New Ups

As if overnight, the grass bordering my running path has turned green, and the buds on certain bushes and trees have burst out, a brazen and vivid green.  I marveled at them this morning, my knees creaking and sweat pouring down my face as I chugged along.  I did have to stop and look at a lone daffodil at the side of the trail and wonder who popped a bulb in there, in that exact lonely spot, and why.  Then, in the ditch, giant piles of rocks had been assembled, drift sticks poking out from the scultpures at odd angles and sporting beer cans.  Those had to be admired, too.  It is bright and sunny this morning, but a major snowstorm is headed our way, what seems like the first all winter.  We'll see what happens to all these early buds and premature bulbs.  But the grass will emerge greener, for sure.

The news on the radio is mixed, too.  Housing sales were better than expected, but most houses sold for a lot less money.  Layoffs continue.  The news seems bad, but nobody is sure how bad. 

The same is true in our house.  We're trying to refinance to bring down our montly payment, but worry that our house has lost so much value we won't be able to.  We don't think this will be the case, but won't know until after the appraisal, which cost us almost $400.00.  Last week, both cars had to have a total of almost $3000 worth of work.  Addie's old school and new school are both wanting deposits for summer and fall classes.  Eric's work is announcing layoffs again, and he's been coming home from work, grumpy, early, with nothing to do.  At my work, furloughs are on the horizon.  We seem to be hemorrhaging money every week, and our financial future looks very uncertain most of the time.  I remind myself that my job, today, is to breathe in and out.  The absence of anxiety is faith.  I try to have faith, and to remember the dozens of moments of grace that greet me every day.  "These are creative times," the minister reminds me.  I tell myself that a dozen times a day.

Yesterday I was driving down the road, a fast and winding one, and about a block up a lady walking her dog began to chase a plastic bag into the street.  I slowed down, maybe to ten miles an hour, just being defensive.  Sure enough, she popped right back out into the road as I approached her, and like a scene out of a movie I slammed on the breaks in time to come within inches of hitting her.  She fell over on the road, disoriented from the sheer closeness of the call and who knows what else, then jumped up and began chasing the bag again, down the busy street.  Lady, let it go, I told her, grabbing her arm, hugging her living breathing body to me.  You don't have to pick up the dog poop today, I said.  You get a pass.  Okay, she said, okay.  Sorry, sorry, I didn't know how far in the street I was.

So these are the new beginnings, the new opportunities for grace.  I lift my glass to them, welcome the lads in.  Fits and starts, but forward movements anyway.  Here's to them.

Disaster Averted

This time last week, I was pretty convinced that the girls' health was rapidly deteriorating, that there was some invisible toxin in our home making us all sick, or that my "natural" cleaning products weren't killing enough germs, or that they had some undiagnosed chronic illness.

Nolie was broken out in eczema all over her body, red blotchy spots on all her creases, torso, and bum.  I tried Aquaphor, Cetaphil, and cortisone cream.  None helped.  Then the other night she starts screaming that her "neck" (throat) hurts.  I'm thinking, my God, why don't we have an epi-pen in the house?

Addie has been having the non-stop runny nose-cough-eczema-reflux combo.  "I think it's a milk allergy," her teacher whispered to me.  Then, four nights ago, Addie's hands started swelling up and turning red, the skin all dry and crackily.  Epi-pen, epi-pen, epi-pen.  "Let's give her Benadryl," I tell Eric.  "Let's just wait and see," he says, calmly, patiently, like always.

I went about my daily business, but in the back of my mind, that old high static was kicking in.  "Your kids are really sick and you have to find out what's causing it," it whispers.  "Don't miss this like you missed the last time she was sick," it hisses.  "Addie was sick much too long before you figured it out."

Karate chop to the head of that high static.

Turns out that diaper cream has done the trick with Nolie.  I smear it pretty much all over her red spots after bath (no bubbles) at night, and voila.  Skin like butta.

Addie doesn't have a milk allergy (she's been tested) but is probably intolerant.  We've switched to soy yogurt in the morning, and Eric's on board with no cheese for dinner for a few weeks, just to see what happens.  Her skin looks much better, and the swelling has gone away.  Her nose still runs, but we think she just has a cold.  So, saline up the nose, humidifiers at night.

Small adjustments, thankfully.  Everything's okay.  The sky is not falling, not this week, anyway.

What Addie Fears Most

Addie is a bit of a night-owl.  There are nights where she stays up later than us.  Like, I'll get up in a hazy stupor to pee at 10 o'clock, and I'll notice her light is on, and I'll go in and she's reading fairy tales or playing with her dollhouse.  I usually over-react because I'm so shocked she's still AWAKE for Christ's sake, and end up sounding a lot like my step-father:  "What are you THINKING being up so late?  Get in bed and get that light off NOW!"

I actually don't mind this as much as I mind it when she comes out of her room a million times while I'm trying to have my grown-up time.  I'll be doing yoga or reading and out she comes for a drink of water.  Out for a hug.  Out because of "bad thoughts."  You name it. 

The first few times I use my gentle loving mama voice, "Back to bed, sweetheart.  Your body needs rest so that you have energy at school tomorrow."  Very Donna Reed.  About that fourth time, though, I get all pissy alley-cat and break out the "grumpy voice" and threaten to do horrible things to her if she doesn't get in that bed and stay there and I mean it.

Last night.  Fourth time out.  "Addie," I say with the grumpy voice, "if you come out of your room again there will be a consequence."

Right.  Reaching there.

"Like what," she says.

Casting eyes wildly about the room.  "Uh, like I'll have to take something away."

"Oh," she said, her eyes brightening.  "You mean like you'll take the teddy grahams out of my lunch and put in black beans?"

Pause.  "Yeah," I said.  "Like that.  Exactly like that."

Where that came from, I have no idea.  I have never once put black beans in the child's lunch, nor do we force her to eat them (or anything, for that matter).  But apparently, on the list of consequences, eating black beans is up at the top near things Addie fears most.  Good to know.

Just the Two of Us

What's up, peeps?

Eric and Addie have been in San Diego this weekend, jumping on beds and Lego-landing.  Which means Nolie and I have had a chance to hang out at home and get to know one another.  Here are a few things I (re-)learned about my youngest, and myself:

1)  She is possibly one of the most affectionate people I've ever met.  Lord, that girl just wants to hold your hand and walk around with you and give you kisses and hugs. 

2)  She suffers from the unenviable curse of being second-born, meaning that she has had almost no alone time with me since she was born, and craves it like Liza craves sleeping pills.  See #1.

3)  I had no idea how easy it was to raise one kid.  No idea.  But this weekend was so peaceful, so easy, that, jeez, it was like being hit by a ton of bricks, how crazy things normally are.  Not that I would have my life any other way (obligatory back-pedalling).  I mean, I love both my kids so much it's unreasonable.  Husband, too.  But, geesh.  Having only one kid.  If there's an argument to be made for relative experiences, this was it.

4)  Nolie is smart as a whip, a whip, I tell you!  She is memorizing her books and reading them back to me, and asking really good questions about the world.  Well, also some weird ones.  Like, we had an extremely long and drawn out conversation yesterday about the differences in pronunciation between "potato" and "tomato."  Not differences in the foods, mind you, differences in the pronunciation.  It was as exciting as it sounds.

5)  She is, physically, one of the tougher kids I've ever met.  She bounced off things, smashed through things, knocked into things, and generally should be lying unconscious in a pool of blood right now, what with how BIG she lives in the physical world.  She is a miracle of divine engineering, that one.  Jesus.  But she is also so sensitive, feelings-wise.  A harsh word, and her eyes fill up with tears.  I cut her bangs and she had a breakdown over the little hairs on the bathroom floor, her little hairs gone forever.

6)  She is a gorgeous kid.  I found myself staring at her for long minutes and just admiring the roundness of her cheek, her little lips, her long eyelashes.  I gush.

Anyway, the oldest and The Pants get home late tonight from San Diego, so I have one more quiet evening with my toddler in my clean house before the whirlwinds strike again.  I'll be glad to see them.  But it was great, just me and Nolie, too.  I hope to do it again some time soon.

Just the Two of Us

What's up, peeps?

Eric and Addie have been in San Diego this weekend, jumping on beds and Lego-landing.  Which means Nolie and I have had a chance to hang out at home and get to know one another.  Here are a few things I (re-)learned about my youngest, and myself:

1)  She is possibly one of the most affectionate people I've ever met.  Lord, that girl just wants to hold your hand and walk around with you and give you kisses and hugs. 

2)  She suffers from the unenviable curse of being second-born, meaning that she has had almost no alone time with me since she was born, and craves it like Liza craves sleeping pills.  See #1.

3)  I had no idea how easy it was to raise one kid.  No idea.  But this weekend was so peaceful, so easy, that, jeez, it was like being hit by a ton of bricks, how crazy things normally are.  Not that I would have my life any other way (obligatory back-pedalling).  I mean, I love both my kids so much it's unreasonable.  Husband, too.  But, geesh.  Having only one kid.  If there's an argument to be made for relative experiences, this was it.

4)  Nolie is smart as a whip, a whip, I tell you!  She is memorizing her books and reading them back to me, and asking really good questions about the world.  Well, also some weird ones.  Like, we had an extremely long and drawn out conversation yesterday about the differences in pronunciation between "potato" and "tomato."  Not differences in the foods, mind you, differences in the pronunciation.  It was as exciting as it sounds.

5)  She is, physically, one of the tougher kids I've ever met.  She bounced off things, smashed through things, knocked into things, and generally should be lying unconscious in a pool of blood right now, what with how BIG she lives in the physical world.  She is a miracle of divine engineering, that one.  Jesus.  But she is also so sensitive, feelings-wise.  A harsh word, and her eyes fill up with tears.  I cut her bangs and she had a breakdown over the little hairs on the bathroom floor, her little hairs gone forever.

6)  She is a gorgeous kid.  I found myself staring at her for long minutes and just admiring the roundness of her cheek, her little lips, her long eyelashes.  I gush.

Anyway, the oldest and The Pants get home late tonight from San Diego, so I have one more quiet evening with my toddler in my clean house before the whirlwinds strike again.  I'll be glad to see them.  But it was great, just me and Nolie, too.  I hope to do it again some time soon.

Turning on to Easy Street

Here's what I've been thinking about:  abandoning struggle.  Not necessarily avoiding specific struggles, or pretending struggles don't exist and aren't useful sometimes, but abandoning those struggles that I myself unnecessarily produce.  No, not that.  Abandoning the idea of struggle as a dominant narrative in my life, as in "Life is hard," or as in, "You have to fight really hard for what you want."  Nah, I'm suggesting.  Nope.

For example, a key struggle in my life, detailed in excruciating minutia on this blog, has to do with the tension between working and raising my kids.  "Do you want to leave your job?" a friend asked the other night.  "Sometimes," I said.  "But in a lot of ways it's ideal for me--I get to work on stuff I really like, I get to teach, and I have enormous flexibility so that I can be home with the kids when they're sick, I take time off during the holidays and have a flexible summer schedule where I can work from home a lot.  And I'm getting better at what I do all the time."

"But?" she said.

Well, there's the rub.  There are all sorts of indicators that worry me, that indicate things aren't as rosy or balanced as I'd like to think.  I went to see Addie's ballet class yesterday--normally parents aren't allowed in, but it's parent watch week, so I came with all the other parents, and videotaped it, like all the other parents.  Addie was the only kid there, I noticed, who looked at her mom the whole time, making sure I was still there, that I hadn't left, that I approved of what she was doing.  Is this because I'm not around enough, I wondered?  Is it because I can't give her the attention she needs?

Or, there's the fact that Addie's been having wicked eczema, and the perennial runny nose and stopped-up ears, and reflux.  All good indicators, as her teacher pointed out to me last week, that she has some sort of milk allergy.  My God.  It's hard to even fathom cutting dairy out of her life, our lives.  This is a major reorientation of the routine, and I almost don't have the energy for it.  But here we are, on day three of soy yogurt and no string cheese.  Would I have taken the plunge on my own, without urging from Addie's teacher?  Probably not.  I've been too busy working.

Anyway, here's the thing.  I don't think I have to keep struggling like this.  I think that I can be successful at work and spend more time with the kids.  And I think it can be easy.  I know it's sacrilege to say that, but I really am seriously embracing the idea that such a major life shift can be done easily and joyously.  I think I can say no to more at work.  I think I can give up the guilt over not working 50 hours a week, or even 40, and just be thankful that I have a job where I can be successful and also have plenty of time and room left over for myself, my kids, and my husband.  I think I don't need to hesitate when I get a call from Addie's school saying I need to pick her up because she just puked ("It was heart-shaped, mama!" she tells me.  Heart-shaped puke, yum!).  I think I can just go and know, 100% that it's the best thing for me to be doing in that particular moment, and that everything else can wait.

This shift in thinking is maybe possible now, this year, only because last year was so miserable.  I felt so insecure, so behind the gun, that I felt I needed to be running every minute just to prove I was worthy of my job.  But a lot of that has fallen away this year, projects are rolling, and good things are happening easily and serendipitously.  And why shouldn't they?

Who says things have to be hard?

The Dark Edges at Bay

Unchurch has a series of classes one can take in Science of Mind teachings--they teach you methods of centering and unification with spirit, like ways you can pray or meditate, and you do some readings from the founder, Ernest Holmes.  Anyway, after five years of attending unchurch, I decided it was time to take the first class. 

One of the things they encourage you to do in the class is to develop some affirmations, things you might want to develop in your life or about yourself.  Pretty basic positive psychology stuff.  Still, I was having a hard time formulating one.  They were either coming out too wordy, or hifalutin, or just didn't resonate in some way.  I've been meditating, praying, and doing the readings, but the affirmation was eluding me.

Part of it might be just the high static stuff:  the kids have been sick, I've been sick, work's been busy, I've had to deal with some family conflict, etc.  So I was just struggling for clarity (one affirmative prayer was about that--just affirming that I would have clarity on what to affirm.  I know, I know.  Roll your eyes all you like).

Then the gray edges of a little depression started to appear the last few days, and I felt dark and a little surly.  No, not so much dark and surly as self-pitying and victim-y.  Well, probably all of it.  Dark, surly, self-pitying, and  victim-y.  And also attacked and assailed, unfairly.  But I think this is good, maybe even just what I needed, because I woke up this morning with the affirmation, the just-right one, in my head:

I welcome love into my life.

Because while I'd like to affirm some other things--that my family be healthy, that work be easy and productive, that I radiate and feel peace and joy--the only thing that directly addresses the dark edges is love.  And I'd like to have more of it. 

This morning I sat in my cross legs and went through my prayer beads that way.  Exhale/I welcome love/inhale/into my life.  Around the beads.

And today, that's what I got, wouldn't you know it.  There was good news from my brother (great news!); a friend called me twice and gave me the giggles both times; students were extra open and gracious in class; Eric and I had a healing email exchange; I had a chance to check in with coworker friends who have been a little down lately.  There was love and love and love.

Would all those things have happened without the affirmation?  Who knows?  Probably.  Would I have noticed them, appreciated them?  Maybe not.  Maybe I needed some consciousness of these blessings, and to be aware of the way I'm cocooned in love, even on a regular day where it seems nothing particularly notable happens.

The minister who teaches my class told a story of one of the Vision Quests she went on (she practices with a Lakota tribe).  She was in a sacred circle on a mountain the night of the quest, after fasting four days and nights, and a terrible lightning storm hit.  When she awoke in the morning, the sun rising in the East, there were two patches of scorched earth, lightning strikes, right outside the circle.  The wise man had told her she would be safe in the circle, that nothing would touch her there.  And he was right.  She survived the night, unscathed, and received the blessing of a drink of water the next day.

So, that was my circle for today, that circle of love and blessings that protected me from the dark edges.