Sunday, June 24, 2018
Saturday, June 23, 2018
We must be doing something right.
Lucas has only a couple daily chores. One of them is taking the recyclables out to the large bin on the driveway whenever he sees that a few have accumulated. Tonight, as my wife did her magical making dinner thing, he took two glass jars and headed for the door.
She and I froze at the sound of breaking glass. After a moment of frozen shock (I feel like I always react slowly in those moments), I bolted downstairs.
I got there as he was reaching for a large shard. I told him to step back, and he did so without argument. He said it was wet from rinsing it off, and it just slipped through his hands.
It didn't strike me until a few minutes later that he was so calm. He didn't cower, didn't rush into a panicked explanation. He didn't act like he expected to be hit or screamed at.
The road is bumpy, but we must be doing something right.
She and I froze at the sound of breaking glass. After a moment of frozen shock (I feel like I always react slowly in those moments), I bolted downstairs.
I got there as he was reaching for a large shard. I told him to step back, and he did so without argument. He said it was wet from rinsing it off, and it just slipped through his hands.
It didn't strike me until a few minutes later that he was so calm. He didn't cower, didn't rush into a panicked explanation. He didn't act like he expected to be hit or screamed at.
The road is bumpy, but we must be doing something right.
Late Bloomer.
My wife called from Home Depot back in April to tell me that Lucas and his sister asked if they could each pick out a rosebush.
"The one he picked is called 'Dream Come True,'" she said.
My brain immediately flew to all of my idiosyncratic life metaphors... the large bonsai tree that died the week my divorce was final, from which we saved one tiny shoot... planted it and let it take its own shape for a year before the cats ate the leaves... shaped it and let it grow back... the cats knocked it from the shelf. I replanted it in one of my vintage Fiesta mixing bowls after finding that it was absolutely root-choked and would have died had it not fallen. When my marriage is not going the way I want it to, it reminds me to water it.
All of this flew through my head in an instant.
"You better have picked the hardiest, strongest rosebush in the whole freaking store," I warned her. She replied that the branches were super thick and sturdy-looking. It was our daughter's that she was worried about, because it looked dainty and vulnerable.
I dug the holes, and we planted them.
Two weeks went by. Both kids dutifully watered them.
Four weeks.
Six.
My daughter's rosebush sprouted leaves in every direction overnight.
Seven.
He began to whine that "maybe [his] dream is dead." We began having quiet discussions as to whether it would be better to face the truth or replace it after he was in bed. I began to prepare him for the fact that sometimes plants don't change homes as well as people do.
Eight.
I see the tiniest change in color on one of the stems. Only then does it occur to me that growth in something this strong means being able to push through the tough shell. I whisper encouragement to it and say nothing to anyone in case I am wrong.
Nine.
A leaf is pushing its way out.
Ten:
Leaves everywhere.
Eleven:
It has a bud.
It's still closed, and there's no visible color, but there is hope. It has shoved its way through the thick skin it has created to protect itself; grown and produced something beautiful.
We still water it daily.
Some dreams just take longer to come true.
"The one he picked is called 'Dream Come True,'" she said.
My brain immediately flew to all of my idiosyncratic life metaphors... the large bonsai tree that died the week my divorce was final, from which we saved one tiny shoot... planted it and let it take its own shape for a year before the cats ate the leaves... shaped it and let it grow back... the cats knocked it from the shelf. I replanted it in one of my vintage Fiesta mixing bowls after finding that it was absolutely root-choked and would have died had it not fallen. When my marriage is not going the way I want it to, it reminds me to water it.
All of this flew through my head in an instant.
"You better have picked the hardiest, strongest rosebush in the whole freaking store," I warned her. She replied that the branches were super thick and sturdy-looking. It was our daughter's that she was worried about, because it looked dainty and vulnerable.
I dug the holes, and we planted them.
Two weeks went by. Both kids dutifully watered them.
Four weeks.
Six.
My daughter's rosebush sprouted leaves in every direction overnight.
Seven.
He began to whine that "maybe [his] dream is dead." We began having quiet discussions as to whether it would be better to face the truth or replace it after he was in bed. I began to prepare him for the fact that sometimes plants don't change homes as well as people do.
Eight.
I see the tiniest change in color on one of the stems. Only then does it occur to me that growth in something this strong means being able to push through the tough shell. I whisper encouragement to it and say nothing to anyone in case I am wrong.
Nine.
A leaf is pushing its way out.
Ten:
Leaves everywhere.
Eleven:
It has a bud.
It's still closed, and there's no visible color, but there is hope. It has shoved its way through the thick skin it has created to protect itself; grown and produced something beautiful.
We still water it daily.
Some dreams just take longer to come true.
Saturday, June 9, 2018
Seek out the good.
In the midst of the mess with the county, I must stop to find the good.
Lucas swam the full length of the pool at the Y for the first time in today's swim lesson.
We spent the afternoon and evening at a friend's house. There were multiple kids who were Lucas's age and older.A child who came to us unable to attend a regular classroom because of disruptive and argumentative behaviors due to trauma functioned today for seven hours with both kids whom he knew and kids he did not, both in a pool and out. There was no bickering, no weird triggering of emotion, no sulking or pouting. He tested me only once, and in a way that was completely age appropriate for a nine year old. It helped that the other kids were kind and went out of their way to include him when he was not yet confident leaving the shallow end of the pool. He didn't even try to argue when I told him that we had to leave.
I'm telling all of you that I noticed these things, but it just occurred to me that I have not told him.
I am going to go do that now.
Lucas swam the full length of the pool at the Y for the first time in today's swim lesson.
We spent the afternoon and evening at a friend's house. There were multiple kids who were Lucas's age and older.A child who came to us unable to attend a regular classroom because of disruptive and argumentative behaviors due to trauma functioned today for seven hours with both kids whom he knew and kids he did not, both in a pool and out. There was no bickering, no weird triggering of emotion, no sulking or pouting. He tested me only once, and in a way that was completely age appropriate for a nine year old. It helped that the other kids were kind and went out of their way to include him when he was not yet confident leaving the shallow end of the pool. He didn't even try to argue when I told him that we had to leave.
I'm telling all of you that I noticed these things, but it just occurred to me that I have not told him.
I am going to go do that now.
Friday, June 8, 2018
Silent Shout
I apologize for being so quiet over the past month.
We have been experiencing a lot of frustration with the county agency. I cannot write about it here. I am taking deep breaths and waiting impatiently for things to work out the way they should.
I really do wish I could vent about it. I have so much to say.
We have been experiencing a lot of frustration with the county agency. I cannot write about it here. I am taking deep breaths and waiting impatiently for things to work out the way they should.
I really do wish I could vent about it. I have so much to say.
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