Author: jenzug

Oh, the Irony.

Given my post from this afternoon and my general trend of blogging about not writing, I found this passage of my current book quite entertaining:

“Every hour you spend writing is an hour not spent fretting about your writing. Every day you produce pages is a day you didn’t spend sitting at a coffee shop, bitching about not producing any pages” (from Writing from the Inside Out, by Dennis Palumbo).

And yes, I was sitting in a coffee shop when I wrote that post.

On Writing: Theme

When it comes to my lofty goal of publishing a collection of essays, I have two role models: Anne Lamott and Donald Miller. Lamott was the catalyst, and Miller’s Blue Like Jazz proved the idea wasn’t just a fluke.

Reading Lamott’s Traveling Mercies was a huge epiphany for me – it being a memoir, of sorts, written as a series of essays on her journey of faith. Part way through the book, as I realized what was happening on the pages in front of me, the lightening bolt hit and I went, “I can TOTALLY do this!”

I’m a very literal person, and I think the idea of writing about my life always meant to me that I started with birth, or my childhood, then proceeded to chronologically unravel all the events that were significant to me, and topped them all off with a ‘the end’ and an epilogue. All very boring, now that I think about it.

Linear is not always interesting.

Pulp Fiction was interesting because the story line went beginning-middle-beginning. Memento was interesting because it took place in a backwards sequence. LOST is interesting because flashback is intertwined with present, and one cannot understand the present without interpreting the flashback.

But now another problem presents itself to me, and I wonder what will be the catalyst for pushing me through this road block: now that I have embraced the essay style, I am working through the theme. What is it? What is my point?

I know I’ve written about this struggle before, and I thought something would come to me if I just wrote. I figured if I just penned the memories and the personal transformations, that I would have another epiphany and it would all come together. But the unknown Big Picture has me in a holding pattern. How much research should I put into this? Should I shoot from the hip, or read all my old journals? Am I taking myself too seriously? I tend to over-think and forget to just DO it.

Another problem is also my lack of time. I am very grateful for the three hours on Tuesdays that I have to write, but it is simply not enough time to devote to a writing project of such large scale – not when such a writing project involves huge personal introspection. Or when I have other writing interests that bring me much more instant gratification, such as blogging, and liturgy pieces for my church. These can be produced quickly and without intense concentration.

I would put the whole thing on hold if it wasn’t eating away at me so much. I think about it all the time. Perhaps this is all part of the process – the chewing, the contemplation.

Don’t Read This Post

I’ve been sitting here all evening with this stupid laptop trying to write a post while watching t.v., and it just ended up being really bad writing. It was a report. Like a fourth grade book report, only about people. And it was boring, though it had potential to be meaningful if I wasn’t also watching t.v. and feeling a little brain dead.

I have so. much. love to give, and so little time to give it.

Random News

Hey, I bet you’re wondering how I did that neat trick of blogging every day even though I just said I wasn’t blogging every day. Well, it’s called POST DATING, baby! I wrote three posts on Tuesday while I sipped wine and ate goat cheese, then set them all to post on consecutive days.

I am so. tech. saavy.

Which brings me to my news. I am attending Seattle MindCamp with Bryan and my friend, Elizabeth, in November. Bryan calls it a geek slumber party. I also used to call it a geek slumber party. Until I decided to go. Now, I am NOT calling it a slumber party – geek or otherwise.

I’m not sure what to expect from the event, given that I am not a techie, and I’ve heard that with this crowd, blogging is SO last year. I am interested in the more creative conversations around writing, or the conversations around developing online community. (Sadly, I hear Nancy White will not be attending this time around, which is disappointing. I attended her session at BlogHer and really enjoyed the conversation.). I’m hoping somebody will do a session on how to organize content ideas into a book (ahem, scott berkun).

I don’t have a plethora of opportunities to disclose the fact that I am a stay-at-home-mom and aspiring writer outside of the group of people who already know this about me and think it’s perfectly normal, and even a little bit cool. Only occassionally do I find myself in a group of unknown people – career women and geek men (or career geek women). I always have to mentally prepare myself for those situations, for the blank stares that follow my answer to the question, “So, Jen, what do YOU do?” The mental preparation comes in answering the question with pride, and not with qualifiers or disclaimers. Because I’m generally proud of being a mother and writer, until I am met with those blank stares because some do not know the follow-up question to such answers, and my confidence faulters slightly.

So I am mentally preparing for the uber-challenge of holding my own as a career mother and aspiring writer in the middle of a geek slumber party.

The Blog Diet

In my continuing quest to simplify my life and feel less discouraged by all the things I can’t Get Done, I have been weeding through my blog feeds. I currently have 67 feeds coming in to my Bloglines account, and even that is after some serious deleting.

At first I loved the idea of a feed reader. It meant I only had to read a blog if that blogger posted something new, and as my list of blogs grew, this became important. But then, my list of blogs became so overwhelming that I soon had dozens of blogs with 100 or more posts that were unread, and all that BOLD font as I opened my account only served to remind me of what wasn’t getting read.

You will find that I have tweaked my blog categories a bit. My top priorities for reading are ‘friends,’ ‘online community,’ and ‘writers.’ These tend to be people I either know in person, or who interact with me on my blog, or whose blogs I comment on. It’s the community of blogging that interests me the most, not just blogging itself. Aside from the ‘rockstars’ and the ‘resource sites,’ I have deleted about everything else, and continue to evaluate what is left.

And I’m not the only one. Fellow BlogHer, Amy Gahran, feels the same. In her post, “Why I ditched Most of My Feeds…” she describes her need to simply. She writes, “Bearing that in mind, this weekend I ditched all my general topic folders from my feed list — about 80% of my subscriptions. But now, since my feeds are more focused on exceedingly timely and personally relevant sources, I think they’ll help me participate in online conversations — public and private.”

I, too, find that in this world of over-information, I only have so much time. I’m not going to stress out because Dooce has written 200 posts that I have not read. I don’t know Dooce. She doesn’t know me. I find more value in the blending of offline and online community.

Book Review: The Complete Organic Pregnancy

Absolutely AGES ago, Harper Collins Publishing sent me a book to review on my site, and while I LOVED the book, I never seemed to find the time to tell YOU why I loved the book so much.

The book is The Complete Organic Pregnancy, and no, I am not pregnant.

It’s a fantastic reference book, as it contains lists. Do you like lists? I love lists. I love turning to a page that gives me a list of chemicals to avoid in my make-up, or what the numbers mean on the bottom of plastic containers, or the top twelve most contaminated non-organic fruits and vegetables.

(for instance, did you know that if you can’t afford to buy organic, that kiwis are better than strawberries? Broccoli is better than spinach? And bananas are better than apples?)

What I like most about the book is that the authors are realistic about the impracticality of me rummaging through my home, purging all existing personal supplies, food, insulation, drywall, and furniture. They present the information without causing me to panic.

Except for the section on detoxing the home. It was a little overwhelming to learn about all the things in my home that poison my children – the air, the water, the paint, oh my! But I also learned that Ikea is a very environmentally-friendly company, and many of my things come from Ikea, so my panic was short lived.

Plus, I can’t afford to tear down my house and build a new one. So I kind of HAVE to get a grip.

But overall, pregnant or not, I recommend the book. It affected the next bottle of shampoo I bought (Trader Joe’s), and where I buy my produce from (local). The information was very compelling without being alarmist.

I say, go for it.

God Bless Step Five

Last week I turned a corner; I flipped a bit; did a one-eighty – whatever your preferred analogy is for experiencing a rude awakening. I continue to feel the peace of God in the midst of total awareness of my depravity. Rather than feeling overwhelmed and depressed by the guilt of my sin, I am feeling motivated by the conviction of my sin.

God bless step five.

In an unexpected way, God has given me a super duper dose of empathy for my children. He has shown me clearly how small my words can make them feel, and how devastating my controlling attitude is to them. This week I have felt a tremendous amount of patience for my children – especially Ruthie. The small things that normally send me over the edge I now have compassion for. Things like, Ruthie waking me up at two in the morning by crawling into bed.

It started last week when I didn’t turn on my laptop until the kids went down for a nap. The morning was so peaceful and focused that I continued to follow that routine all week. Sometimes I needed to open my Outlook for a glance at my calendar, but I would make a point of shutting it down after I had a grasp on the day.

Having this time on Tuesday afternoon to write has really put me at peace with the rest of the week. I no longer hover over my laptop the very moment Ruthie finds herself engaged in something besides me. I just leave it alone until the kids are in bed, and even sometimes until Tuesday afternoon.

And in seemingly unrelated news, I have completely dived in to a weekly routine. Yesterday while the kids napped I came up with a weekly schedule of Getting Things Done, and I couldn’t be happier. It’s like the sun came up after 40 days of rain – I feel revived, refreshed, and motivated by the order around me.

I am on a mission to spend my days working and my nights relaxing. I am feeling tuned in to my children rather than distracted by them, and I find that I bust my ass to Get Things Done when I ignore my computer. This makes for less frequent posting, but for hopefully a more peaceful home.

What I love most about my new routine is that it doesn’t account for every minute of my day. It basically covers laundry and cleaning the house so I still have time for play dates and spontaneous trips to the park. I don’t feel suffocated. It’s perfect.

SO Delicious (and the food was good, too!).

cheers!This weekend we went out for breakfast and tried a new place (for us) in Columbia City called Geraldine’s Counter. We love eating breakfast out, and this food was to DIE for. What made the experience even more lovely was how well the children behaved. It was fun, they were patient, the service was quick, and Ruthie actually ATE her food. It is just a lovely place to be with bright, warm colors and a cafe feel.

Thomas was adorable (as you can see) as he struggled his rather large plate of food in the direction of Bryan’s plate to ‘cheers’ the meal (and yes, he is STILL doing it).

What’s YOUR hairbrush song?

Last weekend Bryan bought the Wicked soundtrack, so I took the opportunity to introduce Ruthie to the hairbrush-as-microphone concept. She picked it up VERY quickly, as you will see by the pictures below.

Though I am the mature age of 35, I can’t seem to listen to any of these songs without dramatic hand movements, or closing my eyes for dramatic effect (which, you see below, is something Ruthie has a natural for), or belting out the alto songs with great feeling. When it comes to swooping broadway musicals, I am very child like.

The funniest thing is that the song that keeps running through my head during the “off wicked” hours is the duet between Glinda and Elphaba when they discover they will be roommates in college. Because, you see, they are not fond of one another. If you were a spider on my wall, you would see me dancing about, singing, “LOATHING, UN-A-DUL-TERATED LOATHING – FOR YOUR FACE, YOUR VOICE, YOUR CLOTHING…” (and so on) which is not generally the sort of thing you want seeping into your child’s vocabulary.

But, if I have succeeded in giving her the tools necessary to imagine she is on a broadway stage, then I think my job here is done.

Storytelling

Nothing drones on more than a boring story. It’s like that scene in Finding Nemo when Marlin takes Nemo to his first day of school and the other fathers ask Marlin to say something funny just because he is a clown fish. Marlin attempts to tell a joke, but botches it because he is a poor storyteller. He can’t remember how the joke goes, or what the punch line is.

Because my writing style is along the lines of the vignette, I have become a student of the art of storytelling. I pay attention to how stories are told in all mediums. In music, for example, good song writers convey a story, or a world view, or an opinion in three minutes. How do they do that and still account for repeating verses?

Storytelling can take on many forms. For instance, many comedians are story tellers. I remember listening to Bill Cosby’s comedy routines many years ago, mesmerized by the stories and waiting for the punch line end to the story.

Dane Cook is a contemporary comedian that I love listening to because he is a great story teller. He will weave elaborate tales with many rabbit trails in between, and I’m always dumbfounded by how he keeps track of all the balls he has in the air at one time. Very little of his routine is joke/punch line based, but rather it’s the story itself that is funny, with enhancement through the words he chooses to enunciate, and the theatrical way he contorts his body, and his use of a simple stool as a prop.

Garrison Keillor of Prairie Home Companion is a great storyteller. When I listen to his deep, soothing voice on NPR Saturday afternoons I pay particular attention to his stories from Lake Wobegon because he brings his characters to life with intricate details of their personalities and quirkiness. He captures the everydayness of Lake Wobegon. The simplicity. From him I learn how to build a character – and not only out of a fictional person, but out of an entire town, a setting. The town of Lake Wobegon is as much of a character in his stories as the Lutheran minister is a character.

I read a book many years ago titled, ‘A Short History of a Small Place’ that also weaved intricate characters together to form a quirky little town. It very much reminded me of Garrison’s storytelling.

Movies are obviously storytellers. But I think since I’ve become more prolific at shooting and editing my own videos I better understand the role of an editor in the movie making process. When I created the video of Zoe’s parents I had probably 30 minutes of data to choose from – I could have taken just about any direction I wanted to, as long as it fit within 5 minutes. Through editing we set the tone of the story; we manipulate it.

From television I enjoy LOST because of the unveiled nature of the show. The writers reveal things subtly, and one has to pay close attention. Much room is left for guessing and predicting. It is intelligent. I also enjoy Brothers and Sisters because of the intricately woven family dynamic. There is the drug-addicted son, and the co-dependent mother, and the older sister who shoulders responsibility, and the break-out sister with differing political views, and the gay son who picks up the slack, and a little adultery thrown in the mix. The relationships are complicated, and they are given their due complication. Conflicts are not resolved easily or quickly, Cosby style, but rather are deeply planted and difficult to wade through. There is no good guy or bad guy. Rather, there are individuals who are, as Faulkners says, in conflict with themselves.

The body of work I intend to write will likely be a collection of essays on a theme, and my stories will need to be concise. Each essay will be one piece of the entire puzzle.

What are your favorite stories? Your favorite storytellers? Why?

Things I Enjoy

I feel like this blog has reflected the darker side of my life lately, as I have used it as a way to process through some difficult thought patterns. To the outsider (read: those who do not know me outside of what I blog) it may seem worse than it actually is. Because of my Recovery process I’ve been unusually introspective, as most Recovery programs unravel things in that way if one truly dives in. I know I’ve said this before, but my writing is pretty boring or non existent when things are going well, or when good things are happening. These things don’t need flushing out, or interpreting, or dissecting. They just Are, like fresh air or a sunny day.

Bryan gets on me about that. When he does something nice for me he says, “Are you going to blog that?” It’s tongue in cheek, but it’s also his way of reminding me to reflect on the good times – in writing, so they can be remembered. Because if we are fighting it’s easy to forget that we really do love each other and have a lot of fun.

Many years ago when I was going through a period of depression (though I didn’t know it at the time; only recently have I come to realize this), my best friend and room mate, who is very visual, helped me map out the peeks and valleys of my life.

On a timeline she drew with crayons, blue lines were difficult times and yellow lines were good times. On the linear trail there were often peeks and valleys. For instance, during a blue-line period there may have been yellow-peek events, and during yellow-line periods there may have been blue-valley events. Seeing my life in the perspective of color-code was encouraging during a time when I could see nothing but blue.

As of late my life has felt like a blue line, but there have definitely been many yellow-peek events along the way. In the droning on of my woes, I don’t want to lose sight of those things that have brought me joy.

Good Times
For one thing, Seattle experienced a beautiful Indian Summer, well into October. The sun and the warm temperatures provided many opportunities to play with my kids at the park, get my fall pruning done, and take walks with my family after dinner. This is my favorite time of the year and I am taking full advantage of it.

Good Imagination
I’ve been enjoying the budding imagination of my daughter. She loves to play rescue, taking turns as to who is in trouble and who does the rescuing. She’ll dangle from the slide in our back yard, her toes only inches from the ground, and cry out with exaggerated drama, “Help me! Help me!” When her friends don’t understand (or care!), she’ll stop suddenly and say, “Noah, you have to come rescue me.”

The other evening while eating a gourmet meal of Wendy’s chicken nuggets, Ruthie stacked three on top of each other like a tower, then tipped her empty cup over and covered them up. “Ladies and gentleman,” she said in her best announcer-voice, waving her hands frantically around the cup, “you will now guess which cup these chicken pieces are hiding under…” and on she went with her magic trick.

I was flabbergasted that seemingly over night my toddler has turned into a real person who pretends that all the world is her stage. I am proud of her imagination, and pray that I never do anything to squelch it.

Good Humor
The other day I took my friend’s ten year old son with me to the dog park while Ruthie was in preschool. He has a very mature sense of humor, and I was looking forward to my day with him. While sitting at a stop light and the car was quiet with my own contemplation, one of those double dump trucks passed by, the ones with the long metal rod that connects them. After it drove past, Tony deadpanned, “Sometimes I wonder, why are they so long?” Maybe you had to be there. Or maybe you have to know Tony. But his timing and tone of voice were beautifully funny, and he made me laugh.

Good Music
This has been Year of the Concert for the Zugs. We have seen Over the Rhine, The Mountain Goats, Matisyahu (me only), Bruce Cockburn, Paul Simon, and Sufjan Stevens. I’m sure there’s more, but I feel so decadent just naming these. I have come to love discovering new music that inspires me or helps me cope. I made a ‘mix tape’ of songs I listen to when I miss Gordy, and one for road trips, and I’m about to make one for worship. It’s exciting to see someone perform live, because they are who they are. Most of the music I love now was introduced to me by Bryan. You might say he rescued me from the mediocre Christian pop culture.

Good Friends
I am surrounded by people who ‘get me,’ and who have history with me. As I’ve been meeting other mothers at preschool and at the park, I am realizing how isolated the average mother feels. I am blessed with many friends who are in the same stage as myself who understand the trials of raising small children. And because we help each other out, I rarely pay for babysitting. I came across a quote once by Shakespeare, “I am wealthy in my friends.” I feel I am the wealthiest of them all.

Good Husband
He may not believe me what I say this, but I really do like Bryan. It’s because of him that I write, that I have more confidence in my art, and that I appreciate good music and good movies. He knows how to have a good time, and most of our evenings are filled with wine, and loud music, and dancing. We dance while making dinner. We enjoy our life in ways that many married couples forget about. He has continued to ‘woo’ me even after we’re married.

Things are looking up. I feel as if I’m climbing out of a hole. After yesterday’s initial disappointment, I did manage to have a good afternoon in spite of myself. I wrote an essay while the kids napped, we went to the park, and we walked to the store. I was bitter at first, but after writing about it and getting over it, I actually had a great evening. Cari is right, I am slowly breaking free of my vices. And it feels good to feel like I’m starting to deal with life in a healthy way.

Disappointment

I was hoping to be sitting at my local coffee and wine bar, sipping on a pinot and writing to my heart’s content. I have looked forward to this afternoon all week, and even now I notice that last Tuesday afternoon from the wine bar was the last time I posted.

I have decided that, with Ruthie in preschool two mornings a week I have plenty of time to run errands with just Thomas, and was planning to dedicate my Tuesday afternoons to writing. I am thrilled with this arrangement as it relieves some of the anxiousness I feel when I can’t find time to write. “Tuesday is coming!” I think to myself. “I can hold off until Tuesday.”

Until Tuesday afternoon arrives, and rather than showing up at my door the babysitter is calling me on the phone. She can’t make it today. School commitments prevail. She apologizes, and we reschedule for tomorrow.

My heart sinks, and suddenly I feel trapped. I can’t leave because the kids are sleeping, and what’s worse – I’m out of wine. This was supposed to be MY time, and now I’m being robbed of it. My mind immediately goes sour and I struggle to avoid crying or screaming into the phone at the sweet teenager I adore.

But it gave me pause to notice how much I allow circumstances to dictate my attitude. I was in a great mood today – productive, cheerful, patient. I enjoyed the time I spent with Ruthie as she doodled on my tablet pc, and then as we snuggled before a nap. But as soon as my hopes of escaping were dashed, my heart went bitter.

Someone recently pointed out that, based on my blog posts, it appears I am unhappy in my role as a mother about 80% of the time. I didn’t really have a rebuttal to that, because I think maybe it’s true. But my unhappiness has little to do with my children. Rather, it is a symptom of a much deeper cancer of discontentment within my heart, a cancer that I feel is spreading throughout my body. I fear that I am so indulged in my discontentment that I will not find my way out until I have missed all the joy of parenting small children.

This is a cancer of the heart that I believe only Christ can heal. For me, discontentment and rage are closely linked, because both are triggered by my desires not immediately being satisfied. I am selfish and impatient.

The normal person in my position might say, “Darn. That’s a bummer. I was looking forward to getting out, but at least I get to go tomorrow.” But I attach way too much importance to my own desires, and do not trust God that he is able to meet my needs. God loves me, and he values my time, my sanity, and my talents. He wants me to be healthy and have time to myself. He is not some trickster god like Anansi, who pulls out the rug from under me.

It is faith, hope, and trust in God that I crave – that I NEED in order to be delivered from this cancer of rage and discontentment. I pray for the restoration of my heart, that I might default to Joy again.

From the dark basement of my home, this is Jen signing off.

Times of Refreshing

I’ve had a very. bad. week.

The Ya Ya Sisterhood movie comes to mind – the part where Sidda is young and her mom disappears for days on end, blacked out, and wakes up in a hotel room on the coast. This is how I felt yesterday. I felt like abandoning my children just to get away and have to have some time to myself.

My desperation and rage was so intensified I actually called a friend to tell her, just so someone would know. That’s what you learn in recovery – that you are not alone.

This is my afternoon off. I have a babysitter come once a week in the afternoon so I can run errands in peace. But I’ve had such a bad week I decided to indulge in a little free time with my creativity. I am sitting in the coffee shop across the street from my house, with free wifi, sipping wine, and eating goat cheese with honey and walnuts. I feel decadent. Relaxed. At peace.

It disturbs me a little that I am most at peace away from my family. There is an unbalance there. It has me leaning more toward a structured week, one with specific events built in to specific days, though flexible. My kids are not of an age or personality to just play while I clean the kitchen – they must be engaged and refereed. The bad days come when I expect I can do more than I really can. The bad days happen when I pretend my children are not there.

I talked to Bryan today. He is at a conference in Florida. He told me he had eleven hours of sleep last night, and was currently at Universal Studios. I wanted to kick his teeth in, but he was not standing in front of me. I want to be happy for him for getting a day of vacation from his busy work schedule. But I fought with my daughter for an hour and a half last night to go to bed, and she still came into my room at five this morning. I envy Bryan that he is away so much he actually misses this family. I envy that. I look for every opportunity possible to be AWAY from my family. I would feel better if I missed them.

We have a renter now. We’ve always rented one of our five bedrooms to someone, but took a break over the summer for a remodel project. Posha moved in this last week and I think that will help a lot. She is smart, and funny, and understands the recovery process. She can drink wine and watch t.v. with me when I’ve had a bad day. She can stay with the kids in an emergency while I Get Out.

I think one of the things I wrestle with the most is reconciling how Good I’ve got it with how fucked up I am. We can afford to go out a lot, eat fancy dinners, hire a babysitter, see a concert, whatever. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have an anger problem, and a depression problem, and that I am easily overwhelmed. I have become what I have always feared I’d become: high maintenance.

I take solace in the concept of phases. My girlfriend currently has one child in all-day kindergarten, and another in all-morning preschool. This means she has three hours EVERY MORNING all to herself, and the rest of the day with just one child. This gives me hope, because I am not far from that life.

I am not far from having all morning to myself to write or otherwise Get Things Done.

Which leads me to the other thing I wrestle with: the fact that I am a stay-at-home mom with a husband that funds my lifestyle. Because of him, I can sit in my thinking chair every morning, enjoying my cup of coffee. Because of him, I am not also juggling a full time job. Because of him, I don’t have that much to worry about, financially.

So my complaining must be taken in context, I suppose. I am careful to distinguish the struggle of a rageful mom from the struggle of a discontent housewife. In many ways I am fortunate. But in many ways I am special – I can not do things that other moms do. I know this, because I know lots of moms and I see what they do and I am envious. I have limitations.

It is at this point that I realize I am Drunk Blogging and there may not be an end to my lamenting. So I will spare you now and bid you goodbye.

I am. so. bored.

Bryan had an extra trip to take this weekend to a conference he’s speaking at, so I have an extended time alone with the kids. I don’t usually complain about his travel schedule because, truth be told, the kids and I keep so busy while he’s gone that the time goes quickly. But when these extra trips come during the weekends, I go a little insane.

We were well occupied all day today until after naps. By then I was so burned out I didn’t have the energy to think of anything interesting to do, like going to the park or playing a game. So we ended up watching two movies in a row.

I. am. a terrible mother.

I thought watching a movie would buy me some time to read a book or surf the internet. But no. Ruthie will no longer allow me to do these things, even if I am sitting right next to her while she is watching the movie. I must put everything down and watch it with her. Do you KNOW how many times I have watched her movies?

Argh. My brain is turning to mush. I can only imagine what hers is turning into.