"Journaling is stupid," Chickadee said to me last night, out of nowhere, as we were driving to pick up pizza for dinner. I blinked at her. "Ummm," I said, helpfully. "Don't you have a diary you write in?" "Yes, but that's just it. It's dumb. People keep telling me it'll help to WRITE ABOUT MY FEELINGS and you know what? It doesn't. It's stupid. It just makes me dwell on the stuff I shouldn't and I never feel better, after." "I feel better when I write about stuff," I offered. Because it's true. "But... maybe you're just more of an action-item type. Maybe instead of writing about how you...
I cannot tell a lie: When it came time, at the end of yesterday's adventure in the woods, to go around the circle and share what we were grateful for, I said I was grateful that no one had licked any slugs. When one of the guides shot me kind of a funny look, I added, "Um... at least as far as I'm aware...?" (I'm available for parties, people!) At one point we came to a broad, shallow spot in a creek where there were lots of flat rocks rising up out of the middle of the water, and---being as how it's the middle of February and, therefore, a chilly 76 degrees here in Global Warming Is A...
It seems like we were just out in the wilderness with Hippie School, doing important things like licking slugs, but today it's time to go do it again. (I am hoping we're exploring a slug-free zone, today.) The last time I wrote about going on one of these adventures with Hippie School, Chickadee was freshly home from the hospital, and I was sure we were finally coming out the end of a long, dark tunnel. It was the beginning of Better; it had to be. I guess I can't say it's NOT Better. Frankly, hot sauce to the eyeballs is probably better than having a kid in the hospital. So yes, sure, it's...
I've been to hours of rehearsals and have missed hours of rehearsals. I've driven to rehearsal and wiped tears off my cheeks the whole way there because it was my only time alone to vent the frustration and sadness I was feeling over my oldest being sick and scared and beyond the fixing I used to be able to do with band-aids and boo-boo kisses. I've laid awake at night while Otto gently snored next to me, my prayers for strength and patience and grace all tangled up with mental repetitions of my lines for the show---lines I could've easily learned in an afternoon back when I was in college,...
Chickadee's been home for a week and a half, has successfully managed two half-days at school (and is attempting the whole day today), and while life stubbornly refuses to stop or even slow down while we find our new normal, over here, I am rediscovering the healing power of frozen dairy confections. The list of things I can control at this point would probably fit on a post-it, with room to spare. The list of things I CAN'T control (but desperately wish I could) is a lot longer. Go figure! On any given day, I sandwich small stints of actual work between doctors' appointments and carpool and...
I don't know if you know this, but it is hugely inconvenient to have more than one child to care for when you have a sick kid. Who knew, right? Extremely poor planning on my part, to be sure. Having the stress of trying to take care of one sick kid while making sure the well one doesn't end up sad and neglected is like a special Suckage Bonus Prize. There were points at which I was honestly more worried about Monkey than Chickadee; once she was in the hospital, at least I knew she was safe and being taken care of, whereas with Monkey, he was worried and weepy and to top it off, we kept...
The first thing I need to do is offer up a great big group hug to all of you ravishingly pretty people who commented and emailed and kept my little family in your thoughts when I so rudely up and announced I needed to go silent for a while. I'm not sure what I thought was going to happen when I did that---I wasn't really thinking about the possible reaction, only that I needed to get away from the computer---but I was pleasantly overwhelmed by how kind and patient you've all been. So thank you for that, so much. The second thing I need to do is explain that I am often guilty of what we refer...
I may have mentioned before that sometimes there's a dog at Hippie School; the director was bringing her almost every day, for a while. This dog and Monkey immediately became the best of friends, because Monkey loves animals and Star is a saintly paragon of patience when it comes to children flinging themselves all over her. It was reported to me on more than one occasion that when Monkey was having a difficult time, either he would spontaneously go bury his face in Star or she would go to him and sit on his feet. (It must be noted here that Licorice is also very patient with Monkey, but at...
In the midst of angst and hand-wringing, I sometimes find it helpful to remember that my kids have survived worse. Even more comforting, in a bizarro sort of way, is remembering that I survived MUCH worse, and what's more, back then---in the Stone Age, you know---no one even though it was much of a big deal. Clearly I just need to toughen these kids up. Put 'em to work, maybe, or force them to walk to school in the snow. Except we don't have any snow, and nowadays that would probably be considered child abuse. Heh. Today I'm over at Off Our Chests, reflecting on some differences between my...
