heartfelt

"I feel unappreciated and invisible. It was a terrible day!"

She burst into tears and collapsed onto the floor of her room.

I sunk down to my knees beside her and began rubbing her back. "I'm sorry, sweetie."

It hadn't been a great day for me either.

"I love you and appreciate you so much. I'm sorry for not showing it today."

I invited her to lay with me, there on the floor. She cried as I continued rubbing her back until her breaths returned to normal. She lay quietly, head on my arm.

I thought about her toddler days and younger, when just my presence was enough to fix all her problems. It's more complicated than that now. In fact, my presence sometimes creates additional problems.

Tonight our hearts met again, after being separated by the day's stress. When we each bring our fully-present presence I think the problems go away, even for just a little bit.

To know and be known is a lovely reality.

The prettiest sounds

Just before Christmas in 2014 Elaine went with me to the music store and we came home with the tiniest violin. She was five. One morning in the spring of that year, she woke up asking for violin lessons.

"Why?" I asked.

Her response was always the same, "They make the prettiest sounds."

I waited to pursue lessons for her because she was FIVE and if this was going to be a passing fad, I didn't want to jump on board, much less throw money at it. But in the fall, as she began kindergarten, she still bugged me about violin lessons.

She turned six a month after her first lesson and her teacher said, "I've never seen a more beautiful bow hand on a child so young. And her ear? She's a natural."

I wasn't going to argue. Melodies have always come quickly and easily to Elaine. She is a deep feeler and deeply expressive. The violin is a perfect fit.

Elaine's love for the violin does not (always) translate to a love for daily practice. I insisted upon it. The money spent on lessons would NOT be wasted! We clashed. Finally I told her that if she still wanted to quit violin lessons at the end of the school year (by now she was nearly done with 1st grade) then I would let her quit. Until then, however, there would be absolutely no discussion.

June arrived. I approached her hoping I had read her correctly those few months back.

"Well Elaine," I began, "school is out. What do you think about violin? Should I tell Ms. Nancy that you want to stop lessons?"

She thought. While she thought, I thought. I had done something pretty risky, leaving it up to her, but I also knew this was necessary. She had to own it. It's so much more rewarding when you own it. Plus, if she chooses it, then she can't be so bitter about me "forcing" her. This would be HER decision and I wanted her to make it herself.

She cocked her head and looked up at me, as if trying to read my thoughts about this whole situation, "Wellllll..." she finally said, "I guess I'll keep going." Ah-HAH! I thought in exuberant victory, Mom wins again!

But really, she's the winner.

She's seven now, and can play all the songs her elementary school band (plus strings) plays. And band is only for 4th and 5th graders.

Tonight she asked to listen to music at bedtime. I picked up my iPad and prepared to pick a kids music station.

"Actually, Mommy," she said, "can you look for something with violins?"

I certainly could.

Eyes to see

H, cheerful: I can't wait to be dead.

Me, trying to exude a calm curiosity: How come?

H, happily: Because then I will see God!

K, trying to comprehend why someone can't wait to be dead: God?!

H, matter-of-fact: Yeah, you know, the one who loves me?

Bedtime chronicles

After many questions interspersed with varying lengths of silence... from a very, very tired Elaine.

Elaine, calling from her bed: Mommy?

Me, answering from the couch, beginning stages of exasperation: Elaine, I don't have anything left to say to you.

Elaine: *pause* Well I do.

Me, suppressing a smile: Yes?

Elaine: Can you please hold me?

(What am I supposed to do with THAT?! Superman and I were cracking up.)

Me, firmly: No, Elaine. I love you, goodnight.

Elaine: *tired protesting wails dissolving into a tired meltdown* You NEVER hold me!

The despondent crying continues then suddenly we hear the noise of a child tumbling onto the floor. Superman and I exchange glances. Did she really just throw herself off the (lower bunk) bed?

Elaine: *still crying* Mommy!

Me, tiredly: Yes, Elaine?

Elaine: *crying harder* I fell off my beeeeeeeeeed.

I laughed out loud and began typing this entry. Superman went in to rescue the damsel in distress.

I (don't) get it.

"I don't get it."

Val says this to me sometimes, in conversation. She's earnestly trying to understand something and I'm just as earnestly trying to explain but sometimes I can't explain adequately and we have to accept that she doesn't get it, for now. And that's okay. Experience and time and growth will teach and make sense out of what doesn't make sense to her now. I trust and know this but it's difficult for her to grasp. She wants to know. And if she wants to, why can't she? I know how she feels.

The last time I remember her saying this to me was as I tried to explain and why and how a heart attack happens.

"I don't get it," she said, "why can't the person know when it happens? How come some people live and some people die?" To her this seems incredibly unjust. To me, too.

I could see her working through the concepts I gave her -- thinking and reasoning... maybe trying to find a way to guarantee heart attack prevention in herself or people she loves. I do that, too, on more levels than just heart attacks.

I explained what I know about human bodies and that a heart attack can happen from a combination of things that can be controlled and sometimes a heart attack can happen because of something outside our control, even when we're doing the best we can. Even when we're doing it "right." Bodies can break. Some bodies are born broken. They aren't always fixed. This is a difficult truth for her to understand. It is for me, too.

She had a hole in her heart when she was born. I forgot to tell her that. She doesn't have it, now, and I am thankful. I was thankful before, too. It seemed nothing at all compared to Trisomy 18, which seemed briefly possible.

Life is a gift however it's handed to us.

But I still don't get it.

I feel like Val, sometimes, when I talk with someone who is more emotionally whole and healthy than I am. My sponsor and other friends in recovery, mostly. Some people go to my church and some go to other churches and some I see at my weekly 12-step group. A completely fascinating bunch of people. (I think maybe I'm easily fascinated by people.)

They answer my fumbling, awkward questions and talk and open their heart and share experiential truth that makes them practically SHINE with peace and love and grace and acceptance. It's what drew me to them in the first place. And I dutifully listen and sometimes take notes but a lot of the time, especially initially, I sat there feeling confused and slightly stupid.

"I don't get it. How come? Why? I don't get it." I felt dull and thick-headed."Can't the person just know when they're going to hurt and prevent it? Why do so many people hurt?"

I want what these strong, grounded, loving people have. I want to be like them. I want to listen and hopefully learn.

They smiled and encouraged and didn't judge and returned my calls and listened to my words and didn't try and fix me and listened reflectively, again and again and again. They continue to answer my questions and not once have made me feel stupid for asking the same thing or for being in the same situation again and again and again. (I've made myself feel stupid.)

I can see my progress, though. Today, this minute, I LIKE myself. I like me, beck, who I am right now. I've stopped judging myself constantly. (!!) I've learned so much about me and I've accepted it and I've taken different actions than I used to. Actions that sometimes lead to... serenity! Now? Well, more than there used to be.

My current struggle has to do with feeling and experiencing a personal connection to a loving Higher Power. I struggle with God. I know a lot but I haven't experienced a lot, personally. I love to listen to people with a strong, healthy connection to God. I love to hear how God works in the lives of people I know and I love to read about God working in the lives of people I don't know.

I'm starting to experience more. I'm starting to make progress and SEE progress. I'm learning to trust. I'm learning to be grateful for a power outside of me, who restores me to sanity and provides all I need.

I still don't get it, a lot of the time. And that's okay. Experience and time and growth will teach and make sense out of what doesn't make sense to me now. If the apostle Paul can learn to be content, I suppose that means it's possible for me, too. In the meantime, I have ample opportunity to practice trust.

Bruxism

I went to the dentist on Tuesday and learned that jaw clenching (by itself, some people grind their teeth as well) is a thing. I don't grind my teeth but it's very probable that I clench my teeth tightly while I sleep. A few teeth seem to be unreasonably sensitive and there are no cavities. My jaw has clicked for as long as I can remember (which I think can be caused or worsened by braces) and sometimes is stiff.

Apparently if this goes on long enough it can result in CRACKED MOLARS. The receptionist at the dental office explained that she's cracked four molars due to clenching her teeth while she sleeps. Four! Four teeth cracked by the force of one's own jaw muscle!

They recommended wearing a custom mouth guard at night which I am quite willing to do. (Cracked! Molars!)

---

It has been brought to my attention that talking quickly does not make a person appear credible. This is rather unfortunate but I'm glad to have the knowledge. Most people I speak with probably don't doubt my credibility, but this is good information to have and apply to interactions with anyone. I gleaned this tip from a intriguing book I'm reading: It's Not All About "Me": Ten Techniques For Building Quick Rapport With Anyone. The author was the lead trainer for social engineering and interpersonal skills in the FBI. This is the first book I've read that comes with a warning, which is as follows: Warning - the content in this book is so effective that we warn the reader to think carefully how it is used. We do not endorse or condone the use of these skills in malicious ways.

It's a very, very interesting book. I've been putting myself opposite him in each of the examples he gives of interaction with strangers and I think I'd do pretty well in keeping personal information that I don't wish to share to myself. (I actually have two specific responses ready to go if someone ever asks me information I'm uncomfortable sharing.) I've also found that some of the things he mentions are things that I do already when building or strengthening a relationship that's important to me. So that's cool.

When interacting with new acquaintances or strangers, though, now I know to consciously make an effort to slow down my rate of speech if I want to be influential.

---

Before today I did not know that "Methuselah" means "when he dies; it will come." What will come? Why, the flood, of course. Methuselah's father, Enoch had a close relationship with God and prophesied God's judgement of the world (according to Jude 1:14-15.) I like knowing what names mean and this was a new one for me.

---

Crap writing is crap. I want to write more so that there may be less crap to wade through, over time.

It wasn't until after I had already talked for several minutes about the things I like and do not like about my current phone that it occurred to me that perhaps he (the checker at Sprouts) was just making small talk. He had seen me using it as I waited in line, asked what kind it was and mentioned he needed a new one. Apparently that was all the prompting I needed. Maybe I need to get out more.

---

Our downstairs neighbors are Korean and their daughter, Hope, attends kindergarten at the same school Val does. Today we were on our way to the pool and invited her to join us. Hope's mom and I get along as best we can but neither of us are very good at the other's primary language. As far as I can tell, Hope translates with about as much care and concern for accuracy as you would expect a five-year-old to have. We smile and shrug a lot and I imagine we each hope for the best, never quite sure if what we're saying is being fully or even partially understood. Today on the way to the pool, Hope observed, "I know Korean AND English," then she turned to Val, "do you know Korean?" "Nope." Val replied, then turned to me, "how come I don't know Korean?" I suggested Hope could teach her.

I hope my girls enjoy languages and pick a useful one to learn in high school. We live in such a diverse part of the world. So many of their friends are bilingual and it's such an asset to have. I'm jealous.

---

This morning was difficult for me. Swells of anxiety, looming big and threatening and refusing to be ignored. I'm completely baffled as to how to care for myself during times like that. My toolbox is ever expanding. For the most part I try to conceal it from my children, or speak very simply about it, but this morning Elaine asked me a specific question and I mentioned something to her about feeling scared and I wasn't sure why. She stopped what she was doing to come over to me, touch my shoulder lovingly, look me gently in the eye and say encouragingly, "remember Mommy, God is with you." And then she gave me a huge hug and went back to playing.

You'll know it's me when I come through your town

Elaine started a conversation as we passed a used car lot near our apartment that specializes in higher-end cars.

"Daddy? When our car booms into another car and we have to get a new one? I want an orange car."

"Oh really?" Superman replied.

"Yeah," she continued, "with sticking-up doors."

It's then we realize she's referring to the Lamborghini on display.

Nice choice, little girl.

Then Superman and I joked about getting a door kit for our little toaster car. That would be hilarious.

How I love questions.

Val: Mom, how do microwaves work? Do they use fire? Or lava? 
Me: No, electricity and radio waves.
Val: What are radio waves? 
Me: Well, the frequency-
Val: What does frequency mean?
Me: *scrambling for HowStuffWorks.com*

I have a hunch I'll be homeschooling in some fashion even though she will be going to school. This is exactly how I was hoping it would happen - no stress for either of us, just the fun of exploring and learning and the pleasure of finding things out when and where we feel like it.

Let the little children come

Val usually wakes up early and eats breakfast with Superman before he leaves for work. I often wake up to the sound of her songs as she plays. She is such a morning person. This morning I stumbled to the couch and was in the process of waking up when she came over and said, "Mom, I made up a song about children; want to hear?" Of course I did.

The words were: "Believe in God when you hold a child."

Faith

This content is actually from October 21, 2011 and has just been sitting around waiting for me to do something with it since then.

Here's a prayer from Elaine that I had the privilege of overhearing. She did different voices for herself and God, too. =)

"Dear God, I don't want to be scared.

It's ok, [Elaine]. I'm God. I love you.

Oh ok. Thank you, God."

Swan

Val, pointing to the back cover of one of her books, where other books were pictured: What does this one say?

Me: "The Ugly Duckling"

Val, sincerely: What does 'ugly' mean?

Me, stunned and simultaneously grateful she had to ask: Not pretty.

Val, considering: Ugly... ugly... why did the mother think the duckling was ugly?

Me: She didn't. The story-teller did. All good mommies know their babies are beautiful.

Val, nodding, then smiling: Oh... well I think it's kind of furry and cute and fluffy. I like it.

Me: I do, too.

---

I was six when the neighbor girls called me ugly.

Pin up girl

I've been trying to do other things with my hair, than simply occasionally wash and ponytail it. More specifically, I've been trying to understand and actually attempt the use of bobby pins. Oh, and "product." Quite unfortunately, merely owning bobby pins and product does NOT magically bestow upon me all kinds of hairstyle knowledge and skill. So, I've been trying. I never spent hours in the bathroom or in front of mirrors practicing and perfecting all kinds of hairstyles during my junior high and high school years, and it shows.

The other day I washed my hair. I put "product" in it. I bobby pinned with determination. I emerged with what I thought was a tolerable manner in which to display my hair NOT in a ponytail. Several hours later Superman arrived home. I was eager for honest feedback.

Me: Look at my hair. I "did" it today. Do you like it? Not like it? Thoughts?

Superman: *considers my hair* Eh, not really. It's not my favorite.

Me: Specifically, how I pinned it up like this. Here and here. *points out pinned spots*

Superman: Oh. Yeah, that part's okay. It's just really poofy. Maybe if you put some anti-frizz stuff on it or something.

Me: I did.

Superman: Oh.

Evidently I didn't use enough product. I'm tempted to just throw it back in a ponytail until it's 5 or 6 inches longer and less likely to poof. Product is expensive, yo.

Birthdays

Val, nonchalant: Guess whose birthday it is today.
Superman: Do they live far away?
Val: Probably.
Superman, probing: Do they live in Washington?
Val, shrugging: I dunno.
Superman: Where do they live?
Val: I don't know. We don't know them, but somebody has a birthday every day.

He loved her first

"When I grow all up? And get married? And move into a new house with a boy? I... I... will miss my daddy snuggling me."

- Elaine, despairingly.

Fear

"I was scared because I wanted the dark to be light."

- Elaine

I like to live in the light, too.

Oh thank heaven...

On the drive home from Superman's softball game...

Val: Whew! It's hot.

Superman: Yeah I need to turn on the AC.

Elaine: And get slurpees.

Sent from my Droid 2 Global

The back seat of my car (is where the wild things are.)

Last night while driving home in comfortable silence, after a long day at my parents' house... Elaine's little voice from the back seat, "Mommy? Am I born to be wild?"

Me, repressing a smile, conversationally, "Well, what do you think about that, sweetie?"

Elaine, pondering, then concluding, "I think I am."

Val, immediately interjecting in the way that bossy big sisters do, "No, I don't think we're born to be wild because 'wild' means 'interesting' and we aren't very interesting."

Happy things!

I was cuddling with Elaine and she was telling me everything she liked about me... "and I like your chin and your nose and your mouth and your eyes and your forehead and your happy things and your ears-"

I interrupted, "wait, what are happy things?"

She explained while gently tracing them on my face, "you know, the lines right here, Mommy, that happen when you smile at me."

Pandas! Yum!

"I'm hungry for pandas! I want some panda bear food!" announced Elaine suddenly.

Superman and I were baffled until we realized we had just driven past Panda Express.