...clean slate...

and I, for one, am thoroughly done with not being enough!

ready...

set...

Jump!

Here I am...back again once more...not that there's anyone left still reading to have noticed my return after such a prolonged absence.  This blog's been on mute for far to long I'm sure.  Why just look at the preceding post.   January 6th.  January 6th?  And here it is, Friday the 13th...of July!  Clear evidence to support the claim that once you fall out of the habit of doing something routinely (exercise, education, etc... blogging) it's so very much more difficult to take it back up again. 

(my calves wholeheartedly agree...as I've been attempting to regain my prior flexibility as part of my personal summer fitness challenge)

The thing about writing...particularly in a public forum...is that if you force it to adhere to a set of guidelines (even if you yourself created those very guidelines) , eventually not only do you begin to lose your own unique voice, but also the actual creative desire.  I've spent my life writing, so far as I can recall.  Scraps of paper, to full-blown journals ~ classroom assignments to unfinished novels ~ published poems and short stories ~ to books I've written for my son.  And years ago...this...  And it's this that has proven to be a struggle.  It's an awkward pull between authenticity and privacy, open-ness and embarrassment.  And of course, in this corner of the world called blogging...a raging inferiority complex.  

I'm fairly certain (feel free to correct me if I'm wrong) that the majority of readers here at Confessions of the Caffeinated are, in fact, people who know me...IRL.  And while it's all well and good that y'all are reading along...the truth is, most of this was never meant for you.  This...this little corner of my world...was for someone else...or someone elses...  Why read here what you could converse with me about...face to face or over the phone?  At some point, this blog of mine grew up and out from simply being a place to update those I already knew with pictures and blurbs...to a solitary corner in which to 'write myself out'...and finally into something of an open-ended conversation with an unknown audience. 

Of course, that's just about when I threw in the towel.  Because you  see, when you go from 'writing yourself out' ~ from that vital surge of creativity that simply needs to find an outlet ~ to the ridiculous aspiration of tailoring your words to suit the unknown entity of an audience of strangers, you may as well throw in the towel ~ because you've already lost what you were after.  

It's trite and saccharine...but true nonetheless...

I am unique.

 I'm not content with simply being more of the same.

Embracing your own unique style...whether that applies to writing or clothing or life...is, I think, something of an uphill battle against the message of conformity and desire for acceptance.  In order to live the life that is your own and not just walk in the footsteps of others,  you have to get in the practice of thoughtful intent...carefully assessing whether your desire to do something stems from your own inner wish or an external pressure to do as the masses do. 

Finding yourself is, I believe, the one true lifelong quest for the holy grail... 

Ever moving, ever changing, ever just beyond reach...

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back in action,

~Leanna

...any day can be {the day}...

Fallen leaves litter the ground...crunching satisfactorily underfoot and painting the landscape in muted browns and golds.  A season's change...nature running it's course...  Nothing in life escapes the inevitable.  Love or heartbreak, despair or joy, moments that flit and those that drag on...meanwhile time marches on and seasons change.  And one can become so ensnared...so caught in the slow-motion that only the seasons changes signal time is passing.

This blog has lain dormant these many months as my slow-motion storm raged. 

I had met my wall...the inevitable moment when it was simply to much. 

And that's ok. 

It happens to us all.

It's even ok to admit it.  To step back.  To say, 'I'll be back later'...'maybe'...

And now my maybe is here. 

Maybe it's ok to step back in slowly...

Maybe I don't have to approach this as an added {responsibility}...

Maybe I can write something today...without promising to do so again-anytime-ever...

Maybe the only reader that matters is my future-self...

Maybe being a work in progress holds greater value than being a success...

I made a choice recently...to mindfully-steadily work at living a life of action, not reaction.

This is new...this idea that I can wake up one morning and shape the day as I see fit...ignoring the outside...dismissing the rules...

I can stop trying to be that which I was never intended to be.

And I can finally...at long last...close a door I so long refused to see as open...and walk away.

I'm turning my eyes ahead...the rest now lies in shadows...





...out of order...

Sadly, readers, my computer is still pulling the inaccessible gimmick...so don't expect much by way of posting until I get it back up and running. I'm fairly certain that I just need to fork over the cashola for a new mouse...and honestly, I hope it's that simple. Hopefully I will find both time and opportunity to look into that this weekend. Maybe a wireless mouse is the way to go?

Anyways, hope you are all enjoying a restful and relaxing end to the week! Cross your fingers and wish me luck. I hate being disconnected like this.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.1

...of mice and men...

I really truly ought to have known better...after all, vacuums aren't really known for their computer curative properties! I'm not sure if I just need to buy a new mouse or if the problem is more technological (read: expensive)...but either way, I'm down one desktop computer once again.
Grrrrr!
I had several posts just waiting to be written.
Seems they'll be on hold until the computer issues are solved.
Just goes to show you...men (or women!) can make all sorts of plans...only to find themselves undermined by something as small as a mouse!

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.1

...treasures in and out of boxes...

Pestered by day 2 of gloom and doom today, and more than enough rain to successfully determine even the most valiant of efforts at outdoor activity, I chose instead to delve into the archives and tackle another round of storage.  

Almost 3 years ago now, I dutifully undertook the sorting out and packing up, filling totes and Chiquita banana boxes alike with all the trappings of our life.  Anyone who might happen upon them would surely be able to develop a fairly accurate depiction of who we were then, merely by digging through these treasure boxes of what we had found important enough to keep.

And so it was that I, sitting in a dim and damp basement, ripped through tape and packing paper to open a door we had last closed in Ohio.  Cautiously I lifted lids and peeked into memory.  Here were those treasure near and dear to us.  Well loved books, cherished letters, trinkets and baubles and fabric remnants of another home and the life it had housed.  These familiar pieces of an existence put on hold.  The very sight of one battered picture book opened a floodgate in my mind: my son but an infant nodding off in his crib with tight fists raised above his head...rocking by the window on a starry night while nursing...wiping spaghetti sauce off the cover and the high-chair and myself...emptying the bookshelf...

I uncovered boxes and found more paperback books than I should admit to owning.  I recovered two clocks and three vases.  I found a travel sewing kit.  Our old living room curtains.  Every letter my best friend in Denmark ever sent me bursting out of a warped wooden box.  And with every layer deeper more memories of life and love and everything in between. 

I spent a good while there in that basement with those boxes, culling the pile of belongings.  Once again making choices as to which was more important than the other.  Which needed to be held onto tightly with both hands and which had outlived its belonging-stage.  Hours later the boxes were fewer in number...the ones remaining made more valuable somehow in their re-choosing.  And in the corner lay the castoffs...those things-those pieces and bits that I...in but a few hours time had relegated to the past and made my peace with.  Perhaps they would go on to become someone else's treasure as they were now nothing to me but junk. 

As I repacked those boxes today, individually picking up and hold and replacing one thing after another I was awash in memories.  These items, like icons, retaining a whole world in their core.  The value of each came simply from the life lived around it.  The meals eaten, the words said, the emotions felt, the experiences... 

These treasure boxes that were simply worthless cardboard and plastic catchalls when closed, opened to reveal priceless treasure indeed to the woman who had packed them up.  They were the tangible representations of five years in a life...in a home...  And they were packed up, ready and waiting to be made useful and memorable once again. 

The real treasure is the memories...poignant, unrestrained, and ever growing in number.

...words to get you through...

Since my son was but a wee little one, I've kept various journals and notebooks and the like on me at almost all times.  I try to write things down as they hit.  Whether it's quotes that inspire, ideas to craft, thoughts to write out, future blog posts...scribbles on papers all over the place.  Someday soon I'll have to start consolidating.  I will have to search out every scrap and remnant for the words I've written down for Mister Man and compile them all in one notebook, one place for him to go to when he needs to read the right thing for the right time.  I want there to be something leftover some distant day in the future when I am no longer there for every moment. 

He's a trooper...a walking miracle who comes up against all odds and always wins.  He is strong and knows when to bend so that he won't break.  No matter what gets thrown at him he finds a soft place to land and then goes back and tries again.  I'm a daily awestruck.  And my heart overflows. 

I want him to read my words when he needs them the most.

I want him to know...

My darling son.  You are stronger than the pain you feel when someone else is cruel and thoughtless.

It will not break you.  You will take it inside of you...that pain...and you will turn it into compassion for others...into sympathy and empathy. 

You are wiser than those who challenge your knowledge.  You are a reader and a creator.  You take in what the world offers and allow it space inside you to grow into a larger picture.  You allow the information that you are given to expand your horizons into a wider view.  You are a learner.  

You are loved not for what you do or what you give, but for who you are.  

I am always on your side.  I will get it right, and I will get it wrong.  I will make mistakes and I will fail.  I will miss the call or be to late.  I know that, and so should you.  Because life is complicated and sometimes it's impossible to balance it all.  But I will always back you up.  There will never come a day when I won't take the time to try to see it your way.  I promise you that you will always have in me a soft place to land...a safe and secure spot to rest and recharge and reassess.    

Always remember, the only outside opinions that matter are those offered by the ones who love you and whom you love.  The only opinions that ring true come from those who know your path and who have walked portions of it with you.  

I know it's a hard thing concept to understand, much less put into practice...but just so you know...those bullies?  They're weak.  They are sad and miserable and lonely and scared on the inside.  They are so weak that they don't know that the right thing to do is to ask for help.  They are so weak that they don't know that you would help if asked.  They are so weak that they have to gang together because they are afraid to open up one on one.  They are so weak that they strike out at you and try to make you feel the way they do on the inside, and then they think they feel stronger because they were able to cause pain.   But they are wrong.  They are weak and they are wrong.  And they are missing out on you.  They will never know what a good friend you are.  They will never know what a fun and interesting person you are.   They will never know that you could help them feel better.  And that is sad.  Because I know...and my life is a millions times better because I know. 

I love you.  I always have and I always will.  And I will mess up and you will be angry.  But I will keep trying.  And we will have the happiest life that we can dream up!

  

...tame or wild...

We received quite the outpouring of support last week via texts, calls, emails and comments in regards to this post about bullying.  I'm so very grateful to each and every one of your for your concern, love and suggestions.  I'm glad I didn't stop myself short of writing and submitting those words...they were genuine expressions of how I truly felt and continue to feel.  I'm sickened by the way some children behave...and by the seeming lack of concern or involvement their parents have over what I deem troubling warning signs.  To be forced into the position of having to teach my special-needs 8 year old child how to defend himself against physical attacks goes against everything I want him to believe in.  And to have his view of education colored so negatively by these attacks angers me more than I care to admit.  He is such a bright and curious child with such and aptitude and thirst for learning...I absolutely hate watching that wither away in the face of these bullying occurrences.

It's important to me though, that I follow up with all of you and let you know how things played out.  After my phone call to the school, they followed their established protocols and interviewed Mister Man in a roomful of adults.  After establishing his side, they then did the same with both the girl who had attacked him and a classmate of Mister Man's who witnessed the event.  Apparently the girl went the foreseeable route and lied about the whole thing.  But the classmate's version matched Mister Man's, and the principle and staff made it clear they believed him.  So the girl in question lost her recess privileges and had to write an apology note to Mister Man.  Additionally, Mister Man's seat was moved to the back of the bus where he is now surrounded by 5th grade buddies as an effort to protect him. 

Ok, fairly cut and dry.

A few problems though.

1)  The apology note?  I'm not sure if it was scripted or prompted or actually written out by the girl herself, but good gosh the wording was kind of scary.  One line in particular threw me off... "It's just sometimes I lose control of myself. I get mean.   I don't know why." 

 Ummm...really?  Did any of the school staff read that???  Considering last year's temporary expulsion nonsense that we went through, I'm suprised those words made it to our home.  I don't think I'm over-reacting in my response...that statement give cause for question.  I'd take a long hard look at that child and send her off to the guidance office for starters.

Losing Control?  Getting Mean?  Not Knowing Why? 

Keep her away from my son.

2) Forcing a bunch of 5th graders to essentially babysit my child on the bus?  Yeah, that's gonna go over superbly.  Let's face it people, 5th graders consider that bus ride social hour.  You've just succeeded in making my son an inconvenience to them.  Oh, and considering his autism and the massive social/communication issues he has...way to go, you've just thrown him into a virtual lion's den of communication.   He has nothing to offer in 5th grade experience, and he feels the difference. 

Brilliant plan there.

3)  Really?  She loses recess for a few days?  For striking another person repeatedly with a metal object?  Last I checked that does actually sound like physical attack with a weapon.  Metal hurts people.  It leaves cuts and bruises.  And it's scary...being attacked unprovoked.  So losing recess?  Yeah, not exactly a punishment to fit the crime.

Now listen, I realize that in reading this some of you may be shaking your heads wondering why I sound so extreme.  But here's the deal.  Mister Man has been the victim of bullying multiple times over in this school.  I'm thrilled to know that come the end of the school year I am getting him the heck out of there...but in the meantime, he's scared to be on the bus, scared to be on the playground, scared to wait on lines.  And aside from literally standing next to him all day long at school, there's little I can effectively do to make him feel at ease.  That's the school's responsibility, and in my opinion, they aren't even coming close to fulfilling it. 

The day that I had to take my son in hand and physically teach him how to fight back for when flight is not an option, is the day his school failed him.