counting my chickens

i shouldn't count my chickens before they hatch- but i will because it was a glorious day.
after three long years of playing the parent/ teacher role (perhaps better verbs would include 'attempting' or 'pulling my hair out in')  zoe might be going to school next year.  but the decision largely hinged on today- on her performance on a math test- not just the answering ability, but how she would do, sitting and taking a test with out me.

this week was exhausting. on monday we met with the boys school and the newly hired special education teacher- on tuesday we met with rose's birth mom, and today we returned with zoe to the boys school to see how she would do on this test. knowing that zoe has a hard time with tests, and with finishing anything without multiple prompts, and being distracted by almost most sound and new places- i gulped when i heard this was a part of the plan, and then just to be sure i said,

"so you want zoe to sit by herself for an hour and take a math test?"
"yes"
"with out me sitting next to her?"
"that's right."
"okay, but it most likely won't be a reflection of what she knows.  i mean, don't be surprised if after an hour, she's answered nothing but drawn 'littlest petshop pets' all over the paper."
"we'll just have to see." said the head of the school.

gulp.

if i were being graded on parental faith in their child- i would clearly have failed.
but it was defensive- for both of us- and i was staying true to my new years resolution- lowering the expectations.  it's hard to do worse than no answers and a paper covered in cartoons - although if someone happened to vacuum during the test.... yes.. that would definitely be worse.

i figured i'd downplay the whole thing to help her potential anxiety.
"honey, just do your best- it really doesn't matter if you get the answers right- but try to stay focused."  (i resisted the urge to say 'try to do math on the math test- not art' mostly out of fear that i'd plant an idea.)

on the morning car ride i fained full confidence but inside i was having a conversation with God. it went something like this- this is your child and i trust you but really, i'm so scared that she is going to flop and fail and i'll be left holding her bits again- i'm so scared that she'll be afraid and talk incessantly and flap her arms and throw her pencil and use the wobbly voice - i'm so scared that they will say 'no way.'- well- you know all this- so please- just HELP! help her. help me.  and if she's going to crash and burn- i'd rather know now than in the middle of next year- but i'd rather not have that happen at all so- PLEASE help! and there might have even been a little bit of come on- you owe me thrown in there by accident- but of course He doesn't.

we got to school at 7:30 in the rain- me and my four kids in their raincoats. zoe went off to find some friends-which she did.  then she begged to join the year 6 class for 15 minutes before assembly - which i reluctantly let her do- realizing i needed to let her go in order to let her grow.  in the assembly the year 6 teacher asked me if zoe wanted to join the class on stage in a small performance - which of course she did- and loved it.  when the assembly was over- she hoped off to take the math test with the head teacher.

gulp.
"we'll see you in a while!" the teacher said.

40 minutes later- while rose and i watched the bunnies- they emerged both smiling.

"she did great!!" the teacher said. 
"really??" i replied trying to shove the total shock out of my voice.
"really.  no problem."
thank you! i mumbled under my breath.

"so we'll see her next week for the reading part, but i think she will do fine here next year- i think we'll be able to make it work." the teacher said.


then i had one of those moments when i wondered for a second if i was in someone elses life - because mine doesn't usually go like this. it was a moment of pure joy and astonishment and awe - that this might work- that God is good- that she could be back in school- learning with other kids, learning things that she especially needs, that we can't teach at home- like not disturbing others during class, and following directions, and working in a group. it was a moment that i hadn't counted on ever- and hadn't waited for, or even really looked for- because the school offered to try to make it work for zoe. 

i'm not really counting my chickens yet- i'm just so very thankful that the eggs are looking warm and that i can see progress and potential.  thankful for this day.  for those moments.  for zoe's joy and pride in her accomplishment.
"zo, i'm so proud of you!"
"why did i get 100?" she said hopefully.
"not quite, but you focused! you did the test! you didn't get upset, you did your best! that is why i'm proud!"
"you know mom- i think it's because i'm done with homeschooling. it's hard for me to focus with just you and dad. i need to be with other kids."

it was music to my ears.  i hope she's right.  we'll see how next week goes.



 

finding the 30,000 foot view, again

it's a quiet saturday morning.  life is still.  i'm looking back over this week- it was a good week. 

on thursday i escaped.  basically i realized that i needed a break, a time-out, a day with out zoe, a personal retreat. i had that feeling like the kite strings on my life were tangled. the mild chaos in my mind needed sorting.  i'd been on a long stretch of homeschooling because mike was at a conference the days that i usually go to work, and the 'fall out' was me feeling frayed and fried.

my usual response to this feeling is (unfortunately) very medical.  i diagnose the problem and i create a solutions list.  i'm not good at sitting with it.  i'm not great at rolling with it.  i want to clean up, tidy my life and 'keep the house clean'.

so on thursday i took myself into kampala with the goal of analyzing my life, identifying the problem areas and finding solutions.  i began at a coffee shop with a cup of african tea and made a 'retreat agenda' which covered topics great and small- from "zoe" to "home improvement".  then i moved on to a different place where i could sit on a couch for hours and write it all out- expand on the topics- go deep.

i started of course, with zoe.  one of the unfortunate things about children is that they are not static :).  you really never get to cruise control, to sit back and let the machine drive itself- and this is especially true for special needs kids.  and this is especially hard for parents who tend to perhaps over-analyze and be indecisive.  whenever i'm struggling with zoe, i tend to go back to square one.  here is how this has played out. 

when she was little, between 2-6 years old, after seeing multiple specialist with no clear diagnosis, i would alternate between thinking she was "normal" and i was crazy, or thinking she had some great need/ disability.  the times i thought she was mostly on track, were fantastic.  and the times when i began to wonder what was 'wrong' with her were awful, and in these times, i would run to the internet and for hours, attempt to diagnose her.  autism, aspergers, some random chromosomal anomaly, fetal alcohol syndrome (although i think i had one glass of wine during my pregnancy)-  i've forgotten the numerous other diagnosis i'd convince myself she had.  this behavior felt like a binge, like indulgence.  i would consume massive amounts of information in attempt to gain control over the crazy i felt with her, over the fears i had about our future.  the good that came from this was in my remembering that whatever differences she had she deserved gentleness, understanding, and compassion. but i so wish i could have spent that time and energy sitting on the floor with her, watching and listening to her, trusting her to God, enjoying the difference instead of trying to diagnose and fix it.


when she turned seven and had a 'formal' diagnosis of non-verbal learning disorder (in quotes because it's not recognized in code form as a diagnosis) i began to relax.  well, kind of, because my attempts at control, my response to the crazy, was converted into searching for the best way to help a person with nonverbal learning disorder.  and five years later, i'm still doing this.  i still haven't really learned to sit, and watch and listen and trust. 

so on thursday morning i began to write out my goals for zoe, academic, personal, relational, life skills, all of it.  i began to write out her strengths - the things we should support and encourage and develop. i wrote out the problems, what we were missing with homeschooling- because in the back of my mind, my solution was to get her back to school. to get her back to a place of 'normal', to be 'done' with this season, to 'return'.  but as i wrote and thought about it- i came to see that most of my goals for her are being met, or can be met with home schooling, and most of her strengths can be encouraged and developed with homeschooling, and probably what's missing can be added with out starting her at a non-special ed international school at age 13.

what i came to realize is that the problem isn't with zoe, it's with me. i'm conflicted about being her teacher, i've lost my passion for it, i want to just be her mom.  so i began to wonder why?  she's doing better, she's more engaged, she's 'easier' than she's been for the past two years, she has less sticky thoughts, does better with copy work, and math, and comprehension, so why now? 

and the clarity came.  because my back-up is gone.  my rescue boats aren't here.  the side-line support is absent.  in atlanta if she or i were having a bad day, if a break was needed, i had choices.  my mom would take her.  barbara mcclure would take her.  we could go to erin's house.  we could go to sensations therafun special ed gymnasium.  there were options, a way out, a life line- because parenting a child with special needs is full time.  we also had a scheduled support structure.  social group, brain balance, piano lessons, learning on the log, math tutoring, ama time - all with people who understood her, loved her, and really helped her.  but they also helped me- not just in providing a break, but with their compassion, their ability to enter into the suffering and the challenge. 

and that is the difference.  the 30,000 foot view of what's really going on.  and it will not be solved by sticking her in school next year.  i mean that might happen- someday.  that might be something she will want to do, or try- sometime.  but it should be for her, not for me.

so this retreat was good and needed.  my focus shifted, i corrected the course, and i began to think into ways we could build our back up, our network, our support.  we will find them here, things that will help both of us- that will grow both of us. they will look different, but they are here.  the same God that has provided so far, will continue to provide.  and i will try to sit on the floors of life with her.  watch and listen and play.  trust us both to God, sit with it, and enjoy the craziness of the ride.  i never liked cruise control anyway, i even prefer to drive stick:).

the taming of the shrew

it's no longer leap year day, which is too bad because if it were, i could possibly blame my bad behavior on the weird karma of the universe that must have knocked me into crazy.  no.  the crazy today is just all me.  it is a plain old middle of the week homeschooling day and while i now only really do this half the time i used to, and therefore shouldn't complain, i will.

see, i used to do this full time- okay 4/5ths time- because fridays were my glorious VA work day.  fridays were the day i went to work for 10 hours and made people happy and was thanked and knew that i was making a difference.  now i go to work two days a week and am with zoe three days and because on fridays we go to the orphanage to 'give back'- the 'official' teaching days are only two days- and i somehow have managed to weasel even out of that.  at first i was doing yoga on thursday mornings in kampala so mike had her in the morning and a student came to help her in the afternoon.  but when mike caught on that the yoga was becoming a habit- and i was sneaking out of my part of the 3/5ths deal- i had to call it off.  since then i've conveniently been in kenya, or it was the boys mini-break, or yesterday i decided to do a 'field trip' to the fabric market.

so today was a bit of culture shock for us.  zoe was trying to get used to me again, and i was, i guess you could call it trying, to get used to her again.  but really, i was squirming and fighting and cursing under my breath or out loud, that i was "done".

it started okay- i mean she got out of the bed with out being asked.  but that was it- so began the nagging.  i ask you, can it really take 30 minutes to brush your teeth, i mean to start to brush your teeth?
i went into the kitchen, turned the calendar to march, counted the months until July and began banging my head on the wall- 'i can't do this for four more months!'

mike looked at me with that face- that 'this is my wife and she's mildly hopeless' face- that face that shows his brain is questioning whether or not it's safe to leave me home with his child. which i prefer to the less sympathetic 'you'd better get it together now' face.

"try to be patient honey"

"BUT HOW is it possible to stand in the bathroom doing NOTHING for 30 minutes when you are supposed to be brushing? i could understand playing with a toy or reading a book, but....i think she might be... you know.....really slow....as in.. not much going on upstairs....." i vented, realizing that it was only 8:30 and i wasn't about to get any sympathy from the folks in the kitchen.

"babe- she's just looking in the mirror. think of how your parents felt about you."
what was that supposed to mean?

"i didn't do stuff like this!  i cared, i was motivated. i brushed my teeth quickly!"

"i'm just saying they had those head-banging moments too."

"not like this!"

"what about your first boyfriend- the recovering alcoholic?"

"yeah but i was 16!"

"which is probably worse!"

at which point we were interrupted by zoe, "i'm done!" as if she deserved a metal for finally finishing.

"okay lets head to the school room!" i mustered enthusiasm- but she always know when i'm faking.

we listed the subjects we needed to cover today on the white board- we numbered them- and we figured out how much time we had until her joint history class at the neighbors house- (which conveniently falls on my homeschool day).

"okay, we have 2 hours and 45 minutes.  how many minutes are in an hour?" i was feeling good about the practical incorporation of math.

"60 minutes."

"Good!"

"so how many minutes are in 2 hours?"

"ummm.  10."

"no."

"6?..... 7?......  8?.....  9?..."

 "NO! what is this an auction?"

"i don't want to figure out how much time to spend on each subject! i want to do "the clock" for math! i want to practice telling time!"

"but this is about time! it's using the clock to figure out how much time we can spend on each subject- it's practical math."

"well i think it's stupid!"

then out it flew- "you think this is stupid? how stupid is it to think that 60 plus 60 could possibly be 10!"

cringe.  ooopps.

at this point i should have said, 'help!' and enlisted the celestial back up, but no, instead i tried the self-pep talk, 'come on! you're the parent! don't argue with her!'  but this didn't really work.  and i shoved that square peg into the round hole- i dragged her through the math of our schedule and only when we were done, did i let her grab the little clock to do our 'official' math.

now for some reason, people with nonverbal learning disorder really struggle with time- the telling of it- the living with in its bounds- the basic intrinsic understanding of it.  and while i know this in my head- i still forget.

"okay zoe, set the clock to 7:07"

she spins the hands to seven- and then hands it to me.  "i have no idea." and she starts to laugh.  this would have been the perfect time to just laugh along with her.  to be thankful that she's not melting down about not knowing.  to support her in her ability to let it go and sort of ask for help.

but no.

out if flew again. cringe. "are you kidding me? you don't know how to show 7 minutes on that clock and you're 12 years old?"

doh!

at that point- i realized that i needed help, probably in the form of therapy, fast.  that it wasn't her- it was me.  that it was only 9:30 am, and that permenant damage might be done if i didn't just shut it.

so i did.  i took pause, i leaned over and gave her a kiss and told her that i know telling time is hard for her and actually i'm stupid- and impatient and overbearing.  i told her that i struggle with time too- the inability to not be ruled by the clock- the inability to just relax and be with her as she learns, that i have "no idea" about lots of things.

and then it was time for english- which today encompasses grammar and comprehension and reading.  she had just finished reading a version of shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew.  how appropriate.  for the next hour, she read me the play out loud in perfect voice, asking for "H.E.L.P"on the names of the characters without a single sticky thought.  she summarized.  she comprehended, she asked good questions about vocabulary and inferred the meaning by the context.

wow. look how far this girl has come! there is understanding and connection, she is able to move her mind laterally now, to begin to grasp the complexities in relationships, to bear with herself in trying to tell time, and pronounce words, and put up with her mother. 

i am that shrew so needing to be tamed.  how easily i let her challenges frustrate me, yet i'm so willing to be tolerant of mine.  thankfully, every day is a new day.  every minute a new minute. a chance. a small beginning.

as we ate our chocolate chip banana bread for lunch she asked me who my favorite character was in 'the taming of the shrew'.  i told her i wasn't sure, and asked her which was her favorite.

"katerina the shrew, because she becomes kind."

maybe there is hope for me. let it start right now!

nonverbal learning disorder sucks

it does. i'll say it.  it sucks.
how my heart hurts for her some days.
because it's just so unfair that the basics of life are so hard for her.

"we never said what we were dreaming of..."

and i can get so mad. so angry, when i see it, when it screams at me- the hard parts.  and then i can't.
i can't live in that place of magical thinking.  i can't pretend.  i know that- it's just there.  with us.  like her blue eyes and her thick blond hair.  the way her mind works it makes mine have to work so much harder.  because we start from different places.  we speak different internal languages.  and i hate that.  i hate that i don't 'get' her- that she doesn't 'get' me. 

the day started with song- zoe shining- the love in her pouring out in songs as we sat on the bed and harmonized and drummed on the bed frame. and i cried because it was a golden moment.  a moment of connection.  and i was okay with an hour of music, i was okay with not making her write, i was flexible, i followed, she led.  but then how soon it crumbles. a word i spoke confused her, and made her mad.  engine hit red.  and the joy of the music ran out through the cracks in the window.


"sun turns the evening to rose,
stars turning high above us"

"i watch the stars from my window sill.  the whole world is moving and i'm standing still."

then hours of dissection.  together we mapped out the feelings, the reactions, the sticky, the change from green to yellow to red, like leaves, her internal process of dying into winter.  the winter of our discontent.  together we map out what hurts and what helps and what is regulated and not regulated and how it feels to her and how it feels to the people in her life.  how it feels to me.  to friends.  to siblings. that actions, her actions affect other people.  that we are connected, crucially connected, even when she doesn't feel it.

and it was as if it's all new. as if it's a revelation.
the thing is, it is.  because with neuro-cognitive dysfunction, these ideas feel new.  because the natural is not natural for her, it's not even learned by experience, it must be taught. again.  and again.  and, once, again,  and again.  and this is why we home school.

"i know it don't come easy, but i love you, i do."

100 sit ups later- she was back- back enough to know she's hungry.  like a pre-verbal toddler who gets crabby when they're hungry- the disconnect between sensation and communication.  100 sit ups and an early lunch and we were back on green.

so i went to make a house call for a bad bronchitis in exchange for a tank of propane.  it was necessary.  i wasn't gone long.  but long enough.  for things to fall apart.

because hide-and-go-seek is hard when you're visually-spatially challenged, because it's hard when you're not sure where you own body is in space, because knowing what people mean, what their eyes say, and their voice, and their face, and the way their body stands and gestures, and their words, is hard and exhausting.  why can't they just use words- she thinks- it would all make so much more sense.

"say you're sorry i can take it. 
let it bend before it breaks."

it wasn't that big of a deal.  it's not the end of the world.  except that it is her world.  it is our world.

"all of these lines across my face, tell you the story of who i am
of how i got to where i am."

so we collected her bits in the car and went home.  i took a moment.  she went to her room.  i didn''t cry.  i didn't yell.  i just felt the lines grow heavier and deeper on my face and i reached for my nvld-book by kathryn stewart. because it helps me remember why she struggles to hide and to seek.  because it makes me feel a little less crazy.  a little. because it orients me back to this life that i gave birth to 12 years ago.

and even today, i found myself walking through the delivery that september 11th and to the months that followed as i tried to be a new mom and a medical student.  even today i found myself stretching to remember if she pointed as baby- if she attempted nonverbal communication back then, if i was ignorant or not involved enough in the theory of her mind.  even today i thought, if only i'd paid more attention, why did i not teach her to point back then?

guilt shows up trying to share the burden that grief holds, but it never helps.

i read page after page and found both understanding and overwhelm.  but mostly i am overcome by my deep, deep love for my little girl, and how scared i am about her growing up and leaving me someday to find her way in this giant, scary, mostly non-verbal world. 

"the night is here, the day is gone, and the world spins madly on."

i now remember that she did write today.  not copy work.  she wanted to write out the song lyrics that were going through her head.

"our God is an awesome God, he reigns from heaven above with wisdom, power and love, our God is an awesome God!"

it's dark.  the lights are out.  the candles are on.  the time is 'now'.  i will rest in this - under the shadow of His wing.

time change

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

killing me softly

that's how it felt this morning.  she was killing me softly. or maybe slowly- but none the less, killing me.

i might be being overly dramatic- it's possible- but do we REALLY need to have the conversation AGAIN about how you're bored with copy work, how you think it's stupid, after you've sat at the table making scribbly letters for 15 minutes.  Really? it's two sentences to copy - how boring could it be?

it was one of those mornings.  and the thing is- i mildly care about her learning to write- i mean- it's more important that she learn to type- but i care about her learning the other things that go along with copy work.  things like- time management, attention to detail, staying on task, sticking with it even if you don't like it- having pride in your work.

maybe it was a morning like- the wii game (see post reconnecting the circuits) where her processing was off- but i think not.  because after many patient attempts to cajole her into doing her work- including a) the understanding sympathetic approach, b) the humor approach, c) the understanding but firm approach- i was left with d) DO YOUR **#***!!##**  WORK!!!!.  and the unfortunate part is, that's what always gets her to snap out of it and become full of remorse and in 15 minutes she's finished her copy work and done her math- and done them pretty well.

and this is what is killing me softly- or perhaps loudly.  i don't want to have to yell at her- i don't want to be that person.  even more, i don't want to establish a pattern where she responds only to anger- where she needs someone else to motivate her- and in a negative way.  i don't want a pattern of her requiring feeling bad and guilty and ashamed- to get it together.  because it can become that all those negative feelings - form her self image.  yikes.

the funny part of this was the copy work itself.  it's a quote that says :

"People are successful at the things to which they devote most of their time and effort.  It's a question of deciding what's important in  you life and working hard to achieve it."

i think she'd made her choice.  and copy work wasn't on her top 10.  unfortunately googling powerpuff girls won't get you very far in life.  (which i impulsively shared with her).

i asked her why it took yelling for her to respond.  she didn't know. i told her i was done yelling.  she can just sit and do it until it's done- the consequence of taking a long time and doing silly letters- is that she'll have to sit there longer and redo it- not that i would come through to realign her with shouting.  i told her that you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink.

she gave me the confused face. and i was again reminded of the difference between our brains.  she is baffled by metaphors- she is literal- concrete- specific- so why am i talking about horses and water in the middle of this conversation? 'killing me softly' would be a challenge.  i am the complete opposite- to a fault.  i use and abuse language and i love it.  to me, words are magical- you can transform them- sometimes even make them up- you can manipulate them - take them out of one context and try them in another and it can work.  or get  you in trouble.  words are musical and sentences - well, you can hide things inside of them.  there are layers of meaning- in the order of our words, in the spelling, in the emphasis, in the punctuation.  i love this.

but i forget this all the time.  i speak to her in metaphor- i use random associations and make crazy links between things that probably don't go together.  it's just who i am and it's hard for me to remember that this use of language is hard for her to understand.  but maybe it's good- i usually explain it- i usually don't get frustrated- i usually can laugh at myself for generating the silly phrase or association- i don't criticize her for not knowing it- for missing it- i can't expect people to climb inside my head - especially zoe.

right now it's warm and stormy.  i'm again outside on the porch.  the trees are wiggly, the sky darkening- i can smell the rain coming and the air is talking.  before the storm- when it was a calmer, sunnier kind of beautiful- i made the kids go out and play for an hour- i told them i didn't care about homework- i cared about them moving their bodies and using their imagination- i told them to make something, find something new, build something, fight something, climb something.  i told them to lie down on the ground- to smell the earth- and to look up- through the leaves on the holly tree that holds her leaves year-round- and see the patterns of the sky- i told them to pay attention. to embrace their worlds- because it's in those moments- under trees or up in trees under the sky- that you figure out what's important in your life and what you want to devote your time to - where you should spend your energy. outside is the magic.