Lion and Magic Boy

Well, not apathy exactly.

But something has to change. Correction: something IS changing.

Because the person I have been says, “No! That’s not enough! There’s more!”, and the “more” comes from a place I have long spent so much time and energy keeping buried because the fears about all that comes along with it.

Things happened to me when I was little that shouldn’t happen to anyone. I know it; I acknowledge it; I know it’s there. It’s all still quite hazy, but that plus a whole lot of other things that are all connected began shaping and crafting an image that developed in order to hide and protect the part that feels broken.

And through the years more images were crafted, more personas if you will, until they are all just as real now as that original but hidden part. But the feeling of an emptiness inside remains, and it is this I intend to fill by bringing through that buried part.

But my body resists this. Our bodies remember things, and hold those memories. And right now I feel the tension, can feel the fear, can feel the resistance. Which feels a lot like pain, actually.

I’m not afraid of this process, really. I know where it leads and I know what’s on the other end of it, more or less.

It has real-life consequences, though (doesn’t everything?). Yesterday I showed up for an appointment an hour early because I got confused as to the time. I am forgetting things. Oh, this is temporary, I know this, and it doesn’t worry me beyond just having to operate in the world and having that be rather inconvenient just now. Plus, all the things I normally hold myself to don’t seem to matter as much as they did. I think that’s a good thing, really, playing with what matters. Because, really, what DOES matter? Precious few things, actually, and it’s those that I’d like to give my energy to.

So it’s not apathy exactly, but more like a sifting and discarding and keeping.

Haiku AND cats. A two-fer.

The Black One

sleek glossy soft fur

burrowing under covers

purr belies sharp claws

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Other Black One

flag-tail waves with grace

golden eyes glow with fierceness

one paw dangles down

There’s a story about Nathaniel and time, but I have no time to tell it tonight.

I do, however, have both time and impulse to relate a little tale about ice cream (Serena was craving ice cream today and may have mentioned it a few hundred times).

Whwn I was about 7 or 8 I accompanied my parents on some expedition to the local small shopping center, the one in the middle of town that had the movie theater (2 screens), the Baskin-Robbins, and about 5 or 6 shops. A jeweler’s. Don’t remember the rest.

I was allowed to purchase an ice cream cone and consume it, alone, while my parents conducted whatever business they had.

Baskin-Robbins was a semi-annual or so treat. My dad will tell you that the black cherry was best, but I preferred to try various flavors depending on my mood. Choosing among all those colorful and delicious-looking flavors was often difficult and it seemed like it took hours each time to make a choice.

On this particular day I chose an old standby, a deep and dark chocolate. I felt quite grown up paying for it myself and then slowly walking under the colonnade, peering in the shop windows and eating my ice cream. I had quite a while to wait for my parents, and had to make the circuit more than once, but I enjoyed imagining what it would be like to want the jewelry in the window, for instance, and I read all the posted signs more than once. People passed by me from time to time, and I could imagine them thinking how well-behaved I was, how grown up. I was a little like them, those people, even though they were so much older than I, but we shared this experience of being in the same place at the same time. Some smiled at me encouragingly.

I finished my ice cream and carefully threw away my napkin in a trash container. So grown up. Finally my parents came and we drove back home.

It was not until later that I chanced to look in the mirror, seeing the very obvious after-effects of eating a very dark chocolate ice cream cone still on my face, surrounding my entire mouth.

1. One of his front teeth is quite worn away on one side because Eric won’t stop grinding them.

2. He prefers to fall asleep with one hand on his belly button. It’s comforting, I guess, though it would drive me crazy.

3. He refuses assistance of any kind while going down the stairs, instead opting to imperiously order me away: “GO!!” and then ascending on his bottom, bump-bump-bump.

4. He drinks from a cup, but about 2 tablespoons at a time. He sits in the kitchen on the floor and commands a seemingly endless supply of tiny drinks, each one downed with relish.

5. All bodily functions are hilarious.

I’ve been largely silent about the incredible pressure Serena felt, and as an extension of that I felt, as a result of our last-minute end-of-summer decision to move the children from their Waldorf school into public school. Public school where the focus is heavily on reading. Public school where nearly every activity throughout every single second-grade day requires reading. Public school where the focus is very different from the Waldorf curriculum that gently encourages the children to really know the letters and all their hidden qualities, ensuring really strong readers by the end of third grade. Public school where for the first time Serena struggled and felt she was the straggler, the new kid, lagging behind.

Every weekday she cheerfully approached her homework, though, and as the weeks passed I saw her progress in terms of the waning help she required from me and the number of spelling words she spelled correctly not at the end of every week (where she never missed one after having worked with the words all week) but in the first-of-the-week pre-tests where she was clearly beginning to apply her new-found abilities. Every night she reads in bed with a flashlight, and there is no part of me that wishes to discourage her from this at this point. I cannot tell you what it means to me that the children adore books and love reading, and with this huge push to catch up, this intense focus on her obvious lack, I was afraid that the light in Serena’s inherent love of books would be extinguished.

It is not, although still I am careful not to push her. I give her books with increasing difficulty and point out how far she has come. Indeed, it appears that she has done the work of two grades’ worth of reading instruction in just two and a half months, and I couldn’t be more pleased.

So she brought her first report card ever home today. It reflects where she was, not where she is now. I expect huge changes in the next one, and she already has set high goals for herself and is seeing them manifest even now. I couldn’t be more pleased that Serena never gave up, never got more than momentarily discouraged , always kept trying, and always did her best.

Nathaniel, on the other hand, is still kicking himself about the low grade he received in one class. It was a 95.

And then Eric’s meeting to discuss his future, his next year at school, was also this week. That’s a bit of a different area. What the district that provides the funding and even the school does is try to give a child the least amount they can as long as they can say the child is progressing.

I, on the other hand, want the best for my child, as does most every parent. Who wouldn’t?

But simply saying, “He’s making progress” isn’t enough for me. Let’s compare his development to someone else, shall we? Then maybe we’ll see that we should be raising the bar. Simply doing more than before, while wonderful, may not be enough. How do you determine a child’s real potential? Shouldn’t we be aiming for the stars here?

In that case, let me see what developmental milestone norms are for typical children and for children with Down syndrome, and then let’s compare Eric to those. He should do at least as well as his peers, shouldn’t he? He would “progress” in almost any environment. Let’s give him some real goals that aren’t just do-able in the natural course of things, but that challenge him.

This appears to likely be a lifelong rant. Eric may never see the inside of a “typical” classroom vs a special needs classroom. And frankly, I have no idea at this point what would be best for him.

But: his report card was all A’s. He met or surpassed every goal. I just wish I had access to the inside of his head to know what he really wants from his life.

[tags]education, special needs, Waldorf education, Down syndrome, reading[/tags]

Yes, it’s a word if I say it is. It is!

Is too.

Oh, and don’t mind me. I am learning to touch type, after all this time. It’s going quite well, actually! Here, I’ll show you: thd id where I type tbe worjf “aeseinre”. [translation: this is where I type the word "awesome"] See? Not bad, eh?

It’s raining today. Usually when it rains here where I live, it rains. Like all day. Not the all-day for three or four days straight of northern California where I grew up, but just all day. Real rain that is hard to ignore.

It was raining this morning when I took Eric to his bus. He was poised on the porch, thinking about the three steps down and his role in navigating them, and I offered to carry him to the bus thinking I would get less wet that way. Nope, not a chance, he’d prefer to walk himself, thank you. I was reminded that he practically runs now, while just a year ago he wasn’t even close to walking.

A few minutes later it was time to walk Serena down to her bus stop and wait with her there. We donned rain coats and hats and while we walked the, what is it, 50 yards or so, we talked about how much we like to be out in the rain. I was a little surprised that only one lone kid was there but figured maybe people were waiting till the last minute. Usually we are the last to arrive at the bus stop, and we stand near the edge of the little knot of people, parents socializing while their kids shuffle nervously awaiting the bus.

Just the one kid, holding a lime green umbrella, wearing a light jacket that wasn’t even zipped. Brr. He said he wasn’t cold. Soon we were joined by two other kids: a girl with no rain coat, no hat and no umbrella who said she liked getting wet, and another shorter kid who never spoke and come to think of it never l showed his face. Umbrella kid is fairly gregarious, it turns out. I still don’t know his name but I know a lot of other things about him now. Kids like it when adults talk to them like people.

Standing there, my shoes slowly becoming wetter and wetter (they’re not even close to waterproof, it turns out)(the nondescript leather slipons), I enjoyed the feeling of the rain on me. On my coat, actually.

Eventually the bus came, but no one else ever joined us. I noticed several cars idling nearby and saw no-hat girl’s mother in one. One kid materialized from nowhere, probably one of the cars, when the bus arrived. The other cars seemed to contain the rest of the waiting parents. Who drove to the bus stop 50 feet from their doors and idled there for ten minutes. I was the only parent who waited with the kids in the rain. I wondered where everyone else was. I walked back through the rain after Serena got on the bus and as I opened my door, the neighbor was coming out of their house.

“The bus just left,” stating the obvious, but helpfully. (I’m such a good neighbor.)

“I know, we’re driving,” she replied.

It’s easier to pile two kids into a car and drive ten minutes there and ten minutes waiting to drop off and then ten minutes back again than it is to wait in the rain for a bit?

You should see these people when it snows.

And! Just to recap, I am awesome because I stood out in the rain with four kids while the other parents stayed dry in their cars.

[Fist pump] Yessss!

So, I’ve been dutifully trying to keep up with all the manic posting of NaBloPoMo, and daily over at Fussy, who’s responsible for the whole thing anyway, I’ve also been enjoying daily posts about shoes for NaBloShoeMo, which is clearly for those people who actually have 30 pairs (or more) of shoes.

Women supposedly have a thing for shoes. Girly shoes. Pretty shoes. Or just…shoes. I am not one of those people. To wit, this is the contents of my shoe closet. If I even had a closet devoted to shoes.

• 3 pairs of running shoes, so ironic considering how I feel about running. But one pair is more than two years old, one was bought more for hiking/trail running (I love my idealism!), and one, weirdly, I WON just last month. They’re all size 9 1/2. But I measure a 7 1/2.
• 2 pairs cycling shoes, including one with cleats for clipless pedals. The other pair cuts off the circulation in my toes. I love them.
• Wool Haflinger slippers that are falling apart. I love them.
• A pair of Uggs bought on the way to the airport for a trip to Finland where they were much appreciated and have continued to be since. I don’t care what people say about them. I love them.
• Crocs.
• One pair of black pumps. For those court appearances. They may one day be comfortable.
• Jeweled sandals. Worn once, and I had the blisters to prove it.
• Black sandals, bought for my trip last summer to BlogHer that I didn’t go to.
• Nondescript ugly brown leather slip-on shoes that must be about 6 years old and that have been everywhere with me, including hiking in Whistler. I hate them and love them both.
• A pair of brown short side-zip leather boots, about six years old and barely worn.

TOTAL = 13 pairs. 5 of which are for some sort of athletic activity. I guess I’d better get off my ass then.

I just came from my eye doctor, and I am now wearing a pair of bifocal contacts. This sucks. I never thought it would come to this, actually, but I’ve noticed that the font on my Macbook seems to be getting smaller and smaller. I increased the font size, much to the relief of my overburdened eyes, but knew deep down that maybe I needed a new prescription also. My penchant for wearing each 2-week contact lens until it actually begins to fall apart before replacing it may be backfiring on me slightly.

When I was there I thought I would try on some frames as well. Why not? I have been not wearing the same glasses for six years now, why not upgrade to a new stylish pair and then not-wear those as well? I reasoned: having lesbian-chic new glasses might encourage me to actually wear them from time to time, probably to the chagrin of all the children who prefer me not to change my appearance in any way. Ever. I asked Serena to visualize me in a skirt with some awesome boots once recently and she told me that I could only wear jeans. Since that’s all I have worn for like 8 years. Whatever.

So I tried on all 632 pairs of frames in the store at least twice and narrowed things down to three pairs by a Danish company. All three were complete deviations from anything I’ve ever worn. I conducted an informal poll of the four fifty-something women who worked in the office and they all agreed on one pair, something I am told almost never happens, so I took that as an omen (they were actually my favorite too) and ordered them. I may regret the color choice (red! and blue! together! surprisingly attractive!) later however.

Don’t bother going to the Parentricity site yet. I’ll let you know when it’s operational.

There are 1000 hours left until Christmas, by the way. Spend them wisely.

Oh. And I had to tell my eye doctor that I cheated on him when I lived in Colorado and saw another eye doctor, but he seemed understanding of my dalliance and even appreciative that I was taking care of my eyes. And then when I left he told me he was reaaallly glad I was back. Um. Ew.

So I didn’t post ahead last night for today, so what.

Maybe I was, you know, busy.

Maybe I was working on stuff for one of my new jobs, which is LIVE today and I can finally announce! Parentricity is a social network for parents, and here’s an official description:

“Parentricity aims to become the largest, most highly regarded destination for moms and dads that uses social networking as a guide to raising young children. Parentricity will empower parents with the collective experience, knowledge and expertise of a national network of peers and professionals in an environment that fosters community and friendship. Built with the best of Web 2.0 features and functionality, Parentricity will be a one-stop resource center for parents.”

So, you like? Go over and have a look. And then join: this promises to be big! And I’ll be writing over there about three times a week. Here’s my first contribution.

And! Not to be outdone, because hey, this stuff is really powerful (go read it and see for yourself), there’s a new post up at Loving Awareness about surrendering to The Void. You know you’re curious; go on.

All this birthday talk. Or maybe it was watching “Neverending Story” tonight, which brought me back to like 22 again, which somehow translated into being 7. I don’t know, but I recalled the birthday party I had that year. Which was so memorable that I never had another.

The big thing at the party was going to be the giant balloons. Giant balloons that you could sit on and bounce. At least, this was my idea, my vision. But it was to be the highlight of the party, bigger even than the miniature golfing. And the Shasta black cherry cola.

I think maybe 5 or 6 other girls came. Or maybe there were boysthere too; it’s all a little hazy. There was probably food. And my dad likely disappeared for the afternoon, leaving my mom to seem unnaturally convivial, jovial even, not that she was usually morose or anything, but there was definitely a heartier-than-usual “company face” that she donned for occasions like that which were fortunately infrequent. Which I am afraid may be a genetic trait.

The balloons were quickly abandoned. They were difficult to blow up and didn’t become nearly the size required, plus, hello, they were balloons? Not so hot for bouncing on.

My dream shattered, I couldn’t wait for everyone to leave. And never found it desirable to have another party.

Though if I could get one of those really big balls with a handle? For bouncing on?  Or, like, 20 of them?  I might change my mind.