Goodbye to All That

I have probably done my last back flip. Also my last front flip, or for that matter, any other kind of flip. The days of me hurtling my body into a 360-degree rotation through the air ended sometime in college, though I couldn't tell you exactly when. I used to be able to do a flip on command as a kind of party trick, but one day that wasn't entertaining anymore. So I stopped doing flips, and I don't know that I could get them back if I tried. I did one on a trampoline a couple years ago and instantly regretted it (I don't remember my head spinning like that when I was younger); I could probably still do one off the diving board at the pool. But on the grass of a football field or the wooden floor of a basketball court? Nope.

I miss being able to laugh at gravity.

My youngest wearing a cheeky gift from a friend.

I have also probably nursed a baby for the last time. My hope is to have so many grandchildren that I can hardly remember all their names, so I think I still have many more diaper changes and bottle feedings and rocking chair sessions in my future. But nursing a child--feeling nourishment leave my body and watching it soothe and sustain another human being--those days have most likely come and gone. Nursing taught me reverence and respect for my body and the bodies of my children. Nursing showed me the impossible wonder of how humans are designed and the symmetry in the needs of mother and child. But I was bone tired almost all the time. I restricted my diet to bland, unexciting food so as not to upset little stomachs. I had limited time in between feedings to do everything else that needed to be done, and since my children all refused bottles with remarkable obstinance, no one could ever pitch in to give me much of a break. I remember bursting into tears in the baby food aisle at the grocery store after my youngest's four-month check up. I'd been so sure we would get the green light to start cereal that afternoon, but our doctor wanted to wait until six months. The prospect of two more months of being the sole source of nourishment for an already 20-pound baby almost did me in. (We did make it the full six months, though.) I am grateful I was able to nurse my three children for almost a year each, but I really won't miss it.

I still hold my children close and feed them in other ways.

Here are this week's prompts from 642 Things:

The time you went to bat for someone, and wished you hadn't.

Do you remember the first time you felt you had won an argument with a parent? Does that still feel like a victory today?

Make a list of things you've probably done for the last time. Say your good-byes.

On Bugs and Heights and Stuff

Great Wednesday classes start back tonight, and I hope to see many of you there! I know several will be joining different classes for the spring semester, so I hope this blog will be a way to help you stay connected to the group.

Here are this week's prompts from 642 Things:

• Write about your first vivid memory. Then write about all the ways you might be misremembering or mistaking it.

• Tell a family story that you think will be passed down and told generations from now.

• Think of someone you know well. Write about what you'll never understand about that person.

Right before I lost it at the Empire State Building

My Kryptonite and my Superpower

In family legend years from now, I will probably be remembered for two things: my fear of heights and my lack of fear of bugs. The reason I believe I will be remembered for these things (and also for my mashed potatoes, but that's a skill I hope to pass down and thus not unique to me) is because both qualities fascinate and delight my children to no end.

There is nothing more entertaining to them than watching me sweat and hyperventilate on the Ferris Wheel at the State Fair or Rodeo. Every year I consent to go with them in a blaze of optimism that this time I'll be fine, and every year I spend most of the ride cursing my bad judgment and ignoring their laughing and finger-pointing while I pray to return safely to the ground. Woe be unto the child who thinks it would be funny to rock the gondola during the ride, but it's a temptation they can't seem to resist. My son made a bucket list of New York City sights he wanted to visit before we moved, and one of them was the Empire State Building, which I am convinced was solely because he knew I would freak out. It is a testament to my deep, visceral love for him that I ventured out onto the open-air observation deck at all, and I can't help it that I eventually had to drop to my knees and crawl back to safety in the interior of the building.

The look of disgust mixed with pity from my mom and daughter as I finally cried uncle and went back inside.

My lack of fear of bugs makes me legendary with family and my former students alike. Every once in awhile something will catch me off guard, but even then, it's mostly the unexpected motion that startles me, not the bug itself. Even when I was married, any time a situation involving something with wings or multiple sets of legs arose, "Mom!!!!" was the alarm that went up. Once the trouble-making creature is dispatched--either removed to the outdoors or sent to its Maker via the nearest magazine or sole of my shoe--they look at me with such awe. My son was moved to reverence when I rid the world of a particularly audacious cockroach; he turned to me with his big brown eyes open wide, and there was respect in his voice when he said, "I can't believe you just did that."

I hope to also be remembered for my love of learning and sense of humor, for taking them on road trips and other adventures, for helping them grow to be confident, loving human beings. Maybe some of that will get passed down, too. But I'm almost certain my grandchildren will know that even if a bee didn't make me blink, the very thought of skydiving could make me cry.

Disclaimer: no foolish photographer was stung at any point during the making of this image.

New Year!

Happy New Year, everyone!

I hope you all enjoyed the holidays and are ready to tackle a new year.  I'm an unabashed optimist about fresh starts. I love the sense of having a blank slate to fill with a mix of all that seems new and exciting balanced by the best of the tried and true.

Here are the three prompts for this week followed by my response to the last one:

• What's the most confused you've ever been? Tell that story.

• That time you tried to do a job well, even though it was stupid.

• Write everything interesting you can about your worst scar (literal or figurative).

My Worst Scar

This is my pregnant belly at 38.5 weeks, the day before I gave birth to my youngest daughter. You can tell I was kind of arching my back to make my stomach protrude as far as possible; I spent the last three months of my pregnancy reassuring acquaintances and total strangers that while I was carrying relatively small, the baby was a completely normal size. Their eyes would usually dart toward my belly as they said something like, "If you say so..."

You can imagine the general surprise when my bundle of joy turned out to be 8 pounds, 2 ounces and 21 inches long. She was my third born via C-section, which makes her partially responsible for my worst scar.

Mira Nicole Moore was born 2/21/11 in Bridgeport, CT

When I took classes at Methodist to prepare for the birth of my first child, I remember stopping to cry near one of the windows on the bridge to the parking garage because I was so afraid I would need a C-section. I didn't want the risks and recovery from major abdominal surgery while caring for a newborn, but more than anything, it was the first taste of the fear that comes with being a mother. Those videos and lectures from the nurse practitioner leading the classes brought home the reality that something could happen to me or--God forbid--to my baby that would negate all the careful preparation and planning for how I wanted to give birth.

Sure enough, after about 12 hours of labor, my little girl's heart rate started dropping with each contraction, and the nurse called the doctor. While we waited for him to arrive, I looked her in the eye and said, "Is he going to tell me I need a C-section?" She said probably so, and I decided right then I wouldn't argue or ask for more time to wait and see how things would develop. Ten minutes later I was in the operating room, and three days later I left the hospital with a healthy newborn and a six-inch incision across my lower abdomen.

After three C-sections, I've learned a few things about scars. For one thing, it's a different scar each time. The first scar was pretty nondescript. The scar after my son's birth was bumpy in the middle. The one I have now is flat and smooth on my left side where the doctor started her sutures. Things must have been harder to manage as she got closer to the end, though, because the right side has a rise and fall to it with a little divot in the spot where she tied off the stitches. I don't have much feeling in the area, and for awhile my daughter's head hit right in that spot when she would give me hugs (which she does about fifty times a day), and it felt odd to see her bury her face in my body and not have a sensation to correspond with the visual. I feel self-conscious about the way it makes my abdomen look a little Frankenstein-ish when I wear bathing suits, but for the most part, I consider it a badge of honor for having brought three children safely into the world.

Christmas Eve Eve

From Christmas Eve Eve 2015

For as long as I can remember, my mother has referred to today (12/23) as Christmas Eve Eve, and at some point we developed a tradition of driving around to look at Christmas lights while drinking hot chocolate and listening to Christmas music. We've made a few modifications from time to time--some years we wear pajamas, other years we wear Christmas sweaters; some years we buy the hot chocolate at Starbucks, other years we make Hershey's cocoa at home with special marshmallows from Whole Foods--but we ALWAYS drive around and look at lights on Christmas Eve Eve. No matter how difficult or wonderful a year we've had, no matter what losses, anxiety, or joy we're carrying around, we look at Christmas lights and listen to songs of hope found in unlikely places and families gathering from near and far to celebrate and hold each other close.

Though the tradition originated with my mother, it extends far beyond her. Tonight I will observe Christmas Eve Eve with my brother, two sisters, one sister's boyfriend, and my father and step-mother. We'll drive around in my father's new minivan (do not ask me why a 64-year-old man would buy himself a minivan; we just accept my father's quirks and marvel at how little it takes to make him happy), and my brother will guide us to neighborhoods that none of us knew existed, neighborhoods he discovered during his years as a landman in the early days of horizontal drilling in the Barnett Shale. There will be a lot of personalities in close proximity in that minivan, so my siblings and I are adding an element to the tradition: a closing beer/drink at a nearby bar. Our parents will drop us off at the end of the Christmas light expedition, and we'll walk home together under a dark, starry sky, grateful and relaxed in the last few moments before the chaos really sets in.

I hope all of you are looking forward to favorite traditions over the next few days, and I hope the light and life of the season find their way to you, no matter what kind of year you've had/are having. If you find a few minutes to sneak away and write, here are the prompts (two weeks' worth) from 642 Things:

1. Your family pet starts talking to you. What exactly does he or she think is going on around here?

2. You knew they were lying. You chose to pretend you believed them. (Santa might provide a lot of material for this particular prompt!)

3. What's one way you might become eccentric in your old age? How might you go in another (but equally batty) direction?

4. How did the way your parents felt about their bodies or physicality affect you and how you feel about your body and physicality?

5. What was your favorite trip as a child, and why?

6. What is the object that belonged to your parent that you associate most strongly with him or her, and why?

Advent: Week Two

Arthur Ave Market; Bronx, NY

Here are the 642 Things prompts for this week:

• Who was the hardest person in your life to forgive? How did you do it?

• Finish this sentence and keep writing for 10 minutes. DO NOT LOOK AHEAD

What I most want you to know about me is . . .

• Stop after 10 minutes. Now write this and keep going for 10 minutes:

That was all a lie. Here's what I really want you to know . . .

• Your high school reunion is coming up. Think of one person you really don't want to see there. Write a letter to that person about what happened back in high school, and how it makes you feel, even today, this many years later.

Be sure to post responses in the comments! Go back to last week's post to see Sue's example.

Advent/December Posts

Hello everyone!

I hope you are all settling back into work and your regular routine after the Thanksgiving holiday. Posting these writing prompts took a backseat (quite literally--my computer stayed stowed in the backseat of my car for the better part of six days) to my family's road trip to Lubbock and Abilene for Thanksgiving.

My mom convinced my brother and me (and my two younger kids) to spend part of Thanksgiving weekend in a yurt. We didn't completely hate it, though I probably won't be doing it again any time soon.

But now we're back, and it's off to the races: for many of us, these next few weeks will be some of the busiest of the entire year. In order to keep up with the prompts as well as other responsibilities, I'm going to post once a week on Tuesdays. Each post will include three prompts from 642 Things. I encourage you to write a response to one or more and post them in the comments.

Our time together on Wednesday nights will still include discussion of a selection from Mary Karr or Anne Lamott, but I'd like to spend more time on writing and sharing. If you haven't joined us for a class yet, please come! I have so enjoyed getting to know each other better through our responses to the readings and in-class writing prompts.

Here are the prompts from 642 Things for this week:

• What piece of jewelry do you wear most often? Write about why it's your go-to-piece of jewelry. Where did you get it? What do you like about the way it looks on you? Why does it feel good to wear?

• Write about a good-bye that you didn't know was a last good-bye.

• Write about the morning you least wanted to get out of bed.

Imaginary Friends

This ought to be a fun one!

I had an active, vivid imagination, but I don't remember any imaginary friends. I'll have to ask my mom when we're together over the holidays.

Today's prompt from 642 Things: Write about the imaginary friend you had, never had, or wish you'd had.