I had a difficult, up and down day today. I’m up in Napa helping out Ilona and Tenzin. Ilona’s sick–not sure with what yet, but she walks like a little old lady–kind of bent over to the side. Tenzin is understandably freaked out. We had a good birthday yesterday–it all ended in tears, but that seems about par for the course with the bdays at that age–the sugar overload and crash didn’t help any.
Today we dropped Tenzin at a friend’s, and tried to get some things done. Tenzin’s room has been a disaster. The house is quite large, even by California standards, 3 bedrooms, but chaotic. Ilona leans towards the precious and the cute–everything is in little baskets and on little shelves, and arranged in lovely displays, which is all good except no one can find anything, and nothing ever gets put away and there are a million cute little baskets everywhere and it just feels like a big mess. And Tenzin never wants to sleep in his room.
I wanted to give Tenzin the gift of a space that was really his–a space where he could find his things, where he could put them back easily, where he could find his way to the bathroom without tripping. Ilona makes every day special for him, she’s a great mother, but sometimes it seems like it’s more work than it needs to be, that he can’t do for himself, and that he doesn’t get to be the 5 year old boy that he is.
Of course I’m aware that my impulses are suspect. I want more than anything to be making a home and family. I’m a broody nester.
I want to be doing what I am doing for Tenzin for a child of my own. And I want to be taken care of the way that I take care of others. I get frustrated with Ilona when she doesn’t ask for help, (and of course I have the same difficulty, so it totally works my nerves). I can’t do everything, so I need to know what I should be doing. Otherwise I just do and do and then find out that what I’ve been doing is just not worth doing. I’m not much good at comforting, I’m better at making sure there’s food and tea.
So anyway, we got a bunch of functional baskets–straight sides, that fit on the shelves, and that helped. But I couldn’t put up the hooks or the curtain tie backs because Ilona doesn’t have any real tools. I, of course, have plenty of tools (or rather had), because I have always done for myself. And for a while I would always be doing some sort of “home” improvement–until I realized that the main problem was that I was living in a studio in Brooklyn, and I stopped, literally in the middle of painting the bathroom. Alison tells me that she had it painted all white, which was probably smart.
I got really irritated at the lack of tools. It made me feel useless. And then again, jealous, because it might be nice not to need tools, to be able to have others do for me. I can drill, but it’s not really my strong point.
The state of the fridge was also making me crazy. I made stew last night, and couldn’t put away the leftovers, so this AM I started organizing the fridge. Throwing out yuckies, combining things that needed combining, removing non-fridge needing things from the fridge. Cleared out space. And after I put in the stewpot, I made some muffins. Magic muffins. Named such after the Magic Soup that I used to make with Lys and Dan–we would just add things that seemed good, cooking and adjusting and usually it came out magically good. Usually.
The muffins came out great. Two batches–sweet and savory. I had to look in a cookbook to find out the proportion of floury stuff to baking soda and liquid, but otherwise it was completely based on what seemed good and what needed to be used up in the fridge. Grape jelly. Almond slivers. Dates. Flax powder. Quinoa flour. Applesauce. Etc. So good. The savory ones were even better I think, with fresh corn and grated cheese. Plus a dash of hot sauce. And no grape jelly. I haven’t done anything like that in years. I’m a good hippie cook.
So the reward of the day was that after I spend a couple of hours arranging and sweeping Tenzin came home, took one look and announced that he had to sleep there tonight. He’s having his story right now, and if all goes well he’ll sleep through the night in his very own bed. I’ve been making up a series of stories about a little boy and his dog, and if he wakes up in his own bed I’ve promised him another edition. I’m thinking about a spirit journey chapter. Since it was his birthday and all.
I’ve also been thinking about how grown up I was at his age. Probably way too grown up. I could read already, and if there was story time I was doing the reading out loud. And I did my own laundry–following the picture of how the dials should be.
The balance between childhood and independence is tricky.
And then, of course, I’m always aware of my impending birthday. I think I might have to do some sort of spirit journey of my own. Hot springs? I had hoped for some huge romantic gesture but it looks like I’m drawing a blank. My birthdays of late have been so arid, maybe it won’t be bad just to be on my own. Except that it is the very last thing that I want to be.