Weekend Writing Warriors 3: Water
“Uisce?” Maeve asked. Followed by one of the very few words she’d picked up in the United States since their arrival: “Please?”
The attendant gave her a crooked smile, nodded, and left her alone at her table. Somehow, she doubted she would receive her water.
The sun was soon to set. Though Maeve couldn’t see it—as the train was headed due west and she wasn’t looking out the front of the engine—she could tell by the hues at the horizon: lovely pinks, and purples, a striking contrast against the pretty little white cotton-puff clouds. It sure seemed that nightfall came quickly in this part of the world. Surprise! It’s dark out!
*~*~*
I’ve no real comments on this week’s snippet except that next weekend update, things should get interesting (or more interesting, depending on your previous interest level).
I got a little bit swept up in real life stuff the last week or so and missed a bunch of blog updates, and for that, I apologize. I’m also sorry I was unable to reply to replies on my last Weekend Writing Warriors update, or to link-hop, myself, and leave feedback. I hope I can do so sometime this weekend. Alas, I am gearing up to go back to work, and my sweet little boy is gearing up for his first day of Kindergarten (say it ain’t so!). Little girl will be off to daycare and it seems my hubby, who works from home, will have no idea what to do with himself during the week.
Meanwhile, I am also getting adjusted to my new Surface (a very early birthday gift), and I am happy to say this will make it at least a little easier to update my blog and get back to working on my poor neglected novel.
I’ve got a crying baby to tend to. Her daddy needs a breather.
WIP Wednesplay: All Over Again
Cast of Characters
Julie: A mother of two, loving wife in her mid-thirties.
Scott: A father of two, loving husband in his slightly-later-than-mid-thirties. (Shut up, I’m being diplomatic.)
Kaela: The sweet little baby girl.
The lavender-colored baby blanket: The unwitting victim. (Are victims ever witting?)
Scene
The living room. Location of many-a-murder in plays since the beginning of time.
Time
Yesterday.
Act 1 in a 1 Act Play
SETTING: A hot August day in a northern Dallas suburb. Inside a cute one-story house, the air conditioning hums quietly over a flat-screen television playing Tattoo Nightmares, the scenario: some stupid person got drunk with a group of people formerly known as his friends, and had something obscene tattooed on his face (so, you know, the usual story). Now, after living with it for several years, he decides he needs it covered up. On the rectangular oak coffee table before the television is spread out a blanket-in-progress. A sweet little baby girl whimpers in SCOTT’S embrace when JULIE makes a shocking announcement that is actually not all that uncommon in the home of a knitter: I’m gonna kill it.
SCOTT: You’re going to do what?!
JULIE: (Looking down at the work in progress) I’m going to frog it.
SCOTT: Why?
JULIE: It’s twice as large as I wanted. It’s missing the border I wanted. I could ignore those things if the minor mistake I made weeks ago was as minor as I initially thought.
SCOTT: (Clearly not paying attention, doting on KAELA.) I’m sure it’s not that bad.
JULIE: Look at it. Do you see the mistake? If you don’t, I’ll consider keeping it.
SCOTT: (Glancing fleetingly at the blanket at the glaring error.) You mean that ridge down the center? I thought you did that on purpose.
JULIE: (Giving SCOTT a dour look.) Nope.
SCOTT: Couldn’t you call that a part of the design and make a matching ridge on the other end?
JULIE: I thought of that, but I have no idea how I made the mistake to begin with.
And that is the one-act play of how Kaela’s purple lace blanket went from this (I’m sure everyone, even the non-knitters out there, can see the boo-boo)
To this
(After a half-hour or so of furious ripping and winding. My forearm ached for hours after this.)
And so, I re-cast on. Original cast on of 203 stitches reduced to 139, cast-on and knit the four-row long border with needles two sizes up from the rest of the blanket (the original was a bit weird because the lace is far stretchier than the garter), and now using stitch markers to remind me I wanted a four-stitch-wide border on either side of the lace. I’d share a photo of the new beginning but I’m only a little over one pattern repeat in at this point and it just doesn’t look like much. But at least this should go faster as it’s fewer stitches, thus a much more manageable size. It was turning into a throw when all I wanted was a baby blanket. Plus, that ridge down the center–well, when I realized I’d made a mistake, the blanket was all bunched up and it just didn’t look that bad to me. It was only when I laid it out on a store-bought blanket that I realized how bad the mistake was (and the mistake was jogged!!!), and how big my stupid blanket was. I was about to knit my fingers raw. Maybe knitting afghans is for other people, but I’m more of a hat or sock knitter. If I’m going to invest in a project of that size, it’s going to be a sweater or something. Not a blanket. No. Thank you.
Speaking of Kaela, this update is for those who aren’t following me on Facebook and haven’t heard.
Kaela had her limited MRI on July 30th. Here she is rocking the (far too large) hospital gown they gave her:
You can see she didn’t much care for it.
Part of the stress of the whole situation was the possibility that if they couldn’t get good enough images from this MRI, they’d have to do another where they would have to sedate her.
Lately, Kaela doesn’t like sleeping unless someone is holding her, and the slightest noise startles her. I had no idea how she’d tolerate being strapped to the MRI bed, not being held, and being expected to sleep, or at least be still (a 2 month old, being still? RIGHT.) through the noises that machine makes.
She handled it like a cute little pro, and they only had to retake one image (which came out clear).
I didn’t expect to hear back about the MRI for several days, at least.
To my surprise, I received a call the next afternoon while we were in the waiting room for one of Scott’s follow-up doctors appointments.
Her MRI revealed that though her brain is small (“it is microcephaly,” the nurse told me), its structures are normal.
This was the news we were hoping for! Well, I’d rather her brain not be small, but it obviously can’t be bigger than her skull, so that news was not unexpected since her head is small. Logic. Isn’t it grand? ;)
We have a follow-up with her neurologist in mid-September, and she sees her pediatrician this Thursday for her two-month check-up, and vaccinations. (It’ll be nice to begin relaxing about being around people whose vaccination status is unknown!!) I guess the next questions go something along the lines of, “now that we have that information, what do we do with it?”
Meanwhile I’m trying to remain calm about this upcoming visit. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that every visit to the doctor has brought with it some form of negative news. (“Well, she regained the weight she lost after birth, and gained two inches in length, but her head circumference is in the fifth percentile and I want to refer you to a neurologist.” “Well, everything seems to be normal except the fact that she’s still tight and jittery. We’ll do an MRI just to make sure things are okay, otherwise.” Etc., etc.) Just for once, I want all things to go well. Is that too much to ask? I just don’t want anything else from left field. I’m actually starting to fear these appointments. I never did with Wyatt, even though his first pediatric visit threw me for a loop (not only did he have jaundice, which no one warned me about, he had a heart murmur). I spent several hours watching him under the phototherapy lights, and cried. As for the murmur, it’s been nothing of consequence, apparently.
Anyway, as far as I know, Kaela’s exceeding all milestones, so that remains promising. I have no idea how much she weighs, and I haven’t measured her length or head circumference since our last visit to the doctor (why obsess when there’s nothing I can do to change it?) . . . But she seems to me to be bigger all around. She’s not chubby like some babies, but neither was her brother (who remains high up in height percentile, and low on weight, which all his doctors have been thrilled with). Chubby babies may be cute but as I’ve understood from all the pediatricians we’ve seen in the last five years, that’s not necessarily healthy.
That’s all the news that’s pit to frint. (That spoonerism doesn’t really work in print, does it?) I know I’ve missed a couple weeks(?) of updates. I will have the means to resume my regular updates later this very week. Stay tuned!
WIP Wednesday: More on the Blanket
The household is falling apart a bit right now so this has to be short and sweet. Made some progress on Kaela’s lace blanket.
I figure I’ve got a couple repeats before I’ve hit the halfway point. It looks short but when it blocks, it’s going to gain several inches, at least. It’s super stretchy!
And now back to household misery . . .
Family Mondays: The Curse of Perfectionism
With the exception of finally getting a call from the neurologist to schedule Kaela’s MRI (July 30th), it’s been a relatively doctor-free week for her. Without the appointments, and the phone calls, I actually have more time I permit myself to believe that my daughter is like every other baby her age. I have moments where I look at her and think her head doesn’t look that bad, and moments where I cringe and wonder how on earth she wouldn’t have something wrong with her. (And then she propels herself into a sitting position when reclined in my arms, holds her head up and looks around while seated in her Boppy, has managed–in stages–to roll from front to back, which makes me think that not only is she not having a developmental deficit, she’s advanced.)
She’s also reached that delightful crying all the time age. Crying for no reason at all, except, perhaps, to hear herself scream. She comes from a long line of people who like to hear themselves talk, so I wouldn’t be surprised. ;)
Because things almost seem normal around here, Scott and I have been able to focus a little more on ourselves. We were neglecting ourselves (and are neglecting each other). But I forced him to go to the doctor for the first time in forever so he can start taking proper care of himself. I went to my postpartum check last Monday (and spent the majority of that appointment talking about Kaela). I’ve also made an appointment with a dermatologist (mole business, unfortunately) . . . it bothers me immensely what “emergency” means to the medical community these days. Weeks, or months, depending on the nature of the problem, and the practice you’re calling.
Next steps are spiritual care, starting this coming Friday. Now, to hold myself to that promise.
Being that things have calmed a little from last week’s update, I’m able to turn the focus from my sweet little daughter back to me. (But not without first sharing a photo!)
I made that little bracelet for her. You might be able to see it if you click on the photo to enlarge it.
I had an epiphany this week. I can’t remember exactly how I came upon the connection but it suddenly dawned on me that perfectionism and being judgmental probably go hand-in-hand. (In retrospect this seems like such a “no duh” sort of revelation.)
So I got on my computer when I was permitted, and did a search. The very first link I clicked was this one. I read, and agreed (at times emphatically) with every. single. one. And after I realized that I agreed with every single one, the thought occurred that I even do perfectionism to a perfectionist level.
I can’t tell you how much this sickened me. I positively loathe how judgmental I am, and I’m well aware that it’s making me miserable. That feature of my personality is probably my most detested. I like to think I hide it well, but it may just be that the people who love me don’t say anything about it to spare my feelings.
I’ve been told by many people over the years that I hold people to such high standards that can never be met. (There’s number 4 on the list.) The funny thing is (and it’s not really a “ha-ha” kind of funny) that I know people who’ve either met, or exceeded my standards. And you know what happens? This doesn’t please me. I get wildly jealous! In other words, I just can’t win.
Number 8 features prominently in last Friday’s WeWriWa post. I had received, the week prior, some excellent advice. There was nothing critical about it, other than the fact that it indicated that I’m imperfect. I said nothing to anyone on the Internet, and vented to my husband but internally I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Go back and look at that post, and look at the reply. Absolutely nothing mean about it. Not just that, but it was spot-on. Do I have a problem that I overreacted to that? Absolutely. The nurse who administered my IV when I was in labor with Kaela commented (after screwing up her first attempt) that I have thick skin. I laughed, because it’s just so ironic when figuratively, I have the thinnest skin of anyone I know. For that reason, I second-guess my desire to even attempt getting published. Can you imagine how I’ll react with the rejection letters I’m prepared for?!
I have received constructive (but not positive) feedback on my writing in the past and I went through the same reaction. So I haven’t learned. But at least I know I eventually get over it. It just takes some time (on the order of a week).
I’m inclined to get defensive in return. I’ve learned over the years to keep that in check (that is, keep it in my own head), so at least I’ve improved a teensy bit there.
I hate hate hate hate haaaaaaaaaaaate that I agreed with number 12 on that list, and I feel like that makes me the absolute single worst person in the world, who has ever existed, and ever will exist. Ever.
Don’t get me started on number 14. I could write scads of books on number 14. In fact, I’ve spoken with a few friends, and my OB over the last few weeks about that guilt. I have guilt over virtually everything a woman could have guilt over. And it doesn’t matter how many people (or who those people are) tell me that these things aren’t my fault. It will not change how I feel. Sometimes I find myself wondering if I enjoy the soul-squashing guilt.
And something that wasn’t addressed in the article but I have no doubt it’s related: I can’t take a compliment. I know it’s bad to be on the other side of that (giving someone a compliment who doesn’t accept it) and I try so hard to at least pretend like I take it, but that probably just comes across as fake. I wonder if people think I have an inferiority/superiority complex.
I love psychology but when I’m assessing my own psyche I can only think how stupid it all is.
My perfectionism is reaching a point where I’m willing to risk my health in pursuit of something perfect. And I’m not just talking plastic surgery (although that’s been topic of many conversations in my family). I could explain it but it’s a bit too personal at this point to share on the blog.
After all this, it’s hard to deny how much this is making me miserable. I’ve been actively addressing my behavior and I know I’ve got a loooong road to recovery, if I can get over this at all. I know I’m predisposed to this behavior. If it’s built in to your genetic code, how do you overcome it?
Anyway, I’m sure trying. I acknowledge that I have a problem. I can see when I’m having what I deem are poisonous thoughts related to this behavior. The only problem is, now when I catch them, I have guilt. I just can’t win. But I’m trying.
I am doing, as suggested: allowing myself to let others see me as vulnerable. I think that’s part of the catharsis of these Monday posts, talking about my imperfect daughter, my imperfect little family, my imperfect life, my imperfect self.
And it goes against my perfectionist behavior to admit to everyone reading this, “I am not perfect. All I can do is my best. I am a work-in-progress. But at least I’m trying.”
Even if my best isn’t good enough.
Weekend Writing Warriors 2: Meet Maeve
Maeve watched more scenery pass them by, the tall and stately saguaros waving at her. Hello, Maeve. Good-bye, Maeve. So sorry you have to leave so soon, Maeve. She glanced at her parents, wondering what they would do if she asked them to stay in Arizona Territory. Perhaps she could even suggest she stay there without them. She was sixteen, after all, though no one would know it by looking at her: large, round green eyes set below a long forehead; small, short button nose, with round cheeks and a small chin—she could easily pass for a girl four years her junior. Her slight frame, delicate bosom, and dainty wrists contributed to the impression, as did the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
*~*~*
Read a little about this work in progress just below the first eight sentences here.
Here we meet my leading lady, Maeve. The requisite physical character description has to be written, I’m afraid. This is part of that 20% that I don’t love about my novel. Actually, most of that 20% resides in the first few chapters. Beginnings are just so hard! I typically start writing somewhere in the middle of the story and work both forward and backward, as inspiration dictates. I’ve retooled the opening of this piece more times than I can recall. Sadly, what I shared this week, and last are part of the improved version. Still needs work, I know. This is part of why I am loathe to share. (The real reason I don’t want to share is going to be highlighted on my next Monday blog update.)
For those who read last week’s 8 sentences and came back, thank you. I know that was hard to read, and I appreciate your return. I find that I take criticism very poorly, even when it’s tactful, well-presented, and right on the money. Last week’s post was no exception. The reason I share this isn’t because I want to deter honest feedback from those passing by. After all, without that feedback, how can I improve? Isn’t that the whole point to this exercise? Well, it is for me. (And for what it’s worth, I will be turning some of those questions into statements the next sweep of edits I do. I knew it was an awful lot to swallow in that format, and I can’t exactly explain why I didn’t fix it.)
I, myself, am a work in progress and one of the things I really need to correct is how I take feedback that isn’t just “I like it!” On the bright side, I don’t get defensive, and that’s one of many faults indicative of a perfectionist. I could easily have come back with “well it’s not so bad in context!” But I would be fooling myself, and no one else.
I was sorely tempted to let last week’s Weekend Writing Warriors post stand on its own after a couple of the replies I received.
I let those comments stew for a couple days, thought about what a loser I am for having received them (and worse yet, that they were totally warranted!), how stupid I am to think I am a writer of any caliber–let alone one that could or should be published–and that I should stick myself neck-deep in some sand at a beach and let high tide come claim me. Melodramatic? Yeah, sure, let’s go with that.
Why am I sharing this with you? Good question. I’m sharing it because I want to show my audience that I’m trying to work on this problem of mine, and I’m facing a debilitating fear by returning. Again, this has an awful lot to do with what I’ll be posting about come Monday.
Anyway, I take a deep breath and request honest (tactful) feedback. I have to go back and thank someone for doing just that for me last week, now that I’ve gotten over the sting of something that had neither stinger, nor venom.
If you’re still with me and looking for another way to pass the time, you can click the above link and read more at the Weekend Writing Warriors website, or search for participants on Twitter by searching for #8sunday.
PS: Don’t worry. Maeve is well beyond the age of consent for Arizona during the era in which I’m writing. Not that it’s important or anything for any future events in my novel. ;)
