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1. #BELLINGHAM SCHOOL DISTRICT MINDUP CURRICULUM HOW TO#
2. #BELLINGHAM SCHOOL DISTRICT MINDUP CURRICULUM MOVIE#
3. #BELLINGHAM SCHOOL DISTRICT MINDUP CURRICULUM FULL#

When June is with Brandon, he texts me funny things she says, and when she’s with me, I do the same. We meet up for soup dumplings at Din Tai Fung most weekends. Our lives have a lot of overlap: Brandon and I work together, text every day, and see each other many days of the week. June calls our homes “the Delancey house” and “Dino’s house.” She lives with each of us for half of each week. I live in the house that we bought almost six years ago, not far from Delancey, and he lives in an apartment near Dino’s. I want her always to think of her family with easy love and confidence, the way she does now.īrandon and I separated over the summer.

#BELLINGHAM SCHOOL DISTRICT MINDUP CURRICULUM FULL#

And Daddy will be a purple fish, and we’ll all swim around together.” I sat on the wooden step stool that my second cousin gave us when June was born, with her name and birthdate spelled out in puzzle letters, my eyes full to the brim, not sure if I was happy or sad or some third thing. Maybe anything we want can happen? We won’t have our bodies anymore, so we could do whatever we want: maybe fly like birds, or maybe swim like fish.

I panicked a little and tried to hide it. One night this past September, I was sitting in the bathroom with June (“Mommy, I have to go potty, and I need company”), and she asked, out of the ether, the way four-year-olds do, what happens when we die. But somewhere along the line, from my heroes, whose souls were forged in fires infinitely hotter than mine, I gained an outsized faith in articulation itself as its own form of protection.

#BELLINGHAM SCHOOL DISTRICT MINDUP CURRICULUM MOVIE#

Often I watch myself gravitating toward the bad idea, as if the final girl in a horror movie (…). Most of my writing usually feels to me like a bad idea, which makes it hard for me to know which ideas feel bad because they have merit, and which ones feel bad because they don’t. I read The Argonauts last month, and Maggie Nelson puts it best: If anything, I wish I’d written more about that, been less afraid. I felt the same draw again after June was born, when I was diagnosed with postpartum depression. I felt the same way when I started to write Delancey, realizing that I couldn’t tell our story, or not in any way that felt complete, without exploring us from our most unflattering angles – and particularly me, as I bumbled and flailed, learning to trust and love someone whose dreams are much grander and riskier than my own.

#BELLINGHAM SCHOOL DISTRICT MINDUP CURRICULUM HOW TO#

But I got up the next morning and wrote the scene, because I couldn’t figure out how to avoid it. I wasn’t writing a book about my dad, and I wasn’t writing a book about death I was writing a food memoir, tra la la, with fifty recipes and a cheery seafoam-green cover.

I wanted to take it out of my head and put it somewhere else: the color of his skin, the strange percussion of his breath, the nurse calling up the stairs in the middle of the night. I remember the night when, toward the end of writing A Homemade Life, I got into bed, switched off the light, and suddenly was hit with a very bad idea, an almost electric impulse to write about my father’s death. I’ve always been drawn to the things we’re not supposed to talk about.