How to survive having a BIG Needle go into Your Child's Little Arm

In all the Parenting books she's ingested, JCK wonders how she could possibly have missed this one. It must have been in very small print. At the back. Titled: Why Not? Inducing a Nervous Breakdown for your Child and Yourself, Part XIII.

JCK is absolutely certain in all those bloody pages, those preachy, smug pages, there was never, ever a section on: How to survive having a BIG Needle go into Your Child's Little Arm and draw out Blood. Nope. JCK is sure she didn't read that anywhere.

After days of procrastination, JCK has decided she has to buck up and take her boy to the lab tomorrow. Accompanied by her small girl. Because they travel in 3's. Her son's pediatrician has ordered blood work, and JCK must fulfill her parenting duties.

JCK would like to point out that she will be the only adult there. Her husband E.K. is noticeably busy tomorrow. JCK is hoping that he will suddenly be afflicted with GUILT over THIS, and decide he must accompany them posthaste. If this doesn't happen...JCK hopes that the fleas of a thousand camels will inflict his arm pits.

You see JCK comes from a long line of Fainters or Pass-her-Outers. Those who keel over in dizziness, and wake up later in a cold sweat on a strange couch. In fact, this family generational weakness goes back so far that JCK believes her ancestors invented the Fainting Couch.

JCK would like to point out...there have been No offers of HELP from the man who doesn't faint.

JCK will be fine! She will be strong. She will not need smelling salts from the Dead Sea. Except that... this is her son, who tends to swing between panic and MORE PANIC in just his natural rhythms. Her son who feels everything on a BIGGER level. Like Elliot in E.T. Except that JCK isn't sure who is beaming those feelings into her little guy. She just knows he's got buckets of them.

But, no worries! Just in case the world is still here tomorrow, JCK has ordered The Special Ointment. It is so special that it had to be special ordered. Hence its name...The Special Ointment.

When the pediatrician handed JCK the lab order form two weeks ago, and it fluttered to the floor uncaught by JCK's trembling fingertips, he seemed to realize that he would have to do something drastic. This was when he whipped out the order sheet for The Special Ointment. An ointment so special that it is an anesthetic. Smiling he told her that she could rub it on her son's inner elbows 30 minutes before the big needle STICK, and he wouldn't feel a thing. Really? Really. JCK could even do a practice test if she wanted.

JCK is beyond hopeful that The Special Ointment, The Special Anesthetic Ointment, will work. She is counting on it. She has promised her son that afterwards they will go to the store and pick out a BIG TOY, and then go home and eat ICE CREAM. JCK is pulling out all the stops. JCK is blubbering herself to sleep...

JCK can't think about the possibility that The Special Ointment will not work. Or, that her son will panic and create a fracas in the laboratory. All is possible with her son of many colors. But, if The Special Ointment doesn't work for pain reduction for her son, she figures she can add it to her Boudoir Collection. 15 years of marriage. Some Special Anesthetic Ointment might come in handy...

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The fatigue has done a tattoo march down her spine

JCK finds that parenting is a lot like life. Some days are golden. And some days? Are just bloody hard. She's depleted. Out of patience. Out of coping skills. Out of even finding the vocabulary for her own thoughts. Her footing is precarious.

She wonders if the universe is conspiring against her? Because it feels personal.

She can't control anything, and she thinks she can. It's laughable, really. Yet, a battle she just isn't going to win. The irrepressible feelings, the highs and lows, the failures - all of it, hers.

Yesterday was a day when communicating with her son was like picking gum off her shoe. Or being in that dream. You know the one. The nightmare where everyone is talking in slow motion and you can't move away... your limbs stuck in space.

Today her boy kept getting hurt. First a very hard wallop of a tire swing in motion to his cheek, then a bent finger, and at dinner he thought he was choking -was panicked, hysterical.

The journey with BOY is one that is meant for JCK. No doubt about it. Yet, having a child with challenges sometimes feels brutal. There are days when JCK is winging it. Doing the best she can. That's all she knows what to do.

Sometimes, JCK wishes she could crawl into bed, hide, and pull the covers over her head. The fatigue has done a tattoo march down her spine. But, she can't... because her family depends on her. And, they need her now most of all. So, she WILL rise to the occasion. She will be a grown-up. Or, give it her best shot. No matter how flawed. But, secretly she wishes...she could sleep through the tough parts. Yes, she does...


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Painting "Between Darkness & Wonder" by Chuck Gumpert.

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Damn that Pinocchio!

Back when GIRL was almost 4 years old, she suddenly developed a fear of Pinocchio. In her imagination, he could be anywhere. In her room. The hallway. Around the corner...

It all started when she overheard a conversation at her preschool, between a teacher and some older children. The talk of donkey ears, a whale, and a boy turning into a doll, let alone his nose growing longer and longer every time he lied... scared her. Who wouldn't be? It's a gruesome tale.

She worried about him for a few weeks. The fear finally faded away. But, she never forgot.

Remember when I used to be scared of Pinocchio, Mommy?

Yes....

GIRL is basically a court reporter. If something happens, she'll tell you about it in every glorious detail. She's so earnest, it is hard not to smile during the telling.

This morning she called out to me....

GIRL: Mommy, you know what's changed about what I do in the bathroom?

JCK: What, sweetie?

GIRL: Well, I used to plug my ears when I flushed the toilet.

JCK: Because the noise was too loud?

GIRL: No. I thought Pinocchio was coming.

Damn that Pinocchio!

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Thus ends JCK's saga with NaBloPoMo, (30 posts in 30 days), for the month of November. She didn't always do it well, but she did it...

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Work that matters

Life was simpler when I was young and single, and could curl up in bed with a box of chocolates and a romance novel.

Another viewpoint on change today. A Facebook friend linked Seth Godin's latest post: No, everything is not going to be okay. It struck home. Especially this...

No, everything is not going to be okay. It never is. It isn't okay now. Change, by definition, changes things. It makes some things better and some things worse. But everything is never okay.

Finding the bravery to shun faux reassurance is a critical step in producing important change. Once you free yourself from the need for perfect acceptance, it's a lot easier to launch work that matters.

I am at a crossroads right now. I am probably going back to work. If I can find a job. Ideally part-time. Isn't it interesting how the very thing that I've been bemoaning - not having work of my own, desperately needing a separateness from my role as wife and mother, now feels threatening. Because... it is becoming a financial necessity, and not a choice. How nice it is to have choices. Yet, how often do we look the other way when opportunities present themselves?

Work that matters. It resonates. It lures me. It feels a bit...out of reach. Yet, if I can ground myself, and not sink with the fears of the what ifs??? What if I go back to work and my children feel abandoned? What am I going to miss? What if I get a part-time job, but am unable to manage the pick-ups and drop-offs of my children? What if I'm too tired to write? What if...

I am a reassurance seeker ...junkie. I'm better than I used to be, but...truthfully? I have a long, long way to go. When Godin uses the phrase "faux reassurance," is he talking about seeking reassurance that isn't real, that the people delivering the reassurance are false? Or, is he saying that the whole idea of reassurance is false, because you really can't be reassured? Because, "everything is never okay."

Perhaps it is like the fable of Santa Claus. We believe it until we don't. I reassure my children all the time. It will be okay...I say. Am I setting them up? I don't think so. Because, I need to believe it is going to be okay, too.

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And saying YES to more than I can ACTUALLY DO is a disservice to everyone involved

Yes. I admit it. I am guilty. Of trying to do too much. So? Inevitably, what always happens is this... I've lost my balls. Perhaps not my sense of humor. Entirely. But, it has been close. And, when you are a juggler, losing your balls is...not too good. Once again, I have been feeling as if... I am running in a hamster wheel of my own design.

So, as I begin to say NO to things, after I already said YES... Now, that's always a delightful dance to wiggle through. You've said YES, YES. And, you go back...and say, but NO. Yes, Yes! it IS a slippery slope, of being a disapointment to someone. Anyone? When much of your existence, dammit!, is based on being a people pleaser. But, come ON, JCK! Tis' time to throw off the mantle of pleasing, and embrace what comes with age. The wisdom and freedom of saying NO. And, being O.K. with it. Ahem... Still working on that later piece...

Yet, I must. I must say NO. I must put up the boundaries to my own life, and refocus on what is truly doable. And, important. Why? Because I am not good to anyone when I don't do that. And saying YES to more than I can ACTUALLY DO is a disservice to everyone involved, and not the role modeling I wish to show my children. Most especially my daughter.

Because... I think we as women say YES far too much. Out of guilt. Out of fear of disapointing... And really, out of an illogical, perhaps overly smug, conceited sense of what we can handle. Because we can handle A LOT. After all, we are the ultimate Multi-Taskers, right? Yes. We are brilliant at multi-tasking! Look, look at me GOOOO.... See how much I CAN DOOOO..... True, life would be impossible without that skill. However, there is multi-tasking and there is...being blind to what is truly possible to achieve, with one's health intact. Yes! Health not limited to the body, but the mind and spirit. All intersect. Here.

I am sorting through right now. Because, that is what works best. For me. The sorting. Taking a small task, and accomplishing what I set out to do. Crossing things off lists. And, most of all, spending time with my children.

Tonight, once more transported on the imagination of Mary Pope Osborne, I read "Haunted Castle on All Hallows Eve," ,from the Magic Tree House series, to BOY & GIRL. Chapter after chapter, until the end, and I had been reading for an hour and ten minutes. All of us, captured by the tale. I lost track of time. But, my time was SO well spent. And I will go to bed, and sleep better. I think. No... I KNOW this.

Yes, there is STILL a list of all there is left yet for me to do. Yes, some things will have to wait. And, some things will not be done. Period. But, hopefully, hopefully I will not be awake at 3am again, unable to sleep, wrestling with my psyche. Berating myself for all that is out of my control. Because life is too short. And I'm in my second half of it. And I want to experience it fully. So, tonight, and on into tomorrow I will be saying NO. And breathing easier...


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"Her trepidation diminished"- A Painting by Chuck Gumpert.

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This parenting stuff is a crap shoot...

Last Friday, after BOY had been in Kindergarten two days, we received a phone call from a Charter school that they had an opening for BOY in Kindergarten. And...we had to let them know by Monday. Yep. So, after consulting with friends and a special education consultant who did express some cautions, and...after spending an hour or so at the school on Monday, we decided to move him. Again.

Unfortunately, we had been greatly disappointed in his Kindergarten class so far. True, it had only been two days, but some red flags had been raised. On the first day, I watched a little boy sob while his mom tried to say good-bye. A very normal sight during the transition to Kindergarten. However, what bothered me was that the teacher did not go over to help the mother. And...when the mother finally bit the bullet and left herself, the teacher continued to let him sob by himself at a table alone. It killed me. She finally did approach him when she was ready to talk to the class as a group.

Kindergarten appears to be a big adjustment for most children. For those children who had a few years of play based preschool, it is quite a surprise to have to "go to work." However, I believe that a good Kindergarten class can still have fun, and incorporate a bit of play time and creativity within the structure of the day. There was none of that in this class. BOY, who has always loved school, appeared subdued and sad when I picked him up. It was incredibly disappointing to look into the other Kindergarten classrooms and see that they did have a set of blocks, small toys, a cozy corner, etc. BOY's classroom looked like a...class room.

The school introduced a dual-immersion language program in Kindergarten & First Grade this year. There is a wonderful excitement and infusion of committed parents and teachers. It looks to be a fabulous program. The classrooms are bright and colorful, and the teachers are excited about teaching.

Unfortunately, it feels like the regular Kindergarten classes are being overlooked, which is unfortunate. I know it must be extremely challenging for the Principal to have the new language program and manage the other classrooms. However, the other classrooms are also full of darling little children, eager to learn.

I think it is very important that BOY have room to run and play during recess. However, because of scheduling and dealing with added enrollment in Kindergarten, BOY's class had to use the preschool playground. The preschool playground that is not big enough for preschoolers. Not exactly a place where children can run and stretch. And by BOY's last day there, Tuesday, he had spent quite a few minutes benched during recess, for misbehavior.

So, what was the difficulty in the decision to move him? The new school does not have aides in the classroom. He will have one teacher at a time, except for an occasional parent volunteer. It is a big risk.

He can still get his Occupational Therapy services both at this school, and at the clinic after school. We wouldn't have moved him if he didn't continue to get these services. I plan to work closely with the new Special Education team. We will have an IEP in 30 days to create a plan to help make his transition and learning successful.

Yet...the new school is on a large campus up in the hills, where BOY will get to move his body. The teachers are young and enthusiastic and passionate about teaching. There are chickens in a large pen, in the play area outside his classroom. Along with large sandboxes made by parent volunteers, a water table, and easels for painting. The classrooms all have a whole wall of windows looking outside. Inside they are bright and cheery, with wide open space. The regular recess playground is a huge, wide open space. They have a morning recess there with the other Kindergarten class, and the lunch recess is shared with the 1st and 2nd graders.

The school is different in their approach. Instead of staying in one room all day, the kids move to two other classrooms. They have a math class and a literacy class. So, BOY has 3 teachers. He starts out with his main teacher, then moves to Reading class, and later the Math class.With recesses and lunch thrown in between, and he finishes up with his main teacher.

Some children with sensory integration issues are overwhelmed by all the moving about to different places. I am hopeful that this will not be an issue for BOY, but that it will help him not having to stay in one classroom all day. We shall see...

It is yet another change for BOY, and he is handling it so well. He appears to like it, and has a close friend in the other Kindergarten class who he gets to play with during the recess times. But, it is new for him. And a little scary. He cried yesterday when I dropped him off. It was so hard to hand him off to the Kindergarten teacher and walk away. So hard. I need to let him make his way a bit. Yet, he is my little boy...

On Monday I got to sit in and observe his three teachers. I really liked what I saw. The teachers have different teaching styles, but all have a firm hand. Since BOY is starting to read, I have high hopes that his passion for reading will flourish there.

One of the biggest challenges, this year, will be his writing. It is difficult for BOY, but he will get there. He is reluctant to do it, because he thinks he cannot do it. But, like so many things in BOY's young life so far, he is unable to do something...and suddenly we realize that he is just doing it. He had to get there in his own time.

The journey continues. I hope and pray it is the right decision. This parenting stuff is a crap shoot...

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In which I sound like a Feminist from the 1970s, and I'm owning it...

I have learned a lot about myself over the last several weeks. I have moved from fear into action, yet...fear still lingers. Will I be able to build a business in this economy? Do people recognize that massage can have a profound affect on both their body and their state of mind? Is it the right time? What if my office sits empty week after week? I hate that. That part of me. The insecure, dark side that rankles, burns, and mocks...

All of this...this... journey, has really been about my quest for a paycheck of my own. I have been a stay-at-home mom for almost six years. It has been both rewarding and challenging. But, perhaps the true "struggle" has been less about dealing with two small, developing, ever fascinating and mercurial children than about my work here at home not having a tactile, monetary value.

Once a year, Salary.Com publishes The Mom Salary Survey, their estimate of what a SAHM's work is worth. This year it was $122,722. If you're a mom working outside the home, you can add an additional $76, 184 to the paycheck that you earn. It sounds great, but really? It's just numbers dangling in the air... We, as women, will never see that money. And, it feels like a slap in the face to me, when I haven't even been earning $8 an hour, the amount we pay our babysitter.

In which I sound like a Feminist from the 1970s, and I'm owning it...

I believe that it is damaging to women, in our current culture, to go for a long period of time without a paycheck. We live in a society that operates on money. If you have to rely on another person to give you money, it places you in a very vulnerable and less than place. Even if you start out with honorable intentions, the bottom line is that you are dependant on another human being. As if...you were a child.

But, you are not! You are an independent woman choosing partnership (a.k.a., dependence), yet do we really know what we are getting into? So, then after a period of time you venture out into the world of earning a paycheck, and it is incredibly intimidating. For those of us who have been out of the work force a few years? Daunting. For those of us who have been home for many years? Imagine being perched on a rocky ledge with no way of getting down. Except...down. And, there is no choice. You must come down. Or die.

Is there a bad guy in this equation? The bad guy is elusive in concept. It is not as simple as men not appreciating all that women do, or mothers who work outside the home not appreciating mothers who stay at home, and vice versa. It is far more complicated. Is there an answer? Not until we, as women, not only start the conversation, but end it with a solution. And, I have no idea what the answer is...

What I do know is that earning a paycheck of one's own is empowering, fosters independence, and builds confidence. I have just begun to feel it, touch it, experience it. And I will take that feeling to the bank...


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Photo Credit courtesy of Google Images: Feminists Gloria Steinem & NYC Agency for Child Development founder Dorothy Pitman Hughes. Circa 1970.

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It feels like a path is revealing itself here

My creative energy has been going into my new business venture. Yesterday I spent a couple of hours playing with designs for my business cards. I am really jazzed about having a massage practice for women again! I've also been brainstorming with friends on marketing ideas.

My biggest challenge at the moment is deciding on my pricing. It is a tough time for many in today's economy. I am hoping to market to the women who feel that stress relief via massage helps them MORE than hurts their pocketbook. I want to offer a price that attracts, yet not undervalues my talent. If I start too low, then when I raise my rates to meet the market, I set myself up for losing clients. So...what I am leaning toward doing is coming in at the average rate for my area, and offering a $20 off introductory special. The added complication is that in the beginning my business will be house calls, which are more expensive because you are bringing the massage to someone's home. Massage therapists typically charge more for house calls. Yet, I am building a business...

Last week, there was an exciting development. I was talking with a massage therapist about buying oils and aromatherapy materials locally...we were chat, chatting, which I tend to do...HEH...and it turns out there is a part-time space available in her office! I am really excited. I have yet to talk to the land lord (another MT), because she's on vacation, but the possibilities look quite good for me sharing the space. For a very workable monthly rent. This way I could offer both house calls and an office option for those women who want to get out of the house. Those of you who have young children can understand that...

As is always the case, now that I have moved out of the DEER CAUGHT IN THE HEADLIGHTS...FROZEN IN FEAR STAGE, I am struck by what the universe is giving back to me. I took a few shaky steps forward, started walking, and things are coming to me. It feels like a path is revealing itself here. At least for now...Stay tuned.

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Question: For those of you who get massages, what would attract you to try a different massage therapist? Do you like the idea of an introductory special? What are the rates in your area? (I live in Southern California.) What about for a house call? I would love your feedback on this issue!


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Photo courtesy of Google Images

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Is Fear a lack of Faith?

Fear appears to be a relatable emotion. Many of us have an intimate knowledge of fear. A frequent bedfellow in the middle of the night. The brutish lover waking you up for another go. When you've already had your fill. Of piercing thoughts that do not have a beginning and an end, but are orbital. Yet, not just the night stalker is fear. No, fear lurks in the daylight. In the shadows. Around our edges. If we let it...

Fear can cripple us, freezing us into immobility. The possibility of a new joy and wonder is crushed, because our imagination lies fallow. Is Fear a lack of Faith? Perhaps. Yet, some of the most grounded people of faith also struggle with fear. So, then... fear is part of the human condition. How do we address it? Do we sit on one side of the door, unable to open it for fear of what is on the other side? Or do we pick up that club and beat down the door of fear, because....? Because, there could be something desirable on the other side.

It is far easier when you are forced into a change. Your home is on fire. You get out of the house. Adrenaline and instinct take over. But, when you are approaching what appears to be a precipice, and you see it coming with every step... closer and closer. That is when it is so easy to turn tail and run back from whence you came. Even if someone is reaching out to you with a rope, helping to guide you down the other side.

Before I had children, I wanted to sky dive. Now, I am afraid of heights. Do I lack faith? I don't think so. I think I'm still germinating. Maturing. And I need to grow into my big girl shoes.



"Doubt is not the opposite of faith: fear is. Fear will not risk that even if I am wrong, I will trust that if I move today by the light that is given me, knowing it is only finite and partial, I will know more and different things tomorrow than I know today, and I can be open to the new possibility
I cannot even imagine today."

Verna Dozier from her book, "The Dream of God."


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Painting courtesy of Google Images.

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Moms are blonde or brunette. Not ...gray.

I wish your hair was brown, Mommy.

Why do you like your hair like that, Mommy?

I love Miss J's hair.

Miss J, GIRL's preschool teacher, has brown hair. Like GIRL's. Like mine used to be. My daughter is in mourning for the loss of my once brown hair. She's never known me to have hair other than Silver. I don't like the word gray. It speaks of dinge and drab.

In GIRL's 4 year old world, she wants an even playing field. Where everything is similar. And comfort is measured in sameness. Moms are blonde or brunette. Not ...gray. The very thing she is wanting is what I fight against. Blending in. Being ...the same.

I really like my hair on most days. I love that it is easy. No scrambling to the hairdresser when the silver roots are showing. But, the ultimate truth is that I like it, because...it is different. It is something I've embraced for most of my adult life. Being different. Being other. Perhaps because I felt that way inside, and being visibly different on the outside is like a natural boundary. It speaks. It says...I am not one of many. Yet, of course, I am...

I could go back to the dye. I could. Yet, part of me would feel false. Because usually? The Silver feels like me. On good days, I like to think I look rather smashing and dare I say it...dramatic, with my hair. On bad days...it is pure, unadulterated, drab. And, the truth is, GIRL gets to see me on bad days. Often.

My paternal grandmother was gray/silver/white by the time she was in her early 40's. If not before. My father never remembers her without gray hair. There is nothing weighted in his words. It is just a fact. He doesn't remember.

Sometimes...in brief moments, I wonder if my decision is fair to my children. Fair in the sense that I am an older parent, anyway, and then I add silver hair into the mix. Kind of like taking out a big banner that says: OLDER MAMA LOCATED HERE.

I think I'll keep it for now. There is always time to change. GIRL will love it or hate it. Or not think about it much. Probably the latter. Or...maybe when I'm 50, I'll dye it purple...



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For more about my journey to becoming Silver, you can read and see the pictorial here.

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At 15 minutes past, I started to imagine horrible things

BOY's bus was 25 minutes late today. Coming home. I started to panic. His bus is never late coming home. At 15 minutes past I started to imagine horrible things. At 21 minutes past, I called the dispatch. The dispatch called the bus driver. The bus driver wasn't driving that route today. They put me on hold. 3 minutes ticked by...three long minutes. Finally, just as the dispatch came back on the line I saw the bus slowly coming up the street. Driving ever so carefully. Ever so...lost. I tried to focus on breathing, but knew that my eyes were looking a bit frantic.

Looking for your baby? the bus driver asked with a smile.

Yes. Yes, I am.

Honey, I was so...lost. And your BOY is SO smart. He told me what turns to take. I had to back up, turn around...I missed a turn.

By this time, BOY was absorbed in the various buttons on the bus. He grilled the bus driver.

What does this do? What is this for? What's that?

BOY appeared unconcerned about being on a hot bus an extra 25 minutes. I got him off the bus after his requisite 30 questions in 2 minutes had been answered.

I took in the pizza sauce on his cheek, and the stains on his shirt. I watched him. I asked him about school. He made me laugh. And then I started breathing again...

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Is it because in her I see an extension of myself?

I think I am harder on my daughter than I am on my son. Why is that? Is it because in her I see an extension of myself? Are all mothers that way, and fathers harder on their sons? Is it more than genetic or societal conditioning, but lying deeper...an evolutionary predisposition? Why do I expect more of GIRL than I do of BOY?

She is exquisite, my girl. Thoughtful, willful and incredibly bright. And she adores me with a fierceness that is only surpassed by my own love for her.

There is so much I wish to teach her. And tell her... To value her mind. That her body is to be honored, and not easily given away. To be her own person. To feel good about who she is. To know that not everyone will be in her corner, or accept her in every situation, and that is OK if she believes in herself.

I want to be there for her. Always. Not to be her friend, but her mother. A mother whom she can count on. A mother whom she can talk with. Like almost everything on this journey of motherhood, I am learning at least as much as I am imparting. And I have so much more to learn...

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Will they wonder why we didn't stop the make-overs at 5...

What IS IT to be female today?

What does it mean? For all of us...


And where does it start?

What will it be like for women 70 years from now, looking back, seeing the images of us? What will they think? Will they wonder why we didn't stop the make-overs at 5... (Ad for Club Libby Lu: Would you like to have your hair done up, put makeup on, and look like you're ready for a big party? But you can't because you're "only a kid?" Don't worry any more---now you CAN get your hair done---and you MUST be a kid!)

7 year old Birthday PartyJust harmless fun, right?
Will they question our focus on teenage sexuality?

Tshirt from Abercrombie & Fitch: Who needs brains when you have these? (T-shirts were pulled & the company released this statement:"We recognize that the shirts in question, while meant to be humorous, might be troubling to some." )

Might be troubling to some?

The T-shirts were pulled because a group of approximately 2 dozen girls staged a protest. They were successful.



And it isn't just about girls....




What will they say? ..................GIRLS GONE WILD?

Are these our daughters?
Do these images reflect... us? Is this what we want?

Where did we draw the line in the sand?


What will they say years from now? About US...

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I find myself sinking

I sit again with myself on a winter's night. Cool air pooling around my ankles. So many books surround me. Someone else's dreams coming to fruition on my shelves. The evidence is here staring me in the face.

I yearn for that feeling after an orgasm, more than the orgasm itself. When hot fire creeps up through your toes and finishes just there...in that tender spot at the nape of your neck...rapture. I want to feel the after. A high not reached by drowning in chocolate or sipping whiskey. Tea? Hell, no! Too sobering and serene. It is not serenity I want now, in this moment.

Do you ever feel like your timing is off? You show up to the show, but everyone has left the building? You missed it. The event of a lifetime! "Impossible to describe," they say. The way your life could have gone. For one night ONLY. Missed.

And now the oddest things make you cry. Reading to your children. The words to the story choking you, so that you have to pause and take a breath. Because they describe a life you'd like to have.

Then you hate yourself for wanting anything else.

I find myself sinking. The lure of quick sand sucking me down to that place of darkness. Always temporary. Yet, while here it seeps into my soul, and betrays my light. You, there! Self-Absorption! I see YOU gloating...



*****Painting titled: "Last Ride" by Chuck Gumpert.

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All true adventurers need to occasionally anchor their ships

Not surprisingly, BOY's reality has set in. He's suddenly aware that he is going to a new school. And that he's there to stay. It is a usual pattern for him. His sense of adventure and curiosity about new places carries him for a few weeks, and then once the routine is established...he looks around and is a little thrown by what he takes inside himself. This time he is dealing with separation anxiety from me, and I think from GIRL. E has been home more, so he may be thinking we're all having fun at home while he goes off to school.

It's been challenging to get him up for school in the morning. Naturally a morning person, and until the last few months the first one to wake up, now he can sleep in until 7 or 7:30am. The bus arrives at 6:55am.... So, I have to get him awake, dressed and fed by that time. It is slightly torturous. Luckily, him being a morning person, makes it easier. Once he's up, he's up and moving. But, I don't enjoy feeling like I have an electric cow prod in hand for the first 15 minutes...

The wonder of the bus has worn off a bit. Yesterday he didn't want to go to school or ride the bus. So, I compromised by driving him to school, and once he saw his friends and his teachers he was fine. When I picked him up, his teachers said that he had a great day. An art teacher comes on Tuesdays to the class, and they made a collage with feathers, twigs and pom poms. Of course, when he saw his friends getting on the bus to go home, THEN he wanted to ride the bus. So, I talked to him about how he couldn't do that this time, as he had made the decision to not ride the bus that day. He took it in, pretty well, but was really disappointed. I took that as a positive sign, because he once again wanted to ride the bus.

This morning was less difficult, but he did express that he didn't want to go to school and be away from me. I emphasized the fun he has chatting with Miss Anita, the morning bus driver, and that his friends were really looking forward to seeing him. They missed him yesterday! Miss Anita is one of those wonderful warm and cozy kind of people. She really enjoys BOY, and was surprised by this new change in BOY's reluctance to ride the bus. BOY brings a stuffed animal, and as of this week, his special blanket aboard the bus. When he gets to school, he puts everything in his back pack. Miss Anita encourages this, so that BOY feels supported. He will decide in his own time, when he is ready to leave his security objects at home.

I feel confident that we are just going through a phase right now with BOY. Whenever I ask him about his time at school, he always describes it as "GREAT!" He didn't do that before at his previous schools - describe his mornings as GREAT. It feels like it is going to be a good fit. I am happy that he has been able to express himself emotionally, in words, with what is going on with him. He's been able to talk about feeling scared, his tummy hurting, missing his friends from his previous preschool, and missing me. Although it is emotionally hard for me to see him uncomfortable, I do know that talking through this and following through is important. Life is often uncomfortable, and I don't want to overprotect him. However... All true adventurers need to occasionally anchor their ships. And to come out of life's stormy seas. When my little adventurer sails back in, I plan to provide a safe harbor...



***"Sailing Ship in a Storm" by Robert Kimball.

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The Decision

It's so hard being a grown-up parent. You hold these small, precious lives in your hands. Everyone says that children are resilient. And, indeed they are. But, when it is your children....they appear delicate. Confronted by important choices, suddenly you are supposed to know what decisions to make. And to make them! Incredibly hard. Painful. Even when you know that you are making the right decisions.

It's been difficult to quiet my mind, yet I find myself feeling relieved. And then again...it has been challenging to sleep. I feel anxious, and overwhelmed a bit. Not by their findings, but by changes that have to be made. Again. And although I am concerned about BOY dealing with a change in schools halfway through the year, I have to acknowledge that it is myself who has issues around change. Intellectually, I can tell myself that change is powerful, and brings new adventures to the table that always enrich in the end. Yet, FEAR is my first reaction. So, I need to take that suitcase of MY anxiety and check it at the door. Because, really? There is only one decision to make. The one that is best for BOY. And that means moving him to a school where he will get the help that he needs.

Now that the decision is made, I can breathe and move forward. It is an opportunity for growth. For all of us...

***Painting titled: "Iron Essence" by Chuck Gumpert.

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If you have ever questioned where American feminism came out of, or why it came to be...

Being a stay-at-home mother and admitting a dissatisfaction with one's life in the all encompassing role of MOMMY is almost taboo in this country. Almost. There was a time when this subject was never talked about... A time when the only choice middle-class women had when they married and had children was to stay at home. There was not a question of loving it or hating it. It was just the way things were done. But, today we have that ability - to question our lives and the roles we play in it because of the groundbreaking women who came before us. It was 1963 when Betty Friedan's book, The Feminine Mystique, was published.

"The problem lay buried, unspoken, for many years in the minds of American women. It was a strange stirring, a sense of dissatisfaction, a yearning that women suffered in the middle of the twentieth century in the United States. Each suburban wife struggled with it alone. As she made the beds, shopped for groceries, matched slipcover material, ate peanut butter sandwiches with her children, chauffeured Cub Scouts and Brownies, lay beside her husband at night--she was afraid to ask even of herself the silent question--"Is this all?"***

Betty Friedan talked of women feeling trapped in their role as homemaker, and it was as if a casserole exploded across every kitchen in America. Today we are free to talk about this, to question it, but do we?

I like to think of myself as being candid with my close friends, openly expressing both my struggles and joys in being a mother. Yet, I find myself hesitating to discuss my own feelings of dissatisfaction, when I have them. Something holds me back. Shame? Worrying that I'll be seen as a complainer? I am not sure. So, it is easy to fall back into roles like "the harried mom" or "the exasperated mom," putting the onus on my children and what aggravating hi jinks they've been up to this week. But, that is not really what is at the core of the dissatisfaction.

Is this IT?

Really???????

Is this all there is?

Where have I gone?

Who am I?

I don't recognize that person in the mirror? Oh...that's me. But, IS it?!

Today we have online communities, friends a keystroke away, whom we connect with intimately. Perhaps because it is easier to reveal our own perceived inadequacies and shame to someone who feels safe...at a distance. Yet, someone who appears open and listens to our inner heart.

Being a homemaker is a valuable role. One that is often overlooked and undervalued - hence increasing a sense of loneliness and isolation in women. It is a complicated subject, with no easy answers.

I feel very lucky that mothering feels like a natural fit to me. It is something that I wanted for many years, and now I have the privilege of being a mother to two children whom I love with a passion and depth I could never have imagined. I am blessed that I had the choice to be at home with them. It was what I wanted. What I felt was most important for our family. And I don't regret the decision. But, I felt lost for a while. There are many things about mothering that feel cloying and suppressive. As if... you are one step away from the nearest psychiatric facility, or jumping on the back of some one's motorcycle and riding away, without looking back... Often, when I hear a story on the news of another mother who went over the edge, I nod silently, take a deep breath and feel lucky that it isn't me. But, I can relate...at least to some of it.

It is the writing that has saved me. Opened me up to a creative well that I had only dreamed of, yet never truly attempted - other than my private journaling and an occasional writing class. The irony is that if I hadn't gone to that dark place and muddled about in my own despair, I'm not sure I would ever have started writing. I'll never know.

Last night I saw a film. It will stay with me for days. Women, RUN...do not walk, to see Revolutionary Road. If you have ever questioned where American feminism came out of, or why it came to be...this film will turn you upside down. It is explosive, heart rending, and brutally honest. The performances are seamless. Kate Winslet is mesmerizing. Melissa Silverstein, from Women & Hollywood, writes: Revolutionary Road is a tough movie for a woman who grew up after the women’s movement of the 1970s to watch, but after watching it a couple of times I actually think that it should be required watching for all young women who think that feminism is irrelevant.

Seeing Revolutionary Road should have left me feeling depressed. But, it didn't. Instead I felt uplifted. And validated. Uplifted because we, as women, have more choices today. We. Can. Choose. Validated because being a mother is just a part of who I am. A big part. In the end, perhaps for me, the most important part. Yet...I am not only a mother, a wife, a homemaker. I am so much more...



***Quote from The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan - Opening paragraph, Chapter 1.


***"Fragmented Homemaker" painting by David M. Bowers

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I told her that she would get to Kindergarten gradually...

This morning GIRL dissolved. She's allowed. She's four. It was a rough morning. First her headband wouldn't go on right. Then her warm washcloth for morning ablutions turned cold. And she didn't like anything BOY said. Pretty much...any thing. She seemed fragile. I recognize all those feelings and frustrations...but, I call it perimenopause.

Then came the clincher, out of the BLUE...

Mommy, I DON'T WANT TO GO TO KINDERGARTEN!

Sweetie, you're not going to Kindergarten any time soon.

But, Kindergarten is EVERY DAY! And she burst into tears... at 7:30am.

I took her on my lap and held her. I explained to her that she wasn't going to Kindergarten next year. I told her that she would get to Kindergarten gradually...doing the PreK class that BOY's doing this year next fall. She would go every day to PreK, but only half days. And her Daddy told her that by the time she was ready for Kindergarten she would love it.

I feel blessed that her teacher is in agreement with us that she have that extra year next year. She has a late September birthday, so she could go to Kindergarten next year. (California has a bizzaro cut-off date for Kindergarten - you must be 5 by early December??) Intellectually, she would be ready. But, to give her that extra time that she needs to have more self-confidence and social ease before entering Kindergarten...that is a gift that I can give her.

And so...she wiped her tears away, fixed her hair and sat down for breakfast. All was once again well with her world. My frustrations continued into the evening. Luckily for me, Jack is back!! As in...It's JackO'Clock!

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Wanting the best for your child is all consuming and never ending

Sometimes I try so very hard. As if I am grasping for that last stronghold on the cliff, only to fall... And as I fall it is almost a relief, because I am incredibly tired. Wanting the best for your child is all consuming and never ending. Being told again, by people with fresh eyes, that your child could have sensory integration issues is not easy, yet like falling off that cliff...a relief. Because it shouldn't be this hard. And now there is possibly an answer. Perhaps someone has thrown me a life line.

I adore that little boy. With every fiber of my being. The moment he was placed in my arms, I knew love. Unlike anything ever before. He changed me forever. And whatever he needs, I will make sure that he gets it.

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Last night, as we were leaving the preschool family dinner, BOY lost his grip on his balloons. They flew quickly toward the darkening blue sky, soon a speck only he could see in the air. He was inconsolable. Until ...we talked about how those balloons would land somewhere, and bring happiness to someone else who needed it. And he smiled and took a breath.

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Bunk beds part deux...reflections a year later

I made the not so very brilliant choice, a little over a year ago, to purchase bunk beds. Yes... I know. What the hell was I thinking?! BOY and GIRL have a small room that they both share, and it seemed like such a great idea at the time. A space saver, and fun for the kids! I dismissed the recommended warnings for "6 years and up."

I soon realized the recommendations are there for a good reason, but not for the obvious physical danger. Our bunk beds adventure was short lived. Luckily there were no trips to the ER, but just as the bunk beds went up...the fears kicked in. The bottom bunk was "too dark and scary." The top bunk was fine, until BOY woke up with nightmares and I had to quickly ascend a small ladder, manipulate myself around the narrow opening, and get to him. And then there was our fear that he would attempt to climb down too quickly during one of his bad nights. Which all told, was just about every night. The bunk beds were up for a total of...mmm, maybe 1 week?

So, the bunk beds became twin beds and have remained so ever since. The room is now extra small, and although both BOY and GIRL are speaking of wanting to reinstate the bunk bed arrangement, I'm just not sure I'm up for it.

Perhaps the biggest drawback is changing the sheets. Whether perched in the air or on the floor...a nightmare. If your beds are against the wall, there is no way to do it other than climbing on top and heading for the back to tuck those bottom sheets under. Ever tried lifting a mattress while you're on top of it? It doesn't work too well.

The great news is that for the last several weeks, BOY has been sleeping through the night! It took almost a year to get through this phase, but it appears that we've made it to the other side. So, now that we're actually getting a decent night's sleep, I'm hesitant to erect the bunk beds once again for fear of launching another sleepless phase. So, for now we'll maintain the status quo...two twin beds, that should be bunks, taking up entirely too much space on the floor in a small room. As for changing the sheets? We haven't done it yet, but I'm thinking...sleeping bags!

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This blog post was inspired by Donna at Fortyfide who cross posted her bunk bed adventure on BlogHer.

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