Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Sling Diaries Volume III, Love & Adventure: What is a Sling Diary?


Ok, so I need to tell you that I am doing this thing called The Sling Diaries.  What are The Sling Diaries?  Well, it is kind of complicated to explain.  Let's see.  I think I should first tell you that there is a company called Sakura Bloom.  They make baby carriers.  The kind of baby carrier they make is called a ring sling.  Here I am, wearing a Sakura Bloom ring sling.  That's an Essential Silk, by the way.  That colorway, Ginger-Champagne is extinct now, sorry.  Try Sandstone-Pebble.

December 2011.  That baby is nearly TWO now.
Every six-ish months or so, Sakura Bloom chooses a certain number of moms (I guess dads can do it too theoretically, but I don't know if a dad ever has, and I'm too lazy to check), and those moms are "Sling Diarists." Approximately once a month for six months, each Sling Diarist has to produce a "Diary Entry."  Each Diary Entry consists of at least five photographs of the Diarist with her baby in a Sakura Bloom sling, as well as some accompanying verbiage.  The photos and the verbiage are to reflect that month's theme.

For this round of the Sling Diaries, the overall theme is Love & Adventure, and the six subthemes are Inspiration, Memory, Joy, Voice, Kinship, and Wisdom.*  This time, there are fourteen - you heard it right, FOURTEEN - Diarists.  This is like a thundering herd of Diarists, dear god.  But there's reason behind the madness here, and the reason is that the group is split in two.  To wit, half of the Diarists are Instagram Diarists, and half are Blog Diarists.  (That explanatory link is for my father, who is an avid reader of me and who I am fairly sure does not know what Instagram is.  Hi, Daddy!)  I am an Instagram Diarist.  This is like really unfortunate for anyone who follows me on Instagram, because holy mother, am I ever gonna clog up your feed.  Sorry.  Please don't unfollow me.  I love you, I'm just doing my job.  If you don't already follow me on Instagram and you want to, please do so.  My name is goodtraveller.  (I have no idea how Instagram works online as opposed to as a mobile app, so I have no idea if that link will actually do anything.  Good luck.)**

The thing is, I'm kind of a wordy person, and I always have a ton of Big Ideas, and Instagram is not necessarily a great format for wordiness and Big Ideas.  So in addition to posting my photos on Instagram with brief explanatory captions as assigned, I will also be creating blog posts for each Diary Entry.  This is called Going Above and Beyond in Your Work, which is something that I never really did as a student.  Like, I never did the extra-credit claymation videos, you know?  Not my style.  But now, as an adult, it suddenly kind of is my style, I guess because it doesn't involve claymation and because I actually really care about it.  I'm now a Going Above and Beyond in My Work kinda girl, and you will witness said Aboveness approximately once a month here in this blog.

So.  That explains the Sling Diaries.  OK?  OK.  Over and out.

*If you are thinking that illustrating each of these themes with five photographs of me with my baby in a sling might be a little difficult, then we are thinking the same thing.  I am kind of peeing my pants in terror over here.  But fear not, dear audience, it will get done, because it must.

**If you're interested in the Sling Diaries in general, as opposed to just MY sling diaries, you can follow on Instagram (@lovesakurabloom), Pinterest (Sakura Bloom), and/or Facebook (The Sling Diaries). 

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Tuesday, April 16

I'm not entirely sure why I am so upset about Boston.  It's a tragedy, of course, a horrible tragedy, but there are many tragedies, all the time.  I'm an emotional girl, I'm sentimental, but I usually don't make such a big deal about news.  I did not cry like this about Sandy Hook.

Maybe it's because this reminds me of September 11.  The city was silent then, and everything was closed, and military planes circled and circled overhead, and it stayed that way for days, and none of us really knew how to look at each other or what to say.  I read certain sections of Gravity and Grace over and over again.  About a week after, when my husband (then my boyfriend) and I walked past a vigil at St. John the Divine, I broke down.  I sat on the floor of the elevator in his building, and I sobbed and sobbed.

Maybe it's because Boston is like that.  Maybe it's because I am a silly inconsistent woman.  I don't really know.

*******


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When I first found out yesterday evening, I was in the office of the childbirth education studio. I was supposed to start teaching in 5 minutes.  It was the last class of a 6-week cycle, meant to be an uplifting, warm, and emotionally powerful class.  I did not think I could do it.  My eyes kept filling with tears, and I was frightened.  "We should all be at home," I kept saying to myself, "We should all be at home."  Why were stores open?  Why were the subways working?  Shouldn't we all be at home?  Would there be circling planes?

The expecting couples entered the studio, chatting happily.  No one said anything about Boston.  Had they not heard?  I said nothing about it.  I taught the class, hugged them all goodbye, wished them luck on their journeys.  I went home.  I was feeling so much better that I ate two helpings of dinner and two helpings of dessert, and then caught up on Project Runway before going to bed.

*******

Someone texts me, a number I don't know.  


I hope she doesn't have children.  I hope she hasn't yet heard about Boston.  I hope she is not afraid.  I want to keep talking to her, but that would be crazy.  I put the phone down.

*******

I woke up this morning crying and babbling about evil.  My husband lifted his head and looked at me blearily.  "I'll get up in 2 minutes," he said, "I just want to sleep a little more."  "One of them was a baby," I told him.  "8 years old," he answered, and went back to sleep.  Once he was properly awake, he was lovely and sympathetic.  He hugged me and agreed with everything I said. "We're targets," I said,  "Here in New York.  We're targets all the time."  He did not tell me I was being melodramatic.  He told me that he would drive downtown to work today instead of taking the train.

*******

I'm sad.  I'm so sad that my bones are sad.  I want to send text messages to all of my friends and acquaintances to tell them that I'm sad, but I know that that would be strange and silly, so I won't do it.  I keep checking Facebook and Instagram and Twitter, hoping to find that more people have liked my posts, because I want to feel connected.  I've seen lots of people so far today, but I haven't told anyone aside from my husband about my sad sad bones.

*******

Things are falling out of my brain, random pieces of whateverness.  My mind is open, wide open, not at the top such that things come in, but rather at the bottom such that everything is just sliding out, sliding down my spine, a slimy puddle of my thoughts on the floor.  If my dog were here, I don't think he would eat it.

This is one of the things that has fallen out of my brain, an interaction from days (weeks?) ago:


"Well I dislike that."

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Of course, I had to be ill-natured with my children, impatient to leave them with the babysitter.  Of course, I could not decide what to wear.  It seemed very important.

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