Honeyfox
This morning Khalil asked for a family meeting so David and I sat on the floor across from him and he said, “No! The meeting is tomorrow.” We asked what he needed to discuss and he said, “silly things.”
I’ll keep you updated.
The fox came back today and sniffed around our small plastic slide. Earlier this week, she brought a friend with her. As I write this, our neighbor is grilling on her deck while it snows.
We brought a new puppy home about a week ago. Khalil has dubbed her Honeypuppy which is a variation of Honeyfish, the name of our red betta fish. Honeypuppy is smart and fluffy and sleeps most of the time. We were warned that having a puppy would be exhausting and set our expectations very low. Fortunately, we’ve been pleasantly surprised. The hardest part is keeping toys in her mouth so she doesn’t use our hands, pants, and table legs as chew toys.
Like many people, David and I have been feeling burnt out for a while now. We are always behind on housework, work work, and feel constant guilt about all of the screen time in our house. Khalil pulled open a pretend computer the other day and told me to be quiet because he had a meeting. Sigh.
Normally, I’d see this level of family exhaustion as evidence that we need to change something but I think, in this case, it’s evidence that we are living through something hard. We all are.
Despite our exhaustion, I continue to chip away at my writing.
A few months ago, a friend from Davidson, Caroline Cupp, reached out about writing a picture book together about mamas with disabilities. We interviewed dozens of moms with chronic illnesses and disabilities about how they play with their kids. We took those stories and wrote a picture book highlighting the innovative and beautiful ways that moms with all a variety of bodies and minds play with their kids.
To our delight, Clelia Gore, a children’s book agent with experience with nonfiction disability works, was interested in our manuscript and we signed with her in early November. We are in the process of editing our proposal and she will submit it to publishers in early 2021. When I think about the fact that, in all likelihood, a book representing families like ours will be out in the world, I feel a wave of peace and fulfillment.
Now that I’ve been writing for about 18 months, I’ve started to meet more writers, editors, and activists.
After the DC Public Library event in September, Judy Heumann’s assistant reached out and I’ve since had two calls with Judy. Having the opportunity to share a virtual stage with Alice Wong and then a zoom call with Judy was surreal. They are both total disability rights icons and I have so much to learn from them. If you haven’t seen Crip Camp, I cannot recommend it more. Alice’s book, Disability Visibility to which I contributed an essay, is for sale everywhere.
I’ve also been in touch with the writer, Jenny Pritchett AKA Jenny True, who has a touching and hilarious book coming out around Mother’s Day and blogs for Romper. I contributed a few lines to her book and have been really enjoying her blog/newsletter.
I wrote an essay about how nice Canadians are and, while no one wanted it, my rejected submission to the New York Times prompted the editor to request a phone call to discuss what we’ve both been thinking about and discuss future projects. I finished that phone call so thankful to have discovered my love for writing last year and to be able to interact with the world in this way. My life is mostly restricted to my bedroom and can feel pretty small in scope—the opportunities to connect with other people through writing are life-giving. Thank you for the ways that you support me.
Instead of agonizing about social and political disintegration in America, I thought a professional and personal update might be a welcome change. Thanks for reading along. This newsletter has been a nice addition to my life. Some friends reply with their own updates and I love that. Replies encouraged! I hope you are reasonably rested right now and have at least 5 minutes to do something fun or mindless today. I’ve read Wait by Galway Kinnell hundreds of times over the years. Trust the hours.
Wait, for now.
Distrust everything if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven’t they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become interesting.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again;
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. The desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.
Wait.
Don’t go too early.
You’re tired. But everyone’s tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a little and listen:
music of hair,
music of pain,
music of looms weaving our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.