18 Shades of You-Have-Got-to-Be-Kidding-Me

I am a bit of a reader.
In fact, I am a good reader.



Not a great reader, certainly not an epic reader...but a consistent, committed reader.
I enjoy anything well-written, most pretty-goodly-written, and a fair number of not-awfully-written.

Earlier this year, I came across this list of "100 books to read before you die". The words "books" + "die" got my attention and I counted - purely out of curiosity, mind you - to see how many I had read.


82.


82 out of the 100 listed.
That sounded impressive to me. I only needed to read 18 books and I would have all 100.

I get to read books other people recommend AND get the satisfaction of checking off a list?

I'm in!


Since there is little chance that I'll be climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro anytime soon, I challenged myself to finish this small bit of a bucket list.
This year, preferably.

I am not sure this is really something to be awfully proud of...honestly, it is not that great of list. There are places where a collection is listed (Lord of the Rings), and there are places where only some books from a series are listed (Hunger Games and Harry Potter), and I am convinced that there are books that should/should not be there...

Regardless, I promised myself I am going to finish this list and I will. I have 8 books to go after my current book.

Pre-list, I have spent the 20 years since college shamelessly only reading what I like. Although my "like" runs fairly wide and deep, it has definitive borders, and I have no problem abandoning a book that I deem "not worth it" for any reason.

Life is short and libraries large, after all...


Luckily, this list-challenge journey has been pleasant, for the most part.  I have only come across a couple that I would not have finished voluntarily.
And I have appreciated the chance to stretch myself, book-wise.




My current book on the list, though, is Outlander by Diana Gabaldon. This is a book I would have abandoned, pre-challenge. I apologize in advance if you are a fan of this book. Another confession, I am not quite done with it. I am about 78% in. I will try not to spoil the story or the book for you, but it has brought up a struggle.




What is bothering me is trying to reconcile what I am reading in the book with what I am reading about the book.


What I am reading about the book:
It has a Goodreads rating of 4.16, so there are clearly many fans of the book. The book description (on Goodreads) ends with "For here James Fraser, a gallant young Scots warrior, shows her a love so absolute that Claire becomes a woman torn between fidelity and desire".  Many reviews on Goodreads tout this as a romantic-love-story-beyond-time and openly swoon over Jamie and Claire.



What I am reading in the book:
There is this one passage that is massively incongruous with that description. (Not a spoiler) The scene involves Jamie whipping Claire...as in, beating her with a strap. It was not consensual. Claire was humiliated and physically hurting for days. She rationalized his behavior very quickly, forgave him and moved on.

...I'm not quite as forgiving.

I can rationalize his behavior (1740s Scotsman). I guess I can rationalize her behavior (Stockholm syndrome?).
But I do NOT buy that this is now an epic love story.
I'm done.
I would absolutely "tap out" of this book if I were not so heck-bent on finishing this list.





I felt betrayed when I read that passage. THIS was supposed to be the good guy?!?! A man who beat his wife and admitting to enjoying it. I was so angry.

I vented to my friend about my disbelief of so many people happily waving away that scene in the reviews and she wrote "The question is whether or not literature gives us permission to set aside our own values for the sake of connecting with a character."



That stopped me in my tracks...that is a very new idea for me.



As a reader, I have always been simply concerned with how the authors (and characters) could connect with ME. (cue "What Have You Done for Me Lately")  I assumed that it is their responsibility to build that connection.

I have never really paused to consider MY responsibility to THEM.

Do I have a responsibility?
When I pick up a book to escape to their world do I owe them complete suspension, or at least, more suspension than I usually give?
Should I be working harder to connect with characters?



I don't know...

which is why I am writing about it. :)



It is true that I would miss out on some great books if I put them down every time the hero/ine did something I disagreed with...
(Gone With the Wind, Huckleberry Finn, Crime and Punishment, to name a few...)


This seemed different, somehow.
How the abuse was written, how it was dealt with (or not), how it was rationalized by the abused and abusers...


I can accept that it happened. I cannot accept that it seemed justified, in any way, to Claire. I cannot accept the description of this as a "true love story".

But it did make me think (I am always grateful for that)...mainly about how I don't want my pre-teen daughter to think this is how love should be.




Love should not cause bruises.
Ever.








btw...
Here is my favorite (NSFW) review. (Serious bad words. Be warned.)

Very Close and Very Still

I love wildflowers.

I love accidental beauty.

There is something precious about seeing that beauty where no person intended.

I do love summer.

Summer is a teacher's respite from the crazy-ness of the semester. We need that down time. 

I know I need time to recharge, but it's not always comfortable. I struggle every year with the non-routine-ness of my summer days. 

I go from a school year of being surrounded by people each weekday to mainly hanging out alone during the day, near my children. The tribe of my closest friends is scattered, and they are all doing their own summer-things. I get a bit lonely without the day to day engagement of friends and colleagues who know me well.

During the school year, I have classes, committee meetings, workshops that fill my daytime. I do teach in the summer, but I spend very little time on campus. Although I am never bored, I have so much more...choice in the summer with my free time that it can be disconcerting.

Yesterday morning, Anthy asked me what "special thing" we were going to do that day. He was heartbroken and bitterly disappointed when I told him "nothing special."

From behind his bedroom door, I heard him proclaiming that he wanted "something special all the days!"

I understand that feeling. Every summer, I feel like I need all the days to be special. Every moment should be filled with either wild, ecstatic fun or deep, soul-healing peace. I have trouble just letting summer be.

And then I found these wildflowers...

and all I wanted to be was very close and very still with them. 

Each was beautiful and so...there...

They were covered in tiny bugs, and it was hot, and the grass was itchy, and I was all sticky and sweaty and buggy, but I didn't care about the any of those things right then because they were Real, in the Velveteen Rabbit kind of way.

I could be very close and very still and not worry about what I was or wasn't accomplishing or missing.

Sometimes I need to just sit with the discomfort created by the absence of my school busy-ness. 

Although I am tempted to fill the time-hole of my summer with more, there's a joy in being very close and very still with myself too...

I am enjoying going "to seed" and peeling away the layers of myself that are just for show.

I am not sure what's under there - it's a work in progress - but I'm sure it's Real.

And the discomfort may hurt a little, getting to those Real parts, but "When you are Real, you don't mind being hurt."

Sell the Goat

Ten years ago:

Sitting in a yoga class, I listened to this parable from one of my favorite teachers.

One day, a man went to the village guru for wisdom. The man had so many responsibilities and so little time and money. He worked long, hard hours. His wife was overwhelmed with their children and their home; his mother-in-law lived with them and nagged him incessantly. How could he find peace in the midst of all the chaos?

The wise man listened to him silently, paused to think, and declared, "buy a goat."

Not one to question a guru, the man bought a goat.

A few weeks later, he visited the teacher and complained. Things were much worse! The goat ate him out of house and home. His wife was even more upset, and now his mother-in-law complained ALL the time. 

Once again, the guru listened silently and paused to think. He then stated, "sell the goat."

Once again, the man followed the instructions. 

He visited the teacher again after a few weeks. This time he brought gifts and praise for the teacher's wisdom. His wife was calmer, the children had more food and clothes...and his mother-in-law approved of him for once! He felt peaceful.

He thanked the guru again and again for helping him find the peace he'd been seeking.

My teacher said that when she was really stressed, she would hang a sign on the refrigerator with the words "sell the goat". She said that, for her, it represented a reminder that peace is at our fingertips. That we don't actually have to change anything to reach it.

Present day:

So, we got a dog. This is Carly. We had her for two weeks...

...and then we gave her back. 

Yup. 

We're the family that cannot handle a puppy. We could not manage to find any equilibrium in the time that she was with us. As much as we loved her, we just could not make the situation work.

It was a "it's us, not you" situation. She was amazingly sweet and cute and wonderful. It truly hurt us to take her back. Sophie and I cried most of that weekend.

(Carly's story has a happy ending. She was adopted by another family within 48 hours of her return. She was happy and well-loved here. She will be happy and well-loved there.)

Our family peace is a bit more precariously balanced than we realized, it turns out. That knowledge was difficult and painful and hard-won, but worth it, really. 

We* didn't get through the experience without wounding each other. Sophie, Chris and I went through whirlwinds of emotions. There were unkind words, hurt feelings, judgmental moments. 

*Anthy stayed as far away from the dog as humanly possible while living in the same house.

My very kind friend comforted me by telling to think of Carly's time with us as her all-expense paid dog vacation. 

I think of it as our extremely tangible goat-selling. 

I wish that puppy were here. I loved her. I loved loving her. 

But...my family is calmer now. 

Our house is much more peaceful and much less "pees-full" now. 

We have the luxury of seeing each other with fresh, new, gentler eyes right at this moment.

A few nights ago, we were watching a Nova episode about pet birds that have been abandoned and need help. I said that maybe someday we could be a bird sanctuary. 

Chris' response was not G-rated.

Sell the goat, baby! ;)

Sacred Wounds

I am not what anyone would call thick-skinned even on my strongest day. Today was IEP day.

 IEP day is the day of the year that I walk around skinless.

Every other day of the year, we measure using our Anthy ruler. He is judged only by his best self. We do not worry about what he cannot do. We do not worry about where other kiddos in his class are. Every other day we take where he is and celebrate him there and push him one step more from there and love him there.

IEP day is the day of the year that we have to measure his progress by a standard ruler. We get to hear how he has grown over the year, which is joyful. We also have to hear about how far he has to go, which hurts. 

Every time. 

I hurt. 

The entire day. 

I have done this day enough times to know not try to fight the hurt. I just let myself hurt. I am his momma. I get to hurt.

I have my survival strategies. 

I send an SOS to those of my tribe that I can reach. 

I cry. 

A lot. 

In random places. 

(This year Metamora Post Office got the unique privilege of my random tears.)

And, because I am human, sometimes this hurt makes all my wounds hurt. Today is that kind of day.

And yet, I am grateful for my wounds. All of them.

In the moment of not fighting the hurt, I get a flash of how sacred these wounds are.

My wounds are sacred. They are my badges of honor. They give me a slightly deeper, longer, wider view of life - if only momentarily. They are not quite a Total Perspective Vortex*, but they are my partial perspective vortex. Each wound holds a humbling heartbreak. From the old to the new, from the small to the large, each holds a sacred lesson which I call a gift.

I am not special. My pain is not special. My pain is the everyday kind of pain.

The momma-pain

The dreams-not-come-true-pain

The loss-pain

The fear-for-those-I-love-pain

I do not mean to sound like I am glorifying pain. I don't believe it is the only way to wisdom or the sacred.

However, it would be foolhardy and disrespectful to life to deny that it is a road to wisdom, that it does hold gifts. 

Through this pain, when I am lucky and very still, I get a few knee-weakening, awakened moments of clarity into the blessedness and sacredness of feeling it all, of living it all.

*http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Technology_in_The_Hitchhiker%27s_Guide_to_the_Galaxy

What acceptance looks like right now

So, I haven't written a blog post in awhile...like two years.

As we get close to our yearly IEP meeting, I have been thinking more about this journey with this amazing kid.

This year, he is in a mainstream classroom most of the day. He still sees a speech therapist, occupational therapist and physical therapist regularly.

This year, we will do a three year re-evaluation. I am as eager for this meeting as I am dreading it. In this meeting, I hope we will determine if (and how much) he is gaining ground academically. I can read the IEP reports, but I can never quite tell how close he is to the standard.

Although I am fighting it, I feel many old fears resurfacing. I am a bit fragile and vulnerable.

Throughout the years, it's not uncommon for a fellow, well-meaning momma to tell me that parenting Anthy is no different from parenting any other child...that there are no guarantees. That each child's future is just as uncertain as Anthy's.

I have finally thought of a way to explain to everyone (or just you and the people in my head) why it's not completely accurate.

This is my perspective. I do not pretend to speak for anyone other than myself.

It's true that everyone's future is questionable. 

I know that as well as anyone. 

If you are raising a child with special needs (no matter what the special needs are), though, your question marks are bigger. Period. The more severe the needs, the bigger the question mark.

My question marks are bigger. 

It's not a competition; that's just a fact.

Those question marks get heavy sometimes. I get tired and scared and vulnerable because they get heavy. That's not a pity party; that's an explanation.

I can know that he will be ok, AND I can know that his life will be tougher because of his disability. That's not a paradox, that's life.

I can rejoice in the wondrous child he is, AND I can grieve because he's eight years old and struggles to tell any coherent story about his day.

That's not capitulation, that's acceptance...what acceptance looks like to me right now anyway.

Fun = Stress = Peace

Crazy equation, I know.

We (me and kiddos and friends) had a super fun adventurous time at a local water park on Sunday evening.  Three days later and Anthy's every nerve (metaphorically) exploded in his body leaving a sticky, gooey, emotional mess (literal) of a 6 year old boy tonight...

(Nervous level severe and beyond...)

As I am walking out of his bedroom after (hopefully) his body is able to let down enough to rest, I had that moment when my true zen momma understanding came whispering through.  I get it.  

This will always happen...  

Understand?

This.will.always.happen.

There is no fixing this.  He y'am who he y'am.  He had fun on Sunday....  He did....  I promise....  There might even be smiling pictures to prove it.  Yet, his senses eventually fight back hard and payback's a witch.  This will always happen.  He has super fun = He pays a price three days later.  

His brain and his body are wired differently.  Our best bet is to help him adjust, adapt, and. if necessary for social purposes, camouflage his needs into something he and the people around him can live with. Someday (hopefully), it will be a blip on the screen to those standing next Anthy three days after some super fun.  Someday, he will have the skills to give himself what he needs to restore.  That is our goal and our hope.

There was a day years ago when I sobbed, "This will never change" into a phone and a sympathetic friend's ear on a desperate day as I curled on the floor next to my bed.  

Today is not that day.  

Today is the day when I can feel the small tug of grief for the loss of an imaginary, unrealistic dream.  Today is the day when I can feel that sadness while I stand next to my deep well of gratitude and joy.  

This will always happen....

and I will always be short...

and Chris will always need blood pressure medicine...

Whatevs...

I'm as surprised as you are, really

I really didn't think I would make it this long.  

Here are some interesting things about the last 24 hours...

1) I learned that brown sugar is just white sugar that was tinted brown with molasses...

2) I realized that blackberries are quite sweet all by themselves...

3) I was able to sit in front of a basket of warm rolls at Metamora Fields and did not eat even one.  

For reals!  

I mean...That's a first.  I have NEVER sat in front of a basket of rolls at a restaurant and not eaten at least one.  Even when I decided I wanted to be 109 pounds and restricted myself to only 1000 calories a day.  

(I know, I know.  I was young and stupid and only 40...)

4) If I don't think too hard about what I am doing, it is not that daunting.  

I am treating caffeine, white sugar, and white flour as if my body were allergic to them.  I understand that this might be offensive to people who actually have food allergies, but I'm hoping they cut me a break because I haven't had white caffeine sugar lately...or something like that.  I'll think hard about another way to think of it later, 'kay?

5) I desperately hope that I don't find out anything too bad about honey, agave nectar, or maple syrup.  I am trying to use them sparingly, but my working belief is that none of them count as "white sugar."  My breakfast today was a couple of healthy banana "cookies" (recipe found on AllRecipes) that were baked with some honey and maple syrup.

6) I have been "anti-"artificial sweetener for some years now.   

I am pretty proud that I have avoided them...so far...in the past 50 hours. 

7) I have to give myself a pass for items that I just could not have known had these ingredients.

At Metamora Fields, I opted for the special.  It was mahi-mahi in pesto sauce (acceptable), green beans, and risotto.  A quick Google search reassured me that risotto is a rice dish and not a pasta dish (hard to tell just by looking at it).  So, I cleaned my plate...thinking "I've been without sugar so long, these green beans taste sweet!"  

Managing enough self-discipline not to lick the plate, I tell the waiter how much I loved the green beans.  He says, "Yes, they are great!  The cook adds a caramel topping that is fabulous." 

...crap...caramel topping?  Pretty sure that is made with sugar!  

It is possible I belabored that point so much that Chris had to gently suggest that I let it go.

90 days to go...

The Voice(s)

"In America...first you get zee sugar...then you get zee women..." - Homer Simpson

I am on day 2 (1 1/2, really) of my new existence without caffeine, white sugar, white flour.  My only "cheating" has been a cup of Tazo Zen Green Tea.

So far it has been more difficult physically than I would have expected.  I knew that I was an emotional eater.  I am all about the "I've had a bad day, and I deserve a cookie".  

But I did not know that going cold turkey would give me such a nasty headache, or leave me feeling just physically yucky.  This is what the voices in my head sounded like pretty much all day yesterday.

Head Voice #1: "Why am I doing this?  I feel awful.  I would feel so much better if I had a cup of coffee."

Head Voice #2: "I am doing to this to eliminate pain.  Remember?  Cutting these foods out will help the pain."

Head Voice #1:  "But I'm in pain now!  Who said this would help?"

Head Voice #2: "That lady with the medical degree on her wall."

Head Voice #1: "How about just one cookie?"

Head Voice #2: "No."

Head Voice #1: "OK..."

5 minutes later...

Head Voice #3: "I can't live this way!  This is not normal.  Why am I doing this?"

and so on...

At any rate, this is probably the longest I have ever gone without refined sugar in my life, INCLUDING the months I had gestational diabetes.  My goal is three months, so I have 91 days left...

Climbing down off the white horse(s)

So, Anthy's fine.  All is pretty well here.  That's why I've not had much to write.  That's the good news...

What's not so good is that I have been having some considerable pain.  We will call it "lady pain", and leave out the details many of you really don't want to read.

This pain has lasted a couple of years and I have finally called it.  I am done.  I am willing to take whatever pill will help, do whatever my doctor tells me, sacrifice whatever virgin goat I have to in order to make.this.pain.go.away. 

A few weeks ago, as a bit of a last resort, I agreed to do a saliva test in order to see if we can find some answers.  The results are back.  I met with my doctor and...I'm fine.  There's nothing wrong with me.  There is no medical reason to be in pain for 2 weeks every 60 days.  Ummmm...yay?

So, I cried.  I'm good at that these days.

There is no pill coming.  There is no magical cream.  There is no virgin goat that will help me.

What *might* help is some dietary change.  My doctor is convinced that cutting out caffeine, white flour, and white sugar would eliminate the pain.  (Once again) Ummmm...yay?

Seriously?!?!?  

My first thought was that there is nothing I could eat for breakfast.  That's how brainwashed in flour and sugar my brain has been.  It took my 30 minutes to go "OH, EGGS...and a banana....and orange juice!"  I have been eating yogurt (sugar), cereal (sugar/flour), and/or toast (sugar/sugar/flour) for so long I could not imagine a breakfast without them.

So, I have convinced myself to try it.  For three months.  I figure no one ever says "Man, I should really get more white sugar and white flour in my diet"...

(You can start making bets on how long I last.)

I'm starting now....

I mean...now...

I mean...in the morning...  :)

Well, then fix it, Dear Lizzie, Dear Lizzie...

So, I have recently taken on a new role at my school.  I am excited about it.

In order to do this new job well, I need to listen...to many people... in many meetings...  

For the past year or so, I have been wanting to serve this way.  I have been watching what was happening around me and just itching to get in there and help.  And I am hopeful that I can help.

However, I remembered today that I need to be aware of my limits.  

I am a problem-solver, a fixer, a people-pleaser...  Those traits can be strengths or weaknesses, depending on how well I can find balance.

I can't fix every problem I see.  That is not my job.  

I have learned this lesson from the Universe in other ways.  "Fixing" Anthy was my goal for way too long.  Every other zen momma out there figures out that there is no "fixing" our children - special needs or typically developing.  These shorter humans are who they are - our gift, our lesson, our joy.

Professionally, it will be worth my time to invest energy and thought into this lesson of "how to empower, not fix".  In my new role, I think my biggest challenge will be feeling where those boundaries are found among helping, empowering, and intruding.

It is so easy for me to swoop in and tell everyone what to do.  (It's the best thing about being a math teacher... x = 5, darnit!)  But I don't believe I was put on this earth to do the easy things.  I wasn't elected by my colleagues to remain in my comfort zone.  I was elected to serve.  Serve, I will...

I have faith that I can find that balance and maintain healthy and helpful boundaries.  I might need help though.

My wise, sister-in-law Rose preaches well that it takes a village.  

Turns out I might a need a village soon...  Who's in?  The only requirements are that you're willing to (1) call me out if you sense BS and (2) help me be better at this human being/teacher/leader thing.  If interested, let me know as soon as possible.  The pay is not competitive, BUT there could be cookies in it for you...

For the birds...

Anthony is doing pretty well these days.

He is able to express more of his nervousness (and other feelings) through speech.

For him (and us), this is a huge relief.  It means that there is significantly less screaming, and that Chris and I can have the opportunity and privilege of helping him make sense of situations that make him nervous.

Sometimes it can be taxing though...

About three weeks ago, Chris boiled over a pot while making macaroni and cheese.  From Anthony's perspective, it was pretty traumatic.  It sounded loud when the water boiled over, it looked scary with all the bubbling water running over the stove, and it smelled bad.

Last week was Spring Break, and Anthy has had a bit more anxiety since Tuesday readjusting to the school schedule.

Luckily, he has been able to talk about it...kind of...  

Mainly, he talks about the pot boiling over.  He talks to us about the pot boiling over often...very often.  We (as patiently as we can manage) keep encouraging him to vocalize.



We listen to him.
("Daddy boiled the pot over with macaroni.")

We respond, trying to comfort and give context and predictability.  
("Yes, Daddy boiled the pot over. The pot was too small.  Next time, he will use the big pot.")

We listen again.
("Daddy madeamistake.  He learnedalesson.")


We respond again.    
("Yes, whenever we make a mistake, we learn from it.")

Sometimes he talks to us, and sometimes he opens the cabinet and talks to the pot.
("Daddy boiled you over with macaroni.  You are cool now.  I can touch you ifIwant.")

This morning we had about 20 minutes of the pot/macaroni conversation...then he got quiet.

Anthy: "What's that noise?"
Me: "Those are the birds.  It's spring!  Yay!  Don't they sound great?"
Anthy: "They are loud."
Me: "Do you want to talk to them?"  
(Goal: always talk about what's bothering you, preferably to the one that's doing the bothering.)

So, he walks over to the window and holds on to the windowsill.

"HEY! BIRDS!"

*long pause while he thinks about what he wants to say*

"Don't use the small pot for macaroni..."

As I left the room trying to stifle my laughter, all I could think was that I am SO proud of him...

Don't Take This Personally, But...

At Sophie's kindergarten parent-teacher conference, I heard that her only challenge in class was an unwillingness to tell the other students when she had a problem with them.  She could go to an adult to "tell on" a student, but had difficulty confronting the child directly.

When I openly laughed at this point in the conversation, her teacher asked if my daughter came by that honestly, and was I uncomfortable with conflict?  I admitted that she did and I was.  I confessed that I did not easily find my voice in confrontations, that I also struggled telling people directly when I have a problem with them.

Fast forward four years and a few life experiences, and I am still struggling.  Although I have found my voice, although I do not shy away from confrontation, I really really still struggle for wisdom in conflict.  I struggle deciding how much to verbalize my feelings to someone who is frustrating me and how much to process internally and privately.

One of my favorite books is The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz.  It is an amazing book that helped put much of the noise inside my head in perspective.  His second agreement is "Don't Take Anything Personally."  The idea is that anything anyone else tells you, even if it is about you, even if they know and love you, is about them.  That is a very powerful idea to me...and a very freeing one.

People who are giving me compliments, people who are giving me advice, people who are giving me criticism...  Those people might think what they are telling me is all about me, when, according to Don Miguel Ruiz, each statement is all.about.them.  The truth is that no matter how clearly someone thinks they see me, they are looking through the filter of their own history, their own accomplishments, their own failures, their own joys, their own sorrows, their own fears, their own hopes, their own Life.  

What I understood today?  That is totally ok...  Because I do the same.

So, back to conflict...

In my perspective, conflict happens in an atmosphere of trust or an atmosphere of distrust.

Atmosphere of trust

Open, honest, respectful conflict is a gift.  When I have disagreements with people who love me, I learn something about myself and about my relationships.  I know that all the anger and fear coming up are all mine and not theirs.  I can see that the uncomfortable soul opening process is just the lesson I need breaking free from the walls of my ego.  And those who love me give me space to handle that privately.  In the end, all we have left are the lesson and the love, and the rest we can let go.  The second agreement is easy to uphold because we both trust each other.

Atmosphere of distrust

And sometimes I have conflict with people who don't trust me - people who are sometimes disrespectful, unkind, and have unacceptable behavior.  These people do not trust my perspective and I do not trust theirs.

This is where I struggle the most inside myself.  I might see unacceptable behavior...but am I seeing clearly?  I am hearing a lack of respect, but is there some overlay keeping me from understanding the other person's point of view?  I might even feel attacked, but is it possible I am just unhappy with how they are phrasing their disagreement?  

Even if I do see the situation clearly, is this a battle I should choose?  If I truly see unacceptable behavior, when is it appropriate to demand better and when should I walk away? Where is the wisdom inside me to make that decision?  Is that wisdom always going to be hidden inside my sticky ego?

Again and again, I feel like I circle the same question here.  

Where is the balance?  How do I live what I know?  

What does a wise woman look like when she feels disrespected?  

How will I know when "doing the right thing" has veered into pompous self-righteous territory?

How can I balance the Toltec wisdom of the second agreement with the refusal to accept someone else's crap?  

I don't see that chapter...  :)

Tell me if you find it.

S.S.S.S. - In the classroom

In an earlier blog post, I talked about my opinion of all advice:

 S.S.S.S. - Some Things that work for Some People Some of the Time and Some Reasons why.

I love being a teacher.  I truly cannot imagine work that would make me happier or more fulfilled.
The blessing and challenge about my job is that, when I am in the classroom, I am on my own.  I have the freedom and responsibility to create the best possible learning environment for my students.  

I still have moments where I stare at my desk five minutes before class searching for that key - phrase, activity, worksheet, graph - that will unlock the students' understanding of this particular concept.  

(I should probably mention here that I have been teaching for 15 years.)

Tenure-track teachers are now required to write a teaching philosophy at my college.  I have never been required to do that, and I am quite intimidated at the thought.  

Teaching philosophy?  

The smart-aleck Kentucky girl in me quips "How about...Learn'em real good?!?"

A quick Google search leads me to several sites that talk about addressing the needs of my students and department...which sounds really good.  BUT...don't those needs change?  From class to class?  From year to year?  From student to student?  I just cannot fathom one philosophy statement that would serve for me in all situations.

I don't know if I can articulate everything I want to accomplish inside my classroom throughout every semester, every class, for every student.  Maybe that comes from not really being able to articulate what I feel my role always is.

Am I the "guide on the side"?  Am I an academic personal trainer?  Am I a grader, tutor, cheerleader, counselor, bureaucrat, really good talker?  In any given semester, I feel that I match all of those descriptions at one time or another.  Which one is the main one?  What should I be reaching for most of the time?  I just don't know.

Sometimes I feel that lecturing is best (there, I said it).  Sometimes I feel that hands on discovery works well.  Sometimes I feel that all they need is to try these problems next to another student and talk them out.  Sometimes a rallying speech around "you can do it!" works wonders.  Sometimes a pleading "For goodness sake, please think!" gets us through a rough patch.

The real difficulty is that to do my job well (I think), I have to make everyone uncomfortable.  My students need to struggle a bit to hone a skill for their academic toolbelts.  I need to stretch my comfort zone to keep from sounding stale.  The college needs to offer professional and technical support, which requires money, time and space (which we don't always have).

It helps to talk to my fellow teachers...all of the different viewpoints of what exactly we should be doing in there are SO very interesting and very diverse.  The conversations highlight that teaching is a very personal activity for all of us.  We all have our own visions (SSSS).  And those ideas can change and evolve as we get more experience.

A teaching philosophy whose themes are "learn'em real good" and "make everyone uncomfortable" might not get published in a journal, or be well-accepted by my dean, but it is all I have got right now.

If I were better at writing maybe I could make it sound better?  ;)

Words and Phrases That Hurt, part I

I was raised to treasure the idea of free speech.  My mother was a product of the 60s, and I am most certainly a product of my mother.  She detested the idea of banning a book, no matter how disturbing.  The rule in our family was that I could read any book in the house, as long as I discussed it with her.

(As an aside:  When I was nine I asked her what the word irony meant.  Normally, she would have made me look it up in the dictionary.  This time, she went to the shelf to get a book, and insisted I read A Modest Proposal by Jonathan Swift.) J

I write all of this as an introduction because I want you to understand that my intention is not to ban words or dictate feelings.  I merely want to open up a conversation about how the word retarded makes me feel.

My son is six years old, and he has some fairly invisible disabilities.  After about 30 seconds of talking with him, however, anyone over the age of four could see that he is severely speech delayed.  I have every confidence that he is treated with kindness and respect by every child and adult at his school.  My concern is NOT about what names people call him to his face right now.

Many years ago, I forwarded an email with the word “retard” as a joke.  That was before I was a mother.  I was wrong.  A colleague gently tried to tell me I was wrong, and I could not hear her.  It was not a shining moment for me as a human being, and I am not proud of it.  Although this email was not directed toward a specific person; although I was not pointing and laughing at someone else, it was (and is) unkind to have that word in my vocabulary.

For those who do not have a developmentally delayed loved one, I think it is difficult to empathize with us.  It is difficult to understand how uncomfortable this word might make us.  It is easy to think (as I once thought) that this word does not inflict pain if it is not aimed toward a person. 

Lately, here are a couple of contexts that I have heard this word from thoughtful, caring people:

Fellow grocery shopper:  I was trying to finish that report, but my computer started acting retarded.
College student: Crap, I missed that negative sign.  I am so retarded!
It seems that some people feel that this word is ok as long as there are no names called at people.

They were NOT pointing at my son and laughing. 
They are NOT mean people. 
That word was NOT meant to hurt anyone.
BUT…

·        In that moment, that word cuts me emotionally.  It is a small cut, but it is a cut based on the knowledge that “retarded” is exactly what some people would objectively call my sweet, amazing boy.

·        In that moment, I recognize that the word “retarded” is not dead.  Every time I see how easily someone uses it in everyday language, I fear for the day that he will face children in a schoolyard who easily aim it at him.

·        In that moment, I am hit again with the realization that some people will think my child is less than because he has challenges.  I face again that most people think “retarded” is a thing to be feared and avoided. 

·        For some, it represents things not working or mistakes in thinking.  It represents viewing of Life as a crazy race in which my kiddo cannot keep up.

Again, it is not my intention to police words.  I am not offended when people use it in my presence. 

But it hurts a little…every time. 

Have I Told You Lately That I LOVE You?

Have I told you that I am grateful for you?  
Have I told you that I am so appreciative of you in my Life?
Have I told you that I am not taking my Life for granted?

If so, you are not alone.
I say that often.
To many people that are awesome.  
(Seriously, you didn't think it was just you, right?)

Hello.  My name is LizzieC, and I am addicted to gratitude...  

These are authentic feelings.
I am grateful for my friends and family; I am appreciative for my blessings; I am happy to experience every blessed moment on this crazy Journey.

But today I peeled back the layers of joy and gratitude and found an major infestation of fear.  I think that my attempts at "gratitude and loving of Life" have had a mildly manic quality to them these past few weeks.  As my days have gotten calmer, my head clearer, and my heart more healed, I have tried to rejoin the living.

I have consistently told everyone how much I love them (just in case).
I have been consciously present in as many moments as possible (you never know).
I have expressed my deep gratitude for every blessed thing
(I'm grateful...  really...  Get it?  All is good...  I'm fine...  I'm handling it...)

The reality is that "living" looks different after a tragedy.  Always.  I will not be the same person I was before John died.  Ever.  That is not necessarily bad; it is just uncomfortable.

And every now and then, the sum of all my losses catches up with me.  

To be this age and have experienced the death of all grandparents, both parents, aunts and uncles, and a brother, sometimes makes me feel a little lonely... and scared.
The cumulative effect of all these people that I love dead sometimes takes its emotional and psychological toll.

I have spent the last few months working hard at being grateful.
I am scared to stop being grateful for one moment, or else everyone I love will disappear.
Superstitiously, I hope if the Universe sees how appreciative I am for these people, they won't be the ones to disappear.

When the memories of those I have lost wash over me, it comes with the realization that I have so many more to lose.  

That realization becomes fear - a cowering beast inside me that is silently, unconsciously begging God to not smote this one.

I need to figure out how to live beside that fear.  There will always be loss.  Then, we begin again.  We love again.  We trust again.  We heal again.

"You can talk the talk, but can you walk the cake walk?"

Here is a confession...

I am most intimidated in a room full of moms.

I have felt this way since Sophie was a baby (ten years ago) and have never quite shaken it.
I consistently feel like a fraud when attending elementary school events.
I always have the notion that the other moms see me as inadequate.

I know...

...it is me.  
...it is not them.  
...they are not doing or saying anything that a rational person would see as judgmental.

These are my crazy issues - they are sticky and not easy to pin down  (working, being a mom, trying to balance, failing to balance well, having a special needs child, not accepting help graciously, and so on, take your pick...).  

I have gads of issues and consider them fodder for years of blogging.  

The important aspect to me is how I deal with this challenge.  I want to be good.  I want to do good.  I want to serve the school and these fabulous children and their wonderful families.  So, I keep trying.  I keep going.  (I keep being very uncomfortable.)

Here is what I don't know...  

How long and far should I take the discomfort?  How much can I contribute when I keep sending out emotional pricklies in my aura?  Should I just accept that my best contribution is to send the cookies/check/napkins/M&Ms and stay away?  Do other moms feel this way?  How can I hide my feelings better until I get past these issues?

Again, I my struggle is with the practicality of living my beliefs.

(Subtitled)  How do I model for my kiddos acceptance of who I am, while also modeling willingness to be uncomfortable for emotional growth?

In other words,
How hard is too hard?  How uncomfortable is too uncomfortable?

This is an answer I have to find for myself.  And I will...probably the day Anthony graduates. sigh.

Nervous level severe (red)

Monday afternoon found us in a strange place in a room full of strangers talking loud and fast.
Here we are three days later, and Anthony's anxiety has been raised to nervous level severe (red).
This is a small glimpse into a few moments of what that looks like at our house:


I walk into the school to get the kids.

Anthony (the first thing he says to me): Jeremy's eyes are brown.

I changed the name of his classmate.  

Eye color is one of Anthony's obsessions right now.

Me: Mmm-hmmm... 


Anthony (whining): Are Jeremy's eyes is brown?

Actually, his speech has improved significantly this year.  

He has come far.

Me: Tell what you know, Anthony.  Ask what you don't  know.  Whining is inappropriate.


Anthony (whining): Monty is whining, Mommy...  He is unappropriate!!!

 Monty is our cat.  

He is not in the van with us.

I am secretly gleeful Anthony used "un" to mean "not".

Me: ...

Anthony (trying another tactical move): What's tomorrow's lunchfortodayis?

Anthony still has some echolalia.  

This means he sometimes has trouble separating a phrase into its separate word components.  

He will use it as one "word" without really understanding the meaning.

We  are still in the van.  

Surprisingly, I do not have the school lunch menu memorized.

Me: I don't know, Anthy.  We are almost home.  I will help you find out then.

Anthony (not liking my answer): lunchfortodayis.............?

This is where I get payback for years of dropping the end of sentences as a ploy to get him to talk.

Sophie (under her breath): Just make something up.

I am not proud to admit that I often do just this when Anthony is at nervous level elevated (yellow) and  above.  

For some reason, me saying that I don't know generally drives him over the edge into screaming territory.

We pull into the driveway.  

At this point every day, we have a pretty complicated daily routine leaving the van.  

On a nervous level low (green) day, Anthony...

1) unbuckles as soon as we drive onto the driveway and stands beside my seat

2) puts his hand over mine to put the van in park

3) turns off the radio, cruise control, heat, in that order.  God have mercy on your soul if one of those is already turned off

4) puts away my sunglasses in the flip-down holder

5) puts his hand over mine to turn the key and take it out of the ignition

6) unlocks all doors

On a nervous level high (orange) and above day like today, he does this entire process with one hand on my face.

Today, during this benediction, we have a few more interchanges about 

people's eye colors 

possible lunchfortodayis menu combinations 

Monty whining

Just to make sure I understand his emotional state, he holds both of my cheeks and insists "GN*!"

*GN is a throat sound that Anthony uses as a "word" when he needs to express the inexpressible (comparable to "smurf").

A few minutes later Anthony and I come in the door.  I am carrying the mail, my purse, two grocery bags, both backpacks and...(yup)...Anthony.  Sophie is already in her room, and I am pretty jealous of her at this second.

Anthony gets down (after one more face touch) and runs from window to window singing a song that starts with "Mommy, watch this!" (x 3) and morphs into random bits of recognizable tunes which all have the words replaced with "GN".

A few minutes later.

Anthony (frantic): MOMMY! Where did you go!?!?

Me: I am in the bathroom, Anthony.

Anthony (standing 1 mm away from the bathroom door): Are you pooping?
Me: I will be out very soon.

Anthony (reverse psychology): I don't want cereal for snack.
Me (careful not to use sarcasm): No. No cereal after school.

Anthony: Can you give me nowyourchoicesare?
Me (still in the bathroom): Good job using a question.  You can have nuts, raisins, or fruit before supper.

Anthony: or..........
Me (washing my hands): Those are your choices.

Anthony: or..........ice.......

Anthony: or..........ice crrrrrr......

Me (sternly): Those are your choices.

Anthony (yelling): OR......!?!?
Me: No yelling.  If you yell again, you will go to your room.  Not appropriate.

Sophie turns on the TV and sneezes at the same time in the other room.

Anthony (startled, starts yelling): ATTTCHOOOO!  I sneezed!  Say "blushyoo", Mommy!
Me: OK.  Go to your room to calm down.

Anthony (as I am firmly marching him upstairs): Did I sneeze, Mommy?
Sophie (snaps and starts screaming as we walk past her): NO! NO, you DIDN'T!  I SNEEZED!  ME!!!  NOT you!!!
Me: OK.  Both of you.  Upstairs.  Now.  Calm down.


They are both yelling at me all the way to their rooms.  
Anthy's opinions are mainly GN-related, and Sophie gives a Shakespearean-worthy monologue on the unfairness of her Life.  

While they are upstairs, I take the opportunity to search the house for chocolate/wine/earplugs/sedatives/cookies/muzzles.  
There are none of these items in my cabinets...the cabinets I can reach anyway.

A few minutes later.

Anthony (yelling from the top of the stairs): I am calm now, Mommy!
Me: OK.  Come downstairs.  Speak nicely to me.

Anthony (sweetly): I don't want to play MarioKart.
Me (wishing I had hidden the Nintendo DS): You can play while I cook.  Calm words.  Walk away when you are mad.

Anthony (plays video game; grinds teeth at every curve.  The "You Lost" music is playing.): YAY!  I won, Mommy!  Mommy?  I won.  IwonMommy, IwonMommy.
Me (noncommittally): I am glad you are having fun playing

Anthony (crying hysterically): Did I win, Mommy?
Scene fades.



From that moment until bedtime, we saw:

• 26 more GNs
• 3 more trips to his bedroom
• 2 more complaints about the unfairness of Life
• 1 mostly Mom-sided conversation about how boring Life would be if "completely fair"
• 11 more face touchings
• 2.5 minutes of blessed quiet in the basement bathroom before they found me
• 5 eye color discussions
• many, many deep breaths
• 2 (infinitely healing) bedtime hugs, kisses, and I love you, Mommys

Birthday Wishes

Today is my 41st birthday.

I am too old to declare last year (or the coming year) to be the "best year ever!!!"  I know that every year will have joy and sadness, comfort and challenge.  My birthday wish is that I experience each year (day, hour, minute) without having to constantly judge it.

One of my few beliefs is that it is more important to develop who I want to be rather than worrying about a bucket list of stuff that I want to "do".  However, I am old enough now to recognize that "who I want to be" - that person - sometimes does the difficult and scary things.  My birthday wish is have the courage to do when I see that "doing" needs to be "done".

I am zen enough to know that every thing I need is inside me, but I have been around long enough to be awed at loving friends and family in my Life.  I am overwhelmed with tears of joy and gratitude when surrounded by the people who want to celebrate my birthday.  My birthday wish is to be the kind of person that deserves having these people I love so much in my Life.

This year I have had much joy, I have had grief, I have had fear.  My birthday wish is to transform those feelings into a heart more open and humble.

Every, every moment is a gift.  I am so thankful for everyone I love.  My birthday wish is to keep enjoying the ones in front of me, while honoring those who are not.

Solstice

"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all barriers within yourself that you have built against it." ~Rumi

The biggest barrier I keep butting my stubborn head against is fear.


Why do I have to take many really deep breaths when Anthony gets caught in an anxiety loop?
Fear.
That this will be his Life.  
That I won't "succeed" at giving him what he needs to have the happy, wonderful Life he deserves.  
That it all comes back to me.  


Why does my anger flash so bright at Sophie when she questions why Anthony is so weird?
Fear.  
That she speaks the truth.  
That this will be HER Life.
That she will be defined by having this beautiful, challenging, challenged brother.
That her needs will slip through the cracks.
That I won't "succeed" at giving HER what she needs to be carefree and childlike.


Why do I stare at the ceiling in the middle of the night trying to solve yet another Anthony riddle?
Fear.
That I am not working enough to do the hard things in motherhood.
That I am expecting too much from him.
That I am not expecting enough from him.

Why do I have to fight the instinctual defensiveness when someone innocently asks "Why does Anthony do ________?"
Fear.
That they will see that I.don't.know.why.
That I will never know why.
That he will judge me for never figuring out why.
That the answer is right in front of me and I just can't see it.

Why do Chris and I keep nervously asking each other the magic questions. "Is it bad?"  "How bad is it?" "How long has it been this bad?"
Fear.
That there will come a day where we don't feel like a team.
That this his obsession with this week's comfort won't go away.
That something worse will replace it.
That it could always get worse.
That we won't be able to handle worse.


In the dark, quiet of the winter solstice, all the fear fades.  My deep, deep faith glows true.
Here are the things my children know:
Love.
That I adore them.
That I am honored to be their mother.
That their father is the love of my Life.
That there are no guarantees on this earth..
That it is ok to cry, but not to scream.
That there are people who love them dearly, but we will never see again.
That really sad, really scary things happen.
That we would do anything to keep them safe.
That I am willing to help them and keep helping them until we all figure it out.
That I will always listen.
That we don't need to name a problem before we try to make it better.

Happy Birthday

This is one of those "it just hurts" days.  

Today is John's birthday.  He would have been 50.  These are the few weeks of the year where he is a decade older than me, and I loved teasing him about it.    He had the same birthday as my dad, who (I think) would be 76 this year.  

One of my favorite stories from my mom was from the night she went into labor with John.  She had to go to the hospital in the middle of my dad's birthday party.  Her doctor had put her on a pretty strict diet at the end of her pregnancy because she had gained "too much" weight.  As she walked out the door, all she could think was that she could finally have a piece of dad's birthday cake when she got back from the hospital.

When, she did get home from the hospital, she walked into a house that looked exactly as it did when she walked out.  The cake (plates, food, drinks) had been left untouched.  I can imagine that my dad got an earful about that.

That's how John came into the world.  :)

I loved the thought of you in the world, John.  I knew that wherever you were, you spread love with your own brand of irreverent humor.  I knew that you made the world better.  You made my world better just by being.

And, with you gone, my world dims a little...