How the universe sent me a babysitter - Part II

When I walked in to her little house on the prairie I immediately breathed in the smell of spice tea. It was toasty warm inside, clean but not sterile. Yael had the look of a home schooling, bread baking, granola rolling, all-terrain strolling, pioneer mama. I stayed for about forty minutes and we played with the babies. I nursed my boy. She nursed hers. We talked about how he sleeps, what he eats, how he motors across a carpet on elbows. He stared at everything with his giant eyes. When it was time for me to go he made the boo boo face and started to cry. I said goodbye and left him with Yael. And then I went to get a great big coffee from the cafe across main road. After, I went home and straightened up the house, did some laundry and generally felt happy to be alone. Really alone. Not the kind of alone where you still have a baby strapped on to you. We were separate and it was fine.

I picked him up two hours later. He had cried. But he also slept. I gave him the food I had made. He hadn't taken it from Yael. But she wasn't discouraged and neither was I. We wanted to make it work.

The next day we came straight after dropping off the big kids. He was tired and I didn't stay long so that she could put him to bed. Before I left she changed his diaper and sang his favorite song, Itsy Bitsy Spider, but in Hebrew. He calmed down. He was starting to connect to her. He cried again when I left but she texted soon after that he was asleep.

This time when I got home I got out my paints and a drawing, the third in a series, that I had sketched a while ago but never painted. So I painted it. The series is called Day of Rest. One panel is Sabbath Eve with the two candles, the glass of wine and the challah. The second panel is Sabbath day - a tree of life shading a quiet village. The third one, the one I just painted, is called Havdalah, the separation between the Sabbath and a new week, the symbols of which are the braided candle, the glass of wine and the spice box. It seemed the perfect theme to celebrate my own brief separation.

When I went back to Yael's he was awake and cried when he saw me. I nursed him and we snuggled. He relaxed.  He had slept a lot and eaten both jars of his food but still no bottle. In due time. While I was nursing him Yael asked me if I knew someone named Galit from the moshav. I asked, does she have a seven month old? Yes. A few weeks before I had been in the cafe with my kids and another family was there with some out of towners so they were speaking English. I guess the husband overheard us speaking English too and when we were leaving he asked where we were from. We had a brief conversation about California because someone from his family was living there but I don't remember the details. Nice guy. They live in the moshav across from the cafe. A week later I was at our health clinic with the baby and I ran into the guy's wife with their seven month old. She asked, didn't I see you at the cafe? Yes. I gave her my card and said she should email me if she ever wanted to get together. I told her I work from home but I don't yet have childcare and I'm with the baby a lot. Hoping to find a sitter sometime soon...

That was Galit. Turns out Galit had given that card to Yael a few days later and mentioned she had met an American looking for some part time childcare. At that point in our conversation Yael went over to her jacket pocket and pulled out my card.

The universe is funny that way. Sometimes it expects you to take the last step and close the circle. Which is fine by me since I'm one who thinks we make our own fate. But I learned from a good friend not to  dismiss the powers of attraction and our abilities to draw exactly the right people at the right time into our lives.

How the universe sent me a babysitter - Part I

This was a very big week. I found a babysitter for Bug Eye McChicken Legs. This is big for a number of reasons but mainly because I wasn't totally convinced that I could rationalize spending money for someone else to take care of him when I only earn barely enough to cover it. I always have it in my head that I can still run my business and my household in two hour increments while he's napping and why would I pay for someone else to watch him sleep. Except he doesn't always nap as he should. And I never feel at ease starting the next project because I know that at any moment I will have to stop. And then I secretly start to resent just a teeny bit the McChicken. Plus maybe the reason I am only earning enough to barely cover childcare, is that I'm not actually working much at all.

Since he was born I haven't painted a thing. In the weeks leading up to his birth I had several commissions to finish and it was quite a fruitful period. But then the baby came and the house sold and the RV trip and the move and leaving the country and settling into a new county. Well, it hasn't been super conducive to creating. And unfortunately I'm not the type to just jot down sketches and doodles whenever I can. I know that about myself so I don't even buy journals anymore.  I've continued to fill orders and have them printed and shipped through a lovely print shop in North Carolina thanks to the magic of the Internet, so business goes on. But nothing new has hit paper in seven months which had me feeling like I'm not really an artist (I feel this way from time to time. Impostor syndrome. Very destructive).

So when I saw a flyer posted next to the neighborhood grocery (think Israeli bodega) advertising a 29 year old mom of two (baby and toddler) looking to watch another baby three days a week in the morning while her two year old is at preschool, I sort of thought this might be perfect. So I took a tear off with her number.

And I stuck it in my pocket where it sat for a week.

I had those thoughts again that I don't deserve childcare. That my baby is too problematic. (no binky, no lovie, no bottle, lots of nursing). That it's not worth the hassle of getting him ready in the morning and packing up his food and diapers and wipes. That surely she's already taken another baby since half the tear-offs were gone and that was a week ago.

Finally I called and even during the conversation I felt a weight rising in my chest. I don't really want to do this. I can't do this. I don't deserve it. She had one other family interested but she was waiting to hear back from them. She'd call me back. A few days later I got a text that she'd like me to bring the baby over and we could try it out for a week or so. See how it goes. I liked that approach.

So this week on Tuesday I took the kids to school and put the baby down for his nap when we got home. When he woke up we rode over to the village next door where the sitter lives (across from the awesome cafe that I wrote about last month which will prove to be an important part of the second part of this story). As I drove in I already started to feel lighter. She lives in a moshav which is kind of a little farming community. This one happens to be a vineyard. And she lives down a dirt road next to a few abandoned chicken coops which I find endlessly charming. Her personal roost overlooks a beautiful valley. And when she opened the door and welcomed me with a giant smile, I sort of knew this would be right for us.

Part II to come.

From your Boccalone to God's ears

Hi. I've been thinking a lot lately about my life and my livelihood and I've decided to let you in on a little secret. I want to get paid for writing. Because shouldn't we all get paid for what we do best? For instance, I have a brother who is really amazing at spinning stuff on his index finger. I feel like someone should pay him to do that. And while I know that what I offer is not nearly as physically nourishing as Tasty Salted Pig Parts (see above), I think my blog does offer a kind of nourishment for the soul. Yes? Maybe?

(As an aside, we passed by this little shop, Boccalone, in the Ferry Building in San Francisco a few weeks ago. We didn't partake because we don't eat pork, but I like that when you go there, you know exactly what you're getting. And, incidentally, boccalone means big mouth, I think, in Italian American slang. You'll be needing your boccalone later on in the post).

I put this little message out into the universe a few years ago (about getting paid to write) and ended up with a copy writing job at Shutterfly which I didn't know at the time would be a first step toward starting my business and fulfilling my dream of being a working artist. So that's all good. Thanks universe.

But I'm understanding now that I needed to be more specific about the kind of writing for which I would like to be paid. I want to be paid money for writing this blog. Not that I want YOU to pay me money because lord knows none of us has any money. Seriously. But there are companies out there with a lot of money or even a little money and they should pay me because even though I don't get much traffic over here, my posts have above average grammar. This is something that many other blogs do not offer. Trust me.

Or maybe I could submit some of my funnier posts with a pitch for a BOOK to a publisher. How novel! A blogger that wants to write a book! That's just what the world needs! And how does one submit to publishers anyway? Just look up the address and send along a package? Would I need an agent? Maybe I should start with a magazine column? Self-publishing? A blog? YES! Maybe I'll write a blog! Wait.

I wish I could muster up some spirit, drive and enthusiasm on the subject but it all seems kind of big, daunting and impossible. I think that waiting for someone to find me would be more my style. I hang around and write little vignettes and you, marketer/publisher/editor, happen upon my work and we agree on a book concept and you write me a big check.

So while I'm waiting for that, here's what you can do, loyal reader:

1. Subscribe to the blog, friends! It can only bring you joy and happiness. Just click the subscribe button and every post will come straight to your google reader or whatever your home page is. Then you don't have to rely on Facebook or check every five minutes to see if I've written anything new. You and your employer will thank me.
2. Run up and down your street screaming my url. INNERTODDLER.COM If you do this without a shirt on it will really grab people's attention. You might also get arrested so be sure to tell everyone at the police department about the blog too. And if you're at the Mountain View Police Department, say hi to my friend Jill who works there.
3. Call up the famous people in your life and let them know about me. A celebrity endorsement can go a long way. No doubt Tori Spelling or Nicole Ritchie could use some assurance that toddler erection (in a boy) is totally freaky normal. And all of those Hollywood Kabbalah junkies should certainly own at least one of my hamsas.
4. Tell all of your publisher friends to come have a read. And mention that this blog ranks very high if not number one on several key search terms including, but not limited to, "toddler erection", "toddler mariachi costume" and "kiss my fannie mae".
5. Send any of YOUR suggestions my way. I'll dedicate my book to you.

OK readers! Go forth! Spread the good word. Operators are standing by.