Catching Up

 We went to Renn Fest!!!

 We had a blast!

Tristan the vampire and Connor as Harry Potter for the second year in a row. Hey - if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

This shot was taken in Alabama at the reunion. Aren't they both gorgeous?!

Disney. Our first trip. I really wish you could smell this picture. Those are some sweaty little boys. We had an unbelievable amount of fun!

Begin

I've been toying with the idea of getting a tattoo. For a while I thought that I would just get the word Begin. Sort of a shortened version of the journey of 100 miles begins with one step. What's important is just starting. Begin. Now I'm thinking about doing something else, having the tattoo designed by someone else even. I'm always thinking. But not beginning anything just yet.
One of the other things that I'm thinking about is starting another blog. It seems like Pinterest could generate some traffic to a blog if you are able to take good pictures and come up with good crafty ideas. I can do both. And, I'm constantly working some sort of project, so why not post it? I could do all sorts of stuff. Printables! Sewing! Cooking! But that's time. Do I even have that much time? Could it benefit me financially? Or even just as a fantastic hobby? I've been slack enough with this blog, although I've had good reason, a crappy host, hundreds of spam comments a day that weren't blocked by my hosts server... a switch to Wordpress and then back to blogger.
Worst of all, I've been slacking on the letters to my babies. Beyond the crafting, hobbies and cooking, that's probably the think that I must keep doing. I had a scare when I moved from Wordpress to Blogger. I lost all of my images. The thought of having to manually put them back into each post was simply nauseating but finally I added the folders back to where they were supposed to be and lo' and behold the images returned. Now I have to create a post with everything that you've missed over the past year and we are rolling again. I don't know exactly where I'm going with this blog thing, but at least I'm beginning again.

Hey! Over here!

Phew. After months of not blogging at all and suffering with the hundreds of comments that Wordpress was unable to block, I've returned to blogspot. I've added some nifty widgets and hope I'll be inspired to write a little more often.
Facebook has done for the blog, what video did to the radio star. It used to be that people read blogs because they wanted to peek into someone else's life. When Facebook began gaining popularity, internet surfers were able to look through the blinds of hundreds of people from a single url and blogs that previously had offered nothing but witty banter or stories regaling the struggles of everyday life slowly lost the audience that had made them internet rock stars.
I guess it's good I didn't bet the farm on my own blog and sadly I don't have the time to offer anything but some hella cute pictures of my kids and some mediocre writing. But if the mediocre writing happens a little more frequently soon it will be better than mediocre and the kids... well. they can only get cuter.

Dear Tristan - 4 Years, 7 Months

Dear Tristan,

I will be so sad when you start pronouncing your Rs. You’ll ask me if I remember instead of ne-member and we’ll talk about rabbits instead of wabbits. You’ve gone through a growth spurt recently. So recently in fact that just over the last couple of days, I’ve been looking at you like I haven’t seen you for weeks. When did you get so tall? When did you lose that baby face and start looking more like a little boy?



I’ve put you into preschool five days a week so I can get some stuff done. We have major projects going on right now and I want to get them done before our summer vacation. I have to admit that I felt a little bit guilty about it, because I really love the days that we get to spend, just me and you, but there’s no point in you trailing behind me watching me paint the office or re-wall the attic. Although you don't mind just kinda' hanging out.

You do love you some preschool. You don’t care too much about the art and learning but you are all about snack, lunch and recess. See? It’s like you are in junior high already. You get smiley faces almost every time on your behavior chart at school. You’ve gotten yellow cards twice so far, once for not listening and once for calling the other kids babies because you were mad at them for something. I never heard what the “something” was, but I’m sure they deserved it, my sweet angel.



You and brother are getting along for longer periods of time. You are so grateful when you are playing together instead of having to defend yourself that you follow him around saying, “I love you, Connor” over and over again. If he’s not around to love on you though, there’s always the dog. She’s more than happy to let you throw your arms around her or use her as a pillow while you are watching TV. The cat, well, he's new around here so he's still learning about little boys.



You know the thing I love about you most of all though? Every day is the best day you’ve ever had. Everything you do is the most fun you’ve ever had. You've learned something at four that most people take a lifetime to learn. Be happy, be present. I hope you never forget it. I wish I could say I had that down but I don't. I know I can count on you to remind me though because when I ask you if you’ve had a good day you look at me with a smile that lights up the room and say, "Mama, today was the best day EVER.”
Then I look at you, and I know exactly what you mean.

I love you,

Mama

Before and After

I used to pack a bag, throw it into the back of my Jeep and drive up to the mountains for the day. I would walk out into the woods by myself, find a spot and park it there. I would sit quietly and think consciously. I would sketch. I would climb the boulders in the river. I would lay with the sun on my face, my body draped across a river rock, while the water rushed around me. I would be alone.

Now a trip to the mountains entails packing for a family of four. Things I never dreamed about hauling up to the woods are now a necessity to survive a three hour road trip. Ipods. Portable DVD players. Cell phones. Snacks. Drinks. Fifteen changes of clothes.

Armed with enough to survive a holocaust, we took the kids to the mountains last weekend. On the way home, we introduced them to creeks with rocks they could climb, smooth stones they could skip, woods they could run in. They weren’t impressed. “I’m supposed to POOP in the woods?!”, my five year old exclaimed. When my husband led him to the perfect pooping spot, he peed on a tree and then came out and said he was finished. No problem. Sure. No big deal. Until the car ride home when he confessed that he wasn’t pooping in the woods ever and that he needed to go… right. now.

I never got to lay on a river rock and listen to the sounds of the river. I was too absorbed in making sure that no one suffered a brain trauma climbing over those slippery-when-wet rocks. Just hearing the sound of the water was enough to remind me that I need to get back out there. But still, it’s different. Now there are people depending on me. I’m not so carefree anymore. I worry about going out into the woods alone. What if? Ideas that never occurred to me in my youth, now creep into the recesses of my mind and keeping me bound to civilization. But seeing my kids play in the little waterfall in the creek… is worth the sacrifice.

Evolution

Cupping the tinder of our humanity

in our shaking hands, we blow.

Yearning for a new spark to

take hold and roar to flame;

looking for a new hope to warm us.

We hold soft the ember

retrieved from the empire’s ashes.

We remember the fall of civilization.

How the people cried for salvation,

sifting through the remains of

wasted lives, once so shiny with

elegance, polished bright to hide

the truth, the fear and the longing.

We are learning to make fire,

as we paw through the cinders

of our own devastating mortality

waiting for the spark that will take us

forward, forgetting what we have lost,

warming us, as the night grows bitter.

The Support Technicians Lament

Oh God, have you forsaken us?
They call to us! Oh glorious ones!
“My PC is frozen!”, they cry
“Have you rebooted?”, we exclaim.
“How do I do that?” they weep.

“My printer isn’t printing”, they wail.
“Is there paper in the tray?” we ask.
They are quick to anger, not knowing
that last time we asked,
the paper tray lay bare

“I have a VIRUS”, they yell at us
Panicked that someone has,
 (through the computer),
reached into their wallet stealing
the sacred credit card numbers

The plea to us, unseen
“My presentation is due, in FIVE minutes!
And I’m not done with it yet!!!
And my PC is NOT WORKING!!!”
They panic, they cajole,they ask for a Supervisor.

We use the hold button.
We laugh, we exclaim, we smoke.
We come back, business ready,
endless cups of coffee our fuel
“How may I help you?”, we ask the next.

You are Getting Sleeeeepy

We approach the building at a run. He is running, I am fast walking behind him, carrying a bag larger than his little brother. He flings open the door to the sleep clinic and runs towards the elevator. This is exciting. I have promised him electrodes. Little brother and Daddy are staying home tonight and only Connor will sleep in the clinic with Mommy.

We check in and are shown to our room. Connor inspects the room quickly, ooo and ahhing over the shower once he sees it’s equipped with a shorter nozzle for little ones or patients in wheel chairs. He is certain to secure a promise from me that he will be able to take a shower in it in the morning. He sits so patiently asking the nurse no less than one hundred questions about the electrodes, paste and wires. He wants to know what the wires do, where they will attach and what she will see when she monitors it on the computer. He’s brave. Not bothered by hard plastic taped under his nose or the electrodes attached to his scalp. I call him robot-boy. We talk about what super-powers he has with his new wire Super-suit. He is sleepy.

Three hours past his normal bedtime the nurse intercoms into the room. Would we like something to drink? A soda? Perhaps a muffin or a pack of crackers? Connor blurts out, “I’ll have a soda, and a muffin please.” “Nice try,” I respond. I order a Ginger Ale and ice water for Connor. It makes me feel guilty. I feel bad that he can’t have a muffin, but he’s tired and I don’t want him awake any longer because it’s been a long day, (for me).

I settle him in and grab Percy Jackson and The Lightening Thief. Some of my friends think I’m ridiculous for reading this book to him. It’s too old for him. Their kids don’t know words like hallucination or quest. Their kids don’t ask them questions about the Greek Gods and the history of man. Their kids aren’t captivated by chapter books. Mine is. He can’t get enough of it. The main character has ADHD. I remind him of this every time I read it to him. ADHD kids can be heroes too. I read. He sleeps.

We wake once in the night, because he’s woken up and frightened by the thing taped under his nose. He panics, he wants it off. The nurse says they’ve gotten enough data from it and removes it. He falls back into the bed on his side and resumes the snoring and kicking.

In the morning, I am told that he did not sleep well. He snored, kicked, talked and ground his teeth all night. I knew that he snored a little, but I didn’t know it was this serious. He’s not sleeping well. I learn that it is possible that although he is sleeping for 12 hours, he’s really only sleeping five. This could account for the years of difficulty focusing, hyperactivity and defiance. After years of taking one step forward and two steps back, I feel like we are standing on solid ground. We can fix this.

When we walk out of the sleep clinic; he is not running. He is not excited, but I am. His euphoria has worn off, but mine is just beginning. I am exhausted from a night of sleep deprivation, but I can’t stop smiling. We head off to Starbucks to celebrate with a cup of coffee and a hot chocolate. The sun rise is beautiful.

Assignment

Imagine your life is now a book. Write the blurb for it.

Janice is a small time Mom with big time plans, when she suddenly finds herself trapped alone in the house with her two small boys for the ENTIRE Summer. It doesn’t take long before she’s swept away solving one mystery after the next. WHAT IS that in the bathroom drain? WHO magic markered the DOG? Why is his poop BLUE?! This page turner is sure to have you on the edge of your seat, wondering, what IS that in his MOUTH? When she’s not solving mysteries, she’s taking deep breaths during the tender moments of teaching the children that maxi pads are not band aids and the hose cannot come into the house. You’ll fall in love with the way she repeats herself 500 times a day and makes a healthy dinner out of a can of chickpeas and a bottle of organic ketchup. You really don’t want to miss reading; They’re Cute When They’re Sleeping.

“Birth control at its finest!”
                                                ~ The Boston Globe

“Behold the wonder of children”
                                                ~ New York Times Book Review

“Janice amazes us again and again with her ability to tell which one is lying”
                                                                                ~ The San Francisco Chronicle

He said – First day of kindergarten

Well. I WAS sleeping. And then Mama came in with the camera and was taking pictures. I said, “NO!” and I meant it. I went under the covers. It looked like it was still night time outside.

“Good morning, sweet baby,” she said. “Let’s get up. It’s the first day of Kindergarten” I don’t care. I’m so sleepy. I say again, “NO!” and try to go back to sleep. But then I remembered something important. Today IS the first day of Kindergarten. Now I CAN’T go back to sleep, cause I don’t want to go and Mama is still taking pictures of me.

Mama feeds Garlic. That’s my fish. I wanted to name him after a spice. I feed him every day. He’s my fish. But today Mama fed him. That means we are in a hurry. I get out of bed. I don’t want to brush my teeth because after I brush teeth we have to go downstairs and get ready for kindergarten. I don’t really want to go to kindergarten. I like my stripy toothpaste but we are out. I don’t like that at all. Mama goes to get the Aim out of her bathroom. I like that even better. That’s DADDY’s toothpaste. And it’s awesome.

I have to put on school clothes. Mama says it’s called a uniform. I don’t like it. It itches. It has a tag. I don’t like tags. I tell Mama again that I want to wear sweatpants. She’s putting my shirt INSIDE of my pants. I don’t like that either. I try to pull it out. Mama gets that look on her face like she is starting to get mad. So I just stop and ask for sweatpants again. Mama is really tucking in that shirt real good though, so she doesn’t hear me.

Then Mama wakes up my little bother. I call him that just like Olivia on TV calls her little brother that. Only, he’s too little to know what that means. When I call him that he just says, “Yes, I AM!” That makes me mad.

I got to pick out my own cereal from the store yesterday and I picked out Life because that’s my favorite. Actually I really want to get one of the cartoon cereals but Mama never lets me. She says she’s not feeding me dessert for breakfast. Then she tells me that we don’t need to eat things with colors in them. Like colors are BAD. But I LIKE pink hearts in my cereal. At the store, I told her, “When I’m a grown up I’m going to eat Lucky Charms for breakfast every day.” She said that was fine, but she wasn’t paying for it. That doesn’t even make any sense.

I don’t want to eat my cereal. My tummy feels like I’m going to throw up. I tell Mama that my tummy hurts and she says it’s ok to have butterflies in my tummy. I get real quiet when she says that. She says some other stuff too, but I don’t  hear cause I feel like I’m going to throw up. I wait on my little bother to finish his breakfast. He’s eating MY cereal. But I don’t hit him, because I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Mama takes more pictures. We get in the car and go to my new school. The whole time there Mama is talking so much about how I’m going to love Kindergarten and how much fun it’s going to be. She’s acting really happy that I’m going to kindergarten. She’s acting real weird.

We get into the parking lot and Mama explains that she’s just going to drop me off. I want her to go in with me, but she says she can’t. She says it’s the rules. I have to take off my seatbelt while the car is in the parking lot. “THAT IS NOT EVEN SAFE!” I tell her, but she says it’s ok so I do it anyway. I get to stand in front of my seat while the car is moving in the parking lot. I really like that part.

When we stop the car a lady comes and gets me out. I forgot to give Mama a kiss like she said I had to and I try to get back into the car, but the lady won’t let me. I yell, “I LOVE YOU” real loud so that Mama hears me. Then I blow her one hundred kisses and the lady takes me away from the car. Just then another lady comes up to me. She’s acting real happy too. She tells me how cool my Scooby Doo lunch box is, but I don’t answer her. I look back to see where Mama and brother are going. And they are LEAVING.

I don’t cry though. I’m a kindergartener now. I am amazing. And Mama is proud.

 

She said – First day of kindergarten

I know, I haven't been writing. Actually that's not true at all. I've been writing. Like crazy. I haven't been POSTING is more what I want to say. I miss writing my Dear Connor and Tristan, but I think I was burned out for a while. Now that Christmas is over I a little more time. I've been trying to get some things off of my plate, things that I've started but are ready to pass on, (like my SPD group), one of the newsletters that I do on a volunteer basis and anything else that I don't really NEED to do, but takes up my time anyway. I've been writing but not posting because last semester I was taking a creative writing class which is where all of my writing energy went. I have a ton of stuff from the class that I've been meaning to post so I guess I'll get to it. Prepare for an onslaught of completely random things I have written. Here's the first.

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It’s 6:45am. I am standing in a dark room, watching my five year old son sleep. He stirs slightly as if aware of my presence. I lift the camera and hope for the best. It’s not easy shooting in darkness. The red-eye reduction will be the only light I am able to focus with. I press the trigger and the flash illuminates the room like an impending storm. Connor groans and rolls over shielding his eyes from the light. I shoot again. He opens one eye says, “NO” and pulls the blankets over his face to hide himself from the Mother that’s surely come to wake him.

“Good morning, sweet baby,” I croon. “Let’s get up. It’s the first day of Kindergarten”
He says again, “No”. And tries to ignore me. I take another picture.
 I coax him out of bed with the promise of an exciting day at school. He is leery. It takes forever to brush teeth. I tame the rooster hair that curls in a salute to the sky while he is sleeping. I make more promises about how much he is going to love Kindergarten and how fun it is going to be. I try to sound light and happy but I am afraid for him. I hope he can’t see it. Please don’t let him see it.

We try on his new uniform and I try to be positive when he complains and says he doesn’t understand why he can’t wear sweatpants and a t-shirt. I explain that all of the other children will be wearing the same and that it’s the rules. He complains again. I pretend to be absorbed in the tucking in of his shirt and do not answer.

We wake up the brother. The element that adds chaos to the morning. Connor is so distracted that he doesn’t even pick a fight with him. He doesn’t argue about who goes down the stairs first. His head is so full of anxiety and expectation that he doesn’t care.

His appetite is scant. He likes the cereal that he picked out at the store yesterday; it’s his favorite, but can’t eat because his tummy is a jumble of nerves. I empathize. He tells me he feels sick and I explain to him that it’s ok to have butterflies in his tummy. He doesn’t have to eat if he doesn’t want to. It’s going to be ok. He’s going to love it. Mama will take him and pick him up. Mama loves him. Mama is proud.

He wanders around the kitchen in circles, pacing. Waiting. We drive.

I explain to him how the drop off works on the way. He will get out of his seat belt when we go to the parking lot. He will have to give me a kiss. He will get out of the car and a teacher will take him to another teacher who will take him to his class. I remind him that he has lunch. He has snack. He is amazing. Mama is proud.

We pull up to the drop point and I stop the car. I turn to look at him and he’s staring out of the van door at the person that’s coming to take him away from his family. She opens the door and Connor hops out forgetting the kiss rule, but remembering as soon as his feet touch the ground he turns to get back in the car but the teacher pulls him away. He yells, “I LOVE YOU!” and blows me about ten kisses in a row. I smile, tell him I love him too and watch as he walks away staring wide eyed at the teacher that’s gushing about how cool his Scooby Doo lunch box is. He is not fooled. He looks back at the van, leaving him alone in this strange new place.

He looks so small. His backpack is almost as big as he is. He looks our way as we slowly pull away from the drop zone. As he turns to walk into the building a tear rolls down my cheek. There will be no inconsolable sobbing from me. I’m not a mother that will sit in the parking lot and cry for an hour lamenting the loss of my child. I can feel the knot in my stomach begin to untangle and but I know I still won’t be able to relax until I pick him up at the end of the day. Mama loves him. Mama is proud.

Dear Connor - 6 Years

Dear Connor,
I'd like to tell you that I haven't written your letter because I've been that busy, but really it's because I don't know what to say. You see, you've been having a tough time starting Kindergarten. Like Parent-Teacher conference the first week of school problems. The issues have mostly been regarding your inability to keep your hands to yourself, fidgeting, talking out of turn, you know, normal stuff... for you anyway. In a last ditch effort to avoid putting you on stimulant meds, we took a few trips to the Chiropractor, the neurologist and did a sleep study. You failed the sleep study, which I'll write an entry on later and the Neuro diagnosed you with ADHD, which we knew you had walking in the door.


Before I continue I want you to know something, we fought to avoid medication for you. We've done, OT, behavioral therapy, supplement therapy, elimination diets, (including gluten free), homeopathy and herbal meds. Nothing's worked. If we had unlimited finances we would have tried neuro feedback or one of the brain balancing therapies, but the funds aren't there and the feedback from people that have tried it is limited. So, in a desperate attempt to keep you from getting suspended over and over again, we filled a prescription. And it's working.
This is what I've learned having a child on medication for ADHD - most of the people that try to make you feel bad for putting your child on meds don't have a child with ADHD. Most of the people that are really pro medication have a child with ADHD. We have a really great support system of friends that might have thought we were crazy for trying all of this, but never talked down to us about it and really tried to help when they could.


In the end all that really matters is that we give you the tools to succeed in life, even if we don't see the benefit ourselves. You see, the med that we've chosen for you is a short acting med. I didn't want you to be on a stimulant all day long, so this one wears off after 7 hours. That's just long enough for you to make it through the school day and then come home and explode when it starts to wear off. You've gotten a smiley face every day at school, which is something that hasn't happened, well, ever. It's definitely relieved my own stress of worrying whether or not the school is going to call me again and I'm going to have to find a new and exciting way to explain to the staff that you are a fantastic kid that just doesn't have impulse control.


I know this journey has been most difficult on you, but it's been really hard for me too. I had no doubt that we could fix this without medication and in a lot of ways I feel like I've failed you, which may be the real reason that I haven't written you a letter for so long.
In the end we may have actually saved you, just not in the way I thought we would. See how much you teach me?
Your humble student,
Mama

The Matador

One of my assignments from a few weeks ago. Sestina.
Wikipedia says:

A sestina (also, sextina, sestine, or sextain) is a highly structured poem consisting of six six-line stanzas followed by a tercet (called its envoy or tornada), for a total of thirty-nine lines. The same set of six words ends the lines of each of the six-line stanzas, but in a different order each time; if we number the first stanza's lines 123456, then the words ending the second stanza's lines appear in the order 615243, then 364125, then 532614, then 451362, and finally 246531.

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Dust rises high and fills the air
The sun, burns bright with hot despair
His cloak thrown loose across his back
Crimson red and velvet black
The voice of crowd begins to sound
Matador, stands on the ground

A beast of Earth, does not despair
El Toro, paws in angry air
Bull stomps outraged on the ground
His snort portent, a subtle sound
The scars of battle on his back
Crimson red and velvet black

Man breathes deep of dusty air
Arrogance dominates despair
The dance begins, no looking back
Crimson red and velvet black
Thundering hooves, a lonely sound
Bull plunges forward, splitting ground

Man rips the cloak, round from his back
Crimson red and velvet black
Disregarding all despair
Cloak and horns slice through the air
Matador, firm on the ground
The roar, “OLE!” the only sound

El Toro charges, steady back
Crimson red and velvet black
Horn meets flesh with no despair
Matador thrown in the air
The crowd falls noiseless, leaves no sound
Blood meets earth upon the ground

The still of silence fills the air
Blood and sand. Sweat, despair
Man lay crumpled on the ground
El Toro’s snort, the only sound
Blood seeps through dust, against man’s back
Crimson red and velvet black

Blood and sand, sweet despair, dust floats tender in the air
Crimson red and velvet black, face to heaven, earth to back
Humility spilled upon the ground, death comes for him, without a sound

Brave New Girl

For this assignment we had to write about someone that uses public space as private space. I figured everyone else would write about homeless people so I wanted to do something a little more outside of the box. I'm definately not the kind of blogger that I'm writing about below, but I do think it's a modern example of someone using private space as public space.
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I don’t speak loudly on my cell phone when I’m standing in line at Starbucks. I don’t put on makeup in my car. I don’t breastfeed without cover in the mall, or urinate in public places. I don’t make out in hot, crowded bars or stand too close to people when I’m talking to them. I’ve never shaved my legs in an airport bathroom or been naked in public. I’m braver than that. I write. I am a blogger.

I share something that’s much more personal than my conversations, my body or my rituals of hygiene. I fill the internet with the details of my convictions, my heart and my soul. I reveal details of the dreams fragmented by anxiety, the throb and glitter of looming hope. Images captured through my camera lens are hurled into cyberspace broadcasting moments once held sacred, to the world.

I channel my emotions onto the electronic page. I click. I share. I upload the secrets from my soul in bits and bytes. I sit braless, in striped pajamas, safely hidden behind the firewall that makes me brave in this new world. I let the words tumble from my beating heart through the rhapsody of wi-fi. Gone is the diary with the rainbow cover; it’s tiny lock protecting surreptitious thoughts. Gone are the letters creased and wrinkled from memorization, hidden underneath my mattress. My habitual secrecy ensnared, by the lure of an age of information.

Lullaby

For this assignment we had to create a poem using the words that are bolded and use one proverb or familiar phrase.

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I will not, will not go to bed! Though Mother says I must
I ask her, “Please?” in my sweet voice, I make a big 'ole fuss
I needle her a little more, “I want to have a drink”
“Me too”, she says and then she laughs, I don’t know what to think
I pretend I am a puppy, I whir, I lick, I bite
But Mother says, “Even little pups must go nighty-night”
I ask for my stuffed bunny, she lets out a great big sigh
Then she says,”Its always best, to let sleeping bunnies lie”
“I will not go to bed”, I say,” I will not sleep tonight”
She lays a kiss on my sleepy eyes and then turns out the light