Twice Exceptional

I never comprehended the depth of the phrase "Parenting is Hard."

It is hard. Exceptionally hard.

Especially exceptionally hard when you have exceptional children. And boy howdy are mine exceptional. Between two of them--just two--we have ADHD, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, anxiety, depression, and ... we are taking one of them in for an autism assessment today. He is not autistic in the Rainman sense, but his social awareness is perpetually low. We're talking about the "Aspergers" end of the Autism spectrum.

Don't you wish you had exceptional children, too? Maybe you do.

My children, though, are "twice exceptional," which is a buzzword, or buzz-phrase, to mean they are dealing with the issues above and are also intellectually "gifted." I think many gifted children are dealing with other issues because of the nature of higher perception. The world is more complex through the eyes of a higher-intensity, higher-sensitivity child. It is more dangerous, more frightening, and definitely more lonely.

I have steered away from discussing "giftedness" on this blog. This was deliberate because people become uncomfortable with this idea. "Are you saying you're smarter than me? Better than me? You better not be saying your kids are better than my kids..." No. I'm not comparing my children or myself to anybody else. I'm just looking at the whole picture of what makes these kids tick.

I went to a conference for parents of gifted children yesterday and this is what I learned: they are average... but with gifts. They may develop asynchronously, meaning their intellectual and analytical capacity may be that of a 12-year-old while their emotional capacity may be that of a five-year-old while they are living in a seven-year-old's body. They are complicated and intense. So, so intense. So wearyingly intense and so difficult to parent effectively.

Parenting these kids makes me feel as smart as the concrete foundation on my house. I always feel that I'm not doing enough (I'm not!) and there is always so much more to do. It's hard. It's tiring. And now we're throwing the possibility of autism into the mix. I hate labels, but I want to understand my kids better. If that means we have to slap a label of "autistic" on one of them to comprehend how his mind works, fine.

And you know what else it means? If this is what Asperger's looks like, I wouldn't trade it away. This child of mine is full of sunshine and joy and tells me, "Mom, I love you" about two dozen times a day. He is a delight and I love him exactly as he is, even when he's driving me around the bend. If this is what autism looks like, other parents would be lucky to have a child like mine.

Love Love Love

I've been waiting for that moment to come--that moment when I realize I've started taking my baby daughter for granted. That moment when she has simply been assimilated into the madness that is my family. That moment when I have had it Up. To. Here. with Yet. Another. Poopie. Diaper.

Still waiting.

I still cry when I look at her. I still can't believe any person could be this sweet and this loving. I still tiptoe into her room when she's asleep to just make sure she's still breathing. She is still the most beautiful thing in the world. She still makes her brothers smile, even when I've made them frown.

She is magical.

And I love her.

~ ~ ~

Speaking of love love love, I went to the store today and bought some adorable little Valentine's Day items. A rug for our entryway, heart-shaped erasers, stickers, an owl-shaped Valentine's Day apron that Eden will adore when she's a bit older, and little $1 mailboxes that are irresistible! I'm going to decorate the mailboxes, fill them up with treats and a love letter from Mom and surprise the kids with them on February 14th. Kind of like an Easter basket or Christmas stocking ... for Valentine's Day. I can't wait!

Last year, we did homemade valentines for the kids to give their classmates and it was lots of fun! Err, well the design process was fun--cranking out 80 handcrafted valentines during the week my Obstetrician told me I better "take it easy" because my blood pressure was going up was ... not really very fun at all. But I've mostly forgotten the details of how not-fun it was. There is just a vague sense of, "Hmm ... Wasn't that stressful? I'm sure it wasn't THAT bad!"

So I'm going to do it again. Designing valentines can be so creative. Last year we did little bags of candy with a paper topper stapled to it:

This year, I found some cute little heart-shaped boxes at Target that are 8/$1. I bought one package (8) and will try to talk one of the kids into that idea after school. We can put a little customized sticker on top and treats inside. Voila! Easy and unique! Still mulling other ideas over and I'll definitely let the kids make the final choice. It should be fun! (By which I mean the design process will be fun...)

I'm feeling a bit addicted to Valentine's Day right now. I love that it is about the whole family when you have kids. It's always been overlooked in our family because it's the week before all three of my boys' birthdays. This year, though, we're doing things right so I need more ideas. What are your family traditions for the big day?

Three Things

1. Grr. Insurance companies. Grr. That is all.

2. I told my kids they could have screen time ALLLLL DAAAAAY (!!!!!) for this special holiday day ... as long as they get their work done first. Clean their bedroom floors. Put away their laundry. Tidy the toy room. 20 minutes of homework.

So, basically, they probably won't have any screen time all day. But they are very upbeat about the whole thing, because I've made such a generous offer.

Yes, I am an awesome mother.

3. I traveled down the main road in town at about seven miles per hour yesterday and felt like a totally reckless driver. The roads were pure ice. Is it March yet?

I'm Dreaming of a Painfree Endodontic Surgical Pre-Christmas

... or, if the title doesn't express my feelings perfectly, I'm dreaming of all the things that could potentially go wrong during my endodontic surgery today. Elijah said to me, "Mom, it sure would be sad if you died after your surgery was done."

Yes, Elijah, it would be very sad. We will try to avoid accidental death caused by unanticipated side-effects of an oral surgery gone wrong. At all costs.

I'm pretty sure people don't die at the endodontist's office nearly as often as they feel like they're dying. If you follow me on Facebook, you already know that I actually screamed in the endodontist's chair last Saturday, and here is a hint for you: if you are at an endodontist ... on a SATURDAY ... you will probably scream in pain before you leave. I'm just sayin'.

And if you are then scheduled to go back and see him two days later for a surgery, you might just dream of how you'll probably die before the day is done, too. If you have a good imagination, which, unfortunately, I do.

At this point in the confusing narrative, I'm thinking this blog has become Downersville, USA. My last blog entry was titled "BLOOD" and talked about how I see my son's silent screaming face of pain every time I close my eyes.

I know, I know. Merry *#%& Christmas from my family to yours.

It isn't all that bad. Other than the overwhelming anxiety of whether my choice to do oral sedation was brilliant or just one more complication that will probably lead to my early demise, I'm feeling pretty good! Lots of little Christmas blessings:

(1) My new dentist, whom I have never even met face-to-face, is a really decent guy and talked me through two days of trying the conservative approach before we gave up and had to do an emergency endodontist visit. He was a real life-saver.

(2) After two days of pure agony, the pain medications and steroids and antibiotics and oral rinses and ice packs and prayers and the endodontic visit-from-heck to drain my face really got me feeling like myself again. Just in time to sing with the church Christmas choir, which is important to me. Six Christmases ago, I was so set on singing with the church choir at Christmas time that I pushed my pregnant-with-twins body too far and ended up on bed rest. It would have happened sooner or later anyway, so it was worth it.

(3) I'm inclined to think this is God's way of forcing me to take care of my dental problems because this is the perfect time to do this. We haven't used any of our dental benefits much this year, so they should pay close to their full portion on this. We have a $2500 max that they will pay, and in two weeks that will reset so I can address any other dental issues. Yea, hooray? Also, I've already hit my out-of-pocket maximum on our health insurance so they are covering my multitude of prescriptions 100%. So this little emergency might end up costing me less than $1,000. Maybe. Better than the alternative. Also, because of Christmas break, there are lots of people available to help me with child care and driving the drugged lady around.

So there you have it, lots of little silver linings. I'm going to be feeling grateful for these things while trying to tame the anxiety beast and while sucking a liquid diet through a straw for the holidays.

I still have my sense of humor intact, so life must be okay.

Blood

Blessed with as much "creative genius" (aka anxiety disorder) as I am, I can never guess what my nightmares will be made of.

Until today.

Now, every time I close my eyes, I see the same thing: blood.

And a hole in the side of my oldest son's face. And a look of horror on the rest of it.

Blood. Hole. Pain.

This is not how I wanted my week to start: my son running downstairs in hysterics, blood streaming down his face, covering his hands. I tell myself I'm exaggerating, that it wasn't that bad. After all, there isn't any blood on the carpet--just a few wide swashes on the staircase where he steadied himself as he ran down to me.

I am trying not to lose my cool over the fact that I had repeatedly told him to stop what he was doing, get his socks and shoes on, and come down to breakfast. I am trying to forget the way his teeth chattered and his eyes screamed out to me when he was getting pricked over and over with a needle to get numbed up. I am trying to forget the look on his younger brother's face when the emergency room nurse uncovered the wound so we could all see it.

I am trying to block all of it out, but there it is every time I close my eyes.

One game of "tag." One sharp table corner. Five stitches (or seven, depending on who you ask). One Mom who hates blood and is still feeling faint. One impulsive little boy who may have, but probably didn't, learn some constructive life lesson from all of this.

Miscellaneous 11/2010

(1)
Dear Utah drivers,

I've heard a rumor that it's bad manners to speed up and close the gap when somebody turns on his or her turn signal. In fact, I witnessed this a week ago. In Colorado, they actually SLOW DOWN and MAKE ROOM for you. Crazy, huh?

XOXO, a disgruntled driver

(2)
The good news about my trip to see my physiatrist was ... wait, I had it. Let me think.

Oh yeah, the good news was that there is no permanent nerve damage yet. The bad news, though? Pretty bad for me. The carpal tunnel surgery two years ago was a failure and will have to be re-done. And the left wrist is much, much worse now so it needs to be done as well. Nobody does the endoscopic (easy to recover from...) kind of surgery anymore. It's all the horrible kind that I had done. The recovery was so bad. So bad. I am almost in tears remembering it and knowing I have to do it all again.

But hey, no permanent damage yet, so there's that chance that maybe the next surgery will take and I'll have my hands back.

(3)
Sorry, not in a super positive mood right now. Try me tomorrow.

(4)
This was not the best week for me to set goals for a healthier lifestyle. I'm stressed and I want me some chocolate.

But I want me some less body fat, too, so too bad.

(5)
First ever attempt at wontons? Pure awesome. Think this is not in line with #4 (healthier lifestyle)? Nope. The way I will lose weight is by having a larger variety in my diet and having delicious foods at meal times so I don't binge all day between meals. I refuse to feel guilty about the wontons. Or the sesame chicken. (Yum.) I ate it with brown rice instead of white rice, so ... good? (And I don't fry the chicken. I just use chicken breast strips or shredded chicken and put the sesame glaze over it...) The Asian salad was amazing. We're doing this meal again next week. Fo sho.

(6)
I think I'm getting sick. I had a headache all day and my eyes hurt. Allergies? A cold? I don't know. But I feel bone tired and only about 50% present mentally.

Not a good time to blog.

A perfect time to blog.

(7)
People say that it's all about the pictures on the blog, ya know?

I know, right?

Have you ever thought about how to punctuate that phrase:
* I know. Right?
* I know, right?
* I know! Right?
It makes no sense when it's written down. I know, right?

Oh yeah, so pictures. Here you go. To appease the yearning masses longing for, err, I don't know. I'm tired. (Can you pinpoint the moment in this blog entry where I turned off the computer for a couple hours, then picked it up to continue later... tired-er and loopy-er? Betcha can.)

Here is something even goofier than my current writing mood. Twins are the best:

No, they're not identical. But they're both adorable.

(8)
I'm pretty sure society is going to heck. I just opened up CNN and their main headline reads, "What do dogs think about?"

Down below, really small, reads a headline, "Scientists capture antimatter atoms."

Argh. We don't need to read novels about dystopian cultures. Just gotta check CNN for proof that we're living in an age of irrationalismness. Uhh... Yes, did I mention I'm ti-red? Tired.

Breaking the Cycle of Codependent Behavior

All shades of drama/trauma at my house tonight when our eight-year-old had a total meltdown. He's so sensitive. So fragile. So tender. Life just breaks him down so easily and he cracks into a million pieces.

Everything turned out well for the little guy eventually with renewed self-esteem and hope for the future.

...and yet...

I noticed something slightly alarming.

In his big, big heart, he exclaimed, "I wish I could just give the whole world something!" He also bemoaned how sad it is that there is war in the world and he wish he could make it all go away. This kid really feels like he has the whole world on his shoulders. All the pain hurts him personally. And he wants to make everything all better.

...which kinda reminds me...

Being co-dependent is kinda something he's been surrounded by his whole life, and I am starting to worry that he's looking outward for validation, rather than inward. We had a huge talk about self-worth and how it never changes even if we get a little banged up and bruised. (Thanks, Studio 5, for the great segment about that!) And the next thing he talks about is ... serving other people. Which is cool. It's great. He has a huge heart. But the goal of our conversation was to get him looking inward at the amazing person he is, not looking outward to ways he can get that validation from other people.

How do you tell your little guy that if he doesn't start looking out for #1, he'll never be able to serve other people? How do you tell him that he's got to be more self-reliant without becoming more selfish? That he needs a better sense of self-preservation? That he can't depend on serving other people to create an identity for himself? All that without turning him into a narcissistic little toad?

Seems like such a "cute" little problem, doesn't it? It's not as harmless and endearing as it sounds, though, and it breaks my heart. I need this little guy to look inside and love what he sees instead of trying to see his worth reflected from other people's opinion of him.

Ack. It gets complicated. Quickly.

Service: thumbs up! Hooray!
Co-dependent loss of self while trying to control other people through seemingly-innocent acts of service: Boo! No!

It was probably in my mind. The kid just has a huge heart. But I fret and want to make sure that heart doesn't get broken. My head hurts. Time for bed. I'll make sense of this morning.*

* Forget about all this during the rush of getting kids to school and driving the carpool, only to remember it next time there is a self-esteem meltdown.

Like Today

...and then there are days like today.

Clean the house? Nope.
Take time to write? Huh-uh.
Exercise? Yawn.
Sing? La-la-la. There you go. That's all I got.

Have trouble sleeping last night? Check.

Priorities

Write.
Sing.
Exercise.
Clean the house.

I can choose two, or, on a good day, three before I melt into zombie mode.

Today, I finished chapter six of my chapter book ("Fight for the Galaxy!" ... named by the son for whom I am writing it) and did a bunch of research so I know where the next few chapters are heading (to the asteroid belt, naturally, which will be emotionally trying for all the characters). I exercised for 45 minutes. I did a bit of singing.

Zombie mode, here I come. It's not even 3 p.m. so I may have time for a bit of cleaning later on. (Eden is just stirring from her nap, so it won't happen right away!) If so, I am super woman. If not, I welcome exhaustion with open arms.

Halloween! Hmph!

A group of kids came to my door, yelling "Trick or Treat!" Treats were duly dispensed. Then out of the back of the crowd, a kid came forward and yelled, "Gimme candy!"

I pulled the bowl back and said, rather good-naturedly, "Nope! You have to say 'trick or treat' first!"

The kid turned his nose in the air, made an angry noise and stomped away. What??

That pretty well summarizes my complaint with the rising generation. And I'm afraid my kids are probably not immune to the disease of Modern Americana Entitlement. Heaven help us all.

The Right Person.

My family is a jumble of personalities, strings that get tangled up in chaos.

Somehow, Eden is the person who takes all those strings and ties them together. She is the perfect personality to make our family a cohesive whole.

I'm still in awe.

She can handle the loud, in-your-face adoration of three older brothers. She hardly blinks as they maul her with kisses and hugs and "burping," which is little more than hitting her on the back. She just smiles at them, coos and takes it.

When it's quiet and she has somebody's attention, she loves to coo loudly and be heard. But when she's in a group of people, she prefers to sit and listen. She doesn't (usually) interrupt to be heard. She already inherently gets the idea of listening, talking, listening, talking.

Yeah, she's pretty chill. But still she enjoys life. She does more than enjoys it. She savors it. When you hand her a toy, you'll see that she brings her hand together oh-so-gently. Each finger is manipulated with thought and deliberation.

Her brothers DEVOUR the goodness of the world. Eden savors it, gently and joyfully.

She is an example to me and I learn from her every day. I want to grow up to be just like she is right now.

My favorite time of the year

January is delicious. After all the excitement of the holidays, it is nice to have the children back in school and recover my daily routine. My home becomes my kingdom again. The snow on the ground is still crystal white and I can dream of cross-country skiing.

The winter wonderland becomes a cold, hard winter by the time February comes around. But that's okay because February is birthday month. Three birthdays to celebrate, three cakes, three flavors of ice cream, lots of presents and many smiles. February is lovely.

The comes March. The sun peeks out of from the winter haze. The bravest flowers awaken to say hello. March is heavenly.

April, April, April. You gave me a daughter. My paradise on earth. My Eden. You gave me my marriage. You give me sunshine and perfect weather and tulips. April is my delight.

May is Memorial Day and the first barbecue of the summer and the opening of outdoor swimming pools. May is a happy month.

June brings smiles to my children as they begin their summer vacation. It is flowers and flags. June ain't half bad.

July! My birthday, 4th of July, Pioneer Day, snow cones dripping down my chin. Children with sticky popsicles and ice cream cones and lots of red, white and blue. July rocks.

August. Deep breath. School is in session, folks, and Mom can breathe again. Summer was fun--no doubt--but there is more to life than fun. Like having time to be me: writing, exercising, reading and nibbling chocolate while the baby sleeps. August is divine.

Those months are all wonderful. But they got nothin' -- nothin' at all -- on Autumn!

SEPTEMBER! I peek out my front door, wincing from the memory of heat that baked my skin a month before, but there is only the gentle kiss of cooler weather. I smile. All is well in the world. A rainy day, clouds in the sky, red leaves and pure heaven. September, I love you with all my heart.

OCTOBER! You are a celebration of perfect weather! You are a celebration of imagination as Halloween time nears! You are the beginning of the holiday season and I think I just might have a cup of hot cocoa before the month is done. Ahhhhctober.

NOVEMBER! I could itemize my Thankfulness but wouldn't that be so cliche for this month? I am grateful for November, nonetheless.

DECEMBER! Sleigh bells ring, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas! Snowflakes keep fallin' on my head. I'm dreaming of a White Christmas.

And it's a Wonderful Life, folks. Every month. Every year.

I woke up this morning and exercised my body and fed my spirit and felt the Autumn chill in the air and fell in love with life all over again. Then Eden woke up and smiled and cooed and I put a book in her hands and I swear she pretended to read it. She would look at the page, then coooo goooo laaa baaa, then look at me and grin, then do the whole thing again.

And I said a prayer: "Dear God, thank you for giving me one more day with this sweet child."

Every day is a gift. Go outside and enjoy your Autumn.

Photo courtesy of Heather Clark Photography.

More fabulous photos to come!

Homework

It's the Eve of Destruction, by which I mean my son has a huge homework assignment due tomorrow .. and he has barely started. It's past his bedtime and he probably has a couple hours of work to do. He couldn't fall asleep until after midnight last night and had to wake up early.

One of us is tired and cranky about the situation. And it is not him.

I am wondering if he is learning anything while I bail him out and hold his hand through this assignment. Probably. He's probably learning things like ...

"If I wait long enough, Mom will do my homework for me!"
...or...
"Gosh, Mom really does get cranky in the evenings..."

My oldest is in an accelerated learning program this year and the learning curve is steep for both of us. I just hope we learn the right kinds of lessons. And soon.

In Which I Am Profoundly and Irreversibly Screwed Up

It all started several years back. It had been one of those days and I vented my frustration the way I normally did: blogging it out. I took pride in the honesty and rawness of my blog. True Confessions. That summed it up.

Then it happened. One of my neighbors posted on her own blog, ranting about people who are weak and can't handle their emotions and ... I don't remember the details but it was clear she was talking about me. The things she said could not be coincidental. She seemed to avoid me at church from then on and when we talked, she didn't look me in the eyes anymore.

I wanted to scream: "Just because you're so strong doesn't mean everybody in the world can be, too! You should be grateful for the strength you have instead of ridiculing those of us who are depressed and unhappy and profoundly screwed up!"

But I didn't. Because I was completely traumatized by the fact that she was probably right. I should be stronger. I shouldn't complain. I should buck up, young camper, and stop being negative about life. But I was lost, oh so lost, at that point in my life.

One of my friends recently said, "Wow, you really put it all out there on your blog." My reply was: no, no I don't. I don't post anything that would embarrass or harm those I care for. And the things in my life that matter the most are locked away so deeply inside that nobody knows about them, not one soul.

Years passed. The anxiety increased over how I was presenting myself to the world. Is this an accurate representation of who I am? Do I present a fair view of my life? Yes. No. I don't know.

I resolved to stop whining and being negative and cut the snark in half. This is slightly unfortunate because the original readers of this blog enjoyed the snark. They liked how I made them laugh and how they could say, "Yeah, that's exactly what I think ... but I'd never actually say it." I was their Mormon Housewife Sitdown Comedian of sorts.

But that had to stop. The snark was unhealthy. It was negative. And really, I'm actually a relatively happy and optimistic person deep down. I hate negativity. The snark was my way of flushing the negativity out of my system so I could return to the happy-go-lucky Juliana. (As my friend Josh once said, "You're like the drunk chick that everyone wants to hang out with ... except you never drink." That's me, all right. Idiotically cheerful and clueless. At least that's the social part of me. When I'm left alone with my thoughts, I am another beast altogether, which is why I enjoy socializing so much.)

I still stand by my reduction of sarcasm here on the blog because I'm a very kind person and mocking human frailty just doesn't sit right with me. But there were other things that went by the roadside, foremost the honesty, little by little. I was freaked out about all the various people reading this blog: family, friends, neighbors, people from high school that I haven't seen in almost 15 years, ecclesiastical leaders, professional connections, that random guy from Mormon Bachelor Pad--how in the world did he end up here?

Holy moley! How could I write anything that would please all those varied connections? Somebody was bound to be bored or confused or embarrassed on my behalf. So I wrote less and less often. I hardly wrote at all during my pregnancy because I just didn't have a lot of upbeat, cheerful things to say and I didn't want to be accused of ingratitude.

I miss my blog. I'm trying to write a novel right now and it's just not satisfying to me like blogging is. This, to me, is so much more creative for some reason. No rules. No "you can't do that in that genre." No worries of whether or not an editor will agree with my stylistic decisions. Just my voice and my life, through the lenses of my creativity.

The solution is obvious: stop worrying about what everybody else thinks, Juliana! Just be yourself! You're great just the way you are! Be true to who you are, deep down inside, or you'll never be happy!

The problem is, I don't actually like being laughed at. Ridiculed. Looked down on. And sometimes, as important as it is to "be yourself," life is more complicated than that. Other people's opinions matter, and if you make a bad impression, you miss out on cool things. You don't get invited. You are overlooked. People laugh you off as too socially awkward. And that hurts.

Still, I'm pretty much guaranteed to be a social outcast anyway, so I may as well enjoy myself here. This blog entry is proof of my commitment to be more honest, heaven forbid. I'm not really sure I have the nerve for it. But we'll see what happens. If it doesn't work out, I'll polish up my social networking skills, create a new identity for myself and start a new blog elsewhere while this one gathers dust. Because being honest is not just telling the bad stuff--there are a lot of amazing things about me that I never blog about because I don't want to appear full of myself. This blog is, and will increasingly be, a work in progress. Much like yours truly.

Inner Debate

You call yourself an author?

Yes, yes I do.

What kind of writer are you? The kind that doesn't write?

I furrowed my brow.

She continued mercilessly. Yeah, that's it. An writer that doesn't write.

I write, I muttered angrily.

299 words per week? And every week is the first chapter of some new project? That's not writing. That's just playing around.

She was baiting me and I resisted the temptation to give her a snarky response. Snark is my specialty. She wasn't going to let me off the hook, though, so she pushed me. She reached her arms out and pushed me.

I stumbled.

This is the funny part: the stumble. Because the entire conversation was an inner dialogue with me and my Writing Conscience. It began about 30 minutes ago when I could have sworn I saw Brandon Mull (the NYT bestselling author of the Fablehaven series) dropping off kids at my elementary school. Impossible. Is my brain playing tricks on me? Or is my inner writer demanding attention?

Fine. She had my attention. She started arguing with me. I wanted to go shopping. She wanted to get home immediately to get in some time writing. She won that debate but she knew I'd get distracted with housework or crafting or blogging ... ahem.

So she pushed me. Taunting me with maliciously accurate insults first. Then she reached out her arms and pushed me. Granted, my writing conscience is made of Imaginary Friend (err, enemy?) Vapor and an inner shove should be painless. So why did I stumble?

This is getting ridiculous. Tripped up by my own imagination.

There's a lesson there and I'd love to stick around and learn it, but I gotta go. I have some novels to pen.

Water's Embrace

Preparing food. Cleaning the house. Preventing fist fights. So many responsibilities as a stay-at-home mother. Most of my time feels like a whirlwind of children demanding and needing and requiring and asking and pressuring and begging and whining. I carry them and their needs in my arms. They are young. They are fragile. They need me in so many ways.

... but sometimes I want to be carried, too. I want to relax and let the burdens slip away. Last night, after a very long day of children whining and demanding and needing, I slipped away for a couple hours to have a date with my oldest son. We went to a swim party where he went down the water slide 15 times and I floated around the lazy river.

Carry me, lift me, support me, water.

I needed that.

New School Year's Resolutions

So here's where we are right now.

I'm a writer who doesn't write.

I'm a singer who doesn't sing.

I'm a lover of the outdoors who spends all her time inside.

I'm an organization freak whose house is pure clutter.

In other words, I'm a lady with an anxiety disorder that is spinning out of control. My life is chaos. I've tried my hardest to make all these problems go away by consuming chocolate, but for some reason that isn't helping. I'm baffled. I'm going to have to try something else.

Deep breath.

I realize that I'm scared of commitment. Yesterday was a big day for three of my friends. They committed to things and it was strangely coincidental that all three of them reached huge milestones on the same day. It has forced me into some painful introspection about my own lack of ambition. 

Both of my writers' group colleagues finished their novels yesterday. It's either an amazing coincidence or proof of what a good, supportive writers' group can do. Then I woke up this morning to realize that another friend of mine reached her 365th day of blogging every day. She committed to write on her blog every single day for a year and she did it.

And I immediately felt inadequate: "What have you done in the last year, Juliana?" Luckily, the self-pity lasted about a nanosecond as I remembered what I've done:

I can't complain about my accomplishments, and yet ... yet, I know I'm not doing my best. I waste time, I lose my temper with my kids and I'm eating myself to death, literally. This isn't the person I want to be and next week is time for me to shape up.

Let's be honest, folks: January 1st isn't the time for New Year's Resolutions. The time when mothers everywhere can get their lives under control is the first day their kids go back to school. We love 'em. We adore 'em. But they take a lot of time and energy and that makes other things difficult. Things like writing. And exercising. And cleaning. And cooking. And not pulling our hair out.

So I'm making some New School Year's Resolutions and I think Moms everywhere should join in!

The pregnancy is over (holy crap, I'm glad--that was hard). I'm almost four months postpartum so the recovery from the c-section is over. The summer is almost over so I am resolved to spend every morning doing the things that are most important before doing the fun stuff. (Fun stuff like blogging.. ahem.. As I said, starting next week...)

I have a list of chores to do before the kids get off to school (empty the dishwasher, start a load of laundry, clean a bathroom, make the bed) and I am adding in some new items: I will write every day. Preferably working on both my creative writing and my blogging every day, but we'll see what happens. I will keep singing even though I'm not taking voice lessons right now. I will exercise, ermm, many days. Most days? I'd love to say every day, but see above comments about fear of commitment. It's hard to commit to things you've failed at in the past. But I'll try to figure this thing out.

I think that if I can keep up those commitments, I'll be able to deal with the other things that are really bothering me, like how hard it is for me to keep my cool with my kids. The anxiety will go down and life will be happy again.

What are your New School Year's resolutions?

Cloudy, with a chance of rain ...

I love rain. And I live in a desert. So when I see storm clouds brewing, I hope for rain but don't expect it to materialize. It usually just blows over. It's happened so many times that I have started to just assume that is what would happen.

Ha.

The weather, we reasoned, would be perfect for a trip to Thanksgiving Point Gardens. Last time, the thermometer hit 100 degrees and I was parched. So today, weather in the 80's and a chance of rain sounded great ... assuming those rain clouds never materialized.

I packed up the kids, grabbed a couple nephews and my Mom (who is going back to work tomorrow, so it was a sort of last-minute, last-chance fling) and headed to the gardens. This'll be great, we thought, as long as it doesn't rain.

We got out of the car, paid our admission and stepped into the splendor of ... dropping temperatures and ominous clouds. I really wanted to show off how beautiful this spot of earth is. It's a true untapped treasure in my valley and I just love this place.

Here is what we learned: outdoor gardens are best-suited for dry weather. We were about 10-15 minutes from shelter when I was faced with a choice: head farther into the gardens and hope for good luck or turn back and head for safety. I was so sad at the thought of spending money and seeing nearly none of the gardens and coming all that way for nothing, but the responsible mother in me sighed and said, "Let's turn back."

Just in time, too. The first fat raindrops were already falling and by the time we hit shelter by some restrooms, I was pretty drenched. We crowded onto a big bench and held two umbrellas open in front of us. Thank heaven for those umbrellas! 

The fat raindrops turned into a steady stream of water. Then the hail started dropping at our feet and wind blew water in sheets before our eyes. In a matter of minutes, the cobblestone pathway in front of us was flooded with an inch of rain water and my son was making comments about God promising not to flood the earth and kill everyone again, right, Mom?

Taken from my cell phone

We should have been miserable, but I couldn't help laughing. This is what we looked like: eight drenched puppies sheltered behind two huge, rainbow-colored umbrellas in the middle of a flood. We made quite a picture, I know, because a few minutes later a truck appeared out of nowhere and rescued us. 

I hopped right into a truck with a strange man and felt no qualms about it. He drove me to my van and led me back to my little group of stranded children. It was a grand time. When I returned the umbrellas, I heard the staff asking each other if those crazy people by the bathrooms had been rescued yet. Yes, yes they had.

We drove over to the deli and had lunch with a bunch of other soggy folks. We had ice cream. Then we went back to my car to find blue skies and warm weather. We decided to try the children's area at the gardens and headed back that direction. When we got there, the kids stomped in the water and got more drenched than they had been in the storm. And that seemed just about perfect to me. A wonderful farewell to summer.

Timing

Timing is everything.

We saw a car show and made an impulsive decision to stop and walk around. I got my thrills staring into the pristine interior of a Jaguar E-type, a car which makes my brain go gooey and my knees go weak. If I could have a crush on a car, it would be the Jaguar E-type. We saw a Model T. We saw a Lotus, which I'm not sure is cool but is lodged in my brain as "interesting."

We had a grand time.

And then, only then, did I notice my five-year-old walking around in only one shoe.

Classy, Juliana. Really classy.

All in all, it's probably good that I didn't notice Shoeless 'Lije until halfway through the car show because the kids had fun and I got a thrill of pleasure seeing the Jag. The cars were classy, even if I was not.

Threee Months ... and Still Crafting

I'm becoming a girlie girl. Apparently it was in me all along, just waiting to appear at the right moment. Of course, my version of girlie is still based on blue jeans and white t-shirts, but we're adding a bit more style to them now.

I blame it all on having doubled the amount of estrogen in the house. Eden is just so gosh-darn cute in her girlie stuff. She needs it because, really, all babies just look like babies. Not boys. Not girls. Just babies. Until you put them in boyish or girlish clothing and make them look the part. And I've waited so long to have another girl in the house, she will look like a girl, thank you very much.

Here she is at three months wearing last night's project, an organza flower headband. Who knew it could be so much fun to burn fabric?