Category: Mommy Mind

Me, my son and I. Thoughts on what I did, what I didn’t, and what if…

Transforming Tragedy

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It is unthinkable. It cannot fully be comprehended. And the families of those who died in Connecticut this Friday have only just begun a lifelong process of intense grieving. Hopefully, there will be healing one day. Heartbreakingly though, that day is still a long way off.

Media everywhere is full of the images. Facebook posts are almost exclusively about the story. But I refuse to give it my attention, my energy. Why? Because what is done is done, it is out of my power, and in my opinion the most constructive, helpful thing I can do is to send my love to the survivors. I will not succumb to rubber-necking at such a tragedy. I do not need the immense heartbreak in my own life, but rather I need to cultivate love and understanding in the most personal ways possible (as do we all, I might guess.) I need to help the world move away from events like this, and I don’t believe watching the videos of horrified parents in real time will contribute to that. I strongly believe that “where your attention goes, energy flows”. So I’ll continue to remember the survivors and send them my thoughts of strength, support and love (aka prayers and good energy).

There may be those who would not agree with me, but I don’t worry for one second about the people who have just died, as I believe they’re in a far better situation right now than we are. We, who have been left behind to finish our lives in this dense, love-hungry world have the short end of the stick, plus a lot on our plate. If we mean to elevate this world from its darker aspects, we need to live in our world responsibly, courageously and peacefully, and do all of that under the patient guidance of love. The more we live in love, the more we’ll live in understanding – and forgiveness. And truly, we all aint free until we’s all taken care of.  So we all have a tiny bit of personal homework to do each day. All you can do is all you can do – but still, you do gotta do it.

We who are still here need to take this event – and other tragedies as well, minute or massive – and transform them into opportunities  for change and improvement, whether that may be in our own hearts and minds, or out in the world working for gun control or access to mental health services… Change of course, starts within, and as a ripple in a pond starts small then grows…

My own thoughts are turning to action now too… I have several people in my own immediate family who live with untreated mental illness because of the great stigma and embarrassment that still, in 2012, accompanies these diseases. Frankly, under the right mix of anger, resentment and booze, if armed, my brother could kill me. I’ve seen it in his eyes – the eyes of a person deeply entrenched in the distortions of mental illness. Yet no agency will come to his (our) aid until he does something violent (ya know, until after he shoots his sister.) Apparently, they need hard evidence before they can intervene. So the pot simmers, and we hope it never blows. All cuz the laws keep our hands tied from helping my brother to help himself.

There’s a lot to be done. Myself, I’m going to keep my work personal, focusing on keeping my own attitude positive and loving, living in forgiveness as I’m able. But there’s some big-time, real action that needs to me done too. And I hope that the conversations that have started up won’t die down too soon – not before they’ve inspired some folks to take up the charges of gun control and mental health care.

Ballet Boy

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“That was transforming.” Elihu’s exact words immediately after the applause died down. We both sat in our seats, rather dazed and unmoving as the crowd around us rose, chattered and made ready to leave. We had just seen the Saratoga City Ballet’s production of The Nutcracker from the most intimate seating possible. Elevated enough, close enough. And for Elihu’s eyes, a situation like this doesn’t come often. He sat riveted throughout the whole performance – and why not? top-notch dancing, gorgeous costumes and all the production details of the real deal. Hell, this really was the real deal. I had even been moved to tears while watching the perfect and joy-infused performance of the only young boy in the company. He wasn’t even my child, yet I wept like a proud mother. An inspiring production all the way ’round.

Although I’ve been trying to get my son to see The Nutcracker for years now (we live in a town in which the New York City Ballet spends part of its summer) it was only just tonite that we finally went. His delight and amazement – and new desire to take dance lessons (?!) seemed to confirm that our timing was right. At intermission the floor was full of small girls playing at pirouettes and pretending to dance en pointe, and my son was flustered and frustrated. He was burning to dance around, to practice his own freshly inspired moves, but he simply couldn’t be the only boy. Yeah, he’s probably right. Nine is probably a bit past that window. But to be honest, I’m not sure there would ever have been a window for a boy to naturally join a cluster of pink-bowed girls in their dance-play. He sees how challenging actual dancing is, and he gets what a star that one boy in the company is, but it’s still not enough. I tell him he’d kinda be a rock star if he went down and joined the girls, but he angrily protests. So instead he goes to a corner and twirls a time or two, and makes a great leap, legs out and straight… oh the hope and promise of a young one. My mother’s heart smiles at his pure joy and possibility, yet I’m slightly misty too; uncensored, childlike moments like this happen much less often these days, and it seems we may be nearing the end of them altogether. Just in case, I savor it all with extra attention.

I’m not naive enough to expect this interest in ballet to last, as I am not expecting this week’s request to play the transverse flute will last (bass and tuba are still holding in strong though), but I see him feeling the inspiration rise within, and I’m witnessing his vision of possibility grow, and that in of itself is enough for now. I also know we’ll have to pick something soon and stick with it – but I’m not worried. He is musical – he’s got a great ear –  has better time than me, and he’s playing violin at school now. I’ll let him be. I’ll also listen quietly from the front seat, a smile on my face, as Elihu tells me all the way home about the moves he noticed, the questions he has about them, and how much he wants to start ballet lessons next week.

Elihu’s world has expanded once again. A ballet boy, maybe not, but a better boy? Definitely.

Cozy Cottage

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The grass is always greener, right? Whenever I have a new student over, or when Elihu has a classmate or two here (as he did today) I hear a lot of exclamations made about how ‘cool’ this place is. Usually by the end of the visit the kids are saying how they want a place like this too. Even some highbrow downtown types – their moms or dads – have cooed a little when walking in. And we’re essentially talking a two-room house here. Really. It ain’t big. But it sure is cozy, and especially at this time of year. So while the grass may seem greener to those that visit, I am so happy to say that Elihu and I find the grass of our own back yard a most inviting green and covet no other’s.

May I take you on a quick tour through our house? If it’s too tedious for you, move down a few paragraphs – I have a domestic tip to share later on… For the rest, here we go: You walk in through the kitchen, and were it not for my having moved the kitchen table to the left against the wall, the door would have bumped into it. But you’d forgive that when you find yourself looking out over a frozen Saratoga Lake and Vermont hills beyond. The tiny room you’re in now has pale, apple green walls, white ceramic pulls and counters, a wood floor (well, it’s laminate, but looks pretty darn good in spite of itself), a Brady Bunch era double stove in harvest gold. A small island table which I made myself divides the already tiny room, but quickly becomes the go-to destination for anyone who visits.

Our one hallway is painted a deep, colonial red and leads to the living room, which is a generous space with a raised hearth fireplace of white marble at the far end, my beloved Eames knockoff lounge chair in the far right corner, a large chocolate brown couch against the right hand wall and a picture window to the left. Flanking the window are a harpsichord on the right and a grand piano on the left, and at this time of the year, our Christmas tree stands between them, obscuring the view. The long walls are a deep gold, the short ones dark brown. There’s a small foyer to the left of the piano – it leads out to our seldom used but attractive screen porch. (My dream is to frame this in and make a dining room so we can enjoy both company and the view at the same time! A wood stove in the corner and a bank of window seats, the vision is held fast in my mind…)

We also have two bedrooms and a bath tucked away through a tiny hallway off the living room’s right wall. Just enough room for us two. And downstairs we have again the footprint of the house! A storage room, my office, my treadmill (yes, I do use it, thank you) and a music room again with another fireplace. We have our drum set, Wurlitzer, amps and such there. The addition of overhead can lights on dimmer switches last year has transformed this room from crappy basement to ‘ooooh’…. No acoustic privacy yet, but one day…

So. That’s our joint. Small, tidy and functional. And it is something I am grateful for any number of times in a day. When I remember the duress under which I came here, the agony of the process and the pain that lingered, it’s hard to believe how I feel now. Invigorated, inspired, comfortable, thankful. And even the significance of this day is interesting to me; it is my first wedding anniversary on which I’m no longer married. Twelve twelve it is, and I’m finally free. After a long trip, I’m finally home.

“It’s so cozy”, I’ll hear Elihu say quietly to himself as he checks on the progress of our narcissus bulbs or admires the tree (when you live alone you tend to talk to no one in particular rather routinely). I agree. And this year the house has taken on a particularly cozy feeling, even without the benefit of snow. I think our low, Achromatopsia-friendly light levels might have something do to with it. Generally our place is warmly lit. Some – like my mother – might complain the place needs more wattage in general, and while see her point, I also see the gentle intimacy that softer lighting imbues, and although maybe not the best for reading the instructions on a rc helicopter manual, it is the best light for just sitting on the couch and hanging out. In order to help my child look more comfortably out of the picture windows, I’ve put up a tinted cling film. Sometimes, at the right time of day, it can look like a storm is coming (when it’s not), an unintended side effect I personally like a lot. And hey, if I want to read, I crank up the three way lamp. Not a big deal.

But this season there’s an additional mood-creating use of light which we only just thought of a few days ago. And dear readers, I encourage you all to try this yourselves, it will instantly ‘up’ the charm and elegance of your tree. ?? What device can do all that? A lamp dimmer switch. Fifteen bucks at Lowe’s and you’re on your way. I have combined my dimmer switch with a big fat on/off button on the floor. So I merely tap my toe to produce the most warmly lit tree…. The resulting lower-wattage bulbs not only allow one to see the ornaments themselves so much clearer, but the lights take on a more natural, more flame-like quality. Words don’t describe it well enough. All I can say is that if you’re using those ubiquitous tiny white lights, try out this lamp dimmer thingee and see if you don’t say ‘ahh’ when you first get it just right. And, you’re welcome. It’s the very least I can do!

So many things need work, the outside of my house just doesn’t match the inside. It’s always my great hope that when people visit, the inside will redeem the outside. It takes money to keep a property up. Mowed just once last year. Chose to take a trip instead. Lots of upkeep, limited resources. We’ll make it to the greenery one day. But for now, it’s all about home and hearth. This will be Elihu’s very first Christmas in New York. And what a perfect time to be here at home, we two, in our very cozy cottage.

To Do, To Be

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I feel a little guilty because it’s the middle of the afternoon and I’m still in bed. I’m in my son’s bed, actually, lying beside him as he drifts in and out of a fevered sleep. Poor kid has got a stomach bug and he’s riding it out the best he can. I’ve done a few things today – had a phone interview, scheduled a new piano student, finished the dishes, responded to some emails and tended to some office work – yet I’m still in my pajamas too, and I’m feeling like I should be doing something more.

But if I leave the room for long, I hear Elihu faintly cry ‘Mama’… He just wants me near. And honestly, if I can shush that silly voice that keeps beckoning me to ‘get something done’, this is exactly where I want to be. And I understand that just by being here I’m doing my job. I know it, but it’s just that we’re all so conditioned to do, do, do, that simply being can feel unimportant and unproductive.

So for now, I’ll just stay here, next to my son. I’ll listen to him breathe, I’ll feel relief when he sleeps and I’ll be here to stroke his head when he wakes. Today, my job is just to be… right here.

Ho Ho, Huh?

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In our four years here we haven’t kept a lot of holiday traditions; each year has been slightly different – and in fact this year is the very first Christmas for which Elihu will actually be here with me. Each year we try to make that important visit with Santa, and to watch him light the town tree, and each year we grow narcissus bulbs. That’s about it. Yeah, we get a tree, but never even do that the same way twice. Last year we cut one from a field and ended up modifying it a bit; I drilled holes in the trunk and stuck in branches to fill it out… (you can see pics of that tree under December 2011 in the archives to the right). Some things remain simple and routine, yet each year we’re met with a nice surprise or two that continues to make a believer of me.

When we arrived home this afternoon we found a Christmas tree leaning against our kitchen door. Huh? I just love that first moment after such a discovery… our jaws drop, we look at each other, then our mouths close and turn to smiles… And while it may be offensive to some, yes, some hearty expletives are uttered too (Elihu is skilled at this, he knows exactly when and when not to, and when he does, gotta say, he’s right on). So holy crap and hot damn, we have ourselves a tree. Although we don’t keep too many rigid traditions, I will admit to being a late starter at Christmastime, and I really like it that way. (Remember please that the three wise men didn’t even get to the manger – and give their gifts – until January 6th – Epiphany, ya know? And much of the Christian world correctly recognizes this day as the big one.) Plus, I’m kind of a control freak. I like to choose a tree. It’s kind of a big deal. I take pride in having my home reflect my own aesthetic choices, and the size and shape of a Christmas tree is a pretty big one – plus it’s one which comes only once a year. So ironically, in this holy moment of true giving, my less-than holy self is having a tiny tantrum.

How can I be like this for long? Elihu and I both know that somewhere out there is a person who is so excited for us, who couldn’t wait to bring us this gift, whose whole day was uplifted at the thought, who is right now happily wondering what we are saying and thinking at the surprise. And this makes us laugh. How can we not honor that and be just as joyful? After some preparations, we get the tree inside, and my able nine year old adjusts the bottom as I hold it straight (just love that my kid can finally help out like this – he does too.) We stand back. Hmm. It’s short and stout. It’s not quite the shape or size we would have chosen, but we note that it’s a good tree for a country cottage. We also remind ourselves that a tree hadn’t even been in our budget this year. It smells so nice. We thank the tree for giving her life to us, and we promise to love her and dress her up beautifully. We take a moment and just admire the real, living tree before us. Wow. Christmastime indeed.

We put the clues together and we assess who might have done this. I have an idea, and yes, it’s becoming more evident. After a trip next door to tell Grandma and Grandpa our news (this is too good for the telephone) we pick up the phone and call our suspect. We have her on speaker, and she’s good…  She brightly exclaims that we’ve been ‘elved’! – and tells us that she too had been elved last year when she came home from work to find the pole at her driveway wrapped in Christmas lights… I listen carefully to her voice. Yes, she’s good. And I like that she is, cuz way down deep she’s got me believing. Course the kid’s here too, so she’s gonna do her best, but damn, I really do believe her. It makes such sense, ya know?

Ho Ho Ho! We’ve been elved!

Touchdown, Takeoff

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It was almost midnight when I picked my son up at the airport last Thursday. I arrived a few minutes early, so went to the observation room in hopes I might actually see his plane land. The huge glass walls mostly showed the reflection of the room itself, so I had to lean way in and raise my arm above my head to register the inky black airfield. As I looked at my reflection in the glass, superimposed against the blinking lights of the tower beyond, the strange mix of the archaic and the futuristic struck me. I was in my farm jacket, my hair hanging messily about me – an untidy figure in a clean, modernistic room of glass; the farmer come to meet the sky ship.

This time I was lucky, for as I casually turned my head to the right I saw two lights approaching at what seemed to be a breakneck speed. I couldn’t see the plane itself, but knew my son was there somewhere in the darkness between the two lights. I watched as it zoomed past, wondering how on earth something like that can possibly stop in time, and never taking my eyes off of it as it then turned and taxied briskly back towards me. As the plane came closer, I saw big, fluffy white snowflakes in its lights. My son was home safe, and it was snowing. Perfect.

As I expected, Elihu seemed taller. But more had changed than just that. No longer did he run into my arms as he had at nearly every other reunion. He stood, shy, waiting, giggling somewhat uncomfortably. Huh? I hugged him, I exclaimed how happy I was, and after thanking Dave (our friend at Southwest) we were off to baggage claim. But what’s this? Tears? Already? What the hell just happened? This: apparently I made ‘too big a deal’ of seeing him. I ‘treated him like a baby’. Oh man. Are we here already? I mean, really? I swear sometimes there’s a teenage girl lurking somewhere close to the surface… sheesh. But I try to honor his feelings, after all I remember very well that horrible kind of embarrassment that only parents can create, and it’s made worse because they keep telling you you have no reason to be embarrassed… Well, yes, you do! If a kid’s embarrassed, no matter how hormone or insecurity-induced, if it’s what the poor kid’s feeling, it’s real! So I have to respect it at the very least. I let him talk, cry, explain. Might also be the late hour, I think, but I don’t say that. Eventually, we reach a new understanding. I’m not to call out his name, run towards him, nor open my arms in hopes of a huge, public reunion. I will simply stand there, arm around him as I sign the release, maybe give him a subtle sideways squeeze and a quick kiss atop his head.

In my mind’s eye I play the scene of my adorable six year old boy squealing with delight at seeing me again. I remember his little lisp, his tiny body. Did I savor those moments? I guess I did. I can’t have regrets. I just need to switch gears, because those days are over, and we’re entering a new chapter. As we drive home through the fluffy flakes I wonder at the new stories ahead of us. This week alone there will be plenty, from lessons to chores to his first school assembly (he sings the harmony part and will likely carry his section with great pride and confidence…) and the many other unexpected events that will pop up before us. We two live a full and interesting life here, and now that we’re both refreshed from a week away from the routine, we’re ready to begin it all again…

Up and Away

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Up at 3:30. Laundry’s in the dryer, Elihu’s bag is packed, including his carry-on, which is a large FAO Schwartz shopping bag from our summer trip to New York City. He’s bringing his Christmas gifts for his little brothers early, and one wouldn’t fit into the suitcase. I remind him several times that the book he’s brought to read is in the bag too – so when someone offers to stow the bag in the cabinets above his head, make sure to get the book out first. That’s all I can do. In the past, he’d most likely forget, and sit idle the whole trip, not wanting to make anyone get it down for him. This time, he’ll probably remember, he might even ask for help if he needs it. He’s getting older. He’s doing more for himself, but still, I advise, I remind, I worry…

I touch his soft, perfect face while he sleeps and behold this boy who’s fast changing… The other day he told me he really wanted to have a beard when he was older. Will a beard actually grow one day from his velvet-smooth cheeks? If I try, I can kind of imagine it, but secretly I’m a bit horrified. Yet is this not what parents aspire to? Raise our children to be healthy, happy autonomous adults who may live as they choose?  I’m far from ready. These days it seems he’s readier than I am. He’s been flying alone for four years. It’s no more eventful to him than a car ride to the grocery store. He’s smart, he’s funny and he’s got a natural savvy about life in general which far exceeds his years. But in the end, he is my little boy. And knowing that in a few hours he’ll be speeding through the sky away from me at hundreds of miles per hour, his plane becoming a mere speck in the sky… that thought has me feeling a little light-of-being, a little empty. It’s always in his leaving – and then again in his homecoming – in which I feel the passing of time most acutely.

But I’m excited for him. He is seeing his father at long last! And his baby brothers (for the most part I omit the word ‘half’ as a descriptor, depends on how equanimous I’m feeling at the moment). “They’re not babies” he reminds me. “It was a figure of speech, baby” I answer him. He smiles. We choose some paper to wrap their presents ahead of time. We finish, and they look nice. “I’d be happy to get one of these, wouldn’t you?” I ask him. Elihu waits for a minute. He’s looking down. For a second it looks like he’s thinking about something else. “Thanks,” he finally says, “I know this isn’t easy for you”. I tell him it’s all ok – I really am so happy for him – how excited I am too to know that his brothers will love the presents. He doesn’t stay in the sentiment long, it seems he believes me. All I can do is hope that he really does feel my support. He’s right. It’s not always easy, even now. But it does get easier. And knowing how excited he is helps motivate me to move past my own hurt.

He’s been hugging me a lot today, saying extra “I love yous”, getting ready in his heart to make the parting. To switch parents. We’re alternately easily frustrated with each other and needy of each other’s affection. It’s been just us for months now, and frankly, we could both use a little break from each other. And yet…

I move around the house getting ready. The kitchen cabinet handles are sticky with his clementine-wet hands. I see the charge lights on his toy helicopters blinking, ready. His drawing paper is out and waiting for a new bird sketch… signs of a nine year old boy living here. One minute they’re parts of the house as usual, the next, they’re strange, ghost-like suggestions of the absence all around me. I try not to let my mother’s mind wander to that unspeakable, remote possibility that my son may not come back… I leave the sticky door handles to remind me of him, just in case. I scold myself for being so morbid. I remind myself to stay positive, to cancel those thoughts immediately… This trip is nothing new or remarkable, he’ll be fine. A parent has to let go eventually, right? Maybe our time in practice will help when the time really does come for him to move out. Maybe.

I’ve just returned from the airport. It took a while for his Southwest flight to get going. The only person in the vast observation room at the Albany airport, I watched as the plane was de-iced, watched the plane taxi away and waited. And waited. Finally, as I began to despair that I must somehow have missed his plane take off, the morning sun crested over the hills just as his plane sped past, the wheels lifting off the ground precisely as the sun freed itself from the horizon. A movie moment. I watched it all the way as it got smaller and smaller… until it banked and headed west. Finally, the tiny dot was gone.

As I was leaving the garage I called his father to tell him Elihu was safely off. Strangely, we often talk for a while on these occasions. Fareed chats about things going on in his world, we catch each other up on our parents, we try to make sure we’re on the same page about Elihu. It’s all so strangely civil – more than civil actually, maybe, not sure if it’s the word, but it’s something close to friendly. In the past it’s thrown me off – it’s like I see a window to the man I used to love and share my life with, and it almost seems he’s still there, that this has all been a dream… But now, somehow, it’s easier. Easier to understand. After all, we both love our boy so.

I get home, have a snack. I smile to myself when I feel the sticky surfaces. I wipe them clean. I take a bath, and just as I get out and wrap myself in a towel, the phone rings. It’s Elihu, safe and sound. Father and son are together again and both so happy. And for now, I’m a free woman. Clean the house? Work out? Walk in the woods? Meditate? Go to hear some live jazz on the weekend? So much possibility! Wow. The sky is amazingly clear right now, I’d better fly while the flying’s good…

Heartsick

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The girls had hardly slowed their pace to say a final goodbye, so Elihu had run after them as they walked down the sidewalk from school. He put his arms around Cora til she finally hugged him back. Then he’d hugged Sophia before returning to me. There was nothing else to be done. This was their last day at school and now they were going home. Next week they wouldn’t be coming back to school at all because they were moving. I looked down in time to see the corners of Elihu’s mouth turn down in the most acute expression of distress… and I realized he was crying. Sobbing, in fact. An instant, electric sort of sensation shot through me at the sight of it – my son’s heart was breaking for the first time. Tears came to my eyes too; my heart was breaking to know it.

I put my arm around him as we walked. Most times he might have pulled away; he was getting to an age where he found my overt affection embarrassing. But now he leaned into me heavily, weeping quietly. How my own heart hurt at this parting; his grief was equally mine. There was nothing to say. There was simply no point in trying to console him with words, so I just held him tight. After we were in the car I drove a block farther down the street so that we might pass the twins, and he rolled down the window. Usually he’d shout out something in their own private language, but all he could say this time in between sobs was an earnest and final goodbye. Cora stopped walking for a moment and looked up; her smile fell away when she saw him. She raised an arm to wave once more, then turned to catch up with her sister. We let them cross in front of our car, and they were gone.

I didn’t say anything as we drove. Instead I waited for the moments in which I could offer him the most relief. I let him cry, watching his face in the rear view mirror (something which can feel a bit like spying when you’re with a low-vision child as they cannot see you back). This was real, and it was intense. And it wasn’t merely a case of a first heartbreak; the girls had been the first – and only – kids at the new school to get him, or to at least take a real interest in being with him. The three spent nearly all their free time together. “What will it be like without them?” he asked through more tears. “There’s nobody – nobody like them. There’s nobody to replace them”. There was a long space of quiet and sniffling before he spoke again. He was beginning to test out some survival thinking; “Who will be with me now?” he asked, “Who will I have to do things with? Will I be alone again?” As I watched him in the mirror I could see his crying lessen, and I could see him beginning to consider his new future without the twins. His mourning was by no means over, but my spirit brightened to think he might be working to put some hidden, positive spin on the situation.

I too thought about it all – I myself felt there was very little chance he’d find the same magical chemistry elsewhere as he did with the girls – and that it was probably best that we made peace with that. No use over-lamenting the obvious loss. Elihu needed to move gently forward to new relationships that were yet ahead. I was careful not to broach the territory of our family philosophy that “all things happen as they should” too soon in his grieving – because offered at the wrong time it would seem nothing but a stupid, posturing platitude. It might even make him angry. So I held off for a bit, but it wasn’t long before a window appeared where I could successfully present the idea. “And you know,” I added to the reasoning” – this might be the beginning of a whole new chapter between all of us – we might end up learning about a whole new thing through them. They’re just an hour and a half drive away, we can visit them easily! We can camp near them, go mountain climbing…” Now Elihu and I are not particularly outdoorsy types. We love being outside, and with our chickens, we also enjoy an occasional walk through the woods, but we own neither a tent nor a sleeping bag and have never found ourselves inspired to acquire either one. But this might be the universal energy pulling us toward a path we’d otherwise never have considered, right? Perhaps we’ll go up to visit the girls, and in so doing we’ll meet a whole bunch of interesting folks doing interesting things and maybe we’ll end up doing things we’ve never done before… Who knows? I go on for a bit, if not quite believing it, then wanting very much to believe it; I need to sell a happy ending to Elihu. There could be an unexpected and wonderful outcome here, there could be…Yet there is a very small voice within me (in the old days my husband and I would call it my “reality meter”) that tells me this is rubbish, and that if we ever really do go and visit the girls, we’re getting a motel room and making a weekend of it and there’s an end to it. No romance, no destiny, no universe “opening up surprising new opportunities”, certainly no ridiculous camping adventures.

We ride silent for a while. Lots to digest. Not much action to be taken for now, so all we can do is sit quietly as we drive out into the hills on our way back home. I’ve put off getting the mail for a few days (Halloween week the household chores pile up as we rally to get the costume perfect and then stop everything to go on several holiday-related outings) and so I come back from the mail box with a big load. When we pull in the long, leafy driveway we’re greeted by our honking goose Maximus, his head raised as he ascertains whether we are family or visitor. The chickens peck through the fallen leaves, enthusiastically kicking up wet debris behind them, ever searching for tasty bites beneath the litter. They have broken off into several smaller groups, and to watch them walk alongside the car gives us both a lift. There’s no way you can watch chickens doing their thing and not be cheered in some way. It’s one of the joys of having them around. And so our hearts are softened, if not simply distracted, and we hurt a little less. We haven’t arrived at any new strategy, nor fully convinced ourselves that this time there is a cosmic silver lining. But we’re home, it feels good to be here.

As I sit in the car, going through the pile of mail in my lap, I notice a shape in front of me several feet off the ground. I look closer; there is something in the apple tree. I leave the mail on my seat and go to investigate. Elihu, who had never climbed this tree in the four years he’d lived here was now halfway up it, and had ended up on a branch Sophia’d been on just last week. I smiled with pride, he laughed in joy. “So the girls taught ya some tricks after all, huh?” I asked. I could hear his confidence waning just a bit as he asked me how to get down, and I told him that Sophia had jumped from just where he was standing. “Ah – but that’s what the girls would do. Maybe you should -” but before I could suggest he take the careful route back down, he’d jumped from the branch and was standing in the wet grass laughing with satisfaction. Before he’d known the girls he’d never been on a scooter or climbed up a tree. They didn’t coddle him, but they also didn’t leave him in their dust as they easily could have done. They stayed around, just long enough for him to lose his fear. They supported him just by being there. Did they even realize this? I’m not sure they did. Secretly, my mother’s heart sends them a deep message of gratitude across the ether. Thank you so very much, Cora and Sophia, for being such good friends to my son. I will always appreciate it.

They’re off on their own new adventures, and thanks to them, I think my son may be a bit more emboldened to strike off on some new ones of his own. And that seems like a good start to help heal a sick heart.

Life So Far

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Elihu's Room, Low Vision Life, Mommy Mind, Waldorf Life5 Comments

Dictated to me tonight. Wish we’d done more of this over the past two years, but it just never happened. So glad we got this one down…

October 29th, 2012   by Elihu Scott Conant-Haque

You know, as I look back at all the years I was in Greenfield School, I realized that although I’ve had so many experiences at other schools, I really have had most of my life there. Even though I’d had five years at other places, I really became aware of where I was at age five, so that’s why I say my “whole life” was there.

Greenfield School had been a good school. I mean, I’d been famous at the place, not that I’d had many friends. And it was true, I didn’t have many friends, though it varied; sometimes I’d have a lot, maybe for a week or two, and then they’d remember that they played sports and that they were “cool” kids, so they couldn’t hang out with me. And then it would go back to just Keithie and me, and maybe Carter. Keith is a tall boy, a fast runner (unlike me) and he plays sports. He’s an outdoorsy type, he rides motorbikes – he even has his own – and can do huge bicycle jumps. Not that I’m not cool, I am, just in my own way. I guess Keith had been the only kid in my class to realize that maybe I was cool – in my own way – and that’s why he was friends with me. Cause usually, a kid is friends with you only if you’re cool – and you have to be cool in his way.

Anyway, the years at Greenfield seemed to pass quickly, as I look back at them now, a fourth-grader going to Waldorf, with many, many friends (not that I’m popular.) Greenfield was a good school, it’s just that, I guess my eyes sort of contributed to the way I acted, I don’t know. Because the school seemed really chaotic to me, but not to others; they could deal with it. Ha, they wouldn’t have even cared even if it was chaotic for them – they would have just kept on going. But that was then. Now is now.

I guess you probably want to know more about what I’m doing at the moment than what I did a couple of years ago – though all this seems interesting to me, because it’s funny to look back on my own life now, and see all the things I never would have realized then.

At Waldorf, things are going pretty good. I mean maybe it’s not true that I’m totally loaded with friends. A friend is sort of a different thing than a classmate that really cares about you. A friend is someone who’s willing to play with you at recess rather than doing their own silly sport that you can’t understand. Now friends are nice to have, and there are two real good friends I have at Waldorf. Cora and Sophia are their names. They’re twins. They have freckles and short, rusty-colored hair. They’re both a little taller than me; Sophia’s about an inch taller and Cora is about two and a half inches taller. Mostly everyone is my class is taller than me. I’m the second shortest, next to Phoenix.

It’s a good school, this new school, Waldorf. I mean, I’ve been here for about six months, it’s not like it’s really new. I’ve mostly set into the things I have to do. They’re different from Greenfield, though there is homework. I have to do spelling. But the thing I like most about Waldorf is that it’s not as chaotic as Greenfield, it really isn’t. It’s a gentle school. And singing is a big part of the day. Since I’m a very good singer, that was obviously a nice little surprise that I didn’t know of when I first came to the school. There are many beautiful songs we sing. One we’ve been practicing especially hard on is a song called “the Goose Song”. It’s a beautiful song, with a melody and harmony part. We have a class of 22, so when we sing both parts together it sounds amazing. But it might not sound quite so amazing, because sadly, Sophia and Cora are moving soon.

Well that’s about all I have to tell you about Waldorf and Greenfield. I’m really happy to have this written down. It makes me feel good to know that somewhere in all these files, in our little Mac computer, tucked away under a little stool, in a little bedroom, in a little country cottage, where live a little boy and his mother, is a whole story of that little boy, looking back. And to know, that somewhere in that little boy, he feels happy.

Falling Back

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Mommy Mind5 Comments

Just too much to do. Although it seems as if I hurry about my errands, chores, jobs and sundry business with head bowed, eyes on my toes, the car door, the wheel, the road… I do in fact look up long enough to notice the trees about me gradually thinning out their leaves. The maples at my place have hardly a leaf left. Only the giant beech has held onto its orange-yellow leaves. And as for the rest of our property, it’s beginning to look barren. So in driving to school, I change my route; I go the longer way ’round so I might enjoy the massive spills of yellow covering the grand lawns of the North Broadway mansions, and I feel some relief that the bright colors of autumn are not entirely gone. But mostly. We’re reaching that time when the silhouette of our environment will be changed for good. Or at least for a good long time.

This is always a densely packed time of the year for us. Each year I make Elihu his own bird costume, and this year he desires to be an exotic and long-extinct flying creature (Quetzalcoatles) and this requires a hefty investment of time. It also takes a good bit of research, a lot of enthusiasm, a bit of cash (don’t ask) plus lots of love and good humor to pull it off. Halloween is next week, in fact there is a party coming up on Sunday, and I must have it all ready by then. Tomorrow is an early morning and a long day. So is Friday. Most nights I find the resolve to pull myself out of bed in the middle of the night and spend an hour or two working on his costume. But tonite I am pooped. I just can’t find it in me.

For that matter, I hardly feel I have it in me to sit and write a quick post. But here I am, checking in, saying hello and hopefully, falling back to my bed again.