...28 (in days gone by)...

  In Days Gone By:
 19.January.2021

While the kitchen tile project was ongoing, I'd the chance to reorganize all the file folder storage that "lives" beneath one of our sideboards and came across paperwork dating back to before I was married. Tax docs, our marriage license and copies of checks to all the wedding vendors, my ex's student loan repayment receipts, multiple certified copies of the restraining order (now expired) against him, etc... Enclosed in one were childhood photos of him that I had carefully placed in an envelope for Johannes at least 15 years ago. So while Henri napped (praise!), Johannes and I briefly sat down and looked through the photos, before he decided to dispose of them.

(As someone who takes a few photos (I kid, I kid) here and there, looking at these was...interesting...)

There's promise~possibility~potential, in those sweet little shots of baby and toddler...in those early teen/peak of athleticism track shots...even in the student and work i.d. cards. But to see them now, it's naught but illusion...a sort-of "alternate reality".

He's been spiraling for years...a vicious cycle of peaks and valleys that damages everyone involved.

From all accounts, he's been off his meds and is back to "self-medicating" with increasingly dangerous substance abuse.
From all accounts, his grasp on reality is in the wind right now.
From all accounts, his health is failing. It's terrible, and it's tragic, and it's...karmic? All that pain he's caused finding it's way back...

Tomorrow, his birthday...yet another year gone and nothing but wreckage to show for it. All the good advice and assistance and flat-out-doing-for-him-what-he-won't-do-for-himself by SO MANY people (myself included) just wasted effort.

And soon enough, a month away, Johannes turns 18. Despite his throwing away those photos and rejecting any "leftovers" (papers, photos, sentimental items), he'll carry this as part of his legacy his whole life. Nothing I have done, can do or want to do has ever erased the damage done by both action and inaction, threatening presence and dismissive absence.

If only it were as easy as tossing photos in the garbage, or shredding old files. If only it were as simple as shutting the door and ending the chapter.

But, you see...one chapter bleeds into the next. One door leads into another space. Everything gets carried on...

...halloween 2023: from Neverland...

"But mother, I don't want to grow up.”

 "You know, you look exactly the way I thought you would.

A little taller perhaps.”

“It is not in doing what you like,

but in liking what you do that is the secret of happiness.”

“Now, think of the happiest things.

It's the same as having wings!”

“Oh, but, mother, it was a such a wonderful adventure!”

 “It is the nightly custom of every good mother

after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds

and put things straight for the next morning,

repacking into their proper places the

many articles that have wandered during the day.”

Wendy: "But what were you doing there?"

Peter: " I came to listen to your stories. "

Wendy: "My stories? But they're all about you!"

Peter: "I know! That's why I like 'em!"

"I'm Youth! I'm Joy!"

"Oh, the cleverness of me!"

“Children have the strangest adventures without being troubled by them."

“I'm so happy, I think I'll give you a kiss.”

“After all, one can’t leave his shadow lying about

and not miss it sooner or later, don’t you agree?”

“Stop playing and help me find my shadow!

Shadow … shadow …”

“Just always be waiting for me.”

 “All of this has happened before,

and it will all happen again.”

“Well, a mother, a real mother,

is the most wonderful person in the world.

She's the angel voice that bids you goodnight,

kisses your cheek, whispers ‘sleep tight.’”

“Go on!

Go back and grow up!

But I’m warning you,

once you’re grown up you can never come back.”

...October : The List...

Rain, rain, go away...and take September with you!

We're a few gorgeous days into October and thank goodness for that!

Delayed by rain...then illness...we're finally getting back in the game.

The month ahead is already filling up with 'big things' that must be done,

so, I'm all the more eager to find little pockets of fun and adventure.

Mid-month, we'll be heading out on the road for a long car trip to Ohio.  It's a trip fraught with emotion, even this far in advance.  A goodbye, and a hello, and a...'oh, I remember you' all wrapped up in one.  And it will be Henri's first long car trip...so, I've planning to do for sufficient breaks.

Homeschooling has been chewing up the majority of my time...if I'm not actively in teacher-mode, then I'm trying to create resources and recycle thrift finds into unit-themed activities.  Henri is flourishing in these early days and for as often as I may feel defeated by the things that went undone, I am buoyed right back up by his love for learning and challenge.

You'll note the final item...  So long overdue...

...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!

🍎

...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.

 

...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.

 

...accounting for re-counting and re-consideration...

August did NOT run according to plan...nor to direction.

In fact, August ran contrary to every hope I had naively imbued it with in the final hours of July.

There were so many, many unforeseen hiccups and hurdles...and so many, many emergent diversions from the track I thought I had set my feet to.

And such is life.

So here I am...closing out the book of August and sending the calendar pages to the rubbish bin, and realizing how very, very full our August really was.  I tore those pages out of my planner earlier today and glanced at all the messy scribblings and thought to myself, "Well done. Look at all you did." Lovely thought, which lasted the whole five minutes until I went to pull our August Mood Board and August Bucket List off the fridge...and saw the empty boxes.

We're so often forced to reframe our hopes and expectations in the face of unexpected upsets.

Perhaps the appropriate reframing is:

Here was NOT my August Bucket List.

~rather~

Here WAS my August WISH List.

With that little rewrite, I can let go of the failure-feeling that focused solely on the unchecked boxes, and instead delight in the boxes that were checked...as I remind myself of ALL THE THINGS we saw and did and accomplished and overcame that didn't show up in prophecy or print.

And as to those unchecked boxes?  Well, who's to say I can't just roll them over as ongoing goals?

After all, September is but a day away, and full of empty spaces to fill and flourish.

 

...August : The List...

But a month to go, as summer wanes...
Little has gone to plan this summer...and so many plans have been back-burnered in the moment.
It's funny how the day to day can get so in the way of the wishes and wants.

Here's to August arriving, and all of the thriving...Cheers to the days ahead!

...13 (in days gone by)...

 In Days Gone By:
13.July.2013

...I want you to know that 99.9% of the time I am able to keep my head above water.

But every once in a while when I'm already stressed to the max, something like this will catch me off guard and it's a freefall for a little while.

One of the hardest parts of single parenting is this aspect: Instilling a strong foundation and building his self-esteem from the bottom up.

And I know all too well, as an adoptee, the questions and concerns...

the looking to our parents to see who we are.

I always said I would be honest with my child, and I don't believe I've wavered from that yet.

I don't want him to grow up believing in some distorted fairytale version of who his biological father is. Because, quite frankly, that could prove very dangerous to him later in life. But all of that has to be weighed against the simplicity of his current questions.

It's more a matter of…

Just the facts…

I do believe that part of equipping my child to enter the adult world is providing him with some of the information regarding why we filed for that restraining order and the time for that will come.

Right now, it's more conversation of, yes you have many things in common with your biological father. He shared many of the same talents and you were granted many of the same gifts by God. What matters is what you choose to do with them and how you choose to go about fulfilling your promise and your potential.

For those of you wondering this morning, yes I deleted one of those posts. I'd rather not leave that information lurking about publicly.

My marriage was a scary time.

And during the course of it I was completely incapable of letting anyone know the true extent of what I was going through or asking for help.

I'm not "lucky to be alive" after that, I'm stubborn.

Once I made the decision to save us, there was no turning back.

And we didn't stumble at first…

We fell, and fell hard.

I'm proud of where I've gotten to, but appalled at the notion that...

where I've been, I allowed myself to be.

...a step back...

Yesterday, I tried something new.
I slowed down and moved over.
It was, by any standard, a fleeting moment...this.

But life is lived in those fleeting moments...they are the foundation on which the big moments...the big memories...are built...

Aren't they?

We'd been standing on the line, my eldest and I, waiting to be called up to the register so he could make his purchase.  Nothing unusual or notable, there.  Just the slow and steady plod...then pause...plod...then pause, of a Sunday shopping queue. Little inside jokes traded back and forth to fill the time.  Endcap considerations, and the shifting of weight from one foot to the other as we waited.

"Next customer, Register 1!", came the call.
And we turned the corner to head up.

But as we did so, lock-step as always...
...I...
'observed/analyzed/hypothesized'.

And slowed down.
He noticed, right away, and slowed down as well. 

So I shifted, quickly, and nudged myself in behind him, next to the wall...
blocking his attempt to walk beside me.

There was a moment's hesitation...a stumble of feet reacting too late to my diversion...and then he recovered and walked, solo, the few yards up to the register.

Again, a hesitation...a hiccup of intent vs. ability.

He knew I was right there, behind him.

But I wasn't beside him.

I wasn't leading.

I wasn't prompting.

He knew I was right there, behind him.

He placed his item on the counter, nodding acknowledgement...silently...of the cashier's perky "Hi", curling in from the shoulders in avoidance.

Total declared.

Cash exchanged.

A reminder to tap the screen for a receipt.

Behind him, I could feel the heat pouring off him.

The anxiety-energy blast.

I tapped him on the shoulder and said "I'm heading out.  See you in the car."

Walked away...forcing myself not to look back.  Forcing myself not to offer my face...my reassurance...my lead...

Moments later, he got in the car.  Shopping bag secured. Off we drove.

He'd done it.

Not happily.  Not comfortably.

But done, nonetheless.

~~~

He relies on me...heavily...

To ease the way.

To lead.

To run interference and translate.

To shelter his discomfiture and deficiencies.

To walk him right up to the edge.

He relies on me to walk side by side.

But it's time to step back and force his failures, a bit.

It's time to push him forward, even if he stumbles.

Because I can't always be there.

He has to be able to do it himself, without it taking too much of a toll on his emotional energy...without allowing the necessary interactions to trigger burnout.

He has to keep growing.

He has to keep going...

...even when the going gets rough...

...even when the obstacles seem insurmountable to him...

even when I stop walking beside him and move to the back-up position...

~~~

The back-up position.

The parenting of young adulthood.

The parenting of an autistic adult.

The sudden, but somehow also 'slow and steady' shifting from leading the way.

The back-up position.

There to catch, but not to push.

There to encourage, but not to force.

It's the allowing for my hand to be reached for, without automatically offering it.

It's the intentional heavy breathing in the car...an unspoken prompt so he can self-regulate.

It's the reassurance that I'll always be his soft place to land...if he falls...

and the firm reminder that he'll never land if he doesn't leap.

...July : The List...

I'm not quite sure of the how or the when, but it seems June has run out...
...and left, in its wake, far too many unchecked boxes.

June did not want to stick with the plan, that's for sure!

I'm trying to 'rise above' the disappointment and the frustration of having those unchecked boxes by reminding myself that:

Plans are subject to change

There's been A LOT of change

~and~

These lists are just the 'first drafts' of what ends up writing itself across the blank calendar pages.

We've ended June...a bit bedraggled, and damp around the edges after too much stormy weather, and I'm counting on July to put the sun back in the sky!

Cheers to it finally feeling like summer!

...leaps and bounds, dinos and dares...

 Leaps and bounds, folks...leaps and bounds!

But a handful of hours ago...one turned page prior...Henri conquered 'the jump'. Two feet in the air...aloft...

After months of trying and failing...after months of frustration and consternation...after months of my staring at 'the goalpost' and watching it move ever backwards.

Until, it didn't. Until he didn't...or rather...did...did jump. By himself. For himself. At a time...in a place...by a manner of his own choosing.

A handful of hours later...and that page is done...

and another lay empty, waiting for the story of today.

(There are hours yet to come...the day only halfway through...)

And the page is already full!

Because today, I followed his lead (a bit) and decided to use his 'tools for success' to 'up the ante': I took those dinosaur puzzles that he'd jumped over to such awe and delight, and placed them atop one of the balance beams we'd tried so unsuccessfully to master.

Why not? Why not believe in magic? Why not hope that a handful of dino puzzles might just be the missing ingredient in the spell?

~~~

And, oh!

Friends...

He leapt!

I led him to the obstacle, and he...well, he sparkled....glee and anticipation and the enticement of challenge....

He sparkled...and chirruped a little battle cry...and he leapt!

Up and over...two feet in the air...weightless flight...and then landed on the other side.

A grin...from ear to ear and far beyond.

My shriek...applause...and laughter.

And then he turned right round and did it over and over and over again...each time with more abandon. A master of magic!

~~~

And then...

He looked at me with a glimmer in his eye...and took the puzzles off, laying each one carefully in a row, next to the balance beam.

A brief pause...to kneel down, raowring as he tapped on each dino with outstretched finger. Then he backed up...crouched down, pushed off...

Up! Up! And over!

I let out my breath in relief that he'd made it across without stumbling, or landing wrong, or crashing into the table.

Again and again he jumped...right over those magical dinos of bravery.

~~~

And then...

He stopped. Clapped for himself and chortled at me.

Straightened the balance beam.

Stepped carefully onto the end...and walked across it.

Oh, the pride on that little face!

The laughter bubbling up as he walked, back and forth...balancing...dinos below, at the ready to catch him in misstep.

~~~

The page is full. Perhaps the chapter is as well.

Leaps and bounds...

Dinos and dares...

And a magical little boy who mastered them all!

...leap of faith...

 For my future self, who will want the memory tied to a specific time:

Today, he jumped.

Both feet in the air.

Up, and over.

(On his own timeline, of his own accord, over an impediment of his own making.)

He'd set out his dino puzzles...all in a row...blocking off the doorway.

He trilled out a little lilting call for attention and, sure of the audience, jumped up and over. A self-congratulatory clap... then quick look up for praise.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

~~~

For months now, I've been 'failing' in my pt/ot efforts. The gains, impossible to see. I'd given up, a month ago...packing away the equipment "for a summer break" and revising the schedule to exclude those hopping and balancing and jumping drills.

And today? Today he jumped!

Today, it all came together for him.

By him.

Today he reminded me of the lesson I first learned from his big brother: all the pieces will settle where they are intended to, when they are intended to.

Have faith...stay the course...

Teach...and then let go...

And he'll jump when he's ready!

...one sip left

 Mornings-with-toddler are hard to define outside of weather pattern terms.
Maelstrom
Tornado
Squall

Henri's approach to being awoken is much like that of a wild animal startled awake.

There's the immediate attack of flailing limbs, ferocious sounds and gnashing teeth...

followed by the retreat into fetal position...

and a half-hour or so of hangry, breakfast-acquiring rage...

before he settles back down into darling mode and is ready for a good curl up and cuddle session.

While the storm-of-the-morning rages about, I'm more single-minded of purpose.  Shaking off the cobwebs and carefully (middle age has surely set in with its daily assessments of what hurts now) stretching out the tangle that co-sleeping has made of my limbs...before embarking on the caffeine crawl.

There was a time...some three-plus years ago now (coincidentally, just about as long as Henri's been earthside!) when I was an up-and-at-em kind of a gal.  Up before both sunrise and son-rise to get the coffee brewing, table set, three-course breakfast whipped up.

Co-sleeping, and extended nursing, has bested me.

Sleep comes in half-hour drifts...few and far between.

And I rise, grimly and grumpily, amidst the tiny terror's yowls and roars, to lumber into the kitchen for my lifeline...one mug of the good stuff.

One mug.

One cup.

My allowance...

my allowed caffeine consumption, as Henri staunchly refuses to even consider the idea of weaning.

Yawn.

The storm rages on.  Alternately kicking up and dying down as brother and Papa tiptoe about, trying to avoid being caught in the eye.

The morning is theirs.

I've decreed it.

I take to the kitchen table, with phone and computer...my office space...for the duration of one, singular cup of coffee.  One scalding sip setting the stage for a flurry...a frenzy...of activity as fingers fly across the keyboard and I settle accounts, whip up responses, source quotes and statistics and case numbers and district policies.

Emails sent, I pause for a sip.

Dive into the text stream.

Sip...reply...sip...delete...

A moment to stare at the bank balance...*blink blink*...still zeroes...

Gulp.

Sip again...dive back in...

Calendar updated.  Books logged.

Windows opened...a dizzying array of tabs for to-dos.

Sip.

And...pause...

One final sip left.

I stop.

The coffee...barely a tablespoon left...gone cold and grainy.

The household, I realize, has settled down to a dull roar.

Papa's left for the day.  Little one and big one are tangled on the sofa in front of the television...breakfast half-eaten...the rest decorating faces and furniture in equal part. 

The cat has fled for her next 4-hour nap.

The kitchen is in shambles.

The living room a flood-zone.

The storm has run its course.

I've one sip left, and the freedom it affords.  

The table...my "office".

This mug...my "closed door policy".

One little sip and my half-hour of self-imposed solitary runs out.

One little sip...barely that...and "I" become "Mami" for the next 23.5 hours...

I want...somewhere deep down and rebellious...to push the mug away...to set it back and settle back, and see how long I might be able to stretch out these moments before the mantle of responsibility is super-glued back on to my aching shoulders.

I want to just wait...sit back in my chair and close my eyes and drift...

But there's the commercial jingle...the closing bell...my time is up...

One final, desperate gulp I don't even taste...

and the storm-chaser is back on the clock.