Reading: Even Silence Has an End by Ingrid Betancourt

                           

 I am just finishing up Even Silence Has an End: My Six Years of Captivity in the Colombian Jungle by Ingrid Betancourt. I saw Ingrid interviewed on Oprah a month or so ago and immediately requested this one from the library. Ingrid Betancourt was a Colombian presidential candidate who was abducted and held hostage in the jungle for six grueling years. Ingrid was absolutely captivating during the interview, her story unbelievably riveting - but that magic just didn't come through for me with this book. She jumps around in time sequence, one chapter is early in her captivity, the next chapter set in the present time. I imagine it was meant for dramatic effect, but I found it confusing and distracting. Her prose is a little awkward - it definitely read as if it was translated from another language.  What was clear though was that it was a brutal ordeal filled with physical pain, emotional anguish and unbelievable strength.
Ingrid has a remarkable ability to understand people and the complex webs of relationships that form within a tight knit group. She was able to understand and empathize with horrible behavior by others, without judgement and with a heartbreaking ability to forgive.
She utilized her captivity to embark on a journey of self-discovery that few people could ever manage. Her insights into her own mind and behavior are enlightening. Her resolve to find projects to keep busy and stay sane are a testament to her unbelievable fortitude.
What will stays with me as I return this book to the library is the sense of dignity that Ingrid maintained even through the most horrible ordeals. The word inspiring doesn't quite do it justice - but I will certainly be reminded of Ingrid the next time I dare to complain about a difficult day with my children.

Betrayal

This will be another one of those posts where I cringe before I hit publish. But, once again, here I go. This is good for me. The truth is always good, and should be shared.

The big boy doesn't really like me any more.

Sure, he still runs to me when he falls down, but other than that - he's pretty much all set with me. Bored. There was a time, in the not-so-distant past where I was the apple of his eye, and no one else would do.
He would find a book, "Mama will read it."
He would want a snack, "Mama will get it."
Playing catch outside, "Mama will do it."

I worried that the Hubs would feel sad and so I constantly reassured him (and myself), "This won't last, pretty soon he'll discover that you're a boy, and he's a boy and my time will be over. He'll want to be just like you."

Well, dear friends, that time has come. Suddenly, and I do mean suddenly, Mama can do nothing right. Mama is not allowed to read the book, obtain the snack or touch the ball.

"Daddy will do it."

He is beginning to look up to his father - idolize him, emulate him, and that is good. He could have no better role model for manhood, in my humble opinion.

Today the whole family went to the pediatrician's office for the wee one's fifteen month check up, and when Daddy left to go back to work, hysterics ensued.
"I want to go with Daddy!" he screamed, hysterically crying and sobbing, "I want Mama to go to work!" And then he said it. The thing that no Mama ever wants or expects to hear,

"I don't like Mama."

I've been telling myself this would happen for thirty five months now, and still, it hit me like a sucker punch. Insanely, I was hurt and angry. I felt betrayed. I couldn't bring myself to speak calming words to him as we drove away. I couldn't get past the lump sitting in my throat.

It's crazy to feel hurt, but I do. It's childish to feel jealous, but I do.

Despite all my talk to the contrary, I wasn't expecting this to happen quite so soon I wasn't expecting this to hurt. I thought that somehow perhaps, my understanding of this as a normal part of development would mitigate the feeling of rejection.  I was wrong.  I knew he'd kick me to the curb one day, that's his job in life - I thought I was ready. Unfortunately, instead of ready I am hurt, angry and jealous. And guilty! Never forget guilty! A good mother wouldn't feel jealous, a good mother would applaud his growth. I've said it before, and I'll said it again: Clearly, I'm not a good mother.

Once again I wish I could sweeten this up, but I can't. It is what it is. I want to write something cliche like, "Motherhood hurts" but everyone knows that - everyone except me, I guess.

Our playground

We took the boys to the playground after the wee one's first haircut on Saturday. As I snapped pictures of the boys romping around, I began to get a strange sense of de ja vu.

When I got home I began rummaging through all our photos, certain I had taken some others at our favorite playground.

Boy was I right. We've been taking the big boy to this playground since before he could walk.

Here I am, mama to only one boy, with that perpetual spit-up catcher draped over my shoulder.



Those cheeks!





Cuz green sweatpants are flattering on any body type.





Whaddya mean don't eat the rocks?

A few months later, I was chasing him around, instead of carrying him around.




Ahh! We never take the sun for granted in New Hampshire.


Slowly, my baby blossomed into a little boy - while I waddled around after him, getting ready to provide him with a brother.



You want to get on? No? Oh thank god cuz I couldn't
lift you anyway - I'm 7 months pregnant.



The following summer he was ruling the roost. Climbing, jumping, swinging and just starting to demonstrate some interest in the other kids, while I wore his growing brother in a sequence of slings.



"My diggah"

Now he does it all with a wee brother toddling around behind him.

Still "my diggah"

It's funny how time passes, so fast and so slow at the same time.  There are hours in the day that seem so long as to be practically interminable. The minutes until naptime - an eternity. Yet, those first visits to our playground seem like only yesterday. How can that bumbling toddler have been replaced by this crazy almost three year old? All the moments in between blurring and blending and softening so that I don't remember quite how many hours he used to scream in the afternoon as a newborn. Nor do I remember how I stood around in the blazing heat nearly every day, hugely pregnant - chasing him, lifting him and pushing him on the swings.

A sequence of completely ordinary, somewhat exhausting days. Yet, when I line up the photos like this - I'm a little staggered. This is his life, and I have the awesome privilege of watching it unfold. Documenting it for him. Bearing witness.  Oh there's that ache in my heart again - he is not mine, he is his own. Stretching and pulling and growing away from me. Remarkable.

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

-Kahlil Gibran "On Children"

First haircut

The time had finally come. As much as it pained me to do so, it was time to say goodbye to someone's baby curls.



Listen Tom Brady, if he can do it, you can do it.

This difference between this haircut and the big boy's first haircut could not be larger. The wee one clambered right up into the chair and peered over the edge, "Uppa." he informs me.  

Would you like to sit in my lap?
No, thank you. I'm just fine here by myself.

"Ha-woah." he says to the pretty young girl snipping away at his hair.

I have prepared myself for screaming, tears, bribery from the bag of snacks and treats I have brought with me, but this kid barely makes a peep. He did not require a headlock. I had no idea a haircut could be this, well, uneventful.



If I hadn't photographed it, I might not believe it myself.



About ten snips and it was over. Wispy blonde curls flutter to the floor.

"He was born with that hair." I say to Hubs, "He had that hair when he was still in my belly." I remark sadly, remembering. 

"Gross." he retorts, "Hey guys, want to go to the playground?" 



He's still wee, even with his big boy haircut.


He was so completely untraumatized. He barely flinched. I am still traumatized from his brother's first, second and all subsequent haircuts. Crazy.



Yeah, yeah, I know. He's cute.





Christmas cookie-ing continues

My freezer is rapidly filling with lovingly tinfoil-ed lumps of cookie dough. I don't even label them - I like to be surprised when I unwrap them. Ooh! Gingersnaps!



Frosty the dough man.


Despite my fanatical love of cookie-making, I was beginning to feel a little less than motivated last weekend.  With all the cooking, cleaning, shopping and planning that goes on during holiday season, my to-do list sometimes makes me wish for some elves of my own.

Never fear though, gang. I figured out a way to motivate myself. Not all the dough needs to go into the freezer.



Be still my heart. Hootie cranks.


I liberated just enough dough to make eight cookies, and the promise of fresh, warm cookie-bliss was more than enough to get me measuring, mixing and merry-making.

This week I bring you:

Snickerdoodles.

I love this cookie for its' old-fashioned, homey goodness.  Nothing smells better than a cinnamon-coated cookie in the oven. Heaven.

1/2 cup room temperature, unsalted butter
1/2 cup shortening
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar (plus 2 tbs more for rolling)
2 eggs
2 tsp vanilla
2 3/4 cups flour
2 tsp cream of tartar*
1 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
2 tsp cinnamon (for rolling)

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

In a small bowl mix 2 tbs granulated sugar and 2 tsp cinnamon.

In a separate bowl, cream butter, shortening and sugar. Add eggs and vanilla, mix well. Blend in flour, cream of tartar, baking soda and salt. Shape into balls. Roll balls in cinnamon/sugar mixture. Place cookies 2 inches apart on an ungreased cookie sheet. Bake 8-10 minutes, until set but not hard. Transfer to wire racks to cool.
*In a pinch you can replace the cream of tartar with 4 tsp baking powder.




Do you see what I see?



Gratitude turkey meatballs

On Thursday I wrote about offering up some gratitude during a difficult time. And one of the ways I drum up gratitude is in the kitchen. It turns out that Thursday's meatballs were the best I've ever made.  Coincidence? Probably, but here's the recipe anyhow.

A few caveats:
1) These are certainly not the best meatballs in the world just the best that have ever come out of my kitchen.
2) These are turkey meatballs, and healthy. They contain vegetables. You've been warned.
3) I am not even remotely Italian - so don't hate me.
4) As always, the rules of my kitchen: guesstimate, approximate and taste.

And now, without further adieu ...

Gratitude turkey meatballs

1 can crushed tomatoes
3-4 large garlic cloves
1/2 a medium onion
1 carrot (peeled)
1/2 green bell pepper
Parmesan cheese
1 package ground turkey (about a pound) I use 93% lean.
Black pepper
granulated garlic
tomato paste
Italian seasoning

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Line two 9x13 baking pans with foil, and spray with non-stick cooking spray.

Pour a can of crushed tomatoes into your crock pot and set to Low.

In a food processor, grind up 3 or 4 large garlic cloves and 1/2 of a medium onion. Remove half of this mixture and put it in the crock pot. Also into the crock pot add: 1tsp granulated garlic, 1 tsp black pepper, 1 tbsp tomato paste.

 Into the food processor add 1 small carrot (cut into chunks), and 1/2 a green bell pepper (cut into chunks). Grind everything up. This is strange but you have to squeeze the water out of this mixture before mixing it with the turkey meat. I just grab handfuls and squeeze it over the sink - then put the squeezed-out-handful into a large mixing bowl.

Add your turkey to the veggie mix. Grate in Parmesan cheese (I did about 1/4 cup into the turkey mixture and 1/4 cup into the crock pot). Grind in some black pepper about 1 tsp. Add 1tsp granulated garlic and a shake of Italian seasoning.

Mix everything together with your hands and form into meatballs about the size of golf balls (makes about 14 meatballs). Put your meatballs in the baking pans - spaced far apart.

Bake the meatballs for 30 minutes and then move them into the crock pot. Let them simmer in the sauce on low for 3-4 hours.

Viola! These were seriously good meatballs, in my humble opinion. I hope you like 'em, too.



Meatball.



Destruction

My beloved children are on the war path today. I'm not sure what has come over them. They are crazily running around, screaming, and getting into loads of mischief.  Here are some of their exploits, for your viewing pleasure.

I was in the kitchen doing post-breakfast cleanup duty when I heard this outrageous banging/clanging sound - it sounded like a cymbal was being played in my dining room. I went running in there to find the boys banging hard enough on the wall to rattle my metal sconce - which made an apparently pleasing twaaaaang  as it vibrated.



Cooperative play at its' worst.

As I contemplated whether it was possible for the sconce to fall off the wall and injure them, the big one gets a terrible idea. If it makes a great noise when I bang the wall, imagine what a great noise it will make if I bang it directly! And he reaches up with his wooden spoon to give it a try:




Fortunately he isn't quite tall enough to
bring this horrible idea to fruition.

Later this afternoon I was in the kitchen doing post-lunchtime cleanup duty when I heard a strange ripping sound from the living room. I dashed in there to find my two cherubs dismantling the train table - ripping up the tracks which had been glued in place.




Drat! Cooperation again.


Luckily, "You can bix it." the big boy informs me, as he attempts to reassemble the tracks. Sadly, it still looks like Godzilla has been tearing through train-town.



"It goes wight deh-yah."


The Hubs is going to kill me, he hates this train-table-in-lieu-of-coffee-table in the living room idea of mine, and now it's broken into pieces that you know will be used as clubs.





Troublemaker.

At least now they're asleep and I have a few seconds to clean up. It looks (rather appropriately) like a train has come crashing through here.

Happy Friday!