full exposure

ok- just so you know it's still me, i'll share a few things opposite of bird songs and monkeys in trees :).

today i found out that my eyelids are puffy and itching like crazy because of my new mosquito net.  and today i was acutely reminded that, "oh right! i have a child with special needs."  today i was reminded that my life, where ever i am, is usually lived with my underwear sticking out.  i just can't get away from that, try as i may.

today zoe had her first 'melt down' since we've moved.  today poor zoe got overwhelmed, and our poor new friends had to deal with it, friends who were helping me out so we could buy a kerosene lantern and some fabric, friends who don't really know me yet and who don't know zoe. 

i was standing on the side of the road bargaining for a bamboo shelving unit for the bathroom when the phone rang and zoe was crying.  she'd been playing, she'd gotten a sticky thought, she'd gotten upset, she'd started crying and yelling and yes, even, throwing things.  gulp.  that is bad.  poor zoe.  poor poor friends experiencing this, trying to help this, trying to know what to do with this. trying to wrap their heads around this.

they were generous.  they were gentle.  they helped her get home to her safe place.  but then everyone is left with the pieces.

the pieces of our lives that we do know.  exposed.  that at some point the other shoe always falls.  that when things are good for a while, all that means is that things have been good for a while- nothing else. that moving to a new place, with new people means learning all over again how to package things- how to help other people package things.  and that is hard.  and that is even painful. 

in thinking it over, this is our first move since shoes began falling fo' reals'- or being thrown as the case may be.  four and a half years ago when we moved to atlanta, we moved with people, and to people, friends and family who had known zoe for years.  people who, even if they didn't get her, loved her.  and four and a half years ago, zoe was 7 and life was easier for her, and for us.  she was different but not out of control.  and differences at 7 are much less obvious than differences at 11, expectations at 7 are much less than expectations at 11.  so this move, i knew would be hard.

and we had 4 really good days.  days when i thanked God but then didn't allow myself to think about it because i didn't want to jinx it (all subconsciously of course).  and i fault myself for not being more careful with her.  not being protective, not being precautionary or preventative.  instead i held my breath and jumped.  i acted in a bit of denial, i took advantage of those good days, i trusted them, when i think i should have known better, known that she needed more support and so did our new friends. 


but that is what happens sometimes.  you think for a moment that maybe life can be normal- or kind of normal.  or, you forget what your normal is. 


so after the call from crying zoe, and florence the lovely woman who was caring for her, and after a preparatory text from a friend about the incident, mike and i took the bamboo shelves and came home.  and i began my rounds of checking on zoe and those holding her pieces. 

and that is when i realized that i had moved. 

that i had left my deep rooted supports on the other side of the world, across a giant ocean and several time zones.  that is when it hit me that i have landed, at 40, with my kind of messy life,  in a new place where i need to navigate new supports, and explain my very complicated child.


it's not hard to leave stuff.  it's not hard to leave clean water from your faucets, and reliable electricity.  it's hard to leave people who know you.  who have seen the ugly cry and still like you.  who have helped you collect the pieces after you've fallen to bits.


so i went back to my house, and cried.

which was good. 
and real. 
and mike who knows me, held on to me and we talked, and then we talked with zoe. 
and we talked about the hard stuff- for all of us.  we tried to help her understand other peoples perspectives and feelings.  we tried to help her understand her feelings and to begin to recognize when she's feeling overwhelmed and to know that is when it's time to go, to re-group, to call us, to get some help.  and we told her if she ever threw anything again she would be throttled- ok- not really, but that she would lose an american girl doll.  we also apologized that we'd not been around today to help her navigate her world.


tonight the sun set at 7 as it has, as it will.  tonight i miss the long southern summer nights and i miss old friends. but the electricity is on so thankfully i can write which always helps put the pieces back together.  and i know that my far away friends are still there, that tonight they will look at the same moon i see now.  and i know that these kind, gentle new friends will be ok with the pieces- the exposed bits- the messiness of our life- besides they're stuck with us for a while :).

so i will be still and know.