the one that’s not about morocco

When I imagine the prefect space for writing, two images come to mind.

One is a second story cafe in Newington Green, London. It’s a bit dark, a bit smokey, and has a couple small windows that overlook an old cemetary.

In no way does this place excite me as a writing space, but I always think of it.

Perhaps that’s because I have distinct memories of sitting alone there, journalling my heart out as a 19-year-old. Handwritten, of course, in little books…. long before the days that laptops were as common as peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

The other place I think of is a small office on the second story of an old farm house. There’s an oversized desk, a huge window, and lots of natural light. On the desk are a couple of framed photos, few pieces of paper, and several pens scattered aorund. (Why are there pens? I write on my laptop.) Ouside there’s a looming oak tree, sprawling lawns, and of course a babbling brooke.

(This place doesn’t exist. Well, I’m sure it does. I’ve just never been there.)

I’ve never wanted to live in teh country. But I can certainly imagine wriitng there.

Neither of those places are my ideal writing spaces, and yet they are the ones I always think of – one real and one pretend.

When I sat down to write this post I was going to write about Morocco.

About the shapes of the doors and the colors of the shoes. About the flicker of lanterns and the cobblestone alleys adn how it all made me long to write and create so desperately.

How did I get to a smelly old cafe and imaginary farm house from that?

Someday I will write about Morocco. A strange and beautiful and far away place.

Until then I’ll keep writing from my couch in this old Queenslander I call home.

STOP.

Q for you: What’s your ideal creative space?

Love,
A

Click Clink Five is a blog by Adriel Booker. | Five minutes a day, unedited. | 2012 All rights reserved. | Adriel also writes on parenting and motherhood at The Mommyhood Memos.

my inner critic

Apparently sixth grade was a big year for me:

The year I learned about autism.

The year I did my first volunteering (outside of a church setting at least).

The year I wrote my very first report. (The report was about koalas. Oh, the irony as I write this from Down Under 23 years later.)

It was also the year that I got my first B.

I’ll never forget it.

Mrs. Smith handed me my report card and there, next to “science” was a B. A big, fat, dreaded B.

I was devastated and burst into tears.

Cry. me. a. river.

My 11-year-old logic: My family didn’t have much money. If I wanted to go to college, no doubt I’d need to get there on scholarship. And if I wanted a scholarship, no doubt I’d need to have a perfect school record. Perfect. Six grade included.

(Where does an 11-year-old get these ideas? Certainly not my parents for the record! They were thrilled with my B and never, ever pressured me about grades during my entire life. Not even once.)

But there I was, an 11-year-old with ruined college and career plans.

maybe I couldn’t become a child psychologist after all. (I wonder what a child pychologist would say about my ideas back then? Hmmm… another post for sure.)

I’ve since earned a few B’s, and when I got to college I actually got a C once. It was in math or science, of course.

But you know what? I don’t even remember what exact class that C was from… because it’s not important.

I’ve since learned that I will never be perfect. I will never have “straight As.” Not on my report card, and not in life.

Most of the time, I’m at peace with that; sometimes I still wrestle.

beginning this five-minute-a-day blog is an excercize in beating that inner perfectionist to death.

Do you know how hard it is to just write and not edit and then the world see all of my flaws and typos and scattered thoughts?

But it is working. It is helping.

And I am becoming more comfortable to just write. Write without reservations.

Thank you Mrs. Smith for helping me to see that a B is still really, really good. I’m sorry it took me a few years to figure it out.

Q for you: My inner critic is the perfectionist. What’s yours??

Love,
A

Click Clink Five is a blog by Adriel Booker. | Five minutes a day, unedited. | 2012 All rights reserved. | Adriel also writes on parenting and motherhood at The Mommyhood Memos.

jonathan, the boy with autism

In the sixth grade my teachers took my class to the swimming pool on Fridays to work with the kids from the Alice Hatch Center.

The Alice Hatch Center was a preschool for kids with special needs.

I can’t remember any of the kids, or what kinds of “needs” they had… except for one:

Jonathan.

Jonathan was “my” boy.

He was three years old, slight for his age, with blonde hair and gray-blue eyes.

Jonathan had autism.

For whatever reason, Jonathan decided he liked me and trusted me.

I was the only one he’d swim with.

To say we were buddies was an understatement.

I loved that kid.

I’m pretty sure he loved me too.

I looked forward to seeing him each Friday afternoon.

That was when I decided I wanted to be a child psychologist and work with autistic kids.

I was eleven.

Obviously that dream didn’t stick with me for the long term. (It did for about 4-5 years though!)

I’m no child psychologist today, nor do I desire to be. But I always have had a special soft spot in my heart for kids with special needs.

They are so often misunderstood. Misunderstood and even feared.

I sometimes think about Jonathan today. He would be about 26 – all grown up. I dont even know his last name.

I wonder if he lives independently and what his life is like.

I sometimes miss him too.

What great teachers I had – Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Fox – who gave their sixth graders a chance to help kids in need, and a chance to be changed in the process.

STOP.

 

Q for you: What special person from your childhood do you miss?

 

Love,
A

 

Click Clink Five is a blog by Adriel Booker. | Five minutes a day, unedited. | 2012 All rights reserved. | Adriel also writes on parenting and motherhood at The Mommyhood Memos.

thank god for 12th grade english

By teh time I was a senior in high school, I was pretty over it.

I had all of my credits finished the year before and had begun taking classes at hte local community college, but I left 12th grade English for 12th grade becuase everyone told me that I shouldn’t miss out on my senior year.

Even though i could have easily finished it the year before, i left it so i could have my “senior year experience.”

Turns out, I thought it (school in general) was a giant waste of time and wished I had just finished up the year before.

But soldier on, i did.

School was always easy for me. I didn’t have to try very hard. (Unless it came to memorizing stuff like science terms or historical dates.)

In my 12th grade english class I never even read the books. I could easily join in class discussions and even write essays abotu the books just based on what others said in class. (I’m an excellent bluff-er.)

I was a total faker. A faker getting straight As.

And then my teacher – Mrs Hurley? – assigned The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand.

I’m not even really sure why since it was a thick, thick book, but I decided to give that one a try.

I read the entire book in about three days. Loved. It.

And that was my turning point.

I read the book, engaged (for real) in class, and wrote a stellar essay about it.

After that my teacher asked me to be a student teacher and help her mark the other student’s papers.

I didn’t grade them of course, but I did critique their writing, write remarks and comments, etc. and then pass them onto Mrs. Hurley for the “real” grading.

it was my saving grace that year.

If it weren’t for that class I may have never started reading again. (And I might have never gone to class again either.)

I loved Mrs, Hurley. I loved that she not only saw something in me, but then she gave me a platform.

I’ve always loved reading – ever since I was a little kid. But that’s the class where I discovered I wasn’t just good at writing, but I enjoyed writing.

Thank you Mrs Hurley for helping me to discover a little something about myself. Now here I am, 17 years later, actually beginning to do something about it. (I stil have a long way to go, but hey, at least I’m going.)

I never did tell her that all of my “A-graded” papers until that point had been based on a bluff.

STOP. (just went nearly a minute over!)

Q for you: Did you have a teacher that changed things for you? How did he/she influence your life?

Love,
A

Click Clink Five is a blog by Adriel Booker. | Five minutes a day, unedited. | 2012 All rights reserved. | Adriel also writes on parenting and motherhood at The Mommyhood Memos.

i write to remember

There are many reasons I write.

I write because I enjoy it. I also write because I’m good at it. (And don’t we all like to do things we’re good at?)

But I also write to remember.

I’ve never been one of those people who can sit around and tell stories.

My husband is like that. I lvoe that about him – he’s never without some story to tell.

Often I try to think of stories to tell… and I just can’t think of any. Seriously. It’s like they don’t even exist in my brain.

I know they must be buried in there somewjere, but wherever that somewhere is, it’s not close to the surface.

So one of the reasons I write is to remember.

I really started writing when Levi was a couple of months old. I’m SO glad I did.

Even now I thnk back to those days (which aren’t that long ago) and the details are hazy.

What helps me to remember are the things I wrote about and the things I photographed.

If I’ve somehow captured it on paper or in image, it’s much more cemented in my mind. (Luckily I have thousands of photos to help jog the old memory!)

But what I don’t have much recored abotu are my travels.

This makes me incredibly sad.

I’ve been to around 35 different countries I think, some of them multiple tiems. Some just for fun, adn some with my work.

I remember a story here and there. I remember how I felt. I remember random facts about hte people I met or something I ate or did.

But largely, my memory is hazy.

How I wish little laptops had been available then like they are now!

I’d have volumes and volumes of stories recorded.

I’m grateful to have (already) lived such a full and interesting life.

I only wish I could remember it a little better.

STOP.

 

Q for you: Do you write? If so, why?

 

Love,
A

P.S. This is the same reason I’m a “list person”. I’d remember nothing if it weren’t a part of some list or another. *sigh*

 

Click Clink Five is a blog by Adriel Booker. | Five minutes a day, unedited. | 2012 All rights reserved. | Adriel also writes on parenting and motherhood at The Mommyhood Memos.

my goals for 2012 – so far, so good

I was reading through my goals for the year today – to check up on myself (check in on myself?) and see how I was doing.

Out of the 10 I set, I’m doing relaly well at abotu half.

Of the other half, there are a couple areas I’m sort-of improving on, and a few I’ve not moved forward a single inch.

But you know what? i’m ok with that.

That’s why I don’t set resolutions, I set goals.

Resolutions make you feel crummy when you break them.

Goals are something that you work towards.

See, it’s only mid-Feburary. I still have 10+ months to nail these goals before I’ve actually failed.

That doesn’t mean I should wait until December to try and implement them (duh). It just means that I give myself grace adn count any small progress for what it is – progress.

Although i still have lots of room to grow in my ten for 2012, I’m happy with how things are going.

I’m glad I’ve set goals and have something to work towards.

And I’m also glad that I’ve “gone public” with them. (Posted them on my blog.) I really do think it’s helping me to stay accountable to myself.

Here’s hoping that when I check in with my goals in another few weeks or a couple months… I’ll be able to see even more… progress.

Slow and steady wins the race. That’s what they say…

STOP.

Q for you: Did you make goals or resolutions for 2012? How are you doing with them?

Love,
A

Click Clink Five is a blog by Adriel Booker. | Five minutes a day, unedited. | 2012 All rights reserved. | Adriel also writes on parenting and motherhood at The Mommyhood Memos.

pinterest please. oh yes please.

For months (MONTHS) I had friends telling me to get on Pinterest.

You’ll love it,

it’s right up your ally,

It’s so yooooooou. they all said.

I resisted knowing that I already have a mild (major?) facebook addiction.

Add to that my time emailing, blogging, writing, doing family newsletters, updating our family website, skyping, tweeting, my birth club forum, instagraming, and googling everything i want to know about everything… and that makes for a lot of time online.

Last thing i needed was another social network.

Two weeks ago I caved.

Signed up for Pinterest.

Hello, yes. I am completely hooked.

I’m already having to limit my time on it.

No more than once–maybe twice–a day. And mostly I do it on my while I’m breastfeeding so it’s not like I’m really “wasting” time.

Right? Right??

But that’s also when I check facebook, read blogs, scroll through instagram.

*sigh* When will I ever have time for all my social networking when I finish breastfeeding?

For now I won’t worry about it. No doubt by then there will be another social networking site and i’ll have to shuffle my online time once again.

So many time wasters to decide between. What’s a girl to do?

STOP.

 

Q for you: Are you on Pinterest? (Here’s me.) Do you love it as much as I do?

 

Love,
A

 

Click Clink Five is a blog by Adriel Booker. | Five minutes a day, unedited. | 2012 All rights reserved. | Adriel also writes on parenting and motherhood at The Mommyhood Memos.

a stupid little poem

Roses are rred

Violets are blue

Blogging on my phone

Is hard to do

My eyes are all squinty

My fingers feel fat

And I’m sitting in bed

Saying DANG and DRAT

why did I forget

My post of the day

Its really too bad

I had lots to say

It will all have to wait

For another time

My pride hurts a little

Frim making this dumb rhyme

Q for you: Ever tried to blog from your phone? (For the record I wouldn’t recommend it.)

Love,
A

Click Clink Five is a blog by Adriel Booker. | Five minutes a day, unedited. | 2012 All rights reserved. | Adriel also writes on parenting and motherhood at The Mommyhood Memos.

running on fumes

Today was one of those days…

You know the kind? The kind where you are so glad it’s over (and so glad days aren’t able to be repeated) and yet you also kinda want to repeat it so that you can get a do-over?

I feel like today was a lot of time squandered, not lived well, because I was too overwhelmed with my own tiredness.

I don’t want to turn this into a whine fest so I’ll just say the littles have been high needs lately, both for different reasons. (Highly legitimate reasons.)

But because of that I’ve been so tired that my awake time is spent wishing I was asleep and my asleep time is spent not really sleeping well becuase I’m stressing about how tired I am and how to meet everyone’s needs while being tired.

Aparently the word of the day is tired. How many tiems have I used that in one post now?

I won’t drag this on becuase my phone just died and so my five minute timer died too.

Ironic.

I’ve got to pack it in before I crash sitting up. I’m running on fumes and even teh fumes are about to expire.

In the great big scope of life it’s no big deal. These days happen.

Babies grow. Things change. Life rolls on.

Tired or not, it’s my choice to make the most of it.

All we can control in life is our own choices and responses.

Here’s hoping tomorrow is a little better. Er, less tiring. Or something.

Waaaaah.

Silly post.

STOP.

 

Q for you: When’s the last time you slept through the night and slept in until 10am? No, wait, don’t tell me.

 

Love,
A

 

Click Clink Five is a blog by Adriel Booker. | Five minutes a day, unedited. | 2012 All rights reserved. | Adriel also writes on parenting and motherhood at The Mommyhood Memos.

different isn’t wrong, it’s just… different.

Culture shock is a funny thing.

People often think they don’t have it. I don’t have culture shock, I like it here they say. As if “liking” has anyting to do with “shocking”. (Yes, “shocking” is a word I just came up with to shorten for culture shock. And then by explaining it I made it a thousand tiems longer anyway. Humph.)

When I was living in Greece my culture shock came by way of please and thank you.

I was 18 and working as a waitress at a restaurant on Santorini Island. Most of our customers where vacationers from Eurpoe and America and Canada and AUstralia. They wanted english-speaking staff for that reason.

But every once and a while we’d get a day with lots of Greek holiday-goers.

One day in particular I was serving Greek couple after Greek couple after Greek couple.

“Coke!” they would shout at me. “Spaghetti Bolonaise!” they would shout next. “Refill!” And on and on it went.

Never a please. Never a thank you.

maybe I woke up on the wrong side of hte bed that day, but for whatever reason by mid-shift I was ready to break down into tears.

They don’t appreciate me. They’re so rude. They’re condescending and belittling.

They haaaaaaate me.

(Why do they hate me so much?)

And then I realized… it’s cultural.

As an American it’s considered rude to throw out your orders to the server. You request. You use pleasantries. You make eye contact.

But as a Greek these people weren’t being rude in teh slightest.

They were just being Greek. THeir role was to tell me what they wanted. My role was to follow directions adn deliver. End of story.

They didn’t hate me. They weren’t being rude. (Well, most of hte time anyway.)

They were just being Greek. They were different. And different isn’t wrong, it’s just… different.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said htat over the last 15 years, most of whichI’ve lived abroad.

Different isn’t wrong, it’s just different.

STOP.

 

Q for you: Have you ever experienced culture shock? How did you handle it?

 

Love,
A

p.s. went over time today!

 

Click Clink Five is a blog by Adriel Booker. | Five minutes a day, unedited. | 2012 All rights reserved. | Adriel also writes on parenting and motherhood at The Mommyhood Memos.