My Problem with Gratitude

I'm having the wonderful experience of being able to say, "Thank you. That was so appreciated. I am grateful," a lot these days.

Problem is, it just doesn't feel like enough.

I know I've had this discussion on this blog before, though I can't recall when or why. I had said that I feel the need to return acts of kindness in kind to the giver, that I wanted a tangible way to express how grateful I was, through a gift or a similar action, and not "just" a note. At least two people told me that expressed, heartfelt gratitude is enough; any attempt at payback or renumeration or the like missed the point and made me not a gracious recipient.

Which I totally understand and embrace when I'm the one performing the act of kindness.

But I'm receiving so much from so many these days, being engulfed in kindness and gratitude, that I'm looking for a big way to say thank you to everyone. For instance, yesterday, Mommy Goose came over to help with bus drop off and lunch, with both her kids in tow, even though Bud was threatening a cold (which seems, blessedly, to have passed). And even though I had said I had lunch makings, she came with a huge bag of goodies from TJs--"la ruse to catch meddlers" (the first word, pronounced by my maternal grandmother from Louisiana, is "lay rose" but the French seems to be la ruse, for trick or ruse; it appears in Brer Rabbit as "larroes")--and proceeded to produce all manner of fried rice and pizza, plus ginger noodles and wraps and pad thai, and cookies! All of which she left here for later use. And then she cleaned the kitchen and wiped down the stove!!!!

How do you say thank you enough? She and I talked about it. And came to the above conclusion. Again. That thank you said and meant sincerely suffices.

Thank you, Mommy Goose.

But you know, I think a blog post helps too. And so, as with the post about and for my parents, I will thank people here in addition to in person and by note, because it's one of the biggest ways I know to say thanks!!!

It's Good to be Pharaoh

If you'd looked in our backyard today, this was the scenes: the kids were doing menial tasks like scrub down the slide and little playhouse while I yelled that they need to work faster or be forced to eat worms for dinner and sleep on rocks.

A reason to call DCFS?

No. It's our new game.

I'm pharaoh and they're my slaves.

PC? No. (And no, I wouldn't be caught dead playing antebellum South this way. Medieval serfs and lord of the manor, surely). Anti-semitic? Not the way we're playing (they aren't Jewish slaves. Just random Egyptian slaves. And the Egyptians had slaves from all over).

Though, they did get the idea from the Bible.

But only because they confused Passover with Rosh Hashanah in our discussion today.

Blue-and-Yellow Letter Day

"I don't think I need him," she said.

And she took a big sniff of her beloved Shirt and handed him to me.

To stay home today.

The first time she's ever intentionally left him behind.

My little girl got a lot bigger today.

Looking Up

Mostly.

Bud's cold seems to have dissipated. And for the first night in weeks, he didn't have a nightmare.

And Sis, who is our little Miss Fever, didn't catch the cold and develop an ear infection. First time in a long time.

I'm walking and standing without much difficulty, as long as I don't try to lean or bend or sit.

Only Mama is having a tough time. She's just increasingly congested and tired and sore-throated. She'll be staying home in bed today.

So it's mostly all good here.

Rise Up: I Dream of Baking

There are several things I miss right now, from sitting down to eat to being able to pick up things I drop on the floor. But one of the most affecting lacks in my life right now is my inability to bake. From making sweets with Sis to baking the family's daily bread, I long to pull out my flour, sugar, and butter to make something delectable. Sis misses it too. She made monkey bread with Gommie, but that was weeks ago. What has she baked lately?

It's not that we're lacking in treats. Friends bringing dinner or visiting have showered us with delicious muffins, cheesecake, and cookies, which have sustained us through our baking drought. (So, please don't stop!) I don't think Sis and I have gone 5 weeks without baking since she was old enough to stand on a chair and hold a spoon. Mama has done all she can. She even made a loaf of bread in my machine which was like manna from heaven, only lasting a day or so. She has also made several trips to the store to make sure we have enough ready-made meals and snacks (we're rather embarrassed by our reversion to, or in some cases, introduction to, prepackaged foods--like ramen or "Ponyo noodles" and even those little fake cheese packets with crackers! The kids love them--it'll be a hard habit to break when we go back to healthier, fresh, homemade foods). And when she shops with the kids, she comes home with more than she bargained.

But it's not the same. First, homemade beats store bought almost any day (well, except perhaps where cheesecake is concerned!). I almost can't bear sliced store bread. Second, I do like eating my friends' baked goods (and getting their recipes!) but I miss making things myself--combining the ingredients, smelling the baking, checking on the increasingly golden crusts. One friend brought a baguette and the kids loved eating what they referred to as "croissant"--and all I could think of is, wait, we have a baguette pan and I know how to make French bread!!! Alas . . . . And then this morning I had to feed my sourdough starter which has been sorely neglected but not quite yet to the point of dying. Just measuring and mixing in the water and flour was a siren call that was hard to resist. And while I'm not nearly ready for making my beloved sourdough biscuits, with all that assembly of ingredients, mixing, kneading, rolling, cutting, and putting them in the oven, I briefly toyed with no-knead bread. I mean, Sis could help me pull out flour and water and yeast and salt. She could stir. And then by the time we needed to shape and bake, Mama would be home to help. Like she has nothing else to do. Then I had this crazy idea of roping in one of my baking friends to come over with a box mix and make brownies or cupcakes with Sis. We'd both love it.

I wonder what we'll make first. Sourdough biscuits? A loaf of bread? Sis's favorite chocolate crinkle cookies? Our favorite Swedish apple pie? Sis has also started asking for pumpkin pie. And then there are cupcakes, which we love to admire in our various cookbooks.

But, it'll wait a week or two or three. And taste even better because we waited so long.

(I'm just hoping that the wait has ruined all sense of moderation!)

It's a Puzzlement

The kids are moving up in the world and it's not just kindergarten: they're doing 100-piece puzzles! Mama, who did puzzles with her parents as a child, had purchased them 60-piece puzzles earlier this month, something for them to do independently when I couldn't play. And they quickly breezed through four of them--space, chocolate, horses, and dinosaurs. So today, during an outing to the grocery store, Mama picked up two bigger puzzles at the toy store, one on dinosaurs and one with a fairy princess. And they are currently getting the borders in, with minimal help from Mama. What's nice about the puzzles they're doing, by German company Ravensburger, is that the pieces are developmentally appropriate. In other words, the pieces are bigger than average even though there are a lot of them; typical small puzzle pieces, even if only 60 or 100 of them, would probably be much harder to manipulate with their burgeoning fine motor skills. The kids are so proud, particularly because they can complete the puzzles by themselves but most of all because they can tell that they are labeled "6 and up." Sis declared, "I feel just like a six-year old!"

Insult to Injury

Mama and Bud are sick. Probably colds because there is no fever. Fairly uncomfortable and unhappy, particularly Mama, who has been hit hard and yet has so much to do at home and work. No fun.

Get well soon!

Parenting through Sept. 11

A parent with older children told me of a living nightmare she'd had. Her daughter was just 4 years old when the World Trade Center towers fell on September 11. And, hoping to preempt any questions or fears, she explained to the child that there had been a tragedy and several people were hurt and killed. Thinking that was enough, she sent the girl to school the next day.

But the child came home angry. "Mommy, you didn't tell me that mean men flew planes into those buildings on purpose," the devastated child accused. "They wanted to kill all those people."

Never again, the mom pledged, would her daughter get such important information from another source.

It is not an isolated parenting problem in these post-September 11th days. In fact, I imagine, it's not particularly unique--how did parents explain to little children the Blitz? Pearl Harbor? the Holocaust? the atomic bomb? Still, it is the problem parents now face, as described by a mom in an essay on Salon.com. That mom, who had apparently been able to tell her 7 year old son all about sex and such botched their initial conversations on terrorism.

And so I began to wonder how I would address the question. Not that I think they'll talk about it in kindergarten, of course; or even that our kids would see it on tv or in the papers (we rarely watch one; we don't get the other). But I needed to give it some thought. We're in NYC a lot and you can't pass any place tourists gather without seeing images of the Twin Towers, either before or during their destruction. And I wanted them to know that Mama and I consider today a special family day to spend together because so many families were wrenched apart. But I wanted to avoid too much discussion of terrorism, Islamophobia, and the innocent American loss of a feeling of safety. I didn't want to scare them, just inform them, prepare them, even protect them, just as when we briefly discussed the earthquake in Haiti. And I wanted to be the one to do it.

The kids went to kung fu, did some grocery shopping, played at home, visited with Babysitter who is back from college for the weekend, played with a neighbor girl while we grilled dinner, and put together two new 60-piece puzzles (one on space; the other, chocolate. Guess which was which). It was while we were doing the puzzles that I put on some music, music I always listen to on this day: Cher's "Song for the Lonely," Carly Simon's "Let the River Run," and Mariah Carey's "Hero." I must have gotten sniffly.

"Why do you sound sad, Mom?" Sis inquired.

Having already talked to Mama about my idea and approach, I took a deep breath. "Well, Sis. I do get sad today. Because a long time ago, something bad happened: mean men made buildings fall down in New York and lots of people died. And I'm sad for them and for their families. But also really glad that we are together. And so today is an important family day for us. We call it September 11th."

Bud was immediately alarmed. Who were these mean men? Where were they now? Why did they do it? Far away (gulp), not here (gulp again), it was a long time ago and nothing else has happened since then (gulp), they were angry at us and wanted to hurt us. Remember how our soldiers are overseas fighting to keep us safe? That's why. And that was it. Only a mild curiosity from Sis of what the towers looked like before and after. That, I said, would have to wait.

Okay, simplistic. Maybe a little scary. Somewhat untrue.

But there's time for that. And when I've explained it more, when they can understand more fully--if that's even possible for any of us--we'll go down to Ground Zero. And we'll look at the 416 trees they're planting, the wall of names they're erecting, the reflecting pools in the footprints of the Twin Towers they're intending. And I'll tell them about that sad and tragic day.

But also about other, happier days there . . . when Gommie (and Banana--did you go? Or was that the Empire State Building? I hated being up in those tall buildings) and I went to the observation deck, when I took my college roommate there for the best grilled hot dog food cart in the plaza, when I took my high school friend on the Staten Island ferry and got the best photograph I ever took of the towers with the Statue of Liberty in the foreground (which I'll scan in one of these days; that was the pre-digital era), when Mama and I walked the Winter Garden on our tour of the tip of Manhattan along with Fraunces Tavern and St. Paul's Chapel.

Because, paraphrasing the child of one of the victims talking about her parent during the memorial ceremony today, let us not just focus on the destruction of the towers, but on what they were all the days before that.

Adventures in Cooking Our CSA Share: Keeping Up

I haven't blogged about our CSA share much recently, mainly because I have had absolutely nothing to do with its cooking. Gommie and Pop did an admirable job working their way through our box for 3 weeks. Pop diligently picked up the box each week, purchasing extra green beans because he enjoyed them so. He also ate his weight in large tomatoes from the farm and grape tomatoes from our Topsy-Turvy plant, which is good because neither I nor the kids like them.

And Gommie dutifully cooked everything else--boiling sweet corn, baking summer squash with onions, helping Pop with the green beans, slicing those tomatoes with salt and pepper, boiling/scrambling/frying dozens of eggs.

Gommie and Pop also helped with our own garden, picking the last summer squash before we yanked the rotting plants out of the dry soil and supervising the kids in the picking and shelling of our Dragon Eye beans, producing about a 1/4 cup. They made sure all of our surviving herbs, including basil, parsley, lemon balm, and mint, were watered and weeded, with the remnants of the pansies and petunias (petuniae?) and marigolds removed. Then Pop was on a tear. He cut down a tree, trimmed hedges, shaped boxwoods, pulled even more weeds, watered everything else. I think it reminded him of playing in the woods of his cabin . . . except cooler.

So, not a lost month by a long shot, especially since Gommie and Pop did a better job of eating through our box than we sometimes do (but then, there were 4 adults eating instead of 2!). And they got our garden ready for the winter.

I still have some time with our CSA as we enter the fall season of winter squash, root vegetables, and another round of leafy greens. I'll just have to save all my summer squash recipes. And I have ideas for improving our garden for next year (I think of it as a learning garden): herbs up front; two beds in back--one with the squash, the other with the beans. Less of the former, more of the latter; flowers only in the rock wall. Because, you see, I've had a lot of time to think about it . . . .

Meditation Pledge: Walking on Sunshine

I'm supposed to walk 30 minutes everyday. That's my main exercise and only physical therapy right now. I had been doing some of it in the house, out of convenience but also nervousness to be too far from where I could lay down.

But I've been feeling stronger, even sans brace, and it is such a gorgeous day. So, while the kids played outside with Babysitter, who is visiting from college and came by to say hi (so exciting!!), I walked back and forth on the sidewalk beside our house.

It's a glorious spot, shaded by two maples and a dogwood tree, with a straight and flat sidewalk. I can see our house and yard, our neighbors down the street, and cars going down our streets. So, with my R2-D2 in my pocket, I slowly, deliberately, somewhat timidly, began my walk, going back and forth about 50 feet, concentrating on each step, my balance, my posture.

Then I started to notice the light--the still green leaves haloed with bright yellow light, the sidewalk dappled with light and dark spots. I was reminded of a Gothic cathedral, of the light glowing through the stained glass casting prismatic patterns on the marbled floors. I thought of the Cathedral of St John the Divine, the philosopher of light Abbot Suger of Saint-Denis, even Pillars of the Earth.

My spiritual path only leads through Gothic cathedrals aesthetically; instead, I realized I was practicing a Buddhist walking meditation: going back and forth over a short distance, concentrating on my body's movement, clearing my mind to focus on the present.

Mind, body, soul. The boundaries of the traditional Western duality (trinity, I guess) broken down in one short walk. And it feels so good.

And it's good for me, too.

Healing in more ways than one . . . .

Remembering

The Next Food Network Show

After weeks of watching a lot of cooking shows on both Food Network and the new Cooking Channel, I have decided that any new cooking show host must:

• showcase a particular ethnic food--Indian, Italian, French, Chinese--instead of general techniques or specific ingredients or a diversity of cuisines (with the exception of Jamie Oliver's current exploration of ingredients and Rachel Allen's show on baking).
• title the show something like "Easy Indian Food At Home Everyday with Me!"
• use ingredients that have been, for lack of a better word, decanted. Gone are sly shots of name-brand ingredients. Every show has salt or ketchup or cinnamon or flour in fancy or earthy matching, labeled containers.
• do things by hand. No one seems to use mixers anymore. Even cream is whipped with a whisk instead of a Kitchen Aid. And they all seem to make their own pasta!
• make obligatory comments about fresh, local, organic ingredients, eating less meat, healthy choices (olive oil and whole wheat flour), and trying something new (which always seems to be fish or spices or quinoa).
• be accompanied by unidentifiable Euro-muzak.
• include lots of local shots, particularly of the host shopping or eating with friends, so it seems like we're hanging out together.
• provide some kind of overarching narrative to the cooking, like a party or holiday or even just a mood. David Rocco and Giada DeLaurentiis take this to new heights.

Regardless of the obvious formats and similarities, these shows do accomplish what they set out to: they make me want to cook their food.

Tidbits

On the morning after I hurt my back, Bud said, "Mommy, did you break a muscle?"

Since then he's been very curious about my recovery. Once Gommie arrived, with her broken foot in a boot, he had other questions, "Is it worse to hurt your back or break your foot?"

Well, I know which I'd choose.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Mama's Magic Trunk has been busy recently, especially the first five days I was injured, before we had reinforcements. And one morning, when I said something about buying a present for Mama Teacher and for Gommie and Pop, "Presents for everyone!"

Sis squealed, "Yay!!!!"

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Sis has been proudly wandering around helping with everything, doing things independently, "I'm a kindergartener now!"

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Sometimes Sis and Gommie have trouble understanding each other, to humorous effect. Gommie thought Sis said, "My shoes are last in autumn," when she said, "My shoes are icky on the bottom." When talking about the movie Kiki's Delivery Service, Gommie thought Sis said, "Kitty's Slippery Surface." Sis thinks this is hilarious and has told everybody.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

We've been doing a lot of things upstairs on my big bed. Beyond the usual tv-watching at rest time, we've played with knights and castles, drawn all sorts of pictures, cut out snowflakes and paper dolls, and even eaten dinner. Yep, we've been picnicking upstairs. And Sis, with her amazing memory, recalled that the last time we ate upstairs, we had cookies while watching the inauguration of President Obama!

Bud calls all of this "life on a bed."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

One day, entertaining themselves in the living room, Sis and Bud invented "goosh," an imaginary, sticky, muddy, stinky-like-a-skunk substance that kids could get stuck in if they didn't spread blankets and pillows all over the floor to hop from spot to spot. The carpet was the goosh in "Gooshytown." Cats and adults were immune. Then there was a Gooshymonster, Gommie or me, who could spray goosh at kids as they ran by; only velvet capes could protect them. I'd say they spent two hours jumping around the house. Goosh is even better than mud!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

When I told Sis and Bud that a friend was coming over today to help with bus drop-off and lunch, Bud astutely inquired, "Is she here to talk to you or to play with us?"

Touche.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Meeting the kids at the bus stop, I saw how hot they were. "Did the bus make you hot?"

"No, Mom," Bud replied, "the weather did."

On My Own

I keep hearing the song from Les Miserables even though I'm listening to Sugarland.

I'm alone in the house today. First time in a really long time. My parents are safely back in Houston. Mama has just piled the kiddos into the car so they can all head off to their day. And I'm in an empty house.

Well, the cats are here somewhere. But they are tired of me.

I'm exhilarated and a little nervous: it obviously means I'm getting better but, after, 4 weeks of near immobility, independence is a little daunting. I mean, I just dropped something on the floor--a bottle to be recycled--and it's going to stay there until someone else picks it up; yesterday, that happened to my breakfast bar! (We can't find our metal trash-picker-upper, which would be enormously useful now). I can't bend to reach into the fridge so I've got my water and snacks all laid out for the day. I carry my cellphone in my pocket just in case I drop or lose the house phones (so if I don't pick up, don't worry. Just wait, I'll probably call you back on a different number). The kids' snacks, play clothes, bribes, are all laid within easy reach. The logistics are daunting. Though, apparently studies do show that people who live alone recover from back pain faster than those living with people; they have to.

But it's not exactly true that I'm really by myself, either. I have friends lined up to be here for bus drop-off and lunch, to be sure at least that the kids get in the house and get fed. Maybe today's friend will help pick up that bottle. And then every other day, friends are generously bringing meals. Some, like today, are even staying for a visit. And then there are the friends who are visiting just to say hi, like Mama Teacher, who has been by several times in the last four weeks; it helps so much. And the people who call and email and send cards and offer to do anything we need . . . .

I wrote yesterday about the gift my parents had given me. I have received several similar gifts this last month, for which I am deeply grateful, like the meals and offers and calls and visits: from my sister who has calls regularly to check in and get a medical report; my cousin who reads, comments, and emails about my blog (thanks for yesterday's letter, Cousin S); Lambeth, who has called from England twice and sent cheerful notes; the neighbors, who are sending their kids to play with mine in the afternoons so Sis and Bud don't get bored; blog friends who have never met me in person but who check in.

The kids are helping too: from adapting their play to a horizontal mom (who has mastered drawing on a clipboard in the air and playing games on her chest) to doing more things on their own, from keeping pathways on the floor clear to not jumping on or near me. Plus all the hugs and pictures and reassurances and general un-fazed-ness. Only sometimes does the worry creep in, "Mom, are you ever going to bend again?"

And then there's Mama. I haven't written about Mama. No loving posts full of gratitude. I feel it. I just haven't gotten it into the right post yet; I might not. But I've told her.

So, sure, I'm by myself this morning for a few hours. But I'm not really on my own.

The Gift

It didn't come for my birthday or Christmas or Mother's Day or as a reward or treat.

It wasn't wrapped or bagged or accompanied by a card or gift receipt.

It was an experience, a lesson, a feeling.

For 23 days, my parents have been in Connecticut helping me recover by looking after me, the kids, the house, even Mama. It is the longest amount of time I have spent with them since I left home to pursue my Ph.D. in 1995.

And it was a gift.

To all of us.

The experience of living day-to-day for an extended period with my parents wasn't something I'd thought I'd have again. Sure, we do a week here or there, at the bay in Texas, here for Christmas, a few times a year. But this was different--there was no holiday, no long to-do list, no rush, not even a deadline; no sense of having to squeeze in several months' worth of living into 7 days; no feeling of it being out of the ordinary, a special occasion that had to be recorded, photographed, remembered. This was no vacation. It was just normal. Well, as normal as it could be under the circumstances. Just all of us in our house on our regular schedule, here, with them blending into our routine, our family life. But sure, not normal, or comfortable, or easy for them, who were taken way out of their daily lives. And I just think how special that was for Sis and Bud, to essentially get to live with their grandparents for three weeks. They ate three meals a day together, went shopping, ran errands, went to school, went to kung fu, had rest time, read, played, heard stories. It's as good as we get, living 1700 miles apart. The closest I remember coming to that with any of my grandparents was spending weekends with my great-grandmother by myself, which made me feel very special and very grown up. Of course, the kids are only five years old, but I think they will remember the experiences--of watching Robin Hood with Errol Flynn or Kiki's Delivery Service or My Neighbor Totoro, of playing catch or knights or hide and seek, of drawing, of baking monkey bread, of eating ice cream for my dad's 70th birthday, of playing dolphin in the swimming pool, of grilling in the backyard, of playing in the mud. The nature of the visit and my injury prevented me from spending much time with my parents, but we did have our moments. And while I've long had more of an adult's understanding of my parents, instead of my childhood opinions, there is always something more to discover, to learn. Because, of course, parents can change as much over the lifetime of their children as their children do, I believe, and not just from the child's perspective but in actuality. My mom has become more of a worrier, more contemplative, than I recall. My dad does more housework, is a caretaker, more than he was. In the last few years, they've discovered hiking and become regulars at the National Parks; travel is one of their favorite activities. Dad still loves keeping up with current events and politics, reading histories of the Civil War, WWII, the great Mississippi Flood, you name it; Mom, as always, enjoys books and ideas and experiences and her friends. And they love having grandkids, the two here, the one on the way.

I learned so much from them. Not learned as in "skill," like Mom's recipe for baked squash (like mine but with onions) or Pop's pots of green beans. Life lessons, parenting lessons, those intangible teachable moments when you learn something that they aren't trying actively trying to teach you. The way, I suppose, kids always really learn from their parents. Like how when someone needs you, you go, you do; no hesitations, no questions, no complaints, no expectations. Like love sometimes means sacrifice, of plans, of time, of comfort, of money. Like how it's best to do what is needed--the dishes, the gardening, the cooking--right then and there even if you would rather sit down or play or leave (Mom's "bohemian" work ethic). Like how two partners can grow older together (it's 46 years for them in a month), becoming closer friends than when they began, because they truly love, like, enjoy, and respect one another. Like how to take the grief of loss (the death of my aunt, my dad's sister), the fear and pain of injury and illness (remember that my mom has a broken foot!), the frustration of limitations and changes in plan, in stride with equanimity and calm amid the joy of family, the companionship of friends, and the routine of the everyday. Like how being a parent really never ends because you worry, take care, enjoy, are needed, are loved, regardless of your child's age or circumstances.

There's something about having my parents around that was so comforting. It reminded me of being a little girl. You know the feeling, it's dark or stormy or you have a tummy ache or hear a noise but you know your parents are there so it's okay regardless. In our relationship, Mama has often been of similar comfort to me. But these weeks, with her at work, my parents again fulfilled that traditional role of caretaker which took me back to when I was Sis and Bud's age. And it wasn't even the bringing up of my lunch or my heating pad or my medicine or helping me roll over, stand up, go to the bathroom, just the physical, proximate presence of love, care, support, generosity, loyalty, protection.

I don't know what my parents would say they got out of the last few weeks. What would the tree say she got from the boy in The Giving Tree? (And while this last three weeks has been very one-sided, I don't want our whole relationship to be quite as unbalanced as the boy and the tree). I know what I hope they got: the comfort and satisfaction of knowing that they really provided tangible and effective help by taking care of us all--the kids' daily needs, Mama's need to keep going to work and have help around the house without burning out, my need to get better; a sense of what our lives are like here so that even when we are apart again, they can better picture us; the joy (mostly!) of spending an unprecedented amount of time with their grandkids; the experience of two seasons in New England, almost simultaneously--the end of summer and the beginning of fall; all the wonderful produce, especially the green beans and tomatoes, that they relished from our CSA; oh, and that one day they got to explore the Hudson River Valley, their single "day off."

And how do you say thank you for all of that? How do you express your gratitude? How do you repay them (while at the same time realizing that's not the point at all)? How do you give back to them what they gave you? How do you let them know how much you love them, not just for what they did but for who they are?

I guess, as with all gifts, you start with a smile and say thank you.

And then show how much you appreciated it by giving such a gift to them or to your children or your family or your friends.

Thanks, Mom and Dad. :)

The Power of Meditation

Two days before I injured my back I had made a new pledge to meditate everyday. I haven't forgotten that pledge; indeed, it's what's gotten me through the last 4 weeks.

First, I find it both nearly impossible and entirely necessary to meditate through pain. When the spasms were at their worst, I would just breathe, recognizing my in and out breaths, unable even to count. When I did try to count, a spasm would hit and I'd just forget where I was and have to start over. But trying to count and to breathe was essential--it allowed me to recognize and be in the pain, instead of trying to ignore it. In other words, I'd be thinking, "whoa, that spasm really hurt. But I'm meditating here. So back to breathing." It kept me from getting scared--why did it hurt? when was it going to stop? how could I make it stop? will it ever stop? Sure sometimes, I had to keep telling myself to count with every breath. Pain is very diverting sometimes. But meditating seemed to make it less so. Especially after 4 weeks of practicing. Especially because I was practicing several times a day, through and then outside of the pain. There is a parable by the Buddha, mentioned in an article on pain and meditation in this month's BuddhaDharma magazine, about the two arrows: the first arrow is the sensation of pain but the second arrow is the fear, anxiety--the suffering--of pain. If you are mindful, you only need feel that first arrow. And apparently now, scientific studies of Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR, that book I'm reading called Full Catastrophe Living by Jon Kabat-Zinn) which focuses on mindful meditation, particularly a scan of the body, has proven that meditation can actually decrease the pain of that first arrow. In fact, it happened to me today. In the second that I sit before I lie down, I must have compacted that herniated disc and felt a surge of sharp pain very very briefly. So I lay down, acknowledged what I had felt, and then did some breathing. And I realized later that the ensuing "aftershocks," while uncomfortable, were not actually painful. And that even while that first "arrow" hurt, I didn't actually mind.

Second, I've learned that the "how-tos" of meditation aren't that important to me right now. If I'm focusing on the moment, being mindful, I'm meditating. I've let go of all the "shoulds." I'm not meditating sitting up, obviously. I'm not even meditating with my eyes open, especially when I hurt. And yes, sometimes I even meditate myself right to sleep. I am not meditating so my pain will lessen, so I can take fewer drugs, so I'll be relaxed, I'm meditating because I like to meditate. I need to meditate.

One of the most inspiring meditation practices this month was on the couch a few days ago. I was counting my breaths and the sun burst through the clouds through my living room window onto the couch where I lay. Now, up to that point, I hadn't really been in the sun, for weeks. And the warm on my face felt so good. And the light behind my closed eyes was so yellow and beautiful and comforting. And I lay there feeling and seeing and embracing that light. And also hearing the birds, feeling the wind through the window, noticing the cars on the main road and a few neighbors walking by. And I was breathing and counting. And being. I think I understood, in that instance, the power of light.

And of meditation.

What a Day.

You never want to see the school's phone number come up in caller ID.

And it happened today. Twice.

First was before 9 a.m. The nurse called. "No worries, Mommy Hungry, Bud is alright. But he did have to visit my office today. A little girl passed him the scissors and he cut his thumb just a bit and needed a bandaid. I'll send home a note but wanted to call too. He came in, said he cut it a bit, was fine with the bandaid, and then stood and did the pledge with me because the announcements were on. However, the girl in class saw the bandaid, she began to cry. And then he began to cry, a delayed reaction. THEN THE WHOLE CLASS BEGAN TO CRY. 'I guess we learned how not to pass scissors today,' the teacher told them."

The second call came after school. Except I didn't get it. I was outside waiting for the bus. Which was later and later and later. So I finally went in to call the school. And saw the caller ID. Uh-oh. I called the school immediately. The bus was in a little bit of an accident. The kids were alright. But the police had to be called because "a bicycle hit the bus." I haven't gotten any more details. And sincerely hope the bicyclist is okay--when a bus and bicyclist tangle, the bus is going to win. Bud and Sis didn't notice anything or seem to wonder why they were stopped for so long and the police came. That's got to be good. I think they would've noticed blood, an ambulance, or a stretcher.

Because worse than your school on caller ID is your school on the local news.

No Pain, All Gain

I was a bit apprehensive about my appointment with the specialist in NYC yesterday. Not only because it was a long car ride and I can't sit comfortably, but mainly because I haven't had much luck with male doctors in the orthopedic realm recently. Three of them were awful. And, with this one's focus on sports injuries and a published book about needing to exercise through pain to heal pain, I wondered if I wasn't going to get the "you're-fat-I-can't-help-you-you're-going-to-have-pain" speech. I mean, I'm not exactly the elite athletes he usually sees and whose posters are in the office.

But I was absolutely, totally, ashamedly mistaken. He was wonderful. Glancing at my sheet, with an entire list of "I walk more slowly because of my back" and "I have to get people to do things for me because of my back" and "My appetite has decreased because of my back" etc. etc. circled, then performing a few tests while listening to me describe the last three years of pain and discovery, he said it was a classic herniated disc. The MRI results I'd brought with me from Friday immediately confirmed it--even I could see how the disc between L5 and S1 was totally in the wrong place. No wonder it had been the worse pain I'd ever felt.

I think he felt sorry for me. He said that the c-section, ovarectomy, and 2 hernia operations, coupled with all those other "-oses" like scoliosis, lordosis, symphosis separation, etc etc etc, were the perfect storm for this. But he says because of my natural history, which I take it to mean the first 38 years of my life, I am likely to recover fully with no intervention. So, for now, no sitting, bending, or lifting. Continuing to wear my lumbar brace. Only a bit of concentrated walking for about 15-30 minutes each day. Plus new and different drugs (you should see me on Valium. I'm a hoot!) and the three shots (one very close to that disc that hurt like a @#$%) for immediate relief. And I would be much better in 4 weeks. Then, we'll get back to what we were doing, which is the all important core strengthening.

And I feel great. Okay, those shots, at least the first one right to the spot where the disc was (which he located by ultrasound) weren't great, but within half an hour, I could ride in the car without wincing from bumps and turns. And that's fantastic. I'm also much more at ease in my mind, for I had been worried that we didn't know for sure what was wrong or that I would easily re-injure myself while healing. I think he listened, had answers, had reassurances, and gave me palpable physical relief immediately.

But I'm angry too. Angry that I was so patient with the other doctor, angry that I almost had a procedure that I didn't need and that wouldn't have helped, angry that she's gotten the test results and hasn't called to change our course of treatment or even let me know--my appointment with her isn't for 2 more weeks!!!, angry that maybe I suffered longer than I should have because she was slow, angry that maybe I missed out on things I didn't have to miss, angry that my parents had to be here maybe longer than necessary, all in all angry that I trusted her and her staff and didn't get the care I thought I was getting, because she was, truly, so much better than those 3 orthopedists. Just not good enough. So, we're done with her. Even though I'd liked her. I just wouldn't be able to trust her again, would second-guess every diagnosis and treatment. Hindsight is 20-20. Though, even my new doctor said that it's just slow to heal and I'd mainly been doing the right thing--it's not like he would've healed me immediately either. I'm just frustrated. Four weeks seems like such a long time. But I'm trying not to look back. Just stay in the here and now (more on what's become of my meditation pledge soon).

Anyway, in addition to the doctor, we managed two very minor fun things yesterday because we were early and I needed to walk around after all that sitting. And who doesn't like to walk around NYC (okay, my dad, but this is rhetorical . . . )? On the same block was Sotheby's and so we went in and perused their recent catalogues, particularly the spring 19th-century painting sale. And they gave me the glossy book for free, filled with its academic paintings by minor American, Italian, and Polish (I think) artists. Great fun to look at, though. Took me back to my museum days, especially because one of the artists in the catalogue had been featured in an exhibition at my last museum.

We also hit the newsstand next door and got a few magazines, including TimeOut Kids with all the fun fall happenings for children in the city. Puppet shows, good places to eat, family programs, concerts. I love the city . . . . and I should be walking just fine in four weeks! It's on my list of first things I want to do.

Right up there with sitting.

Better Than Expected

In so many ways . . . .

• MRI--they have a new machine at "my" radiologist's--it was fast, so fast, that it took half the time I was expecting. With the gentle vibrations, body motionlessness, and warmth, it was almost comfortable. But no, I don't know what they found. I have discs but no report and so I'll let the specialists parse it out.
• Hurricane Earl--the storm that wasn't. We didn't get enough rain to wet the deck. And the winds today are just gentle fall-like breezes. No complaints, though it would have been nice to have some rain--the garden is just dead.
• Kindergarten--I expected it to be an emotionally wrenching milestone. Instead it was a joyful reminder of how much I love and admire my kids, who were brave and enthusiastic and curious . . . and a walk down my own elementary school memory lane.

Going Back to School

When I was a student, I loved Open House night. Gommie would go to open house, take notes on my teachers, and come home to tell me all about whom she liked, what she learned, my projects she saw. I really liked the idea of her sitting in my desk, following my schedule, giving her opinion on my teachers. But usually, this night came later in the fall, when my classrooms were full of pictures and book reports and science projects. And the teachers had something concrete to say about me (always good, of course!).

Tonight, I attended my first open house as a parent. And I think it was just as exciting as a parent (not least of which because I made it through the whole thing, percocet-assisted!). My favorite part was perusing the cheerful and cozy classrooms, seeing the drawings they'd already made, exploring the activity centers they'll use, books they'll read, looking at their cubbies, imagining their days. Bud had a photo of himself with his hope for the year "to write books." Sis wants to "write the alphabet in lower case." Which she did right next to the drawing of herself! (Okay, dorky parent alert: we took pictures when no one was looking!!!)

Of course, I liked hearing from the teachers (who I remembered not to corner or press for details about our kids, a la Mama Teacher's post on open houses). I really like both their teachers, Bud's 25-year veteran and Sis's newbie with only a year under her belt. The teachers, presenting together, described all manner of curricula and initiatives, from arrival procedures (put away backpack and deliver folders to the in-box) to rules (care for yourself, your school, and others--sounds like UU principle #1 to me!). There is a "take a break" chair, a non-punitive time-out, based on the logical consequences discipline system. And then all this stuff about academics: math manipulatives and number writing, counting, patterning, measuring, sorting, money, addition and subtraction; the Haskins Literary Initiative, with phonemic awareness, sight words; Writing Workshop, wherein they will be writing sentences by January!!!!; Concepts about Print (CAP) with book awareness, one-on-one correspondence of words; optional homework packets to explore themes outside of school. There will be parent conferences, progress reports, report cards!!! Am I nerdy because all of that sounds so wonderful to me???

We also met the reading specialists, music teachers, art teacher, PE teacher, Spanish teacher, and of course the principal. But didn't have too much time to talk--lots of other parents and really hot inside the un-air-conditioned building, plus I was trying to cram it all in before my back gave out. However, their demeanor, the whole look of the classrooms, the mood of the other parents tells me that this is exactly the place I want the kids to be.

It's where I want to be too. So I signed up to be a classroom reader and literacy volunteer. We joined the PTA and put our names down for several committees. And I've already put all the important upcoming events in our family calendar.

It's great to be back in school!!

I can only hope we encourage and support our kids to love it as much as I did . . . do!

What I've Been Doing in Bed

Now that I'm spending more time downstairs, even if horizontal on the couch, I wanted to let you know what I did in bed for 2+ weeks, mostly with my 'droid "R2D2" and my tv.

And yes, I love to read recipes. Even if I know I'll never cook them.

Thinking about Cooking:

• "French Food at Home": Swiss Chard Tart, Honey Pears, Baked Apples
• "Nigella at Home": Chocolate-Chocolate Chip Muffins, Bread and Milk, Chocolate Croissants, Pussyfoot, Quadruple Chocolate Loaf Cake, Big Pasta Bake with Mushrooms and Herbs, Eton Mess, Old Fashioned Chocolate Cake, Alcoholic Hot Chocolate, Chocolate Cheesecake, Triple Chocolate Brownies, Chocolate Caramel Crispy Cake, Chocolate and Peanut Granola,
• "David Rocco's Dolce Vita": Pasta Pizza, Frittata, Pasta with Ricotta and Cherry Tomatoes, Arancini, 5-Minute Sauce, Pizza Dough, Foccacia, Chocolate Risotto, Drunken Spaghetti, Gelato Affogato, Spinach Risotto, La Ribolitta, Pasta with Butter and Cheese, Tiramisu, La Cecina, Mango Panna Cotta, Polenta
• "Molto Mario": "Heels" with Green Ricotta
• "Sara's Secrets": Vanilla Cupcakes, Peanut Butter Cupcake with Chocolate Chips and Chocolate Frosting
• "Giada's Everyday Italian": Mozzarella Pockets, Mascarpone Cupcakes with Strawberry Icing, Italian Ice, Lemon Mint Cake, Stracciatella Semifreddo, Citrus Semifreddo, Farro with Cheese, Apricot Bars, Homemade Cranberry Granola, Chocolate Raspberry Brownies, Penne in Almond Sauce, Orange Iced Tea, Citrus Cream Smoothie, Breakfast Tart, Almond Pancakes
• "Barefoot Contessa": Lemon Curd Tart, Easy Apple Tart, Penne all Vecchia Bettola, Brownie Tart
• Party Popcorn with Honey Nuts, Rum Raisin Tiramisu
• "Rachel Allen Bake!": Tarte Tatin, Chocolate Cake, Walnut Cake with American Frosting, Basic Cookies, Chocolate Cake, Lemon Tart, Peanut Butter Blondies
• "Melting Pot": Vegetable Couscous
• "Ask Aida": Ginger Rum Poundcake
• "30 Minute Meals with Rachael Ray": Broken Spaghetti Risotto, Baked Pasta Fagioli, Pine Nut-Orzo Salad
• "Spice Goddess": Spiced City Cake, Healthy Roti, Lentil Cookies
• "Aarti Party": Pistachio Pops, Massaged Kale Salad
• "Jamie at Home": Zucchini Carbonara, Strawberry Jam with Rice Pudding, Shortcrust Pastry
• "Indian Food at Home": Kashmiri Pilaf, Kashmiri Tea
• Daisy Martinez: Chocolate Chili Cake

In the Papers (Or on Huffpost, Daily Beast, The Onion, Motherlode, The NYTimes, Karen Maezen Miller, Shambhala Sun, Salon, NPR, KAF blog)

• Mindfulness for Kids
• Marxist critique of Mindfulness
• 4 Myths of Mindfulness
• Green Burial
• Death and Dying
• Pseudo-care and other people's crises
• Blogger: on autism and being a resident "alien"
• Mindfulness and pain
• Walking Meditation
• Making ice cream with a machine
• movie Soul Kitchen
• Sabbath Unplugged
• Citrus-Almond Poundcake
• author David Mitchell's new book on 1799 Japan
• restoring the Morgan
• Parents and college freshmen
• Dexter and sports fishing
• Redshirting kindergarteners
• The I Hate to Cook cookbook reissued

• Ottoman Empire food
• Immigrant cooking in the LES
• Bedsharing for married couples
• Bean Pot
• Vegetarian Torte
• Strawberry Vinegar Shrub
• Grain Pot
• Laura Linney profile
• 18th-century ship in NYC and more
• KAF: breakfast cookies, whole wheat sandwich bread
• Critique of Beloit college freshmen list
• New book on archaeology
• On church and food
• Refutation of the term "Chick Lit"
• Dreaming in Chinese book
• NYTimes Rosh Hashana recipes--France via North Africa
• Cooking with rosewater
• Roger Ebert's new cookbook
• Mark Bittman's sweet couscous
• Southern cocktails on Salon
• Losing your childhood home
• NYTimes Turkish Bean Salad
• Is religious belief evolutionary?
• Dora the Explorer cocktail
• KAF zucchini muffin
• NYTimes vegan three bean salad
• Mary Louise Parker and pot
• From the Onion: Mom locks door!
• NYTimes: Grilled Lebanese Flatbread
• NYTimes: Cooked Grains Salad
• Aqua Fresca recipe
• Eat, Pray, Love and Modern Orientalism
• Cognitive Behavior Therapy everyday
• Unable to watch/read kids in peril?
• Children and Pop Culture Illiteracy
• A son as Snow White
• Sending a child to college (Motherlode)
• When the Courts Scrutinize Parents (Motherlode)
• "Unlabors of Love" by Karen Maezen Miller
• De-Stress your home via the monastery!

Watching (plus all those cooking shows in the first section!):

• Ponyo
• My Neighbor Totoro
• Avatar
• Open Range
• Star Wars
• Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs
• Land Before Time
• A League of Their Own
• "The Big C"
• "The Real L Word"
• "Pillars of the Earth"
• "Spartacus"
• "The Real Housewives of New Jersey" and "Orange County" (and I saw 10 minutes of "Jersey Shore". Ugh.)
• "Sherlock Holmes"

"What Did You Do At School Today?"

My normally loquacious children have become laconic under the influence of kindergarten. Even my well-phrased questions--more probing than the classic title of this post--don't seem to elicit much conversation: what was your favorite thing today? what was your least favorite thing? what did you do that was new today? Nada. I even got creative, "So, did you paint hippos in art today? For P.E. did you climb a mountain?" Nothing.

But slowly, in conversation totally unrelated to school, details have emerged:

Bud has been line leader.

Both classes had a fire drill.

There is a school pledge and also the regular national pledge. Sometimes, birthdays are announced.

One teacher uses bells, another, hand signals, to get attention.

Neither one has had to go to the restroom.

Sis likes art and P.E.

Bud likes snack.

They eat lunch in their classrooms, but take their specials (art, music, p.e., etc) in other rooms.

They drew self-portraits in art class and have learned some words from Maestra, their Spanish teacher.

Bud's class has played alphabet games, like "Aa . . . ahhhh . . . apple."

Sis's class has done the Hokey Pokey.

The separation is either "okay" (Bud) or "good!" (Sis) and sometimes they see each other in the hall on the way to specials.

And I'm sure more details will emerge. Slowly. And I'll have to adjust to not knowing everything about their days. Quickly.

(but if you have favorite school questions that work, let me know!)

Good News

We've had a change of plans: the SI injection tomorrow has been cancelled because my pain is decreasing and mobility increasing! I can even sit for a few minutes without trouble, stand at a shelf to type on the computer, and walk to the corner to meet the bus after school. And all with just a bit of ibuprofen and my sacro-lumbar brace to get me through. It's like a whole new world for me. Still, I have an MRI on Friday and a consult with a specialist in Manhattan on Tuesday, but I'm feeling good about it all. My parents are still here and are staying at least through the trip into the city on Tuesday. They've given us so much. There really is no way to say thank you.

More on kindergarten later . . . .

Fear Itself

Can you say sacroiliac joint injection using x-ray guided fluoroscope?

Neither can I.

But ask me after Friday and I'll tell you all about it.

After lots of rest, drugs, therapy, patience, we're moving it up a notch. From what I can tell, this procedure will either immediately help. Or not. Here's hoping.

Truth be told, I'm nervous. I don't like injections much and it sounds like there will be three: a local, the joint anesthesia, and then the corticosteroid something-or-other. I don't like hospitals much either.

If it means, though, that I will be able to walk for more than 5 minutes without narcotics, sit at all, or, gasp, drive, I'm all for it.

Right?

We Did It!

We successfully navigated the first day of kindergarten!

Sure, it was only an hour and Mama was on-site the whole time, so it wasn't much of a test, but the symbolism was huge.

I have been considering meaningful posts for this day--reflective letters to the kids summarizing the last five years and offering gentle guidance for the next 12 of school a la "Everything I Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten," or even humorous blow-by-blows along the lines of "The Night Before Christmas," but I have nothing that humorous or inspiring.

Instead, I'll settle for an accounting of what actually happened.

I woke up before 5 am and kept forcing myself back to sleep, knowing that if I stayed awake, I'd only cry in my pillow. And it must have worked because Mama, who also woke up early but is sadly not as good at sleeping as I am, heard me snoring pretty much til 6:45 when the kids finally woke up.

And they arose like the sun, brilliant and strong and full of promise. They were through their morning checklist, dressed and ready to go before 7:15, which gave them enough time for breakfast, some playtime, and photographs outside. And still there was time to pass, but instead of being increasingly nervous (as were, I'd say, most of the adults!), they took it all in stride, glad for the momentous occasion to have arrived at last.

We piled into two cars--one for Mama and the kids, one for me and Gommie, who was my "back"-up today--and wound our way through crazy first-day-of-school traffic (CT is notorious for having awful traffic during the school year, as teachers must travel long distances to where they teach; even in our little town, the roads are jammed with all the people who aren't on a bus route). (And yes, I went, drugged, braced, even pain patched, which bought me about 20 minutes on my feet. It's all good). But we made it early and in two pieces, finding parking easily. The principal cheerfully greeted everyone outside, where people were posing in front of the school sign and a stuffed version of the school mascot. And Sis and Bud were still just beaming.

The smiles dampened somewhat, just a tad, as we waited a bit in the auditorium to be let into their classrooms. Perhaps because reality set in. Perhaps because there was nothing to do but stand there. Perhaps because they had been delayed from their ultimate goal of getting to class just a bit. A small hand slipped into mine. Sis sniffed Shirt.

Not five minutes later, we were invited to walk down the hall to their kindergarten classes. Here we go. Purposefully, the kids marched down the hall double-time, with us in tow, smiles returning as we neared our destinations. First, Bud's class: he walked right in, found a seat, sat down, and barely looked back for our ritual beep. The teacher was standing near me and so, seeing all the parents still standing there, I asked if this was when it was time to go. Yep. And so I went. No looking back. As purposeful as the kids. I headed to Sis's class, where she had gone with Mama. I had to squeeze through parents to give her a beep goodbye; she barely turned around. But then, she had declared the night before that she could walk herself to class! This teacher too said it was time to go and so Mama and I left.

That's it. No loitering. No tears. No protracted goodbyes. No returns for a last look. Our kids are in kindergarten.

Mama went to the parents' meeting; Gommie took me home via the coffee shop for my chai reward. About an hour later, the kids returned, full of folders and forms, but not of stories. Typical. All I can make out is that one class did the hokey pokey, the other played an alphabet game. Both are very excited to go back tomorrow, because tomorrow will be longer, requiring their backpacks and snacks and a bus ride home.

Color me tickled and relieved and happy. With a bright yellow sunshine-y crayon. We did it!

Proud Mommies

Some good news from the homefront: Sis and Bud had their kung fu tests today to see if they were ready to advance. Sure enough, both children did well on their stretches, kicks, and forms and have been awarded yellow belts!!!!! Additionally, Bud received the trophy for "best test," or being the best student at his level tested today. He is thrilled. And we are so proud of both of them.

Which belies how hard it was this week because we worried about how strictly the tests would be scored, how well they'd have to do to advance. Our kids are the youngest and smallest and newest in the class. The teacher's philosophy is to encourage love of the sport at this age not strict adherence to rules and so we hoped he would be encouraging and reasonable. And clearly he was. But not before Mama stressed for hours this morning, first through class and then through the tests and then waiting for all the other kids to go before the awards were announced. She said it reminded her of those dreams where you have a test but haven't studied--except much worse! Because it wasn't even her test to study for. Is nothing about parenting easy?

Yes, yes. Smiling at their happiness today, being proud of their achievements was very, very easy.

Howdy

Just wanted to type a quick line. Things are status quo, the new one that is. Which means that I'm still in bed, with a very gentle schedule of standing up and walking about (2 minutes every 20 minutes), meds to make that bearable (a course of steroids, muscle relaxers, and narcotics! Trigger injections of lydocaine probably plus steroids next week. One more thing to put me up there with all those professional athletes--needles!), hopes of driving still weeks away, and not much else because it's too much strain really to hold a book or type on the computer except in very small bursts. The kids are still greatly enjoying Gommie and Pop, who have generously, lovingly, patiently, compassionately, offered to stay through next week, the first week of school (and Pop's 70th birthday!!). The kids have gotten past, for now, the fear of being separated and just seem excited to go. Which is a relief. Especially under the circumstances. And we are pretty much ready . . . at least with everything that is important. Anything else can wait these days.

I have a billion blog posts in my head, from the mundane to the extraordinary, tidbits, recipes, lessons I've learned, things I'm longing to do, valuable experiences with meditation, gratitude for family and friends, hopes, fears, and in betweens. And I've taken notes . . . but now's not the time.

Thanks to all who have commented on my blog and called and emailed and brought treats and visited and offered to cook. I am touched beyond words and know that all of your kindnesses are helping with (what otherwise seems like very slow) healing.

But especially to my parents, Mama, and the kids . . . .

When You Can't Do What You Do

I'm a stay-at-home mom. But today I'm staying at home when I should be leaving. Because my kids are going to a kindergarten gathering without me this morning. I've been waiting for the beginning of school with a mixture of sadness, concern, excitement, and even relief practically since they were born. And now the time has come and I am not really participating. Well, that's not true: I have all of the anxiety and stress without all the fun distractions and preparations. I haven't bought them clothes or school supplies or little gifts for the first day of school. I'm not going to the gathering today. I'll be lucky if I can go to the first day of school next week. I'm trying to make arrangements for other people (family, friends, a hired nanny?) to take them and pick them up, cook meals, prepare snacks, organize clothes, just in case I'm not ready by next week. And I feel like I'm missing out, letting them down, ruining it all, for them, for me. The disappointment runs very deep and I try not to disturb it, because it can't be helped, try to stay in the moment, embrace acceptance, not get caught up in the expectations and judgments, but it is so hard. Luckily, I know they are in good hands with Mama and Gommie and Pop. It's just not my hands. Which are now, here at home, with nothing to do as I lie here except type.

Happy Anniversary!

Today starts Year 14 of togetherness! And while there is more "worse" and "sickness" right now than we usually like, our life together on the whole has been full of "better." Illness and injury clarify such things and, while I am usually aware of how blessed I am by having Mama in my life, the last two weeks of her unflinching, generous, compassionate care and support have overwhelmed me with her love. I love you, Mama. But am hoping to never need to repay your tender sick-bed care in kind. Here's to more "better!" Soon.

25 Degrees of Separation

Between the weather here in CT and that in Houston. No wonder my parents have been outside as much as they can, (even if the kids aren't as interested). Today, though, there has been a lot of rain, which is great for my garden and grass but not great for the grandparents. No worries, Gommie and Pop, this isn't Texas, in high heat or heavy rains. It'll stop soon.

It's the Weekend

And things are looking up. There's going to be kung fu, swimming, grilling, baking, baseball, playing in the park, an Errol Flynn movie . . . and more R&R for me. But I'm feeling better, just trying to take it slow so I don't cycle back. Have a great one!

Update

Well, I had a setback on Wednesday, after progressing so well. Not sure what caused the relapse, but I hurt. My PT could only do "voodoo therapy," as I called it: electronic stimulation, ultrasound, some kind of special funky kinesiological? tape.

Today my pain/rehab doctor said it would be at least 2 more weeks before I was really up and about. I could've herniated a disk in my low spine but she won't do an MRI until I can lay flat for 45 minutes, which is a long way off (I'm knees-up-on-a-pillow now). The treatment, she says, is the same for now: better drugs, a brace, lots of rest.

(There's a joke in there somewhere: what do I have in common with a professional athlete? Special tape and steroids!)

Which in her book is getting up about 4 times a day. My parents are here another week (for which I am grateful beyond words), which means I'll have to ask friends and church for help during the second week (for now, we're hoping Mama can take the kids to school since I can't sit much less drive). She says to arrange that now so I don't worry (thanks to my friends who have already volunteered--I'm afraid I'll be taking you up on it). That would be the first week of school. I'm trying not to be very very upset by this turn of events. And so I've started reading Jon Kabat-Zinn's Full Catastrophe Living (finally, Mama would say), about dealing with the stress of pain through mindfulness and meditation.

(And it's not enough that it's my back, mind you: we said goodbye to Babysitter on Tuesday and school starts for the kids in a week. On top of that, I found a lump in my hip which they ultrasounded yesterday to rule out awful things. It was luckily only a lypoma, or hard fat deposit. Just what I needed.)

See, Mama got me this lap desk thing today to hold books or the computer. I couldn't even hold up a magazine before and typing on my Android which I held up in the air was hard. And it helps me type more easily, though it's still difficult. So, I won't be blogging a lot but at least I can a bit. It helps occupy my mind. (Though, I'm loving the new Cooking TV channel, even if it makes me long to bake and blog about recipes. Sis watched with me today, which was a nice and recently rare together moment. I'm so boring and frustrating and probably a bit worrisome to the kids. But we had another together moment: we watched the original Star Wars together for rest time yesterday and they loved Chewbacca, the destruction of the Death Star, and "C-P03." It was my all-time favorite childhood movie, up there with Gone with the Wind, taking over my life when I was just 6ish so it was fun to introduce them to it. I mean, I call my Droid, "R2-D2!" Even if no one like Princess Leia as much as I did! Gommie and Pop even got a nap while the kids and I watched. And found themselves buying SW toys for the second generation today!).

I like my doctor. She told me not to be discouraged, that I'd get back to "jumping rope with the kids," that nothing I did caused this so not to look for the trigger or blame myself unnecessarily. It's just what I needed to hear. Because it's hard enough dealing with the here and now without worrying about the past and future.

So, thanks for thoughts, prayers, comments, calls, and email: they are all so appreciated. Keep'em coming.

A Poem on Pain

Lonely. Tired. Scared.

Wondering when it will stop,

If. Trying to breathe.

First Steps

I'm getting there. My parents are here and having fun with the kids, playing with them and feeding them and taking them through our schedule. Needless to say, Sis and Bud are ecstatic at the attention.

And I'm moving again, albeit slowly. I can stand up for a few minutes at a time, get up and down by myself. Still not traversing stairs, sitting, or bending. I have doctor's and PT appointments for the rest of the week to just check out everything. The kind and encouraging PT sees things improving each day, though she is surprised at how wonky--my word--my spine/SI/tailbone are. Causing lots of trouble, but nothing long term.

Until then, I finally feel better to be sick of being in bed, watching tv, not doing much (still can't blog much because I can't get in a good position).

And that's a good thing.

The Cavalry

My parents are coming up tomorrow to stay for at least a week . . . . in part because they are distressed about my back (which is improving slowly) and want to help.

But also so that they can then drive to Ohio.

For my dad's sister's funeral.

My aunt F died on Friday, six weeks after entering hospice (around the time that her husband died), years after the onset of dementia. And while it has long been expected, it is sad.

But, despite all the circumstances (and maybe even because of them), we are very happy that my parents are coming.

Long Time, No Post

(Note: Mama Hungry is taking dictation for me.)

I haven't posted since Wednesday because on that night, I pulled my back so out of whack that yesterday was the first day I could walk a few steps. I have consulted doctors and my PT. I have good medication and am slowly feeling better. Though, I still can't sit up to type on the computer.

A special thanks to Mama Teacher for coming by with pizza and cookies, to Sis and Bud for taking it all in stride (the new toys from Mama's "magic trunk" help) and to Mama for everything.

Not sure when I'll be back on-line again, but would appreciate emails and comments saying "howdy."

Sitting Down: Meditation Pledge, Day 3

I'm waking up at 6:30 to meditate. Without my alarm clock. Coincidence? Some kind of subconscious need? Yesterday, I sat in my desk chair, not wanting to stray to far from the bedroom because the creaky upstairs floors will wake the kids who look for any sound in the morning to announce morning. But, even though I counted my breaths, I spent the whole time thinking how tight my back was without a pillow. Still, I made about 8 minutes before I stopped, without clock-watching (or Droid-watching, in this case. See how useful that phone is?). Today, I realized I forgot my pillow to make the chair palatable and so I assumed the back neutral position my PT likes, in bed, and meditated there. Judgement time: I know I'm not supposed to meditate lying down in bed, but until I get a comfortable position between my lumbar and thoracic and now cervical spine constantly arguing with each other, all things are possible. And for today it worked. Tomorrow, we're hoping to free my glider--yep, those pregnancy chairs can have a second life!--and I can use that. Lots of support.

Speaking of support, I felt this amazing, glowing enveloping of support from Karen Maezen Miller, the Zen priest and author whom I've referenced here numerous times, who linked to my first meditation pledge post on her own blog. I first noticed it when I had a comment from someone I didn't know, which almost never happens. Then another and another. Four altogether. People who don't know me who came here from her and were supportive of and inspired by my efforts, which in turn inspired and humbled me. By then, I'd read her post and caught the link. It was quite a warm, fuzzy feeling all day. And I am grateful.

While I think it's too early to evaluate this practice, I am having a pretty good few days. Coincidence? I'm not sure it matters.

Car Games

We drove down to the city this weekend to spend it at the beach with Ma and Gong. On the way, we played some car games, namely "30-second interview questions" from a pack Mama bought on Woot (yes, the Magic Trunk has produced again!). As you have probably guessed from my semi-regular questionnaire, I love answering "favorites" questions and such (I have lots of those If books . . . somewhere). And Sis does too, so we played both coming and going, often with the same questions. Though we didn't all manage to answer all of the questions. Here are some of our answers:

• If you could have a super power, what would it be? Sis, flying; Bud, leap tall buildings; Mama, stretchy arms; me, flying or invisible.
• If you could be anyone for a day, who would it be? Sis would be Dave on "Imagination Movers."
• Basketball, kickball, or soccer? We all said soccer.
• If you could have any talent, what would it be? Bud would know kung fu. I would be able to play the piano, sing beautifully, and/or speak Italian and Chinese.
• What's your favorite day of the week? Mama said Friday night.
• Sock color? Everyone answered in unison. Correctly. Blue, white, black, and white.
• If you could eat dinner with any 3 people, whom would you choose? Sis chose Arthur from the cartoon/book series, Dave (yep, Dave again), and Gommie.
• If you could go to any country, where would you go? Mama wants to see those penguins in Antarctica. Sis chose Texas (yep, it's a whole 'nother country. Don't mess with it.). Bud chose China. Picking from places I've never been ('cos I'd go back to England or Italy in a heartbeat), I chose the Netherlands and China, maybe Ireland or Scotland.
• What are your 3 favorite things about you? Sis said "my senses." I said creativity, baking skills, and (well, sometimes) unflappability. Mama said figuring things out.

But the one that got me right here was Sis's answer to the question about 3 wishes. She wishes for

1. Amy the Bunny to be real.
2. Shirt not to get any more holes.
3. Not to be sick anymore.

(For more questions for kids, see here and here.)

Meditation Pledge

The "How to Meditate" issue of Shambhala Sun arrived just in time: my practice has lagged; my stress is on the rise with the upcoming departure of Babysitter and the beginning of school; and my back/neck/shoulders are bothering me. Related? Most definitely. And so, with the desire to meditate firmly in place but the will lacking somewhat, I was (again) motivated to practice by reading Norman Fischer's article on "Getting Started:" ". . . the main difficulty we have with self discipline: we are ambivalent. We both do and don’t want to do what we think we want to do in our own best interests."

Sound familiar? That sums up my often lackadaisical approach to much self-improvement, from dieting to exercise, NVC to meditation. I'm a good starter but then lose focus even though I think I want it, know I should. And then I wonder if I'm doing it right, though I've been assured that really there is no "right." Fischer, too, says:

Better to assume the Soto Zen attitude that meditation is what you do when you meditate. There is no doing it wrong or right. That is not to say that there is no effort, no calm, no focus. Of course there is. The point is to avoid falling into the trap of defining meditation too narrowly, and then judging yourself based on that definition, and so sabotaging yourself. You evaluate your practice on a much wider and more generous calculus. Not: Is my mind concentrated while I am sitting? But: How is my attention during the day? Not: Am I peaceful and still as I sit? But: Is my habit of flying off the handle reducing somewhat? In other words, the test of meditation isn’t meditation. It’s your life.

So, as with many things, I pick up and start again. And since pledges work well for me, as we saw this spring with the bread pledge and my continuation of baking our bread, I'm pledging here to meditate every morning for the next 40 days, getting up before the kids to do it or at the least, doing it when they are in school. First for 5-10 minutes each day, increasing each week by 5-10 until I can do 30. I'm following Karen Maezen Miller's writings on how to meditate, as I was first introduced to zazen through her: start small (just a few minutes), count my breaths, realize that the brain thinks and so it is impossible to turn off thoughts, better just to acknowledge them and let them go.

Fischer says to ask, “How was that? Was it pleasant or unpleasant? What impact did it have on my morning, on the rest of my day, on my week?”

So far so good, today. I'll keep you posted on how it goes.