Arizona Beauties (Part 2)

How about some nice slices of sunshine from this populous apartment pie here in Arizona?

I'll start with two special people I dubbed the "Resident DJs" in my own head within our first days here because one or the other of them can be counted on to share their voluminous music with our neighborhood at least once a week. Also, they were two who introduced themselves and welcomed us (on separate occasions) during our first week here. They are Ron and Andy.

Beginning with Ron, because in all honesty, he (and Miss Claire, but I'll get to her later...) was the first person I took note of because of his pleasant, carrying voice, so easily heard from atop our balcony or indoors. I can see him now, with his hands on his hips, in mock indignance, "Are you saying I have a big mouth, Gina?" No, Ron, I'm only saying that your merry and audible voice was a sign of your encompassing friendly heart before I even knew you!


Ron, with his boom box, playing dance party and pop-rock music like Crazytown, Black Eyed Peas, Lady Antebellum--for the neighborhood to enjoy from his front patio or at the pool. Ron who is so good with all kids of any age; out of the blue bearing gifts of popscicles or bitty tubes of bubbles so attractively nestled in tiny gift bags that my daughter, for one, loved as much as the bubbles themselves. The necklace, she loved it, Ron. Thank you. Ron who can be counted on to play catch or tag at the pool; who has no problem telling it like it is; and who I would've loved to have as my math teacher in high school. I think your students are lucky to have you, Ron.

Andy: our other Resident DJ, who plays heavy metal, alternative, and classic rock, like the Scorpions, Nirvana, and Frampton for our patch of neighborhood.

Hey, Andy, did you ever think that some other person in your life would write publicly about you again? Of course, this isn't Readers' Digest. You introduced yourself and welcomed us, and then you asked if your music was too loud (and you asked again on another day, "Are you sure it's not too loud?") and I told you that your music was fine and that I liked your music. But maybe you thought I was just being nice. I wasn't. My first concert was Dio with Metallica opening, back in 1985; I was fourteen. Then Ozzy the next year. Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd were my favorite bands in high school. I've expanded my repertoire since then; I like all music (except maybe the mega-mega-headbanging music of today--a sign of my age?).

Andy, who lives kitty-corner from our apartment on the ground level, who I often noticed sitting quietly observant on his patio just like me up on my stoop. (I only guessed the observant part, but found out later I was right when he'd told me that he'd thought we were smuggling family members into our 600 sq. ft. apartment to secretly live, after a misunderstanding when he'd spoken to Joel our first day here, and later seeing my family come to visit for a week...)

Andy who mostly keeps to himself except when he has invited the neighborhood to partake of his grand and glorious grilled feasts. Andy who when we first became friends only a month ago, was dismayed when I revealed to him that I was a vegetarian and could not eat the delectable smoked chicken he was offering to my family and me for dinner that night. Andy, who then prepared a platter half filled with various grilled meats and half with chopped cabbage, cukes, carrots, celery, tomatoes...along with sticky rice, grilled corn on the cobb, homemade salsa, real Hawaiian soy sauce and corn chips to boot! Andy who has fed my family dinner on numerous occasions since that first plentiful platter; who opened his home to all on Labor Day for intermingling and feasting and fun among his family and friends. His mom, Rita a mini ball of energy, who is so warm and gracious and friendly and whom I loved talking to that day. Thanks for inviting us, Andy. And I'm so happy for you to have your boys back.

--How about Andy's Convivial Concoctions for your Food Network TV show name? Or just The Desert Chef like Joel suggested? Andy the Taciturn Grill Master?

Trish and Brett, parents of the loveable toddling Tucker, who just moved into the place diagonally below us a month ago from their old apartment across the street. The new location is so much better for Tucker who gets to play with all the other kids on our patch of grass out front. Gracie loves having Tucker so near and she loves the lemonade slushies and popscicles that Trish so generously hands out to the neighborhood kids; so refreshing on these hot Arizona days. And Brett, I've appreciated our talks about meteorites and life, and the way you swooped right in with your first aid kit (and band-aid) when Gracie hurt her knee that one "block-party" night. She told me before bed, "That was so nice of Brett to help me fix my knee tonight, wasn't it, Mom?" Yes, it was, Grace. Thanks, Brett.

And how about the boisterously spirited Miss Claire from Jamaica who lives on the flourishing second storey across the street? Our whole family noticed, on our first day here, not only the lush plant life up there, but also the luscious livelihood of Miss Claire, who like Ron, has a knack for being heard by many when she speaks. (She's probably more gifted than Ron, I must say.) Miss Claire who enjoys our barking Beagle, Daisy, and whom I've spoken to from ground level while walking Daisy as she calls down to us from her perch, sometimes while we are still across the street on our side. Miss Claire whom I finally had the privilege of shaking hands with and learning her name only last weekend. It's been an honor, Miss Claire.

Dan and Patricia, parents to Dom and Kaydence; our downstairs friends. They know when Grace gets too ranbunctious at night when she plays with our cat, Tonky (sorry); they know when we are walking to the kitchen for a snack; and they know when we are up in the night using the shower or toilet. Somehow hearing their movements (we only know when they're in the bathroom or going outside) and knowing that they hear ours has made me feel completely safe despite the scary stories of this area, when it's just Gracie and me at night (with only our big, bad cat and dog to protect us).

Dan and Trish who welcome Gracie into their home daily and take her frisbee-golfing weekly. Dan and Trish who so generously offered their time and energy to watch Grace and Daisy so Joel and I could have an overnight date, which we never took them up on, time went by too quickly, but we are so touched and grateful to have had the option where before we had none. And of course, they did take care of Tonky while we went to the Grand Canyon for a few days, thanks again, guys.

Trish, with her salty sass and tough-girl 'tude who really does have a big heart and a soft spot for strays...not just the four legged kind. Trish with her frisbee-golfing get-up of shorty-shorts, bikini top, bandanna head gear, and hot pink tube socks to balance it all out--it's all perfectly Patricia.

And Dan, mellow and warmhearted who also once "rescued" Gracie when she wiped out on a scooter one day (he also got her down from a tree when she was afraid and stuck, just like a kitten). The Hello Kitty ice-pack that he procured had the power to put a smile on her crying face. Dan who talks doggie-talk to our Daisy; they share a reciprocal love. (I think Dom shares that same love.) Dan, who can be counted on for long and easy genial conversations about nothing and everything. I will miss our evening talks outside while watching our kids play.

I will miss having Dom and Kaydence up to our apartment to help Grace and Daisy wreak havoc and have a blast while doing it. I will miss listening to the hilarities that spill from Dom and Kaydence's mouths. I will miss those rare glimpses of that same saltiness in Kaydence that I see in Trish; she's tenaciously adorable. I miss already that we didn't get to do more together with the kids; I loved watching Dom and Grace dazzle the ladies at the Desert Museum with their vast knowledge of rocks and fossils and carnivores and herbivores and omnivores. Maybe they would've been offered Saturday jobs at the planetarium, too.

I will miss our impromtu weekend evening "block parties" with 10 adults chillin' out and 15 kiddies running around our grassy area for hours, stopping only to gaze up at the stars and moon and Saturn for a two minute break before they're off and running again. I will miss little Tucker's one-armed furious flapping as he races back and forth across the lawn. I will miss Andy's excellent salads and beans and rice with homemade salsa and grilled corn. I will miss each and every one of your benevolent faces. Ron, Andy, Miss Claire, Trish, Brett, Tucker, Patricia, Dan, Dom, and Kaydence. And there are more that I've not mentioned who were nothing but nice during our stay here...Jeff and his wife, who also welcomed us our first day, but who live a bit further down so we didn't get to know each other as well, but we always share a friendly greeting when we do see each other. And there are some of whom I don't even know their names but I know their smiles well as they pass by our apartment.

Thank you all for showing us kindness and love while we were your neighbors here in Arizona.

Arizona Beauties (Part One)

The massive moon and the clarity of the stars. Some cities/towns here even encourage their residents to keep the curtains or blinds closed at night, to maintain the purity of the night skies for the astonomers who come from all over the world to view our universe from this auspicious area of our country.


Adorning the road sides, the store and library fronts, and the parking lots, are dollops of lavender forget-me-not bushes. There are bushes (?) of bright orange flowers that spill into a brilliant red at their centers, I still haven't figured out their names, possibly the Arizona Poppy? But when my mom visited she fell in love with them...it's hard not to, they really are everywhere--a favorite of Grace's and mine, too. And there are green trees. All green: the trunk, the branches, and the leaves, that seem to have come straight out of a monochromatic or a French Impressionist painting because of their uniquely singular color and their numerous teeny-tiny leaves that appear curiously fuzzy and blurry when viewed from afar; they are the state trees of Arizona: Palo Verde. And what about those Saguaros? The famous cacti with the arms number in the millions here in the Sonoran Desert of Arizona and Mexico. But on a worldly scale, they are actually rare. And besides Arizona, California is the only other state where Saguaros grow (and they only have about a hundred; they're smaller and skinnier). That's right, there are millions here and in Mexico, but there are zero in other states in the surrounding area like Texas, Nevada, and New Mexico!


It's the average rain fall of eight inches per year that allows them to flourish here compared to other deserts around the world that are too dry. Cacti do need some water and Saguaros need more than most because of their size. I could go on and on about the interesting facts I've learned about how the Saguaro thrives here and the details of their life-cylce, but I only have 30 minutes on this computer. (But feel free to ask questions in the comments section if you have any; I'd love to share. I see I have five followers now, thanks Kristen!)

I think most people that are not from this area (and maybe some that are) associate all of the southwestern part of our country with the immediately recognizable silhouette of that sentient Saguaro standing tall, as guardian of its surrounding land. And here, in Arizona, that is exactly what they are: sentinels on the hills and mountains of this beautiful Sonoran Desert land. On the way up to the Grand Canyon a few weeks ago, Grace and I relished in ogling at the prominent personalities of this state. We saw a "Grandpa" with his 10-12 large arms (it takes at least 50 years before they grow their first arm), a "ballerina" with two of her arms raised over her "head", a "mama" bending down slightly with arms curled in toward two smaller Saguaros, and literally thousands more.

The Saguaros, like the Palo Verde and the orange-red flowers and the forget-me-nots are all over town, too. We see them during our daily drives. But to see a "forest" of them, and there are many forests of Saguros surrounding this city once you get away from all the buildings and surface roads, just helps to remind me of how awesomely different Arizona is, for the Saguaros alone, compared to any other US state. And I'm happy to have had the chance to live here, if only for three months of my nearly 40 year life.

There is Always a Reason

***
Yes, there's always a reason...


We came here for Joel. We came here knowing we would only see him for 2-3 hours on the days that he worked because 2-3 hours each day is much more than zero hours. We came here mostly for Gracie because as anyone knows two years is a great deal more unfathomable to a six year old than it is to a teenager or adult. And really, a six year old needs her dad just as much as a dad needs his six year old. (Think of all the changes and growth between five and seven years of age!)


As I've said, we are grateful for time spent with our significantly missed member of our family; but in an interesting twist of fate, it turns out that since Nate has been gone, Grace is not spending nearly as much time with Joel as we had planned. When Nathan left we were all initially devastated, and Gracie expressed it the most. Happily, she also bounced back the quickest because of her rapidly developing friendship with her newfound chums downstairs, nine year old, Domonic and his three year old sister, Kaydence. Nathan's departure was the catalyst for our six year old Gracie to plop herself comfortably right into their lives and they've been nearly inseparable ever since.


Accepting that Grace, being a mature child, loves Kaydence in more of a little-sisterly way, even though they are almost always, all three, together after school, it is Domonic who is truly Gracie's best bud here in Arizona. It is Dom whom she consideres her equal, and in most ways, I think he feels the same way about Grace.


Dom and Gracie. Gracie and Dom.


And here's the sweet irony:


On some nights that Joel works, Grace may only see her dad for maybe 20 minutes out of a whole day. On those days, she is with Dom and Kaydence either outside, or in their apartment, or frisbee golfing with their family down the road. On other days they are at our place, but do you think they're interested in playing with Joel when they're together? Nope. It's still Dom and Gracie/Gracie and Dom. (Kaydence tends to hang out with Joel and me when she's at our place; she cracks us up with the words that come out of her teeny-tiny mouth. {She is an itty-Bitty girl with an itty-Bitty voice!})

This is all good because besides the obvious similarities that Dom and Grace share: a love for learning but not of sitting still to learn, their love of talking, their love of talking and telling each other and everyone everything they know, and (unique from his sister, Kaydence) Dom and Gracie have loss in common. They've repeatedly had to deal with it at an early age; but whereas we know Grace's feelings of loss will mostly be temporary, Dom's have so far been more lasting. We hope to make our leaving less traumatic for him by exchanging full names and addresses so that they can continue their friendship as pen-pals, but until then, Joel and I are happy for this ironic twist in the tale of our Arizona adventure together. Our daughter's friendship is shining light through, and filling up some of the holes in Dom's young heart and he is doing the same for her. I'm so glad life doesn't always turn out as we'd planned.
***

For My Brother

I love you, Tony. We will all help to watch over your beautiful Elizabeth until you return to her next year.

Sunny Spots In...

ARIZONA MICHIGAN

*Silhouettes of peaceful, purpled mountains *The way a blanket of freshly fallen snow

and the towering ink palm trees against the dusts the top of previously fallen snow so

backdrop of rose-blush and tangerine sunsets that all the sharp lines of the footprints &

that never disappoint. snow angels are softened. And how snow

can appear white or ochre or a serene,

sparkling perewinkle, depending on the

time of day and the mood of the sky.


The above was saved so I could move to a computer that would allow me an hour of use, but it's all jumbled. I read it over and thought it was kind of cool. It was supposed to be side-by-side columns listing the sunny spots in both Arizona and Michigan, but it didn't save the way I formatted it (by hand, not using the tools because none of the tools allow 2 lists next to each other). So here they are; separated: (grrrr)

ARIZONA

*Silhouettes of peaceful, purpled mountains and towering, inked palms and cypress trees against the backdrop of rose-blush and tangerine sunsets that never disappoint.

*Nearly scalding hot water straight from the tap--no wait time. (Good for washing dishes and boiling water for hot tea or noodles in a jiffy!)

*Which brings me to the curiousity of: Butt facials...buttials? Even the toilets have hot water! A steam bath for the butt.

*Our neighbor, Heather, who out of the grandness of her heart simply handed Grace and me a stack of books she thought we'd like to borrow--three of which were SARK books (five of which were doggie books and kid craft books that Grace loves...we've started a dried apple head person already...). I've finally read a SARK book! (Eat Mangoes Naked) Could SARK be my long-lost aunt?

*Sedona (I haven't actually been there yet, but I know I'll love the red rock vistas and the energy vortexes.)

*No matter how short or involved the errand, I am always driving toward magical magnetic mountains. We are surrounded. I marvel at them in front of me, through the windshield, and behind me through the rearview mirror as I drive. My eyes gobble up a feast no matter where they look.

*Bigger bugs (so I can qucikly spot them to escort them back outside).

*DRY heat.

*The shiny glint of palm leaves dancing with the warm breezes in the ubiquitous light of the sun that make you stare in wonder: surely someone placed polished, plastic, paper up there for fun? But no, this is one of Mother Nature's quirky delights!

*The abundance of freshly baked (and cheap!) corn and flour tortillas available at any store that sells groceries.

*Any spot on the rim of the Grand Canyon.

*Sizzling sepias!

*Our second storey stoop where I can observe everything--the mountains, the trees, the 20 people that will most certainly walk by our apartment within an hour's time.

*The way Arizonians share their roads with bikers.

*Joel.


MICHIGAN

*The way a blanket of freshly fallen snow is like fairy dust on previously fallen snow; all the sharp lines of the footprints and snow angels are softened. And how snow can appear white or ochre or a serene, sparkling perewinkle, depending on the time of day and the mood of the sky.

*Crisp, cold water straight from the tap--no wait time. (Good for drinking and cooling down a freshly brewed batch of iced-tea.)

*Together, two hands serve as an instant map of Michigan's upper and lower peninsulas (right hand upright, facing you, left hand perpendicular, to left of and above right-voila!). Those of us born and raised get quite a bit of use out of our hand maps when discussing locations with others.

*Our neighbor, Phyllis, who is 93 years young; she always has an interesting story or local history tid-bit to tell.

*Saugatuck.

*Apple orchards and Cider Mills in the fall (hot cake donuts, hay rides, pumpkin patches...).

*Smaller bugs (so as not to startle me so easily).

*Cool breezes.

*That maple tree on our street that turns to a fiery red-orange while the other trees still sit with their greens.

*The bounty of fresh (and cheap!) locally grown produce.

*Any beach on Lake Michigan.

*Gorgeous greens!

*Our front porch swing where I can sit and be solitary with our sheltering Oak; or share it with my family and attend to tales of their day's events.

*Plentiful parks perfectly plunged into nature's oasis, complete with running and biking trails.

*Nathan

* * *

Water...Or Lack Thereof

During our first week here, we drove on an overpass on the way to the library and Nate said, "It's funny, in Michigan we have overpasses for going over water; here, they're for going over a little canyon of desert area."

Yes, as it turns out those "little canyons of desert" become washes for the rivers of rain to flow through during this, Arizona's monsoon season. ( I've read that it is improper grammar to use the word "season" with the word "monsoon" because monsoon is a season; we do tend to say the "fall season" or the "winter season" and it didn't sound right to just say "it is monsoon in Arizona"...) These monsoon thunderstorms are akin to spring and summer thunderstorms in Michigan. As in Michigan, they can be violent and sudden, knocking power lines down and causing floods. But, the glaring difference is that because they get rain so infrequently here throughout the entire year (they don't have images of a cacti on their state license plates for nothing), the ground is considerably harder so when it does rain, the parched earth can't imbibe that gift from the sky as zestfully or as willingly as it does in Michigan. (Also, as my husband's buddy pointed out, they don't have nearly as many drains here as they do back east--he's from Rhode Island.)

Bottom line: Water easily overwhelms here in Arizona.

Tantamount to how the exceptional temperatures of Arizona can easily overwhelm a native Michigander like me.

On our first day at our new apartment, I had gone out to purchase necessities such as food staples, contact paper, and a shower curtain. It was 112 degrees Fahrenheit. Nathan aptly compared the feeling of walking outside to that of when you feel the blast of heat when opening a hot oven, "only it never goes away and it's all around your body and face...all the time". Or, he said, it's like standing next to a hot car engine but again, he addded,"all the time, all over your body, and in your face". As if I could forget. Yes, perfect analogies, I told him.

As I trekked across the vast black-top parking lot toward the store, I took a deep breath and embraced that oven-like quality of the intense Arizona heat. Rather than complain to myself, "Man, it's hot out here!"--I was actually smiling at what an intriguingly different sensation walking outside could be. Not bad; just different.

I promise you, I am not a heat person. My favorite season is autumn in Michigan, with an Indian Summer or two thrown in. Sixty to seventy-eight degrees Fahernheit---ahhhhh. Bliss. I can keep my windows open to feel the cool breezes or let the whispering leaves of the great Oak in my front yard lull me to sleep each night.

Honestly, I truly was embracing Arizona's delightfully distinct desert climate. Though it's consistantly hotter here, it's lighter, not so heavy, and amazingly, on that 112 degree day, I barely broke into a sweat. It's discombobulating, really. In Michigan when it reaches the 90s as it often does in the summer, you can count on a massive side of heavy, humid air to go with it. Hot humidity goes hand in hand with sweat, more sweat, and mosquitos!

Not an issue here in Arizona. Hallelujah!

On the flip side, during that shopping trip on that first day here, as I roamed through the store I thought, Boy, I need to drink some more water when I get home.

Then, ten minutes later: Whew! I wish there was a water fountain right here where I'm standing.

And finally, just: Water...water...Oh, I need to grab a silverware tray...water...water...Oh yeah, and a trash container...and where are those shower curtains?...water-water-water...I better buy a water bottle at the check-out to drink on the way home...cool, cool water...Mmmm-can't wait for that waterwaterwaterwater...

But by the time I had reached the cashier, I realized I couldn't wait until I was at the car to drink. I cracked the cap open right there in front of the cashier, waiting (smiling, but actually impatient) for her to hand me the receipt, and immediately thereafter--I drank.

And drank. And drank some more.

It was only a regular 20 ounce bottle, but I'm not much of a drinker in general. Yeah, yeah, I'm a nurse in another life and I know how important water is and that I was already dehydrated when I felt that thirst, but I can't guzzle it and I rarely drink 64 ounces daily. Not even when I overhydrate myself three or four days before giving blood. More like 30-40 ounces in Michigan; about 50 ounces here in Arizona (and I feel great and my urine is clear...on a day of hiking or other such activity, of course, it's much more). But when I get busy, as I was on that day of moving and all...well, I tried to be conscious of my fluid intake (and I love water--it's my number one beverage choice) but I'm sure I slacked.

So that July first day, when I guzzled 15 ounces of H2O before heading back out in that arid Arizona air, I could actually feel the individual cells of my body expanding their withered, semipermeable plasma membranes in joyful appreciation.

I've worked out my whole life. I've done lots of runs for charity--lots of training for those runs--long runs, too; I trained for and completed a marathon (held here in Arizona--but in January), but the thirst I felt that day was definately a different animal. It stayed with me for days--the memory of that feeling, that full-body, parched feeling. Later that week, the kids and I watched the movie, "Holes". Though I've always empathized with strong movie characters, this time I was sure that when I'd seen it years earlier, I'd only thought I could understand how thirsty and hot and dry those kids felt in that desperate desert doom. But now...now I felt like we were kindred spirits. Now I felt I knew exactly how thirsty they really were!

Or so I told myself.

Hooray for water!
Hooray for Michigan's abundance of it!
Hooray for Arizona (for teaching me a much deeper appreciation for it)!

Cheers! Our Cups Runneth Over

Since the housing market is still too stagnant for us to be able to move to AZ, and since my husband, Joel still has at least another five months until he will be allowed to attempt a transfer back to MI, we decided that the next best option was to move here temporarily when the kids were out of school. July 1 to October 1; three months, or 90 days as Grace likes to tell people.

Actually, Nathan will be leaving much sooner. August 6 his dad will drive here to get him and they will embark on a 14 day road trip the long way home. Beginning with the Grand Canyon, and looping up to Yellowstone and Badlands, Mt. Rushmore and through the beautiful Pictured Rocks of the UP of Michigan, their trip will be filled with awesome sights to behold. And I know Nathan is very excited about it, as he was for this entire summer of adventure that began when we left June 28. And we are excited for him. But we will be melancholy to see him go. It will be nearly two months before we (Grace and I) see him again (longer for Joel, of course which makes me apprecitate Joel's occasional bouts of "being in a funk" all the more). Two months. Nathan, Grace, and I have never gone more than seven days apart, and that was unusual, two days at most, normally...now...two months.

It will be difficult.

Tears will fall.

Our hearts will ebb.

But oh, the joy that will effervesce when we meet again!

Luckily Nate is a kid who loves travel and adventure and new experiences as much as I do. Grace does, too, but she's a little gun shy from having Joel gone all this time.

So. For now we are together with Joel. He drove up to get us (so we'd have two cars to utilize when packing and toting two kids, a dog, a cat, an adult and all the STUFF that goes with us, instead of just one car). We couldn't afford a moving truck or trailer (we did look into it extensively); hence we don't have much in the way of material items and conveniences such as furniture, clothes. pots/pans, dishes--that sort of thing. We have a blanket in the middle of our tiny living room floor which we call our "couch". We play cards and board games, we read, we spend at least four days per week at the library up the road since we have no internet or television, either. And, we spend a lot of time at the two swimming pools that are practically right outside our "90-day Test Drive" apartment door.

All in all not bad. And best of all, our meager, mismatched, cut-rate cups runneth over with LOVE because we are together with Joel again.

Fun With Boxes

Nathan-this is what he and his cousins did with their free time at my Aunt Heidi's place up north last week. Fun with empty boxes, just like the good ol' days. Thanks for the pictures, Lynne. And thanks Heidi and Joe for the beautiful and fun filled weekend camping in your yard, eating good food, and telling old ghost stories by the campfire.

Witnessing Grace

Here is what I wrote in my journal on April 8th:

Mourning Again

Gracie--intense baby, exceptionally impassioned little girl.
Heart on her sleeve,
it splits open for all to see, hear, feel her sorrow;
and her blood runs and it touches any in her vicinity.

Her anguished cries and screams, begging him
to stay.
Trying to physically keep him here;
blocking
pushing him back
clutching his body, not letting go.
Grabbing door frames and walls as he carries her
with him out to the car.

Why can't you work in Michigan, Daddy?
I don't want you to go, Daddy!
You can't go. Stay. Stay here, Daddy.
You're staying here, Daddy. You don't have to go.
Stay, Daddy.
Her six year old head can't wrap itself around the why.
Her six year old heart only knows it has been cracked wide open
and it hurts.

She succmbs.
He sits with her in the backseat;
she cries.
A mournful, moaning cry.
He holds her.
She says,
I don't want you to go Daddy.
She says it like a mantra that's lost its reason.
He says he doesn't want to go either.
She sobs
until she sleeps, even though Gracie doesn't sleep in the car;
she sleeps.

He wakes her when we are on the airport roads;
she quietly weeps as though she never slept.
When he says good-bye her weeping returns to wailing.
She is trying to hold it back
but cannot.
He tries to make her laugh, she tries to smile for him
but cannot.
Instead, a sorrowful moan escapes her throat
and she is trying to close her heart
but she cannot.

Her wailing circles to quiet weeping, which turns to
quiet contemplation.
Or subdued stillness.
Or encompassing emptiness.
She is temporarily tranquilized.
She gazes at nothing.

My right arm is stretched back holding,
caressing her right foot;
the only comfort I can give while driving alone with her now.
My arm is numb
my heart is not.

A low lamenting moan after a time,
but it is only followed by a sigh--no more crying.
She is six years old and she grieves again for her daddy.
And I grieve for her.


I wrote this the day Joel left after the longest visit yet (7 days). And that same night, at 11pm, I wrote:
She is dancing, she is creating art, she is laughing and smiling. She stops to say she misses him, she allows her grief to flow, but then she allows herself normalcy and levity. Her spirits are lifted by music and art and animals, she allows herself to feel what she is feeling in the moment and she does not wallow.


I love the lessons our children show us. Thank you, Gracie.

Following Your Joy--Just Try It

Last night my "commune housemate", Jen thanked me for DVRing American Idol so she could see Lee DeWyze sing "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen (see February 5th blog). I said, That's funny, I just thanked Ellen DeGeneres in my journal for getting me to watch American Idol in the first place, so I could witness the transformation of Lee from shy paint store employee who had a passion for music to a performing artist who is now regularly releasing that passion onstage for all to see and hear and feel and share. Look at all the joy he brings to others just by doing and sharing what he loves. (I'm sure he was doing it at home, but who knew? It's the getting himself out there and sharing it with the world that took heart and courage and we can all see the pay-off, not just to Lee, but to all of us who watch and listen to him, too.) I feel so strongly on about that point that I wrote a book about it (still haven't found an agent who will read any of it--so I've put the querying aside for another while and I'm working on some children's books and a novel).

Everything comes in its own time. As I've said, I'm not really a big TV person, but shows like American Idol and So You Think You Can Dance that've been around for years, but that I am only just now starting to watch, inspire me and keep my faith alive as I pursue my own dream. I feel such a deep connection with the singers and dancers and their quest to do what they love for a living. It's too bad they couldn't do a show like that for writers. By nature, we tend to be more reclusive so getting us to read our pieces on a stage would be a stretch--not even factoring in that it could put the audience to sleep early on in the auditions.

No, those of us wanna-be-writers will just continue to write, to query, to enter contests (that aren't televised...or even known to most)...maybe blog once in a while. And always we will know that we are writers, even if we've never published anything, even if we are still earning our living as a medical supply manager, as a teacher, or as a stay-at-home-mom. We will work hard at our craft because it brings us joy to do so and because of that, we will know that someday, if we truly believe, we will earn a living from that joy and share it with others--Just as surely as Lee and Crystal and Casey and Mike from American Idol will.

In the meantime, we will be awed and uplifted beholding the singers and dancers in the final episodes of these shows come into their own and live out their purpose. Hopefullly, they inspire not only other singers and dancers (and writers), but any person who has thought about following their dream. Any of us can do it. No matter what it is, no matter who you are, no matter how scary or crazy it sounds to yourself or to others--just do it anyway. And live joyfully.

Laughing with Fate

In the Gregory David Roberts novel, Shantaram, one of the characters, Karla, says, "If fate doesn't make you laugh, then you just don't get the joke." I love that line. Maybe partly because I can be so slow at getting the jokes that Nate and Joel get right away and then it turns into a laugh-fest at me. I laugh, too. I do get the jokes; just not as quickly as everyone else--When I do, I think it's as funny as anyone that my comprehension could be so dilatory, and we end up laughing all the more. So when crazy things happen, especially in groupings, I look for Fate's punchline and often I am quicker than most to get it, hence my appreciation for Karla's line.

I mentioned last week that my identity was stolen--actually, it was just one credit card that an international fraud ring got hold of, posing as me online in London, Berlin, D.C....they racked up about $4000 in charges within a few days. But the funny thing was that my identity had been stolen about 10 years ago. As I've mentioned in the first blog, I am not at all technically savvy; I'm not online often (well, when I'm researching for a writing project or something...I am),I do some online bill paying, but nothing is saved to the computer or anything like that. And ten years ago I had an email account that I never checked and that was it. So it's just funny that someone got me twice in ten years.

The first one, I never knew about until the bill collectors tracked me down a year later accusing me of hiding out. The person who opened the account lived in Ohio, gave a fake Ohio address and phone, and they knew my mom's maiden name. The charges added up to about $1000 and the card was never used after two large purchases, but it took me almost a year to get it resolved. Almost no one believed me and when I reached someone who did believe me, they had no idea what to do about it. It just wasn't as common back then. It was a constant game of phone calls, explaining my story over and over, most often on prejudiced ears (most made it perfectly clear that they thought I was lying...), two different people on two different occasions actually hung up on me midsentence and I promise you that I never raised my voice and I never used harsh words. I knew that each new person I spoke to had nothing to do with the person I had spoken to before. But for some reason, most of them seemed to form an immediate opinion about me often referring to me as "people like you". It was crazy. That's why it took nearly a year, because sometimes I needed to take a week off from the negativity coming at me through the phone with each call I made. Also, I was sent on wild goose chases by the few that tried to help me by guessing at what I should do (sending me to my own city police, who directed me to the Cleavland, Ohio police, who directed me right back to the credit card company...).

This time, among the charges were a trip to Italy, a notebook computer, backpacking gear, and $300 in music downloads. I said, "They're buying things that I want to buy for myself!...I'm Monica! I'm Monamana!" (that Friends episode...) And people do mispronounce "Meinema (say: MINE-eh-mah)" as "MoNAMana"! I've been planning to go to Italy for years now, but my goal was by 2010 ("italy2010" was one of my passwords to get to patient information on the hospital computers years ago)...Nate, Jen, and I were supposed to go...but then Joel lost his job, moved to AZ...so it will wait at least another year. Also, the day before I'd found out about the charges, I told myself that I needed to get my own laptop since my computer is going so slowly, it's old...and this is Jen's laptop I'm using until she needs it again in the summer when she has to give her school laptop back (she's a teacher).

And THEN: the very next day after I found out about the fraud charges and said I was Monamana/Monica, Nate turned on that episode of Friends. It's been at least a year or two since the last time Nate and I watched Friends and it's been months since we watched any TV show together (he was always swimming--oh, and he beat his goal of 26 seconds for the 50-Free, he gets 25's regularly--he's got that passion for it now), but there it was, just starting, the one where Monica becomes Monamana and takes dance lessons and tries out for a Broadway play with the girl who stole her identity.

So I'm laughing. And there's more, too much to tell. This is already so choppy, I know. Maybe I'll fix it later. Well, you know about my debit/credit card being declined...that's resolved, too (our bank wasn't used to us using it so much and in two different states...). As of last night my phone went out. Today I was online "chatting" with a tech to try to fix it for an hour and a half. I was typing, running back to the computer room to troubleshoot for/with JOHN--checking wires, unplugging, plugging, finding the right port, etc. and making dinner for Grace. I'm coo-coo for cocoa puffs! It's still not fixed. It will be at least two days. Please, if you are trying to call me, don't leave a message because I can't get to them.

My point and the reason I am laughing is because I know it's not just funny or weird that this has happened. Twice. Ten years ago my life was going through an overhaul. I was separated from my husband, Donnie. I was completely changing my career path by attending nursing school. I was getting a new identity (but fighting it back then; I fought with myself a lot in those days, which is partly why the process to get it straighened out was so rocky, right?).

This time, I'm flowing with the changes. JOHN said I was "easy to work with". I got a good laugh out of that since, to me, none of it seemed easy...I was already laughing at myself because it's like a maze of wires back there, I know nothing about any of it... anyway, when he typed that, I laughed more. Thanks again wherever you are, JOHN.

I've been in the process of transformation for two and a half years--since the day I decided to be a writer in August of 2007. I am looking at this as a sign of culmination. This is the year I will get an agent and finally be published and paid for the work I've been doing. I just know it. Right when I found out from Saks Fifth Avenue security that someone from London was trying to use my name and Master Card to by a pair of $532 Gucci loafers,(I guess because I'd never shopped at Saks in my life is what tipped them off--and they were the first to notify me, not my card company, thanks Saks security--), I was stunned more at the fact that this was the second time in ten years that someone stole my identity. And I knew that I had to pay attention. An hour later, after speaking to someone from the credit card company, who told me about the trip to Italy, the notebook computer... I knew. This will be a pivotal year. I'm on my way to being able to afford a trip to Italy, regular hiking trips, an iPod or MP3 player, or something like that (I LOVE music and I'm still using a boom box and CDs--our stereo is out, too)and my very own notebook computer.

We must remember to laugh. Even when things seem to be going wrong--there's a reason. Just have faith and laugh and enjoy the growth.

Date Night

Friday night I received the unexpected gift of freedom when my dear friend, Donnie (who also used to be my husband), invited Grace to stay the night at his house with him and Nathan. What's a single-parent to do when she suddenly has no kids for the night? Go on a date with myself, of course.

I had been wanting to see a movie at the theater for some time so I chose the one that is best seen on the big screen since I didn't know when I'd have the chance again: Avatar. It worked out perfectly that I was able to make it to the cheap "Twilite" show because when I tried to pay the $7 for the ticket and "3-D technology" my credit/debit card was declined. I had $13 cash and my plan was to get a bite after the show or/and go write or read at Starbucks or something. I wouldn't be able to do both now, but as it turned out I was pretty tired and not up to going to Starbucks after the show anyway.

Oh, the card was declined for security reasons that I will write about in another blog (my identity was recently stolen from an international fraud ring--I was in the process of getting it resolved...that particular card being invloved was something new, but I wouldn't let myself worry about it on my night out with myself).

After the movie I went to get some carry-out at the new Thai place near my house which closes at 9pm; it was 8:40 and the very sweet owner informed me that they had just run out of pad thai noodles did I want anything else? A second declined credit card; no more pad thai noodles? Hmmm. What was going on? I went for a dish called Kow Bai Gra Pow (basil fried rice with vegees, which the owner charged me $6 instead of $6.50, so nice) with tofu. I like spicy, but not so spicy that it messes up the enjoyment of the food for me, so I got "mild" spice since, to me, their mild is more like medium. I'm basing that off of the type of salsas I buy--medium--some kick, but nothing that makes my nose and eyes run.

It was a crisp, clear night so I invited myself to eat the carry-out on our front porch swing so I could listen to the wind chimes and gaze up at the bright stars. It didn't last long. Five minutes? Maybe. Between the cold Michigan breezes and the "mild" spice of the Kow Bai Gra Pow, my sinuses were singing for sweet mercy that not even the swigs of almond milk after each bite could provide. I asked myself amidst sniffles and teary eyes, Should we just go in?

I said, Yeah, we can be cozy on the couch with a book instead.

I imagined that if Joel were there, we would've gone in to watch TV or another movie together...or something else (Oh how I miss that something else with him). But I was content to be with myself and not have to worry about what the kids want to do, or bedtime routines, or getting up to requests from Grace for this or that, or any of it. I could let myself do whatever I wanted for the first time in a very long time and it felt good.

I really liked the basil rice dish, but it was so HOT. I figured they were in such a hurry to serve everyone (it was crowded at the Thai place, there was one cook and the owner running the rest), so I thought the cook must have made a mistake and dumped too much hot pepper into my dish. It finally occurred to me that maybe the red and yellow peppers in the dish were not sweet peppers. I tasted a single red one, HOT. And a single yellow one, also HOT. I chortled and shnortled at myself knowing Joel would've loved to have been with me to laugh it up, too.

If we are single-parents and have a spouse working in another state or country, or if we are single-parent who does not have a boyfriend or girlfriend, we can still have an enjoyable evening away from our kids to recharge our batteries and connect with ourselves.

Strengthening Our Affinities

For those of you that are doing what I'm doing--holding down the fort while your spouse is away for x number of months or years--this one is for you.

I know that some days are so hard. If you have little ones it can be even harder. You have to be strong and positive for them; and when you do get to see your spouse, most, if not all of the time is focused on family. It's important for the kids to spend special alone time with their usually absent parent. It's important for us as husbands and wives, too, but we know it is more important for our kids; it wasn't their choice to accept a job that takes one parent far away, it was our choice. Of course, we made that decision because we thought it was for the best in the long run but we must be prepared to accept the consequences of our choices, right? Yes...

One consequence of having your spouse far, far away is that you will miss them in a way that is reminiscent of your courting days when you couldn't bear to be apart for one full day, let alone two years. Give or take. And I'm sure most people are like us and can't afford to visit often since the cost of flying back and forth, combined with maintaining two households (granted his is much cheaper since he shares a place with 3 other guys--but then that left so little room for privacy when we visited him--it's a catch-22, a give-and-take...you make the best of it), combined with the fact that if you made this decision (to accept a job so far away), it probably meant that you were in financial dire straights to start with, right? Most likely. So where does that leave us?

With love letters, of course.

When Joel and I were first dating, he lived about 40 minutes away; we wrote notes and love letters to each other often. And still, when we lived together, we left notes for each other regularly.

Since he's been gone these last 14 months, I've taken up the practice of writing letters to him again. Admittedly, not as often as I had imagined I would; but probably more than most people in these days of texting and emails and twitter. I just wrote one today. Thanks to Ellen DeGeneres, I have started watching American Idol for the first time. I love that guy, Lee Dewyze. He sang "Chasing Cars" last week and made me cry; he brought Joel right back to me in that aching moment. Lee's version of that song is part of what inspired me to write the letter to Joel today. Although the dreams I had last night might have had something to do with it, too. Nothing too crazy, just sweet. I love my husband and I miss him.

If you are feeling the same and you haven't tried pen and paper yet, give it a shot. You can pour your heart and soul out onto that paper, and your husband or wife will love it. They will love to discover it in their mailbox, they will love to read the words that your hand wrote, and they will love to hold the paper that your hands once held. They will even love that they can keep it and show it (well, maybe not certain letters) to their kids or grandkids later in life. If nothing else, they will appreciate knowing that you took time out in your day to do something just for them.

We can stregthen our affinities no matter how far apart we are.

Regarding that picture of the 4 of us

Look! I know how to put pictures into the computer and post them now! Ellen DeGeneres made me learn that. (But I don't know how to write a caption so I'm adding a blog.)

This is from when Joel was in town. We were all supposed to cross our eyes. When Nate and I cracked up at his downward gaze, he said it was because he had more things than us to concentrate on, like taking the picture. But when he proceeded to demonstrate, Nate and I informed him through more peals of laughter that he's only looking down. My husband is 40 years old and never realized that he couldn't cross his eyes until he saw this picture. Grace obviously got the same gene.

Technology Deficient Dorks

Hola, Friends. I'm taking a break from the querying process to let you in on another benefit of being a single-parent without the benefits. As all four of you know...there are only four of you, aren't there? If there are more than four of you (Joel, Jen, Cheri, Katie...none of whom are single-parents), let me know. I need to just get with the times and start on twitter or face-book or something to reach those single-parents. But this blog, as all four of you know, is such a huge step for me...which brings me to today's subject: technology deficient dorks. See? I didn't use "geeks" because even though I don't know a lot about technology, I do know that geeks are the ones that do know a lot. So technology deficient dorks are people like me.

As the four of you know, I gave up my cell phone about five years ago as a money saving measure and I really don't miss it. That's not to say that I don't appreciate Jen insisting that I keep the Soul Sisters Center cell phone for emergencies and that I won't some day get my own cell phone again. I will as soon as I get an agent--an agent who will love my book and find a publisher who loves it, too. But for now, I'm perfectly content to live without it. But I digress. What the four (or more? is anyone else out there? a single-mom or dad?) of you also know is that until I commited to being a writer two-and-a-half years ago, I only knew how to check email. I knew a bit about Word because of nursing school 10 years earlier, and I knew about the hospital computer system, of course, but that was about it. And it was fine with me.

Today, as I was attempting to send out another query to a prospective agent, my computer was not cooperating. I knew from working on queries these last few weeks, that the computer was acting quirky again (Is Mercury in retrograde?), so for this latest query, I did the work on the Soul Sisters Center laptop (Jen insisted that I learn how to use this, too--I'm glad she did, thanks, soul sis). But when I went to copy/paste it in the body of the email as most agents prefer, I kept losing the scroll button and I would have to start over. But look, the very fact that I know about copying, pasting, scrolling is in itself an accomplishment for me. Katie, Jen, Joel, and Nate all tried to teach me at various times early on, but mostly, they did it. When Joel was gone and I began to fiddle around with it myself, I really learned and remembered how to do those things. So today, when I had trouble scrolling on the laptop, I decided to email it in an attachment to my professional email so I could download, save, and send it from my big computer. See? I can figure it all out on my own now. (Although, as I said, that computer was acting up, so the email never arrived until 2 hours later. I didn't wait that long; I ended up placing the laptop on my computer desk and retyping the query/bio/overview manually from reading it off the laptop...oy-vey! It finally worked, though. I got an auto-reply from the agency, so I know it went through.)

For sure I'm learning and growing so much more as a single-parent. Sure, I probably would have learned all of this anyway because of my job as a writer, but single-parenting pushes us that much quicker and that much higher in any area where we need to grow and I am truly thankful.

Okay, guys, please send me your love and light and send it to the agent that is right for me. Thank you, my four faithful friends. G (and here's a set of boobs back at ya) <3

Hallelujah

I've been hearing Leonard Cohen's music in my head all day today and all last night. When you are a single-parent, the simplest acts of kindeness mean so much more. Not that I wouldn't be thankful otherwise, and it's not that I'm any more aware, it's that it means so much more... Exactly what I already said. I know I'm basically expounding upon my blog from yesterday--but I must. I am so deeply grateful to those that have reached out to help. And the single word Hallelujah is what I keep hearing (in Leonard Cohen's melody). I'm repeating myself. Okay, so on with it.

Last night after the boys' swim meet (they are the silver division undefeated champions for the first time in the school's history whoo-hoo!), my mom asked what I was planning "to do with Grace" for the counties on Saturday (both Nate and Josh made it)--Of course I told her that she was coming with me and that we'd have lots of snacks and books and drawing supplies for her. It's an all day event in a hot pool area, not something Grace was ever excited about attending. I let her know that Jen had offered to possibly watch her, but that her youngest came home from school sick that day, and I had been planning on keeping Grace with me anyway. Well, mom said she had inadvertantly told my brother that she could babysit my neice that day, not realizing it was the day of counties and did I want her to take Grace, too? Hallelu--nope! Not yet. First I made sure she didn't want to see if someone else could watch my brother's daughter, she said no, it was an all day thing and that she'd already talked it over with Cheri who was going to keep her posted via her fancy phone so she may as well keep Grace, too. And Grace would have fun seeing her cousin whom she hasn't seen in ages...Okay, now: Hallelujah---Hallelujah...

My mom loves to be at every single one of her grandkids' events if she can help it, which was why I had planned on taking Grace (and Jen does SO MUCH for me...). Wow. My mom is helping not only me, but Gracie, too. She'll have a blast with her little cuz and I will likely have a much more enjoyable time without having to keep my six year old happy within the crowds of spectators for the county meet.

Then today Jen told me that she put this blog spot on the front page of our business website: soulsisterscenter.com. She said she was trying to get a hold of me earlier in the week to ask me about it (but I fell off the face of the earth for a few days and didn't know she was calling). Finally she took the initiative and did it without my permission (Jen, you know me better than I know myself sometimes--you never have to ask for my permission.). I am so happy that she did. I just went to the soul sisters site and again, wow. What a beautiful friend. She wrote a wonderfully supportive paragraph updating those that know me from the yoga classes we taught and had been asking how I was doing. (I stopped teaching the classes in December so I wouldn't miss Nate's meets and to concentrate on the writing more.) I just love her so much. And I love all of you that are so caring and supportive in your thoughts of me. Thank you. I really appreciate it.

Hallelujah--Hallelujah...

Lunches? We Don't Need No Stinkin' Lunches!

Well, we do. Our kids do, at least. (But crumbled bleu cheese for 10 days straight can get a little old :-)

One benefit (or maybe it's a detriment) of being a single-parent is our ever increasing tolerence to high levels of pain and/or discomfort. We have mastered the knack of mind over matter by appearing serene, peaceful, and happy while in the company of others, even though we have a festering infection spreading throughout our body demanding that we stop.
Stop fixing those lunches.
Stop making breakfast and dinner.
Stop waking your kid or kids up for school.
Stop walking your six year old to and from school.
Stop giving her baths.
Stop fixing snacks for her.
Stop her bedtime routine.
Stop reading stories and playing board games even though it is just the two of you for the long 72 hour weekend and you must do something with her other than lay on the couch and watch her watch TV or play alone.
Stop cutting off all of her hair and then making her cry when she looks in the mirror even though everyone has said she looks adorable. So sleek. So chic. Ooops. Too late. Not a good idea to cut your six year old princess daughter's hair when you are half delirious; your judgement is likely to be off...you might fail to realize that she has no interest in sleek and chic, she is not as dirigible as she was when she was three (when you last cut her hair that way and not that she ever really was dirigible), and would much rather be flouncy and flourishing like a princess.
Stop.
Stop sitting up.
Stop standing up.
Stop walking around the house.
Stop doing the endless cycle of dishes, laundry, and homework helping.
Stop paying the bills.
Stop writing.
Stop blogging.
Stop your carpooling duties.
Stop carrying through with plans and obligations you made to others. (Students and families at Grace's elementary raised over $1200 in 4 days for Haiti! Whoo-hoo!)

No! We laugh in the face of illness (HA-HA!) and say, "I will NOT stop! Give me a bed of nails: I will lie! Give me burning hot coals: I will walk! But I will not stop!"

Okay, well you know I stopped the blogging. And the writing. Because I could. But I can't really stop the other things when I am the sole adult in the household (and Nate is hardly home as it is, because of swimming, but he also spent the weekend with Donnie...). So we become stronger than we thought we already were (just being a parent, single or partnered) when we have no spouse to rely on. Or at least not one in the vicinity. But I've said this before--If we don't stop--no matter how tough and strong we think we are, we will get knocked down. (And we may still smile and say, "I'm fine," but it won't make the illness go away.)

So even though our bodies are screaming...hell, who are we kidding, even though our bodies and our minds are screaming, Please stop moving! Lay down. Rest. Sleep. Just sleep. It's not that easy to listen when you are the only adult at home. Maybe that's why my illness manifested first and most painfully as ear infections...and throat infection (I don't ask for help when I should, but thankfully I do accept it when offered...)

Which brings me to the real benefit of being a single-parent: True and generous friends. Jen and Cheri thank you for easing the burden. Cheri, for helping out last Tuesday (arranging for Herbie to take the boys to the meet on my day--I know that was just to help because of Grace's ballet, not becasue I was sick, but either way, it is SO MUCH APRECIATED), and last Wednesday night, picking the boys up (and Jen, thanks for offering that day, too). Cheri, thank you for bringing my water contribution to the team dinner on Monday so I wouln't have to go, and thank you again for always picking Nathan up at the school after the away meets so I can get Grace home and ready for bed. I'm tearful right now as I type. I am so grateful to have you guys. And mom, too. Mom, thank you for taking Grace to ballet this Tuesday so I could get to Nathan's parent-teacher conferences and to the meet. Jen, thank you for Friday, taking Grace to school and finishing out our Haiti fundraiser duties without me. Thank you for picking her up on Sunday for those 2 hours, and for yesterday (I'm actually bawling now, I had to pause to get a tissue and blow my nose and wipe my eyes...) thank you for taking her in the evening just to play--she loved it and she loved eating the bacon that I never buy anymore! Thank you for picking the boys up for me. And I can't forget my sweet Nathan, he did help me lots of days by getting Grace from school so I wouldn't have to.

So I did stop sometimes. When those that I love and that love me could help, they did. I know this blog starts out like I am lamenting...and I was, most of this blog was jotted down yesterday on paper (I was too sick to drag myself to the computer) when I was still feeling a bit jaded and alone and just plain sick and tired. (But finally ready to write something.) I still had my sense of humor though, and I was able to see that I needed sunglasses because as always, my Soda-Pop core (9th grade nickname ala S.E. Hinton) can't help but be grateful to bear witness to my true and beautiful friends and family. If Joel were here they (Jen, Cheri, Mom) likely would not have had the opportunity or felt the necessity to shine their light so brightly on me when I needed it most. Thank you.

Butta, Brie, and Bleu Cheese Days

Yesterday evening as Josh and Nate got into the Jeep after their swimming practice, Nate informed me that he had the coach order his sweatshirt with the word "Butta" instead of "Miller" on the back. He said he had it as "Miller" but then his teammates told him that he should put "Butta" on the back and so he did. (That's how he and his teammates decided it should be spelled, but I think I like it better as "Buttuh". He said that they considered the "h" at the end, as in "Buttah", but concluded that just the "a" was good.) I asked, Why Butta? And his cousin answered, "Because he's so smooth when he swims--like butta."

It got me to thinking that my day had been anything but smooth like buttuh. (hmmm, maybe I do like the butta better...or, butta betta...) My day had been more like crumbled bleu cheese; falling out everywhere. I knew I had a bug on Sunday with the cloudy head, achey, itchy ears, and burning throat and eyes that were with me when I woke that morning; I tried to take it easy. But any parent knows that you can't just take a day off from being a parent, especially when you are the only one present. Monday morning wasn't much better, but I was optimistic; I thought I felt better. So I surged forward with my "to-do-list".

After walking Grace to school, I got right to checking my email to see if Grace's Spanish teacher (the head of Student Council for the school) wanted Jen and me to come to the school that day to help with a fundraiser for Haiti. We had been communicating about it the previous week via email but now, on the kick-off day, my computer, more accurately, my email was going so slowly that it took me an hour and a half to type a two-paragraph message. That should've been my first clue that I needed to slow down and just chill. But I had so much to do! (I can hear my insidious-self chortling in the background now...or just my self...not really insidious, just a part of me that knows better.)

Between waiting for my email to unfreeze I decided to get started on the bills. Turns out I was in a holding pattern on them, too. One of Joel's roommates moved out near the end of December so I knew his rent and utilities and sanitation bills would go up and I took that into account, but what I forgot was that since he also just rotated to the 11am-9pm shift, he lost most of his shift-differential premium pay; a pretty big chunk of money for us to suddenly not have. The ironic thing is that he was allowed to choose his starting rotation with the knowledge that they would soon rotate forward a shift and stay for a longer period. He purposely chose the 5p-3a shift so that he would end up on the nightshift when they moved, but this time they went backwards. No one knows why. It's all a big mystery.

So. You get the idea. My plans for the day were quickly crumbling around me like bleu cheese. And I felt lousy about it along with just feeling lousy. But then today was a new day. I still felt murky but I went along with the flow...not like butta, but not like crumbling bleu cheese, either, more like a nice, creamy Brie. Eventually, by this evening, I found myself saying, "Like butta. Just like butta." And it's not like things have really gone exactly smoothly (hence, the Brie). For example, earlier today Jen and I collected piles and piles of coins and bills from each classroom at our kids' school for the Haiti fundraiser and took them to a credit union to change it all into bills ($486 in two days!). Later, I received a call from from the school clerk stating that I needed to call the lady at the credit union because she overpaid us by $11 and that they needed me to return the $11 to the credit union. I was baffled but I called. After hearing the bank lady's explanation, I knew what had happened and within three minutes it was fixed. We didn't owe $11.

Then today after school I noticed that Grace was coughing a lot. We had to leave for her ballet class in an hour; her costume deposit and measurements were also due, then we were going to skedaddle to the boys' swim meet across town, but I was starting to doubt that she was well enough to do all that. Sure enough, I felt her and knew she was too hot--102 temp. At first I was really bummed to miss one of Nate's meets and to have Grace miss her ballet that she so loves. Also, the costume stuff was due...but I made some calls...I caught my mom just before she hopped in the shower. She came to watch Grace when she was done, left her car running in my driveway so I could jump right in and not have to fiddle with the Jeep's quirks; I zoomed off within the speed limits to try to get to the community center dance studio by 5p so I could catch the teacher between classes and to get back home by 5:15p so Cheri and my mom could get to the meet on time. Whew!

After giving the envelope to her teacher at a few minutes before five, I walked out of there saying, Like butta. (Then I kept saying it all the way home, Just like butta.)

Not only because it all worked out with the timing, but because I realized in that moment that this was best for Grace and for me (and everyone else she may have infected if we went to ballet and swimming). And I thought about yesterday and I appreciated today so much more. The bleu cheese, the Brie, and the butta all come from the same place, they just have different traits. And then I said to myself, Bleu cheese is an aquired taste. Not everyone appreciates the veins of mold and that sharp bite, but those who do, understand its perfection.

More Silly Fears

I forgot to mention the spiders and centipedes. When you are the only parent home, you must be the one to lead them out the door when your daughter is afraid. I've always thought it was silly to be afraid of bugs--we're so much bigger and probably scarier to them, but now, finally, I think I've come as far as I ever have in overcoming my fear of spiders and centipedes in my house. And it's all thanks to this past year of being a single-parent.

I've always talked to animals, even bugs, but bugs like arachnids and chilopods freak me out when they pop out in my bathroom or bedroom or kitchen or laundry room. When Joel is here I frantically ask him to come get it. If Grace is around I stay calm but I am still freaked out. I realized that by having Joel lead the bug outside, I was not dealing with it at all. Looking back, I think I was more afraid because I could be.

Now that it's just me (and Nate, if he's home) I still don't like to be startled by the spiders and centipedes, but I communicate with them more again (like when I was a kid). I ask them not to come into my bedroom, especially above our bed, and I ask that they just show themselves in a way that won't be so sudden. I even had a conversation with a centipede in my bathroom one night. I told him I knew it wasn't his fault that he had so many legs and moved so fast. I said, "So you walk fast, so what? Is that a reason for humans to freak out? Well I'm done freaking out. I see you. You're just a little guy roaming for food or something in my bathroom. Just please don't crawl on me or come in my room and we'll just call it a night, okay?"

I didn't take it outside. I felt sure that he would just go back to his hidey-hole and not startle me anymore. And he hasn't. It's been about five months now--no more midnight appearances by Mr. Centipede or his kin. Same for the spiders. I actually had two spider buddies this summer and fall; they hung out on their webs right near me when I sat on my porch swing to write. I watched them grow from tiny little black and red spiders to big, fat, round gals. At least I think they were gals. They got so plump; don't the female spiders usually get bigger like that? In any case, I considered them my writing pals. My fellow story weaver buds. I thanked them for not coming into my house, being so big and all. Plus, I still had a tinier spider friends that came out in the evenings to crawl on my living room ceiling when I wrote at nighttime or to greet me when I went to my kitchen sink for a drink of water.

Just another way single-parenting has reminded me about reconnecting with all living beings. I am thankful.

Facing Silly Fears

Before Joel and I got married we agreed that he would be in charge of doing any "car stuff" and I would be in charge of grocery shopping. As I said, I was a single-parent back when Nathan was 3-5 years old. So even though his dad, Donnie and I had a similar arrangement, though not exactly a "deal" like I had with Joel, I did eventually have to take care of my own car, then and now.

I was about to write that I don't know why it's almost like a fear for me to have to get my oil changed or worse, to have to take it in for an unknown problem; I know it's because I don't do it unless I have to. I had to back when Donnie and I were separated and I have to now. Of course, I could've asked Donnie to help me out, but why? For as much as I didn't like to handle car maintenance and problems, I really didn't like to be dependent on anyone. And I do like a challenge. If my life is going along on an even keel and nothing is going "wrong" then I'm not challenging myself enough. I like to scare myself, even if it simply means taking care of my car. When I face my fears, they eventually become something else. Depending on what it is...for instance, quitting my nursing job to become a writer was a HUGE fear for many reasons, but now that I've done it, I see that we can live on way less money and I can practice my passion and live more joyfully. But learning to maintain my car or figure out what to do with my totaled car is a fear that has turned into a mundane monthly task. But a mundane monthly task that I greatly appreciate! Really.

Almost exactly one month after Joel first left, February 2009, I got into an accident and totaled my car. Actually, I didn't fully total it, because it was fixable but for more than it was worth. And I had just switched us from full coverage to the bare minimum. So for me it was basically totaled. Luckily my mom never sold the old family hand-me-down, a 1994 gas-guzzling Jeep with almost 200,000 miles on it. It leaks oil and transmission fluids, it tends to veer to the right--two hands on the wheel are essential, the windows or doors (not sure which) don't seal right so there's a cold breeze and a wind tunnel sound effect even with the heat on high (the only setting the heat works), the driver's side door only opens from the outside, the motor to roll the windows up and down is questionable, especially in the cold (I have to use my hands to "help" it up--every time I get in and out of the car), the locks don't work right, and there's a kill-switch on it so the headlights have to be on in order to start the engine. A scary car for me to inherit, but now I love it. It hasn't let me down yet. Well, it did make me scream once when the kids and I were shopping for school clothes back in August and the steering wheel started to smoke. But otherwise, no problems.

And I've gotten quite adept at popping the hood and checking the fluids regularly. Actually I often have to get Nate to pop the hood because the pull thingy really sticks. But I open the hood and do all the rest of it myself. And it makes me feel so happy and accomplished...Not that I wouldn't love to have a "normal" car again, preferrably a hybrid so that I'm not polluting our earth so much. But with all it's flaws it has endured. (I had the urge to follow Frank Sinatra's voice and say, "I love it so!") And it has allowed us to pay off some of our debt before going out and buying another car that would put us more into debt. But the main point was that the car accident, the mangled car, the jeep have all played a part in helping me to be confident about taking care of my car again. A silly thing, I know, but to me it means something and it's symbolic of what all single-parents have to do in life. So that when and if we ever get a partner that will share the duties of life again, we are that much more appreciative, right?

A Different Kind of Single-Parent

Jen said that I should explain myself a bit more so that I will be more relatable; so you know exactly where I'm coming from. I hesitated to be more specific on the first Meatloaf and Growth blog for a few reasons, one of which was because I didn't want it to be about me or my situation. I wanted it to be for everyone. But after mulling it over I realized that some of the stuff I will write will not necessarily pertain to all single-parents, only those that are sailing a similar boat. And I think that's okay, but I also think Jen is right, I need to clarify just so we're all on the same lake.

My husband, Joel was laid off from his teaching job suddenly and unexpectedly back in August of 2007. His specialty is (was) physical education (K-12), but he could also teach science/biology to middle school through high school. Elementary P.E. was his favorite and the reason he chose to become a teacher. There were no teaching jobs available in any of those areas. We live in Michigan if that tells you anything. So now, he has a new career working for a branch of the federal government that, as I said, started on January 4, 2009. He lives in one state and we live in another. That was part of the hiring stipulations; that basically since they recruited him to work in a specific state, he would have to stay there for at least 2 years before requesting a transfer back to Michigan, no exceptions. We likened it to what military families do all the time, only he has the option to just leave the job. He would never do that, but it gave us comfort to know that he could if it got to be too difficult for Gracie. One of the reasons we knew that the kids and I would be staying here was because of our house. We still owe $139,000 on our mortgage and houses around here are going for easily less than $100,000, as low as $5000 on foreclosed homes. Blah, blah, blah. Boring stuff. But I'm just letting you know why we stayed. (Also because Nate's dad couldn't move...)

August of 2007 was a pivotal month for us. Around the same time Joel was laid off, I had just reduced my hours as a nurse at the hospice center I was working at because I'd finally realized that I could be a real writer and writing is what I've always loved to do and I was going to do it--I was going to write a book. And then another and another. So far I've completed one book and started two others. I've done some short stories, too. That's what I do now; I work on my writing (and searching for an agent) while the kids are at school. I have yet to earn a dime from any of it, but it doesn't matter. I love it and I will always write.

So that's why Jen came up with the "single-parent without the benefits" phrase (I asked her and she was the one that made it up) because while many single-parents get somewhat of a break when the other parent takes the kiddos for a day or two, parents like us do not have that option. But that was our choice. And everyday I am thankful that my husband has a solid job with no fears of being laid-off, he loves it and he loves all of the new and diverse friends he's met through that line of work, and our life today is so very different from the life we had only two years ago, but we are both so grateful and would not trade it.

Sunspots

It's no accident that part of the address to this site is, "ginassunspots". At first I tried for bright spots but it was already taken. Sunspots immediately came to my head and I knew it was perfect; better than bright spots. Sunspots are actually dark spots on the sun that are associated with strong magnetic fields. (I've always loved science.) Serendipitous, I thought, after I had typed in "ginassunspots" and saw that the name was available. The relative size of the sun's sunspots compared to the ubiquitous, bright light of the sun itself is incomparable. So it's a play on words. Since my goal was to uplift and focus on the daily blessings of single-parenting, a position that is certainly well associated with dark and difficult aspects, I thought it would be the perfect way to say, but look at all of that light? Look at all of those sunny spots. When we focus on the peaceful and loving and giving aspects of our lives, it helps us to stay that way and to attract that into our lives every single day--just like the strong magnetic fields of the sunspots.

So. Tonight, after Nate's swimming meet, I was driving home down Main Street and saw Barb's Pasties. It was a place I'd never been to, but years ago I had a patient from the U.P. tell me that Barb's is the best for authentic Yooper Pasties. Back then I worked and frequented that side of town but I never took the opportunity to try Barb's Pasties. Now, with my automobile woes of the past year I've tended to stay closer to home and had not been in that city for quite some time.

Again, if I were not acting as the lone parent, this probably would not have happened the way it did tonight. First of all, the dance class I'd signed Grace up to do on Saturdays was cancelled. The only other dance classes available were on Tuesdays at 5:30pm or Thursdays at 6pm. Nate's swim meets are also on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 6pm. I love watching Nate swim, and my nephew, too. Grace tolerates it. The dance class was a Christmas gift and something she's been asking to do for sooo long. She must tolerate having her dad live 7 states away AND riding along in the car during the weeks that it's my turn to drive the boys to and from swimming practice and meets. (She begs me to just let her stay home-she's six, so that'll never happen.) It's literally an hour and a half out of her (our) day just for the car part alone and that's just on practice days. On meet days it's a longer time spent in the car--plus the meet itself. To tell Grace that her ballet class was cancelled and that she'd have to wait months from now to join a different one? (I checked) Absolutely not.

So she recently started a half-hour ballet class that starts at 5:30 on Tuesdays. And it's not like I can watch Grace in her dance class; the doors are closed and parents sit and wait in the hall. So I read or write. Since I don't have my husband readily available to share the logistics of it, I was driving my own car, "The Jeep" (not really my own, it's technically my mom's), instead of having Cheri drive us like usual to the away meets. So when I saw Barb's I decided to pull right in to finally try those pasties.

Well, they have subs and pizza and dessert items, too. I got pasties for Nate and me, but Grace wanted something different. She decided on a sub. The bill came to $14.20. I went to grab my credit card and realized I'd forgotten to ask if they accepted them. It was a small, family-run place, I just had a sudden feeling that they only accepted cash and I was right. Well, no, not completely right: they take personal checks, too. But no credit or debit. I had exactly $8 in my purse. I had just emptied the bigger bills I'd won this weekend at Joel's mom's house in some friendly games of 4-5-6 and Screw Your Neighbor. (We played a total of 7 rounds: four games of 4-5-6 at $3/round and three games of the Neighborly one at $1 each. Nate or I won all 7 pots!) But isn't it strange that I just emptied the bills out of my purse today...?

Do you know what that nice lady said to me? (It wasn't Barb, but she was so very nice.) She told me I could just come back and pay them later! $6.20! Pay another day. She wrote my first name, just "Gina" on a tiny piece of paper with the words "owes $6.20". I was so shocked and grateful, I said, tomorrow. She said, Whenever you can get here.

Now ain't that a nice spot of sunshine?

The Power of One

One person can make a difference in our world. Like Martin Luther King, Jr.'s nonviolent activism during the African-American civil rights movement in our country (and he was inspired by Gandhi...); or, on a smaller scale, celebrities like George Clooney organizing a fundraising event for the people of Haiti; or, Ellen Degeneres reaching out to her viewers that are struggling financially; or, on an even smaller scale, but no less important, people like teachers and parents that make a difference in kids' lives everyday; one person, even one single parent, can make a difference in our world by acknowledging our interconnections to others with the simple or not-so-simple acts they initiate and follow through with everyday.

We all have the power to make a difference in our world on any scale. Acting as a single-parent, we have the unique opportunity to know implicitly, that we can do our daily work, pay the bills, run the household, raise our kids, and in our spare time, maybe even save the world, one person, one connection at a time.

We See You Haiti and We Will Not Forget

I don't know why I didn't think of this 2 days ago; Wednesday morning when I saw the news of Haiti on my home page I immediately clicked to the links that led to the donation sites and chose Red Cross International to offer financial support. Yet, still, I felt like there was more I could do. All day thoughts of going down to Haiti to offer my services as a nurse ran through my head. Of course I couldn't do that with 2 kids at home and no second parent at home(Nathan's dad lives here, but it would not be feasible for him to take over care of Grace for me.). Then I briefly, but not seriously, played with the idea of taking Nathan and Grace with me. If Grace were older, maybe I would seriously consider it, but she's too young. In the meantime I've been sending them healing Reiki energy; but still, I wondered what else could I do?

Each day I asked Nate and Grace if they talked about it at school and each day the answer was no. So today I talked to Nathan about our connectedness to all people and living things. He's heard me talk about our interconnections many times, but I encouraged him to donate some of his saved money to Haiti this time. He did and then it hit me: I can encourage the readers of this blog to donate what they can. I can facilitate donations by posting links to helpful websites.

Maybe you've already donated. But I say, if you can, give a little more. Even five or ten dollars can make a difference. Maybe you are reading this a week or a month or 6 months after it happened; I'll bet they still need help. Just give what you can and then remember them again later when it's not all over the news and radio and computer home pages, and give again. Also remember that blood is a commodity that is always needed. Right now, the Red Cross is not asking for blood donors specifically for Haiti, but there is always a need. Especially for types O and B negative. If it's been awhile since you've donated blood or if you never have, now would be an excellent time to do it. Whatever we may be going through acting as a single-parent, for most of us, it does not begin to compare to what the Haitians are going through now and probably for years to come.

Here are 3 helpful links: http://www.whitehouse.gov/
http://www.redcross.org/
www.cidi.org

To borrow a phrase from James Cameron's Avatar (which I have not seen yet, but Nathan has and Grace and I will soon), we see you, people of Haiti.

Peace, love, and light to all of you.

Snoring

Need I say more?


Well, if you are a single-parent and you have a child, dog, or cat that sometimes crawls into your bed at night, and they snore...well...at least it's not every night, right? And they're probably not as loud as your absent lover. Our son, our daughter, and our beagle all snore, occasionally. Our beagle is the loudest and snores the most...when Joel's not here. But most nights she's in Nathan's room and he sleeps right through it.

Always remembering the little things to be thankful for when life seems so overwhelming. (-;

Control of the TV Remote

Both my husband and I grew up in homes where the TV was a constant companion...whether anyone was paying attention or not. For some reason, he grew up to be the same way and I grew up to be the opposite. Granted, he's not as attched as my dad was, or as his mom is, but when he's home, the TV is on least 50% more often than when he is not home. So I have to say (sorry Honey, but I must) that I love having control of the remote when he's not here.

In most cases, I'd rather read than watch TV. And I'd rather my kids be reading (or playing outside, or playing board games, or cards, or wrestling, or dancing to Nate's piano playing, or playing our nighttime favorite: hide-and-go-seek-in-the-dark...all of which I also participate in...not the wrestling as much). We have so much fun together!

Not to say that we never watch TV. We do. And we enjoy the downtime together: sitting all cozy on the couch, but when it's just me as the parent, I get to choose the shows we watch. (whoo-hoo! No more all evening marathons of Law and Order--it can be so depressing and never good for Grace to watch and she doesn't, but if Joel is, then they're not interacting; and Myth Busters--I can't get over the wastefulness on that show...) six months ago we didn't have access to any TV because we didn't have cable and we'd cancelled our satellite for the past 2 years to save money. But when Joel was to come home briefly, last summer, for the first time since starting his new job, I wanted to surprise him with TV reception so I signed up for one of those internet/phone/TV deals which happened to include DVR. The DVR thing was a bonus that I knew my son and Joel would appreciate, but as a person who watches little TV, I also appreciate it greatly.

My three TV shows of choice are Ellen, So You Think You Can Dance, and Jeopardy!. The kids enjoy laughing and dancing (well, only Grace and I dance) with Ellen. She reinforces what I teach my kids: be generous to all and to have fun while doing it. So You Think You Can Dance is a show that I decided to try when we first got this DVR thing because I LOVE to dance and watch dancing, and I love the show. It's doing great things for dance and the arts. And Jeopardy! is a long-time family favorite (my dad, my sister Cheri, and me all love trivia games and shows). So I get to watch the shows of my choosing without having the TV on all day or all night long.

In general, when Grace watches TV, it is something from PBS or Animal Planet. Nathan enjoys the animal and nature and discovery type shows, but he likes to watch my 3 shows, too (and reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond). But the bottom line for me is that we're not watching or having it on every minute we're here as sometimes happens when my beloved is home.

So to me, having control of the remote is definately a benefit of being a single-parent. (Although, I have to say, really, Nathan controls it, he says I'm too slow at FF through the commercials, and that's fine by me.)

Going With the Flow

When you're a single parent you can change dinner plans without notifying anyone at all.

Last night, after dropping Nate and my nephew at the high school for swimming practice, and after Grace and I ran an errand, she saw a McDonald's and asked if we could stop in to eat dinner and play. Even though I had spent four hours on Sunday chopping, mixing, pouring, and preparing three different dinners for the week, and even though I don't really eat anything at McDonald's except the fries--I said, "That sounds like fun, Grace. Why not?" The boys' practice didn't let out until 7:15pm so that gave us an hour and 15 minutes to eat, play, and be merry.

I got to watch Gracie patiently guide a slightly younger and nervous girl through the wobbly tunnels up high, over and over. "One more time, please!" The girl would say, and Grace unwaveringly obliged with a smile in her whole being.

After about 15 minutes, Grace tried, "You're doing so good. I think you're ready for the bigger one. Want to try?"

"No! No, the shorter one! The shorter one!" So Grace continued helping her through the shorter tunnels (up equally as high--go figure) until the girl had to go home.

Later, two more girls, slightly older than Grace, came to play. I got to watch the three of them giggle and run and climb and slide as they played effortlessly together. I got to exchange sneaky, silent looks and laughs with my daughter while she hid in her super-excellent spot under the lime-green stairs and, as usual with her new McDonald's Playplace friends, they could not find her without finally asking her to call out a clue. It happens every time; for some reason the kids never think to look under the stairs. And then the next thing that happens every time, and these girls were no different, is that the other kids will try to hide in the same spot and can't understand how the seeker found them so quickly. It's the little things that amuse me.

When one of the older girls suggested that they play "house" I briefly wondered if their would be a disagreement because Grace immediately called out, "Okay! I'll be the mom!" Grace is always the mom. But no, the other two almost as quickly called, "I'll be the baby!" and "I'll be the big sister!" Isn't it great just to go with the flow?

Nater-Tater/TermiNater/Sha-Nay-Nay

Or just Nate.

From birth my son, Nathan was a quiet and introspective child. And from birth he's been a comedian among those he feels most comfortable; the numbers are probably less than 10. As a very young student, Nate would often come home and tell me that the kids in his class made another comment to him about how he "never talks". Despite his severe shyness, he has always been self-aware enough to find the humor and irony in the picture that his teachers and classmates had of him, even at the young age of 7. At home he is always a clown. His teachers would be shocked. So would his classmates. He was voted "Nicest Boy" in the Eighth Grade Mock Elections and he deserved it, but I am here to say that Nathan does have an evil side to him. Mmwwha-Hahaha!

On Sunday, we were playing school: Grace was the teacher and Nathan and I were the students. Though I acted as a perfect student, Nate did not. It started when Gracie suddenly yelled, "Na-THAN!"

From Nate: (snicker-snickering and feigning innocence) "What did I do?" (At that point I still didn't know what he had done to rattle her cage.)

"You're staring at your pencil like a nuthead!"

Next she gave us a writing assignment. Again, as I was studiously doing as the teacher said, I was suddenly made aware of the steam coming from my daughter's nose and ears as she silently gave Nate the evil-eye with her hands on her hips. Nathan said matter-of-factly: "Not everybody has nice handwriting." And he continued to write while holding the pencil by the very top, near the eraser.

"WHY are you WRITING like that? You're MAKING yourself have bad handwriting!"

Later, I can't remember exactly what he had done, but in an attempt to intimidate her disruptive student, Grace had climbed up on a stool to stand over Nathan who sat at his "desk". She said nothing, but her stoney silence didn't last long because Nate didn't miss a beat; he asked: "Did you just get shorter?"

"NATH-AN!!"

(more snickering from the evil big brother) "Miss MEIN-E-MA!!"

And on it went for another 20 minutes. She's so easy. She is the intense dancing fire and he is the calm blue sea.

Of course, being Nate's mom I get to see that real side of him on a daily basis. Acting as a single-mom, I am privy to a side of him that he only shows if he is in the right frame of mind and under certain conditions. One such condition is when he knows that we can chat uninterrupted after Grace has fallen asleep. (I can't say "gone to bed" because that means nothing--it could be another hour or 2 before she finally falls asleep.)

Though he has always been a clown, Nate has never been a big talker. Partially because of his difficulties with emoting in public, Nathan is far from a typical teenaged boy. For instance, he's never demonstrated a competetive edge in anything, be it academics, sports, music, or art. He excels in all areas, and there's no question that he has a passion for learning in all areas, but still, extracurricular/team sports have always been his achilles heel. As I said, he is very athletic and he does exceedingly well in all of his P.E. classes, but put him on a team and he freezes up.

I believe that if we are afraid of something , we need to expose ourselves to it more and more or practice it more and more until we wonder what we were afraid of in the first place. (Hence, one reason I started this blog.) Nathan knows that and he actually agrees. So in 7th and 8th grades we "made" him take the 6 week swim clinic offered for free by the high school swim coaches. Both times he didn't want to do it, and both times he really enjoyed it by the end. Swimming is the perfect team sport for him because he doesn't have to hear or see "everyone looking at (him)" as he does his part to help the team. Also, the coaches are great and the swimmers are a such a nice group of kids, that even the social aspects of it are perfect for Nate's personality.

So by the middle of the 8th grade clinic, we (his dad, Joel, me, my sisters, his cousin, the coaches...) were all encouraging Nathan to join the high school team in 9th grade. He was adamant that he would not. He basically said that he did what we'd asked of him by doing the swim clinic both years and could he just be done now? But he was a natural at the freestyle; so graceful and fast, we knew he would do well and we thought it would bring him out of his shell a bit, socially. But we backed off. We knew he just needed space to see clearly for himself. By the last week of the clinic, he told me he was going to join the high shcool swim team for 9th grade.

When the start of the season rolled around this past November, he was regretting his choice because of the intense feelings of nervousness he was experiencing the week before it started. Of course I made him keep his word and I talked him down a few times when he was actually making himself sick to his stomach thinking about it. I reminded him of how much he enjoyed the meets at the end of the last clinic. He knew and sure enough, by the end of the first week of practice, he was completely fine with it again. Still not passionate about it, but as the weeks have passed, he's become more and more animated when talking about swimming. And then Saturday night, out of the blue, he said, "I'm getting a 26 on Tuesday, Mom."

I was thrown. We were watching a movie that had just gone to commercial. "Twenty-six?"

"For the 50."

And I knew. And I felt so happy for him. And I felt so priveledged to witness the spark that lit within him. He was letting me in on his rising determination to challenge himself as a swimmer. His best time for the 50 yard free-style is 27.46 seconds, with a consistant time of 28-something. So he was telling me that he is passionate about swimming. He's finally ready to put his heart into it. He admitted that sometimes in a race, after he dives in he forgets that he is supposed to be going his fastest (hopefully Coach never reads this) and that he is sure now that he can do much better if he makes himself go as fast as he can the entire race. He said that he doesn't mean to (forget) and that it hasn't happened often but he also says he is not completely winded after a race so he knows he can push himself to go faster. Also, he has a beautiful head of wavey dark hair that he has asked me to cut extra short to possibly improve his times. Today at practice, he asked Coach if he could have a team swim cap for the meet tomorrow while he still has his full head of hair.

These past 2 days he's been talking a lot about swimming and his personal challenges and goals. While he's a natural at the free, he has a very long way to go in getting the other strokes down and he knows it. He's finally ready and eager to practice hard.

Being a single-mom gives me more opportunity to share one-on-one time with my son and that allows him the freedom and comfort to say what he needs to say. I am honored and grateful to be the one he chooses to open up to. I can't wait for the world to meet the Nathan that I know.