Spinning Yellow

Right Where I Belong

Last night I had one of my recurring dreams.  The one where I have moved back into the house I used to live in as a kid.  I was so sure, as I am every time I have the dream, that it was real.  I kept saying, This time it has really happened.  It has finally come true.  Just like I knew it would.

Just like I knew it would.

I did go to the BlogHer09 conference.  I actually wrote a post (but didn't publish it) over a week ago about all the crazy things that happened leading up to going away.  I went.  It was fabulous.  I came back to the stress and the fallout.  But it was all worth it.

And I have to ask myself, "Why?"  Why did I go again when for so many reasons I shouldn't have?  And why is it so wonderful, an experience I thoroughly enjoy? 

I barely blog.  I am constantly on double not-so-secret probation from the BlogHerAds people because I don't post often enough.  My ads get turned off and I feel like a loser.  Why haven't I just thrown in the towel?

I've said this many times before: writing does not come easily to me.  And blogging can be overwhelming.  I feel that I don't get back to people, I don't read all of their posts, I am a bad blogging citizen, blah, blah, blah.

And yet, I can't give it up.

In my dream last night, I am telling my father, who was visiting us in the new/old house, that I knew this was going to happen.  That I had dreamed about it for years.  And here I was, in that house again.

Just like I knew it would.

As the third child, I could sum up a lot of my issues from growing up as: wanting to be heard.  To know something that my siblings didn't.  To be right.  Respected.  Worthwhile.

I spend a ton of time agonizing over decisions, second guessing myself.  I have wondered what I should be doing with myself.  Should we live here, in my hometown?  Should I get a job?  Should we have another baby? 

But when I go to the BlogHer conferences I feel like I am doing something right.  Like I am where I belong.  Even if I am not a very skilled writer.  Even if I don't post enough or follow up.  I know it is because I've always wanted to be part of a group of people who think about things as much as I do.  Who are connected to others by their ideas and depth of understanding.  Who value intelligence and wit, creativity and knowledge.

I feel like a better person when I among these people.

This dream I have is very similar each time I have it.  But this time it ended differently.  It was the most vivid it has ever been as far as feeling that it was real.  I was so sure.  So positive that this was the time it wasn't a dream.

As I wandered around the house, I had a sudden sinking feeling, instead of the normal smug, contented one that I was right and this had come to pass.  I looked out the front windows and thought: I don't know anyone who lives here anymore.  Who will my children play with?  They will miss their neighbors.  Who will I talk with?  Why did I move here? 

I've made a terrible mistake.

And I woke up.  Dazed.  Confused. 

Relieved.

I was right where I wanted to be.  In my own bed.  In my own house.  With my dog and my husband and my kids.

My life was the one I wanted.  Not the dream of going back to the time when I felt secure and idealistic.  I always wanted to feel like I had a sense of purpose and a place where I belonged.  Where I could feel both comfortable and inspired.  Important and fulfilled.  My life has turned out to be all that I always dreamed and hoped it would be.

Just like I knew it would.

What Time Is It? Summertime!

Embrace the summer.  Embrace the summer.  Embrace the summer.  Ommm

Oh, hi there!  Look at this, it's summer already.  Spring kind of got away from me, and now? here we are with summer in full swing.  It is already the fourth official week, and it is going well.  Really.  I know I complain about summer, she and I don't always get along, but I am working on our relationship.  I'm learning to appreciate her better qualities even though some of them are the very things I find trying. 

Like kids not going to bed, putting sunscreen on unwilling children, determining what to feed people several times a day.  Cajoling reluctant children to attend swim lessons.  Having to fight about how many times per week, or even day, it is reasonable to expect a treat from the goddamn ice cream truck.

Wait, I got off-track again.

Embrace the summer.  Embrace the summer.  Embrace the summer.  Ommm

I was looking forward to summer, mostly because a good deal of this past year (if you mark time from my birthday in June from one year to the next) sucked. I don't really want to rehash it all, but I barely blogged because it just seemed like crappy thing after even more crappy thing kept happening, and I didn't want to be a whiner.

One of the worst things was that Scott hated going to school and was miserable pretty much every. single. morning.  On the very last day of school, as he was going to bed, I said, "Wow, you survived second grade!  Yay!  Now it is summer, you must be so happy!"  To which he immediately replied, "I don't want to go to camp!  I don't want to go to swim lessons!"

I felt like banging my head against the wall.  Please, oh please, no, summer could not be a continuation of the struggles. NO.

On the following Monday morning, after I took Scott to his first day of a week long basketball camp and Jane finished her swim lessons, I received a voice message from the therapist we were seeing for the OCD study.

"It occurred to me that maybe participating in this study is too stressful for you and your family right now," she began.  What, was she kicking us out?  I'd been trying to drop out of the study for weeks, and now, as summer started, she was telling me how stressful the whole thing was?

On Wednesday when we were supposed to go down for an appointment and discuss the situation, I told Scott it was time to go and he freaked out.  Screaming about not wanting to go and slamming his door.

That was it.  I called and canceled.  I felt instantly relieved.  Scott and I went out to dinner.  The next day, after the basketball camp, we went to the pool and he remembered that he could swim and that maybe the lessons wouldn't be so bad after all.

I decided that he and even more so, I, needed a break.  And what better time than summer to do it?

Now, nothing has really changed as far as Scott's issues, and I still find myself forcing him to do things he'd rather not, for his own good.  He's been having panic attacks.  But trying to be relaxed, to focus on the things we love about summer, is making us all feel better.

We've been swimming and walking to Grammy's house, playing outside and reading together.  Ate the first tomato and cucumber from the garden.  Watched fireworks with our cousins.  Saw my nephew perform in a High School Musical production.  Went to our friend's house for a big cookout and took care of our neighbor's pets.  I've been running and grilling by myself (without Matt's help).  All good.

Embracing the summer.

Matt is ridiculously busy with work, but we are holding our own here.  I even laid off trying to get the kids to do summer school work until this week, when I finally started the handwriting (Scott is learning cursive) and grade-appropriate workbooks.

So far, summer is the break we really needed.

I do have one summer goal though that I will not budge about and it is, shockingly, being met:

Everyone must wipe themselves after going to the bathroom.

And as Matt said to me the other day, "Really, if that is all that you accomplish this summer, then I think you can call it a success."

I absolutely agree.

Just Another Rainy Monday

** Alternate title: Rainy Days and Mondays Always Get Me Down

It is raining again here.  We had a beautiful weekend, particularly Saturday, where it finally felt like spring.  Scott put on a short-sleeved shirt for school on Friday and complained that it felt strange having his arms exposed.  I've been home all day with my sick, soon to be five years old, daughter.  She had a fever and sniffles and wanted to stay in her pajamas, snuggle and watch TV.

Scott was not happy at. all. that she got to stay home.  He's been griping about everything lately.  I was considering doing a regular feature here called:  What's Scott torqued off about today? but thought that was kind of mean.

In the Groundhog Day version of my life, I get up later than I want to.  Go downstairs where Scott is already awake, watching Sports Center.  While I try to get some coffee, he starts complaining.  "I don't feel well.  I'm tired.  I feel sick.  Can you take my temperature?  I'm hot.  I can't go to school."

My day goes on, I craft blog posts in my head all day, while I do laundry, go to the store, do preschool drop off and pick up, make meals, clean up, blah, blah, blah.  All during the day I think, I will write that tonight.  Then night time comes, the flurry of activity of the afternoon blurring into homework-dinner-cleanup-bedtime.  And all I want to do is also go to sleep.  I have no energy left to write any of the fabulous (you'll have to take my word on it) posts that I worked on inside my head.

I haven't run in over three weeks.  I wanted to try this weekend, to see if it would hurt, but I chickened out.  Today I started the 30 Day Shred DVD.  It was alright, boring but quick.  Jumping jacks in place?  I need a DVD for that?  And I only did it once and I'm already sick of hearing Jillian say, "Those abs don't come for free!"  I'd much rather run, but I need to get back in better shape.  I may switch back to my tried and true The Firm DVDs, but would like to try this for the 30 days first.  I am curious how it will go tomorrow when I am sore.  I am not used to doing a workout on two consecutive days.

I finished The Time Traveler's Wife.  Thanks God.  It was really freaking me out.  I felt like someone was going to appear out of nowhere.  I appreciated the intricate story line, but there were things about the way she wrote that bugged me.  Sharing the story from each character's perspective was critical to developing the plot, but she didn't present each person's voice distinctly.  I found myself confused as to who was narrating, they both sounded the same.  And I have to admit, the idea that he shaped the young girl's life as an older man and then was her husband in "The Present" was a bit icky.  A 40 year old with an 18 year old, just doesn't sit well with me.

One more thing before I go fall into bed, hoping that Jane does not get sick.  I got a new hair dryer yesterday because mine kept shutting off from over-heating.  Such a small thing, but it took less time to dry my hair today and this is Huge for me!  I might even be tempted to wash my hair daily if I can dry it this fast!

It's the little things that matter, the ones that brighten up a Groundhog Day-ish rainy Monday.

March Madness Brings April Insanity

My college roommate had a sign hanging in our dorm room that read: April 15th is Sooner Than You Think.  She must have swiped it from a tax preparation office.  People would laugh at the sign, thinking she had some strange desire to be a tax account (she was a nursing major), not realizing that the joke was that her birthday was on April 15th.  A few years later I had a boyfriend with the same birthday. 

Even though everyone knows that April 15th is Tax Day, I always think about these friends and how I felt that the middle of April was so far into the year.  It is more than a quarter of the way through the year and yet everyone feels like it comes up so fast, they never have their taxes done, they are never ready.  How can this be?

And here I am.  Once again so far into the new year and I can't get my groove on.  I've written about it before, how March used to be the longest month and now it flies by as I panic, knowing that the busyness of April is coming way too quickly.

Last year at the end of March I posted this.  And really, in so many ways, I could just say it applies to this year.  But, on the other hand, a ton of stuff is different.  And here is a truth that it has somehow taken me until middle age-ish to realize: Life is both crazy, hectic, unpredictable, with staggering highs and abysmal lows and it is mundane, tedious, excruciatingly boring.  At the same time! 

I used to have this friend that was writing a book titled: Bringing Color Into Your Life.  He liked to tease me that I would never need his book because color seemed to find me.  As much as I wanted my life to be steady and predictable, I was always finding myself in these crazy, unexpected predicaments. He believed that most people felt their life was dull and needed to create excitement.  But maybe it is more about our tolerance of such things, than actually having a life with or without color.  I think I've always had a low threshold for what I was willing to experience so the things that happened to me seemed bigger than they would to someone else.

I will rehash last year's end of March post with this year's updates in italics.  And if you ever feel that your life has become too routine or boring, just try my time game and you will realize how many things change in a year.  It never fails to reveal just how unpredictable life can be while also showing the consistencies, year after year.

Ten Before 10 from March 2008

Ten separate posts I should write:

1.  This blog, Spinning Yellow, is now officially two years old.  I wrote my first post on March 25th, 2007.  Yes, it has changed my life. 

2.  I've watched Autism: The Musical twice with tears streaming down my face.  I feel completely attached to all the people in the movie, kids and parents.  I can't stop thinking about it.  Latest thing I can't stop thinking about are two babies from parents who write blogs, that have died.  It is heartbreakingly sad and I just don't know how people survive.  I am also awed by the outpouring of support from this bloggy community.

3.   I get e-mails from Runner's World with helpful links.  Today's was titled: Easter Candy = Crack.  I am so there.  In fact, I am right now going to throw the rest of it out.  Chocolate is my biggest weakness, hands down.  Also, there was a tid bit about people gaining weight while training for a marathon.  wtf?  How is this possible?  Well, they explain it, but I don't even want to know because that is just too depressing.  There is no way that running your ass off shouldn't correlate to literally running your ass off.  I have actually lost weight this year, nothing to do with training, though.  I think it is the thyroid medicine that I am now taking. 

4.  Speaking of which, I ran 10 miles 2 weeks ago.  And Matt says that if I did 10, I can do 13.  I wish I believed him. He's right, as I know, because I did run the race last year, but I won't be this year.  I hurt my ankle and will be bowing out, sadly.  This has really bummed me out and made me rethink running.  More on that soon.

5.  Scott is having an anxiety attack that started with his bus breaking down and is now spiraling into him not being able to sleep and following me around the house.  He is chewing his sleeve and hmmm- ing and jumping at every sound.  I am trying to be understanding without making too much of it.  Sure, you can wish me luck with that.  The current anxiety situation centers around being at school, that he will get sick, that it will feel like an eternity while he is there, that he will be upset about something.  We are participating in a study at the University of Pennsylvania on Anxiety and OCD.  Many more details on that soon.

6.  I am in charge of our family NCAA basketball pool, as always.  A fun tradition that Scott is way too caught up in. I won, again, which seems suspicious because I am in charge, but really, I can't cheat, I'm just lucky.

7.  I failed to attend Oprah's on-line class for her book group selection, A New Earth, for the 4th week in a row.  I love Oprah and totally dig the premise of this book, but cannot, for the life of me, understand how millions of people are actually reading it.  Have you tried to read this?  Either I'm not as smart as I thought I was or a lot of people are lying.  Well, I missed Oprah's classes again this year, but I am reading The Time Traveler's Wife for a new book group I am joining and am pretty excited about starting fresh with some different people.

8.  It is almost April.  Taxes and birthdays and yard work, oh my!

9.  This time two years ago, Jane broke her arm, I started this blog and I started running.  Scott finished up his listening program and cut back on his OT.  It seems like more than a two years has passed because so much has happened.  Last year, Matt was only a few months into a new job and now, he's just starting another job.  Would have never seen that one coming last year!

10.  I desperately want to go to BlogHer08 in San Francisco in July, but cannot figure out how to justify the cost. Ya'll know I went and had fun.  I bought a ticket to BlogHer09 in Chicago early, in order to get the discount price, and then the tickets sold out.  I am not sure if I will be able to go, but I think I can sell it if I am not going to attend.  I am kind of surprised that it sold out so fast given the economy.

10 pm - I made it on time.

'night.

That Kid, Son of That Mom

When Scott was younger and we were out and about, he would often draw the attention of those around him.  He was the kid who took someone else's toy, or threw a fit in music class, or perhaps tackled someone.  He stood out.  It wasn't intentional, he just didn't fit in easily and was quirky, noticeable.  The boy who always wore a baseball hat and ran around in circles at My Gym.

There was this day, when he was just over 3 and Jane was an infant, that I always think of as indicative of his life, our life, at least at the time.  We had a birthday party to go to and then an event at a preschool, the one he was supposed to attend for summer camp and then in the fall.  It was a busy, frantic day, rushing from one event to the other that included missed lunch, rushed nursing and a skipped nap.

Over and over, things went wrong.  Scott was scolded (and me too) at the birthday party because he was putting a handheld fan in a kid's hair.  When we arrived at the carnival, he saw a kid he knew and raced after them, only to push the girl into the pavement.  He was afraid of the bouncy rides and didn't want to take off his shoes.  At one point he was playing in a big sandbox with some other kids.  The children built a large sand pile using dump trucks, working hard for 10 minutes or so, while Scott stood off to the side watching.  Once the boys were finished, Scott took a flying leap right onto the top of their sand structure, flattening it.

An older woman, probably a grandma, who was next too me, cried out, "That's awful!  The kids worked so hard on that!  Who's kid is that, anyway?"  I sheepishly looked down at the stroller with Jane in it and muttered, "That kid is my son.  He wasn't trying to be mean, he was just playing."  And I quickly gathered up Scott and made a beeline out of there.  I have to put in a side note here that one of my friends later said, I should have looked around puzzled and said, "I don't know, the little bastard," pretending he wasn't my kid (I wish I had thought of that!).

I can't help but think about these events, even though this kind of thing rarely happens now.  I do still hold me breath when Scott is in a group of kids, wondering if he will be too rough, or too emotional.  And I am beginning to think I will be That Mom, not the one that Her Bad Mother wrote about so hysterically (I just searched for the post and could not find it, it was hilarious, so you'll have to take my word on it), but the one that, at his high school graduation says something like, "Back when he was four and loved the color yellow and couldn't poop during the day, we never thought he'd graduate from preschool, let alone high school!"  You know That Mom, the one who tells embarrassing things about their kids because she just can't come to terms with the fact that the kids have grown up, are not babies anymore.

But, what I've realized lately, is that he is still getting noticed as That Kid.  But instead of hearing, "There's the kid who hit me on the playground", I hear, "That kid is really fast, look at him play!"  And dads will say to me, "He's quite an athlete."  And moms will say to me, "He's so cute with that curly hair."

And Matt and I will worry if things aren't going well, knowing how intense he can be.  We are concerned about the fallout from a game lost or an event that doesn't go his way.  But we still hope for the moments when he is noticed for his talents.

Like when Matt took him to the baseball evaluations last week and he threw perfect pitches.  Every one right over the base, as hard and as fast as any kid his age could possibly throw.  Going all out, of course.  The other dads smiling and looking at Matt, "That kid has quite an arm," they remarked, enviously.

Or today, when the basketball game was tied, and went into the second overtime.  Scott taking the ball up and going for the shot, over and over again.  So intense, so determined.  The other team scoring with less than 10 seconds to play.  Scott, the point guard, dribbled the ball around the side and went for it.  Sinking a basket in the last second.  He wasn't going to let that other team win.  He was completely in the moment.  The play maker. The game winner.  That Kid.

Two men next to me, who had entered the gym for the next game, yelled out, "Wow, what a shot!  That was unbelievable!"  And I couldn't help but exclaim proudly, "That's my kid!"

Yep, I'm That Mom.

Say Something

"Say something, say something, anything

I've shown you everything

Give me a sign

Say something, say something, anything

Your silence is deafening

Pay me in kind"

James

So ..... I haven't been posting here, obviously. And I never know exactly how to get back into blogging when I've fallen off the wagon. Do I explain why I haven't blogged? Do I try to make excuses? Do I just ignore the fact that I haven't written anything in over two months and write whatever?

I started this blog nearly two years ago because I had a story to tell. But before I detailed that ordeal, I started writing about what was happening in my life in the moment. And I realized, quickly, the true essence of blogging. The real time sharing, the community of readers and writers. I was hooked.

But. Over time I've also become somewhat disenchanted. My insecurities flaring up, telling me: you are not a writer. you've said everything you have to say. you have become redundant. you are not good enough. you do not deserve this space or an audience.

All of that is true. And at the same time not true at all.

I might not be schooled in writing but I am nonetheless writing. I've said what I originally set out to say, but I always (just ask anyone who knows me in real life) have more to say (my parent's used to call me Lori-Last-Word because I never stopped talking). Sure, I repeat myself, and I have common themes that resurface here, but so do all bloggers (and all writers, come to think of it). And it is absolutely true that I hold company with people who are far better writers than I am. Woman, mostly, who amazing me every day with their prose. But that doesn't mean that what I have to say, the content of my posts, matters any less.

I can't decide if I would be more upset if no one reads here anymore or if people do read this. Because then I will feel guilty for my lack of good blogging citizenship. For not reading and commenting on others' blogs.

I simply cannot keep up. As a person who is prone to being overwhelmed to begin with, blogging presents a most difficult challenge. It is so time-consuming. And emotionally exhausting. I never need ideas for what to write about, quite the opposite, I have so many things I want to post that I can never decide what to go with. I find myself agonizing endlessly about posts I never wrote, stories I didn't get to, opinions never expressed.

But my life is immensely richer for having started this blog. For writing here and forging the relationships that I have.

I've been in a funk. Well, now I am passed the worst part of it. I go through bouts of depression. Times when I feel inadequate and hopeless. At forty, I can spot these episodes easily, and I know what to do to get out of them.

You start by doing something, anything. Taking a walk. Calling a friend. Cleaning out a drawer. Something to get you moving, so you feel alive, no matter how little. Just enough to get a tiny bit of momentum. Because one step always leads to more. Always.

So, I am back to running. I am in my second official week of training for the half marathon that I did last year and signed up for again. This time, though, I am also back to doing my workout videos on non-running days.

I knew if I could just get started, I would be alright again.

And so it goes here.

Say something. Anything.

Now I know I can take another step.

Behind the Scenes

The office where my laptop sits charging during the day also has a family computer.  My husband, the techy person in our marriage and also the primary photographer, has a series of photos that rotate as a screen saver on this computer.  Yesterday, he decided to put all the photos in the library into the mix. 

As I've walked by, or quickly stopped to check my e-mail or twitter, these pictures catch my eye.  Years of memories all jumbled up, freezing a moment, then quickly fading away to be replaced by another.  So many pictures.

I am drawn to the photo montage, remembering not just the exact second the camera was snapped, but all that was going on behind the scene.   I see Scott at our old house looking out from his crib and I think of how happy that house made me feel.  How it was the home I bought and then where Matt and I lived when we first got married and Scott was born.  I can smell the powdery scent of the nursery, hear myself singing as I rocked him to sleep.

Two years ago, Thanksgiving here, Scott is helping Matt stuff the turkey.  That was the year I had my 20th high school reunion.  I recall my friends coming over the next morning, I was exhausted, but because I lived here, I was the logical person to have the gathering.  I wanted to talk more coherently, be more present in the moment, but I was concerned about Scott getting along with the other kids.

Jane as a tiny baby, being held by my mother, reminds me of how awful I felt after she was born.  And how sad I was to be away from Scott and Matt and my dog.  How I didn't feel close to her at first.

A birthday party for one of Scott's playgroup friends.  The expression on Scott's face so clear to me now, in retrospect, that he was overwhelmed.  I am flooded with memories of him misbehaving, acting out, having to leave.

A mixed-up chronicle of events, family, friends, places we've visited, the people in our lives, holidays, the house we live in.  I see myself and I feel how my clothes fit.  I instantly remember whether I was uncomfortable, sad, tired, or happy, content.  A glimpse of my hair and I wonder if it looks better now or then.  People look younger, kids so tiny and round, the colors and details more vivid than in my mind.

I recall the minutes, hours, days before the picture was taken.  I think of what was said, the sounds of laughter, the smell of the ocean, the feel of cold, wet, snow.  

Every photo tells its own story.  Often times the moment seems so obvious.  People smiling, blowing out candles, holding a baby, riding in a boat, playing at the beach.  But behind every picture is an entire unknown background.  A history that can only be revealed by the person who experienced all that led up to that exact instance.

I can't help but think about how little we truly know about anyone else's life.  How they feel, what they experience.  How we only see what is revealed to us, what we are capable of knowing.  How one moment, one snapshot, one piece of information is only a tiny part of the whole picture.  We could never understand the context quite like they would.

I could look at these photos flashing by forever.  Reliving each one as only I can.

Preschool Firecrackers

Today was Black and Blue Day at Jane's school.  It was the last day in the color series where each Friday a parent comes in with a color-coordinated snack and helps out in the classroom.  It was my first time seeing Jane's classmates in action.

Jane has been eagerly anticipating this day.  She and I baked mini blueberry muffins yesterday to share.  And this morning we made sure we had on matching blue shirts with black pants.

Although it has been awhile since I spent time in a prekindergarten class, I knew what to expect.  Remember that I worked at my mom's day care for several years and often had to jump in to cover for an absent aide.  Plus, Jane has been singing the songs, like the Month-arana and the Good Morning song, for the past two months.

Jane was so happy I was there.  She kept looking at me and giggling and encouraging me to participate in every activity.  So I sang and danced.  I helped the kids paint blue trains on t-shirts.  I watched her teacher put "fairy sprinkles" on the leader of the day's head.  I laid down on the rug.  And I joined in as the whole class pretended to be a train, chugging and blowing our whistles as loud as we could.

I tried not to notice the other things that were going on.  The boy who sat in the phone both for over half an hour.  The girl that couldn't stop touching her friend.  The one child that absently blotted at his painting without being able to finish the picture.  Little, subtle things, that may mean nothing like the nose and wedgie picking that is typical for this age.  But could mean something more.

When the director saw that I was there, she came over to talk about the conversation we had the other day.  She said I really opened her eyes to some things.  That she felt like she had attended a graduate class on Sensory Disorders and Misunderstood Children.  She confided that a family with a three year old was going through the process of having their child evaluated, per her recommendation, and that she was worried about them.  "They are afraid of what they will find out," she said sadly.

I wished I could have stayed longer, that I could come back.  I'd like to observe those children who seemed a tiny bit off.  Was it a bad day?  Or typical behavior?  I wanted to ask their parents if they had any concerns. 

I thought back to how Scott acted at this age.  I remembered some of the "problem" children from my mom's day care.

At one point during the lesson the kids got a little wound up and the teacher clapped her hands to do a Preschool Firecracker.  The children played along, putting their hands up and letting out a big, yoga-like sigh.  The children seemed completely at ease, comfortable going from active and silly to calm listeners with two Firecrackers.

I wanted to talk to the family that the director was concerned about.  I wanted to tell them that this is the time to help their child.  That their child needs them to be strong and not afraid.  I wanted to offer them hope and understanding. 

I glanced around as I was leaving thinking about what an opportunity preschool is for these children.  For them to have a place to go to play and learn.  But it is also a time for parents and teachers to uncover issues and start their children off with services, if necessary. 

The sooner the better before their little firecrackers lose their spark.

Time to Live

In the light of the day, I reread my post from yesterday, and feel that I did not accurately portray what I was thinking.  Certainly, this is not new for me.  One of the challenges of blogging is that I rarely feel like I get it right.  I don't post often enough to cover events or I post frequently and don't have time to process.  Or I write something that only scratches the surface.  I always want to edit, rewrite, mull it over more.  Or maybe I was just tired or distracted, it was cold in the house and I was hungry.

This is indicative of my whole life.  I mean, when are things the way you want them to be?  Do you feel like life is generally going your way or do you constantly question, examine, review how your life is going?  Are you often just a bit uncomfortable, physically or emotionally?

As I read through the comments, my original ideas jelled a bit more.  I was trying to say that, on the one hand, I knew Scott was maturing in a normal 7 year old way.  He knows that he has to do stuff, like the field trip, that he doesn't want to, but has stopped moaning and groaning about it, like he would have last year. 

On the other hand, I was thinking what Delilah said, that there are so many things to just get through in life, so many difficult, frightening and sad things to deal with, that a simple second grade field trip just seems not worth worrying about. 

But the truth is, I get Scott.  I wouldn't have wanted to go on the trip either.  My concerns would have been similar to his, about the new place, who to sit with, yucky bathrooms.  And although I don't remember being germaphobic, I am sure I wouldn't have wanted to be outside in the cold at a nature center.  What if there was a snake?  Or prickly bushes? 

I prefer routine.  Knowing what to expect.  I've never been very adventurous, especially if I can't bail when I so choose.  Think what that must be like for my kid, who rarely gets to be in control. 

So, I know where he is coming from and I want to respect that.  He does not have to like a second grade field trip any more than another child has to like gym class (that would be me).

Navi suggested I tell the teacher about his anxieties, and I wanted to let her know that I have.   There was an incident in the beginning of the year, I refer to it as Trashcan-gate, where he was assigned to trashcan duty.  He freaked out and I had to e-mail his teacher and explain some of his issues. 

But, he doesn't feel very comfortable with her, and as you suspected, does not want me to tell her anything unless he specifically says so.  I am sure I will be discussing this more with his teacher at his conference, but I am pretty certain that she doesn't see most of what is going on in his head.  He is quiet in class, hoping to stay under the radar and not get in trouble.  At home he tells me about how the other kids touched his stuff and contaminated it, or how the boy next to him sits too close, or the girl across from him talks too much.  I encourage him to handle these issues as best he can given the circumstances, to tell the boy he is sitting too close and ask the girl to be quieter.  We even talk about joking, "dude, if you got any closer, you'd be in my lap" and stuff like that.

The point is (I think I have a point) that this is life.  This constant navigating between dealing with the things you can't control and negotiating for those changes you might be able to get.  Right? 

Just like I am always trying to get things the way I want them to be, so is everyone else.  We are all jockeying for our place, where we feel comfortable.  Where we can stop thinking so much and just live.

That's what I want him to be able to find more often, more easily.  I want to tip the scale a little more to the middle.  So that more time is spent living instead of worrying and obsessing. 

Now, if only I could figure that out for myself as well.

Six Word Summary

There's a meme I've seen going around a few times now where you have to sum up your life in 6 words.  A six word memoir.  I never posted one but may have commented with an idea or two in some older posts.

Here's the first one that came to mind:

Striving for order while creating chaos

Second place finisher:

Conflicted rules-player, never reached her potential

Wow.  Those don't sound very positive, do they?  Well, you try it then.  I'd like to see what you come up with.

*** A bit of bloggy housekeeping.  I love, love, love comments (as all bloggers do) but do not always respond with an e-mail or comment back.  This NaBloPoMo thing is killing me, because I'd like to continue each post and discussion, but must move on.  I will be answering or responding to some things in separate posts, but as a rule, I will attempt to update my last post with any further thoughts (in the comment section) before I publish my next one.  This way, if you read a new post you can check the last one or two to see if there's anything you missed.  Anyway, it is day 10 of NaBloPoMo, which means I am one third of the way there.  I keep thinking I will have time to read and comment on blogs and follow twitter discussions and I just don't.  Sigh.  No.  Double sigh. 

*** Oh, wait, I am not done.  The annual BlogHer conference that was possibly going to be in Philadelphia this year is actually going to be in Chicago, July 2009.  I told my husband and he immediately said, "well, you better get your flight soon so you can get a good rate, you don't want to wait until the last minute, again."  So, I think I'll be there.  Hope you will be, too!