The Patience Well

I did not realize that I was a patient person until I stopped being one.

Well, that's not strictly accurate.  I haven't stopped being patient, it's just that the majority of my patience is now reserved for my helpless infant, with very little left for the others in my life, no matter how much I might love them.  People, animals... they come to me expecting to be able to drink deep, as they always have, from a well that has been almost completely drained.

It dawned on me recently what was happening, and it upset me.  I don't want to be short and snappish, impatient and exasperated.  I don't like that version of myself, and I certainly don't want to model it to my offspring as acceptable behavior.

So it's time to start digging, soul-digging: to make my well wider, and deeper, so I can hold enough patience for all of us- including myself.

Grandmother Ona Begins a Tale

I've been noodling away at my Heartbeasts story seed today- I got a lot more done in my head than I got on the page, because of course when you are making faces at an infant in a bath you can still be working in your head.  But it's something!

(This little tale-telling occurs not long after Ketsia has discovered LittleWing, so she's about six.)

***

“The Empire came to this country when I was still a girl- older than Eolyn, but still a few years from marrying age.  We knew they were coming: refugees ran before them like rats from a ship, and from their tales our king knew we could not stand against the Empire’s endless, gleaming armies.  And so he made a treaty, and we were absorbed peacefully into the Empire, trading heavy taxation for our lives and the right to keep much of our own culture.  Because we did not fight, our people were given the opportunity to become citizens, and quickly introduced to the pleasures and entertainments citizenship could provide.

“One such entertainment came in the form of gladiator fights, which showcased warriors from the many lands the Emperor had conquered.  I was never allowed to attend- my mother thought them barbaric, and she was right- but those who were allowed reported back to me on the amazing spectacle, their eyes shining with admiration for the raw power and beauty of the gladiators.  Now that I am older I understand the fights for what they were: entertainments, yes, but also a reminder, a warning: “We have conquered and subjugated these fierce peoples, and we will do the same if any of you decide to rise up in defiance of your king’s treaty.”  They were also, in their way, a means of recruiting young men for the Empire’s army: “Join us, and you too will be able to fight like this.”  In those early days enlisting was still voluntary, and one of the most direct paths to citizenship.

“The most impressive of the foreign gladiators belonged to a race of people known as the Dobhen, from lands far to the east of our own.  Unlike us, the Dobhen had fought- fought to the point of near eradication.  Those who remained lived in secret, and those who were discovered, were killed: or else brought to the pits to fight, which was often the same.

“Those who did survive did so because they had that rare gift unique to the Dobhen: they had a heartbeast.”

Ketsia, unable to contain herself, interrupted gleefully, “Like me and Eolyn?”

“Yes,” said Grandmother Ona slowly, “But think, child- even young as she is, LittleWing has teeth and talons: she can defend herself and you.  But CurlyTips…”

“Sometimes sheep have horns!”

“Well, she might someday have horns, but not yet, .  And even if she does eventually grow them, sheep are not generally known for their fighting prowess.  Especially not the ewes.  And so it was for those Dobhen flung into the pits; only those few who had a heartbeast, and only those fewer still whose heartbeast could be turned to fighting, only those precious few survived.

"Your grandfather was one of them.”

Immortal Mind

Nathan came up with a clever little story seed the other night; I'm letting it percolate itself an actual plot, but in the meantime, I started playing...

***

All in all, it is better not to attract the attention of gods.

Gods like to be entertained- they can have very different standards of entertainment than we do- and when they feel they have been entertained enough, they like to reward the mortal who provided it.

Of course, they also can have very different standards of “reward”.  Standards that are tied up in their desire for more entertainment.

Acacius had not meant to attract the attention of the gods, but when he did, and when the god in question refused to accept his demuring of reward, insisting that immortality would be an excellent reward, Acacius had the presence of mind to interject that he did rather hope eternal youth would be part of said reward.  The god chuckled knowingly, said, “Too clever by half!”, and disappeared in the same shrieking gust of wind he’d arrived in.

Acacius did not age beyond that moment, suspended forever at the somewhat advanced age of thirty-seven.  Of course, as the centuries passed, his relative agedness became less and less, until at last he was considered “young”- not even in the prime of life yet!

This might have amused Acacius, could he remember those early days.

On Being a "Cool Mom"

I've been thinking, lately, about my strange reluctance to blog about being a mother, or talk about it with non-parent friends, or even seem like I'm not overly "into" the whole having-a-kid-thing: "What, that guy?  Oh yeah he just tags along.  Can't get rid of him."  And after yesterday's entry about not-giving-a-fuck-what-other-people-think, I realized it's time for me to knock it off.

I've always been so afraid of becoming one of those women for whom the role of Mother is everything they are, full stop.  I have always found (and still do find) it hideously tedious to spend time with women who literally talk about nothing but their kids, just as I find it hideously tedious to spend time with anyone who only talks about one subject ever (::coughcrossfitforexamplecough::).  And thus I've been playing the avoidance game, trying to, well, avoid being one of those mothers.  I wanted to be one of the cool mothers I'd known- the ones who still had lives and dreams outside of their child's latest developmental milestones.

But this morning, as I was mulling the topic over yet again, I suddenly realized- how could I know they were "cool mothers" if they didn't talk about their kids at all?  Otherwise they'd just be "cool", no modifier.  So what I'm saying is that I'm going to stop pretending to the general public like Neeps isn't a huge and awesome part of my life right now- because he is.  He's the biggest, scariest damn adventure I've ever embarked on, and it's disingenuous to behave otherwise.  And yeah, right now he's taking up the majority of my brain-space, but that's not because I've lost my Self- it's because there's a steep-ass learning-curve on keeping a tiny human alive and happy.  And the other parts of my brain are still furiously churning, figuring out how I can still do the other things I love, with or without him strapped to my chest.  And if people aren't interested in hearing about him, it's on them to tune me out, not on me not to bring him up in the first place.

So yeah.  It's gonna' be a little mommy-centric around here for a while, but I hope you'll stick around and see how things develop.  It's going to be so cool.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

We woke up this morning to snow- big fat flakes drifting down from the sky without a care in the world.  I looked at them with envy- my life is full of Care right now- but also with anticipation.  Neeps's first real snowfall!

Nathan headed off to church, and I began to gird my (and Neeps's) respective loins for a very cold walk around the neighborhood.  This involved wool socks, careful layering, and a surge of gratitude for my brother who had given me a neck gaiter several years back.  Never has it been more appreciated, since having a baby nestled against my chest more or less rules out any of my long and lovely scarves.

I had a surge of trepidation before starting out, however- was I being an irresponsible mother, by taking my child- my infant- out in the snow when it wasn't absolutely necessary?  What if I slipped and fell?  What if he suffocated beneath all those layers?  What if he caught pneumonia and died?  What if, what if?

And then I realized, it wasn't really me having those fears (well, maybe the slip-and-fall one, a little: I am notoriously clumsy)- I was hearing other people in my head.  My fear was not that I'd do him harm, but that I'd suffer the dreaded Judgmental People Judging Me.

And then I realized that I don't actually give a fuck.  Because you know what?  I'm not an idiot, and I'm not taking unnecessary risks with my son.  He was dressed appropriately, and I refuse to start his life out by setting an example of fearfulness.  So I put up my hood and got on with it.

Right before the afore-mentioned hood-raising

Life-Given Lemons

So as you may have inferred, we spent the New Year with Lara.  Lara is a bit of a bad-ass when it comes to many things, but in this instance the bad-assery which most directly benefits me is her affinity for urban-homesteading.  The day before we drove up, she and I were texting back and forth in anticipation, and she said, "I picked up 10lbs of lemons for us to ferment and make lemon custard." to which I replied:

Because, as I have mentioned before, I friggin' love lemon curd, and lemon custard is a kissing cousin to my beloved dessert.

The primary difference between a curd and a custard is the amount of zest/juice involved.  When I make a small batch of curd for myself, I use about three tablespoons of zest, and a half cup of juice (to three eggs).  Lara and I made a double batch of custard (because she likes to preserve things), and for that entire thing we only used two tablespoons of zest and four cups of juice (to twelve eggs, plus twelve additional yolks).  Now sure, four cups of juice sounds like a lot...

...and it IS, especially when you're the one squeezing it...

 but proportionately speaking, it's not as much as I use for curd.

By the way, this is what the rinds of four cups' worth of lemon juice looks like.

Lara cracking yolks...

In the end we had quite a haul, and I got to take home more than half of it, since she had still more lemons to play with after we'd left.

The glory!

 It wasn't just lemon custard she sent me home with, however: there were also seven giant jars of beef bone broth (good for what ails ya'!), spiced apple sauce, ginger-bourbon pears, berry preserves, a giant pumpkin, and two spaghetti squash.  Basically what I'm saying is that we're spoiled.

As soon as we got home today, I couldn't help myself: I cracked open one of the jars of custard.  And, um, there were no survivors...

Neeps is disgusted by my lack of restraint.

I'm thinking I'd like to bake something with at least some of it, but I'm not sure what... we'll see what the future holds!

Welcome to the New Year

What's that you say?  It's an even-numbered year?  Well we all know what that means- time for a new 365(/6) project!

Over the past three projects I've done writing, art, and i-photography.  This year, in an attempt to work with the fact that I'm adjusting to a very new way of life, I'm keeping it broad- a post for every day of the year, be it words, images, or some combination thereof.  "Combination Thereof" is what you're getting today, since I'm hearkening back to the "moments" aspect of 2014:

Frostfell

It's especially nice when I get around to making my Year Album, because for some reason these little out-of-context images are very powerful in terms of bringing me back to the moment I captured them in.  In this instance it was our first hike of the year- 2.2 miles to start things off on the right foot.

It was beautiful mix of frost and green.

Frosty Family!

Glowing Green!  (Same hike, honest!)

I made several Resolutions for the year, but the first and easiest to make is that I want to do at least one Family Hike per month.  To further this goal I signed up for the January Hike it Baby 30, with the goal of doing either 30 miles in 30 days, or else 30 minutes three times a week.  I'm pretty excited about it, so expect to see at least one hiking entry a month on here.  But now?  Now there's some ice cream with brandied pears calling my name!

Happy New Year, ya'll.  I hope it's more than you dare to dream it might be.