom, that's because you talk so loud." Umm. Maybe. Goodnight.
Seamus has also had some real doozies lately too. He and his friend Jack have been fighting a little over the last week and Jack's mom and I haven't known quite what to make of it. Before bed, Seamus was telling me that Jack doesn't like girls and since Jack is his boss, he was no longer able to play with girls at school. I told him that Jack doesn't have a sister and so maybe he didn't know that girls are as much fun as boys and that we can play with whatever kids we have fun with no matter who they are. I thought that was the end of the conversation, until I picked the boys up after school this week and I mentioned to the teacher that we were having a little trouble in paradise. She started to laugh and told me that there is a little girl in their class who likes to sit in between Jack and Seamus and rub Seamus's back. The teachers have been laughing about it and saying they were going to have to keep a special eye on these three. We have lots of conversation about how to be a good friend, about how friendship doesn't always mean agreeing or liking the same things, but that good friends always say sorry and always forgive. By Thursday the boys were back to being best friends (even hugging and saying I love you when I dropped off Jack - very metro of them) and so I'm wondering how they've resolved this - I guess we'll see.
Seamus is also making us a little crazy because he's decided to use our parenting techniques back on James and I. For example, when we don't let him do something he wants, he often tells us that we cannot read him stories that night (if we still don't acquiesce, I've been told I don't get to read stories for as many as four nights). He also tells me that my behavior is disappointing him. That I'm breaking his heart (sometimes he actually clutches his heart under his shirt). That this is my last chance. Or that he's going to count to three. It only infuriates him when I don't listen to his punishments and I can see the wheels in his head moving (why does this work when she says it to me????) It's equally frustrating and satisfying because I often have no idea how to respond and yet I'm glad to hear that the things I say to him are sinking in.
He is literally growing out of his clothes at a breakneck rate and you can almost see his developmental changes as well. We witness lots of "I love yous" followed with random tear bursting emotional meltdown about how we are truly the meanest parents in the whole world (AND I MEAN IT). He is preparing us well for MJ's teenage years right now.
Again, as we were preparing for bed, he was mad at me and being mouthy. I told him that he was a lucky boy to have me, because, without me there was no him. (I realize this sounds stupid, it sounded stupid to me as I was saying it, but he's left me speechless quite a bit lately). He replied: " No, mom. I came from God (insert irritated, deep breath pause), you only HAPPENED to be there. Jeez."
In the photos, Seamus is showing off his new favorite shirt - specifically he wanted me to take a picture of his number 10. There you go.
Peace be with us all.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Baby Boys! Michael and Peter!
Welcome Michael and Peter! Here are some pictures - more details later. Great new cousins - MJs not the youngest any more. This rounds out the Schneeman grandkids at a nice 40. These are the 8th and 9th kids for Eric and Kathy.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Uncle George (1934-2009)
What can I tell you about George, kids? He was my Uncle Drosselmeier. Mischievous and lively, an instigator and a watcher. He lived simultaneously as an outsider and an insider. He loved beautiful things, history, words, and creating something with purpose.
I was sort of mystified by him when I was a child, and now that I am an adult, I find myself only more mystified. His work was about collaboration, in so much that if he worked with his friends, it ceased to be work.
It was always shocking to me to see he and my dad together - so different and so much the same. The brightest of blue eyes, their twinkle, the laugh and their hands. There is something special about brothers and that connection. George had a temper that got fiery sometimes, I've only heard my father raise his voice once in my life. But a thousand miles apart, they raised children with the loves of their lives, enjoyed gardening, playing cards and loved their families above all things.
I have wonderful memories of talking politics on the telephone, sharing food with he and Katie in their apartment surrounded by the artifacts of his living (the harpsichord, the pottery, the furniture, the wall art). He was complicated and loved, and he leaves behind many sad hearts and many, many beautiful things.
He was written up in the New York Times on Saturday - he would have laughed at that immensely.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/31/arts/design/31schneeman.html?_r=1
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