Control Freak

Hallelujah! I’ve conned Silas into what we call the “nap trap”.  He gave up napping long ago, but sometimes, if I am tired enough, I can lay myself down and eventually (usually we’re talking at least a half an hour to an hour later) he will fall into slumber.  God or Destiny, or heck, maybe it’s Lucille, taps me on the shoulder to wake me up and Voila!  I have some writing time!

So here I am.  After a long enough pause.  (Yes, I sat down last night and stared at a blank screen for two hours…)  Still, here I am.

I don’t know how else to start but to say that yes, sometimes, I can be a control freak.

Of course, I noticed this immediately after writing the post “Fashion Police”.  (Hell, I knew it already.  But, let’s pretend that I just recognized it.) And, with this recognition, I have improved.  I now give Silas choices: this collared shirt or that one?

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Fashion Police

This is not a resurrected post, but one that combines past work and present.  I am slowly getting my voice back!  Enjoy!

Years ago, I wrote the following:

The morning we went to the ENT, we had to get up rather early. My husband couldn’t go with us to the appointment, so he decided to help out by getting Silas ready. With Paul, “helping” means a 57% chance of Silas’s nighttime diaper getting changed and a 97.5% chance that Silas will get correctly strapped into his car seat.

If we were to err on the side of the majority, Paul’s help-out routine would be close to acceptable.

Except, I never take Silas anywhere in his jammies unless it’s absolutely necessary. Actually, I need to take that statement a step further. I never take Silas anywhere in clothes that don’t match… well. Okay, I need to go further still. I make a plan for Silas’s next-day outfit every evening. I plan these outfits according, not to the weather, but to whether or not the cut and color scheme will maximize his attractiveness. And, no, I’m not kidding.

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Bittersweet Returns or Adventures as the Commissioner of Cape Man

I’ve never been great at transitions.  The transition from working full-time to a full-time summer vacation.  The transition from a house filled with a three-year-old to an empty one.  And, then, the transition from an empty house to the return of a house filled with a three-year-old.

While Silas, my three-almost-four-year-old son was away, I was reminded of life before the baby.  Of the freedom to come and go.  Of the time spent with my husband.  Of the space to work and write.  I love my son more than anything in the world, but there was, for me, a sense of loss when my child came into my life.  A struggle to find myself again and to adjust to a life where every move must be planned for and calculated.

Of course, I got used to it.  I learned to embrace the calculating and to replace the vast times alone with my spouse with carving out family times together.  (We  work different schedules to keep the cost of childcare down so sometimes it is difficult.)  I learned to love an entirely new life and to understand the honor of the great responsibility of caring for a child.  It is awesome in every sense of the word.

Still, he was gone for ten days.  I missed him greatly.  But, the freedom set in. Read the rest of this entry »