the chickens have hatched

if you had told me 5 years ago when we were leaving san francisco- that our move to atlanta would be temporary- that  the special education schools for zoe wouldn't actually work out- that her anxiety would peak and she'd need to be home schooled, that i'd be barely working to do this, that we would then sell our home, leave our jobs and move to africa as missionaries, i would have had a hard time believing it.  if 3 years ago, you'd have told me that this child, who i struggled to teach even with much support, would thrive in africa, make good friends and be accepted at a typical school- i would have laughed. out. loud. 

but this is how God works.  this is how he rolls.  he sits back and says, "watch this!" 

just like my dream when i was pregnant with jude- he holds us when we cry- he tells us we have no idea what we can handle-he says, "i know" when we are screaming about how much we hate our current situation.  "i know" in a loving way- in a "i'm feeling it with you" way- "you are not alone."

when we moved to uganda, we basically assumed that we'd be homeschooling zoe for at least as long as we were here.  period.  we'd done some research- there weren't any special education schools in uganda and getting into a typical school was not on the table. 

when the boys started at their international elementary school zoe was jealous.  she said she wanted to go to school- i think it was her kind way of saying - i'm getting too old to have you guys as my teachers. as the school year progressed it became clear to me that i was done.  that i had reached my limit of whatever patience God had granted me to teach her- that this season was ending.  i felt guilty about this until i realized that it was a reasonable thing to want to just be her mom- and to do that really well-because no one else can fill this role, but there are other people who can teach her.  thankfully, it soon became apparent that the reason that i was done, was because she was done too.  and that is most important. 

so we prayed and prayed and trusted, and looked frantically for a tutor, which we thankfully found.  zoe was still begging to go to the boys school on friday for their weekly assembly- she wanted to see her friends - some of the girls she'd met at school functions, and the teachers, and other parents.  she was thirsty for more social interaction.  and my heart panged a few times, i just wanted semi-normal.

if any of you have kids who are differently-abled, kids who aren't the norm, who struggle with things that most people in the world don't have to struggle with- you know those heart pangs.  you want so desperately for you child to feel the deep joy of relationships that you've felt- you want your child to not have to experience constant failure and rejection from their peers.  you know that 'normal' isn't an option- you've become okay with that, but you want peace, smiles, growth, for both of you.  basically you would cut off both your own arms and probably your legs- for your child to be happy- in whatever form that happy is.  yes.  i would give my limbs for her - as i know most of you would.

then i heard that the boys school was starting a special education class.  they had found a teacher- and were going to be enrolling for the next year.  wow- i thought- that is GREAT!  and i was so proud that this school of my boys was embarking on a tough but needed adventure.  it didn't occur to me that zoe could go.  but i know she loves working with children like herself- that she is gifted at connecting with other differently-abled kids.  i mentioned that maybe zoe could come in once a week to be a 'helper' for the new class.  we are trying to build on her strengths- to encourage growth in the area's that she excels in.

about a month ago- the same day we found out that rose could come be with us, the school said they might be able to take zoe.  wow. what? wow.  i hadn't asked for that.  i hadn't even prayed for that- in fact all i was saying was 'thanks for the tutor for next year' and 'help- no really help me until she comes!"  zoe was invited to come for an interview.  so we gathered her massive packet of diagnostic and IEP papers, thankfully scanned and emailed by her last school in atlanta, and headed to meet with the school.  she would need to take some tests, math, reading, and writing.   oh dear. 

so i lowered the expectations even further.  i figured now this will be it.  prepare yourself, i thought, prepare them.  i told them to expect that she might leave the math paper blank or instead of writing draw characters from a preschool show in the margins.  but she did fine- not stellar- but fine.

yesterday i got the call. my heart sank when i heard the head teacher on the phone.  i was expecting an email so i figured she called to deliver the bad news, to let me down gently.  but. 

they were happy to take her- it was a unanimous decision- she had a space in the year six class- with some support from their special education teachers- with an IEP- with agreed upon expectations- with a lot of communication.   people want to make this work- people want her to be there- people are willing to take a risk. wow. wow.

it's hard to describe the feeling of pure joy and excitement i had.  it's hard to describe what this feels like when your life was turned upside down for a few years. when something you really didn't imagine possible, happens.  it was beautiful.  it is beautiful.

we'll have to see how it goes. 
i've learned there are no guarantees- that the floor falls out from beneath us often- to expect the unexpected- to be flexible or you'll break.  i've learned that we need plan b, and c, and usually d.  but hiding in all our lives- in all those paths from a- d and in between- there is such surprise and beauty waiting.  there is always something to learn, to experience, to grow us, to hold on to.  so we'll try- we'll be thankful and hopeful and eager and nervous and trusting and still. 

yes we will try to be still and know that he is God- who loves to surprise us.

to be reminded

i accidentally made africa when i was pouring ghee into the gluten-free cookie mix someone sent.

it was funny because i was having a moment.

i was drinking a starbucks 'via' (their instant coffee which i kind of used to laugh at but now LOVE) and i was remembering the idea of a' to go' latte- and that i could even pick one up while at target.  i was remembering how much easier life can be in the US where they sell pre-made gluten-free everything, and where you can run out and pick things up at the market 24 hours a day and what you want will always be there.  i was missing those conveniences as i scraped the ghee into the bowl- hoping the power wouldn't go out- and feeling maybe a little bit sorry for myself.

then i looked down and saw this and i laughed because really, i love it here.
it's these little things that remind us we are exactly where we are supposed to be.

today i stayed home with zoe to teach her because mike was at a science and technology curriculum retreat in kampala.  i was planning on going to work, because it's monday, and we were going to let zoe 'fend for herself'- ie: attempt to do the work left out for her, in the company of florence.  it didn't really sound like a 'good idea' but might be passable as a 'fine idea' or a 'necessary evil'.  until i woke up at 5:30 to get everyone out the door and realized that it wasn't necessary, but might be evil, as she's been having a rough few days.  so i decided to be a mom, and stay home, i decided to choose her.  she was greatly relieved that i was staying home and went back to sleep for an hour, so i had time to prepare.  i wasn't preparing a lesson, or a schedule, i was preparing myself.  to be calm, and present and who she would need today.

i grabbed some coffee, my bible and the nouwen lenten readings and went out on the porch.  it was quiet and peaceful in that way that is before most of the world wakes up.  i opened the bible and it fell to the place where i'd randomly stuck the picture of zoe age two that stays in there as a reminder.  it's a reminder of how adorable she is, and how far we've come.

but the real reminders are written on the back.

"i didn't ask for this"
"remember my strengths"
love not anger














it had been stuck in the middle of the book of jeremiah where i read,  "I am the Lord, the God of all mankind.  Is anything too hard for me?"

it's amazing how much i need to look at that picture and read the back.  it's amazing how much i needed to hear those ancient words- to be reminded that no, nothing is too hard for Him.  it was enough.  so i looked far off into the just brightening sky and said quietly,

"most things are too hard for me.
this day will have pieces that are too hard for me.
sometimes zoe is too hard for me.  most times i'm too hard for me.
but i'm not too hard for you, and neither is zoe, so i think we'll be okay.
i will lean on this, on You.
You are enough."

and it was a very good day.

just being a mom

today was fantastic. beautiful. the best all week.  i'd like to say it was because home schooling went really well with zoe, or because i saved someones life in clinic, but it was the opposite.  it was fabulous because i didn't have to watch her spend 40 minutes copying 4 sentences, or tell me she didn't want help, and i didn't have to see sick small children who can't get the treatment they need.  today i ran away, kind of.  today i didn't home school zoe, or go to clinic, but i spent the day with mike in kampala. today, i took a break.

we are beginning our sixth month in africa.  we are beginning a season of discernment.  the process of gaining keen insight or judgement.  we are praying for wisdom here, guidance, as there are so many amazing opportunities to serve, that we'll know the right ones, that we'll focus well, that we'll do what we should do, and not just do what is easiest or what comes up first.  that we'll have vision and perspective.

so as we bumped along the road into the city, with zoe happily behind with florence and a list of schoolish things to do, i blurted out the keen insight i think i've been given over the past few weeks.  and it went something like this,
"i don't think i can do much more of this home school thing!  i think i might be done! i mean after 2 years, i think i'm ready to just be zoe's mom, because at the end of the day, after being with her all day, and listening to her nonstop talking, dealing with her absurdly slow pace, and her inability to focus on anything,  i kind of want to throttle her.  really.  and i don't want to feel that, or say that, or be that.  i just want to be the one who listens to her day, and tells her it's okay, and is excited to tuck her in bed at night.  i want to do the other stuff, the things i was trained to do, i want to be a doctor, and teach highly motivated and eager-to-learn graduate students, and i want to write.  is that awful? am i terrible?"

it felt so good to say it out loud.  i think it had been stirring for a while, brewing around in me, and i was pushing it down and feeling badly for thinking it.  but once i heard myself say it, i didn't feel badly anymore- i felt kind of free. and thankfully he said no, that i wasn't awful or terrible.

this year, he started helping with the home schooling.  he does two days, i do three.  i'll admit, there was a part of me that was really nervous that he'd be better at it. because he's really smart and good at most things, and much more patient than i am, and able to hold back whatever impatient words might come to his mind.  i imagined that she'd love monday and tuesday and thrive in the beginning of the week, only to fall apart with me in the end of it.  that mr. patient would serve to emphasize my impatience, that i would be the bummer parent, that i'd hear, "why can't you just be like dad!" basically that i'd fail in comparison.  but.  the joy of sharing the responsibility of her education, of not being the one holding the keys, quickly outweighed my insecurities. and it turns out he is really good at it- thankfully, and he really enjoys it (for now) and zoe appreciates both of us.  but the best part is, i realized i don't care if he's better at it, or if she likes him better as a teacher.  turns out, i care most about just being her mom.  i care so much about being her mom- that if home schooling is getting in the way of me doing that well, maybe it needs to go. there are lots of people who could teach her- i'm her only mom.

i spent the first hour talking this out, and once i'd said it, i felt better.  we didn't reach any big conclusions or make any sort of decisions- but we had a great day. and i came home and was so happy to see my kids, even and especially zoe, because today i was just her mom. 

zoe and her lip gloss smile

zoe's home school day.....

we put up the Christmas tree.  we made snowflakes ornaments.
we did her hair, i let her try make up- it was girly- it was fun.

we made faces.  and we smiled a lot.

she has a great smile.
i love to see that girl smile.

"We worry about what a child will become tomorrow, yet we forget that he is someone today. " ~Stacia Tauscher

unfinished business

i'm having a hard time with things being left unfinished in my life.  i feel like it keeps happening.  my books come, but i can't unpack because i don't have bookcases.  i go to buy bookcases and the varnish isn't dry so we need to come back.  i go to take out money and the atm isn't working.  i'm at the market and we realize because of the traffic we've run out of time and need to leave to get back for a function, so i can't finish the marketing.  we bought a lantern for when the power goes out, but didn't by the kerosene.  life seems continually unfinished.

when i look around, there is a lot of unfinished. 
roads.  buildings that grow progressively less finished as you move up the stories.  the ground level will be inhabited.  the next level will be complete but vacant, the third level will be painted, but missing doors or windows, the fouth level, unpainted and doorless, and the top might just be some partially constructed skeleton beams- no doors or windows or even walls. 

and this is hard for me, because i'm a finisher.  to the point of being ocd about it.  once it's started, it needs to be finished. i need the morning-time routine - finished, not lingering on for an hour.  i won't leave the kitchen until i've finished putting away what i was cooking with and the dishes are rinsed.  if i've decided it's time to write 'thank you' cards- i can't stop until they are done.

now this can be a great quality.  but it can also be a not so great thing.  i can get a lot done, but i can drive people, including myself, a little crazy.  it's a type A thing and it can get in the way.  when i home school zoe, it gets in the way.  i struggle with flexibility and i struggle with the big picture.  i can get so obsessed with completion that i lose focus on what we were completing.  i lose the learning goal in the finishing goal.  and it leaves me constantly feeling like Rabbit from Winnie the pooh. 
"we've got to keep on schedule!" 
and i hate Rabbit from Winnie the pooh.  i always wanted to be kanga or tigger or even owl- but not rabbit. 

today was the boys first day of school.  jude cried and said he wanted to be home-schooled.  zoe was begging to please go to school and not be home-schooled.  bryn we pretty much fine.  i need to jump into it with zoe.  i need to pay attention to her.  i need to shift gears.  i need to transition out of transition mode and into routine, into regular. but i have some fear in starting.

it's probably all related to the unfinished business.  the problem with being a finisher is that starting can be intimidating- because you know yourself- you know what starting means- so it's a big commitment.

maybe it needs to be broken into bits.  maybe it needs to be taken in pieces, in weeks, in days, in moments.  maybe my finishing needs to be broken down too.  maybe success needs to be redefined.
at least i have the lantern, picked out the bookcases, got the bare necessities at the market.  at least someone is occupying the first floor, while the rest is built.  maybe zoe's learning process while she works on the task at hand.  and maybe that is what i'm still learning too.

the difference between butterflies and moths

tomorrow we fly to san francisco.  tomorrow we see yoyo! the first time since i met him in ethiopia.  it's been 6 months- it seems far off- but it seems so close.  it's all coming back.  the bizarre flight on ethiopian air, the dusty city, some dilapidated bits, goats and cars and people sharing roads, our glamorous hotel, beautiful people,  beautiful language and script, the orphanage, the routine, the order, the kids, yohannes.  meeting the people who were birthing themselves into parenthood.  the privilege.  our morning coffee and pastries while the BBC blared on and on about the trapped miners and the murder of the kidnapped english aid worker, with our view of the pool and in the distance the city and the slums.  and me, feeling so tired by my life, that for the first time i lacked the conflict that follows me into the third world, for the first time i was nothing but thankful that i was living at the sheraton for the week.  and i was able to let myself go.  sometimes i can close my eyes and go back there- to all the foreignness and escape and removal and freedom - to the exit of my life and the entrance into other peoples lives.

today i realized how desperately i need another break like that.  i realized it because i was snapping over things that shouldn't be snapped at.  that i'm loosing the mystery of the little ones- it's being covered in logistics and todo's and so i need to break - and to then return.

today i found myself responding with way more words than were necessary- i was responding to zoe's need with my own need.  i was going down that path of ' it might be boring, but it's either boring now or it's boring for the rest of your life.  because if you don't learn- if you don't try - you'll be stuck doing a really boring job'.  it wasn't helpful, it fell on deaf ears.

then i saw a butterfly outside the boys window- except i was pretty sure it was a moth.  i called zoe over to look at it.  she thought it was a butterfly, and was sure it was a 'she'.  it was brown on the outside of the wings- perfectly camouflaged- i thought it was an old dead leaf-  but revealed a cool orange pattern on the outstretch. i thought she was kind of thick and furry- moth-like, but held her wings like a butterfly- proud and vertical, like if you were lucky, she'd show you what was on the inside.

so we went to the computer and researched the difference between moths and butterflies- and decided that it was a butterfly.  it comes down to antennae shape, wing position while resting and the time of the day or night that the insect is out and about.  and while we ran between the computer and the butterfly, and i listened to zoe describe it, listened to zoe respond to my questions:
'i wonder what it eats?'
'it doesn't eat it drinks- it drinks the juice of fallen fruit.'
'how do you know that?'
'from go-diego-go.'
'oh'

i remembered that this is the best way to learn. especially for her.  that i have been really boring as a teacher lately and unengaged with her learning these weeks.  and that i need to trust her more.  she's not staring blankly at the TV, or a book, or at the backyard.  she is taking it in, storing it somewhere and able to recall it.

i thought about the difference between the two insects. the butterfly so elegant and graceful and purposeful and welcomed.  an insect that people create gardens to attract, that are thought of as good luck, that we chase and observe- almost bird like.  but the moth- we're annoyed by.  blindly flapping towards whatever looks most like a light- bumbling and unfocused and icky- eating sweaters and scarves.  something to be avoided, to scare off with distinctly scented balls and cedar chests.

but when still, when sitting, they are hard to distinguish.  a check list is needed.  there is cross-over.   our extreme versions of what comes to mind when we hear 'butterfly' vs. 'moth'- is not as extreme in nature.

a few hours later, when the boys were home, zoe called down from her room that she was supposed to be cleaning,   'come quickly! something beautiful just flew into my room!'
'is it a butterfly?" shouted bryn.
'i hope it's not a bird' i said.
' maybe its a dead mouse!' exclaimed jude hopefully.
' how could a dead mouse fly into .. oh never mind!' i said.

and there in zoe's room was a moth- desperately flapping and banging itself into the one closed window trying to get out.

'see how beautiful she is!'
'lets free her zo' and i grabbed the guitar to unlatch the window so i wouldn't risk it flapping on my hand.
and we watched her fly away.

' i guess i'm pretty lucky with butterflies and moths today!' zoe said.
' i guess so'

there it is again.  her blind ability to just love.  to not be bothered by furriness or antennae shape or wing position or purpose.  and there i am, quick to classify, to react to, to judge.
and i thought about her friends- her moths and her butterflies and how they are all just as valuable to her.

and i thought of the first insect we examined today.  about my limited little self- my quickness to assume 'moth' before i noticed the subtleties- and how she (correctly) titled her 'butterfly'- noticing, attributing, assuming an elegance. but how the second one, the one in her room, was just as precious to her.

i'll see yoyo with his mama- i'll see his new routine and his home - a home i know so well.  i'll see lisa in a new way- her world with someone little in it. tomorrow we'll be back in that city that i love so much.  we'll walk our old paths and see our old places and visit with our dear old friends and in some ways we'll say 'goodbye'.  and i'll have a break, some space, to re-group again, to refresh, revive, to see, i hope, the butterfly-ness of zoe and also, embrace the moth.

whole

it's freezing outside- ok, well for atlanta.  i'm sitting beside my african bracelets dreaming of warmer weather. mike leaves tomorrow for uganda and the house will finally be for sale. but it's been a crazy week trying to get everything done before he goes.  he is amazing- truly.  he can do so many things, and so many things well- that i sort of stand in awe.  he preps well, paints well, does carpentry well, cleans well, and he can even do plumbing. he can move large pieces of furniture by himself- like queen mattresses and desks.  he can clean up a yard in no time, fix broken furniture, and replace ceilings.  he has tools and a good mind and really big hands and patience.  the only thing i have in that group is maybe a good mind. which i discovered today, sometimes isn't enough.

yesterday i decided to do some yard work, just some raking and planting.  oh my word- i haven't raked in years- and it's hard- like work-out level hard (which i also haven't done in years). so i'm raking in my vest in the afternoon feeling like my mom in the '70s- like i'm the person with the push mower- the person using the antiquated method of yard clean up- like i'm old school. it was hard, and i kept thinking of the girl in that book 'the dirty life' and how she's all about being out on the farm doing hard manual labor- and not complaining- so i stuck with it, until the realtor came over and i quickly abandoned my leaf piles.  but i did feel connected to the earth- to my body and the muscles in there and their purpose.  i think if we all raked instead of using leaf blowers we'd all be buff and healthy.  i plan on doing this more often.

today i set out to chop some things off the todo list and was quickly annoyed and then humbled, probably because i insisted on homeschooling while doing the work.  this entailed zoe locating herself where ever the work was.  so first i painted the breakfast area while trying to "teach" zoe multiplication partial products.  that was a challenge- especially because we'd never done partial products before and it requires multiple steps and lining things up correctly.  i really enjoyed the painting part.  the math got done- but not with out our classic conversation- which i'm happy to report wasn't a meltdown- but maybe not just a conversation either.  it was the 'why did you help me' one.  the good news is that the painting distracted me enough to not get really angry with her- and my hands were busy so i couldn't throttle her, so i just painted and she regrouped and we talked about how she wanted to stop being so stubborn and accept help.  which is the first step- acknowledging you have a problem and then wanting to change.  she's moved from pre-contemplation to contemplation- maybe even to preparation. (that's  behavior change language).  and that is great.  it will take practice.

then i painted the big banister post- and i'm thinking "maybe i should do manual labor- it's so satisfying" and i got into this zen-like place of following the lines of the wood and cutting the edges.   next, i went to 'touch up'  zoe's room, but the paint can wouldn't open.  i tried for about 20 minutes.  i pried and pried slowly, around the entire can- chanting 'slow and steady wins the race' -not sure what race i was referring to- but confident that eventually, the can would lose. it didn't. how can i not be strong enough open a paint can?  so irritating!

i gave up, and decided to go down to the back porch and take down the mike-built monkey bars.  i knew this would require an electric drill, which i eventually found, and i went out into the back- feeling really cool- because tools kind of are cool and so are the people who use them- which apparently isn't me.  i unscrewed half of them but the others wouldn't budge.  i felt like such a girl.  stuck.  dependent.  and it made me so annoyed.  i called my brother to make sure i wasn't doing something dumb- like using the wrong drill bit- and told him how i felt.
"but you are a girl!" he said.  "you shouldn't feel badly that you can't do the same things as mike- he's a lot bigger and stronger than you."


but i did feel bad. i want to accomplish whatever i put my mind to.  i want to not be hindered by my limitations. i wonder if that's how zoe feels - hindered by her limitations. so frustrated by her inability to do something that she can see other people do. other people her age- or even younger- like her brothers.  that would do me in.  and maybe after years of this- it would translate into the 'why did you help me?' bit.  the summary of oneself as dependent on so many levels, would force the tangible frustration at getting help with things that you actually can do.  it's like an outlet for years of that 'stuck' feeling.  i guess i should give her a break- and me a break.

in grammar, zoe and i were reviewing homophones: words that sound the same but are spelled differently and can have different meanings. like toe and tow. these are very confusing for zoe.  she can have a hard time telling which one goes where.  she's very literal- and so this is extra tricky.  she'll often ask for clarification.  "you mean which one- but not like a scary witch, right?"

i was thinking about the homophones 'hole' and 'whole' and how weird it is that they sound the same but mean not just something different, but the opposite of each other.  one word implies something missing, or an empty space, the other, completeness. separated by 'w'.  one letter separates void and totality. we think of those ideas as ends of a spectrum- as extremes.  i tend to live in that extreme world- to flock to the ends of things- in an overly dramatic kind of way.  joy, pain. black,white. all, nothing. empty, complete.  mike is better at living in the middle- of holding hands with the holes and the wholeness in his life.  with his big hands and his patience he is able to do so much- slow and steady he goes.  i'm like a wiry firecracker - sitting in the box- then once lit- i can do amazing things in the sky or explode in your face and you'll lose an eye.

but maybe it's easier than i think. maybe it is just one letter- and not a universe between hole and whole. slowly filling in the holes leads to wholeness. but accepting the holes leads to a different kind of wholeness. for zoe, bit by bit accepting some help- overcomes the stubbornness.  for me, accepting the hole-y-ness of my life will get me to 'complete'.  they're not that far off- they are related- by more than their sound.

i went back upstairs to face the paint can while zoe read 'charlie and the chocolate factory' out loud.  i had help- a new idea from my brother on how to open it.  slow and steady- i pried at it again.  my hands aren't that strong, but i used a longer tool- more leverage. a few minutes later the lid yielded.  her light pink walls look beautiful. 

looking up

yesterday i had coffee with zoe's math tutor.  but this woman is so much more than zoe's math tutor.  she is a teacher of life and a friend.  she is a neighbor, even though i don't live near her.  she has perspective and wisdom and she focuses on the big picture.  yesterday, she reminded me of that.  she gave me permission to do that in teaching zoe.  to let go of the little rules, the check marks, and to look up at the sky.

she has known zoe for three years.  she knows how she learns.  what her buttons are.  what upsets her and what drives her. and she knows me.  that i am not a trained grade school educator, not a special education teacher, and that i'm way out of my league in the realm of teaching zoe.  but, she's also a big fan.  an encourager of this attempt at helping zoe by homeschooling.  and i think yesterday, she wanted to remind me of that.  to support this crazy notion that: stopping work (well, almost) and spending hours muddling around in the darkness to try to understand my daughter and how she learns and then teach her, is actually a good idea.

and then she gave me an assignment.  she told me to write down what my goals are for my children.  as a unit.  what is it that i want my children to understand in life, do in life- to be in life.  not by gender, or even by personality or by apparent skill or difference- but just as people.  then she said, when you are stuck with zoe, on math, or writing or anything else, go to your list of goals and see if what you're upset about, what she's stuck on, is related to those goals, and if it's not- let it go.  the 30,000 foot view.

i want my children to know that they are loved by God and because of that, they have inherent value and worth.  i want them to know and give love to others.  i want them to know God and to search for his/her purpose for them in life. i want them to make good choices.  choices that will keep them alive and healthy for a long time. choices that won't bind them.  that when sorrow comes their way they will choose faith, and grow; not anger and retreat.  that they will find deep joy and not just search for the next thing to make them happy.  i want them to know that no matter what they choose to do with their lives, no matter how much them mess up, they are loved- there is redemption-beauty can be born out of pain-they have something to give.

most of what we're "studying" isn't directly related to these goals.  but how we study it is.  the environment that i create or encourage affects her sense of value and worth. it contributes to her feeling loved or not, it models this love, or doesn't.  how i approach the day, the learning, the joy or the stress of it, is more important than the work itself.  this is true for all the kids- the boys who go to school too. it's how i make breakfast and how i ask them to get dressed. it's how much i laugh and how much i smile and how much i don't yell.

the problem is that sometimes the overwhelm of the learning, of the schedule, of what we didn't get accomplished, gets right in the way of living and teaching the real goals. it brings on the yelling and takes away from the laughing.  so her advice was so needed- but more- it was so freeing.  take off the self imposed pressure - and align with the right goals- find your days in the big picture.  look up. see the night sky and the moving clouds and let go.  she told me to follow zoe's lead more- peel away the little agenda and replace it with the big agenda.  un-school more.  sometimes you need someone else to give you permission to move in the direction you think you should but fear might be wrong.

so barbara, i thank you. again. of course it's easier to write this out, then it is to do it.  but- bit by bit- and it starts by remembering to look up.

december

december is my favorite month of the year. christmas time and my birthday and lots of little white lights and sometimes snow and people in general are supposed to be happy. it's also reliable- the music, the colors, the themes, the decoration- it's always the same.  and there is comfort in that reliability.  it's sort of soothing in a rapidly changing time.

december is a month of preparation and reflection- whatever religious background- because it's the end of the year and almost a new one. and when things end- people tend to think back and review- it's a softer time- often a time of forgiveness and reconciliation and honesty. a time when people may give each other a break when they might not if it were june.

but it can also be an especially sad time if people are lonely or overly busy or experience loss or for whatever reason, can't get into the spirit that we're supposed to be in.  because then you feel guilty on top of it.

so i've been reflecting.  this week was hard.  it felt transitional.  moving out of thanksgiving and into december.  zoe has had a rough week. transitions are harder for her, and apparently they are for me too. but we've wrestled through it. today i saw my therapist and she helped me to unpeel some things - which tends to reveal more stuff to be unpeeled- but i guess i'm moving somewhere.  we were talking about fear and blame in relation to homeschooling and homeschooling special needs kids-which for me are stuck together because i only teach zoe.  i have all this fear about how much she is or isn't learning, about whether she'll ever be able to go back to school, about if i'm helpful or harmful to her self identity.  and i worry that i'll look back and blame myself if all goes 'wrong' (and what would that even be or look like? i don't know)- i said ' if she were in a school then i could blame them' "why? why would i blame anyone?"  i guess inside, i'm a whole lot of crazy.

to blame is to push the causality of a bad outcome onto someone or something- it's also a burden on the recipient when something goes wrong.  this is black and white thinking.  a right way.  a wrong way. guilt. blame. vs. freedom from responsibility. and in this case, it implies knowledge of what a good or bad outcome would be.
is there one?
it's all much more complicated than that- it's a life- not a true / false question.  the good outcome is her health and happiness and sense of value and love for God and others.  but is it also, her ability to take an SAT test  or to get into college if she wants to? these things i struggle with- and that is OK- but they shouldn't suffocate me- they shouldn't strangle us.

we talked about energy and creativity.  i have a lot of energy and creativity but where is it being channeled?  too often it seems to be used worrying about outcomes or stressing about what we're not getting accomplished or blaming myself for failing zoe as both a mother and a teacher.   i love to engage people- to give and share energy and creativity - to exchange it- that is why i love working with patients- sharing their energy or giving some of mine- creatively problem solving with them.  and it dawned on me that i'm not very good at giving that to my kids.  so often my energy exchange with them is negative and my creativity is stifled.  with zoe it's out of fear- what if .... what if.....what if

what if i painted a picture with her and taught her to ice skate instead of doing math? ( dundunduuuuu )
would i ever allow myself the freedom and creativity to do that?  can i not stress that she doesn't know the exact dates of marco polo's travels or the detailed and depressing history of the english royalty?  (as if i knew or even know that now!- where do these 'standards' come from?)

so when i returned from the therapy appointment i challenged myself to make the afternoon different. baby steps.  it started with an apology for being psycho-mom- for spewing negative energy at her- for operating out of fear.  then we baked brownies with her littlest brother and made snowflakes for the windows. 

now it's looking more like december in my house.  soon we'll get the tree and put up the lights. and i will continue to reflect- to be honest- to reconcile and forgive-maybe mostly, myself.

off track is good

friday again.
almost thanksgiving.
remembering.
looking ahead.
on call this weekend- it's been a long time since i've been on call.
just finished 'dealing' with the beets from the vegetable box- pink fingers again.

it has been a good week.  a week of continuing to let go. stepping outside of my time frame, my agenda, my plan for the day- and working on embracing what comes- loving the surprises- and remembering that our goal is learning- our goal is growth.  i say this about homeschooling- and i say this about me.

yesterday zoe and i were doing african geography.  we were studying east africa- the countries, their capitals, the rivers and lakes that are there- and the oceans and seas.  we were talking about the conflict in some countries and war and tribalism.  she wanted to know if our country was at war.  i said 'kind of' - we talked about afghanistan.  i was ready to move on.  i was ready to hit the next thing on our schedule. but she wanted to talk about war, and conflict and why countries don't get along- why people fight and kill each other because they believe different things.  how do you explain that? she knows something about european history and the many wars over religion and land and power- she knows about US history and about fighting for independence and freedom of religion- and ideological differences.  she knows about slavery and injustice.  but from a child- when you look at war from that beautiful, naive perspective- you remember how it sort of makes no sense. at all. she decided she needed to write a letter to president Obama. right then. right there. she needed to ask him what we could do about the fighting in afghanistan. 

i actually started to resist.  to tell her we needed to move on- and to read our book.  but then i remembered what we're doing here.  learning.  and why we're doing it- to grow, to understand, to expand the mind, to build connections. to make it real.

so she wrote her letter.  she asked why?  she asked what we could do? she said it needed to be something.  she signed her name.  she wrote ( p.s. i'm 11 years old).  she found the address to the white house- she stamped it. she mailed it.  i hope she gets a response.

it reminded me of the organicness of learning.  that listening is a huge part of teaching. sometimes following her lead is much more meaningful then sticking to some plan.  let her be an active learner. let her ask the questions.  let her know i don't always have the answers. let her see that life is process. that adults don't always get it right- that leaders and countries get it wrong.  that it's good to question things.

i want to be a more transparent parent.  i'm a very transparent doctor.  it think i'm a transparent friend.  showing vulnerability can be a strength. i want to do this more at home. i think when people know you're not hiding something- they can trust you more.  it increases relationship.  it cuts through the barriers.

today i 'rounded' on the patients i'll be covering this weekend.  i met them, i met their families.  i told them that i'd be the doctor this weekend.  that i'd check in, in the morning and see how things are- that we'd deal with the issues, the things that aren't working- and try to make them better.  again, it's about listening.  it's about being active in the process.

so maybe my days on monday - thursday aren't that different from friday. maybe life is a bit simpler than i make it out to be. maybe the same things that make a good teacher, make a good doctor, or a good parent or a good architect, or a good business person.  maybe it's honesty- transparency-listening- asking- and being willing to grow.  being willing to go off track.

one step forward

getting ready for homeschooling. ok, i've been ready but little bryn hasn't started preschool and really, it won't work until he starts.  i'm getting excited- but getting nervous. hopeful, but prepared.  we're trying a new method this year- the charlotte mason method. 

last year we didn't have a method- we winged it.  we used the american girl books as a backbone for reading/ phonics and history. she did copy work.  i tried worksheets for spelling and grammar from different books at different grade levels. i did another history book for the ancient times.  we did bible and art.  we did math- many ways.  we did geography related to what we read and also worked our way through part of the united states and their capitals.  it worked i guess.  it was very us. very fly-by-the-seat. flexible- perhaps too flexible.  i didn't feel i had a system which kind of bothered me. but what is worse- is i constantly felt like she was behind- that i was behind- that i was straddling two grades and not trusting anything.  that i wasn't sure if i should test her and make sure she knew it all well before moving on.  i would have days when i felt like she needed to sit there until it was done and days when i would let her call the shots more.  but, overall, i think she learned and we didn't kill each other- almost- a few times, but not quite.

the charlotte mason method allows children to move at their own pace.  it doesn't compare them with a standard.  it trusts that the child will learn- that we are all learning - that we are to guide and direct.  it uses literature, it uses "real books" not text books, to learn.  it values time outdoors, play, real life.  i'm really still learning the method and i have no idea how it will go over. but i'm excited.

i've been far from this writing because zoe is doing well.  she's been doing really well. and you know when i write it- things change. :) maybe her brain is balancing.  maybe because she turns 11 next week. who knows.

what do i  mean by "better" anyway?  i mean she's both more engaged and less sticky.  and when she gets sticky- she gets over it faster and with less drama. there is more flexibility. there is more self awareness- "oh i guess i don't need to apologize". (instead of just saying "I'M SORRY!"- in response to anything we remind her about- "zoe can you get your shoes on?" "I'm SORRY mom!!")

what do i mean by more engaged? she asks questions like, "mom what kinds of games did you used to play when you were little?" and then listens and responds to the answers. or "dad, how was your day today? how did things go at work?" or "aunt linds, what interesting things have happened in your lifetime?" 

for those of you with typical kids- this might seem silly.  but you have no idea how happy it makes us!  to see her be able to climb outside her own head- her own world- her own sensory system and enter into someone else's experience and then to draw parallels with other things in her life or history- is so exciting! the dots are starting to connect- her world is starting to make more sense and she's finding her place in it- and she is more calm, less stressed, happy. 

and that is what we want for her.  happiness.  peace. 

we will officially start homeschooling this week.  and perhaps all this zen will go out the window.  one of the hardest things about kids with learning differences is their inconsistency.  you can reach a new place and then loose it.  one step up, two steps back.  but we'll keep walking- moving forward- in stillness of spirit- and with faith.  so thankful for the weeks like these!

provisions

it was a day.

beautiful sun, a breeze, not to hot- the kind of day you're so glad you're alive.

it was a day of growth.

of the pendulum swinging and ending up in the right place. a day of grace. a day when i went to my dark place of abandon and then returned- stronger for it.

things were good until about noon.

we'd been at the pool for an hour or so- zoe had made a new friend named zoe who was learning how to swim. she patiently taught her- and gave her confidence and encouragement and the little girl did it. everyone was so happy and they swam around the pool together. it was good, perhaps too good. finally the boys were hungry and tired, but zoe decided she wanted to do a cannon ball. i don't even know what exactly she meant but i knew she'd never done it before and that by the sound of her voice, we were doomed. she was hovering over the side of the pool, toes curled in anxiety, flapping both wrists, as subtly as she could, and doing the self talk thing- "ok- you can do it, just move to the edge..." then flipping into the panicked "mom- am i going to hurt myself?" follow with "don't tell me - i KNOW what i'm doing!". i tried for about 15 minutes to 'help' with out helping. to be supportive and appear carefree, while i'm walking on eggshells- because she was beginning to unravel. calmly i told her that in fact we needed to go and that she was moving quickly into that place where she didn't want to be. that made her mad- and gave her something to channel all that negative energy into- me. she began to cry loudly and expressively that she was always the only one who can't do things. that she feels so badly that she can't do a cannon ball, that she NEEDS to do one now. that we CAN'T leave. that she WON'T leave. and the scene began..... her little brothers sensing the tension, obediently get out of the pool and get their shoes and towels.....people stare as her voice escalates and her frustration grows.... i long for my "she has a mild form of autism " sign, and acutely feel that pull between anger and pity and sorrow and the fear that this will get progressively worse. her little friend the new swimmer and her mother look puzzled and slightly anxious as well. and i'm hating it for her. for her overwhelm and her challenge. for not being able to get it together and just let it go. for the boys who are stuck with having "that kid" as their big sister. that kid who has fallen to bits.

and i want to cry because i've gone back to last summer, when i couldn't go to the pool with out this happening, and i've gone forward to tomorrow night when we're meeting people for dinner at the pool and i'm fearing this cannonball obsession all over again- and i'm exhausted by all of it, and thinking why me-poor me-poor, poor me.

the problem is, it becomes timeless. one 'little' incident, has histories and futures woven into it.

on the way to the car- i resolved that i couldn't do this anymore. that i needed to go back to work. that she needed to go to school- any school- maybe boarding school- in another country. i decided that i am no longer the man for the job. that i was already going to need years of therapy- and that even then- i may never recover. in my heart i yelled at God. i shook my fists. why is this so blinking hard!!! when will this ever end????

i was deflated, defeated and depressed. i put on my sunglasses and cried on the way home. zoe asked if this was because of her non-verbal learning disability. jude replied, yes- that is why you get sticky thoughts (the 5 year old therapist)- followed by saying, "and i have a yes-verbal learning disability" (the opposite of her) at which point i had to laugh. but i was too busy making my mental "i hate list" followed by my "i'm thankful list" which was much shorter, and i realized i had work to do.

when we got home and had lunch and the boys went to nap and zoe went to read- i got down to business- to what i do best- solve the problem. the left brain went into high gear and i got on line. i found every special ed school in the atlanta area and made lists, looked at websites, and made calls. i made an excel spread sheet and calculated the cost of school and what i'd earn going back to work. i felt productive- i felt hopeful- i felt in control- the opposite of how i felt at the pool.

so i ran upstairs to zoe and put it on her.

"zoe, do you want to be home schooled?"

desperately wanting, in that moment for her to say "no! thank God you finally asked. i want to be with other kids and teacher who's not nutballs!"

but i got, "mom, i'm reading!"

i thought about calling mike - sharing my data collection with him- venting about the pool/cannon ball episode- surely he'd see the light.

then i realized that i needed to just be still.

that acting or reacting out of fear is always the wrong choice. that much of my life i rush and re-act, i get pushed to a point and make a move out of fear or i put it on others to reign me in- usually mike. usually i make him do my dirty work. present him with my angst, and my hairball plan to get rid of it- and let him be the calm voice of reason. which sets up the dynamic of him as my saving grace and me as the wild overwhelmed scatterbrain.

but not today.

today, i reigned it in.

today, i was able to sit with it, alone. and in the stillness, i found what i was looking for. the answer was already there. the decision was made- by me. i am going to home school again next year- as scared as i am- because i love her, and we're not done.

"Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still she sings away, all the same, knowing she has wings."
victor hugo

no stick finish

i can't believe it's over. my year with zoe. my first year of homeschooling. my life changing year- of creating space- of changing priorities, focus- of digging into something i'd never dreamed i'd do. it's a weird feeling. it's a combo of, "i'm really proud of us" and "has she actually learned anything?".

and it crept up on me. all of a sudden, just when i thought we were getting the hang of it- it's summer- the boys are home, the sun is hot, and it's time to go outside and play. i thought maybe it would feel more climactic. like my growing up end of the year always felt. there should be "field day" or yearbooks or something.

and i thought i'd feel really exhausted and done and desperate for summer- but instead i had this feeling of unease, unsettledness, insecurity. she just finished 4th grade- but what does that really mean? there are no objective tests to prove any change in her knowledge base. there is no report card to compare her with other fourth graders. it's just me. and i had heavy feelings of self-doubt.


mike could tell something was eating me. and as usually, he put it in perspective. he reminded me of where we'd been. of last spring. of her inaccessibility. her far away soul. he said that ultimately even if she had learned no academics this year (which he assured me wasn't true), she was still much better off. because she's in a place of relative peace. a place where learning is able to happen. a place that most of the time is happy. her feelings or at least comments, of not liking herself, are gone. she has a much easier time with social interactions. it's kind of like having the old zoe back (the one before she was eaten by the anxiety/ sticky monster 2 years ago) but more alert, more engaged, desiring and seeking connection, and more functional.

i decided to have an end-of-the-year celebration- for both of us.
so i made her a book about our year.
i wrote her a letter, about what i'd learned, about what i loved about our time together, and i put in as much objective evidence i could that she'd learned. i also wrote down all that we'd covered, not that she'd mastered, but that we'd worked through. and it was a lot, and i was proud. we did a lot. we made major improvements. other people have even noticed :).

yesterday, we had our celebration. we dropped the boys with my mom (thank you!) and we went to the american girl doll store and cafe for lunch. this was especially appropriate because our history theme for the year and our reading curriculum were the historical american girl books. and it was so much fun. but on the way there i realized i had forgotten the book i'd made her. i was frustrated, because i had wanted it to be the perfect afternoon, with closure and climax and finality. but really it was so typical, that i'd forget it at home. it was so, life.

zoe was amazing. she just said, "mommy, it's OK. just take a deep breath. you just need to be flexible. you can give me the surprise when we get home tonight, i'm fine with that."

did i just hear the words, "OK", and "be flexible" and "i'm fine with that", all out of her mouth- in the same paragraph?

and that, was the perfect non-sticky end to our year.

why i really decided to homeschool zoe

it happened almost exactly a year ago. i was at work, having a family meeting about a patient who was dying. i had silenced the call several times, and then decided it was my daughters school and i should get it. so i excused myself from the meeting.

"i think you need to come and get her. She's having a hard time."
"OK- well, i'm at work. i'm having a family meeting. someone who is really sick. someone is dying. what's happening with zoe?"
"she's under her desk- she won't come out."

it was my first month at this new job. it was more hours than i'd worked since i'd finished residency. i was really enjoying it. i was learning and having fun. but this was the third call this week, and i was having a hard time figuring out how to manage this. we knew zoe was having a hard time, and we were doing a lot of things for her. she was on some medicine, she was in OT. we'd let go of our au pair, and had been utilizing family to assist with childcare, so to minimize the interaction with people she didn't know well. we'd even gotten a dog. but, things weren't working out- at least not at school. things weren't working out for zoe. she was having high stress. she was falling apart.

we met with the principle, who seemed to think that she was "done" for the year. that she'd learned plenty academically - which was true- but that she clearly wasn't coping at school anymore- which was also true. it was april. mike and i had a moment. it was a moment of utter realization. that all we'd feared, all we'd worried about, but often not said out loud, was coming true. that our lives with her had caught up with us. we were two successful people with close to full time careers. we now owned a house (ok- one brick in the house- but still). we had two other small children. and our oldest- was now loosing it- at a "special school." that's kind of bad news, kind of some of the worst news. yet- there was a sense of absolute clarity, that came fairly quickly.
-it's your kid. you do what you need to do.
clearly, we needed a drastic change in our lives. so we decided- that i would cut way back on work. with in three days, at work, i was talking with my boss (and friend) who asked what was bothering me and i burst into tears- again- full-on ugly cry. weeping. i think she might have even cried too. she told me that i could take a break- work one a day week and figure out what we were going to do. it was temporary. it was life-saving. i went home and began to breathe.

i'm very type A. i'm a planner. i like to make lists. i like pros and cons. so of course, i got to work figuring out the problem. where could she go to school, what would the finances look like. what could we do to get her to a place where she could go to school? could we risk paying for a private school and then having this happen again? on and on.
that sunday, a friend from church asked me why i didn't homeschool the next year.

well that's easy- i said- because she's zoe and i'm kris. because i'm the most impatient person ever- and she's the slowest person ever. because i can't even do homework with her!

but it stayed with me- and i began to ask the question of myself. what was i so afraid of? maybe she needed a complete break- a complete change. maybe it's exactly what she needed. maybe it would be really good for her- maybe it would be good for me.

and when you think about life- it's always the hardest parts that grow us the most. that give us the most opportunity to change our perspective, and in seeing life differently, to change our living.

i was writing in my journal that week and i wrote, "i feel like i need to read the old testament- like Haggai." now i'll be honest- i don't often "hear God". in fact i can count on one hand- OK three fingers- the number of times i've felt, undeniably, the presence or sense of God communing with me. i also couldn't even remember if there was a book in the bible called Haggai. but there is, and that night i read it- all 2 pages of it. it was about the Israelites hearing from God that they needed to re-build the temple. it said basically that they'd been spinning their wheels, working hard and getting no where. that each person was so busy with their own house they'd forgotten all about Gods plan, Gods house. that it was time for a change, a re-focus. and then it said, the people obeyed. and were blessed.

to me it was clear as day. i needed to invest fully, in rebuilding my house. in refocusing my focus. in embracing the child i was given and changing our lives accordingly. for me - it felt like the "answer" was obvious- it was just whether i would take the harder path.

and that is why i'm homeschooling zoe. despite the shocked looks, the "oh i could never!" the "how do you do it?" the "what about your career?", and my complete lack of knowledge of 'how' to teach a child, let alone one with special needs, we embarked on our journey.

has it been easy, no. has it been totally worth it, yes.
i am learning to let go. really. to let go of schedule, of my idea of what a fourth-grader should know, and how well they should write, and how long they should sit still. i've let go of moving at a given pace. i've accepted that learning how to manage frustration is more important than completing the assignment. that understanding the whole story and explaining the sequence verbally is better than writing in little details. i've learned that if you have the tools, but have no idea of how to laterally apply them, then they're not much help- so any lateral thinking is huge. i've learned that she's really smart- but can't test to save her life. that the pieces are there, but we need to help her put them together. that splitting the social from the academic, helps her do much better at both. that the little conversations about "what's wrong with me" are never planned. i've learned that "i think i need an h-u-g" happens so many times a day, and what if i weren't there to give her that. i've learned that both our brains are plastic and that you can teach old dogs new tricks. and we've learned to help each other know when we need a break. know when to move on. know when to say "i'm sorry" and when not to.

so for us, the journey is worth it- there has been much blessing- and what seemed last year like the end of my world- became the most surprisingly beautiful beginning.

lemons

today i'm remembering. today is a new day. it is a new beginning. and i thank God for that. the slate is wiped clean. there will be new opportunities to be still and know. to be still and trust. to be still and listen. i like to move around a lot- being still is hard. i like to think i know- i like to figure out how to know. but today i'm remembering that i just need to be.

when i was in glen ellen for my friends 40th- we watched a bad movie- but the first line of the movie was good-
when life give you lemons, make lemonade.

last week was hard. i had stuff to do at work that was stressing me out- and that i'm sure contributed to zoe's challenged week, which then stressed me out further. that happens to us. we feed off eachother- and last week it was a downward spiral. and each little setback felt like miles back. and each mole hill felt like a mountain. and i began to question everything, again. why am i homeschooling her? i can't do this. maybe she's not learning anything. maybe this isn't what she needs. what should we do? what about the summer? and on and on. trying to know. not at all still.

yesterday was easter. i'm up in the north carolina mountains. years ago, i was sad about something (can 't even remember what) - and more sad about my lack of perspective and i was crying to mike, 'why do i always make mountains out of mole hills!" and he said "but mountains are so much more beautiful than molehills." sometimes i have to turn things into something huge- then step back and see that even in the tremendous size and with awe and even fear- life is beautiful.

so yesterday i was trying to remember. remember where we'd been. to step back and see the mountain, the beauty and how far we'd already climbed. to remember who zoe really is- underneath the sticky thoughts and easy frustration- the overwhelm and the distance that can come from that-complicated i'm sure, by pre-teen hormones. and i remembered zoe and her lemonade stand.

a few summers ago when she was 8, she'd been asking to have a lemonade stand. i had kept promising her, and she'd kept nagging me- and finally one late afternoon- i said OK. she loves coming up with an idea, and then making it happen. she loves getting all the parts together and feeling proud that she's done it. so she got a box and set it up in the drive way. she got some paper cups and ice, and we made some lemonade and went outside. our street doesn't get a lot of foot traffic- but there were some neighbors out. someone stopped and zoe gave him a cup.
"how much does it cost?" he said.
"it's free!" he gave her a quarter.
then about 15 minutes later and no more customers, zoe spied a neighbor out gardening. she decided to bring her a glass of the lemonade. i watched her walk three houses down- very carefully- not to spill. i watched her talk to the woman for a minute and then turn and come running up the hill back to our driveway. she had a gigantic grin and was shouting,
"mommy! mommy! it's working, the lemonade stand is working!!"
"what do you mean zoe?"
"it's making people happy!!"

this little girl who's been given quite a few lemons- was making lemonade. this little girl who could be so soured by it- was having a lemonade stand.
she was giving away the lemonade.
she was happy, so happy, because she was making other people happy- with her lemons- with her lemonade.

this is who zoe is- and how beautiful is that!

so today- i will live in today- i will be obedient to my call to be her mom- to love her deeply, sticky, sweetly, lemony, set back or leaps forward. today we will hike up part of the mountain - and we will see the beauty.

this so isn't what i signed up for

we are at  OT.  occupational therapy-if you're lucky enough to not know the lingo.  it's weekly. it's where a very patient therapist helps zoe's sensory system re-integrate, and works on the occupational needs of a kid- hand strength, motor planning, coordination. actually zoe is at OT doing the hard work and i'm at starbucks drinking a latte and feeling baffeled. some days, like today, i look at my life and can't believe that instead of ballet, we go to OT.  instead of soccer, we do "social groups", that small situational changes, feel like great changes to zoe. and that some days, learning is impossible, like today.  she is destracted by a shadow, the light, a very distant sound- the decorations on the shampoo bottle.
"mommy have you ever noticed those little stars on the bottle?"
"can you just wash your hands please and go finish writing your words?"
it had already been an hour- there were 10 words to be copied.  i was flogging a dead horse.

i'm overwhelmed by her needs.  by the literalness of her mind.  her struggle to derive meaning from context. and how desparately important this ability is to understanding and relating to people.

"what does 'thoughtful' mean?"
"thinking of and putting others first"
"what does that mean?"
her mind i'm sure conjured up physically moving people in front of her.  i can't even describe things in a way that make sense.

i've only been home for three days.  i'm such a grump.  so quickly deflating. when i was gone, she went to her monday visit to her old school.  it was harder than it's been. again, small changes are big for her.  she was nervous- they said- distracted and distracing- disconnected. 

so maybe it's time to buy birkenstocks and get some chickens - maybe it's time to settle in and become a real "home-schooler" (mild gag).  it's just not something i set out to do.  this was not the plan.  i'm a doctor.  i don't have a lot of patience.  i don't know anything about teaching kids with learning disabilities.  this was OK for a year, but two? or three?  or more?
but life is what happens when your busy making plans.  how much control do we actually have over life? 60% maybe? yet we spend about 90% trying to control that 60%?   maybe my plans for trying to get her back to school are my heading off away from Nineveh again and God is tipping the ship- or maybe i'm in the belly of the whale.
the starbucks 'bold pick of the week' is the East Africa Blend. i can close my eyes and see the tea fields covering mountainsides and smell the burning leaf piles in the streets and that spicey salty teaky smell of the shops and feel that warmth and the bumpiness of the road that is rarely paved. being there has been on my heart since i was 17.  maybe it's time. perhaps this IS the plan for me - a sandal wearing, chicken feeding, home-schooling african mamma. 

or maybe it doesn't matter where we are- and maybe not even what we're doing but how we're doing it. today, i'm not doing it very well.  today i'm elsewhere.  today i need to remember to love the beauty of her ability to see the light and shadow in a way that i never will.  i need to notice the little stars on the shampoo bottle. writing helps me get there. re-inflate.

'Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are'
TS Eliot

breathe

it's rain-snowing and it's march and i'm done with it. which is great, since i have so much control over the weather.

i spoke with an old friend today, who is in a dark place. she called me crying from her closet. i've been there. she has a kid who's struggling. i get that. she doesn't know what to do- she feels the out-of-controlness of life- and it's a way bigger deal than the weather.

last year, when zoe was 9 life grew dark in our house. she'd always struggled with learning, and sensory issues and with reading social cues, but suddenly this little girl who'd been very happy, relatively flexible, and easy going, became rigid and fixed and incredibly anxious. she began to decompensate and regress over the littlest things.
and life became all about walking on eggshells, just waiting for something to set her off. we developed avoidant behaviors. NEVER vacuum if zoe is home. don't turn on the mixer or the coffee bean grinder. i remember at one point feeling the absurdity of it all- but would still live in fear of these things happening at random in public. because if there was a vacuum cleaner on at the movie theater- beware! she would cover her ears and panic. this isn't so bad when you have a 4 year old, or even if you have a 6 year old, who looks like a four year old, but when you have a nine year old, and now 2 other little kids- it's, embarrassing, stressful, humiliating and basically something to be avoided at all costs.

some of the things were hard in their unpredictability.

me: "honey, daddy and i are going out for dinner tonight."
z: "but why didn't you tell me you were going out?"
me: "i am telling you, right now"
z: " but why didn't you tell me before!"
me: what???

some of the things were hard because of their predictability.
this one was a regular around our house when our au pair would get ready to go out with her friends.
z: "why didn't i see her change her shirt?"
me: "you never see her change? why would you see her change?"
try to logic out of that one!

and this would spiral down and down with her sobbing and angry, and i'm guessing, almost as confused as i was. and i was confused, baffled actually. who ate my sweet kid? who took zoe and replaced her with crazy?

there can be an incredible degree of hopelessness, isolation, fear and guilt that come with having a child with special needs. there is also a lot of hope and joy and amazement and perspective. but in those dark days- the negatives won. we were both out of control. perhaps my worst moment was grabbing her by the arms and shouting, "why are you so crazy!!"
can you imagine what she must have been thinking? "woman lets talk about crazy- you're 38! i'm only 9! and i have an actual diagnosis!" can you imagine her sense of abandonment? what a lesson in how to say you're sorry to your kid. she forgave me, still trying to forgive myself.

for some reason, and from what i've read about kids with NVLD, this age, 9-10ish is kind of the perfect storm. almost all of the things that are hard for them increase in frequency or level. academics become tougher. peers less forgiving and peer relationships more complicated. physical issues or motor planning become expected or routine (in kindergarden not everyone can zip there coat, in 4th grade you stick out like a sore thumb). meanwhile, your kid's becoming self aware, and that is probably the hardest part. the velveteen rabbit moments. becoming real. it's one thing to worry about kids being mean to your kid, or to see kids teasing when your kid doesn't get it. it's another thing to have your child cry in your lap about how they have no friends and why can't they just be normal. for us, for zoe, the storm came in third grade.

so about a year ago, one month after i'd started a new job (excellent timing) i began to get called from her school everyday.

"zoe's having a really hard time, can you come get her?"

me: "well, i'm kind of seeing patients now. what's going on?"

"well your daughter is so overwhelmed that she's hiding under her desk."

me: "ok, i get it. i'll be right there."

after one week of this, mike and i realized that life right now needed to change for us and for our kids. zoe was suffering. how could i spend all day with other peoples suffering, and not with my sweet child? so after 26 year of education, three years of residency, two years of fellowship and three years as medical school faculty, I jumped off the merry-go-round. i'm not saying that this choice was the only one, or that this choice is for everyone. simply that for me and for our family, this choice was essential. and in april 2009, i began to breathe.