better

i'm back.  back to the southern heat and the tree frogs and the humidity that starts early and stays late.  the leaves look heavier now- hanging low-burdened by the long summer- tired.  and i'm back to my life again- but in fast forward.  back to 'to do' lists and packing and final appointments and doing paperwork and remembering, ahead of time, the things i might forget.

yesterday i was in a funk.  a big and deep funk.  granted august 2nd started with us awake at midnight somewhere in south carolina driving speedily down I-77 with 3 more hours until home.  we got in at 3am - put the kids to bed and slept until they woke us up at 7.  that day re-started with frustration as mike had to go into work for the day and i was left picking up the pieces of our life that had spread out over the month of being away.  after some toast and juice and a lot of coffee, and asking the kids to brush their teeth three thousand times we finally headed out for our errands.

i love how kids think you want to do errands, and then that you want to drag them along for their company.
"but we don't want to go to the car fix-it place!"
"really?  why not? it's so fun! and i'm really excited to go! and i'm even more excited about bringing you three with me! that will be fun and much easier than if i were doing it alone!"

first we went to the car body shop to get the estimate on how much it will cost to fix the side doors that were backed into last week and found out surprise surprise, that it will cost more and take longer- of course.  i told the guy i was moving to africa in 17 days and needed to sell this car- and pleaded with him to prioritize.  he said he'd try and we left the car and walked to the rental car place.  so two hours later, and after all three kids had lost dessert for climbing across the chairs in the rental car waiting room, having a full wrestling match on the floor of the waiting room and yelling about not being able to guess that the animal was a beaver in the 20 questions game we played in the rental car waiting room , we got into our rental car and drove to the market. 

at the market i found myself questioning everything- 'shoot i forgot the look in the freezer at home, maybe we have enough food for the next 2 weeks'.  trying to explain to zoe that we won't use a giant bottle of syrup in the next 2 weeks while the boys were both shoving their watermelons into the cart on top of the potato chips as i'm saying we can only buy one. in the parking lot, i saw a pregnant woman happily walking back to her car while my kids are pushing each other to see who can get in and buckle first and i'm thinking 'lady you better think twice before you do that again!'  but i realized that i was just sleep deprived- and so were my kids.

when we got home, i discovered that our home phone and the internet were down- so life as we know it was on hold. i couldn't investigate renewing our drivers licenses, or ordering our medications from canada, or downloading various forms to be filled out.  and as frustrating as that was- i really just wanted to write.  i wanted to sit quietly, to try to be still,  to create some space for myself and to write it down here.
but it's good.  because i would have poured out all my doubt and fear and overwhelm and a whole lot of feeling sorry for myself.  because i did feel sorry for myself.  i felt like everything was going wrong and it was all unfair.

it's just that leaving is hard.  saying goodbye is hard.  and things like the last trip to the market are hard- because they remind me of that.

today has been much better.  sleep is a good thing- even when it's interrupted at 2 am with random ideas of things i don't want to forget - like a good pair of hair cutting scissors.  today we did more errands - but with out chair climbing and yelling- and only one wrestling match on the floor of target :).  today we spent the afternoon with friends at their neighborhood pool.  it was 100 degrees but the water was cool and the company was so good that i didn't even notice.  the boys played with their friends and zoe met many new friends and the entire afternoon went by without a single sticky thought from her- even in a new environment- even at a pool she'd never been to before- with kids she didn't know.

and i was thankful. 
because a year and a half after starting this blog- i can write that zoe had an afternoon with out a single moment of sticky- that she is doing so much better. thankful for my month in boston with family and old friends and for how well zoe handled that.  thankful that family that comes to help out tomorrow. and that our house is under contract. and thankful for today, for friends and cool water and sleep and being back to our lives here - even if it's only for a few more weeks. 

shut the door

i keep dreaming about scary dangerous things.  a giant african pond fish eating zoe.  a broken railroad bridge high up on a mountain that i'm traversing.  all of them have a foreign flavor- and the feeling (which is i think what they tell you to pay attention to in a dream) is a complete mix of fear, anxiety over how to handle the situation and a curiosity- like i'm watching it from afar waiting to see what will happen.  i guess it's kind of obvious why i'm having these dreams- we sort things in our sleep.

today has been scrumptious- well, except for the absolute mental block that my children have about shutting the door- when it's 96 degrees outside and i'm air-conditioning the house.

the front yard was shady, there was a breeze and my boys set up a lemonade/watermelon stand.  they sat out there trying- one of them eating the watermelon- the other one holding up the sign- we get very little foot traffic- and it was a monday morning.  "A" for effort.

on the front porch if i look up, the wooden ceiling is painted a very light blue and there is a white ceiling fan and it gives me the feeling of being at a new england beach house.  i love being able to mentally step out of one place and into another- i will miss things like this- the blue chipped painted ceiling.

two ladies in electric wheelchairs scooted by and happened to have a craving for watermelon- and they gave a 50% tip.

jude and bryn were joined by zoe, then lily and luke.

kids just hanging around on a summer morning.  it's so good to just let them be- with out agenda or plan- with out the jam-packed extracurricular schedule.

before they got the idea for the lemonade stand- jude was planning on selling himself singing a justin bieber song for the bargain of $600- i suggested he reconsider the fee,  he lowered the price to $5.95, but i think the lemonade for a dollar was the right choice. 

we had a lunch picnic on the front lawn.

and in between all that i must have screamed "SHUT THE *(&JI(&*(#) DOOR!!!!"  9 million times.  i mean i just don't get it.  how hard is it? you opened it, so why can't you shut it?  and it's not just the door- it's the toilet seat.  again- you opened it, why can't you shut it?  fo' reals'?

then we went to the pool.

today i got to play in the pool- like i did when i was a kid.  i did hand-stands in the shallow end- and forwards and backwards somersaults and just floated on my back- listening to the hum of the pool and the splashing and kicking all around.  it was fun- like kid-fun.  then i went to the deep end- i went off the diving board- front dives and back dives and again- so much fun.  it had been way too long since i've gone off a diving board and it made me think- what is wrong with me?  why have i been just hanging around the shallow end with a child on my arm- or talking on the phone or chit-chatting with someone and not playing, not doing those things i love?

has life really become just sunscreen applying, snack fetching and screaming about toilet seats and front doors being left open?

no.

but then i remembered why.

the past few years at the pool- i've had my hands completely full.  i had two little boys who didn't swim and a zoe who did, but was derailed by most things.  my anxiety meter was on high alert- my need to focus on their needs was 150%.  i was lucky if i remembered to breath. 

so today, as i played and floated and actually considered doing a flip (but in a different swimsuit) i realized how much better this summer has been.  how much better zoe is doing- coping- handling her days.   and the fact that the most annoying thing in my day is shouting "SHUT THE DOOR!"   is really a praise God moment- because believe me- i know- i remember- it could be so, so much worse!

salt and sweet and time

this morning it was windy and white outside and i sat on the porch of the inn where mike and i spent our first night ever as married people and i looked out over that gray atlantic ocean and all that granity rock and missed it.  i had spent the night alone in that inn having come up to celebrate the retirement of my 'godfather'.  i call him that, or 'uncle', but he is the man, of that generation, i'm closest to after my own father.  this morning, i looked in the mirror and tried to remember what i looked like 18 years ago-  but i just saw me looking back- with some more lines and freckles and thankfully, some maturity.

it's been a while since i've been back to new england and maybe forever since i've been back and alone.  it's beautiful and incredibly familiar and in it's rocky cragginess and shrubbery and peeling paint and un-manicured lawns, it seems realer than most other places.  like 'life' is happening- so things on the outside don't get tended to.  like in the battle with the weather and the seasons, nature wins - so you find your place in it and let things be.  and the people and their voices feel this way too.  softer in their weatheredness.  like sea glass and driftwood.  it makes me miss this place and it's deep history.

i ate breakfast quickly and walked out onto the rocks to feel that wind and smell the tide pools and seaweed and salt.  it has always given me a lonely feeling, standing on the eastern coast, because the wind comes from behind, off the land, like it's pushing you out to sea- like you're standing there alone with the world you know behind you- and you need to pay attention to what's ahead- you need to forge on.  it's a very different feeling than the west coast which seems to say- 'you're at the end, turn around and enjoy it'.

the celebration started with a lovely luncheon and then moved on to a time of music and reflection and more celebration of this man and his wife and their lives and their influence. the second part was at an amazing concert hall- small venue- newly renovated, seated on the coast line, and spectacular.  the seats all looked onto the stage, but behind the stage was a plate glass wall over looking the ocean.  so we sat looking out at the new england coast and listening to beautiful music and hearing about the impact that two people can have on a community.  i kept envisioning how cool it would be to watch a storm come in from this concert hall, with a moving piano piece being played on that steinway and a few candles- how powerful that would be.

but most of the time i sat in my seat with my eyes leaking.  that's how it felt.  they were leaking.  i wasn't anywhere near the ugly cry, i was just silently leaking tears.  i was full up and it had to come out. 

the hour was a celebration of a job well done, of a marriage well grown, of a commitment to vision, integrity, humility, following God, and influencing wherever you are. so i cried because i felt blessed to have been part of it, of them.  and i cried because of time and life's movement and its seasons. and how this community of people, these peers of my parents,  have suddenly become my grandparents age, and some people who were couples are now widows, and there are hearing aids and canes and cancer.  and now i'm getting close to the age that my parents were when i got married- in this community- with these people.  and i couldn't help thinking about what will happen in the next 18 years- or even 8 years.  who's lives will we celebrate because they're over, not just retired?  and whose celebrations will we miss living so far away?  and will there be regrets? 

but that ocean stood back there behind it all- that old, old ocean that's been there forever and as the music ranged from spirituals to jazz, my soul grasped the poignancy of sadness sitting beside joy and thanks, again.  like how the flavors of sweet are brought out and so much better with the salty.  and then we stood to sing, and i did with my voice cracking,
'this cornerstone, this solid ground,
firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
what heights of love, what depths of peace,
when fears are stilled, when striving cease
my comforter, my all in all-
here in the love of Christ i stand.'

so cracking and leaking and listening and looking i found some answers to those questions. 
go where you feel you should go.
influence where you are- wherever that is.
grow your marriage and your relationships.
be committed to your vision, to integrity, to humility.
live in the heights of love and the depths of peace.
trust the firmness of the solid ground.
be stilled in the comfort.

and like that salty craggily new england coast, this community will be here, in some form, as it was 18 years ago, as it is now. we are made of salt and sweet and mineral- and life flavors all of us. and our stories, our words, our music will live on and influence others.  but it is who we allow ourselves to be in this world that makes the biggest impact, wherever we are.

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!

sparkly ( i love that word)

it was a really long day at work- at the end of a long week- but i'm home now- out on the back porch. the evening is spectacular- warm and quiet and sparkly as the house and street lights begin to come on and the sky darkens and the trees are still naked so you can see through them to more little lights- from other peoples houses.   so i can feel alone- but surrounded- at the same time.

it's been almost a year since i began writing here and i'm so thankful. much growth that has come out of it.  writing down the days of my life, the minutes even, forces me to pause, and breathe, and step back and see it differently.  where i start when i write and where i end up- are different.  i gain perspective and meaning- i see it clearly- the ugly parts become more beautiful- the beautiful parts become more special and life-giving, and i become happier- renewed-able to go on.  if i was walking- i leave running, standing- i leave skipping, or sitting- i might leave crawling- but at least i'm moving- and my soul, stills.

a lot has happened this year.  i've found some parts that were missing, and let go of some parts that were weighing me down and i feel much more whole- put together.  i think zoe does too.  it's been a good year. for her. for me. we've grown and changed.  and we will again. 

i've been thinking about the orchestration of things- about divine intervention- and how things have worked together- about what i've learned.  looking back now i see how zoe's dark season- led to life blooming in a new way.  stepping off the track of academic medicine and into the life of homeschooling and home-making and spending hours with my kids- has given me so much more than i ever thought (despite my grumpy valentines post).  it's given me time and space and knowledge - not just about zoe, but about each of them- their needs, their strengths, their struggles.

it's given me small things.  small, very valuable things- a moment walking to school in silence except for the rain- making a paper house for a lego man- explaining about how a horn works- listening to someone thank God for the heater coming on- and a cake being baked. holding them, smelling their hair- watching their independence grow.

and all this time and space and change has freed us to think about life outside of the box - to let go of the things we thought mattered, or should matter- and refocus the lens on the things that really do matter.  listening to our lives.  giving to others.  living fully into what we're called into. not being afraid.  taking risks.  trusting God. and all this has opened our hearts to uganda.

writing here has enabled me to process and to find balance.  to remember who i am- and why we're doing what we're doing- to have hope- to choose joy- and that it's OK to forget that and have to start again the next day.  and i've found a beautiful community of people who get it- who walk a similar walk.  yet what's become most clear- is that we all walk the same path, different versions, different speeds, carrying different amounts of baggage at different times- but none the less, the same.  i share this path with my patients living with terminal illness- and i share it with my friends and their appearingly perfect lives with typical children.  it's just not so complicated.  it's just not so separate.

i've learned i'm not alone.  far from it. i'm surrounded. there is unity, and peace.  out of the darkness has come light- little white lights- of possibilities and hope.  sparkly lights.

night is full now.  but it's still warm and through the leafless branches, the sky is twinkling too.

lessons from the high

today we went to the high museum of art.  as hard as it's been for me to let go of copywork and math sheets and reading summaries and our history text- i've decided that we need to embrace the freedom we have in homeschooling- and explore and embrace atlanta before we leave it.  this was met by resistance from zoe- before she knew what the change was going to be- because she announced, that she just hates change- no matter what it is. but i actually think she liked today- except for the fact that i was too cheap to pay for parking and we had to walk in the 'cold' for a while.

when we got there- she was being a brat.  everything was a problem- the path we'd walked was different- it was too cold- she wanted to see mikes work (even though he's not there)- then she did the wiggly walk when we arrived at the museum.  i was super annoyed.  can't we just go to the museum and enjoy ourselves?  then she admitted that she was feeling kind of nervous, as she clutched her 'powerpuff girl plush toy' (as she calls it).  she felt like there were a lot of people around- which was weird because there really weren't.  and i had that tremendously conflicted feeling.  the feeling of completely not getting it, not understanding how someone could feel anxiety or anticipatory anxiety, in a nearly empty art museum- but also of knowing how bad anxiety feels and hating it for her. but the larger feeling was truly, annoyance.  

we were going to see the toulouse-lautrec exhibit.  to get there we walked through the modern art collection.  this was nice space- big, bright, and empty except for the  gallery guards.  the paintings are also large and it's quiet and zoe began to calm down.  in the toulouse exhibit, there was a tour group - a bunch of high school kids and people talking loudly about the paintings and zoe didn't like it- she wanted to go back to the enormous white walls, and scalloped renzo piano ceiling of the modern art section- and so we did.  but zoe wouldn't be zoe with engagement.  so she be-friended the haitian guard and the two of them discussed each piece on the floor. 

which was his favorite and why?

what about the next piece? who had painted it? where were they from?

how did the get the canvas into the shape of lips?  

and on and on.

he loved it.  and as we got ready to move to the next floor she thanked him so much, asked him his name, and then thanked him again, by name.

"zoe" he said, " you've made my day!"

again.  my girl.  je ne sais quoi.
her greatness- in her servanthood- putting others first.  

she seems to know what she needs to do to calm down.  she also seems to know what other people need.  after her stroll through modern art- she was done with her anxiety- she had transitioned and we were off.  

as i watched her- i tried to step back and and see her through their eyes.  hundreds of kids come in each week and how many of them stop to speak with the guards?  how many stop to ask which paintings they love as they stand in that gallery all day?  i realized, knowing zoe, that her questions aren't generated out of a desire for  knowledge about the paintings themselves.  in fact if we were on a guided tour, she'd either tune out, or say it's boring.  what she loves is hearing about other peoples lives- she loves connecting with them.

my annoyance melted away and my pride in her grew.  we'll get there - i realized- 

with some grace and some love- we'll both get there.

learning to choose

after all my angst, and all my self-pity, zoe did great yesterday.

i got the full report from my friend.  she sledded with the other girls for about an hour, and then they played inside.  there was no drama.  there was no stickiness.  at the end of the time two of the girls wanted to walk to the park and sled more- my friend knew this would be too far and too much for zo- so she told her she could stay and play at the house until i came to get her.  this could have/ often would have- been a perfect melt down opportunity. but she just said she was disappointed and went to play with lily's new harry potter lego kit.

when she came home- i asked her how her afternoon was.  i'm thinking "fabulous! i played with the girls, we had fun, i didn't get upset- it was great!".  and i got, "i'm really jealous that lily has a harry potter lego kit and i don't!" in a really whinny voice as she stomped her feet.

and this is where, once again, i talk before thinking.  i said, "really?!?  that is your take home of the day?  i heard you did great! and that you had fun! and that you weren't sticky- and all you have to say is that your jealous about some legos?"

i didn't stop to think that probably- she was absolutely exhausted because of how good her afternoon was, because it takes her so much energy to follow along- to not be anxious- to not be overwhelmed- to stay with the conversation- and to manage her body on really icy hills and sidewalks when her vestibular system sends her different messages, and when it's really cold and she's wet and her sensory system is on overdrive. that for her- it's running a social marathon.  that not melting down about being left behind when the other girls went on to the park- was huge for her- and took a lot of work.

she said, "well, i didn't tell lily i was jealous, i didn't get upset, i saved it until now."

therein lies the greatness. the progress.  the growth.

because it's not about being 'cured' of her ways of thinking- it's about learning how to respond to her thoughts and emotions- about when to reign it in, and when it's safe to let it out.  it's about knowing that even if you feel upset that you can't go to the park- that your portion of the playdate is over, and you channel it into being jealous about some legos; that it would be weird to say that out loud.  and she got that- she did it.

i was so proud of her.  i said "high five for that good choice!" she said "no, i'm not doing well right now".  i told her what a big deal it was that she is not victimized by her sticky thoughts.  that she is learning to choose how manage her feelings- when to share them, when not to- that home is safe- she can go to that place of letting it out with us- that we get her.

it still trips me up that she doesn't know how to take a compliment- that she minimizes her successes. and that she doesn't seem to feel the joy she should feel when she triumphs socially. it could be a sign of her oblivion. that she just doesn't really care that much.  that maybe she really does care more about legos than relationships.  but i don't think so.  i think it's because she's a perfectionist- in all ways.  and she knows even though she didn't get sticky or upset-it probably doesn't classify as social triumph. she knows she's different and she didn't feel connected with those girls.  or maybe she did, but she was disappointed in not going to the park with them and it was channeled into jealousy.  i don't know.

what i do know is that peace doesn't come from no sticky thoughts.  peace doesn't come from no meltdowns in public- although i often fool myself into thinking that.  peace comes from being OK with what happens- whatever it is. peace comes from the stillness. and just as she is learning to make choices about how to manage her behavior, i'm learning to make choices about being still.

today my celtic book of prayer reading was:  "Stillness must begin in the heart.  It is a decision, an active choice, to become still, to still your soul. Sometimes, it is as if there is a bunch of monkeys in the tree-which-is-your-mind; and you will not still them by shouting.  If you speak quietly and gently- peace will result."

my mind often feels full of monkeys. and i'm not great at speaking quietly nor gently.  i need to move into actively choosing stillness. practicing it.  and ironically- zoe will be my inspiration.  

blue green flame

snow makes everything so unbelievably quiet.  you can see the passage of time by the inches of white on the tree branches- on the railings. and things seems smaller, closer and i feel smaller.  foot prints just left, soon gone- our impact on the world, covered.  we are reminded of the earth as it was before us, and as it will be- which feels forgottenly natural.

merry christmas!

the winter in north carolina feels very edwardian.  in the living room, there is a fire in the fireplace constantly and people sit and read, and play and talk.  people go off for walks after meals and then return to sit and be around the fireplace.  there is good food and lots of it, and surprisingly little media. time for being still with others.

today zoe was sitting by the fire, just staring into it pensively.  she was noticing the different colors of the flames- the small flickers of green and blue that sometimes appear. she was quiet- which is rare, she had no toys around her, which is rare.  i asked her what she was thinking about.  "nothing."  but she was thinking. a few minutes later she asked if i really wanted to  know what she was thinking about and i said yes.

she said she'd "let her feelings get the best of her".
i asked what she meant.
she said she was thinking about living in san francisco and remembering people there and certain memories- some which were good and some which were bad and some that made her mad.  she felt confused about it and overall- sad- and then bad that she'd let all this affect her.

i told her this feeling was called nostalgia.  what a complicated feeling it is.  a feeling made up of so many feelings- a feeling i know well.  she had interpreted her confusion with it as isolating. as part of her nonverbal learning disability.  no, i told her, it's a confusing feeling for all of us- it is something we all share. i told her she'd described it really well.  that her affect- her somberness- her pensivity, was very appropriate.  she had beautifully shown and spoke of her feelings.

this is a big deal. this is a big change.  usually for zoe- complicated emotions are overwhelming- and their sum is anger or frustration- and that is what gets communicated.  she doesn't like the confusion- she doesn't know what to do with feelings that seem to contradict each other- joy and happiness mixed with sadness.  she already doesn't like feeling sad- so confusing sad- really gets her mad.  this is another step in her growth, like watching 'where the red fern grows'.    (www.bestillandknowkw.blogspot.com/2010/10/where-red-fern-grows.html)

this is a really important step in her right brain development.  to allow herself to feel and process complex emotions- to not just react to them- to not avoid them.  i explained to her that feeling nostalgic is a normal and important human emotion- that feeling it connects her- it doesn't isolate her- but that when we're feeling nostalgic we often do feel alone in our memories- and that is OK.  that is part of the feeling.  she had a brief moment of mild stickiness- she calmly asked why i hadn't told her this before. (that is one her "sticky thoughts"- the "why didn't you tell me that before?" said randomly over very silly things like in response to me saying " i just had a delicious muffin".) i explained that it's a more grown up emotion and it's the first time she'd really expressed it in a way that we could talk about it. i told her i was so proud of her for sitting with the feeling- for letting herself be in that place i know was uncomfortable for her, and then for so eloquently sharing it.

i'm looking ahead to this next year.  this year of major preparation- of house selling and fund raising and packing but of also of living and working and teaching.  i'm looking back at this first half of our homeschooling "5th grade" year- at what we've accomplished and what we've not finished.  i so easily get lost in the specifics, in the schedule, in the grammar of it- the minor keys.  so it's good to have this break - this time of reflection- of step back- of big picture viewing. a time to be reminded of our real goals.  to sit by the fire with her as the snow falls.  to see a flicker of her deep learning- that blue-green flame in the midst of the roaring fire.

where the red fern grows

moments of break through come at the strangest times- or in the strangest ways. today it came with a movie from my childhood.

this week has been a great home-school week for zoe and me.  we've calmly worked- we've not over done it- but a lot of learning has taken place.

she now goes to two classes through the LEAD home school organization and she goes by herself. this is big.  she's with about 6-8 kids and one teacher and she's doing it! she's learning- she's not horribly distracted or distracting ( or at least i haven't heard about it if she is).  she likes it.  she's made some friends.  she is happy.  at home this gives us a bit of structure- we need to get things done to work around the classes- it's good motivation.

today she had class and then we came home and were able to get through a lot of things- copy work, math, poetry, piano, greek mythology, grammar, and vocabulary.  i actually didn't hear the words "OH why did you help me!" not even once!  even when i helped her remember how to play two of her songs on the piano- she thanked me.  she wanted to 'google' information on the vikings- her class is on vikings- so we did this. and this lead to looking for a movie about vikings since we'd accomplished so much.  we couldn't find one- but we did find "where the red fern grows".

now i'm remembering this from my childhood- the book and the movie.  i'm remember it being about a boy and his beloved dogs.  i remember it being very poignant and a bit sad- but i can't remember why.  so i tell zoe that it's a great movie and set her up to watch.  she eats lunch and is fully engaged in the movie and i'm running around cleaning up and periodically watching scenes with her.  then i sit to watch the last 10 minutes.  the part when one of the dogs, big dan, dies trying to protect his sister dog and billy his owner.  it's very sad.  then it gets worse.  the sister dog, little annie, dies of grief over big dan's death and over their graves the red fern grows.  zoe is trying to process this.  she's upset and curious about why and how little annie actually dies.  so we talk about it, about the sorrow and about the loss.  and then she wants to see her dog, so she feeds her and watches her eat. and then she looses it.

she says, "this is just so sad!" and starts weeping.  and she's sitting on the floor crying.  so i gathered her up and sat her on my lap- and then it turned into anger.  she was angry at me.  "why did you tell me to watch this terrible movie!" and she began trying to pinch me and slap me (in her very gentle zoe way of not actually wanting to hurt me, but to explain her feelings).  i reminded her that there were beautiful parts and sad parts to the movie- the boy's love and friendship with his dogs was beautiful, and that their dying really is sad and that it's OK to feel it.  that i was so proud of her - because it meant that she understood how billy felt.  that she was able to relate - that she could empathize.  i told her not to confuse sadness with anger- that they are separate- that sadness isn't always bad.  for zoe anger is easier.  anger is daily, she runs from sad and i'm not fully sure why.  i told her it's OK to cry and allow herself to feel sorrow.  that understanding other peoples feelings is a really important part of living.  and she put down her little fists and cried in my arms.

this is huge.

this is progress.

this is her right brain engaged.

zoe has never reacted much to movies except for humor.  unlike all her friends or classmates or brothers, she was never scared at a disney film or cried during ET.  she wasn't able to relate on that level- she didn't connect herself to the story line- to the characters. 

we hit another developmental milestone.

we're working on holding that tension- not avoiding an entire movie because of a sad ending, not all or nothing, living with the good and the hard-having the ability to feel  the spectrum of emotion- because that is real. that is life.

it's another velveteen rabbit moment- zoe becoming more real, more alive. and it hurts. but it's worth it.