Might listen

K took Sputnik to school to share with her class of 9 fifth graders. Sputnik is the larger of our two cats but his meow is precious: high pitched and tiny, as you'd expect from a newborn kitten. He missed his sister and wasn't sure what to think of the car ride in a crate by himself. He let us all know how he felt by his dramatic vocalizations.

K responded quickly and gently, "I hear you, little kitty. I'm listening with all of my might."

May more of us respond this way to the people we encounter every day.

the least of these

For the past few years Val and Elaine have helped me make what we call "homeless bags." We go buy a bunch of things that may be usefull to someone living on the streets, pack them into ziplock bags and then put them into our van. That way we'll be ready to hand one over to whoever we come across. 

We saw a guy yesterday on our way to Smart & Final. "Aw man," I bemoaned, "we're out of homeless bags."

We drove on and turned into the parking lot. 

"So?" Elaine said, "we could still buy him something at the store and take it to him." 

I said nothing. I didn't really feel like it. I had a system, and it was true that system was down due to my lack of oversight, but I didn't feel like going out of my way. It wasn't part of my plan for that day. So I'm fine with doing God's will only when it fits into my will? Is that it? I think that's it. Crud.

"Yeah," Val agreed, "let's get him something. Probably like water and a snack like chips or something."

"I don't know..." I said doubtfully, searching for reasons why giving something to a homeless man in broad daylight wasn't a good idea. Nevermind that it was JESUS' idea. "We'd have to drive around again out of our way to head the right way past him." I protested weakly. Am I really doing this? Trying to talk my kids OUT of being Christlike?!?

They regarded me curiously. Elaine spoke, "Mom. We could just go park on the parking lot side and walk up and hand it to him and not be on the street side." Yes, children, apparently you do need to refresh my memory on how cars work. 

Ugh. Even more of a personal investment and interaction. Walking up and talking instead of handing something out the window as we drive past.

We went into the store and got our things. Val tugged my arm in the check-out line. "Gift cards! We could get him a gift card, that way he can buy exactly what he needs instead of us guessing the wrong thing."

Okay fine. We got the giftcards (there were two homeless guys, working different parts of the same corner.)

I pulled the van into a parking space near the man and got out. I hate awkward situations even with people I know. This wasn't at all comfortable for me or something I'm a natural at. (As if God only asks us to do things we're comfortable with - hah.) Many of my family memebers live for this kind of conversation, but I don't. 

I smiled and held out my hand, "Hi! I'm beck. We've seen you here a couple of times." He shook my hand. His name is Ryan. I held out the gift card. "I hope this helps." He thanked me.

Next time we drive by Ryan I hope I'll have a better attitude and a more willing spirit. Thanks, kids.

Regenerate

It's times like these I'm suddenly struck with the urge to make an Insta-book out of my 2013 instragram pictures.

Half the house is in boxes and the other half is disheveled. Tomorrow we pack to go to the mountains for the changing of the years. We'll get the keys to our new (rental) house on Friday!

---

It has occurred to me that this past year has been very probably the best, most comfortable year for me in my role as "stay at home" mom. Is it a coincidence that it also is the year both kids have been at school and/or preschool most days of the week? I think not.

Caring for (very) small children does not appear to be in my naturally-acquired skill set. Both times I've done it rather poorly and have fallen apart rather spectacularly. While it's true that there were many other rather large stressors at those times in my life, I highly doubt that even if I were to have the most ideal circumstances surrounding another pregnancy and birth that it would be possible without medication.

Which makes me sad. However, I don't want to put myself or my family through anything like my postpartum experiences again.

I'm not on medication now and I (usually) feel just fine! This makes me hopeful and wistful and I've briefly entertained the thought of another child.

---

A few months ago I was shopping at our local grocery store. A lady joined me by the spinach. Her tiny infant son was in a car-seat she had placed in the shopping cart and he began to fuss. She began gently rocking the seat but he didn't settle down. Instead he began screaming that ever-so-distinctive newborn cry.

My reaction surprised even me. I wasn't expecting to feel anything as strongly as I did. I almost had to leave the store. An avalanche of feelings suddenly dumped into my awareness, triggered by that crying. My heart was racing; I felt panicky and fearful, desperate and frantic, helpless and terrified.

Sanity was a difficult thing to maintain during those first few months of a screaming Elaine and a wide-eyed, sensitive Val. Our home had been and was still endlessly under construction and chaotic and I wasn't sure whether we'd be able to short sell it or have to go into foreclosure. Superman was on the break-in phase at his new job and largely unavailable in every way. I could barely function and then I couldn't function.

It was very hard.

All of it came rushing back as I stood there by the produce, listening to this newborn do what lots of newborns do - cry.

I quickly got the remaining items on my list and then hurried to the car. I closed the door and began to cry, too.

---

At dinner tonight Val said she wishes she could have a little brother. I told her I wish that too. I know God hears us. I want to hear Him. Little brothers can come in more ways than one.

Sewdone

I bought a sewing machine last spring. Last week I finally attended the class to teach me the basics. It was informative. There is so much information still to learn! It's fun to be at the beginning of a learning curve. I like to learn. (I like to learn the things I pick to learn.)

Thus far I've sewn a skirt and some curtains to cover up the cat litter box housed under the bathroom sink.

---

I hate being misunderstood. I sometimes think that when someone appears to misunderstand me, that it's a failure on my part to explain properly. However some people probably will never "understand" in the way I'd like them to no matter how explicitly I explain. This is sometimes maddening. This is something I struggle to let go of. I can't change other people nor should I be able to! Their opinion is their business; no sense in letting it ruin my day (or evening, or hour.)

Things happened today that I thought I could safely bring to a group I regularly meet with tonight. I shared what was going on and was stunned to hear their take on the situation; they didn't seem to share my opinion that it was a big deal! Part of me never wants to return and part of me says, so what, people will think what they think. I know what's true and so does God and why can't that be enough? I guess maybe the disappointment was that I had an expectation that they would support and pray for me. It's really been messing with my head, though, because now I'm questioning myself, wondering if maybe I'm overreacting? I really don't think I am - and neither do the other adults in the situation!

I don't know. I just want to be free of the constant mulling over my brain is doing. Turn it over. Let it go. Keep on acting how I choose to act and let it be okay for the ladies who I see once a week to think and believe whatever they want. I just hate being misunderstood, if I was. If I wasn't then I'm even more mad.

I feel like I don't become truly angry about very much, but this situation had to do with my daughter and I feel my responses were completely appropriate and justified.

Alright fine, God. Take it. I don't want it. I hoped writing would help.

Journals are for babies

It was dollar day (and by "day" they mean "any non R-rated movie showing at 10 am) at the movie theater today. The girls watched The Lorax while I (rather smugly) read a book on my precious Kindle Paperwhite.

Mark Twain happened to comment on the topic of keeping a journal in The Innocents Abroad.

"At certain periods it becomes the dearest ambition of a man to keep a faithful record of his performances in a book; and he dashes at this work with an enthusiasm that imposes on him the notion that keeping a journal is the veriest pastime in the world, and the pleasantest. But if he only lives twenty-one days, he will find out that only those rare natures that are made up of pluck, endurance, devotion to duty for duty's sake, and invincible determination may hope to venture upon so tremendous an enterprise as the keeping of a journal and not sustain a shameful defeat."

 I brightened considerably. I have been writing many things in many journals for many more days than twenty-one. I have pluck and endurance! Devotion to duty and invincible determination! Mark Twain said so!

---

On our way down to the apartment park my girls passed a man going up the stairs. I heard him and the girls exchange hellos and then he continued up and saw me. He's a downstairs neighbor of ours and has Down's Syndrome. He asked me a question and I had difficulty understanding so he repeated it. His tone was concerned and worried. He wanted to know if the girls, "were my babies?" He was relieved to hear they were. I was so touched that he's looking out for kids who didn't seem to be with an adult.

Yes, they're my babies.

"Why did he call us babies, Mom?" Katherine wanted to know. She was prepared to take offense. She is NOT a baby and was lately quite pleased NOT to be required to wear a life jacket at the water park. Heaven forbid people see a life jacket on her and erroneously conclude she can't swim. She was one inch over the 4-ft-tall requirement and thrilled. (I have a 4-ft. six-year-old. Is that normal? Ah ha! No!)

"Some people say 'babies' when they mean 'children.'" I explain. We were at the park and they began climbing things. I sat down to knit. Maybe one day she'll experience what mothers do, sometimes, when they see their NOT-a-baby child asleep, or laughing, or standing a certain way, with a certain expression on her face - one that's been hers since birth. Sometimes I look at her and can't NOT see the little baby she was.

Older

Tonight I held my six-year-old close and slow-danced to piano music at bedtime. My brain jumped back to six years (and seven days, it turns out) ago and I have to post this, if only so I can go spend the night crying on the couch every time I see these side by side.

  

 

 

Oh my sweet girl. How I love you. What a pure gift from God you are.

Meow

"I don't want to be a grown-up. I would rather be a cat." - Val

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.

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."

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.

Oh my heart.

August 30, 2011: first day of preschool

May 29, 2012: last day of preschool, nine months later.

I just. I don't even have words. (Which is why I've supplied pictures.)

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.

Sixty second sunny swing!

Break in the clouds.
Sent from my Droid 2 Global

Music

Val wakes up early and cheerfully. Elaine and I wake up slowly and are prone to grouchiness.

This morning Val stood by my pillow and whispered, "Mommy! I heard someone playing beautiful music."

I hadn't heard anything (though I'm sure she had) and because I'm only slightly better at controlling my grouchiness than Elaine, I asked Val about the music. She sang a little of it for me and then concluded, "It's nice to hear music in the morning, Mommy."

I agreed and asked what her favorite kind of music was, hoping she'd talk for a while and I could eke out a few more minutes of sleep. Her reply was prompt and her request, sincere.

"Amazing Grace. Mommy, will you play that for me while I eat breakfast?"

And that's why I was playing and singing Amazing Grace for an audience of one (and then a grouchy second one) at 6:30 am.

As my sleepy brain directed my hands in a clunky version of the hymn, my heart suddenly smiled to recall the countless times I awoke to the sound of my grandpa playing beautiful music during the early morning hours of my college years.

Val doesn't remember her great-grandpa but I'm so glad they share the belief that it's nice to hear music in the morning.

First swim of the year!

Quite the success. And it'll be even warmer tomorrow! Can't wait for summer.

Eeek

Val, singing, "The itsy bitsy spider crawled up and poisoned you..."

Lovely!

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."

Rainbow heir

Alright. I guess she looks a little like me.