I just wrote a very long email to Julia’s teachers about Julia’s first writing assignment.  The writing was a summary of the first chapter of Gregor the Overlander, a fantasy book that is closer to Julia’s reading level than some of the other big books she is reading.  We are reading this book together so that she can do some writing and so that I find would what she is understanding in these chapter books.  Again and again, I realize that I never questioned what Cheshire understood in any book that she read after the easiest picture books we read together.  

Anyway, the email asked for writing goals for Julia’s homework, about the methods that I used to work with her and about asking for input about working with Julia at home.  For a long time, just getting her to sit down, focus for some time, accomplish simple academic tasks has been the major goals.  Julia is able to do more than that now and I do need help shifting my focus to the academic goals.

My email was many times longer than Julia’s assignment.  Readers eyes may roll to the backs of heads, and I will not be offended in the least.  I did omit -- hard to believe I omitted anything -- the yelling and frustration and brow beating that went on two nights ago.  Julia is not easy to work with, and I continually need to grow more patience.

And right now, in the time that it took to write these few paragraphs and roam the house a bit, her speech therapist at school replied, adding her comments.  Whew, I feel more productive, less compulsive.

The day began with thunder -- gentle rolling, not huge cracks -- and rain.  Rain!  We have needed it for days and days.  I am very much aware of it because I’ve been working my garden beds and I’ve had to water every day, sometimes twice to keep newly transplanted plants from death.  I tried to wait until it was cool to dismantle and reform two of my beds and to transplant divided perennials around in the back garden, but we’ve had a rather nasty heat wave the past few days and I had no choice but to water.  

I watered enough to decide to buy a new hose -- a good hose this time, even though my old hoses, migrated from Indianapolis and were well used there as well.  The old hoses had been doctored and patched but were springing more leaks, more often.  So, it was time.  

And more on the watering of gardens: I have a favorite sprayer that I’ve also had for years which is working very well on the new hose after I put a little washer into to attachment portion.  I also had a favorite sprinkler.  Again, a relic from Indy, so at least 10 years old, maybe more.  It allowed me to manipulate the shape of the area watered and how far the spray would go.  When I was watering on Tuesday, the kids from a few houses down, the same kids who played so nicely with Julia the other day, were running through my sprinkler.  I did not mind and they were staying more on the side walk than on the lawn and there was a mom watching them, so what harm?  I went inside to get dinner on the table and after a few minutes, I heard the water hitting the front windows and screams and screeches from the kids.  I went to my front door, got a splash of water in my face -- the whole water on the window and then on my face was shocking since my favorite sprinkler was not set to do those things -- and then went to the back door and turned off the water, thinking that the kids had just moved the sprinkler and that I would put it to rights right after we ate.  When I came out after dinner, I discovered that someone has probably stepped on the sprinkler and broke it.  

And so, my thought process went like this.  My favorite sprinkler!!!  How could they do this?  Why did I let those kids run in my water?  Why didn’t the mom warn them away from the sprinkler or at least tell me that it was stepped on?  And then, a bit of outrage about how she could not make a point of telling me that they broke it and wondering whether I should march over to her house and  . . .  But then, you know, it is a 10 year old sprinkler and those two kids played with Julia the other day so very well.  Better than any other kids in this neighborhood have ever played with her (a good deal of that is about Julia being ready to play and so was attentive to those kids.).  Ok, I am still mourning the sprinkler -- My local Builders Square has nothing remotely like it.  I have two other stores to look in and then I am going online.  

Will I say anything to the mom?  I don’t know.  Probably not, unless she brings it up.  Perhaps if she sees another sprinkler there she will notice.  Perhaps I will not need to water for another week and she will forget all about it.  Unfortunately, I will not let any other kids play in my sprinkler unless Julia is part of the group and I am watching and warning.  

For all the drama, for all my drama, the small purple smoke bush and the tall and light grass that are new and newly planted are surviving the heat and enjoying the rain today.    And I can see, in my mind’s eye, how lovely they will look next year.

This is day two although it appears that I have missed a day.  I spent yesterday, after the orthopedist to check Julia’s legs and a nursery stop to buy two new plants, in the garden.  Specifically, I dismantled the very front corner garden bed which is a rounded triangle and filled it again.  I have for a very long time disliked the planting in this bed and slowly this summer I have been subtracting plants and pulling roots.  Today, I cleared the bed leaving only a peony, a Russian sage, and a small grass.  Oh, some sedum too. Corm and corms of iris were dug and a bushel of lily of the valley.  It took most of the day and by the time Julia came home from school, I was just a bit more than half done.  She wanted to play with bugs; I didn’t want to stop my make over and so we stayed out for another two hours.

The finished product is not very impressive right now.  Lots of sticks with roots taken from that bed and others and divided.  Two phlox which will look the worse for wear come tomorrow and a new grass that is tall and airy which will complement the Russian sage and the arrow straight cone flowers.  

It is amazing how long it has taken to get back to a passionate day in the garden.  This is not the first but I still cannot take the deep satisfaction for granted.  I laugh at myself as I realize that my very old feeling that it is most appropriate to neglect the cleaning of the inside of the house as long as the weather is good for gardening.  Papers pile up almost as quickly as weeds grow.  Pausing mid-tasking, I wondered the why of the satisfaction I find in this hard, sweaty work.  There is no reason that I need a garden -- three years of neglect has shown me that.  And there is no reason.  Perhaps the answer is the same as, why love?

Julia is riding her bike around the block when I walk the dog in the evening.  She is more steady and using her hand break.  She is also taking the corner turns just a bit too tight.  She fell once when her turn was way too sharp for her to hold onto balance.  Yesterday, she told me that it was fun to ride as I walked.  First time she has said that.

Her first week of school has gone pretty well.  Julia has told me about most of the reported rough spots, and there are reports of her engaging students that she has not talked to before.  I think that she will work on writing this year.  I am not sure why but it seems like her focus.  At present, she writes enthusiastically but without linear understanding.  We have a few different outline supports and she uses them with great effort.  When I think back to my own school days, I remember learning to write when I was in fourth grade.  Suddenly, it was an open world putting ideas down on paper.  I remember feeling like I never got the chance to write what I wanted to.  Always boring essays and correct grammar, never the stories that were in my head.  I knew nothing of journals or notebooks that were used only at home then.  Julia knows about both, she is always hungering for new paper for writing.  And they want her to type -- an interesting idea.  Her first homework assignment, writing a reflection paragraph on some reading is going to take hours!  <smile>

So, my September task list (just a bit less demanding than my yearly resolutions) includes writing every day with my mental note of writing as close to as soon as I get up in the morning as I can.  This morning I woke up at 5:50 and it is now 8:13.  I forgive the first hour plus for getting Julia off to school, but then after that I had to walk the dog, water the back garden, check and write emails, clean up a few dishes, and dither a bit before I am willing to get down to the write.

So, one thing I notice about meditation and about writing is that it is necessary to form the habit by doing it over and over  but repetition doesn’t necessarily make it easier.  There are days when I sit on my cushion and feel like I’ve never meditated in my life and too many days when my writing is so awkward that I wonder if English is my second language.  The thought that saves me these days and has for the past few months is that “practice” is the coming back to the breath, the center.  The act of coming back over and over, even every few seconds is the practice.

And so, once again, I return to filling a quota of words for the day.  Gosh, now I feel like Natalie Goldberg.  Practice = writing?  I am not sure.  But here is a day one.

I have not been writing -- not here, not privately.  On one hand, I don’t miss it at all, and I look at this blog as a drag of serious ideas devoid of family pictures and any sense of humor.  On the other hand, I hunger to move my fingers over the keys and make sense of the monkey mind that I use for thinking.  And which is sad and serious so much of the time.  

It is still winter -- yes, spring in name, but the landscape is still snow, sometimes white, sometimes dirty, but snow.  Now and again there seems to grow a fringe of matted down brown grass and I looked at patches of this anticipating the coming of more, but in the last week, each time the earth appeared, it was quickly covered by more snow.

And so, I’ve stopped anticipating.

Sometimes change comes from the inside.  I am a strong believer that this is the way that change “should” come.  But sometimes . . . . 

Perhaps and maybe. . . . 

If I am joyful.  Silly.  Happy.  All on the outside.

Over time, it will seep deep inside.  

And this is the most appropriate thought I can conjure up for the beginning of spring break!

It was rather a small miracle to wake up on Tuesday morning without pain.  The flu was almost over!  I still carried a small and constant headache and a queazy stomach but that was nothing compared to the total body ache of the days before.  I am still a bit tired, that extraordinary tired of being sick, but definitely on the mend.  

And it was fortunate to awaken without pain because the snow was beginning and over the next 24 hours, we were gifted with another multitude of inches that also seems to be more on my sidewalk that what they report on the news.  Still, no matter the tally, our lawns and gardens are landscaped in higher and higher white mounds.  If there is any whisper of spring, it is that a day after the snow stopped the shoveled sidewalks are clear to the pavement, proof positive that it was warm enough yesterday to get rid of the bits of snow and ice left behind by blowers and shovels.  

I hear that we spring the clocks forward this weekend.  I haven’t checked and wonder if it is true.  We are still so far from spring.  

Over the last week at school, Julia’s class has been writing about their families.  Julia brought home her notebook with the writing a few days ago and we read what she wrote together.  I am pretty sure that she had a lot of help because the composition was too smooth to all come from Julia, but her ideas were there.  I sent the notebook back to school without copying the paragraphs and now I wish that I had.  From what I remember, we are all tall, Cheshire and I are pretty and we both cook very well.  Our house smells like baking cookies and Cheshire really likes hanging out with Julia and make gingerbread houses with her.  Julia wrote about Daddy being tall and handsome and smiling all the time.  She said that he like to “write a lot” and we all liked music and reading.  She closed by saying that hers was the best family in the world. None of this is untrue but it is such a lovely, sweet romantic version of life.  I am pleased that she has it.  

After we read the essay together, Julia was quiet.  Then she said to me, “Mom, when Daddy died, you and Cheshire were together all day.  And I was alone.”  I was stunned that she was thinking about that, remembered any part of that day,  I told her that she was with Cathy.  And she said she remember but that she was not with us.  Then, I realized that my memory of the day was that we had shielded her from any knowledge of what was going on until later in the day when Cheshire and I came home from the hospital and I told Julia what had happened.  I have never thought to explain that day to her, didn’t imagine that she remembered any part of it.  And I am not sure that her memory is what she was feeling that day -- there must have been some pretty heavy sad atmosphere in the house even though she had not been told that David had died -- or whether she has thought about that day since then and realized that she was not with us.  Either way, it is far beyond what I thought her capable of.

Julia studied for a test for the first time this week.  It was for science -- magnets, circuits, and a bit of electricity.  There was a review sheet sent home and we went over it a few times.  I review it with her and her therapists did as well.  We all read it over and quizzed Julia on parts of it but it was all very light and quick.  I talked to her special ed teacher today and she said that when she gave Julia the test, it seemed like she had studied and she knew most of the material.  How cool is that!

In attachment therapy today, we were working on a hard page in her trauma workbook, a page about being put in a dark place and left alone when her behavior was bad at the orphanage.  It was a short paragraph, one sentence, and she took it to draw.  The picture of an almost naked little child with a volcano’s worth of anger pouring out of her behind a shut red door was startling and poignant.  After she brought the picture back to us, Marilyn pushed her to talk about the place.  Julia became icy clear as she talked about her feelings and what happened to her.  Clearly this was something that happened often and when she was an older kid at the orphanage.  One thing she said was the they made her take off her clothes when she put her inside the dark place which probably was a closet but what she could only describe as small and dark.  She told us that was why she would not sleep in the dark and that shadows scared her a lot.  During part of the talking, Julia was silent and was clearly not with us, either immersed in the past or disassociating.  She has not done this in a long time.  When she was finished talking, we tapped about fear and anger and sadness.  She was able to feel safe and sure that those things would not happen again to her.  When it was all over, Julia drew a picture of a baryonyx dinosaur holding a fish to eat.

Yesterday, I walked to one of my Waisman mentors, Barb, about what I was going to do next year.  So far, nothing has easily presented itself.  I moaned and groaned about that fact and that I don’t know what to look for.  After talking to another mentor a few weeks ago, I was encouraged not to look beyond what was possible in LEND -- a fit your dream into our box, at least for now.  I have thought about just leaving Waisman and pursuing some experiences in the community, maybe engaging in the contemplative practice community or at FUS, but after entertaining the idea for a short time, I come back again and again to feeling sure I should be doing something at Waisman.  Early this morning, when I first woke up, before the alarm, I felt a peace come over me.  Feeling sure that some opportunity will come forward -- not that I can sit back and wait but that I have no reason to stress about it.  I also realized that I will really miss the Resource Center at the end of this semester.  I am truly enjoying the work there and feeling useful.

Each week Julia must write a "perfect paragraph" for her literature class.  It is called "perfect" because they are suppose to do a draft, some editing and then write it without mistakes.  This week's topic is about the first time that she did something.  The example of a "first time" was the story of Jackie Robinson playing major league baseball.  Julia understood enough of the story to believe that she should be writing about something important and not merely something like learning to ride her bike.  (I thought bike riding was very appropriate.)  We brainstormed on paper yesterday before Michelle, her therapist came over.  They wrote a first draft together and today she worked on her editing.

This is what she came up with:

Perfect paragraph 2/4/13
Getting a New Family

When I was five years old, I was getting a family for the first time. I was so scared because I didn't want to be with mommy and daddy and Cheshire. I was so sad  because I did not want to leave China. I was squirming on the floor. Mommy and daddy picked me up, and they took me home. They gave me my own bed, and it was cozy.  I sat with my daddy, and mommy carried me around. I felt a little happy. It felt good to put a necklace on my teddy bear. My teddy bear looked cute. My favorite memory of coming home was when I was swimming without a bathing suit and just floaties on to help me not to sink. That's what I felt when I was getting a family, and now we will live in Madison, Wisconsin forever. 

Julia's behavior in school today was not so good.  In social studies, the class is learning to read nonfiction.  They are being taught to check maps, time lines, emphasized words, etc.  Julia is not valuing this instruction and is not listening to directions.  The unfortunate thing is that she likes nonfiction and likes that they are studying Native Americans.  I have no idea of how to explain how valuable this kind of lesson is.  I am sure she is not the only kid who thinks that her lesson is "boring" but she may be the only one to say that out loud.  

On Facebook this past weekend, I let Julia watch a video posted by the mom of one of the kid from Julia's orphanage.  C was a baby when Julia left, and when she first came home, Julia called C her baby when we saw her pictures.  But we never saw the video of when C met her parents.  Julia wanted to watch it and I saw no reason to stop her.  What we saw was Mr. Xiao, the director of the orphanage, sitting next to C, wiping her nose, pointing out her mommy and daddy and sister, all in a relaxed, comfortable manner.  This was nothing like the tight lipped, silent man that we met in August 2006.  My memory of him is pretty bleak.  He was not comfortable with, kind to or loving to Julia.  At one point, he pushed her with a few fingers towards us and said "mama" and "baba" in a gruff voice.  My heart sank when I saw that video.  I know that Julia was not treated well at her orphanage but seeing him kind to another child was too much for me.  Julia recognized Mr. Xiao and the ayias that were with C.  When the video was over, Julia said quietly, "Mr. Xiao didn't like me."  I could think of nothing else to do but scoop her up in my arms and tell her how much I liked her!

I go through this feeling every few months -- of having nothing to write about, of wondering what I am writing about, of trying to figure out whether I should have a theme in my writing, of feeling like I am writing the same thing over and over, of feeling like I only write about small, trivial things.  I have been surfing the web for various reasons and have come across more and more good blogs about parenting kids with special needs.  Most are personal stories, some professional.  Sometimes I want to be like them.  

Ok, right now, I want to be like them.  I think I was at some point when we were first discovering Julia.  Then, this was an adoption blog and I was hell bent on writing about my experience is in a painfully truthful way.  Then we moved, David got ill, David died and I discovered the grieving process.  All of that life happening threw me a bit off topic.  Maybe it expanded my topic or bent and shaped the topic in a way I never expected.  So, every so often I have to go through this minor tantrum of purpose to realize that just like my daughter, I am and must be exactly who I am.  I write what I can write about.  

And then, it is time to go on.

Julia’s birthday is coming up and she told me she wanted a party.  I was so excited when she said that!  She has endured a few parties that I've given her and wanted to bring a cake and candles to the therapy team meeting we had last year on her birthday so that we could celebrate, but I think this is the first time she has asked for a party.  Of course, this is the first year in a long time that I am in any way mentally prepared to give her a party. 

And then, of course, there are complications.  

Julia is not a kid who is invited to parties and does not have friends to make up a kids party.  If we lived in a community with family nearby, I would just have a family party, but as we don't.  So instead I sent out an email feeler to a bunch of friends, including Julia’s therapists and some grownup friends, who could celebrate with us.  Those with kids, I invited the whole family.   

Part of me hated doing that.  Be it special treatment or the possibility of pity or whatever other negative spin my over-active mind could put on it.  But that is me and my need to look “normal,” it is not what Julia needs.  Which is just to be who she is! By the end of the day, I had heard from everyone on the email list and although there may be some time conflicts, everyone wants to come.  I am still tearing up about that.  We have good, kind, wonderful friends!  And they love Julia.  And it breaks my heart that I have to have a different kind of party because of where she is right now with her social interactions, but those damned tulips are beautiful!  (You know that Journey to Holland story and what might be considered a response and also this one by the same mom.)

So, I righted myself again and will get into the party planning mood soon.  As I think of it, I am ready to throw a party.  I haven't tried for a long time.  I need to ask someone to help me host a bit -- after having a few folks over for dinner last year, I felt that I really fall down in the hosting department.  I am still half of a couple when I entertain.  And if that is the case, I just need to ask for help.

The house is as done as it is ever going to be (and even clean right now) and I am as normal of the brain as I can be at this time.  And my birthday is a week after Julia's and a party on the weekend between the two will be good for me as well.  And right now, I am thinking of it as a birthday/come out of mourning party.  That is what it feels like.

Yet again, I am caught up in started posts that I leave for “later.”  One for each of the last three days.  And now it is day four.  Travel and then immediate immersion into my quickening currents have left me yearning for some good escapism after Julia goes to bed.  Added to that, my four-day excursion to the AUCD conference next week has bee making lists and not wanting to admit that I am really going away for that long.

So, I am giving myself this hour to get something down.  I’ll use snippets of what has already been written.  I have a whole bunch of Julia things to write about and a whole bunch that I should have made note of.

I have a conference this afternoon with the Julia’s teachers -- the newish long-term sub who is not a special ed teacher and her special ed teacher from the last two years.  I am hoping that we can work out a plan for what and how Julia will learn until the new special ed teacher starts at the very end of January.  Although I felt that I needed a lot of guidance during the past few weeks, after working with Julia every day last week, I have a handle on what I’d like her to learn.  In math, adding three single digit numbers, adding double digit numbers, carrying over when adding double digit numbers, and the explanation for multiplication.  From the math sheets that Julia has been bringing home, only the multiplication concept has been touched on in school.  Julia has brought home sheets that are too easy or much too hard for her.  I need that to stop.  I stridently wanted that to stop while we were in Maryland, I can breathe into it today.

If the teachers have other ideas, I can embrace them.  As long as they are moving Julia forward and challenging her in such a way that allows for some success.  The too-hard sheets that present a dozen different problems do not reinforce any concepts and Julia learns nothing from the scatter-shot method.

Yes, I know.  I am the mother from hell.  What I see is that Julia is still in a very good place to learn.  She still asks to do math games or reading comprehension exercises as rewards.  This balance might tip when she hits puberty - anyway, that’s what I’ve heard.  That day is coming and coming soon.  I can’t afford to ease up on the learning.

In Maryland, Julia and I walked Lisa’s labyrinth most days.  It was not a pure meditative experience, with Julia chattering constantly and calling for my attention to the latest discovered bug or leaf or pile of deer poop.  A few times she jumped the paths to catch up with me when she slowed down to check out a discovery but most of the time she carefully followed the paths and me.

Every time that we walked Julia gathered cattails, and when we were finished with the labyrinth, we’d walk over to the bamboo grove where David’s ashes are buried.  Julia “planted” the cattails in front of the grove and talked about Daddy.  When we walked on she made a point of saying that we were leaving Daddy there and we would visit again.  I had no idea that she remembered about the rather casual laying of the ashes that we did last year, but Lisa did do a bit of speaking when we did it, and Julia listens.  

On Thanksgiving, we went out with Nick to pick some dried flowers and greens to put in vases for the table.  When I finished gathering what I wanted to use, Julia wanted to cut some bamboo shoots.  She was very bossy directing Nick to go with her to the bamboo grove.  Nick complied and it was very sweet to see the two of them feeling so comfortable together.  It strikes me that Julia demands relationship.  She knows what she wants and she is not shy about asking for it.

When we were on our way home on Sunday morning, Julia told me that it hurt to miss Cheshire, Lisa and Nick.  I agreed with her and she went on to something else.  I wondered if she could go beyond that thought but did not push her.  Tonight, with a therapist, she asked me if she could call Cheshire.  (They are working on phone calls.)  I haven’t heard what she will say -- they rehearse phone calls and also messages.  She doesn’t always have the words to move beyond initial thoughts or feelings, but not long ago there were no initial thoughts.

I’ve been noticing these days that Julia is looking into my eyes more often when she speaks to me.  It is usually when she initiates the conversation and then it is about something that interests her or some demand or desire, like noodles for supper.  Therapists and teachers still have to ask for eye contact.  I hope for generalization.

This morning waiting for the school bus, Julia got in the face of some of the neighbor kids and wanted to talk to them.  She gets too close, she doesn’t provide context, but she insists on conversation.  At least, until the other kid asks her a question in return.  She comes off as a social bull in a china shop, but again progress and a new awareness of a big world.

I was talking to Julia’s very wonderful speech therapist the other day while her student was doing therapy with Julia.  Linda is aggressive and demanding.  She has pushed Julia, constantly setting goals just beyond her reach.  She suggests exercises, ways of talking to Julia, ways of reading with her that get to the heart of Julia’s challenges.  And yet, today, as we were talking about Julia’s memory and the holes that we both see, I told her about what is referred to in the adoption community as “Teflon memory” (or is it Teflon Brain?) -- kids who learn and forget, kids who cannot seem to keep what they have learned.  I’ve heard it connected with attachment or trauma.  Linda had never heard of anything like that.  

Now, possibly what I am talking about is an urban legend among us adoptive moms, but what struck me, what sent a rather cold chill down my back was that maybe I knew something, maybe a whole bunch of somethings that the professionals individually don’t know.  Yes, I’ve known this all along, but some of the sacredness of the trust that I hold struck me straight on today.  Maybe it hit me because Lisa asked me how much of Julia’s needs I’ve written down, ‘just in case.’  Maybe it was today because Linda is so very knowledgable about many speech/communication topics and it is the first time that I’ve come up with something she didn’t know.  

I had a meeting with my spiritual advisor, Ellen, and the topic of conversation and healing was my “genius.”  Genius in quotes because . . . well, because I don’t think that I am in any way a genius, but rather that there is specific work that my soul is here to do and I am compelled to do that work in the best way that I can.  So, why haven’t I been doing or pursuing that “work” for the past 50 years or so -- 50 years gives me a few years cushion to be a kid and grow up some.  What has held me back from this work?  Why have I waited to long to begin? Another well . . . some early training, some lacks in my life, some gathering of love and strength and nerve, some fears held over earlier times, and the need for a lot of training.  There have been times when I could have chosen other paths that might have led me to the one that I am on in a more direct way but I may have needed the learning that I’ve gathered at an unusually slow pace.  Possibly I have had opportunities (which I did not take) to remind some part of me that there was some path, to make sure that the thought of this path was deep inside and growing a strong root.  Oy! Garden metaphors!  Do I have a strong anything?!

Someone in my chalice group replied to my description of my LEND experience as a “trainee,” wondering if I wasn’t too old to still be called a trainee.  My peers are imagining retirement; I envision new working ventures.  When I think about it -- “it” being my current state of student-ship -- objectively, I nod my head vigorously.  My sister and brother-in-law did all the training, working and raising up kids at the standard times and are now enjoying retirement.  When I look at my situation from her eyes, I raise my eyebrows and imagine her saying, “Suzanne must be nuts!”  I have to agree with all of them, and then add my “but’s.” 

But I have the itch to see this through.  But I have ideas -- almost new ideas that others are not pursuing.  But I don’t have to make a living right now and I have been offered opportunities.  But I am not ready to give up an ambition to do.  But I promised myself to live full out and these ideas appear to be a part of that.

And that is my rational for pursuing my genius.

It came to me one morning waking up in Maryland that I want to try my hand once again at fiction.  There is an old story that I spent much time on which seems to have fleshed itself out in some corner of my brain without any effort on my own.  This in itself might be the reason that I have not pushed myself to write here.  I can almost hear David rolling over and groaning -- of course, because he has no grave, I am having a hard time visualizing the rolling and groaning of ashes.  There is a pull, not that the pull has been absent at other times.  I would add that it is different this time, but I probably could have said the same thing any number of times.

I was reading a friend’s blog, another adoptive mom who creates beautiful art pieces.  She writes in complete small stories carefully crafted.  Crystal life slices.  Reading this ramble over and aware of my own perchance of barely making sure that most words are spelled correctly, I am somewhat shame-faced about my inability to crystalize anything.  I don’t mean that I intend to change.  Why don’t I feel the need for that sort of perfection here?  

I went to a parent teacher meeting yesterday.  I cannot help but reflect on the parent teacher meetings that I went to when Cheshire was in grade school.  Meetings during which teachers would gush and praise and during which we never had many questions or expected to discover much that we did not know.  Meeting what sometimes ended with time to spare.

Now I go to parent teacher meetings with questions and worries and apprehension.  Will I hear about inappropriate behavior?  Has Julia begun hitting again?  Is she scratching and bleeding?  Showing her underpants?  And work??

That’s what goes through my head.  Experience does shape outlook.  Is that depressing or realistic?  

Anyway, most of the news was good.  Julia is doing solid second grade work, a bit better in reading.  She is actually in math and reading groups, and is spending all her science time with her science group without much redirection.  Her classroom teacher thinks her behavior has hit new highs, and there are even those two girls who invite her to play with them.  Slow, steady and good progress.  I almost don’t want to dissect it.  Looking at her current IEP, which will be ready to be renewed in February, she has met many of her goals.  I don’t know if it is half but close.  She is, well, really, they are, working on almost all of her goals and feel she is progressing.  Again, this marks a change from the years of not seeing any, or only a few goals progressing or met.  And her classroom teacher tells me that although there are time when transitions can still be a bit dicy -- talking back, sassiness, and a few times when Julia hit her aide on the arm -- what brings her back to her better/more controlled self, is to say that if she cannot act appropriately, she will not be able to stay in the classroom.  And rarely these days, does she get sent out.  

Another thing that her teacher told me was that Julia works hard and does quality work, she does her best.  Sometimes, or perhaps most of the time, that work is modified for her, but she seems to have adopted a very good work ethic.  I saw a “water cycle” poster that she drew in class yesterday.  It was clear that she copied the picture because the style was not her own.  The mountain looked like an illustration, the rain clouds were perfect, and the big curved arrows were where they were suppose to go.  She was one of the few kids who finished in the time allotted.   

There is a lot here to be proud of.  And I was able to breathe a bit easier when I left.  My guard still cannot be dropped.  Maybe one day.

The unfortunate news, which has nothing to do with Julia’s behavior is that the sub who took over when the special ed teacher left will stay until the end of the semester.  And it will be a newly minted special ed teacher who is supposed to be quite good who will take over in January.  Julia’s classroom teacher likes the present sub and she has heard good things about the new teacher.  I have not been able to establish good communication with the sub which is disappointing.  I am just cranky about this.  I know that kids have great teachers, awful teachers, and everything in between and survive.  And learn.  This crabbiness is just my intense pursuit of the best that I can possibly get for Julia.  Always and constantly.  

Having a tough time letting go of the fact that school is not perfect.  I need to lighten up a bit.  Even without a real special ed teacher, Julia is taught and supported.  I have to remember that last year at this time, we were neck deep in dealing with rashes and bug bites and constant and intense scratching.  And we are not there this year.  

Switch.

Recently, it has been difficult for Julia to get up in the morning and get herself going.  I’ve tried lots of things and last week they were all failing and I was just incredibly angry.   Angry at her for not listening, angry at me for my anger which gets us nowhere.  A good conversation with Marilyn got me back on some better track.  I decided to finally use a Love and Logic approach to the morning.  I did a bit of research into the system a few years ago but Julia didn’t seem ready to use it.  Now, I hope that she is.

I told her about it this weekend.  If she doesn’t get dressed on time, we will put clothes in a bag and go downstairs.  She can try to dress downstairs but she must also eat and do that part of getting ready.  If she isn’t ready by the time the bus is due, she will miss the bus.  She will call school and tell them she will be late and why.  I will drive her to school and she will do what she needs to do to catch up in the car.  She will also lose her iPad for the day.  

So Monday went perfectly, today, not so much.  She watched the bus go by and she moaned and groaned about it.  I took the iPad out of her backpack.  She called school Then we walked the dog before I took her to school.  This is sort of a tough love exercise, and it could end up with her getting dressed and eating breakfast in the car which would not be comfortable as the weather gets colder.  I hope I don’t have to repeat it much, but I can’t continue to be completely responsible for getting her out the door.  She needs to find it in herself.  

Can I pray for a better tomorrow?

An unfortunate comment on Facebook -- political, what else? -- led a friend of a friend to tell me that she used to read my blog but stopped years ago.  She didn’t say why but at least right now, she does not like my politics.  I had to think about how much politics was on my blogs -- some, but not an extraordinary amount.  I don’t think.  (Traci, you can correct my impression if I am wrong.)  Rashly, I responded, “Was it death, disability, politics or religion?”  My take on any of those could offend.  I will not check for reply.  I have posted a moderate amount of political stuff on Facebook this election season, and I am sure that I have been “hidden” or “defriended” some.  I have done the same to some of the most rabid right wing political postings.  Conservative viewpoints are just part of the discussion, but the musings of Ann Coulter and Rush Limbaugh, I don’t need to see.  I don’t even disapprove.   Free speech and the like, but I don’t need to entertain it myself.

For a moment, reading that this adoptive mother, stopped reading my blog made me feel badly.  In part of my gut, I want to please. I wanted the sweetness and light of the lovely adoption blogs that I visit from time to time.  Gosh, I hope that some of them are absolutely true.

But they are not my experience.  Hell no!  The last six years have battered and bruised me.  I’ve written unkind things, unfair things, maybe some wrong headed notions, but also truth.  Not universal truth by any means, only my own very fallible truth.  I fail frequently.  I omit some of the uncomfortable.  I write as much of my truth as I can manage.  And so, I should not be surprised that I’ve offended.  Of course, I have.

As long as I am standing high on a soap box, I will be a bit more daring.  The other day, for the first time since David died, I missed physical intimacy.  It has taken 27 months to miss sex.  I’ve miss having a partner in so many other ways, it is almost funny to arrive at this missing.  And I am rather embarrassed by it.  Maybe it took too long, maybe it is still inappropriate.  But there it is.