Happiest birthday to our Bambino!

An almost two-year-old watching a panda snack 

at the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. 

Two years ago, our son was born. He was fairly annoyed at the dry world and I couldn't get out of bed after a cesarean. Two years later, he can run through a field and drink water out of a cup. I can even leave him alone in a room to play for a a few moments as I make coffee.

We stop to look at ants on the sidewalk and clap when a song on the radio ends. He dances in his car seat, on the sidewalk, in his crib and anywhere he hears a tune or creates one himself. He can jump high, flapping his arms for momentum. At the end of the day, he likes to show me the firetruck he played with at daycare. He's started to ask for help to climb ladders on playgrounds and explores places I can't always fit to follow him.

The other day, while pushing him up a hill in his stroller, he kept pointing out "animals." There were bugs and squirrels and birds. I started to tune him out. It was hot and I wanted to get us both home. "Yes, animals," I agreed with him, "uh huh." And then suddenly he shouted, " Mamma! AN-I-MALS!"

I turned to look where he was pointing. There were two horses being ridden by police officers coming down the road and then past us on the sidewalk into the park. There were indeed animals. Two giant ones I might have ignored as I focused on getting home.

To you, bambino, I wish you a year of joy and many, many surprises. And I hope you'll continue to share them both with me.

Library Books Vs. MINE

One night our sleeping son sat up in his crib and shouted, "Mine!" and then resumed a peaceful position.

I wish we knew what he was dreaming. We do know that he (like other toddlers) is challenged by the idea of ownership and sharing. He and his peers on the playground argue about whose turn it is and who owns what, including the slide and Mamma.

Perhaps regular visits to the library will help him to understand what it means to share, take turns and care for something in someone else's absence. We visit almost weekly and always leave with an armful of books. We're hopeful that our bambino is starting to understand the idea of choosing books to borrow for a period of time.

I led a workshop at the local library and returned home with new books for him. When he saw the books, he exclaimed, "Library books!" Happily, he recognized them immediately as not his. We keep these books in a special section of the shelf and he's become an expert at separating them from the books that are indeed his.

In the library, I love watching him look through the books and turn the pages. One day soon he'll be reading the words himself. Right now he points to the words and says, "ABCs!"

What are your favorite books to borrow from the library? We've enjoyed some of the Dinosaur Vs. series. Click through to watch videos and download coloring sheets. We look forward to coloring Dinosaur Vs. The Library!

Out of Town and Back Again

I’m back from a successful visit to Fitchburg State University and an invigorating visit to Boston to visit with college friends. And when I returned, everything was ok with my family. I’m back at my desk feeling both professional and loved.

 

I was invited to Fitchburg State University by Dr. DeMisty Bellinger-Delfeld to give a reading, food writing talk and Q&A. I loved preparing for the events. I had an opportunity to think seriously about food writing in connection to my Italian definition poems. It was also flattering to be interviewed for the school paper before my arrival. 

Later in Boston with my college friends, it was dreamy to have time to talk, laugh, even cry, eat and drink throughout Boston. It has been almost 20 years (!!!) since we were all on campus together at Smith College. We can still start up right again as if we were back at a round table in the flower wallpapered dining room.

Our children need to see us doing things for our professional and personal lives. And we need to do those things. Is it hard to find the time, money and generally organize such things to happen? Yes, for sure. Did I prepare too much lasagna for my boys and generally spend too much time organizing all the things my husband knows how to do? Sure. Maybe next time I can relax before leaving, too, as my own confidence builds.

Away, I took long showers in the hotel and caught up on Poets & Writers and New Yorker issues over breakfast. What a delight to have some extra quiet time to think and rest. 

I am so happy to be back home with my boys in my arms again, ready to color with the littlest one and catch up on everything he’s done with the biggest one.

Boston

Thankful TO…

Americans like to give thanks at their Thanksgiving dinner. As an atheist, this is sometimes troubling: Who are you thanking? Why do you deserve your good fortunes? Does someone else not deserve what you have? The mantra that “working hard” gets you what you “deserve” suggests that those with less privilege or a less fortunate background didn’t work hard. Or they didn’t fight against a system that failed them from the beginning, which made hard work necessary, perhaps, to even survive, let alone succeed.

This season I challenge you to thank someone in particular who contributed to what you have. I hope you’ll let them know that you appreciate their actions, presence or gift.

Here’s my partial list:

I’m thankful to my parents for teaching me to make education a part of my life, not just the classroom experience.

I’m thankful to my great Aunt Dora for encouraging me to make (sometimes hard) choices that “progress” my dreams.

I’m thankful to my husband for our many adventures, from far away lands to reading new books with our son.

I’m thankful to my husband for his encouragement to write, write, write.

I’m thankful to my son for his curiosity and courage as he tries new things, falls and gets right back up again.

I’m thankful to the many resources I had available to me to find trustworthy, attentive and kind babysitters to watch my son with while I work.

I’m thankful to the daycare where he’ll be starting this winter for their many resources, space and attention to the children in their care.

I’m thankful to the internet, phones and U.S. postal service for keeping far away friends close.

I’m thankful to the city of Washington, D.C., and our many city and federal programs that provide libraries, parks, well-lit streets, reliable public transportation, clean air and water and more for its residents.

I’m thankful to the many supermarkets near us that provide a wide selection of food to prepare. 

I’m thankful to my employers for the intellectual challenge that is teaching and the paychecks that help to provide food, housing and the basics, as well as other things, like books.

I’m thankful to my students, especially when they ask questions that challenge my teaching skills and knowledge of subjects.

I’m thankful to my education for giving me the resources to know how and where to ask for help when something isn’t right. That is to say, I’m thankful to my parents for my education, both at home and at school.

We should all be in a position to be thankful to services and regular income for shelter, food, clothing, education, health care and more. Help to make that possible for someone else this season and throughout the year by donating to or volunteering with your favorite charity.

We are partial to So Others May Eat and will be participating in their annual Trot for Hunger. See you there?

(Trying to be) Easy on Yourself

Exploring Jefferson's Monticello

I'm typing this after being up most of the night with our teething toddler. I had planned on spending today writing and making progress on some new poems and submissions, but my head is fuzzy like unbrushed teeth. My to-do list is long and I probably shouldn't even be "indulging" in (unpaid) writing when there are other pressing things to do.

Today isn't a day when I'll be creating anything. I can do some laundry and basic tasks, but that's it. While I'm frustrated, this is part of parenthood and our (increasingly less new) reality. It is one that requires deep breaths (Dr. Karp's "magic breathing"?) and flexible thinking.

Yesterday, while the bambino was napping, he burst out into sleep-giggles. I was right there when it happened because he was napping in my arms, refusing the crib (another frustration). Without waking himself up, he smiled, his chest heaved and his eyes squinted. These moments remind me that everything is ok. Its ok to rest and enjoy each moment, tough and beautiful wrapped into one.

Excuse me while I refill my coffee cup and remind myself that writing isn't an "indulgence," it is what I do, along with many other things. And arrange to take a nap this afternoon.

Mamma Friendships

It isn't easy to make friends as an adult. We're busy with careers and families; we aren't in class or clubs together with self-selected folks with similar interests. Attending events with our son, the new common denominator is being a parent, but caring for a baby necessarily mean that we have too much in common.

I find myself talking to a lot of new people at events for the bambino, like library programs. The first question is always, "Do you work or are you home with your baby?" I'm somewhere in between: I work, teaching online and privately, but I'm also primarily home. And I'm a poet, which is harder for some people to understand. One mother recently said snarkily to me, "Oh, a poet? Must be nice to have time to just do whatever you want."

In fact it is nice to pursue my art and career, when there's time. And it isn't a hobby. It is part of who I am and what I do. Everything could be a hobby, I suppose, but if someone says she's a poet, then that's what she is. It isn't code for unemployed, although we don't necessarily make money from poetry. (Yes, I'm sometimes a bit defensive about this since I often need to, well, defend myself.)

I teach writing because it is something I love, I'm good at and yes, because it is a job that pays the bills. I write because I am a writer. And I encourage everyone who writes to own that definition for herself.

Being a Woman Mother Writer isn't the same as being a woman, mother or writer. At least while my son is small, my lifestyle is radically different from other writers without a baby. And my lifestyle as a writing mom isn't the same as mothers who don't write or immerse themselves in an art.

Woman Mother Writers: Let's connect here and undo some of that loneliness and misunderstanding. Email me if you'd like to share your thoughts on the subject (ChloeMiller(at)gmail(dot)com) and perhaps guest blog, too.

AWPing: Tabling & Paneling & Listening & Napping

When my flight was delayed, 

I was able to sneak in a visit to the Seattle Art Museum

Did I “do” the AWP conference right this year? Probably not.

I did present on a panel about teaching, sign copies of Unrest at Finishing Line Press' table, “tabled” for toadlily press and attended a few readings and panels. Most importantly, perhaps, I caught up with writer friends, slept deeply (and for 8 continuous hours) and remembered Kurt Brown.

As a mamma of 9 month old (who turned nine months when I was in Seattle, away from him for the first time), I’m still pretty exhausted from pregnancy, giving birth and mothering our sweet son. Passing some quiet and thoughtful time alone was, frankly, invigorating. I had some beautifully quiet and delicious breakfasts (at Bacco and Athenian) and watched the sky shift as the sun rose every morning. I wandered through the market, tasting chocolates and drinking too much coffee.

In the past, I’ve attended many more panels, readings, off-site events and stayed up late chatting with writers. I’d go home exhausted and ready to catch up on sleep. This trip seemed very much like the opposite.

Was it worth the time, money and effort to fly across the nation? Being able to hug Laure-Anne Bosselaar and attend the panel dedicated to her late husband, Kurt Brown, made it clear that it was. Kurt Brown was my poetry thesis advisor at Sarah Lawrence College. He patiently read through my poems, prepared notes and talked with me about them. I learned so much from him and felt happily challenged and motivated after every meeting. I had Laure-Anne as a professor and they both always made me, and everyone else as I understand it, comfortable in their presence. Through the years since I graduated in 2005, Kurt was always responsive and encouraging.

I was terribly sorry to hear of his passing. Tiger Bark Press, with Laure-Anne, published a collection of selected and new poems by Kurt Brown. Along with the preface, it is a beautiful book dedicated to a kind and wonderful poet. Laure-Anne read the poem Kiss, a testimony to their deep love.

My flight home was delayed by a day due to storms in the northeast. I am writing this on the plane literally aching to hold my baby boy. Soon. And I will read Kurt Brown’s poems to him.

Available from Tiger Bark Press

Award Winning Short Story Author Kate Milliken on Writing

When the bambino sleeps, I find time to read Kate Milliken’s prize winning collection of short stories, If I’d KnownYou Were Coming. We met as residents at the Vermont Studio Center in 2007. Since then, she’s been writing, teaching and raising two children. Today she kindly shares some of her experiences as a woman, mother, writer. As a new parent, I was moved by her words. This line in particular struck me, “Kids need to see you trusting other people, so that they may, in turn, learn to trust themselves, to feel confident that they can navigate more than their doting parents.” 

Kate Milliken’s stories are beautiful, from the individual sentences, to the paragraphs to the full stories. Throughout her stories I recognize myself, my fears and other people I’ve known. She ends “Names for a Girl” with “I park in front of a hydrant, outside a bookstore, running in, engine on, to buy this book of names. I am still paging through it, still hoping to find the name for a girl without a story, without a history or a masculine derivation, a name of uncertain etymology. I will have to make something up.” In these fictional, “made up” stories, Kate shares universal, emotional truths.

Kate Milliken’s stories have appeared in Zyzzyva, Fiction, New Orleans Review, and Santa Monica Review, among others. A graduate of the Bennington College Writing Seminars, the recipient of fellowships from the Vermont Studio Center, the Tin House Summer Writer's Workshop, and several Pushcart Prize nominations, Kate has also written for television and commercial advertising. She currently teaches on behalf of the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program and lives in Mill Valley, California, with her family.

Where were you when you learned that you’d won the prize?

We were packing the car for a drive down to Los Angeles. Rushing around, long faced, not thrilled at the 5-7 hour drive ahead-- dependent on the usual kid variables: potty, hunger, general aversion to containment--when my cell phone rang. “Iowa?” Adam, my husband, asked, looking at my phone. We didn’t know a soul in Iowa. But as a writer, a call from Iowa is like a call from New York—you just know it’s your people calling, people who care about the same stuff—words and the way they get strung together—that you do. I didn’t answer. In all honesty, I couldn’t remember if I had submitted to the Iowa Award that year or not. I’d been working on a novel for over two years and my collection of stories had become the older kid in the family, more independent and less worried over. But Jim McCoy, the editor at The University of Iowa Press, left a message asking me to return his call. I remembered then. I had submitted, on the day of the deadline and partially out of frustration, wanting to feel more productive, as I hadn’t worked on my novel that month despite the kids having started a preschool program weeks earlier. I decided that I was a finalist before I called Jim McCoy back, assuming he wanted to see if the manuscript was still available.

On our way out of town, we needed to stop at Adam’s office in Sausalito, so he took the kids up with him so that I could return the call and, you know, hear another human on the other end. When Jim McCoy told me that Julie Orringer had chosen my collection, I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing. Her work has meant a lot to me, so her endorsement made the award that much more special. Yes, I was a blubbering mess when Adam came back down with the kids. I was still on the phone, so he just looked in the car window—knowing he’d be able to see it on my face. He danced in the parking lot. I won’t forget that. Our daughter blushed.

Earlier, Adam had written a note that read, “Hard Drive,” so that he wouldn’t forget to stop at his office to pick up a hard drive for his computer. That note was taped to the dashboard and it stayed there, in front me for the whole 5-7 hour drive down to L.A. I kept having a stupid, giddy inner-dialog with that post it: “Hard Drive.” “No, it’s not! Not at all!” Easiest 5-7 hours ever. For those that have never driven the 5 freeway through the San Joaquin, it can be pretty abysmal—hot, dry, vacant, two different cattle feed lots that stink for miles before you reach them. And now I have nothing but fond memories of that freeway. The collection is set mostly in L.A., so it felt right, finding out then. And that three day trip to visit family turned into a fabulous celebration.

What did your kids say?

Our son was two, so it was just smiles and ice cream to him. But our daughter, at four, was asking a lot of questions about what it meant. She was, I think, made a little nervous by it at first, because we were so excited. But she’s got a competitive spirit, so she quickly caught on to the idea that I’d “won” something. Later I took all this as a chance to show her the stacks of rejection slips I’ve had over the years (STACKS!), so that she could appreciate how much more “the game” is about loving what you do, enjoying the struggle, than it is about winning.

She took my book into school for show and tell last week and then lost it, because it just ain’t that important. I love that.

How long did this book take you to write? 


Nine of the twelve stories I wrote during my graduate writing program at Bennington College. So two years there. But then I rewrote those pieces considerably in the two years afterward. Then, after my daughter was born, I wrote two more. The twelfth story, and the first in the book actually, I wrote after my son was born. So they were spread out over six-seven years. Two stories a year? Yikes. I ought to pick-up the pace! Though along the way several stories were thrown out with the diapers. And as I’ve said, I’ve been focused on a novel for much of the last three years.

How did/do you balance your roles as a woman, mother and writer? 


Big sigh. I don’t know that I do. At least not in any daily way. It’s more of a see-saw…Or…Now I’m picturing a novice tight-roper walker, first time out on that rope with that stick as unsteady as a tuning fork.

I wish I could say that I manage to be the best mother and best writer on the same days, but I don’t. I’ve learned that my writer mind works in cycles. Meaning, I have weeks when I’m mentally fired up and I can crank out a chapter, revise, stay up until midnight messing with it. But when I get up with the kids, I am distracted, my attention divided, staring out windows, hurrying them off to school, their hair somewhat brushed. And then the pendulum swings and there’s a week or more where I’m foggy and every word on the page feels stale, my inner-critic louder than ever. It’s those weeks that I’ve learned to let go of the work and put my energy into mothering, to make up for the other weeks; stocking up on the craft paper, the molding clay, baking muffins with them, getting in longer snuggle sessions, being more silly and letting that serious writer lady take a hike. When I can’t write, when that well is dry, I’m a better mother. So, a see-saw.

I will say, I am not a mother/writer who can write when the kids are present. I’m not sure that’s the best policy. I’ve heard from adults whose mothers wrote and how much they enjoyed seeing their mom curled up with her journal and pen. But I write on a computer and I don’t love them seeing me hunched over that screen. I also don’t want to resent the patter of little feet or the sing-song of their voices and I can’t hear the story when I can hear them, so I’ve had to find ways to separate. It is easier this year, now that my son is in preschool and my daughter in kindergarten, but for almost two years I got up at 5am and wrote until 8am with headphones on, while my husband got up and made breakfast.

Maybe my better mothering and productive writing self overlap more than I’m making it sound, but it took me three years to really see that life could have rhythms on a larger clock, in weeks, versus days—as I can no longer prescribe to a write everyday methodology. And so it simply has to be okay, I have to let myself not write some weeks and, at other times, nod absently at the kid’s questions.

What approaches or resources would you recommend to other parent writers? 


   

Only write flash fiction and/or Haikus.

No, seriously, having kids is a huge adjustment even in the most conventional of circumstances. It’s a balancing act of everyone’s needs. And then, as a writer, you throw in the needs of your, who, what? Characters?! So it seems only fitting that you’ll feel like a crazy person for a stretch there. If you’re someone with a creative urge, you have a perpetual itch that has to be scratched and you’ll be doing yourself and your kids a disservice to not honor that compulsion. It keeps you sane and they, um, need you sane. So don’t fear a babysitter, if you can swing it. But also don’t fear friends and family helping. I did this for a good long stretch. I thought that no one could do for my kids like my husband and I could and therefore we should be the only one doing for them and so I’d just write at 10pm, after the laundry was folded, and really, I’d be fine when the baby woke at 2am, I’d be totally fine when we were all up again at 5am. Fine. No, not fine. Not at all. Kids need to see you trusting other people, so that they may, in turn, learn to trust themselves, to feel confident that they can navigate more than their doting parents.

I had read this, of course, a thousand times in the baby books, but no one ever really says it loud enough. It needs, I think, to be said to a new writer/parent daily. Multiple times. Really loudly. The air mask scenario in the plane going down-put your mask on first—makes complete sense now.

So take the time to honor your creative urge and take help where you can get it. What’s good for you is good for the bambini.

Learn more about Kate, her writing and upcoming readings on her author website.