Balancing Act

Something amazing happened today. I am PMS and I know it. In fact, I burst into tears on the phone with a friend earlier for pretty much no reason at all. So it didn't come as a huge surprise that I had a short fuse with the kids as we fixed tacos for dinner. They were especially wound up - squealing and giggling at ear-splitting top volume and being especially goofy. I snapped at them. I scolded. I got frustrated and tongue-tied. I lost my patience and yelled.

And through it all, we made tacos, ate tacos, and they continued to laugh. I claimed my frustration. We all watched my fuse burn, explode, burn. The girls stayed in balance.

I have been working very hard at staying in balance no matter what is going on around me. Being hormonally challenged makes that a hard to reach goal, but even then, I strive for it. I think I've been doing a descent job, too, staying unruffled the majority of the time. There has been smoother sailing around here of late, and that has been awesome.

It appears that I've gotten an added bonus - for those moments when I fall off balance, the girls continue to hold it. And this allows me to get back to it more quickly and easily.

Thanks, kiddos!

Anatomy Lessons

Today, I learned how my legs worked. More specifically, I learned how the muscles that move my legs are connected to my pelvis and where the attachments are that, when combined all together, make my legs move. What I learned, with the gentle guidance of my Pilates instructor, is nothing like the mental map that I had previously held of my body. Now, when I walk, I feel myself moving in a different way. Eventually, I am confident that moving will feel more balanced, more connected. But for now, I am exploring this new body map with a sense of curiosity and wonder.

I wish that there was a coloring book for the anatomy of my daughter's inner world. I long to be able to pull out the volume, slide my finger down the index until I find just the right portion. Processing New Experiences...page 54, Managing Changes in Routine...page 75, Feelings Connected with Daddy's Death...page 3. Such a reference would go a long way to helping me navigate the raising of this child who appears to be wired, in many ways, just like I am and in oh so many other ways in an incomprehensible tangle of converting the commonplace to the extraordinary.

Just when I think I've got something of a handle on what makes her tick, I wake up to a mornling like today where, turning on a dime, she becomes a screaming, flailing entity that I cannot either corral or comfort. Is it something she ate yesterday co-mingling with the remnant of a dream? Or maybe it's the mix of the start of a New Girl Scout year and the start of a new, short-term after school program. Maybe it is the shirt I put on, or the one she chose. Maybe it is the early stage firings of hormones and is only a glimmer of what is yet to come.

I may never completely figure out her internal workings, but this morning I learned something new about my emotional put-togethers, my emotional body map, if you will. It is not that somehow I am faulty, that my least stray negative thought or feeling sends an arrow arching straight for her heart to set her off. Rather, when she does whatever it is she does, what I choose to do next - or choose not to do - is the vibrational barometer for how the interaction plays out. For me, this clears up a whole body's worth of guilt and brow beating. I don't have to be perfect in every moment. Instead, I have a choice. I can hold my head and vibration high and re-direct the barbs flung my way, or I can jump off my perch and get down in the muck with her. What I find, though, is that standing on the dock and reaching a hand out helps her to pull herself up out of the muck of her own making. That is what I hope is positive parenting.

Coming Back

Creeaaak. I peek behind me. My Spirit Guide, Grey Wolf, smiles and nods towards the door. "It's pretty dark in there," I whisper.

"Go on," he says, "I'm right behind you."

Behind him, I can hear the shuffling of feet and then Meg hands me a feather duster. "Use this to clear the cobwebs, keeps them out of your hair," she says and smiles. I swing the blue and green iridescent peacock feathers in a wide arch in front of me and push the door open a bit farther. A cold draft drifts past and I shiver. Wolf lays his hand on my shoulder and nudges me forward.

I feel a hand on my other shoulder and Trish hands me a heavy woolen sweater. "Bundle up, you can do this," she says. The weight feels like a hug as I shrug on the sweater and take a few tentative steps. The feather duster leads my way into the neglected space.

"Here's a broom," MJ says. "It won't take long to clear that floor." With the broom I am able to find the desk and lamp that have been left here. I flick the switch and dust off the table, then the chair. The light leaves the space looking less daunting, and I turn my attention to sweeping the floor, clearing away all the remnants of time that have settled here and there. As promised, Wolf walks behind me, matching my every step.

A sound at the doorway draws my attention. Rubye and Barbara are holding a beautiful gilt tray. "Inspiration tea," Rubye says. "And Chocolate Creation cookies," Barbara adds. "Just a little sustenance for the journey."

Now, the aroma of Inspiration fills the room. I dance the broom into the dim corners, finish off the eaves with the duster. I am warmed by the wool and feel as though a bit of sunlight has been stashed here just for me. The sturdy desk chair is ready and waiting and I sit. A bite of cookie, a sip of tea, and I am ready.

I am not yet sure where this journey will take me, but I am looking forward to the discovery. I hope you will join me.

History in the making

I voted today. Early. It was an experience that I was not at all prepared for. I figure, go in, fill out the absentee ballot, head on home. Voting. No big deal.

What I found when I arrived at Vet's Memorial was a parking lot filled with cars, tv news cameras dotting the sidewalk, and people...people everywhere. The line wound down the stairs and then snaked back and forth before straightening out into the Bhrem room where in person absentee voting was taking place. In all, I stood on line for an hour and 45 minutes before I had my ballot in hand and headed to the privacy booths to make my choices the old fashioned way -- pen on paper.

As I waited, I struck up a conversation with the woman standing behind me. She was friendly and excited. And the excitement built as we made our way through the maze of people, following the ones before us. She kept track of our time and provided little updates every half hour or so. We talked about the election and the significance. We were grateful that we could feel safe to gather in this public way to cast our votes and not fear for our lives.

I would be hard pressed to estimate the number of people there. The crowd was huge. The lobby area was warm and got warmer as we waited. Watching the people, I was filled with a sense of something bigger than myself, something akin to community happening right before my eyes. Throughout the line, people chatted in groups of two or three. Some people had come together and others were strangers. There were tall people, short people, fat people skinny people, men in suits, women in jean jackets, mothers with tiny babies or two or three toddlers. The news media was there and they periodically stopped with cameras and microphones to speak with someone in the line. Even as we waited and the temperature in the room rose, the line remained orderly. No one complained when the man behind me stepped out of line to use the restroom and then returned. There was no whining or moaning. In fact, nearly everyone there was smiling.

I have voted in numerous elections and probably the past six presidential elections but it has never felt this way before. It was as though the air was charged with anticipation of change, positive change. As Carol and I chatted, we noted how different things had been when her 91 year old grandmother was a young woman. I commented on just how different things would be when the little baby beside us, who looked to be no more than a month or two old, had grown to reach our ages. It felt as though all those who had fought for voting rights, fairness in voting, and fairness in general were gathered there with us in that lobby and that they were cheering us on. It felt like we were making history.

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?