Titles

I've been really neglecting this blog lately, and here's why:

I'm stepping back to evaluate whether encouraging this revolutionary behavior has been such a good thing.

I know i've said it before, kind of joking-like; that someday i might regret calling this blog what it is, because it could lead to her being a teenage Republican (positioned among the liberal-minded throngs here in Portland) or the leader of some yet-to-be-formed gang. But when your child is independent (and is named thusly), shouldn't you love her for what she is, even if she starts acting the rebel part in the kindergarten, and you're getting called in for after-school conferences on the second week? Or should you encourage another sort of title?

I ask myself if she is merely acting the part that i've cast her as -- the charming, deviant rebel who pays heed to no one but her mama. She can't read yet and she has no clue that there is a blog about her and me out there in cyberspace called 'Raising a Revolutionary." So should i give her a different title, or is it a mere coincidence that i'm reaping what i've sown? It's a conundrum that has me unable to write much that heralds the rebelangel side of her for the time being.

In any case, things are a little more strict around our house these days. If she doesn't obey her teacher, there are no sweets, no tv, and no playing on the playground after school that day. I might still call her a revolutionary when i find the time to write (which isn't much, on account of all the consequences and rewards i'm finding myself paying heed to), but nowadays i'm trying to regard her as a spunky brainiac, when she comes around asking what i think of her.

Hasty

We musnt' be hasty now, mother

we mustn't be hasty.

We shouldn't start pointing fingers,

thinking it's all over when

your most beautiful creation starts

stepping outside the lines.

After all, look up to the title of this blog and it's called

'raising a revolutionary.'

So why you so surprised when you get one;

when you're the one parent of many who's getting the talking-to

after kindergarten;

when you're the one who's losing steam at the third meltdown of the night

lo, around seven o'clock?

Mustn't be hasty.

Mustn't start thinking that studies like these and parenting groups like these

are laughing raucously at your attempt to do things right.

Must put child to bed earlier.

Must feed healthier food.

More protein.

Allow less television.

More exercise.

Less yelling.

Must wait.

Somedays do come

I always knew someday

you'd reach out your arm

point a finger at some distant star

and fly there.

I always knew someday

you'd start being a child of the universe

and not just my baby

and that day is today.

Today you start hearing the words of others

as much as you've ever heard mine.

Today you'll look forward to leaving home,

having your own life,

having secrets that only you know.

Today you'll leave my arms, and

teachers will guide you

girls will make friends

boys will make fun

the wide world will beckon;

you'll know it's all yours,

i give it to you, as i know it --

bungled, rotten, and repaired,

askance, askew, and amazing...

So here it is

just like that

just come back to me

and tell me all about it.

A bit of a retraction

So i admit it. Perhaps there are things that a partner is good for. Perhaps i was a bit hasty in one of my most recent posts.

Like, say, you've been working like death on a project and finally get it done. And then it doesn't work the way it's supposed to. So there's more finagling, more consulting the oracle, more pushing away the kiddo like the harried, overworked parents in the movie Coraline.

This is when a partner might come in handy, to talk you off the ledge.

Maybe that's also the role that roommates have served for me for the past few years, and just now i've flung them all off, so i'm feeling the void. In the evolution of things i've decided it might be better to have one's own place -- including the kiddo of course -- and all the peace that comes with it, as opposed to all the financial security that comes with having more people paying the rent.

Over the past few hours i've been maniacally checking and cross-checking all the reasons why the project in question is defunct. If i had someone who cared about my well-being here in this house, they would say something like "Ok missy, time to drink some wine and think about this whole mess tomorrow." Instead i'm trading the maniacal checking for the mad tapping of these keys.

Wine,

breathe,

i can do this...