Successfully.

A few years back when I was starting the ball rolling with this whole law school thing, I told myself that I was just going to be focused on getting accepted to a school and worry about the logistics of it later. Then I  actually got into law school and had a panic attack where I was completely overwhelmed and convinced that I had bitten of more than I can chew. Who in their right mind moves to a brand new city with no job and no support network to start graduate school full-time with a toddler in tow? How in the world was I going to do this? I blogged about it and a friend commented with one word that has stuck with me over the past three years -  "successfully".

The end is in sight. Now it is time to start thinking about the next step. AB will soon be 5 years old and graduating from Pre-K, ready for the next adventure. I have proven to myself that motherhood really does suit me. It's not a fluke. I'm a good mom. I've got a great kid. She is better for my having taken this gigantic risk even though I have stumbled a lot. But all in all come next May when I have my diploma in one hand and my smiling girl in the other, I know that I will have completed this journey.

Successfully.

Tickle Monster.

"I'd like to talk about something for a little bit."

That is AB's new line. When she says this it means that she is wants my undivided attention about whatever she is wanting to talk about. I gladly oblige. When she is through with her desired topic, she simply says, "I'm done talking about it. I want to do something else now." So, I must let it go.

Letting it go is hard, especially now that 5 years old is on the horizon, I find that she's got some interesting things on her mind. (My favorite question from yesterday, "Why do we have faces?") Her incredible memory  enhances my fascination with her thoughts. (She still recalls the flavor of lollipop she got when she went with my mother to the barbershop...10 months ago.)

Earlier this week, she wanted to talk about her dad. I took a deep breath, gave myself a quick internal pep talk about allowing her to express her feelings and not injecting any judgments of my own, and settled in. She gave an overview of things she remembered about him, things they had done together, things we did as a family, things that he had done. Unfortunately, there was more bad than good. Then she said that she didn't like him. "I love him because he is my daddy, but I don't like him because he's mean." Before I could respond she asked me if I liked him.

Well, crap. The short answer is no, but I can't tell my kid that. So I said, "Of course, because without him, I wouldn't have you." *Tickle, tickle* She collapses into laughter, states that she is done talking about him and just wants me to keep tickling her. Fine by me. But not, because I want to know what she is thinking and how she feels about her father not being in her life and if she thinks that I am scarring her for life by raising her alone.  However, I think I'll be okay playing ostrich about it for a little while longer.

I knew that this moment was going to come. There will be many more moments and I will have to come up with better answers, because tickling my way out of it is not going to last for very long.

Fighting the Brattiness.

There have been two words that have recurred in my journal entries of late.

Restless. Exhausted.

I have been back in school for a little over a month now and all of my good intentions and plans have completely dissipated. They never really even really took flight.  The lax of summer stuck around for the business of fall and the result is not pretty. The result is I find AB, through no fault of her own, slipping into some brat-like tendencies.

I take full responsibility for this behavior.  I give into the whines and screams. I live in fear of the screams. Why? Because, my inner critic and a good part of the childless society say that screams mean that you're a bad parent who can't control your kid. I know it is not true, but in the heat of the moment, I just want it to be over and done with and move on to something else.

That's the problem.

I recognize the behavior I abhor in her in my own everyday actions. Except, I just skip the tantrum/whiny part and buy what I want. I am constantly justifying this or that indulgence. When I look back at this behavior over the past few weeks, I realize that  I am definitely enabling my own brattiness (and by extension AB's brattiness). Ultimately, it is preventing me from getting the quality things that I truly desire. (i.e. If I planned instead of falling into the "convenience" purchases, I would have those coveted Bass Weejuns on my feet right now. )

So what to do?

The first step to breaking this horrible routine is to walk a new way, both literally and figuratively.

Literally:  Out of sight out of mind. Therefore, we will not be walking past that store that screams out "I'm convenient and I have tasty treats!". Why even risk the temptation? Will it add on a little bit of time to our commute home? Yes. But taking a walk with my kid and talking about her day is not going to kill me. Part of her behavior is is for pure attention. I mean, she is battling with Law School.

Figuratively: Why am I continuing to fall into the pattern, what is it that I am searching for? The ease. The convenience. But it is fleeting. And it doesn't  make anything easier.  The "gimmes" on both of our parts stem from my desire to get to my destination quickly, be it school, work, home, or bedtime. I want it over and done with, under the guise that if it is done quickly, then I am saving time. Well, not really, because in reality,  that time I supposedly saved is then spent dealing with a tantrum. Out of this insane desire for convenience, I make things so much more difficult and as a result, we have lost our positive structure. Instead, we have a negative structure that is based on rushing and exhaustion (which leads to lazy habits).

Alas, we are a work in progress.

The Murakami Challenge.

I feel compelled to read all of Haruki Murakami's fiction. I fell for him this summer and I do believe I have made a nice dent in the list (in no particular order).

1. Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World
2. A Wild Sheep Chase
3. The Elephant Vanishes
4. Dance Dance Dance
5. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
6. South of the Border, West of the Sun
7. Kafka on the Shore
8. Norwegian Wood
9. Sputnik Sweetheart
10. After Dark
11. Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman
12. After the Quake

This is quickly becoming an obsession. Sometimes Murakami Land is just so much more interesting than reality.

Goal: Finish the list by Christmas.
Prize: A brand spanking new copy of the one I love the most.

Nerdtastic.

 

The Best Smelling Cup Of Coffee In The World.

There was a man at the train stop yesterday evening. I named him Mr. Leisure. He was taking his sweet time. I have rarely seen anyone who would actually fit the definition of strolling. To stroll, there has to be a certain level of sophistication involved as well as an amazingly steady pace and impressive length of stride.  Mr. Leisure was definitely strolling.. He was strolling down the platform having a quiet conversation on his cell phone, completely oblivious to the fact that AB and I were behind him. In addition, he carried The Best Smelling Cup Of Coffee In The World.

At the time, however, I was frustrated with his leisurely pace as I could see the lights of the train approaching. I wanted to get AB to our usual waiting spot. So, I impatiently switched us to the other side of the platform to allow for our brisker walk, since we were clearly outpacing Mr. Leisure.

Triumphant, we stood in our spot as the train doors opened before us. But alas, Mr. Leisure arrives not a moment too soon and steps into the same car. AB and I luck out with a pair of seats. As we get comfortable, I smell the coffee. He stood directly above me for the duration of his ride. I smelled the amazing goodness of his ridiculously aromatic coffee for the next four stops.

Was he teasing me with The Best Smelling Cup Of Coffee In The World that I will never have (because I never got a good look at his cup) to punish me for my impatience? No, I think Mr. Leisure was just enjoying his coffee and conversation. I envy his contentment.

Lesson learned: Slow down and smell the coffee. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line after all. A stroll in a straight line will get you to the same place (at the same time) as the brisk roundabout. I do believe that Mr. Leisure's way is best.

One Day...

I will:

• Own my own bookstore and/or publishing company.
• Have a sleeve tattoo.
• Be a published author.
• Purchase an original piece of artwork.
• Have a Boston Terrier, named Boston, aka Bossy.
• Backpack across Europe with AB.
• Have another child.
• Conquer Latin.
• Have season tickets to the ballet, symphony & opera.
• Travel to Paris by myself and intentionally get lost.
• Get an MFA just because.
• Be debt-free.
• Have a Moleskin documenting every year of my life from year 27 onward.
• Be a homeowner.
• Live in Montreal.
• Fall in love again.

One Moment at a Time.

I start my last year of law school next Monday. Excitement. While the newness of law school wore off a long time ago, the excitement on being closer to the end than the beginning is a very good feeling. I gifted myself with a beautiful new red Moleskin planner and diligently filled in my schedule. Then promptly felt overwhelmed at the vast amount of things that need to be accomplished in a seemingly short amount of time.

There is the expression "one day at a time," but I find that "one moment at a time" is more manageable because sometimes even a day can seem daunting as we look at all the things on our to-do list.

So when I am needing to be productive, I need to dice up my time into manageable chunks. I focus on things in 15 minutes, 30 minutes or 60 minutes intervals because the worst feeling is to set out to undertake a task and find that an hour or two later you have made no headway on said task and really don't have anything to show for the last few moments of your time. For even if you have worked diligently on something and decided to chuck it at least you made some progress because you found out something that didn't work out and are now free to pursue other possibilities. 

I like the senes of accomplishment that comes from completing a task, no matter how small, whether it be washing the dishes or finishing the outline for my latest brief. I think it is important to give oneself kudos for all of the various things that we accomplish in a day. When you think about all of the various things that you get done in a day, it is kind of amazing. If we celebrate the little things, then we might just find that extra bit of energy (that positive "hey, I'm doing pretty good" energy) to accomplish the major things.

Try it, and if it doesn't work, then return to the harried, thus exhausting, way. No harm, no foul.

Permission.

Last week, I found myself journaling about how I still felt like I needed permission. Permission to do what? To live my life and do the things that I want to do.

I undertake things timidly afraid that someone is going to say, "Um, who said you could do that?" or "That's wrong." or "There is no future in that." or "There are a millions other things that you should be doing right now."  (Inner critic rearing its ugly head again.) I have this need to have someone validate whatever it is that I'm doing. I need someone to nod their head and say, "Yep, everything looks good. Carry on."

I am 27 years old with a kid of my own and I still feel like a kid...and not in the good childlike-wonder way.

So imagine my surprise when yesterday a delightful update from Danielle LaPorte's whitehot truth pops up in my inbox with the subject: your permission slip from the universe.

There were two that spoke to me the most:

• You have permission to pursue your own agenda.
• You have permission to start now, without the degree, without the funding, without knowing exactly where you're going.

This prompted me to come up with some for myself. I have permission to:

• change my mind.
• be unapologetic about my lifestyle.
• let my kid watch more than 30 minutes of television.
• only cook once a week.
• drop the facade that I have it together.
• move closer to my parents because it is not a sign of failure to realize the necessity of a support network, it is a sign of growth.

A permission slip. That little piece of paper that meant that it was okay for you to go on an adventure. To quote the wisdom of that skinny jean clad genius KiD CuDi:

 I ain't gotta wait for no one. 

If I wanna fly, I could fly for freedom. 

I'll be up, up, and away

 'cause in the end, they'll judge me anyway. 

So, whatever.

The Reason.

Why resurrect this blog?

The impetus was meeting Hilary Thayer Hamann, the author of one of my favorite books in the entire world (and inspiration for the name of this blog) Anthropology of an American Girl. The book was rereleased this summer and I was honored to write a review that is featured on her website. (I wrote the second review signed T.H.).


She is truly an amazing woman and graciously spent a couple of hours with brown-eyed babe and myself. It was positively surreal and hands-down the highlight of my summer. A few weeks later I recieved a beautifully handwritten  note from her which is now one of my prized possessions. I love that lady.

This amazing experience occurred toward the beginning of June. It was quite unexpected and resulted from my blogging. This lead me to contemplate why I had let my blogging fall by the wayside and why I was feeling so unmotivated and stagnant. I was anxious that my other blog had no direction and that I had nothing of value to contribute which prolonged the hiatus. What better way to avoid feelings than to ignore whatever it is you think is causing that feeling. I avoided the blog, I avoided writing, I avoided creating and instead threw myself into reading and hid in my books. But as they always do, the books I found myself drawn to started to light a path and my summer of discovery began to take shape.

I read (and continue to read) various books and blogs on creativity/art/journaling.  I created a tumblr to serve as a outlet for the images and words that I found myself drawn to.  I began writing every single day. Then I was gifted with a glorious week alone as brown-eyed babe went to get Disneyfied with my parents. I started art journaling. I started breaking the rules of what I had believed journaling to be. I started focusing on the process, not the product,and certainly not perfection. I allowed myself to let go and dream about what my life can be and what I want it to be rather than what I percieve everyone else thinks it should be.

My feelings of joy resulting from the creative process snowballed and I decided that I needed to make a change to allow myself more freedom. I had placed unnecessary restraints on myself and my writing/blogging over the past two years. I (oddly enough) needed to give myself permission to break free of the practical and dive into the whimsical.

Who said that I wasn't an artist? Who said that I wasn't a writer? Who said that I wasn't creative? Who said that I have to constantly fight to compensate for single motherhood by attempting to blend in with the traditional and conventional? Who said that I did not have an entrepreneurial spirit? Who said that I have to have a legal career like everyone else?

My inner critic, that's who.

My return to this blog is me telling my inner critic to shut the fuck up.

The Return.

In my absence I was musing over here.

But, the course of my creative journey has led me back to Anthropology of an Urban Mama.
So, here I am in with a fresh look and clearer mindset, ready to present all my glory and imperfections as I dare to dream a little bigger.