Sunday, February 22, 2004
My brother and his little family moved to Vashon yesterday. As I think I've mentioned, my brother is dear to me. His wife has become a dear friend as well. She's grounded, sane, involved with the world, and the most compassionate veterinarian I know without being sappy. And my nephew? Well, he's really the love of my life. I've always loved my brother, from the moment he was born. So seeing his son, at first, just reminded me of my brother. But now, Elliott is just himself. And it's a profound experience, loving him. Because he doesn't have to do anything for me to love him. When he cries or pulls my hair (and this rare, because he's an even-tempered baby), I still love him. He doesn't have to smile or do cute tricks for me to love being with him. Instead, he just is. And when I'm with him, I just am as well. So this week, Andy and Dana spent their time outside of work packing up their house. Obviously, this is hard to do with a small baby, so they called on me. I was over at their Seattle house every day this week, almost. And I held the boy, and walked him around the yard, showing him how to pat tree bark and listen to birds and watch cars go by. He grows so excited with everything that it re-animates me to how beautiful the world is. And when a car comes rumbling up the hill, I quiver too, because I know I can point it out to him soon.
On Wednesday, after I had the miserable morning of trying to write evaluations, I went over to be with him. And he said my name for the first time. He says "DAT!" to everything, which means "What is that?" Early in the afternoon, he pushed his hands against my chest, and said, "Dat?" and I said, "Shauna." Then he put his head on my chest and nuzzled in. Later, he pushed on my chest again, but this time, said, "Na-na. Na-na." Then put his head on my chest for a hug. Well, that quickly blew away any problems I thought I had.
So yesterday, Dana and I went over to Vashon on an early morning boat, settled Elliott in their new house, and then she left for work. He was slightly anxious, but it was easy to distract him with my blue necklace or a copy of Rolie Polie Olie or walking outside to look at the pasture outside their door. I was there for several hours with him alone, the sun parting through the clouds and throwing sun spangles on their new wooden floor. Later, my parents showed up, and we all played. And then I drove around the island visiting friends.
When I first became a teacher, I taught at the high school on Vashon. I love that place. It's one of my sacred spaces in the world. The five years I spent there were deeply connected with people and nature, and me starting to learn who I was in the world. That island was my shelter. Later, I outgrew it, for a time, then moved to NYC. (One island to another, about the same size, one 9000 people and the other countless millions.) But I've always known I'll move back to Vashon someday. In some ways, I wasn't ready for it then. But whenever I go back, I feel connected again. Former students bag my groceries. I see my former principal in the grocery store, buying soup, and we catch up in a few moments. And one drive down the main highway, the green trees blurring past my vision, the entire sky open, and I feel like I'm home.
So having Andy and Dana move there makes me happy. Beyond happy. They were ten minutes from me in Seattle, and I'll hate having them away. But it's just another excuse to visit the island.
My sister-in-law had to work all day yesterday, so my brother organized the move by himself. Every night for weeks, he'd been coming home from a long day at school, playing with their baby for awhile (usually singing to him or telling him the words for the myriads of objects surrounding him), sitting down to dinner, then packing boxes. She'd work alongside him. They traded off who made dinner. They joked every night.
Yesterday, he and three friends moved most of their house. Normally, I would have been heaving boxes with them, because I'm like that, you know? If it's the people I love, I'll do anything to make life easier. But, I've been hampered by a car accident and I can't lift boxes. So I babysat the nephew all day long instead. (Oh, there's a tough job.) My brother drove the big truck, lifted the couch, and maintained his sense of humor and good grace through it all.
In the late afternoon, he took a nap with the baby on his chest.
Later, he woke up and started unpacking boxes. I looked up from playing with Elliott and said, "Sit down. You deserve a rest."
"Nope," he said, unpacking silverware. "I want to impress my chick." (note the ironic word choice)
I laughed. "I think you've already done that, amply."
"I can never do that enough," he said, still working.
This moved me deeply. I hope I'm lucky enough someday to be married to someone like my brother, but someone who's not my brother.
But it turns out that taking care of an 11-month-old all day (lifting, kissing, carrying, spinning, dancing, and slinging him on my hip) wasn't the best idea for my back, neck and shoulders. I came home with a terrible, pounding migraine last night. Took two Vicodin and crawled into bed at 8:30. And this morning, I felt woozy and discouraged until about noon. This is a long road, still.
Luckily, there will be healing, eventually. There already has been. The doctor says that I should be free of pain in two months. My physical therapist says that my patience is astounding. She also says that my neck muscles are starting to soften. I'm going to try intensive massage, acupuncture, walking in the pool. Anything I can to make this dissipate.
This afternoon, I was at Macrina, talking to Jesse, who runs the place. She asked me how I was doing, noting the purple splint on my left wrist (for the tendonitis that has flared up and still makes typing this difficult). I told her that it seems to be about four days of doing better, then two days of going backward. And she said, "A friend of mine has chronic fatigue syndrome, and she says, 'I can do everything I want, but I just can't do it too many days in a row.'" That sounds about right to me.
So that's why I haven't written before this. I just returned home from more time with Elliott, looking at daffodils in the dusky light and playing peek-a-boo with paper plates. School starts again tomorrow. I can't say I'm thrilled, but it will kick in during the middle of the day. I do love that place. I just want to sleep in. That's why I have to go to bed early tonight, to make sure I'm ready.
But it doesn't take much to be ready. Just being here is enough.
On Wednesday, after I had the miserable morning of trying to write evaluations, I went over to be with him. And he said my name for the first time. He says "DAT!" to everything, which means "What is that?" Early in the afternoon, he pushed his hands against my chest, and said, "Dat?" and I said, "Shauna." Then he put his head on my chest and nuzzled in. Later, he pushed on my chest again, but this time, said, "Na-na. Na-na." Then put his head on my chest for a hug. Well, that quickly blew away any problems I thought I had.
So yesterday, Dana and I went over to Vashon on an early morning boat, settled Elliott in their new house, and then she left for work. He was slightly anxious, but it was easy to distract him with my blue necklace or a copy of Rolie Polie Olie or walking outside to look at the pasture outside their door. I was there for several hours with him alone, the sun parting through the clouds and throwing sun spangles on their new wooden floor. Later, my parents showed up, and we all played. And then I drove around the island visiting friends.
When I first became a teacher, I taught at the high school on Vashon. I love that place. It's one of my sacred spaces in the world. The five years I spent there were deeply connected with people and nature, and me starting to learn who I was in the world. That island was my shelter. Later, I outgrew it, for a time, then moved to NYC. (One island to another, about the same size, one 9000 people and the other countless millions.) But I've always known I'll move back to Vashon someday. In some ways, I wasn't ready for it then. But whenever I go back, I feel connected again. Former students bag my groceries. I see my former principal in the grocery store, buying soup, and we catch up in a few moments. And one drive down the main highway, the green trees blurring past my vision, the entire sky open, and I feel like I'm home.
So having Andy and Dana move there makes me happy. Beyond happy. They were ten minutes from me in Seattle, and I'll hate having them away. But it's just another excuse to visit the island.
My sister-in-law had to work all day yesterday, so my brother organized the move by himself. Every night for weeks, he'd been coming home from a long day at school, playing with their baby for awhile (usually singing to him or telling him the words for the myriads of objects surrounding him), sitting down to dinner, then packing boxes. She'd work alongside him. They traded off who made dinner. They joked every night.
Yesterday, he and three friends moved most of their house. Normally, I would have been heaving boxes with them, because I'm like that, you know? If it's the people I love, I'll do anything to make life easier. But, I've been hampered by a car accident and I can't lift boxes. So I babysat the nephew all day long instead. (Oh, there's a tough job.) My brother drove the big truck, lifted the couch, and maintained his sense of humor and good grace through it all.
In the late afternoon, he took a nap with the baby on his chest.
Later, he woke up and started unpacking boxes. I looked up from playing with Elliott and said, "Sit down. You deserve a rest."
"Nope," he said, unpacking silverware. "I want to impress my chick." (note the ironic word choice)
I laughed. "I think you've already done that, amply."
"I can never do that enough," he said, still working.
This moved me deeply. I hope I'm lucky enough someday to be married to someone like my brother, but someone who's not my brother.
But it turns out that taking care of an 11-month-old all day (lifting, kissing, carrying, spinning, dancing, and slinging him on my hip) wasn't the best idea for my back, neck and shoulders. I came home with a terrible, pounding migraine last night. Took two Vicodin and crawled into bed at 8:30. And this morning, I felt woozy and discouraged until about noon. This is a long road, still.
Luckily, there will be healing, eventually. There already has been. The doctor says that I should be free of pain in two months. My physical therapist says that my patience is astounding. She also says that my neck muscles are starting to soften. I'm going to try intensive massage, acupuncture, walking in the pool. Anything I can to make this dissipate.
This afternoon, I was at Macrina, talking to Jesse, who runs the place. She asked me how I was doing, noting the purple splint on my left wrist (for the tendonitis that has flared up and still makes typing this difficult). I told her that it seems to be about four days of doing better, then two days of going backward. And she said, "A friend of mine has chronic fatigue syndrome, and she says, 'I can do everything I want, but I just can't do it too many days in a row.'" That sounds about right to me.
So that's why I haven't written before this. I just returned home from more time with Elliott, looking at daffodils in the dusky light and playing peek-a-boo with paper plates. School starts again tomorrow. I can't say I'm thrilled, but it will kick in during the middle of the day. I do love that place. I just want to sleep in. That's why I have to go to bed early tonight, to make sure I'm ready.
But it doesn't take much to be ready. Just being here is enough.
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