I want to write....I don't want to write

Hello, my name is Amanda and it's been 9 days since my last blog post....

As is always the case, this lapse in blogging has been brought about, again, by an over-full week in our lives and the lives of those we love.  A week brimming over with fine weather  and beach days, hectic evenings and stress at work, sad news and happy memories, so many moments crowding together to be enjoyed and mourned and processed that there have been no moments left to write them down.

No, that's not true.  There are always some moments.  But I haven't chosen to use them to write.

I want to write about it all.

I don't want to write about a lot of it.

The view from the porch.  Apologies for the screen. 

We are here at the Lake for the weekend, the sun glinting off the Cayuga waters and the tiniest breeze wafting in to the porch where my children color and paint, Nat reading in the rocking chair next to them, my dog at my feet.  It is easy to just be here and bask in this charmed life of mine, letting it all wash over me.  I don't want to let the last week just slip away but I don't want to even try a play-by-play recounting.  So, then, a free write.  An old exercise from my writing workshop days:  I want to write about..../ I don't want to write about....

I'm just going to set the timer and say "go", ok?

I want to write about how much I love this lake, this day, being here at the cottage.  The smell of the water, the feel of the canoe gliding through the cove, the wet happy dog and the free roaming children. The ease of life in our tiny home-away, where the act of doing dishes is almost a joy, where our possessions are pared down to just what we need and we find we need even less than that.

I want to write about my enduring desire to make this my life every day, my obsessive searching on Zillow for lakefront properties-- here or on Erie. I've found a few little places listed recently, nothing grand, all in need of repairs, not in great neighborhoods.  But-- Lakefront!  My heart is telling me, insistently, that it wants to wake up every day to the waves. that my life would somehow, impossibly, align itself to my dreams and aspirations. That real life could, in fact, copy our vacations if we just were near the water.  That we could, in fact, downsize and actually be happy with it.  That it makes no sense to wait.

I don't want to write about the nagging discontent I find myself struggling with as, one by one, friends and acquaintances move out of the Heights, fleeing to the suburbs in search better schools and a little less diversity.  I don't want to write about how this makes me feel angry at these perfectly nice people that I like very much, because somehow their own personal decisions cast a negative light on my decision to stay.   Their leaving makes me wonder what they are running from and if I ought not to be more afraid too.  If I am wrong to like where I live, to trust our schools.  If I am making the wrong choice for my children.  If I am a bad mother and not very smart.  And suddenly my whole sense of self worth is eroded by the fact that some of my friends needed a bigger house.

I'd rather write about how I just want to move to the lake instead.

I want to write about the things I love in my neighborhood.  About how the kids are big enough now to ride ahead around the turns on their bikes when we walk our block.  About the sidewalk gardens and friendly neighbors and our perfect proximity to University Circle. I want to write about the fun of Jack's school carnival (the Boulevard Blast), an evening of seeing our neighborhood school really reflect our neighborhood, everyone coming together to dance and play games and stand in line for "hook a prize" in the evening sunshine.  I want to write about my great big kids who know just what to do at a fair and who brought home the most amazing collection of strange prizes, including but not limited to a ceramic pelican, a stuffed Eskimo doll, a giant white teddy bear with a birthday hat on, and a small brass turtle.

I don't want to write about where I am going to put all of these new, strange things.

I want to write about my first half-marathon!  A week ago today already!  So much anticipation, a 4 month long countdown to a goal.  I wasn't sure I'd be prepared as I'd failed to run anything longer than 8 miles over the preceding month-- but it went off without a hitch.  I not only finished, I beat my goal time by almost 7 minutes and I could even still walk a little when I got done.  My sister ran like a trouper, too, considering a recent injury that kept her from training in May.  I ran the last 10th with her when she finished and it was great to be together.  So proud of us!  I want to write about the fun of seeing random people out holding signs, cheering, ringing cowbells for us.  The best were the kids handing out water bottles, with the kids shooting water guns close behind.  The day was perfect but about 5 degrees warmer than I would have liked.  But what's a little sweat among friends?  I did it!

Before

During (can you see the tiny specks that are the runners across the lake?)

After!

I think it's a good thing I've already signed up for two more races in the fall because this race had a sense of finality to it: "I'm done, I met my goal, put the shoes away..."  Hoping I can keep up the motivation to train through the summer...

I want to write about the fleeting last days of school, how impossible it seems that another year is almost over.  It was a fine year, really.  It's nigh miraculous in special ed to have only one student you can't wait to see gone.  So I am thrilled to see my days with that one child dwindling away... but sad to see the days with the rest of this group going by so fast.   The academic calendar, with its high pressure race from holiday to holiday, certainly does nothing to slow the pace of life, I'll tell you that...

I don't want to write about how behind I feel this year, how swamped with paperwork I am.  How I haven't even started thinking about next year even though I am getting a huge and needy group of students heading up to me.  I don't want to write about all the cleaning and organizing and checking and planning that will await me when I get back from the DC trip next week.  I don't want to write about how the idea of the DC trip, those three days of constant time with M, one of my neediest students, exhausts me already.

I want to write about my son who finished first grade yesterday, his gap toothed smile and orneryness, his crazy wild energy and his sweet snuggles.  I want to write about my pride in him, for winning three awards and for reading two years ahead of grade level.  Nat and I say we don't care if our children are brilliant but wow, it's really nice to have him doing well at school.   I want to write about the swelling in my heart when I look at this tall boy, when I hug him close and revel in how well he is growing up.

I want to write about my daughter, who ate up every minute of preschool camp and can't wait for Pre-K next year and swim lessons next week.  I want to write about the wonderful smell of her hair and the impossible fact that not only is she done nursing, she hardly wants to snuggle anymore at night.  I want to write about her long long legs and ever expanding vocabulary, the fact that she is exploring basic math skills and leaping ahead into childhood every moment.  I want to write about the few words she still says in "Ivy-ese"-- "Whew! I am ZOSted! It's time for bed!"  "Let's use the noculars for seeing dem!" I want to write about her perfect smile.

I want to write about our new music room.  Two weeks ago we had no musical instruments in our living room and now (thanks to craigslist, the treelawn, and Nat's impulse buying habits) we have a piano, a drum set, and a ukulele.  I want to write about the cacophonous noises that emerge from our home several times each day and how happy they make me...A fine use of a room we weren't doing much with anyways...

I want to write about going straight from Medina to the lake last week, about discovering the Sunset Grille at Whiskey Island, about how that place makes you feel like you've got all the leisure time in the world.  An instant vacation over lunch.  I want to write about my fearless, warm-blooded children dashing into the cold Lake Erie waves, Jack battling the surf with a stick, Ivy hopping two-footed over the swells near shore.  I want to write about how tall they are getting, how able and strong.  How much, as Ivy puts it, they "Wuv ich other;" how Jack looks out for his sister, how she plants kisses on the top of his head.  I want to write about Saturday night, gathering with our friends, having a little campfire and grilling some burgers and letting the evening linger long past the kids bedtimes.  I want to write about the feeling that all was right with the world.

I want to write about our quiet Sunday, and a fun birthday party/carnival at our local park-- a joint celebration for 6 year old friends Ruthie and Rebecca.  Balloon clown and face painter and mini-donut truck and the Rocket Car-- oh my!  Happy Children abounding, eating chips and applying temporary tattoos and being radiantly lovely, ringing in June with all their splendor.  I want to write about our little village, all turned out to be together to celebrate the day.  I want to write about how much I love these "accidental friends" of ours, our Parent Center friends,  who have come into our lives through the proximity of our children's births and nothing more-- but who I am appreciating more every day.  I want to write about how beautiful I found all their faces, as they admired the children and chatted with each other-- all these people and their different backgrounds and values and strengths and needs, all enjoying one another's company.  It was a great party, indeed.

I want to write about just the joy seeing Rebecca at her 6th birthday party.  I want to write about the smile on her mother's face.

I don't want to write about how quiet Rebecca was that day.  Or about the undercurrent of anxiety and dread lurking beneath all of our smiles.  I don't want to write about learning, two days later, that new tumor growth had been confirmed, that the Meyer family's worst fears were realized.  I don't want to write about the fact that this little girl, her actual 6th birthday still a few days away, has only a few weeks left to live.

I don't want to write about it.

I don't want to think about it.

I want instead to blithely celebrate, to go to the beach and play with my children and look at the lake and dream of new houses and immerse myself in the busy minutae of my work.  Anything but think about this beautiful child who is going to die before she goes to first grade.

I don't want to write about the pain, the shattering, wrenching pain her family must be feeling.  Because I have no idea.  I can't comprehend it, only imagine it and I don't even want to do that.  I want to hug my children close and pretend that if I just keep smiling and and being grateful every moment, that I can safeguard our family against anything terrible.

I want to write about my blessings.  I want to revel in them.

I don't want to write about how I guilty I feel to have these blessings.  About how powerless I feel to help my friends.  About how paralyzing I find my own fear of death, that it terrifies me to think about going to their house to help with the laundry.  I don't want to write about how much I want to just walk away from this tragedy in the hopes that I can keep it, like some contagion, at bay.   I don't want to write about how I have avoided talking to my children about Rebecca's illness because I don't know the right way to do it, but mostly because I am scared.

I don't want to write about this because it is too real.  It is too real.  I don't want to write about cancer. I  want to pretend it doesn't exist but damn, it just keeps sneaking up on my life.  I turn and look over my shoulder and it is lurking, waiting for someone else I love.

I want to write about the lake. I want to write about being here, with my coffee and my computer and my dog and the quiet cottage and how sublimely lovely I find this moment.  I want to write about the sun and how it dances on the waves and how it brings me peace and how I feel that if I just stay here on this porch, if I just keep facing the water, then everything will be OK.  If I don't turn around, if I don't look, then Rebecca will live. Then the shadows of fear will back away from my family and we can go on with our golden lives, striving for our silly dreams of lake houses and RV's and European vacations and kitchen additions and all those other things that just don't matter at all.

I want to write happy sappy blog posts that shine up my life into a pretty bauble.

I want to write about my real life with no holds barred.

I don't want to write about the things that scare me.

I don't want to write untruths.

I want to write the story of my life and the lives of those I love, in a way that honors it all.

I just want to be able to write my own endings sometimes.