...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.

...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!

              

 

...a life in pictures: 1...

...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.

 

...september plans...