Ohio hurricane

When I told the girls that it was going to be a little more windy and maybe rain a lot on Sunday due to the hurricane that had come ashore in Texas, I had no idea what was in store. In fact, until the power started flickering and I looked out to see the glider swing in the backyard upended, I wasn't even aware that the winds had arrived.

Around 4:00 yesterday afternoon, the power flashed sending the girls racing up the stairs from the basement screaming at the top of their lungs. "The lights just went off and on, Mom!" They had done the same in the living room, knocking off the tv I had just switched on to see if there was some kind of storm warning alert. It took a few minutes to get the set back on, and the weather channel listed nothing - no storm warnings, no wind advisories. Not satisfied with that, I was just tuning in to a local station when the power went out for good.

The girls were happy to be the bearers of the flashlight as they went into the basement and brought up puzzles for Malaika to work on. Adia and I sat on the couch and worked our way through her I Spy book. I made some calls and found out that our friends in the area had power, but it went out while I was talking with her on the phone. Friends on the west side had returned home from an outing to the zoo to find the large tree in their back yard split and half of it fallen. During the course of the storm, the other half fell and took the power line down with it. Our minister had made it to the church where the power was still on, but since my car was in the garage and I wasn't up to fighting to get the door up manually, we decided to stay home.

We are blessed with a wall of windows in the living area of our home, so we didn't really feel the lack of lights. The house was eerily quiet, broken by only the beeping of the battery back-up for my electronics - a wise addition as, in this situation, it undoubtedly saved the thousands of images on my external hard drives. It was warm and humid outside and without the air conditioning running the house warmed up a little more than it would have otherwise been. But we were comfortable.

As the twilight descended, I cracked open the refrigerator and made a round of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner. The girls topped their meal off with applesauce. The wind died down a bit and I went out and fastened the cover on the grill most securely and tucked the chairs tighter around the table on the deck. The girls didn't argue about getting into their pajamas before it got too dark upstairs. And they found little flashlights on their belt-clip radios.

By 7:30 they were ready for bed. I don't know if it was the excitement or the novelty or nerves, but they both went right off to sleep as though it was much later in the evening. I spent a little time by candlelight talking with my mom and reading some of my coursework for church. But it was early when I blew out the candles and went to bed, too.

The power returned sometime in the middle of the night. I heard a beeping that I thought was the battery backup coming back on. When I got up to investigate it, I found that it was the alarm system panel in the bedroom, so I silenced that and went back to sleep. The cell phone rang twice early in the morning - once when my friend called to reschedule our meeting for this morning because her kids were home from school as well and once when Kindercare called to say they would be closed due to the power outage as well. I heard Malaika stirring about the time of the second call, so I scooted down to her room to tuck her back into bed, tell her there was no school today, and warn her off going in and waking her still snoring sister. The kids slept until after 9:00 a.m.

We were lucky. None of the trees in our backyard were broken or uprooted. Just down the street, several trees lay on their sides with the roots on the wrong side of the ground. Chain saws buzzed all afternoon. We went out and filled a plastic garbage can with sticks and branches and pulled a pile of larger branches around the side of the house on a tarp to await next week's yard waste pick up. The clean up took us about an hour. The only casualty was the glider swing - the frame was wrenched apart and the swing seat unhinged.

Adia and I ventured out to the store in the afternoon while a friend stayed with Malaika at the house. The store was open and operating under emergency lighting. There was no refrigeration at all. The freezer blocks sat cordoned off with yellow caution tape. We picked up two loaves of bread, some applesauce, and toilet paper and Adia was able to complete her Girl Scout homework assignment.

After dinner, the girls played in the backyard with the neighbor kids until bath time. After reading to them, they both went right to sleep. I waited up for the news. A category one hurricane (minus the rain) had passed through on Sunday. Winds ranged 75-80 mph. That explains the one branch I pulled out of the ground this morning. It was sticking up, but when I grabbed it, it wasn't loose. In fact, I had to give it a good yank as it was buried in the ground a good few inches.

There will be no school again tomorrow. The news reported that some places are looking to get power back by Sunday afternoon. (It's Monday night as I write this.) There is an ice shortage and residents are encouraged to conserve water. News cameras showed large trees down all around the area, with numerous of them falling into homes. At least one man was struck and killed by a tree outside his home. My friends on the west side were still without power when I talked to them this afternoon on the phone.

We are fortunate. I prepared last night's dinner for the girls tonight. They both got baths. For good measure, I backed up the images on my external hard drive. As I head off to bed now, I will say a prayer of safety for those who remain without power, without food and water. Tomorrow will be another quiet day as the city recovers from the hurricane.

Through a different lens

I don't know if it was this complicated in previous school years. Maybe it is simply the added complexity of third grade. Or maybe it is that in my juggling I now have more balls in the air than I did in the lazy days of summer. Whatever, the transition into the school year has been much more challenging than I remember.

Memory is a funny thing, like a soft focus filter on a portrait lens. It takes the harsh edges off, given enough time. Worry, on the other hand, stops action like a super fast sports lens leaving hands, feet and contorted mouths in crisp, mid-motion detail. I think maybe it is time for me to change my lens.

My daughter struggles with reading. I am not exactly sure what the struggle is and so far, I'm not having a lot of success getting anyone to explain it to me. One day she reads through with little difficulty and the next day, she has trouble brining out the little words, prepositions and subject pronouns in particular. She gets frustrated. She yells at me, "You're not helping me." I feel terrible. I am not a trained teacher. I don't know how to help her. Sometimes she can sound the words out, which is the only way I know to help her decipher them, and sometimes she gets all the syllables correct but cannot string them together into a recognizable word.

She labors over writing assignments. I have yet to identify if that is because she labors over the act of writing itself (her handwriting borders on the illegible) or if it is because she labors inside her mind over the construction of what she needs to say. "I can't think of anything." "I don't know what to write." I try to help her think about what she wants to say, work it out orally and then move toward the writing of it. But she often is not able to tell me even what she is thinking.

I can tell by her mutterings that she feels unsuccessful: "I can't do it." "See what the problem is with me?" "I'll never get it right."

I have spent the past six years of her life working to find her the help she needs, trying to figure out what makes her tick, and searching out strategies for helping her bring out the success that I know is inside her. She is smart. She is curious. She asks me pointed questions about the working of the world that sometimes require a trip to the internet for the answers. She remembers details of conversations that we have had that I do not and will remind me in a way that seems to say, "Mom, we talked about that, why don't you remember?" Yet, I do not feel any closer today to an answer to the question of how to help her, how to get her educational experiences to match her learning mechanisms and needs, than I was when she started preschool. Navigating the supplemental support system at the school is cumbersome at best and most often painstakingly slow. I am afraid that by the time an answer is found it will be too late to help her.

In the meantime, I am left with the image of her getting out of the car this morning. She was happy and excited because they were allowed to bring a stuffed animal to school. The class filled their marble jar and voted for reading with their animals as reward. She unbuckled her seat belt and slung her backpack onto the seat to wriggle into to it, but for just a moment she stopped. She held against her chest her Siberian Husky, Hugdog, wearing a pink velveteen skirt and matching hoodie jacket with a red rose embriodered on it and gray Joe-Cool sunglasses between her blue eyes and her furry, pointed ears. Time stood still, as she placed a slow, gentle kiss atop her dog's furry head. Then she got into her back pack and, with Hugdog tucked safely in her arm, walked toward the back door of the school building.

School days...

School started Wednesday.

It was an occasion met with mixed emotions. Not one of us really fancies the idea of a 6:30-7:00 a.m. wake up call. In fact, Adia and I decided that school would be much better if it ran from 10 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. instead of the 8:00 to 2:25 p.m. they have now. I don't think we'll get many takers for that idea.

Despite the early hour, and the looming promise of renewed homework, Adia was excited to start third grade. I am happy to report that she is attending the same school that she has been in. The assistant superintendent, along with the school principal, made a ruling to allow her continued attendance despite the enrollment numbers showing a full third grade there. In fact, the email and letter that I received from the assistant superintendent both referred to the decision being based what was in Adia's best interest. The letter was revised from what I had been sent earlier in the summer to state that transfer requests would be granted based on availability at the chosen school and/or the well being of the child. I was delighted and more than a little bit impressed with the school district's responsiveness. Adia is in class with the teacher she was recommended to be with, and one with whom she has a good standing relationship. I am hopeful that this year will prove to be a good one for her.

Not to be out done in the excitement department by her sister, Malaika was convinced that she was going to be starting kindergarten. Alas, she has another year of pre-K before she is old enough to be enrolled in public school. I am happy that the district started voluntary full-day kindergarten classes this year, and I hope to get her enrolled in one of those next fall.

Despite the lack of change in venue, Malaika was quite anxious to get to wear her new school shoes. From the day we brought them home, she asked me every morning, "Today I can wear my new shoes?" I told her that, no, she could wear them on the first day of Adia's school. On Tuesday, I reminded her that she could wear her new shoes the next day. I'm sure that the excitement didn't help this already bed/sleep resistant one on Tuesday night. She had trouble staying in her bed, in her room actually, and kept running in to bother her sister who truly just wanted to get some sleep. Eventually, though, the pitter-patter of little feet subsided and quiet snores could be heard from the blanket heap in the middle of the bed. When I went in to check on her before I went to bed, I saw something white sticking out from the covers. On closer inspection here is what I found: one four and half year old, fast asleep, with one shiny, brand-spanking-new sneaker on the foot sticking out of the bed. Her satin pj leg was pushed up to her knee. I had to peek beneath the comforter to see, and yes, indeed, there was the other shoe as well. I'm just sorry it was too dark to take a picture.

I did, however get the traditional first day of school pictures of Adia. No school bus pulling away from the house shot this year. It's the mommy bus, aka the Prius, that will be doing the school runs. No matter, she looks like she's ready to go, doesn't she?

The big bad wolf

Being the only parent is not fun. There is only me for the kids to be angry with, and they are angry. They are angry their dad isn't here. They are angry that I set limits and hold to them. They are angry they do not get their way with whining and crying and fit pitching. They are angry that I hold them to a standard of respect for adults and the rules of the world.

And there is no one to back me up. When a limit is being pushed, I stand alone while they hurl their best at me trying to make me bend and break, give in and take away the consequences. I don't. Still, it hurts. In fact, it breaks my heart regularly. I don't like being yelled at. I don't like being criticized and told how mean and uncaring I am. I don't like being accused of never, ever, ever doing anything nice for my children. I don't like being challenged at every turn. You would think I was running a prison camp the way they go on about it. The indignities of being required to make your bed and pick up the floor of your room. The outrageousness of being expected to carry your own beloved stuffed animals and your new clothes all the way upstairs to your bedroom.

The thing is, I know they are sad. And I know, surely better than they can imagine, how sadness that is difficult to feel is eclipsed by anger directed at any convenient and available target. I know that while they yell at me and call me names and tell me what a big bad old wolf they truly think I am, their little hearts are just filled up with too much loss. And I wish I could take it all away and leave them with more sunshine. I am doing my best to bring what sunshine I can. But nothing I do or say will bring their daddy back. And when they want him, I am a very poor substitute.

What they don't know, what doesn't get said - after all they are children and it isn't appropriate for them to think about - is that when they are tucked into bed dreaming of magical places, I am left with the echoes of their anger and sadness that I am powerless to assuage. I am alone with my doubts and my worries about whether or not I am doing the right thing or am being too hard on these girls that are still trying to navigate the loss of their father.

They want to act out and know that I still love them, to know that even in the midst of a tantrum that they will get a hug. They want to come out of their rooms ten times and beg me to come up and give them one more kiss, turn Ellie on one more time. They want to know that I am there, and they need that. And I am. I am here. I may huff and puff from time to time, but I haven't blown the house down yet.

Maybe the big bad wolf just wanted a hug, too.

Gratitude Lists

Malaika: Getting to go to Bunny Park, playing in the water, and I ate lunch.

Adia: Going to Bunny Park. Playing with friends. Getting to help carry things to the park. Going to the grocery store. Picking out something for the church picnic. Helping you make lunch and load the car. Helping you do the laundry.

Me: Fun afternoon in the sun with the girls and friends. Listening to the girls playing their make believe games on their new (plastic) phones. Cool breezes and big fluffy, white clouds. A shower that washes off the crunchy leftover sunscreen. The sound of rain against the windows lulling me to sleep.

Good night. Sweet dreams.

Girls Night In

It was a spur of the moment fashion show. My girlfriends who'd dropped by for the evening, the girls and I all congregated in my bedroom and while they gathered on the bed, I started putting on the dresses I'd bought at the Irish Festival. This is the kind of evening that the cool teenagers on tv spend with all their BFFs. I can definitely see the appeal. We had a blast.

I was in the closet changing outfits when I heard the girls squeal, I'm not sure about what. The next thing I heard was fits of giggles and laughs. Adia was nearly doubled over in laughter when I came out of the closet for another round of oohs and ahhs. My girlfriend said through her laughter, "Adia, you better run to the bathroom, You're going to pee your pants." Adia couldn't have run if the house was on fire. She was laughing with her mouth wide open, eyes wide and bright, and she turned and squeaked to my friend, "No I won't!" Which sent everyone into another round of giggling.

Laughter is hard for me to describe in words. It has been such a long time since I have seen and heard Adia laugh like that. She used to do it all the time, but the past year has been especially difficult for her. The sound of her full out laugh is lilting and bell-like. It rolls off her tongue uninhibited and her eyes dart and twinkle with mischief of the very best kind. She throws her head back and her smile is deep and wide showing the expanse of her mixed adult and baby teeth. And when she tries to talk it rushes out in great gushes of words that sometimes get lost in one another. If you ask her to repeat herself, she will only laugh harder in the attempt to do so.

Malaika's laugh was more of a squeal tonight, but she can giggle with the best of them, too. She has a variety of laughs, ranging from this squealy laugh to a little chuckle and on to full out belly laughs when she is being tickled. She is the most ticklish person I've ever known, and the best way to shift her out of a funky mood, be it sulky or angry, is to tickle her just a little. Laughter then replaces anything that was trying to keep a toe hold.

Laughter is a balm. Somehow, it sneaks it's way into those places where the hurts lie and loosens the grip on them just a little. It wraps itself around the angry places and leaves a gauzy film there that makes it harder to see and feel the angries any more. Laughter is a blessing.

Growing up, I never had girlfriends that I did this kind of thing with. When I shopped, I shopped alone. My bedroom was my private sanctuary and only the occasional out of town guest spent time there with me. I always had the sense that I was missing something. I'm glad I am not missing it any more.

Unlikely angels

Every Wednesday for over a year now, nearly without fail, the girls and I walk into Skyline Chili for dinner and kids' night. Hot dogs cooked on long rolling metal tubes, soft shredded cheddar cheese, monkey dishes full of oyster crackers and, best of all, a craft.

Green, pink, and blue plastic beads strung on a purple pipe cleaner make a bracelet. A paper plate face sports a blue pompom nose, gold glitter lips, and red pipe cleaner hair. The pink foam door hanger declares, "Adia Princess," complete with crown, green sparkle glue and a blue frog. Rainbows of construction paper illustrated with short black marker lines and a circular red scribble.

Every week it is the same thing. Adia eats four hot dogs, no bun, cheese on the side with Sierra Mist in a blue paper cup with a plastic lid. Malaika does the same, though she eats only two dogs. Last week they switched to drinking Root Beer. Most weeks we also share a plate of cheese fries. Dessert in the summer: red, white, and blue rocket popsicles. In the winter, it is individually wrapped two-packs of Oreo cookies. I vary my choices. Sometimes it's a small 3-way onion. Other times I prefer a cheese coney with everything and a garden salad. The blue cheese dressing is served in a cracker dish.

We are greeted like everyone who enters: "Hi! Welcome to Skyline!" But sometimes our meals are on the table before we get through the door and across the room. The assistant manager and the cooks have been there longer than we've been going. The servers change periodically, and sometimes they are gone for a while then come back. One night not long ago, a young man came and sat down with me while the girls were at the counter working on their creations. "How are you doing," he asked. "Do you remember me?" I told him I did and commented on not having seen him in a while. He proceeded to tell me about the hiatus he took as an underwear picker for Victoria's Secret. He wanted to pay off his car before starting college in the fall. We had a good laugh about the hog heaven it must have been, surrounded by Victoria's delights all day long, though the work was tedious. He was glad to be back in the kitchen and was looking forward to heading to Miami University (of Ohio) with academic scholarship money.

The assistant manager has worked his way up from cook and was proud to show me his manager's badge when he was promoted. He regularly jokes with and teases the girls, and has taught Malaika the art of the High Five: Up high, down low...too slow. He blows a lot of steam, but it has been fun to watch his transformation since the promotion. He has the face of someone who has spent plenty of wild times and sports a block O tattoo on his shoulder and, up until a few weeks ago, a long ponytail coiled up beneath a blue Skyline cap. After deciding he was serious about making manager, he had his long blonde locks corn-rowed, because he'd always wanted to try it, then he unbraided and cut the length of his hair off leaving a spikey short do in it's place. He seems more confident to me, less volatile and frustrated than when we first started going in. And he handles well the easy socializing that makes for a good manager in a sit-down fast food joint. He always takes a few minutes to sit with me and see how things are going, tell me of his latest misadventures, and chase the girls into peals of laughter.

This is not the place one would expect to find angels. But there they are. A tall lanky high schooler with an attempt at a mustache bends over the counter to help my four year old glue the pieces onto her work of art. The two cooks - strong, silent types - step out from behind the steam tables and chat quietly, if briefly, before returning to scoop huge piles of spaghetti onto plates and cover it with chili piled high with cheese. The pretty, shy girl who never says much but has an infectious laugh calls out, "Now, that's what I like to see!" as the girls giggle when a foam circle launched from a plastic fork by one of the servers bounces off her head. And tonight, showing a little more softening around those hard edges, the assistant manager does me the favor of taking the family portrait that I didn't think I would ever get.