29 September, 2023

...24 (in days gone by)...

In Days Gone By:
 29.September.2018

Swing in our doorway any evening and you might find J-bug on the cello or keyboard. You might find him sanding down prototypes or making resin molds or painting his custom creations. You might even find him drying the dishes...ha!

But, more likely than not, you'll find him in "his corner".
Ensconced in his chair in the corner of the livingroom, tea mug close at hand steaming into the lamplight. He'll be hunched over his laptop, earbuds dangling, frantically typing away with a crease in his brow.

He has...thoughts. Big ones. Little ones. Thoughts that "must come out"!

Last night on our way in to my work, we stopped by T.J. Maxx (as we do) where he waited on a bench while I tried a few things on. He refused to try on the shirts he had found. Fine. No problem. I eyeballed them and acquiesced. At any rate, I dashed in and dashed out, handing over my discards to the fitting room attendant and retrieving my bench-warmer.

"You okay?", I asked.
"Yup." Small grin. "I was thinking. Most of the time. And then I figured it out."
"Figured what out?", I asked.
"Well, I was thinking about God. And Science. And then I figured out the Science behind God. I found a way to scientifically proved that God exists."

Me. Stopped...mid-stride.

"So...how's that work?"

*less than five minutes, peeps...
less than three minutes more likely in the fitting room,
and this is what I come back out to?!?*

"Well, I have to type it out.", he says.
"What do you mean? Explain it.", I respond.
"No", he says. "No, I can't just talk it out. I have to write it down. I can't organize it right in spoken words, not even to you."

So when we came home, I made the tea and he typed his thoughts. I prepped dinner, and his fingers dance across the keyboard at lightning speed. I rang the dinner bell (yes, literal bell. Tiny little silver bell I keep on the top shelf.) and he shook his head. A few more clicks, then done.
My phone chimed. An email alert. I swiped down and saw it was from him.
Invitation to edit in Google Docs.

This. Is. My. Life.
This is normal.
He communicates with me via Google Docs.
Sharing ideas and thoughts and hypotheses.

The email came with a caveat: "I don't have time to write it all out...this is my outline, Mami. What do you think? I'm hungry!"

~~~

"We all believe in some version of how humans came to be . . . but what if all of them were accurate?

Science tells us that homo sapiens came about as an evolutionary adaptation. Religion tells us that humans were based in God’s image.

But let’s start somewhere else. There is a common urban myth that humans use 10% of their brain. This isn’t entirely true, seeing as the human brain is involuntarily used for different things such as music and emotions. Still, though, we only use a fraction of our brains consciously. What if we were able to willingly use more of it? The idea of utilizing an advanced level of intelligence and general understanding has always had its appeal to many, but in reality, it seems fictional. However, there have been examples of more usage, such as unexplained phenomena during medical testing, or major intuition, or even just that extended sense of deja vu, where you perfectly predict what someone will say or do.

Let’s take a look at another interesting fact. Astronauts have proven that your location can affect your age. A person in space will not age as fast as the person on earth, thus proving gravity affects time. And what is gravity, but waves created by miniscule vibrations in matter?

String Theory. That well-founded idea (that still has not been disproven) suggesting that the smallest particles are merely super-symmetrical vibrations forming patterns to create larger particles, which in turn form atoms. This by extension also suggests that all matter (and some forms of energy) gives off a gravitational field based upon the mass and size of the object at hand. Hence why there is practically no pull between humans, but there is one between planets.

Quantum-Based Temporal Manipulation Theory, by yours truly. This idea I came up with, suggest that if one could manipulate the quantum particles, they could manipulate time itself to a degree.
Let’s get back to that idea of using one’s brain. If we were conscious of our own abilities, then we would be able to manipulate time and matter. What if God was human but simply had a full level of consciousness? Theoretically, he could have been an early human, not homo sapien, and forced the evolution of the homo sapiens. Given humans are social beings, that would also explain his understanding people. This is just some food for thought. A feast if you will...

This is what happens when I have free-time. I need more coffee now..."

~~~

Oh yes, people. This is my life. Isn't it awesome?
~One super lucky Mami

(This was Johannes, at 15)

19 September, 2023

...23 (in days gone by)...

 In Days Gone By:
19. September.2017

Homework, oh homework,
I loathe you. It's true!
You've ruined my life, and my family too!
You stretch on for hours,
all day and all night,
with the pressure to get all your damn answers right.
He's frazzled and frustrated,
Dazed and confused,
It's only week two and we're less than enthused.
Your "busy work" sessions,
so unnecessary,
do nothing to teach, but make everything messy.
He's already floundering,
exhausted and stressed,
and really you won't help him ace his next test.
If anything, you'll hinder
his curious mind,
and dull his intellect in the daily grind.
So homework, I beg you,
go **** off and die.
You've stayed far too long. Just leave now. Goodbye.

...22 (in days gone by)...

In Days Gone By:
19. September.2017

Just when you're ready to throw in the towel...

Lately I've been wrestling with my commitment to the organization I run. Let's be real-it's been one heck of an uphill battle. Just when one piece finally falls into place, at least four more drop off. Every. Single. Time. Fix one problem, another crops up. Set things in motion, only to fall flat. Or, better yet, ask for assistance and get NO'd to death.

I put countless hours into answering emails, brainstorming new strategies, vetting outside resources, and developing every piece of material from the ground up.
(All while not-quite balancing my actual work, family, etc...)

And yet, here we are a year and a half later and nothing to show for it. I've dumped in my endless (yeah right!) time, energy and money (yes, someone, namely me, pays for every single administrative item from printing to paperclips) and those very people benefitting from my labours and expenses can't be bothered to participate or rsvp or show up.

As I've expressed (loudly) over the course of the last few weeks, I feel as though my hands are tied. If it's not the administration trying to stall our efforts, then it's the other organizations we're building collaboration with. If it's not the other volunteers ignoring emails and tasks, than its the very members who can't be bothered to "opt in" via a quick message.
So yeah, you might say I've had it. Had it. Refused it. Sent it back for a full refund.

And then this evening...

Mid rant (girl's gotta let off the steam after all) I'm cut off and reminded why I'm doing it. "Because look what you made happen...J self-advocated. Who cares that it cost you almost a grand last year? He stood up for himself. Who cares that the money came out of your weekly food budget, or that you couldn't afford to take a vacation? He stood up for others. Who cares that you spent an hour walking to and from another hour's long meeting this morning that you have no stake in, listening to talk of food day vendors and insurance limits when you can't serve so much as a cup of coffee at your meetings without taking it out of your own wallet? Other parents saw what happens when you, as a parent advocate, led by example and raised him to be the bravest kid ever."

So yeah, I'm stuck here in this mire. This endless push and pull to get something new built on solid ground. This firm and steady shoving to put in place a strong foundation for what can be built in the future, long past my tenure as leader. And I'm stuck in my own wallet, shelling out for envelopes and printer cartridges instead of groceries.

And you know what? Just for tonight? That's ok.

I'm used to "making do".
We're used to barely making ends meet.
We're definitely used to rolling with the punches.
So just for tonight, it's handled. Just for tonight, I'm committed. Another chunk of change? Another 40 hours? Sure, why not? It's just another year before we're gone. And in that time...September to June? Who know what he'll watch me do? Who knows what he'll be inspired to do? Who knows who will be inspired by him?

No funds, no line items, no reimbursements?
That's fine, I'll pay for it.
No time or rsvps?
That's fine, the meeting's set and I'll be there no matter what.
One show instead of the 20 expected?
That's fine, quality over quantity.
He's watching me. Watching to see how it's done. I'll be damned if I let him see me give up. Falter? Sure. That's part of the process. Tire? Stumble? Hit a wall? Vent until steam comes out of my ears??? Ditto.
But give up? Hard NO. He's watching, and he knows one truth...
His Mami NEVER gives up.


15 September, 2023

11 September, 2023

...to sleep, perchance to dream...

Can you see me?
I think I'm fading.  All my edges gone soft and gray.

Can you see me?
Am I dreaming?  Or am I just caught here...in this moment...with no beginning or end?
No rest?
No sleep?

The sleepless nights have been piling up again.
One day bleeds into the next...with nothing to staunch the flow.
I drift and doze, in fits and starts...stirring at some sound or other...some furtive shift from dark corners...or the restless toss and turn of the toddler beside me...
I startle awake...gasping, sometimes...shaking off cobwebs.  My subconscious having found reason or resolution to any number of stressors it's been working at.

I try to count...100 down to 1, then back up again...but my mind interrupts with
did you?
could you?
have you?
should you?

It churns away in the midnight hours...leaping from one query to the next.
Determined to solve it all by morning.

I turn my head slowly to where the clock beckons from the corner.
Numbers aglow.
A groan from deep within as I watch the minutes flick by.

The room is wreathed in blues and greys.
Weak yellow finds a path along the floor...bringing moonlight in to taunt me as I abandon the closed lids of wishfulness and stare into oppressive dark.

I try to turn it off.
To tune it out.
To silence the sigh and the snarl.

I call upon the ghosts.
Summon the day's quiet pleasures.
Try to breathe life into the moving pictures of memory.

But they fade. Go dark.
Leaving words and images behind.
Items to address.
Problems to solve.
Challenges to overcome.


My days are so full of the movement from one person's need to another's,
that rational thought has fallen into the dark place.

Night-time has become 'office hours' for the mind that never sleeps.
When order and hour melt into the shadow, it begins the untangling...pulling on one thought or another...one thread that unwinds then jerks at a knot...

Sleep is impossible.
Breathing slowly...
Counting...slower...
Blinking open when the weight of thought becomes too heavy on the lids.

Within these walls, all others sleep.
They rest and they dream.
If I hold my breath, I can hear theirs through open doorways.  Steady in and steady out.

I try to match the pace with one or other, and choke.

I rise.
Countless times.
To scrawl out some reminder.
To note some clarity.
To schedule some task.

I rise.
And return.
Curl this way...then that...
Hot...then cold...
Digging my toes into the soft blanket...then kicking them free...

Staring...once more...and again...at the clock...
Unspoken dare to stop.
Tick...to-o-o-o-o-o-o-ck it blinks.

The room fogs over as lighter greys push out the dark.
The pale moonlight streak fades back into itself.
The room re-emerges...furnishings coming back into solid form and walls climbing.

I am awake.
Still.
Not again.
I am awake and I am tired, unrested.

I am tired.
Bone weary.
Brain addled.
The work of night having worn me to the bone.

I am tired.
And terrified that another sleepless night will follow...

08 September, 2023

...and miles to go (before i sleep)...

"You look...tired."

Thanks. I know that. I am.

Were we chatting IRL, there'd have already been an uncomfortably long pause, as I struggled to locate that brain-to-mouth connection.  Silence would stretch into awkwardness, as you waited for me to keep up to my end of the conversation.  "I'm sorry. I'm so tired.", you'd hear.  Over and again.  A mindless repetition during even the shortest of exchanges.

(Just ask my *Sea-Star...she can attest!)

I. Am. Tired.
In all the ways.
And it shows.
I look, in my less-than-gentle appraisal of self, much like a worn out pillow...gone all soft and mushy and grey about the edges.  My shoulders slump in like empty casing, and my waist...ugh...what waist...
Where once I stood tall and firm (in disposition and musculature), now I slouch and slump.

I am tired.

There is added weight...both figurative and literal, round about me.

The postpartum pounds that are stuck like glue, by prolactin and cortisol.
The grasping toddler limbs that need constant reassurance and pick-ups.
The strain of caregiving that spreads out far wider than just this little household.
The burdens of others very real and very present and very overwhelming needs, and my own inability to not dive in to try to help.

The unwanted weight of shackles round my feet...roots I can't yet untangle...others' luggage strapped on my back...

I am tired.
And I am tired of being tired.
Because I remember the alternative. I remember the me of 4 or so years ago.
I remember her, and I want to be her again.
I want:
 her energy and her spark
her sparkle and her creativity
her resourcefulness and her grit

Four years ago, after biking through the bay area at Sandy Hook.


And oh yes...I want her body.
The one that could recover.  The one that could stretch and lift and power through.
The body that I could push beyond its limits...take 5...and then go again.
The body that wasn't so tired.

~~~

"You look...tired."

Thanks. I know that. I am.

I'm not getting enough sleep. I'm not getting the right fuel.
I don't have a village...or even a hamlet.
The team? It's me.  I'm the team.
(I'm also the problem.)
I'm so damn over-extended in serving everyone else.

~~~

I'm tired.
Of this.
This version of me that doesn't feel or look or act like me.
This version that is Just Worn Out.

So I've gotten back on the bike.

Not this one, sadly. This one was crushed when a tree fell on the storage shed.
Like most of the losses, it's yet to be replaced.

Literally.
The stationary cycle.
The one that, for a while, I was cranking away at each day.  On which, for a short while there, I was putting in my daily 20, sweating my way through lockdown/postpartum and distance-learning and Covid and social-distancing.  Pedaling toward victory...until I quit.

When things got...hard...harder...more complicated...more chaotic...

I've chosen September to start back up.
I've a plan in place...a challenge to only myself...
1 mile for each date.
1 for September 1st
2 for September 2nd
and so on...
through the 30th

And as for accountability?
This.
This page.
This post.
Where today it's the 8th of September and I've done
the 7 and 6 and 5 and 4 and 3 and 2 and 1
of this month's yesterdays.
Where I was about to finish up typing and hop back on finish out my 8...
but now it's storming outside, and I've boys to wrangle into the safest corner.

465 miles.
By the end of the month.

465 miles, just for me.
Cycled in silence...or in the chatter of a phone vent sesh with my *Sea-Star...or in the sweaty hands turning the page of a book read for pleasure.
465 miles and all the minutes and hours I'm taking for myself in which to cycle through them.

Because I'm tired of being this tired.
I want to be strong again.




*Sea-Star: the nickname for one of my
biological half-siblings as we navigate
our strange sisterhood of genes and
choice and overcoming.


...first bite...

 6.September.2023

Henri's 1st day of Pre-K (the homeschool edition)


"The beginning is the most important part of the work" -Plato


"Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. " - A.A. Milne


~~~

Here's to setting your spark ablaze and finding your own lifelong love of learning, little one.

Here's to celebrating your unique interests, creativity, and approach.

Here's to developing your intellect alongside your independence.

And...most importantly...here's to you and all that you are becoming!

🍎

...21 (in days gone by)...

 In Days Gone By:
8.September.2020

My alarm chimed this morning.
(Literally. As in..."Wind Chimes", courtesy of the ringtones/notifications/etc app I downloaded ages ago...back in those "halycon" pre-Covid days when schedules were life and every task had its own tone.)
So chime it did. Sweetly and softly, just barely rippling through the deep dark quiet of 5a.m. I ignored it, silencing the alarm with one hand and the whimper of Henri next to me with the other. Co-sleeping...such a misnomer. He sleeps in fits and starts while I cling to the side of the bed, scared to move. The crib lies vacant just a few feet away. Rejected. As it is every night over and over and over again until I finally give in and bundle him up into the center of my bed...clear off the blankets and pillows...and lay rigidly against the outside, barring any rolling off or cat clambers. The night had been long...barely time to drift between nursing demands. The alarm chimed and I groped about for the phone. Turned off the volume. Rocked my little neighbor with one arm and turned my head, closing my eyes...counting down again...
And then I woke.
But a minute later, or maybe two.
The alarm.
THE alarm.
The first day of back to school...minus the back, the to, and the school. Time to rise and shine and prep for the unknown. Time to wake my Junior.
He picked the time, by the way.
Not that you were wondering.
Time for coffee...served hot and steaming...passed from my weary hands to his groggy ones. Time for breakfast and a shower. Time for a first day photo. Time, more importantly now, for playing with his little brother...squeezing in a book or two and their beloved floor time routine.
Some time later, I stood in the kitchen, my own mug gone lukewarm...listening to the happy baby chortles and sing-song baritone. I'd just finished rearranging the dining area...a bit of the push this here/remove that there swap...to take us from dining to zooming. Small space living is forever a balancing act, now all the more so with another purpose for the room to serve. School. A window into the world, or a window into his private life. Either way, uncomfortable.
Over breakfast I asked him how he was feeling about Remote-Learning. He answered right away...years of life with me must have taught him well...he can guess the questions well in advance.
"So here's the thing, Mami: I enjoy learning. You know that. We're alike. I like new information and new challenges. I like learning. But not school. School is where they teach "the What" but not "the Why". It's sort of like the manuals that come with Ikea flat-packs. There's a parts listing (and you hope all the pieces are there!) and the diagrams, but it's up to the individual student to build it out. And more than that...it's only the instructions for the basic model. You want to customize it? Create something more suited to your lifestyle or your creativity? That's all on you. All you get in the manual-the school is the basic/the average/the conventional. And sometimes that's just so damn frustrating! It's that feeling of "Here's something new and exciting to explore...but, no, we're not actually going to do anything with it".
So it's definitely time to try something new. I don't know if this is it. But it's worth the trying, I suppose. The schedule is way shorter, so maybe that means more time for self-guided learning? I'm nervous what impact the shortened schedule will have on the quality of education. Longer periods but less frequent. Will that mean cramming things in faster, or losing out on some of the material? And assessments? How are they handling quizzes and tests? How will assessments be equitable in this hybrid-schoolyear?
But since you asked...I'm glad to be attending remotely. Wish that had been an option all along. I'm glad to be able to circumvent all the overwhelming 'white noise' of sensory chaos and just focus on the learning."
He answered...and I wrote (in Mami shorthand)...knowing I'd want to see it here in years to come. The moment passed. Breakfast done and the hustle and bustle resumed.
I stood in the kitchen with my coffee, waiting to be called in, and thinking back on all the frenetic first days in the past.
No bus to wait on this morning.
No bookbag to repack.
No supply list posted at the front door.
Just this. Easing on in. Rearranging the furniture and opening the Chromebook.
His school day began when the meeting opened. I watched him raise his hand and wave, a wry grimace of a smile on his face. I watched his eyes tracking across the screen. Heard the staccato click on fingers on keyboard. Saw his head nod and heard him say his name...repeating it for the teacher who still pronounced it incorrectly...marking himself as "present".
I caught his eyes briefly, the smallest acknowledgement that he was "good to go", before I whisked Henri from the crib and wrestled him into the carrier for our walk.
While the newly christened Junior watched (literally) his school-day begin, the junior and I headed down the drive and walked in the cool damp of early morning. Back and forth. Forth and back. I spoke nonsense to him. He played at enraptured audience. We breathed in the fresh air and heard the birdsong. We watched squirrels flirt and wrestle. We stood, both with eyes gone wide with surprise, as school busses drove by.
None of this even remotely like what came before.

07 September, 2023

...20 (in days gone by)...

In Days Gone By:
6.September.2017

As I continue to struggle through the growing pains brought on by all the heartaches and heartbreaks that hit me this past year, I look to this image daily to remind me...



that what was never intended won't ever be,
and that I was never going to find a place to settle in and settle down.

I will always only ever be this perfectly imperfect.

Rigid where others bend,
generous where others withhold,
sympathetic where others judge,
broken where others are whole,
strong where others are soft,

out of place where others fit in...

06 September, 2023

...19 (in days gone by)...

  In Days Gone By:
5.October.2022

Parenting:
You plan, and decide, and expect.
You create a series of check-points, of milestones, of goals.
You pour energy into creating rituals and rules.

You spend 10 minutes asking your toddler to put his book on 'the chair',
(the recliner in the background)
even going so far as to stop-drop-swoop
(him up from where he's walked away, ignoring you, dropping the book again)
while picking up Everything Else he's left in his detritus-wake.

You boil...inside...wondering when life ended and this hellish rinse-repeat of cleaning up
The Same Mess
every hour on the hour replaced it.
And then...
'Ta Da!' he says.
Ta Da! Perfect T. Perfect D.
(Speech therapy win, but that's another story.)

Ta Da, and pride and pointing...at The Book...perfectly balanced on The Chair.


(Precision of language, Mami. Buckle up...you're in for another bumpy ride!)
Ta Da!
Here's to Happy Accidents...and being proud of creative rule 'following'!
Never change, Henri!

...tenuously tethered...

There is both shame and serenity in realizing how insignificant you are.
Both exist, in equal measure.

Shame: of self, of purpose, of effort, of...hope founded in the unfulfilled need of the inner child.  Shame in the wounds both caused and suffered, and the map of scars left behind.

Serenity: of...permission to detach, of finding the bottom and finding yourself still standing, of...hope unfettered.  Serenity in the familiarity of the scars that knit you together.


The understanding of how very little you matter,
sometimes even to those who matter to you,
can blaze up suddenly...
and make cinders of all the formalities...the constructs...the obligations...

The understanding of how very little you matter can reveal itself in the smallest of moments...
an unmasked glimpse...
a careless turn of phrase...
a single photograph...

Like both a gut punch and a full breath...somehow, caught in the same moment.
Despair and deliverance.

Shame and serenity, in equal measure.
A 'putting in place'.
A relinquishment of responsibility to reparation or relationship.

That moment, suddenly there, where before there was angst and hesitation...
That moment...as though someone has unlocked the door on the gilded cage..
saying "you are free to go"
saying you are free of the cage
but
also
saying you aren't special enough to want to cage...to enclose...to keep...
saying...
you aren't important enough to take care of.
It is the very essence of bittersweet.


Realizing...
as you move through the shame and the serenity...
that you need no longer make yourself available...
that you can leave the door open, without also standing in it as guardian and greeter...

The understanding of how very little you matter,
sometimes even to those who matter to you,
is a lesson well learned but hard earned.

It's recognizing that 'the ties that bind' don't...
it's realizing that roots once severed grow divergent from one another...
it's resolving to be in the now...

It's moving through the shame and into what waits beyond it...
It's finding serenity in the present when we stop trying to fix the past...

It's cutting yourself loose and plotting the course without being swung by the weight of responsibility.








05 September, 2023

...18 (in days gone by)...

 In Days Gone By:
3.September.2019

 For those whose children went "back to school" this morning:

Some of you are exhausted.
Your summer was hectic and busy.
Your child's vacation a thing to work around...filling up all their moments by pouring every last drop out of your own cup.

Some of you are excited.
Your morning full of the same frantic fervor as your child's was.
New school supplies and new outfits and new teachers and new adventures!

Some of you are relieved.
The schedule resuming "normalcy" is like a siren call...you've been impatiently waiting it out all summer long, watching as your child floated, tetherless and unsecure.

Some of you are heartbroken and heart-filled.
The bus pulling away from the curb...a sign of more change, more growth, more time passing despite your best efforts to hold onto this child in this moment at this time.

To each of you...a hug...a high five...a smile that we alone can understand.
A wish, shared freely, that our children will all have a good "First Day" and that this schoolyear will challenge their intellects but not break their spirits.

...17 (in days gone by)...

  In Days Gone By:
5.September.2018


The Freshman, 15: My alarm chimed at 4:30am ("Never Enough" from The Greatest Showman as a riff on my lack of sleep) and I made it from bed to kitchen with nary a misstep...where I then stood in front of an open refrigerator in complete fog...contemplating lasagna.

Yes, lasagna.

And cake.

And finally, the fog cleared a bit and my brain woke up and remembered...breakfast.

Coffee made...ouch, too hot, from reheating...the handle of my mug leaving a red mark on my finger.

Alarm #2-"Transformers"

"The Son Also Rises"

He's annoyed at my chipper..."why are you being so cheerful?", so I drop the pretense and hand over his coffee.

Into the kitchen proper then....ingredients out, utensils ready, food prep underway.
While this and then that were frying and boiling, quick scroll through the phone for updates and emails. Silent groan at the inbox. Sip...calm...repeat. Fresh press of coffee, tea to steep, OJ plus probiotics whisked (ugh), water. Plating food, cutting fruit, tray ready.

Breakfast...refills...shower...alarms every two minutes as I knock on the bathroom door signalling him to move on to the next step: soak, soap, rinse, shampoo, rinse, face, rinse, etc... Double check that the clothes are laid out-had to spend 1/2 hour last night going over options. Knock...2 minutes...knock...2 minutes...knock...

Finally the squeal of the water turning off and the "I love you, Mami" as he comes out. It's a question, not a statement. I love you, Mami? Meant to elicit the same response... I love you more. I love you the most. Not possible. Possible. Not probable. Probable. Inconceivable. Conceivable. Incomprehensible. Prehensibibibi-bibbidy-bobbity-boo-I-Love-You!

I wash the breakfast dishes while he gets ready. Print out a second copy of today's schedule and write in the class name, room and teacher next to each time slot. Tear the house apart looking for his keyfob: the one that has a pill dispenser for his rescue remedy and another for his earplugs. MIA!!! Why didn't I do this last night? Where's my replacements? Wait...one last spot I didn't look...Found it! (Pat myself on the back for being a genius...ha!)

He's ready-ish...still teeth to brush (sensory processing dysfunction anyone?) and hair to brush (ditto).

Alarm #3-"Tokyo Ghoul remix" elicits a grin from him.

The alarm name: "Beginning of the End" gets me a pair of rolled eyes.

We grab the stack I've put together by the door: pad, pen, glasses case, key fob, water bottle...walk down the drive and contemplate the meaning of life, the fear of navigating new hallways, and the ongoing existence of the same kids who bullied him for the past 9 years. I check my phone far too frequently...noting every passing minute past the scheduled bus stop time. Worrying that he's been skipped. He chatters on about his latest design, filling the empty morning with sound to drown out his nervousness. I run through my checklist mentally, then verbally. Step by step directions for him.

Brakes squeal as the bus pulls up across the street. I grab his hand...motherhood 101 makes me firmly grip him and say "look both ways" as though he's still a toddler. We make our way across, aware of the annoyed drivers stopped in their morning commute. He puts one foot on the bottom step, then turns..quickly...to peck me on the cheek...before disappearing into the shadows of the bus. The driver mumbles at me...something about when and where to expect him later on. I smile, nod, wave...walk back across the street to wave and smile as the bus pulls away. My hand finally drops...sagging....my smile drops, too. I feel...empty...

One foot in front of the other...I walk...1/2 mile down, 1/2 mile back. The world is quiet. I see the golden glow of morning sun on the leaves and grasses. I stop and wait a while, watching a cardinal in the bush as he watches me.

I see a doe in the distance, back by the tree line...with her young one. I see my shadow on the road and remember when his barely came up to my knee. My arms itch for a moment, the way they used to when he was a baby and I missed him while at work.

He'll be home, soon enough. And I've things to do before the bus returns. Back up the drive and in to the house. Picking up the bits and pieces of a busy morning. Log in to my work-site while I refill my coffee, all the while my head is with him...my heart is with him. He leaves, and I split in two...

He'll be home, soon enough. With a list of things we've yet to buy. Supplies needed. Ideas he's had. Drawings he's scribbled while there.

15. Today. At Freshmen Orientation. 15, and on to high school. And my arms itch at the thought. If I close my eyes, he's a baby again...a toddler...a kindergartener...a 6th grader...a guest speaker at Rutger's. If I close my eyes, he's all the boys he's been before...and when I open them...he's all the ones he's yet to become.

04 September, 2023

...happy labor day...

Greetings, readers...
Wishing you a happy day that fills your cup!


Whether you spend it resting and relaxing, filling your shopping
bags or your travel mugs, I hope it is good to the last drop!
              

 

02 September, 2023

...slow down...

While my faith is of great importance to me, I have found in adulthood that a centering around the idea
~what's for me will not pass me~
has served to bring me more peace and hope then I find in my religious practice. 

(I grew up in an exceptionally conservative household in which God was, in many ways, weaponized against the very natural experiences, questions, and expressions of childhood and youth.
While I consciously, even now, reject that fire and brimstone, I find myself forever branded the disobedient and disappointing child of an angry Father. My relationship to my God and to my religion is one in which I struggle to find peace, acceptance and comfort.  Yet try I do...
But that is for another conversation.  One that I don't think I'll ever have in this space.)

Having gotten that 'out of the way'...

The point, I suppose, is that I put a significant amount of stock in the moment of clarity when something meaningful crosses my path.  I am a collector...a saver...a screenshot for remembrance sort. My gallery full of clippings to remind me.
Books to put on hold at the library.
Recipes to tailor.
Upcoming events and interesting locales.
Educational toys and household items I didn't know I was missing out on.

And words.
Words that zapped me like a bolt of lightning when my eyes lingered for a moment longer.

These words:

Slow Down.

In particular, a post that crossed my feed.  A total stranger.  Unknown, because I cropped the screenshot to just the words, before saving it.

"Let your child(ren) see you slow down."

Let your child(ren) see you rest when rest is needed...relax when overwhelmed...seek solitude and silence when the volume is too much. 
Let your child(ren) observe you care for yourself as well as you care for them.
Let your child(ren) learn self-care by demonstrating your own, and they will be better for it.
Let your child(ren) see you slow down whenever and wherever you need to, and they will learn to do the very same for themselves.

This, friends...
Is wild.
Is novel.
Is...dangerous?

Slow down?
But...all the things...all the balance...all the emergencies...
Slow down?
And, what?  Watch it all fall apart?

Or maybe...
Slow down, and gradually set it all somewhere safe to pick back up once you are fully rested...fully recovered...fully recharged.

Or...
Maybe...
Slow down
and
Set it all somewhere safe
and
Only pick up what you can handle...what you want to handle...what you choose to handle.

The rush isn't actually getting me anywhere faster.
The chaos isn't adding function.

But the quiet of a few minutes with coffee and a good book?
The pouring into self before draining into others?
The sleeping until exhaustion is appeased?
The corner seat with a blank screen to write it out?

Oh?!?
Yes.

Slowing down.
Teaching myself and my child(ren) of the value in slowing down and finding rest and recovery and reassurance in the silence of stillness.


This.
Was meant for me.

This.
Will not pass me by.

September is for Slowing Down...
and finding myself anew amidst the detritus that sloughs off when my constant motion comes to a stop.
 

01 September, 2023

...September : The List...

First days.
What a gift.
The hope that comes with turning another page.

September has seemingly snuck up...at least where I'm concerned.  August just passed me by with barely a nod in my direction, so overwhelmed was I by All The Things that needed my full attention.

These early autumnal days are sure to fill up quickly, as we move back into our homeschool schedule and focus on building and rebuilding. 

While school-aged families are bidding farewell to summer vacation, we're just getting started on enjoying the late summer pleasures of (hopeful) beachside days and evenings in the bay.