waiting

it's cool outside but the backyard is now green. and the green is filling in those spaces emptied by the cold winter air.  spring wraps her arms around us, sheltering and embracing.

i've been waiting for the sun all week and it is here.

i wonder if there are some people who spend their lives waiting- and i wonder if i'm one of them.  i'd love to think i'm not- but i might be. i might be one of those people who remains inactive while expecting something.  someone who embodies the verb-ness of waiting- not the adjective form.  someone stymied by it, consumed by the inactivity of it, someone always expecting something- and missing what presents itself in the now-ness.

waiting is really hard, especially if your spirit animal is the beaver- constantly preparing, building, moving, or a migratory bird, but i bet they enjoy the season before the flight, i bet they don't obsess about the flight, and what it will be like in the air, and whether they'll like where they land, whether they'll miss the place they are now.
 
in those seasons of 'inactive expectation' my mind is active- to a fault- it's overactive. i think of Mary- as in the virgin mary.  i think of her carrying Jesus.  i think of her "pondering all these things in her heart".  i'm no good at pondering things in my heart- especially when i'm also waiting.  i ponder everything out loud. 

i wish i could keep things inside.  i wish i could suck dry the seasons of waiting.  maximize their potential.

my mind has been in ethiopia lately as i re-read 'cutting for stone'- and as i dream about the ending of my waiting season, about landing in east africa- and as i escape to that respite of warm, healing time in october. 

lisa and i were there for our first of her two visits. and it was the first visit after a lot of waiting for yoyo.  the first time to meet him, his family, his country, the first court appearance for her to become his mama.  it was beautiful.  there was much to ponder. and i wanted to give her something special in return for her sharing this experience with me.

when we were in lalibela, i found this really cool necklace. it was made of differently shaped unpolished silver pieces- and it seemed very 'lisacoris' (she really is her own brand).  i asked the man in the shop what it was, what it signified.  "it is a waiting necklace, it is given to someone for waiting."  i couldn't believe it! it was the perfect gift!  here was lisa who was about to enter the second season of waiting for yoyo, because when we left, she'd have to wait until all the remaining paperwork was complete and she could then return to ethiopia and pick up her son.  it was too good to be true!

note necklace, (and beautiful child), and (happy mama)

when we were in the little airport waiting to fly back to addis ababa, another shopkeeper who spoke better english said to lisa, "oh when are you getting married? i see you have a wedding necklace."

doohhhooooo!! it was too good to be true! 
wedding, not waiting!
rats!

but it made for a good story- and for her, it remained the waiting necklace.

there is something important in the waiting times. hard as they are, desperate as they can feel. they are shaping, carving, molding, sculpting who we need to be for the next season, the next landing.

i want to open my eyes wide, and i want to embrace it and be in it. not static but moving- not waiting but living it.

oh the places you'll go!

today zoe and i 'met' taylor morris, a girl with aspergers syndrome.  we actually watched her youtube video explaining life for her on the autistic spectrum http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U05xcavvgno
(found through another blog http://nldinontario.blogspot.com).  it was fascinating.

first i watched it alone and then we watched it together.  it was very cool on many fronts.  first of all it was encouraging because she is this beautiful, highly successful and more importantly, happy, 17 year old girl.  it gave hope.  i tried to stuff the mildly panicky 'but what was the key to helping her, what was the magic?' feeling away and just enjoy what she said- so we could learn from it.  and i tried to stuff the creeping self-doubt of 'maybe the key is that she was in school, taught by people who know what the heck they're doing and not home-schooled' feeling away and tried to remember this is about zoe not me.

zoe was enthralled.  she nodded along with this girl's well articulated words, smiled sometimes, and said- 'that's like me'.   i was so happy to see she felt less alone- that for zoe who processes her life out loud, she could hear clearly, someone else processing their life out loud, a life that she understands.  taylor talked about feeling trapped in a world that often didn't make sense- and needing to be taught what comes naturally to most people in order to fit into that world.  zoe has heard this stuff before- in books and from us- but it was totally different to hear it from a girl who gets it- out loud on a screen, appearing to look right at her.   she couldn't get enough.  she wanted to watch all the video's this girl had ever made- we would pause it and discuss how zoe felt- if it was similar or different to zoe's experience. for 2 hours we watched and talked and zoe shared what her 'other world' is like, how frustrating it is to not know when something is going to scare her, or upset her one day, when another day, it won't bother her at all.  we talked about learning tools to manage the things that seem 'weird'  and she explained that she often doesn't know what she's doing is weird- she's just responding to the world around her.  she was happy to know she's not alone, and that there are ways to learn how to feel less alone.

for me, aside from that hard to explain but 'panicky' feeling that i'm somehow failing to help her reach her full potential- it was a great morning.  as i watched and listened to this girl and my daughter- i realized there is no ' magic bullet' no ultimate 'key' to unlock her.  it's about listening, following her cues, the floortime philosophy lived out.  and i became a bit unlocked.  i was reminded that zoe's brain is categorically different.  that it's OK to acknowledge this- that it's even essential to acknowledge this.  it isn't about a 'cure' or rehabing someone into being 'normal'.  it's about helping each other to understand each other. 

we are on a path with no clear road map- we've got some machete's and we're in a jungle.  it's a metaphor for life- you go to the next stop sign and wait for direction- you never really know the full path.  it's given in bits and pieces, frustrating as that is, that's life.

one of my favorite dr. seuss books is 'oh the places you'll go!'  i was given it at the end of high school by a great friend (one who i can still laugh the belly-aching laughs with) and i've read it over and over since then- and now to my kids.  it talks in that dr. seuss-sing-songy-made-up-word language about life- it's ups and downs.

"You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.  Some windows are lighted.  But mostly they're darked.  A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin! Do you dare to stay out?  Do you dare to go in?  How much can you lose? How much can you win?  And IF you go in, should you turn left or right.. or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, no quite? Or go around back and sneak in from behind?  Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find, for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind."

i could quote the whole book, but i won't.  it just sums up life well- and life with a kid on the spectrum might just be a louder version of life on fast-forward. 

living with zoe makes this impossible to forget, the road forks and forks again, and we're back where we started from at one point- yet i still manage to forget this! i still search for the clearly marked trail- perfect signage- travel insurance- a guarantee.

but there is only putting one foot in front of the other, holding hands and walking through it together. 

laugh out loud

life is really funny but if we live it too seriously, we miss it. and i want to go back to laughing- i mean laughing a lot.  i'm tired of stressing and fretting and feeling the weight of the world.  things need to be lighter.

tonight i got to go out with the girls after a much too serious day.  it was great.  one girl i've know since i was zoe's age, 11, and the other girl i just met tonight.  it was so fun to r-e-l-a-x and laugh and to remember that for most of my life, i was not so serious.  i might have even, used to have been, funny.

but it's hard to have objectivity on myself and the things that sit close to me.  maybe i never was funny-or maybe i still am.  maybe zoe's doing great- or maybe she's not.

i like saying things are good.  i like feeling that things are good, believing it, holding onto it, looking backwards and saying how thankful i am that we're not there anymore.  but then there are moments when really, we are there again.  i don't want to write bad news.  i don't want to report on my fears of her future, her now, our now, our possible future.

but i will.

this weekend- there was an un-witnessed episode of trouble.  it involved zoe and lily and a store and a sticky thought. there was some public crying and yelling and sliding around a store on hands and knees and some stranger staring and one 11 year old having to drag another 11 year old out of the store- to walk back home- to calm down.  then there was more crying (the appropriate embarrassed type from lily) and some consequences dolled out by a parent and some separate time for the two of them.  

when we heard about what happened, how she'd wanted some american girl doll paraphernalia, how lily had explained they had no money, how she'd melted down and expected lily to deal with her pieces- her pieces which were spread all around the floor of papersource as she crawled around and cried. we felt despondent- deflated- defeated.  a  temple grandin moment. overwhelmed by her need- by her inability to understand another perspective-her inability to make a good choice. her immaturity, and infantile level of understanding reciprocity.

sometimes it feels like she's her own worse enemy.  sometimes i wonder how hard she'll have to fall before she gets it- or if she'll ever get it- or if she'll be so broken by so many falls that she'll just hurt a lot.

and with all of that, it can be hard to find 'funny'.

someone once told me a mother is only as happy as her most unhappy child.  oh, i hope not!  i don't want my happiness entwined.  i mean, i want for all my kids to be happy, but i want my own version too. i want to be able to laugh when they eat earthworms at age 9 and cut their hair off at age 11.

there was a time when i really forgot how to laugh because i was drowning in zoe's drama.  i'd thrown myself so much into her world- cutting way back at work, homeschooling her, obsessing about her outbursts- that i'd lost my world.  i don't think i was depressed, or maybe it was, but i forgot how to laugh.

i'm re-reading 'cutting for stone' for our book club- and it's taking me right back to ethiopia - a trip i almost didn't take because life had become so serious.  but i went and i desperately needed it because i found my smile.  one night it was pretty late and lisa and i were hanging out in our hotel room- i can't even remember what was so funny, but we laughed like we were back in the 7th grade- for hours- the kind of laughing where your stomach muscles hurt.  there is nothing like that feeling- like being worn out by joy.

the seriousness will always be there. bad things are going to keep happening, small and large scale, war and illness and natural disasters - but there are funny things too and i want to find them.  i want to laugh out loud everyday for the rest of my life.

remembering

some days, when i think of africa, when i think of living there, i can feel the weight of the northern hemisphere pushing down on me as i lie there in the middle of the earth.  it's hard.  preparing to uproot it all, to take half a lifetime and relocate it to the other side of the world.  to start again.  to replant.  to root.  some days, like yesterday, it seems crazy- like full on crazy. 

so while the weight was pushing on me, while i'm trying to clean the house for another showing so i can sell all and move away, while i'm fighting the tired of getting up too early to do that, there are my children finding themselves. the thing about children is: they grow if you feed them and let them sleep.  but they need so much more than that.  these days i feel like i'm not helping grow their little souls.

yesterday, i cried a little because i'm tired.  i vented a little, OK a lot, because i'm tired.  i said things like- i'm done- i'm sick of it- this is too hard- maybe we're crazy.  i said we are working so hard to end up somewhere dangerous and lonely and risky and different.  i said we're working so hard to own nothing and be somewhere with dirty water and malaria mosquitoes and none of the conveniences we take for granted.  mike told me we don't need to go to africa. that we can stay.  but he reminded me that we won't be where we think we should be. he reminded me that our desire to teach in africa, to make an impression in uganda, to bring the things we've spent 20 years learning, won't go away and that it will never get any easier.  he told me this wearing his day old white scruff and his soulful eyes and his baseball hat, knowing that's what i needed to hear.  it's so funny, our roles.  i'm the doer- the intense one- the sprinter- the talker- the impassioned one. but i'm also the one who sinks- who gets defeated- who wears herself out.  he is steady, even, paced- long distance.  and it makes for a good balance.

today the sermon was about greed.  about how the focus on money - can lead to badness.  it's not even the money itself- but the focus.  i thought about my focus- my anxiety around what needs to get accomplished, what funds need to be gathered, what needs to be sold before we can move.  i thought about my focus on our move itself- my over-focus on the hardships as a way to prepare- to protect against the surprise of third world living.  i thought about how it takes away from my joy and connection and relationships.

i thought about the in-between times that tend to be so hard for me.  but this is a season, itself, it needs to stand alone. we're not just waiting, or doing and waiting.  we are preparing.

i thought about the beginnings and endings of life.  breath taking and leaving, souls entering and exiting, nakedness, the presence of others- nothing else.  we come with nothing. we leave with nothing.  that is universal. but so much of what occupies us is the stuffing.

i thought back to my children- to their character, their souls, their being.  i thought about what really matters- the growing of their hearts- the living out of what we are called into- trusting God.

and i remembered.

i remembered the first time i was in kenya in 1988- the spicy smell of the dark carved wooden animals, the burning smell of the dusty roads, the hills of tea bushes, the feeling of being different but the desire to be there anyway.  i remembered the clinic in uganda, the hushed voices of the patients, the colored fabric of their clothes, the dirt floors, the fungating masses, the old water bottles holding differently colored morphine strengths, walking between house and drainage ditch- and feeling alive- knowing, i'd found why i was here- i'd found purpose.  knowing that i am who i am and i'm OK with mosquito nets and filtering water and risk- i'm OK with dirt, and not going to Target.  i remembered that what we're supposed to do here on this earth is love.  love God.  love each other.  and really, nothing else matters. 

but i needed permission to say 'no' to it.  i needed to remember it's a choice, i needed to be reminded of our longing for this- of the years behind it. 

so the weight, it lifted.  the focus, it shifted. my head cleared, and my heart got soft and plump- back to where it had been- back to knowing where it's going.

www.krisandmikereid.com  check it out!

time to go back

it's time to go back in time. 

i think there are two kinds of people in the world- those who read once and those who re-read books.  i'm not a re-reader of books.  i have a hard time going back in deeply.  i can skim, i can pick out the words and sentences and paragraphs that spoke to me- but i have never delved back in- i've already met the people, i've already heard their lives.  but if there was ever a book to re-read, it would be for me, 'cutting for stone.' it's our next book club book.  i'm excited- i'm nervous- how will it feel?  it is so wrapped up in my trip to ethiopia- so wrapped up in me being put back together again.

i wonder what i'll find this time- what will be uncovered - as i'm in a different place now.

we bring ourselves to what we read, and watch, and to each other in conversations, and in look, and interpretation.  we bring where we are right that moment, and who we've been.

my sister is a big reader, and a big re-reader.  she loves to go back to the familiar, to the characters she's understood- to the scenes she's known- it is safe and comfortable. zoe likes to re-read too, for similar reasons- it's predicable- she has a sense of control.   but i wonder if some people re-read because the story changes- the angle is different- the light on each person is new- because the reader has moved.

i don't know.   i'll have to see.  hopefully it will still hold me, be meaningful and not dampened by time.  hopefully it will still inspire me to 'make something beautiful of my life' as it did the first time.

it is enough

this is the week that the dogwood trees bloomed- holding their trays of flowers like offerings- shy and lithe and stretching their new spring bodies- delicate, lacy and white,  filling in the gaps between the naked dark branches.

everything feels so alive.

today was windy and the air was pushing at us as we walked down streets to the places we needed to go. it's strange to feel the strong tug of something you can't see- to wrestle against the invisible.  days can feel like that too. i woke up fighting something imperceptible.  an annoyance at the mundane parts of life-  the crampiness of it- the claustrophobic, suffocating feeling of those wasted in-between times. the waiting times. i was longing for a tremendous space,  a view.

this afternoon- when the drop offs and pick ups were done- i let the kids watch a movie and i spent 2 hours finishing the book 'let the great world spin' by colum mccann, so i could go to book club that night.  and i found that space- that view- the room to breathe- it was luscious.  the characters and their stories share the sense of the beauty in ruin- the grace in tragedy, that life is hard and ugly but in it, there is goodness.  there is wisdom hidden in each character- little gems- truths- from the monk and the prostitute- the lawyer and the foster mom.  the tightrope walker, the computer hacker, the liberation theologist are each living out their own performance- engaging in the world in response to what moves them.  all boiled down, again, we're not that different.   and in that - there is hope.  there is understanding.

it's one of the reasons why i love being a doctor, why i love going to work on fridays. hearing the lives of people, their stories.   people who see more clearly because they're nearing the end.  the great depths of loss speak.  people are more willing to get on their tightropes- there is often a brave vulnerability - a risk taking- a readiness- a realness.  our memories live with us in parallel - we can move into them- good or bad- they are right there.  and we understand it backwards.

"We stumble on..bring a little noise into the silence, find in others the ongoings of ourselves.  it's almost enough........The world spins.  We stumble on.  It is enough."  pg 349.

and it is.

as it spins

french in the morning and italian at night.  coffee and butter, then wine and olive oil- like bookends in my day.  i just made dinner (finally) while listening to django reinhardt, which makes it more fun- like cooking is glamorous and an old school apron should be worn, and the light coming into the kitchen should be just right, to hit the edge of a glass, and things should be fresh- the spices, the vegetables- and luckily they were.

it was one of those days.  those days when you're amazed at how boring life can be- i mean - the skeleton-ness of it- the black and white cartoon before color is added.  doctors appointments and car repair estimates and lots of waiting- lots of 20 minute slots before picking that person up from there, 15 minutes before something else. snippets of time.  and zoe was struggling today- talking more than thinking- fighting me with math.  i wish i could say i was calm, cool and collected, i wasn't.  i wish i could say i modeled what she needed to learn, i didn't. i even swore.  now that is bad.

 i'm still reading that book- let the great world spin.  it's finally 'spun' into a place where what i thought were just short stories strung together by the event of a tightrope walker dancing between the twin towers- are now linking themselves into a braid.  i love that.  the last chapter i read was about a character who rides the subway in search of graffiti deep in the tunnels beneath the city.  he's fascinated by these artists who go where it's dark and dank and risky and dangerous to leave their 'tag' where no one will ever see it.  it made me think of the inner beams of the great cathedrals where nameless people carved birds and things into the wood- that would never be seen by human eyes.

when the tightrope walker did his walk between the towers, he didn't advertise, just the opposite, he had to sneak.  he just wanted to do it- to know he could- to feel that distance- that sense of himself in space- up where no one can walk- on only a wire.  perhaps his best moment- seen by a scattering of random people.

why do we do the things we do?  who are we when nobody is looking?  how wide is the gap between when we're at our best and when we're at our worst.  me floating around the kitchen seasoning this and boiling that, is not me banging my head on my fist in frustration because zoe doesn't want to line up her zero's, but it is me- unfortunately.   we can be many things when no one is looking, but we're better at being consistent when people are.  and who i want to be when no one is there, is someone who cares enough to carve the bird- to walk my own tightrope, to leave beauty in hidden places,  to plant little sprouts in other peoples lives- those who work in tollbooths or who rear-end us in traffic- even those who were born to us years ago, who we see everyday, whose little lives we're shaping.

paradise

paradise, that was the name of the guy who rear-ended me on one of those 6 lane roads outside the perimeter.  paradise, but spelled differently.  just a fender bender- no one hurt- the literal intersection of lives.

today i went running, finally, after 6 months of abstinence.  it was good for the mind, hard for the body, but necessary for both.  when i ran and looked down, my skinny legs jiggled- like the skin was tired of holding everything in there- like 'what do you expect we've been walking for 40 years'.  i think its surprising because my kids bodies are so fresh and put together- there skin is still working in unison with their muscles.  i think as you age your parts separate and claim their own- and it's only exercise that helps keep them together- functioning  as a unit.  so i ran and vowed to keep running.

i always see things differently when i run- it moves me into stillness.  today i felt the pavement, and my shoes, and my bones and my joints and my lungs a little bit- but what i really felt was the hill.  it's not much of a hill, unless you're running up it.  one of those long, slow-rise types.  i thought about how when you drive you don't notice the hills that others are running up.  the world feels flatter, even, easy.  but for the runner, biker, sweat-er, heavy breather, they are felt. and it made me think about life- how our perspective can keep us from understanding each other- how we can ignore other people's hills.  but also how quickly it can change.  and how it can change in a moment- with one action- one conversation- one biopsy result- one glance down while driving.

on that road up north of the city today it was trafficy and there were lots of lights and SUVs and the car in front of me broke quickly for the car in front of it, and the car in front of it, etc for the traffic light had turned.  i broke quickly too, and was thankful that i had enough room- that i wasn't distracted by some thing or on the phone.  i heard a big screech and looked in my mirror to see the guy behind me gripping his steering wheel and hit us.  it was a loud noise and zoe screamed.  she was really freaked out- crying and talking a lot about how she didn't feel safe anymore- how we could have been killed- (which we couldn't have for the record).  my first thought was,  "oh crap! who's going to pick up bryn? followed by- what a pain in the bootie to have to deal with getting the car fixed!"

mr. paradise (spelled differently) was driving a beat up old car that looked a lot more beat up after crashing into us.  things were leaking and falling off his car, and neither of us had the updated insurance information in with us- so we're both on the phone- and zoe is crying on the side of the road. 
his car was filled with soda cans and paper and tools in disarray, and his notebook filled with penciled estimates- he must do handy work or carpentry- i wondered if he'd be late for his job that afternoon- if he'd lose that day's income- or worse, if that would be the last straw, and he'd lose the job. i wondered what his day had been, why his wife was so mad, how many times had this happened- looking at his car.  i wondered how this for him, for them, could be a tipping point- but i don't know.  i just wished i could have done something for him- gone back in time- reversed it- not given him one more thing to deal with.

i couldn't get over his name- what is in a name? paradise.  and how it must feel to have a name like that- with so much in it- on a day that feels like hell.

i kept thinking about the run and the hills and how it seemed like he's been running up more of them lately than i have. and i felt bad for him, for the fact that his day has been harder than mine .  and now here, today , our lives had intersected.  maybe it means nothing- maybe it's just a random - fender-bender on another large almost highway in another strip mall section of middle america. 

but his name was paradise- and it gave me pause.

holding the kite strings

i shouldn't be writing, i should be reading- for book club- i'm behind.  but i'm behind in life i think.  i never know when things are exactly happening, unless they are urgent- work related- then i'm on top of it.  but it's as if i have a limited capacity to keep up with everything so the less urgent-  they float around in my head- unordered but tethered, like kites - i'm aware they're up there- but not the specifics of what i need to do about them. i don't seem to be able to change it- try as i may to organize- there are always kites.  spring break, for example, is sometime soon- but not this week. i'll know when i have an appointment but not the exact time or the location- it drives me crazy- but i think i've kind of given up on it.

the problem is when it affects other peoples lives, or when the kites get tangled because there are too many up there and the strings are long and it's breezy. 

right now there are a lot of kites- those long japanese dragon ones with tails and colors and require sometimes 2 people to fly them.  some days like to day, i feel like i'm sitting on a beach just watching them in the wind- diving and wiggling- and remarking on their beauty and grace and possibility- but forgetting that i'm attached to them- driving them- that i set them in motion.

today the bee's came to the holly tree out back.  yesterday it filled itself with these highly pollinated white beady little flowers, so we knew today, the bees would come and they did.  this year the spring is so palpable, so noticed.  i think in the stillness you see the things that have always been there- but you walked right on past.  business can be blinding. i think i'm finally learning to be still. 

today i was remembering back to the summer i was 17 and worked as a summer camp counselor for the 4 year old group. i was amazed at how long it took to tie 15 kids shoes before we went outside- and that they needed so much help with everything.  but there was this one kid- alex who was so cool.  really he seemed much older than 4.  he was the youngest of 4 boys- so maybe that's where he'd grown his maturity- but i loved this guy.  at the end of our summer camp month i called his mom and asked i could take him out for ice cream- of course this was welcomed- and we sat at dairy queen in our little town center and ate our cones.   i was remembering being that age- being so in the moment- and that now i have 3 little kids who are so interesting-and i wondered am i valuing them like that? i'm i paying attention?  i wondered if alex's mom stopped and took him out for ice cream to hear his thoughts on the world? or was she busy being 40- busy balancing work and her 4 kids- busy managing her household- busy organizing her kites.

today jude had to get his blood drawn.  i promised him ice cream when we were done. he was so brave- he didn't even cry a tear. i had both boys with me and we went to 'dr. bombay's underwater tea house'- to get the rainbow colored 'superman' ice cream.  it was fantastic.  sitting with these two little guys - on a day where the air strokes you- laps at you- perfectly warm in it's blend of a hot and a cool lick  - so the little hairs on your arms are so thankful to be bare.  we sat in the shade with the ice cream and all was well with all our souls.

jude said- i love just being with you.
bryn said- me too.

that is it.  that is enough. 
that is peace.  that is worth the kites being over head- and me, just down here below, holding the strings.

scrumptious

i'm a broken record- aren't i? either i'm overwhelmed by the same zoe issues again and again, or i'm finding some piece of peace, or i'm amazed at some insight i gained from hearing the stories of peoples lives. or i'm commenting on the weather.  sorry.

80 degrees sunny, little green and red buds, fragrant viney flowers, each day showing a little more of themselves.

today i'm not overwhelmed- i do feel at peace-and can i say it is scrumptious outside?.... truly scrumptious- (like the character from chitty-chitty-bang-bang). and it is going to be a story about something i learned from another person's life.

yesterday in clinic i saw a man with lung cancer- he's now oxygen dependent.  in case you don't know what that means,  he has to wear this plastic tubing in his nostrils that stays there by looping around each ear and then trailing down his neck to the canister that he can carry like a bag or pulls on wheels.  being in the medical business i barely notice them- i don't think of it as a big deal- i don't attach particular meaning to it.

but he does.  to him, it symbolizes weakness, change, illness, identity loss, dependence.  it came up because he was telling me that he doesn't go to church anymore, and on further questioning, he doesn't go anywhere anymore-except to the VA- except for treatment.  it turns out that he is so embarrassed by those plastic tubes, that he can't leave his house.  the thing is- he's not a home-body.  he's not that guy who likes to say home- but he can't go to the next room without the oxygen or he can't breathe.  so this poses a problem - this- for him- is suffering.

i can understand it.  it's not new.  it's walking around with your underwear showing.  it's what happens when you are stuck not being able to hide behind a perfect exterior, behind the illusion that everything is OK, that it is well with my soul, that we're not damaged, that we're not handicapped.

handicap- an impediment- a limitation- a disability- not being able to perform because of being unfit- to put at a disadvantage.

we all have them, but for most of us, they're invisible.   it's the emperor's new clothes again. 

i reminded him that he is the same guy with the oxygen.   he tells the same jokes, he loves the same woman, he sings the same songs, the same things make him smile, his eyes tell the same stories.  i told him that i know it's hard.  that i have a child who sometimes does things or says things that make me feel that feeling- of belonging to a club i didn't mean to sign up for.  that i sometimes see the world through her eyes- eyes that wear glasses and see her left shoulder sticking up, or her inability to get the joke, or not be able to refrain from flapping her arms when she's excited. i imagine that as she goes on through her life- she will have more of these moments.  we are always our own biggest critic- we see caricatures of ourselves- too skinny- too fat- too short- too goofy- large swallowing oxygen tubes.  we don't just see ourselves as mildly broken people who are trying.  people who all have struggles- challenges- limitations- disadvantages.  the thing is - the handicaps you can't see- those can be the most damaging.  the weakness of the soul- the neediness- the selfishness- the vanity of our focus.

there have been times and i've written about them, when i've not gone somewhere out of fear.  i've made decisions to avoid places or people because of how i might feel if zoe has a meltdown- to avoid that feeling of being ashamed.  but it's still a bad feeling. because you're home, knowing you're hiding out, and you feel badly, but you're now feeling badly and isolated.  but when you can take the plunge and embrace your differences- when you can take the risk of the world having to acknowledge that you are in fact, not perfect- you are then free.  and even if you're embarrassed- even if people see her do the wiggly dance and scream because there is a surprise attack from a vacuum - even if you're now the tough marine vet who wears oxygen- you're free.  not alone. not isolated. not assuming.  you're connecting- you're reminding the world that life can go on- even when our picture of normal changes.

i told him it was his choice- but it was a choice.  isolation or dealing with an altered image.  isolation or taking a risk.  i hope he chooses being free.

earlier that day, one of my old favorites, an avid motorcycle rider- had told me he just converted his bike to a trike. he added another wheel so he could ride safely- because his balance is off- he can't ride his 2 wheeler anymore.  i was so proud of him.  he values his riding- he values that freedom- but he acknowledges the reality that it wasn't safe anymore.  he could have chosen to hang up his helmet- but he didn't.

so i'll try to remember to take the risk.  to be bold.  to not avoid.  and to grow that in zoe.
and i'll try to remember my many handicaps that hide themselves so well inside of me- but are none the less- handicaps.

lucky

last night we watched the woody allen movie 'match point'.  i like his movies- not all of them- but many.  i like how they start with just a simple black background with the white letters of the actors names- like a play- and the music.  i like being transported to beautiful places i don't live and meeting characters i wouldn't ever hang out with.  i like the consistency of the theme- it starts with a relevant quote and ends on the same theme.  i don't usually share woody allen's philosophies - like last nights movie about luck- life and it's outcome is all about luck. but i think most of life, even in the movie, is about choices.

as i watched the names float up across the screen- it reminded me of all the names i will never name my children who will never be- because i've already had them. which made me think of all the places i will never live, and the languages that i will never speak, and the jobs i will never have- because i've made choices. which made me think of this part in a ts eliot poem:

'What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.'

different paths and passage ways- those taken and those not- end us where we are, who we are.
two roads diverge in a yellow wood..... it's all the same idea.

and now that my path is diverging i'm measuring out my days with coffee spoons- or anything else that comes my way- 2 more zoe social groups before we leave, one more season at the pool, two more yoga seasons, no more halloweens (i hope).  life becomes timed out in relation to when we leave- when the twirling world shifts again- in a big way.  it's so exciting.  it's so scary. it's so surreal.  it's so going to become real.

yesterday zoe's copy work was a quote from winnie the pooh-
'how lucky am i to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.'

i love that. life is good.  the many coffee spoons that i'm measuring with and saying goodbye to, are good.

little moments

the only thing warm is the tip of my right ear, my right shoulder and my right little finger- they are in the path of the sun- the rest of me is pretending that it's warm enough to be outside.  i'm sitting here with jude- who just asked me "who was the first person who ever found food?" i told him adam and eve.  he told me that wasn't true- that they weren't the first people- that no one in his school believes that. i told him it really only mattered what he believed, that people often think of the bible as just stories to make a point- but if God is really God - he could make the world in 7 days or 700,000 years- evolution and the bible can co-exist, it's no less amazing if we evolved from something else.  i think he had moved on to eating his apple (no really, he was eating an apple).

i love those little moments with kids.  their questions are so random and yet perfectly timed- it's organic.

i still remember those moments in my childhood.  they always happened obliquely.  they never follow, "how was your day?" they happened in dressing rooms or during commercials  while watching TV together, or in the car on the way to pick someone up from soccer, or when you're just hanging out on the stairs and you mom walks by with the laundry.  that is when i randomly asked her if everyone who gets cancer dies from it.  when i asked her exactly what she was worrying about herself because that week she'd had a biopsy and was waiting for the results- but i didn't know any of this.  a random question- floating through my 10 year old head- a question that Someone knew i was going to need answered before the next week. the next week when i would find out my mom had cancer.  she told me later that it was a preview- like she was finding out ahead of time what the biopsy results would be- why else in the cosmos would i be asking that question on that evening of that week?  God knows what little ears need to hear.  and that i couldn't have asked it after i'd been told- it would have been too scary- too real- too close.  but that next week when we were told she had cancer- i remembered.  the laundry basket, the blue carpet, the banister posts, the birds on the silk painted wallpaper over the landing of that glamorous wrapping staircase, and that not everyone who has cancer dies.  i held onto that for a long time.

most little moments aren't so poignant, so significant, so necessary.  but they are the naked times that we share things- bear our burdens- explore the questions of life.

it's why it's so important to be still.
to be present for each other. 
to really listen.
to follow up. 
to engage.
to savor it- because the little moments, the questions, the sun on his hair, the reflection in his eye, the freckles i now notice on his nose- those are the same things i'll miss when they are grown.

goodness

goodness abounds.  i was reflecting on yesterday's social club homeschooling- and seeing the goodness in it.  first zoe went to her friend E's house. she is a beautiful, kind girl, who is the same age as zoe and has autism.  zoe adores spending time with her- she says they have a special connection- that they understand each other- which is fascinating.  after my haircut i picked them both up and they played at our house for a few hours- so i had the opportunity to see them together. 

first of all, zoe seems calmed by her- she has no nervousness, no anxiety, no stress- she leads the play, but she also watches E and follows her cue- and engages her.  zoe wanted to read her a book- but she wanted to teach her to read as well.  so after each line she ask E to repeat it, and if it wasn't pronounced correctly, she'd go over it again- pointing at the words as she read.  it's really remarkable to see her in this light- to see her as leader- as teacher- so comfortable in her own skin- so different from what i'm used to. 

then she played with another friend- a home-schooled friend who is very similar to zoe- again, she is so comfortable- so natural and not stressed.  it makes me realize how much work it must be for her to spend time with her typical peers- with kids who aren't excepting her- who don't get her.  she can sense it- but doesn't understand why or what to do about it- so it leaves her confused and feeling bad about herself. 

i'm so happy she has these girls- these friends- and other ones- girls who know she's a bit different but still value her. i'm trying to just leave it at that and not become sad about leaving and dragging her across the world to uganda to try and fit into another culture. 

but i'm giving it up- i'm choosing to trust. i'm loving what i'm seeing. my mom says that zoe on her good days is really who she is- that the other days are just her growing pains - her adjustments - fine tuning.  i love that.  i'll take it.  i like to look at all my kids that way. i need to remember that home is the practice zone- it's where you test the boundaries because it's safe-  it's where you let your guard down- where you can get out all that energy you held tightly reigned in while at school all day- where you can cry about something just because you're tired. we are works in progress.

goodness abounds if i look for it.

time change

it's hard to get used to the time change. getting up in a darker morning - sitting outside in a lighter evening.  it will take some getting used to.  today jude was almost late for school because i just couldn't get out of the bed- but it was worth it.  except for the part where he decided he couldn't get a "tardy" and we had to run the whole way and i hadn't even had coffee yet. yes, it will take some getting used to, as it will to have a kid who cares more than i do about him getting to school on time- so, so different from his sister.

and as i'm walking back home at 8:01, i see another mom leaving the drop off scene.  she has her other child with her.  they are walking slowly hand in hand.   he looks about 7, but is small and has glasses and hearing aides and walks awkwardly, the coordination of movement takes effort.   i say "hi" to him and he doesn't respond and i say something about the warm day and the time change and being late to his mom and go on ahead imaging what her day is like.  what her days are like with her boy- her years- how she is entwined with him.  i thought how hard it must be, and how thankful i am that zoe is so functional and verbal and all the things she is, but a part of me was envious of the 'known-ness' of their situation.  i imagined myself with him- walking to school- taking our time- going to physical therapy- knowing that he'd probably be with us forever- and i imagined moving into a place of acceptance - of surrender.  (right- as if i know their situation.  as if it's ever easy.  as if i wouldn't have the same goals and aspirations, the same struggle to do the right thing for my child as i do now).

then i thought about my plans for the day with zoe- how she is scheduled to have a playdate with her friend in the morning and another one with her friend in the afternoon.  i thought about how i get stressed out that we won't have time to do her copy work, math, reading- that she can't write a report on three books compared- or a poetry anthology- or a creative writing piece on the eighth voyage of sinbad the sailor- all the things i did when i was her age.  i go to these places of wanting her to be typical- expecting her to be - frustrated with myself for not teaching her in a way to get her there. and in that i deny the blessing of who she is- i forget we are on a different path- i don't forgive us that.

it's so typical of me- that extremeness- black or white- high achiever or handicapped license plate- i struggle to walk my middle ground. to live in the gray.  to trust myself that a full day of social is for her, school, is for her learning, necessary, essential.  


i got my hair cut today.  i was talking to the guy about the up-in-the-air-ness about our africa plans.  we don't know exactly when we're going, we have little control over it because we need to sell the house and fund raise, and i heard myself say- "but it's all good! it's a good place to be- to live in a place of unknown- to recognize a lack of control- to have to live in a state of limbo- it feels really right for my soul."  those words actually came out of my mouth.  as i heard them, and i recognized my own voice- i saw that i'm making progress. somewhere inside me,  i am moving in that direction, it just hasn't sunk in with zoe.

i'm a slow learner.  i need to see it, hear it, feel it, write it- over and over- for change to happen.

it is the season of lent.  a season of giving up something to focus more on God- chocolate, alcohol, whatever.  tomorrow we're one week in i've been stuck with what i'm going to give up.  but i think that is is- i'm going to just 'give up' and focus on God.  give up the control - give up the need for things to be pretty- give up the expectations- give up the absurd idea of reaching consistency in her days- and focus more on what God has given her, and me, and our family.  focus on trusting His plan for things- and my little role in that- self de-flation.

now it's very late and dark and tomorrow will be hard to open my eyes to.  i will give up and sleep- good night.

spring

so beautiful. spring is here.  the air is warm- even the breeze- and i'm surrounded by all the little buds and flowers, all those little life signs- hope- renewal.

i've been thinking about the dismantling of our lives.  we are in this place of taking down our life- striking the set- at a time when most of our friends are settling in, having already arrived at their final destination.  we are selling things, giving things away, minimizing, pairing down, announcing our leaving at work, preparing our kids, telling our friends.  it's a weird feeling - especially at 40.  i look around at our home, the path walking jude to school in the morning, and i see it from my memory next year-when i'm far from here- when the dirt is dusty red and the trees bear bananas and papaya- and the roosters crow- and the air smells of things burning.  i see it from across an ocean. i see it from an evening without electricity, from underneath a mosquito net, from bare feet on a cement living room floor, from the first time my child gets a high fever and i'm worried about malaria,  from a corner market where i can't find peanut butter.  i see the familiarity that i take for granted, from another world where i will be living.  and i know that i will be missing here deeply.  that i will cry for home, as i make my new home.

to dismantle- to take apart in a systematic way- to break a whole- to separate- to undo- to shred- to rip to bits.

i have been dismantled before.  life can dismantle us.  but this is by choice- which can be harder- because we're responsible.

at the same time- we are in another process- an opposite one- assembling, building, putting together.  we are constructing what it is we're doing.  we are building a common language to express who we are- why on earth at mid-life, we're dismantling our physical world,  why this, why now. we are creating ourselves as a team.  and this is a beautiful thing- relationally and personally.

but construction and deconstruction involve hammers, or nails or saws.  there is some pain involved. it's like bryn again last night, growing pains.

when we lived in san francisco, our pastor used to say, "breakdown leads to break through, which leads to break out."  i wonder where we are in that? i usually think we're in the process of break out.  that the events in life so far have broken us down- yes- that is true- and that each time we've experienced break through- a further nudging of what we should be doing with our lives- and that has led us to this place- breaking out.  but then i somehow feel that we are really just now in breakdown- the dismantling- that this is a new stage- awaiting a different type of break through.  maybe it's like stages of grieving or the stages of behavior change- things aren't linear- they are like a stretched out slinky. curlicues. loop-de-loops. you can circle right back to one place over and over- backwards then forwards.  either way- they all have the word "break" in them- and that means something.

this is what life is all about. we transform, whether we are active or passive in the process, things change us. we wait for it in the characters of the books we read and the movies we watch, but it can be hard to see in ourselves, or at least it can be hard to embrace.  but the slice we live is just one piece in a great pie of a world.

i'm reading the book 'as the great world spins'.  the book starts with a beginning quote, "All the lives we could live, all the people we will never know, never will be, they are everywhere. That is what the world is."

so, dismantled and raised up, i'm still here. somewhere, where ever i am or will be . budding, then blooming.

spots of sun

i had to write something to get that picture of my giant belly off of front and center.

what a crazy week.  emotions all over the place.  celebrating jude entering his 7th year. processing our move to africa.  looking at our lives each day imaging what it will be like when these things around us are gone-and our life smells different and sounds and looks unfamiliar.  a week of finding out another classmate died.  and reconnecting with old friends - different circumstances- glimpses of how our lives touch- some now running races-  some facing new illness- some with knowledge of that illness.  a week with a lot of crying- because when it hits close to home- and you're grieving,  you grieve many things - things from years ago, they come back to you like a scent or a song, right back to that place you were 20 years ago. it all leaks out- and what you thought you'd finished dealing with- is freshly back and demanding attention too.  it was a week of being busy with the business of it all.  i'm finding the need to catch my breath. 

there were three great things today.

last night lily and her brother slept over and zoe was so excited to have a sleepover.  but, lily needed to be with her brother who couldn't sleep - so zoe had to sleep alone.  this was a huge disappointment for her.  but - i was super impressed with her ability to acknowledge her disappointment and then, she was able to let it go. 

then one of my favorite patients - who's disease was progressing - had a huge drop in his tumor markers-  a sign that he's responding to 4th line chemotherapy, for now, and we'll take it.  because that is what you do.  you re-frame things. you take the good no matter what- even if it's just a spot of sun.  the spot reminds us of the possibilities.

finally, my friend who is wrestling with the possibility of a challenging illness- told me she's had a moment of peace- a feeling that even what she was most afraid of - might be OK- a decrease in her anxiety- a space to breath. that makes me so happy.

i'm going to sleep early- with hope- for zoe, my patient and my friend- and thankful for all their spots of sun- and the privilege of having them each in my life.

this is my boy

jude- 6 years ago today- after 4 long years of waiting- you came into the world and changed things.

since week 20, we didn't know what would happen- people cried a lot- and we waited.

but then you arrived. and there was so much joy.

 

your perfect little face- your giant eyes- you were everything we were prepared you wouldn't be.

and we praised God for you- for your health- for your being- and we waited.

 

and you grew and smiled, walked, ran, talked, laughed and continued to bring us so much joy.

and we felt God in a new way- because we felt peace, even in the unknown.

and we were so thankful- because there were so many miracles.

you have a gentle spirit.  a kindness. an inner stillness- like all that waiting we did- transcended into your being.

you are quieter than your brother and sister.  you watch- you reflect- you don't want center stage  

but you are the glue that holds them together. you can manage up- you can manage down. 

 

and you continue to amaze us. 

you are in kindergarten now.  

you have learned to write, to read, to add, to understand time, to jump rope.

your report card was four 100% and one 93%.

my boy who they thought wouldn't do these things- is shinning.

but what i'm most proud of is the award you won this year. 

your class, 20 kindergartners, voted you 'the most generous'.

your body is strong, you mind is wise, 

and my boy, my boy,  your soul is so, so sweet.

when i see you sleep- i pause- and i see all that we didn't know, all that we waited for, all those days and months and years.  i see it all flashing before me- and all that i learned- all of it worth it- all of it- even the darkness- i wouldn't trade one minute of it- because here you are.

so i close my salty eyes and say thank you, thank you, thank you.

grace rains down

somewhere there is a lesson in here.  but i can't find it yet.

today started with a glorious half an hour with zoe.  she floated downstairs dressed and pleasant, ate her breakfast and gave everyone good morning hugs.  i was pretty psyched.  off to a good start.  but, as soon as it was time to do school, we were back in sticky-land.  i was trying really hard to keep my zen- to not let her funk affect me.  i didn't want to yell. after she finished her copy work, i needed a break.  i decided it was going to be one of those slow days- i decided not to push against resistance.  one of the things you learn in medical residency when you're putting a line in someone (any kind of a catheter into a vein or artery) is not to push against resistance.  you pull back, re-angle and gently try again.  when placing a catheter if you push into resistance, bad things can happen.  same with zoe- it can backfire-so i let it go.

a few hours later, she'd placed all 50 of her stuffed animals and dolls in the hall, as if they were having a meeting.  i told her if she wanted to watch a video, she'd need to clean them up.  i even outlined what that would entail.  when i returned from an errand she was watching a video, so i went to check the hall.  she had done it, but by dumping it all on her bed.  i told her to go back upstairs and finish the job.  well.... you'd have thought i'd asked her to clean the entire house with a toothbrush. it was ridiculous.

i'm sitting there, trying to understand, how the wind of her spirit can turn so quickly, how we can start somewhere peaceful and end up with her screaming like a baby. and i'm left feeling like someone has taken a vacuum to my insides- hollowed me out- i am empty.  trying to keep my emotional distance- but finding myself sucked into her vortex.

then i got an email.  actually it was a facebook message from someone i went to college with.    someone who i did 'lavida' with (see post- http://bestillandknowkw.blogspot.com/2010/06/be-here-now.html) lavida is an outward-bound-ish trip.   10 days of hiking in the white mountains of new york and the trip ends with a 10 mile run.

she wrote to thank me for encouraging her on that last part of our venture- our 10 mile run.  it took me a minute to place her- to go back 20 years and remember.  but i did remember.  i remember that she had an amazing attitude and great determination- but at that time in her life- she was not a runner.  i wasn't either- well not a long distance one.  but for some reason running with her and focusing on 'helping' her along- gave me the perfect distraction from my own pain- and enabled me to finish the 10 miles too.  she wrote that since then she's gone on to run 4 half marathons and a triathlon.  she is now, a runner.    she said that my persistence, and faith in her, impacted her well beyond the 10 miles.  she thanked me for being a light in her life so many years ago.

how often you get a note like that? i mean it felt like i was showing up at my own funeral.  it reminded me of so much more than that trip and that run down a mountain.  it reminded me again of the interconnectedness of our lives- how we impact each other and don't even know it.  it also reminded me again of the little things, the little moments in life, of our words, those that can plant themselves deep in us and sprout beauty or root down deep and choke us years later.  it reminded me of reciprocity. she was thankful to me, but i was so thankful to her- because together we got down that mountain- we each brought something different- she needed encouragement, i needed someone else to focus on.

it also reminded me of the importance of patience and determination, of the possibility of change.  of the unexpectedness and surprise of life.  it made me wonder how different her life would have been if she hadn't finished the 10 miles- would it be different?  maybe not- but my day would be different with out her return words of encouragement today.

i think the lesson is - life just is- so run it and see where it takes you.
it will surprise us- sometimes in good ways, sometimes in not so good ways.
it's monotonous much of the time.
but, we are building cathedrals- the things we do can have lasting impact.
so, i shouldn't be so bothered by the quickly changing winds of her mood- or the raining coolness of a day i wish were sunny.  i need to remember not to push against the resistance in life- accept what is- run through it- and encourage someone else on the way.

and let the grace rain down.

carve the bird

last night, mike and i, accidentally and thankfully got our date.  my mom, bless her, took the kids.  we were able to regroup, focus on each other and enjoy a good meal with no preparation and no clean up- and no interruptions.  it's the little things.

the whole weekend we'd felt like we were losing the battle with the kids.  too much negative and not enough positive. we were questioning our expectations and their obedience.  we were questioning our ability to raise people who will contribute to to humanity, or even just live independently and say 'please' and 'thank you'.

while we were out- i read a story forwarded to my email by my sister.  it was beautiful and poignant and full of wisdom about parenting- but also, life in general.

so much of what we do, especially as mothers, goes unnoticed, un-thanked and even unappreciated. if the meal is acknowledged, it's because it's too spicy, or someone 'hates' chicken.  we try to get them to a birthday party for their friend and it's a problem because they want to finish building the lego house first.  it can feel like all we do is listen to complaining, answer questions over and over again, say "no", and never finish a sentence, a phone conversation, or a trip to the 'potty', with out being interrupted.

in the story a woman, who was tired and feeling 'invisible',  who was feeling lost in the caring of others, is given a book about european cathedrals.  the inscription is about how much the book's giver values what this woman is doing as a mother, behind the scenes, when no one is looking.

and this mother, as she reads this book, comes to see why it was given to her.  no one knows the names of those who built the great cathedrals.  the builders spent their lives working on something they'd never even see finished.  they made great sacrifices and expected no credit.  the passion for their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

and she remembered that the things we do selflessly can create everlasting beauty. the sacrifice for a greater good can transcend time.  process matters.  trusting the final outcome- when you can only see one small piece of the wall- allows completion.

in the cathedral book, it tells of a man who was carving a bird into a beam, high up in the roof area.  someone asked him why he was spending so much time on a detail that would be covered up, and hidden.  'because God sees it' he said. 

and the woman realized who her audience should be.  she realized the smallness of each builder- yet the magnitude of the work they did.  and in this, she was renewed, she saw her passion ignite.  she realized she is building cathedrals. it's not about being thanked for the meal, or the ride to the birthday party, it's about investing in the character of her children.  it's about them feeling loved and valued. it's about who they are becoming- how she is carving them into the men and women that God wants them to be.

mike and i read it and were moved.  we were stirred by the notion- perhaps most of all- of carving the bird.  of doing what you do, what ever it is, because it is pure and beautiful, because you are creating something that if no one else sees it, is seen by God.  because it's not about product, but process.  because the small things do matter.

it was exactly what we needed to remember.  these gifts given to us deserve our faithful attention, our endurance, our full effort, our patience.

so, find your cathedral, and carve your bird. and as the email concluded,  remember-
"The Will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not protect you." 

common threads

earlier this week mike asked me out on a date- i was so excited- but then i had to find a babysitter.  it didn't work.  i tried- harder than i've ever tried.  i even called friends of friends to use their babysitters- nothing- nada- nein.

so we did the next best thing- we loaded the kids in the car and went to IKEA to take advantage of 45 minutes of free childcare.  we figured we could sit on one of those couches in a fake living room and talk with out being interrupted.  but it was full!

so now we're home- contemplating the options.  but, we have options, which is such a privilege.

yesterday work was very hard, and long, but satisfying.  once again, i learned from other peoples years and other peoples experience.  it was a day that actually started the day before when i was called by the daughter of my patient with ALS.  he was doing worse- his wife is ill and can't care for him and we had to make some decisions about what to do, where to go.  i learned a lot about their baggage, about the family drama that had been going on for 20 years.  i learned about a different side of the story.  (there is always another side to our stories).  and again, i saw forgiveness.  reconciliation. love triumph.  things let go of.  choices made to do the right thing- even when it's hard.

i found myself wrapped up in trying to do the right thing for him- but in a limited system that argued with me at every step- why did we need to admit him to the hospital? why couldn't this be managed as an outpatient? on and on.  and the more resistance i got, the more insecure i became in my decision making, and the more worried i became that i would be judged by this person and that person.

when i drive to work on fridays, early morning, in the dark, streets deserted, street lamps lit- i pray for the patients that i will see that day- for wisdom to be able to help them- to be selfless- to be gentle.  yesterday i prayed especially that i would not be concerned about who thought what about me, but that i would only continue to be concerned about him- and what was right for him.  then i was at peace that i'd done the right thing. 

that morning, i spoke with a friend of mine, who told me that she's in a place of darkness and anxiety- a place where she's worried all the time- where she thinks about death and loss and it consumes her.  she is young and healthy and married to a young, health man.  but she fears the ends of these things- she fears never finding happiness.

and then i met new patient- a man with metastatic cancer who knows he's doing to die of this disease in the next few months.  he had eyes like my father, so i had a soft spot for him.  he was guarded and seemed irritated and wasn't sure he wanted to be sitting in my office- but he said i reminded him of someone he thought was pretty.

he was focusing on his palm pilot and poking away at at - i asked him what he was doing - he said "taking notes".  i was entered in to this- spelling my name out for him- it was part of his ability to keep some distance- and to keep his identity- to keep some control. so i was fine with it. but i wanted him to look me in the eye- because i could tell there was a lot in there- his mind was busy.

there were a lot of hard questions exchanged.  exactly how was he going to die? he wanted to know.  where did he want to be at the very end?  who had he told about his illness?  what did he want to do when he could no longer care for himself?  people have a much easier time talking about their burial plots then imaging not being able to care for themselves.  he wanted to die in his sleep or just drop dead.  what are you most afraid of? i asked.  "pain and being doped up and out of it"  and then he began to cry.

he had abandoned the palm pilot by now.  he told me about being in vietnam in a river, trapped under a jeep.  he began to ask himself what it would feel like to die, then he realized he was about to find out. he saw all black- then he saw red.  he remembers swimming toward the red- and then light- another troupe had come and flipped the jeep and he was rescued.  he said- he had no fear- he realized that he is not afraid to die.

"i was a professor.  i have two degrees in engineering from Georgia Tech- and a PhD.  i'm not an attractive man, i've never been good with the ladies, but i'm intelligent.  i can't bear to lose my mind.  i can't bear to lose my dignity."

i told him it was a gift that he wasn't afraid to die- many people don't feel that way. i told him that he didn't need to die in pain- that i could guarantee it - and that we would work together to maintain his dignity- even in the very end. he smiled.  he had needed to be known.  to be understood as a person who has lived- not as a person who is dying.

i spoke with my friend again- heard her baggage- her years of stories- and more about where she is now.  afraid of her pain now- the emotional can be way worse than the physical -afraid of death- although it's not near her. and so, so deeply afraid of herself- her depression- that her plight in life is deep sorrow.

and in my mind their stories chased each other- him living with cancer- her fearing getting it - him not afraid to die- her terrified- him afraid of pain- her in emotional pain. if you looked at them, they'd have nothing in common.

except that they're human- except that they're suffering.  it was a reminder again of the universality of it- and it made me so thankful for a healthy season.

i went up stairs to the inpatient unit where my patient with ALS was with his daughters.  he was getting what he'd needed- he was getting what i'd hoped for.  we had a family meeting with the other teams involved in his care- to explain what was happening and where we'd go from here.  after the meeting i stayed to talk with them.  he motioned for his white board to write and tell us something.  he wrote "Dr. Reid- miss her."  and started to cry.  i knew what he was referring to.  my moving to uganda.  i asked him if that was it and he nodded.  i reminded him it was a long way off.  i didn't say it, but far enough in the future that i think i'll miss him before he'll have a chance to miss me.  then his brother-in-law asked if he could pray.  so we all held hands- circling the bed- as he lifted up mr. G, myself and the family in prayer.  he asked for wisdom for me as his physician and for my plans and future. he asked for healing for mr. G, but if not, then for freedom from suffering- freedom from fear- for peace- for comfort. everyone cried- especially mr. G.

i drove home exhausted, but thankful that i'm not consumed.  i kept thinking about the other people i'd talked with in the day- my other patient, my friend- wishing they'd been there for that prayer of freedom.  wishing i could guarantee them both freedom from pain- all types-at the end and all the way through- that i could guarantee them peace.  aware again of my limitations- its easy to give medicine- it's harder to touch a soul- and cradling a spirit- is a divine intervention.

so i offered up a silent prayer- for divine intervention.

haircut

oh dear. what goes up, must come down. 
another example of the always baffling inconsistency of zoe.

tonight, as usual, she was instructed to go take off her coat and shoes, put them away, go upstairs, get her pajamas on and brush her teeth.  notice i don't just say- go get ready for bed- because the tasks involved would not likely happen. the first time i went up, she's sitting on her bed, with her coat and shoes still on- reading a richard scary book.

now maybe i should have clued in.  i should have noticed the preschool literature choice and the inability to do the seemingly obvious first step of removing coat and shoes- and then softened my approach and offered assistance.  but i'm exhausted.  so i reminded her again what she needs to do- and tagged on that she needs to clean up her room.

when i came back upstairs a few minutes later- there is hair all over the bathroom.  yes, her hair.  she had decided to cut it.

now there are really two times in a child's life when they might cut their hair- one is when they're in preschool and are curious about scissors. hair hangs down and feels soft and it might be interesting to try cutting it. the second time is during the teenager years.  there is this new found independence- and with it a confidence that you're pretty good at most things, so when you decide that you need to see what you look like with bangs- you just do it.

i had an earthworm moment.  i stopped- looked at the bathroom, looked at her and her shaggy hair, and kept walking.  i just needed a moment.

when i came back upstairs i asked her what she was thinking. why it seemed like a good idea to cut hair instead of brush her teeth.

"because it was bothering me."

of course.  now i get it.  yes - an appropriate response to static-y hair.

i told her to please get in her pajamas and clean her room.  i sat there while she slowly pittered around picking up each item on the floor,  only using one hand, and assessed the damage.  she'd left the back alone, but had chopped large chunks out of the front and sides- you might be able to call them bangs- maybe.

when she went to brush her teeth- i had to just laugh- because it was so out of the blue, so random, and because she looks kind of funny.

but what i tried not to focus on, but lingers in the back of me,  is the impulsivity and lack of restraint- the apparent need to respond to whatever idea floats into her head- with out age appropriate evaluation.  where was the " on second thought.. i won't do that".  because when a 4 year old chops their hair it is funny- they don't know better.  when the teenager does it- it's also funny- they made a choice- they just need to live with it. she's stuck between the two worlds- not 4 and not 14.

she's not only in between, she's a little bit of both-preschooler and teenager- richard scary and harry potter.   but i already know that- so really, why am i surprised. 

so i decided to be here now.  to choose not to worry about what the play-out of impulsivity may or may not look like in the future- because i don't know. i decided it's just hair - it grows.  i decided to keep it a molehill and avoid making mountains.  i decided to let it go, and to laugh, because in the grand scheme of things, it actually is pretty funny.

a really good day and some other things

it's delicious out.  and to make it even better, it has been a truly delicious day.   last night no boys woke us up with growing pains. this morning zoe not only came downstairs dressed, but with out being asked she made herself (frozen) pancakes, poured her own drink, even got out her medicine and sat down to eat.  in this process, she didn't yell at her brother, or get frustrated by how to work the microwave, it was, a moment.  i was amazed and thankful.  because for zoe, this task requires high levels of motor planning, focus, patience and initiative- i am so proud of her.

for me, that was enough- before 9:30 am we had accomplished enough.  even if the rest of the day was a scholastic disaster- i was going to be happy.  but, that was only the beginning.  she told me that she'd finished her book 'charlie and the chocolate factory' yesterday (again, on her own) and then gave me a summary of the book.   she quietly did her copy work, she motored through fractions of all things- and got it!

all i can think is, who ate zoe and left this child in her place?

we've been reading 'good queen bess' about queen elizabeth I.  she loves it, because she loves stories- and that is what history is.  today it led to all sorts of great questions- what are small pox? when did they discover germs? how did they discover them? what about microscopes? then onto the geography of great Britain and europe; then some grammar, defining parts of speech, discussing vocabulary words, even breaking down metaphors: "Walsingham's net caught many fish" when speaking of elizabeth's secretary's trap to catch mary queen of scots in treason. we discussed the nuances of 'good and evil' and tried to expand on her dichotomous, disney-esque  approach to all stories.  we talked about the layers of history and that there are different perspectives-different motives - different sides.  we talked about religion and war and violence.

it was home-schooling at it's best- organic- minimally planned- student led- really, all i did was facilitate, let her sit on my lap, and be available.  all i did was quiet my crazy mind and be still.

there is a quote from an american indian-
 "the busy mind is sick, the quiet mind is good, but the still mind is divine."

oh it would be divine to have a still mind.

zoe was off to play with her "friend with autism" and then to her social group.  so i went to get my youngest and run the dreaded 'target' errands. Target must be another name for "how to always spend  $100 when you go for household paper products".

so bryn and i are walking around finding all the things that we'd forgotten we "needed" - like spiderman socks in the dollar bin- and scotch tape.  we were in the boys section because jude's birthday is next week- and i'm noticing that pretty much everything is covered in skulls.

OK- my boys are all about them too- because of pirates- but do we really want our kids covered in creepy? i started flipping through the 75% off section of winter clothes and i'm seeing all these shirts with writing on them (and skulls- usually mixed with guitars).  the phrases on these shirts are all flip and glib and sound like they'd come out of the mouth of bart simpson.  i'm thinking how fascinating this is from a sociological perspective.  and then i come across this one, scribbly writing between drawings of skulls and roses and guitars, saying:  "not here for a long time, only here for a good time."  what? you're in kindergarten.  i hope you're hear for a long time.  and i know you don't know that huey lewis song.

and i'm thinking about my generation as parents and how we dress our kids and how it's still really all about us. i mean is there such thing as a 'cool' two year old? sometimes i want to go up and ask the decked out kid in the pink floyd prism shirt what his favorite song is on 'dark side of the moon'.  it's like our little kids have become bumper stickers- carriers of our image-they're part of our 'brand'. 

what's funny to me is that our generation plans to raise true individuals- kids who aren't just little versions of us- we're OK if they don't want to do what we do or share our views or play the sport we played- but God forbid they want to wear elmo and not the rolling stones.

we all want our kids to look good, i get it, i do too.  and if we wear concert t-shirts than it's not that weird that we'd put them on our kids- but it is amusing to see someone dressed like an 1986 burn out, toting a sippy cup and whining.

the only kid of mine who has any interest in fashion- if you can call it that- is my 4 year old.  he currently has 4 shirts that he will wear- batman, a gray north carolina outdoor store shirt, a plain navy shirt, and a grandma-found-it-on-sale nerdy gray, turquoise and red stripped long sleeve polo shirt.  i don't like any of them- but i love that he cares- that he has his own opinion- that he's differentiating.  because that's what he's supposed to do.

personally i'm a big fan of the hand-me-down.  not just because it's free- although that is definitely a plus- but because it's funny.  jude wore a shirt all summer that said "go uncle jake!" and he doesn't have an uncle jake.  and bryn got attached to a shirt covered in camels that said 'jerusalem' across the bottom- but we've never been to israel.

zoe's fashion is all about comfort- no seams in the shirts, no jeans, no tags in clothes- and the less fabric touching her skin the better.  "Zoe, you're shivering, are you Ok?"  "i'm fine."  " you do realize that you're wearing shorts and it's snowing out."  "mom! i'm fine!"

but really, what do i care who wears what- we are so lucky we have options- and it was a good day! 

i leave you with my line of designer kids shirts- images on the front- writing on the back.

                   "i'd rather be wearing elmo- but i'll take one for the team."

     
"my parents think this shirt is cool, but they don't even own the album"

                                               "i'm scared of my shirt"