Cray-Cray and Letting it Go!

A wise friend recently said to me "Men don't get emotionally connected to the moment like women do," and I thought..."BRILLIANT! Must blog that!" So here I am, demonstrating yet another difference that I've noticed between men and women, or at least between me and my man.

So last night was back to school night for my middle-schooler. She's in 8th grade now. WOW! I still can't entirely wrap my head around my first born, my little girl, lover of all things pink, watcher of Bear and the Big Blue House (I absolutely ADORED Luna! Remember the singing moon, Luna?!?), consumer of salami and cheese like a true Italian, singer of Sara Hickman (and if you don't know who she is, GOOGLE her immediately!), reader of Angelina Ballerina, my baby, finishing primary school.

Sorry...I digress...last night was back to school night and I couldn't make it. And I felt really sad about that. My husband, a teacher at her school, was obviously there but couldn't attend as her "parental representative" because he had to run his own class for the night. He assured me that I shouldn't feel guilty because I was sick. And that I shouldn't be sad because she has many of the same teachers as last year and I went last year so they know I care about her, or at least I did when she was in 7th grade.

Although he was trying to help me feel better, I still couldn't reconcile my harsh, self-imposed pangs of regret. Then he pointed out that, due to my vertigo (that's my illness...PITA vertigo!), I would likely do more damage if I showed up at BTSN, looking like a zombie, trying not to lean to the right or worse, fall over, incapable of carrying on an intelligent conversation and unable to move my head for fear of the awful spinning, and we all know that nodding is the primary mode of communication when you're sitting at your child's desk listening to her teachers talk about all the cool things they're going to learn in the 8th grade. He was right. It was better if I just didn't.

And then, all dressed up in his fancy BTSN suit, my handsome, science-teacher-of-a-husband, kissed me on the forehead, said, "Don't feel bad...let it go," and went off to school. Easy for him to say.

This is the difference between my husband and me. He can intelligently process a situation, find the reason in a decision and move forward, LET IT GO, no big deal. On the other hand, I, too, can intelligently process a situation, but that typically requires me phoning-a-friend, embarking on an extended survey of all factors, and lots of discussion and reassurance. My husband does not have the time, nor the patience, to help me "intelligently process." He says I'm "beating it over the head until it bleeds," and I'm really not entirely sure what he's referring to.

But I do know that we do things differently. We think differently. We process differently. And last night, when our daughter, our so-grown-up 8th-grader was essentially non-represented at her FINAL back to school night of her entire primary school career, I was sad. He was rationale. I had guilt. He thought I was INSANE. I wanted reassurance. He wanted me to let it go. I wanted to process some more. (OK...I see his point about the beating and the blood and all.) He had evaluated the chain of events reasonably. I had connected to the moment - the LAST of all back to school nights - emotionally. And that's the difference.

What it came down to was that I was missing out on a moment, a moment that mattered to me, that I wanted to store for all eternity in my memory, along with all of the other back to school nights. And more importantly, I didn't want her to feel in any way, that she wasn't important. I wasn't as concerned about proving to her teachers that I'm an involved and present parent. I am and I know that. And I wasn't overly worried that I'd miss some critical bit of information. Seriously, I read the School Loop email EVERY day, and her dad works at the school...she's not going to miss anything.

Once I'd processed the disappointment, found its source and replaced it with some good ole' self-assurance, there was only one thing to do before I let it go. I sat down my sweet and spicy 13-year-old and told her how I felt about missing her final back to school night and that I wanted her to know that she was so LOVED, even though I might've been the only parent in all of Ladera Ranch Middle School that didn't show up to back to school night, and finally, that I was so, SO proud of her. Then I gave her a great big hug.

And she hugged me back, a big, I'm-not-too-old-to-hug-my-mom-at-least-in-the-privacy-of-our-own-home hug, giving me an even sweeter memory of her last back to school night. Then she calmly agreed with her father and said I was acting "CRAY-CRAY."

Spinning, CRAY-CRAY, and letting it go. It'll do.

{J}

'Twas The Night Before School...

'Twas the night before school started and all through the house, 

Not a single child stirred, it was just me and my spouse. 

Our three kids were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of summertime still danced in their heads.

My husband and I, exhausted beyond a doubt,

Had just pulled the wide range of lunch fixings out.

We packed plastic baggies with fresh fruit and snacks,

Filled water bottles and searched for ice packs.

For the next day a new school year would begin,

The thought of the kids back in school made us grin.

We love our children, now don't get me wrong,

But this year our summer was unusually long.

Beach days, star-gazing, camping, and more,

Kayaking, barbecues and friends galore.

'Twas a memorable summer, chalked full of fun,

But after twelve weeks, like most, we were done.

The teachers were needed to make some new rules,

To reign in our wild ones, to retrain these fools!

For seven full hours, they'd teach them cool things,

And inspire them with knowledge that each new day brings.

Math facts, fluency and science were all in store,

Kindness, respect, "best effort" and more.

For seven full hours, they would use their brains,

While we hoped that last year's facts were retained.

The backpacks were ready, not one thing was missed,

Stuffed with the "suggested" supplies from the LIST.

Their outfits were hanging, so fresh and so clean,

Collared shirts for the boys, a new dress for our teen.

We hoped in the morning they'd be alert and lively,

But cute, well-dressed zombies was way more likely.

Our late summer evenings and sleeping past nine,

Made it impossible to get to sleep on time.

Their cranky demeanor surely couldn't last,

A week of early rising would fix them up fast.

The new year was exciting, grades four, five and eight,

And once we adjusted it was sure to be great.

The things of the summer that we'd surely miss:

Playing and late nights and sleeping in -- BLISS!

Things we were ready to put in the past:

Messes and fighting and being harassed.

"Mom, he touched me," and "She took my stuff,"

Or "I'm bored," "I don't want to," and "My life is so rough."

The constant demand for friends, cash and food,

"I swear kids, one more request and I'll come unglued!"

Yes, summer was over and it was a good thing,

We needed a break from all the bickering.

And the kids needed learning, no more TV or Wii,

Tomorrow would start school and a slew of activity.

Which meant for us parents a different type of work,

The lax days of summer replaced with homework.

We'd be needed for chauffeuring, reading logs and more,

Thursday folders, concerts and flash cards galore!

But as we look back on the first weeks of school,

Maybe missing the trips to the beach or the pool.

Or maybe we're dancing cuz they're out of our hair,

Either way, there's one thing that we certainly share.

Come May when we've gotten through standardized tests,

When we're all done with essays and science projects.

We'll longingly look at the year that has past,

And say to ourselves "Summertime...at last!"

{J}

Starting Somewhere

Do you have a goal but don't know how to reach it? Is there a bold dream simmering inside just waiting for you to take the first step? Are you unsure where to begin? Well, it's all part of the process, and everyone's process is different. What matters, is that you begin somewhere.

A process is a systematic series of actions or steps taken to achieve an end. But not all processes begin in a systematic manner. In fact, many times, they happen by accident. That's what happened with me and my writing process. And it was the best accident of my life, I might add.

Almost two years ago, my friend Holly joined a writing group. She'd been trying to launch a new writing/blogging venture, praying for guidance and fellowship and encouragement, when she found a beat up piece of paper in her courtyard. It was a flyer advertising a writing club in Ladera Ranch for women looking to find and give life to their narrative voices. As it turns out, the group facilitator had only posted three flyers around town. Kismet!

Like Holly, I'd always written: poems, short stories, personal essays, but I wrote for me, not for general consumption. Like Holly, I'd always felt like I had a story to tell, but I was waiting for a time when my desire to put pen to page would fit in with the rest of my life. (I think I was also waiting for the the wizard to dole out my dose of courage.) And like Holly, I was looking for a sign. Little did I know, it was sitting right in front of me and we'd be joining forces soon.

She invited me to join the group. That's how I became the recipient of Holly's hand-me-down fate. During my second meeting with the group, I read a portion of my new book for feedback and criticism. I was so nervous I thought I would have an anxiety attack right in the middle of chapter one. But I got through almost fifteen pages and I was fueled by the feedback the group provided. So I kept writing. Really writing. I wrote from a place inside me where ideas flourished. I wrote scenes as they played out in my mind. I wrote paragraphs that I didn't recognize when I re-read them. I wrote until the plot firmed up its edges, the edits tightened up the conflict, and the characters became family. I wrote until the words had all been written.

My writing process didn't begin systematically. It wasn't the traditional, outline-draft-edit process, but I got to the series of steps eventually. As I edited, I created a plot line, a character chart and a synopsis. Interestingly, the absence of these things on day one gave me and my story creative freedom and it was better that way.

Almost two years have passed since Holly shared her writing goals with me. In that time, we have researched all things writing, we have started a blog to build our writers' platform, we regularly write columns for the newspaper, and we have refined our writing skills. I have finished my first book (seeking literary representation now) and the series we are co-writing has a strong foundation, in fact, a formal outline spans the wall in my garage, and we are almost done with book one. With thoughtfulness we are implementing a system of actions. Leaving room for creativity, we are taking steps toward our goal. And most of all, we are embracing our writing process, the one that works for us.

So when dreaming and planning and setting those goals, be flexible. Look for the signs, begin somewhere and then embrace your process, whatever shape it may take. I may have stumbled upon my writing endeavor by accident, but my dream, my passion, my process, is anything but. Neither is yours.

{J}

China Is So Far Away

We have a daughter in China and she came home on Monday. She was gone for two months. We missed her.

Elena has been with our family for three years. She is an international student, living and studying in the United States for high school with the hopes of attending a reputable and rigorous American university before returning to Beijing and starting her career. Her real parents live in Beijing with her maternal grandmother. She is an only child, most of the time. But ten months out of the year, she is the oldest of four and she is very much a part of our family.

Our family has benefited immensely through the experience of hosting an international student. One of the greatest benefits of spending time, especially living with, a person from another country, is being exposed to different cultures and customs of the world. We have learned how to make and appreciate traditional Chinese food, which is very different than what we are used to. Our three children have been introduced to an entirely different level of studying and to the discipline required to achieve an academic goal. And we have been completely humbled as we try to learn the Mandarin language, with all its tonal fluctuations. We are so bad at it, Elena usually ends up rolling on the floor, seriously falling down from laughing so hard. I'm not sure the vulgarity we are muttering but we keep trying. We love to see her laugh.

Additionally, and equally beneficial, is the opportunity to provide American experiences and insight to our culture and way of life, while supporting a young person's journey to better herself or himself. It's outreach in the most fundamental form and in the comfort of your own home. Elena has learned how to make and appreciate traditional American food. She has been exposed to the concept of balance and finding the value of "experiential" education as we drag her away from the books for trips to the beach or neighborhood parties or campouts. While studying new-to-her subjects like U.S. and World History and English Literature, she has refined her English language skills, recognizing and now even using, slang and puns and American conventions.

Lastly, hosting an international student, whether for a semester, a year, or longer, will change lives. It's opening your home and your heart to a new member of the family, one whose differences are gifts, whose experiences are lessons and whose thumbprint will be permanent. We stumbled upon the opportunity to "adopt" Elena via a family friend and we are so happy we had an open mind and got matched with an AMAZING young lady. (Not everyone's stories are the same.) The ultimate reward, the forging of a lifelong and meaningful relationship, has been invaluable.

We love you, Elena. Welcome home!

{J}

Summer Buzz Kill

I love Target. It's one of those stores that just makes me happy. Things are color-coordinated and perfectly placed. Target makes me believe that even I can be organized and put together. There's no place else that you can take your $12.99 and get that perfect impulse-buy without the guilt. Whether it's a new chevron scarf, a few pairs of frilly panties, a CD or best-selling book...whatever "must-have" it may be, Target has it. Target and I have a great relationship. Or, I thought we did.

Recently, while prepping for my annual camping trip, I roamed the aisles for my s'mores supplies, RV-friendly toilet paper and other various camping necessities. I was taking my time and taking it all in, filling my cart and letting Target work its magic on my mood. I. Was. Happy.

Then I rounded the bulk items aisle and found myself in what looked to be a construction zone. The shelves were bare and the bins were empty. I stopped mid-aisle and wondered what wonderful seasonal items were going to be set out. Maybe patio and garden supplies, or more summer toys, or some other amazing find meant just for me.

All of a sudden, five, red-shirted worker-bees came toward me pushing GIANT carts. I couldn't believe my luck, that I would be able to witness the unfurling of the newest must-haves. As I watched with excited anticipation, I noticed the carts did not carry painted flower pots, matching gardening gloves or watering cans, nor did they carry brightly-colored pool toys or lawn games. No. They were overflowing with little yellow and green boxes. Boxes filled with colored pencils, pens, crayons and water colors. They were stacked high with ruled paper, scissors and glue. They were filled with school supplies. In July!

Oh Target, why did you hurt me so bad? I thought we were friends! I thought you were looking out for me! I thought you knew me! I stood there in disbelief as a wave of nauseousness came over me. Then sadness. Then rage. Really? It's July! We have almost two months until the kids are due back to the blacktop with their shiny new backpacks, clean, hole-free shoes, and oodles of school supplies. (Really. The list is long and very specific.)

So I turned on my heels, snuffing the Target employees that had just killed my summer-time buzz, and went to check out. On my way I regained control over my summer spirit. After all, if I can ignore Christmas decorations that make an appearance in October, I can surely avoid school supplies until later. Much, much later.

{J}

Broken Bones and PTSD

Why is it that when you become a parent, no one shares with you that your children's injuries will leave indelible, painful marks on you?

I used to feel like I could handle it when my children got hurt. I was always the calm one, assuring them that everything would be OK. Then the last year happened. With one injury after another, my resolve to be cool and collected withered away to nothing. I was left raw and exposed and anxious.
We have become very familiar with the ER near our home.

In the last 12 months we have visited there on four different occasions with each of our children. In April 2012, my middle son was stung by a swarm of bees. We pulled 38 stingers off of his little body and took him to get steroid shots. In September my daughter was climbing on the bleachers at the baseball field by our home. She slipped and fell while she was pretending the hand rail was a balance beam. No stitches, but the area from which she was bleeding was a grizzly scene. In February of 2013, my middle son (again) fell backwards off a chair onto his head. He was having trouble speaking and his pupils were different sizes. We rushed him to the ER where they pronounced a moderate concussion. Most recently, my oldest broke his wrist playing trampoline basketball. Saying that it broke really doesn't do it justice. It SNAPPED in two. It was very dramatic and was the final undoing of my calm exterior. Everyone commented on how calm I appeared but that was a complete facade. I'm pretty sure I'm suffering from PTSD.

I know, being a mother of boys (and a daughter that plays like one), that accidents will happen. Cuts and bruises I can do without feeling panicked. But I've noticed that now I am much more vocal about what I DON'T want my children to do. Climbing walls, running in flip flops, crashing waves, and riding skateboards evoke sudden panic attacks and crazy yelling scenes that did not occur B.A. (before accidents). My children give me the rolling eye look as if to say "you didn't act like this before! Now everything is BORING."

Well, BORING I can do, and I can do it really well. Especially if it means keeping my precious children safe from all the things that threaten to beat them up and make them bleed. Is that realistic? Probably not, but until I go through desensitization therapy to deal with my anxiety, I will put up with eye rolling when I make them sit on the couch and watch TV instead of going outside to get hurt.

{H}

The Middle

Today we have officially been out of school for 52 days. I think this is what they call the Dog Days of Summer. We are HALFWAY through. My oldest saw a back to school commercial the other day and moaned, "WHY are they reminding us about school?" That made me ponder the fact that I haven't made them do one math problem or pick up a book in the last 45 days. Whoops.

It's kind of hard to believe that it's already the middle of summer. It has been very easy to let the routine go. Too easy in fact. I have gotten used to not paying attention to what has to be done tomorrow and had more of a "go with the flow" attitude. We have had some "stay in our PJ's'" days, movie days, pool days, VBS days, art project days, and beach days. The joy in all of these days has been being on our own time. We make our schedule and with the exception of a few practices and some work days in the week, that schedule starts and ends when we decide. It is a luxury for which I am eternally grateful and long for starting around March 1st.

Is summer all fun and games? No. Are there days that I wish my three lovely children would have to be gone for six hours a day? Of course! I am only human after all. Being sole entertainer can be draining and sometimes frustrating. Trying to plan something that all three will enjoy usually has to involve ice cream or spending money. My 13 year old is not interested in playing with my five year old every day and my 10 year old would just play baseball if he could. Part of having a fun summer is a willingness to compromise. Teaching my kids that coming up with ideas that we can all do and enjoy together is difficult but always worth it. Bottom line, it's all fun. It's just in the way they look at it.

I am not looking forward to certain things that September will bring. Summer is a well deserved break and is not so easy to say good-bye too. However, the school year has its good points too. I guess it's all in the way I look at it.

A successful transition back to "real life" routine will be a difficult one. Practicing math facts for 1st, 5th and 8th grade will have to be on our summer agenda sometime soon. But I think I'll wait at least another 30 days before we start that.

{H}