the last burnt sienna crayon

Who am I?

You tell me, because I’m not sure anymore.

I’ve tried to collect together all of the things which I’ve known myself by over the years, but it just doesn’t seem to make a coherent whole. It doesn’t make any sense. And then I try to collect together all of the things that have influenced or even directly caused those things which I have known myself by and I realise that for a large percentage of my life, I have come up with some excuse or other for “not being myself today/this week/month/year/decade/etc”. And if percentage wise I’m spending more time making excuses than actually ‘being myself’, then how can I really claim that the me that I am less of the time is the ‘real’ me?

For a large percentage of the time, I have always felt that my life has taken ‘time outs’ and I, the ‘real me’, was just sitting in waiting for whatever influencing factor that was masking me to go away, or for me to finally achieve the back to the real me’ state.

But I must have been mistaken. Because the mask never comes off. It only seems to change. It changes from day to day and year by year. And saying that makes it sound like it really must just be that ‘changing thing’ that we’re all supposed to do as we go through life anyway, but for some reason it doesn’t quite feel like that. It doesn’t quite feel authentic. It doesn’t feel like a natural evolution.

My striving has always been to be my most authentic and honest self, like some mythical, unblemished, Platonic Form or something, to all and particularly to me. However, whereas I used to think I knew who or what that authentic Form was and what she liked and how she thought and how she acted, I’m just not so sure anymore. When do the blemishes become no longer something to sweep away and make excuse for, but become the thing itself? What if all my blemishes aren’t something added to cover up me, but are actually now me?

If you start with a table and break off one of it’s legs, you can probably fix it back on, with the right glue and nails. No harm done in the end, it’s still a table. But once you start to take a chisel to the table and gouge out some big gaping holes, it starts to become something a bit different. And you no longer wait for it to be fixed back to its ideal state, you have to accept that it is now either a sculpture or junk, and not useful as a table any longer.

And lately I’m starting to feel a bit like that chiseled table, starting to accept that there is no ideal Form for me to become anymore. And I’m wondering how much I get to control what the finished sculpture of me will look like. Or do I simply call it junk, throw it all out and start from scratch? But if that were the case, what do I do with all the stuff left over, from everything that has gone before, the thought patterns, the beliefs, the dis/likes, the behaviours?

I think in the end I just have to keep chiseling. But without my Platonic Form to model myself after, how do I know what my eventual goal is anymore?

I’ve had a rough afternoon. I’m not going to shout about it here, in fact, I am learning more and more that, especially in regards to issues like these, where I must stand alone in my opinions, but find a way to stand up for them all the same. It is best not to say anything at all. I know it just invites invalidation. But, once again, my definition of what is right, doesn’t match everyone else’s. But I still think it’s right.

I’ve had a rough afternoon, and the love I feel for my daughter has almost never been stronger than it has been recently and my wanting the best for her has almost never been stronger, and my fighting spirit, like that Momma bear protecting her cub, has almost never been stronger. It’s just hard when a mum defines ‘the best’ differently to how everybody else does, when they simply can’t see what I’m talking about.

But then I’ve felt a bit lately like someone who has been trying to cope having lost one of their senses that they usually rely on. I’ve felt a bit lately like I’m not ‘clicking’ with other people quite right. I’ve felt like I’ve lost my social awareness. I’ve felt a bit like an alien again.

I’ve had a rough afternoon, and all I can think of is this song. And reading it, I am crying again. And I haven’t actually done that in awhile now. Until today.

Flowers are Red
by Harry Chapin

The little boy went first day of school
He got some crayons and started to draw
He put colors all over the paper
For colors was what he saw
And the teacher said.. What you doin’ young man
I’m paintin’ flowers he said
She said… It’s not the time for art young man
And anyway flowers are green and red
There’s a time for everything young man
And a way it should be done
You’ve got to show concern for everyone else
For you’re not the only one

And she said…
Flowers are red young man
And green leaves are green
There’s no need to see flowers any other way
Than they way they always have been seen

But the little boy said…
There are so many colors in the rainbow
So many colors in the morning sun
So many colors in the flower and I see every one

Well the teacher said.. You’re sassy
There’s ways that things should be
And you’ll paint flowers the way they are
So repeat after me…..

And she said…
Flowers are red young man
And green leaves are green
There’s no need to see flowers any other way
Than they way they always have been seen

But the little boy said…
There are so many colors in the rainbow
So many colors in the morning sun
So many colors in the flower and I see every one

The teacher put him in a corner
She said.. It’s for your own good..
And you won’t come out ’til you get it right
And are responding like you should
Well finally he got lonely
Frightened thoughts filled his head
And he went up to the teacher
And this is what he said.. and he said

Flowers are red, green leaves are green
There’s no need to see flowers any other way
Than the way they always have been seen

Time went by like it always does
And they moved to another town
And the little boy went to another school
And this is what he found
The teacher there was smilin’
She said…Painting should be fun
And there are so many colors in a flower
So let’s use every one

But that little boy painted flowers
In neat rows of green and red
And when the teacher asked him why
This is what he said.. and he said

Flowers are red, and green leaves are green
There’s no need to see flowers any other way
Than the way they always have been seen.

… but tonight at dinner, the Flower Child picked up a piece of watercress, twirled it around and said, “oh look! it’s like a tree! it’s a plant! you can eat it!”

three distinct concepts, restated in different ways (like a tree, a plant, can eat it) but linked together to describe one object, including a similie to aid thorough and varied description.

I was amazed. C’mon, humour me.

I received something in the post yesterday, I assume from either the health visitor or the docotr’s office that said “Congratulations, your child is 3! Now that your child is 3, she should be able to:…” and then listed all manner of developmental things like kicking a ball and standing on one foot etc, many of which the Flower Child can do.

However, I don’t know of any parents who actually appriciate these kind of mailings, as it always points out those things that are ‘different’ to the ‘norm’ in your child, and makes you as a parent feel that perhaps you have not encouraged all aspects of your child’s development well enough. ah, underachievement in the child, failure as a parent! (of course in all rationality, we know this isn’t so, but…)

As I tried to remember if I had ever seen Flower walk on her tiptoes, and decided that she may have some trouble achieving this, along with a few other milestones on the list, I said to myself and to the piece of paper:

“Yes, but my 3 year old can correctly aurally identify and name the difference between flute, guitar, trumpet, drums, violin and piano when heard in a given piece of classical music. Bet yours can’t. HA, so there!!”

Now we just have to work on Sonata composition, and we could have a budding Mozart.

Reverse psychology actually works on my three year old!!

The insights into baseline human nature that looking after a toddler gives is not only frustrating, but frightening. The natural instict towards opposition and rebellion is truly one I’ve never understood. But suddenly when she thought she was doing something I didn’t want her too (“Flower, DON’T eat your toast!”), she did exactly what I wanted her to. . . but only so long as it was the very thing that she actually wanted to do, but didn’t want to do it if I wanted her to do it!

Sometimes I just feel like, why did I struggle all those years to get through my own childhood/adolescence to become a fully mentally and socially functioning grown up, only to turn and walk straight back into the midst of the irrationality of the phase I worked so hard to leave.?! Do I have to wait another 20 years to find sanity, only to find I’m too late to do anything with it?

I think I need some grown up company.

When I was little, I used to feel, as you did too probably, that my parents misunderstood me a lot. When I would do something and get in trouble for it, I would often be bemused and perplexed. How could they have misunderstood what I was trying to do?

My daughter’s look of absolute shock and confusion when I told her off the other day for drawing on her wall, reminded me all too well that, like me, she was probably innocent of any willful wrongdoing, and I felt chastised in not understanding her.

When I was a teenager, I used to feel, as you did too probably, that everybody misunderstood me a lot. I was figuring out that I was this person with all these thoughts and opinions and hopes, feelings and aspirations. But I was often perplexed at the fact that other people, friends, family, teachers, audition panels, universities, employers, didn’t ‘get it’. How could they have misunderstood what I was trying to do with my life?

When I’d stay out all hours of the night, when I’d get into trouble with my father at three a.m. for being out with my friends, the accusation was that I must be doing something wrong. Taking drugs, drinking, being reckless. When really, all I ever did was talk, try to find a place for me. The accusations hurt. Didn’t they know that I wasn’t as bad as all that?

Now that I am older, I often worry, as I have no idea if you ever do, that I have been misunderstood, misinterpreted, mistaken. Things that to other people might be water off a duck’s back, to me plague and unsettle me, still believing people think wrongly of me. I remember how often I felt wrongly accused as a child and even more as a teenager and react in fear that it has happened once again, that once again, it has only been a ‘misunderstanding’. The fear of accusation sometimes withers me.

I have learned that I am ‘different’, and I do/think/behave/mean differently to the people/culture around me. Often being ‘different’ leads to my expectation that others will misinterpret me, and getting into trouble, when, at least I believe, that my intentions have only ever been the best.

We don’t have a large back garden. It’s overgrown, a bog and a mess. It could be worse, but I’m not all that happy for Flower to play there, as there are some very toddler unfriendly bits. But the two parks accross the street may keep me living in this tiny Victorian servants’ house longer than is practical. We often refer to the parks as “our grounds”.

“Would you like to come for a walk around our grounds with me?”

One park has a large duck pond, a playground and an open ground where kids play ball and students have picnics. The other park has botanical gardens, tree covered paths and large open green fields.

I really love these parks. I feel like they’re an extention to my home. It helps that I can practically step out of my front door directly into either of them. It is a wonderful place for Flower to run and play and explore and they are all neatly landscaped, manicured and kept up for me by the pleasure of the city council.

For the past year and a half the Flower Child and I have ventured out together almost every dry day, to the duck pond, or the gardens, or the ’squirrel walk’. I love the hidden wisteria tree and she loves the hidden paths. This year we have cygnets. At the appropriate times of year she loves to pick daisies and buttercups, or collect pine cones, or chase dry leaves and splash in puddles. She’s a good walker for not even quite being 3 yet.

Currently, a month before her third birthday, she is suddenly becomming more aware of the world around her. Today she was impressed with the ‘big treees’ and said ‘look up! there’s hundreds.’ A couple of weeks ago she discovered her shadow. We had pointed out and explained shadows before, but she actually noticed it for the first time a few weeks ago. Now she is very much attached. she looks back when her shadow is following along behind her on a sunny day and says ‘c’mon shadow!’

and when the sun goes behind a cloud or we walk under a tree she says, worried, ‘where’s shadow gooone?!” So I explain that when we walk in the shade under a tree, shadow goes to meet us in the sunshine on the other side. today as we stepped under a tree into the shade she leaned toward the path, made a kissing sound and said “bye, shadow. see ya LA-ter!” (i wish i could type the vocal intonation.)

it’s very cute.

the first 3-5 years of our lives are the most important for a child’s development. this is the time when our brains and bodies go through the most dramatic changes (the teenage years being the other developmental hotbed of activity). these early years are when patterns are formed in our brains that hardwire (a word i find i use quite a bit recently) us to act in certain ways and expect the world to respond in certain manners.

i believe this is one reason why we are so territorial. i believe this is why we have comfort zones.

many years ago now, i left my comfort zone. there were many reasons, and there were many reasons why i never returned, at least never for good. and now i have a new comfort zone. but that hard wiring in my head, that was forged before i was three, living in another land, still expects things to happen and people to respond in a certain way. particularly the people. they just respond to me differently. and in turn i’m never sure how to interpret.

but when i left, i gave that up. things don’t happen here in my chosenland in that way. the chocolate tastes different here, and it’s good chocolate, but it’s not how i expect it to be.

it’s not the only chocolate. there’s no ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ way for it to taste, as so many people would have me believe.

and i’m starting to relearn that, and have the occasional bar of ‘the other kind’. and that’s ok.

(incidentally, that’s a metaphor.)

well, i’ve been back in the homeland for nearly two weeks now. it has been the most overwhelming trip, and i will need some time alone before i can attempt to think about or describe it. i will return to the chosen land in just a couple days now, and it will be interesting to see what ‘changes’ (in how many ways) may come about because of my time here.

memory can be difficult to understand or explain, but let me tell you, it’s palpable to experience.

things i wish my daughter wouldn’t say:

– NO mummy
– no mummy today (usually acompanied by shoving me away)
– no [whatever it is i want her to do] today
– it’s MINE
– i WON (usually coming after declaring NO to something or a tantrum)
– daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy [with adoring worshipful gaze towards him usually said after declaring 'no mummy today' with a shove]

things i love when my daughter says:

– pick – YOU – UP [with arms upstretched] (this is most often a declaration of her feeling a bit vulnerable and wanting reassurance that i’m there for her)
– i did it!
– mummy mummy mummy mummy (this always comes in conjunction with the ‘daddy daddy’ phrase, but whereas the daddy daddy phrase mostly stands alone as a declaration of preferance and as such is unwelcome, the two parental phrases combined are a welcome occasional acknowledgement that the three of us make a whole. . . it doesn’t happen often, but i love it when it’s there)

and most of all:

– luff you. (i don’t think she quite understands what it means yet, but she’ll only ever say it in response to me if she’s in a happy mood, so i think she’s getting the idea that whatever ‘luff’ is, is a good thing.)

the clear and sunny but frosty weather of new year’s eve has given way to a darker and cloudier yet still frosty new year’s day. that’s ok though. i’m in front of the open flame gas fire watching my monthly direct debit drift hypnotically up the chimney in a blaze of orange and blue. i’m warm and content sitting here with a cup of tea, a shortbread biscuit and my red slippers, catching occasional waftings of the scent of the new year’s day pork and saurkraut from the kitchen, an old pennsylvania dutch tradition for new year’s good luck that my family have followed for as long as i can remember. i don’t recall anyone particularly liking saurkraut, it was just what you did. and now the pungent, biting smell has become pleasant to me in recalling the years past when my family stretched back further and wider than a decade or a tiny island.

the flower child seems to be going through another developmental spurt. one of those vague changes of language, thought and ability that one can’t quite quantify or put a finger on. i like when she has weeks like that, where i watch her grow up right under my nose. she seemed to even like me this morning, wanting me to be with her and asking me on multiple occasions to “mummy play”, which is a real development in our relationship and one that i pray is an indication of future growth there too. so after crashing her cars, and making pretend snowballs she went down for a nap this afternoon, and now, as predicted i am not welcome to be in her presence again. nevermind. i’ll wait. oh, here she is. maybe she’d like to catch a few snowballs?

i know that 2009 will be an improvement on 2008. who knows i may even sort myself, my career and my family out by 2010?

i’ve always been told about that time when your child begins to exhibit learning that you did not give them. Flower turned 2 last week, and sometimes talks a lot, and sometimes doesn’t. the times when she doesn’t tend to make you forget that even though she’s not letting you know what she’s learning, she’s still learning it.

one example this morning was as i was doing her hair, i put something in her hair that i have always called a ‘clip’. when i brushed back her fringe and clipped the clip she responded by happily naming ‘grip’. this was interesting to me, not so much that she couldn’t have learned the naming of things anywhere other than me, but more that the most likely place for her to have learned what to call the things in her hair was her carer for the first 18 months of her life before she came to us. the eye opening thing for me was that words she hasn’t encountered for about 6 or 7 months. are still in there someplace, and occasionally come out.

the other amusing comment from her this morning was as she was playing with her farm, she ran the tractor into the sheep and knocked it over. husband said ‘oh poor sheep. is sheep ok?’ Flower answers back very matter of factly ’s’died.’

now does she actually have a concept of death at 2? and where did she get it? she doesn’t interact much with other children yet (either at playgroup or at a friend’s house) and when she does, that play involves more play kitchens, leggo and play dough than imaginary scenarios of battles or death. i haven’t even really told her any fairy tales (her story preferences are usually with sam-i-am, clara cow, igglepiggle and postman pat. no death in any of those.)

in terms of tele, she only ever watches cbeebies (other than an occasional ready steady cook when i remember that my viewing preferences can occasionally, once in a blue moon count a wee little bit too) since she’s been with us. so again, is this a word she gained before becoming our daughter? there was an awful lot of grown up tele in her last household, so quite possibly. i can’t believe that at 2 she actually as a concept of death, so it must be that she saw someone get knocked over, fall down with someone else saying ‘he’s died’.

but it does all remind me that i can never be the ‘be-all-and-end-all’ for her, no matter how much i’d like to be.

Flower’s favourite character is Makka Pakka (and therefore he is ours too, i suppose). The other day she was looking out my window at the street below and started to excitedly say ‘og pog! og pog!’.

i looked and looked for what she was seeing. then i realised that there was a guy walking up the pavement, walking next to his bike, pushing it.

lol

just have to blog this one before i get on with things today and completely forget she did it. Flower was sitting on my bed as i checked email this morning. she leaned back on the pillows and said “HAT”. i turned around to see her smiling at me because a cushion fell on top of her head and stayed there.

i suppose this is more amusing for me, well, 1. because she’s my daughter (everything your own little one does is more amusing to you than anyone else) and 2. because she has become completely obsessed with hats lately, though we didn’t know that anything sitting on her head could work for her and 3. it indicates the development of her understanding of what makes a joke!

we always knew she was a little girl who’s into accessories (shoes, hats, glasses, watches, etc…). she’s a girl after her mummy’s style conscious little heart (well, i can at least TRY to be a “yummy mummy”), and we anticipate that she will someday also grow to be after her daddy’s credit card as well!

oh, another word for you: the word for “sunglasses” is “eyes”. but “eyes” said with such a particular Flower expression in her voice and on her face that it takes on a whole new meaning!

so yes, as tj said below, “they grow up too fast. Write down Flower’s funny sayings now before she grows out of them!”

so far, in losing “baby words” for more accurate ones:

– “Gakka” (her cuddly toy Makka Pakka [ok, i admit the name itself is silly, but we like him!] who she is completely emotionally attached to and takes to bed. He’s complete with battle scars and blood stains from when she fell down the stairs on Monday and saw her through 3 hours in the casualty department!! he needs a wash… anyway, i digress again…) has now become “Makka”,
– “gee-ku” has become a very grown up “thanks”
– “ray-see” has become “raisins”
– “see-caa” became “scat” and has now become “BIS-cat”
– after seeming to not know the word for ages, she finally knows and says properly “pig” and “oink”, though she’s not as obsessed with cows as she used to be.

yes, i have been writing them down.

Heathcliff (our cat) is still “okra”! (we never did figure out the linguistic derivation of that one!)

ee declared to me the other day that “i miss ‘gee-ku’. this language development thing is overrated!” it’s funny how you get attached to the individual words/sounds themselves as standing for a particular time as she grows up. every parent feels like they have this amazing developmental time for such a short while that it’s understandable why parents want to hold on to the “baby” words just a little bit longer. especially when you know that no matter what, yes, she’s going to grow up and speak properly someday. we’ve only had her baby language for such a short time anyway. no one could blame us for wanting to enjoy this time just a little longer before it’s gone.

because it will be gone.

though, after granny’s concerted effort and brief success at trying to get Flower to take the “s” off the end of “sheep” that she puts there (even for the singular) we are happy to report that there are “sheeps” in this household once again!!

ok, ok. i know that i’ve completley neglected my responsibility to answer the question that i previously posed to you. in fact i get people asking me all the time for the answer. (and that’s over cups of tea or bbq’s not just internet bound. you know you’ve been neglecting your blog when people you see everyday in the place we satirically refer to as “RL”.

["RL"="real life" for those who have never been addicted to internet role play or have never heard someone actually say "oh, i was talking to brad the other day and this GNOME walked by and gave me a love potion!! but then i went to the cafe and met up with steve {i mean in RL}." and yes, i used to know a girl many years ago who frequently said things like that {and NO, it WASN'T ME!!}. which was a bit destabilising, especially when you had no idea who brad or steve were! she didn't mention RL that much though... funny, that, hmm....] anyway, i digress…)

ok, so “tid-da-low”. none of the guesses were even close. but then, that’s not surprising, considering that it was an “armadillo”! no really, it was. she had a book (sadly, sadly lost now.) that was a story of a zoo keeper saying goodnight to all his animals who then let themselves out of the zoo and follow him home to go to sleep in his bedroom. it was a lovely story. so i had heard her saying tiddaolow tiddalow tiddalow for a few days and couldn’t work it out, until i told her the story again and pointed to the different animals and said ‘can you say giraffe?’ and she’d answer ‘jaf.’ ‘can you say lion?’ ‘lion’ ‘can you say armadillo? (i only asked for a laugh to see what she’d do, not thinking she’d really respond) ‘tiddalow.’ so i tried again ‘armadillo, Flower, what’s an armadillo? ‘tiddalow!’

it seems so long ago now. her language has moved on SO much that we’ll probably not hear that word again, now that she could probably say ‘armadillo’ itself!

well, and as we can’t find the book anymore, and we generally don’t have much call to talk about armadillos in everyday conversation, really.

i never realised how much fun language acquisition, translation and the whole guessing game that is communication with a 21 month old would be. she tends to have a favourite word of the day. it’s great listening to her obsess about ‘cow, cow, cow, cow. . . cow. cooooowwwwww. COW!” or sometimes ” cat, cat, cat etc…” These types of exchanges usually happen while having a quiet moment looking out of her window together.

Flower Child: “cat, cat, cat, cat, cat, cat, cat.”
me: “do you see a cat, Flower? I don’t see a cat. But do you see one>”
Flower Child: “no cat. bur -tee!”
me: “do you see a birdie, Flower?”
Flower Child: “no bur-tee.”

and so on.

but i particularly love when i work out what a random syllable means. particularly when said random syllable has been confusing us to it’s meaning and frustrating Flower at our incomprehension. Words that have happened in this charades like way have included “shh!” (for “fish”), “raysee” (sometimes with a trilled ‘r’…means raisins), “scat” (for buscuit/cookie), and the imfamous “DO NOT DO NOT DO NOT” or sometimes said as “TO NO NOT TO NO NOT TO NO NO NOT” or even sometimes “TO YO YOT” (this obviously was never an emphatic instruction not to do something, but it took us awhile to figure out it was her way of saying “i want”. “To yo yot” was actually the syllable combination that helped the most, because it was close to what we would say to her when asking “do you want (fill in the blank, whatever)?”

Yesterday’s word was “skwee”. Can you guess what it means? You’ll never guess. Wait for it. . .

. . . hold on, don’t rush me

. . . it’s too good

. . . really, it is

play dough! skwee is play dough!

i think it comes from when i introduced her to play dough a couple of weeks ago, i handed her a blob and told her to “squeeze it”. so after buying some new colours yesterday (yes, yes, i know one can save money by being a super mum and making it, but believe me, the energy and time and frustration it would save me in buying it, is worth the 3 pounds! i’d love to be a super mum, but i simply haven’t got my cape yet.) we spent the afternoon squeezing the skwee. Today’s word of the day has been “skwee, skwee, skwee, skwee, skwee.”

also included in our linguistic adventures are words that mean something they don’t really. Early on in our time with Flower she’d say “chaairr” and obviously want something that wasn’t a chair. Worked out that it meant she was hungry (because of her booster seat at the table). Although this translation is a fluid one, as she’s almost as obsessed with chairs and different chairs and seating furniture as she is almost with cows. so sometimes “chaairr” really does mean, well, chair.

ok, here’s one for you to guess. what is (and no spilling the beans if i’ve told you this already!):

ti-dah-low (hint, it’s an animal)