Update: plodding along in sand

It's almost the last day of the first month of the year, and I'm already tired of 2017.

Not in the way you might think--I have not yet given up on humanity as some might have.  I'm weary from the lack of sun.

I have a vitamin D deficiency, so on a good day in June, my vitamin D levels are on the low end of normal and on a cloudy day in January, they are at death levels.  To combat this I take 10,000 IUs of Vitamin D daily, and any moment the sun is out I will stand in a beam hoping to soak some of it in.  I recently did one of those DNA tests, and found that my Scandinavian and Scotch Irish heritage has a lot to do with this.  It also doesn't help to live in Michigan, where a grey film covers the sky from November to late March.

Vitamin D deficiencies leave you lethargic, depressed and in pain.  My muscles ache, so I skip my workout routines.  I want to do things to make myself healthy but find myself plodding in sand, unable to get up enough energy to do anything.  And that's sort of the bitch of it--exercise and getting out would help me--but I have no energy to do it.  Faking energy doesn't seem to help, either.  Believe me--I faked being "up" all month for events and it leaves me anxious and panicky (another side effect of a vitamin D deficiency).

I know that people reading this will give me a million remedies for this, and believe me I have probably tried them all (don't ask about my failed sun bed experience).  It's just something I have to get through and when the first buds of spring come I'll be okay again.  But for now I'm finding a rhythm similar to a grizzly bear in hibernation--eat, sleep, have a little wine, read some, and watch a lot of Netflix before slobbering asleep at 8:30 pm.  Fortunately the girls are bigger now and pretty self-sufficient.

However, I felt a pang of guilt when my 6th grader's teacher emailed me to discuss her failure to turn math homework in on time, so her grade in that subject wouldn't be good.  I felt like a crap mom because were I not yawning and just wishing that homework time was over at 8 pm, I would have noted that.  But I didn't--I've been so exhausted from life that I couldn't give a rip.  I hated to tell the teacher that I didn't give a rip about her grade, either--no one cares what your math grade was in 6th grade, and my dyslexic daughter finally got an A in reading so what matters more?

Motherhood is a series of moments where you feel really bad about yourself for not living up to some mythical standard.  I don't know a single mom who feels like they're doing a great job every day, and there's a sense of "we're all screwing this up together" camaraderie and self-deprecation going on.  But why does it have to be that way?  Why do we all have to put ourselves down about being human?  I don't know.  These are really rhetorical questions--in the end I'll probably joke about being "mom of the year" as I skirt through another week of just surviving.

Anyway, I didn't mean for this to be a negative post--aside from my sad existence as a hibernating 40-something, I have been doing a lot more sewing, knitting and reading.  I'm making my way through reading the Outlander series this winter, which has certainly been fun.  The series is one of those things that's been recommended to me for years but I never found it appealing and now I'm kicking myself for never read it.  I've also been sewing a ton of clothes for myself and the girls, and on occasion, a friend of two.  And of course I've been knitting like a fiend--last year I finished a set of Christmas stockings for a friend that I had custom designed--no two are alike and they are all of different colored wool.  One of my favorite projects ever, and hopefully they will grace their hearth for years to come.

And I've been dreaming of sunny (humidity free) days, moments by water, and warmth to bring me out of my slumber.

xoxo

Report Card Time

The first semester of the school year ended last week, and report cards were delivered this week.

I won't be bragging about my kid's grades.  I've never bragged about my kid's grades. There have been semesters that we were relieved that a child didn't fail a class or raised the grade in another from a D- to a C+.  This semester, we are relieved that for the first time since 7th grade, my oldest daughter didn't get lower than a C in a class. 

Not because I don't think my two girls are brilliant, amazing, awesome, sassy, gifted and talented.  No way.  I bet my 10 year old daughter can contour makeup better than any Kardashian, and my oldest daughter could bust out an ironic observation on life while drawing a Manga character based on her imagination (she once drew me as a seahorse.  As a joke.  I am terrified of seahorses).

These are the talents that grades don't capture.  These are the talents that don't show up on report cards. 

What I do brag about is this:

• My oldest daughter, a collector of dolls since infancy, gave away an American Girl gift card she got to Christmas so that a chronically ill child could get the accessories for her AG doll to "match" her.
• My youngest just gave up a $100 bill she got for Christmas to help the American Heart Association
• My oldest daughter has a memory like a steel trap, and remembers facts and figures and trivia on topics such as the Bubonic Plague, Elizabethan England, the American Revolution and that time I forgot to pick her up from school when she was 8.
• My youngest can watch a You Tube tutorial on everything about raising a hamster and then apply it to make a crazy awesome habitat for her Russian White dwarf, Cam, who lives in digs that are better than 95% of the human population.  Want to know about the advantages of scatter feeding a hamster?  Ask her, she will tell you.
• My oldest has a heart so big that she has already decided she wants a career as a person who helps critically ill children and their families.  And researches this every chance she gets.
• Both girls have accomplished something their 40-something mother has never done, and that is apply and wear makeup without looking like Alice Cooper. 

I could go on and on, and sometimes I do.  When you have a child who struggles you tend to overcompensate for the lukewarm grades.  But I think the hardest thing you do is that you try not to steal the joy from another parent whose child's grades are exemplary and phenomenal.  You tend to avoid the social media posts from gushing moms who post a picture of their kid's report cards, or avoid the discussion all together while sipping your latte at after school pickup.  You tell yourself it's not their fault, that if your kid got all As on their report card that you'd probably shout it from the rooftops, too.  In essence, you try not to be that Debbie Downer who deflates that giant balloon.

Because we all know that time and life is the great equalizer. For every straight A student is a kid who is colorblind; for every great test taker there's a student who struggles to find a job after graduation. We all have our talents, and like I said to another parent yesterday, no one will ever ask your kid what kind of grade they got in 9th grade algebra.  As we move on in life, our talents come forward and we become more comfortable in admitting that we aren't good at everything.  We just need to make sure that we are giving our kids the same message and help them plan for the struggles as much as we celebrate the success.

So to the moms with the 4.0 kids, please keep bragging.  I am proud right along with you, as I know the back story to most of those 4.0's and it isn't all peaches and cream.  And I'll post about my kids and their quirks.  And we will all celebrate them and tell them that not only do grades matter, but so does character, talent, art, creativity and balance.  Because they are all awesome and all deserve to hear it.

The Struggle is Real

As the parent of a child with learning needs, I know I am not alone.  Thanks to social media and the blogosphere, I see daily the struggles many of my compadres experience.  But some days, there comes such a shit storm that you feel so totally hopeless and alone.  I am feeling that today.

My oldest daughter is a freshman in high school and is newly diagnosed with inattentive ADHD.  For those of you who aren’t familiar with this diagnosis, think of it as hyperactivity turned inward.  To look at her she is a calm, albeit shy girl.  She is not defiant or hyper, but the storm is in her brain.  She cannot turn off the world around her, which results in her being distracted and unfocused.  When this is untreated, she becomes anxious because her brain cannot process and prioritize the information being given to her.  The result is that she melts down and becomes immobilized—you can actually see her physically become unable to function.  To add to this, she is stubborn as hell and cannot ask for help.  She has not been able to ask for help since she was born.  This is a child who defiantly refused to nurse, refused to sleep, and refused to learn how to tie her shoes.  She actually devised a completely new way to tie a bow, simply out of her stubborn refusal to ask someone to help her. 

This behavior was cute and excusable when she was younger.  “Oh, she’s just shy” I’d tell people as she’d run away mid-sentence, off to do something else or focus on a shinier object.  But now that she’s 14 and looks like an adult, this behavior has gone from cute to embarrassing.  Which makes me angry at myself for being embarrassed. 

Today’s particular incident has to do with the fact that she’s failing English—a subject she normally excelled at, but has become difficult because her high school teacher doesn’t offer too many grades and opportunities for her to stay accountable.  She is great in subjects where there is homework and an opportunity for her to earn points—the point system is the greatest invention for kids with learning needs.  Goals and rewards are huge in our family.  However, there’s no immediate goal or reward in this particular class, which leads to inattention and a lack of focus.  So I got upset with her, and probably said some things that I didn’t mean, such as I was tired of having to go to bat for her when she quits everything she starts (dance, karate, basketball, many musical instruments, track, drama. . .the list is endless) and that high school is something she cannot just stop paying attention to and quit. 

So after all of this, I spent all night worrying about it, and went in to talk to her advisor.  I am not alone, apparently, and her school has classes that can help her learn how to make lists and focus.  And maybe her meds need to be adjusted, and hopefully we can get this part back on track.

This experience just goes to show that there is no “cure” to attention and learning issues.  This is a lifelong struggle and isn’t fixed with just one or two things.  It’s a perpetual game of whack-a-mole, trying to find the secret sauce that will work with her brain chemistry and personality that will help her get on track.  Like the parent of a child with Type 1 diabetes or some physical malady, this isn’t going away, and it’s a daily game of figuring out what will work for that particular moment.  Like blood sugar gone awry, brain chemistry is that way too for many.  And I feel so behind that I didn’t see the signs sooner, and beat myself up on a daily basis that I waited so long to get her help.  Mostly because I was focusing so much on my other daughter, which I’m getting to…

As if I didn’t feel bad enough this morning, it has come to my attention that my other daughter, already diagnosed as a dyslexic, also has some kind of attention problems.  These are becoming more pronounced in the fifth grade, where the stakes are higher and the responsibilities larger.  She is forgetting homework, assignments, and other critical elements of school.  Her teachers, just one month into the school year, are tired of having to remind her of things, especially when they are doing so much to help her with her reading, spelling and writing.

So we have a new strategy in place and I’m putting a plan into action about having her evaluated for an attention issue.  And again, I feel so utterly defeated as a parent for passing along crappy genetics to my kids, who certainly never deserved this kind of burden in their life.  It’s hard enough to be a girl in this society, what with all the negative stereotypes and mixed messages.  The husband and I have done all the things we thought important with their learning, like moving them to a private, Christian school where they get focused attention and better help than they were getting at the other school they were attending.  Teaching them about self esteem and owning their differences so they aren’t ashamed.  But some days I just feel like I’m faking all of it.  That my own shame and feelings of failure of a parent make me a hypocrite for trying to be a cheerleader to them.  And some days I just break.  Today is one of those days.

Parents of kids with learning problems already have so much crap flung at them on a daily basis… “there weren’t these kinds of problems when I was a kid”, “kids in France don’t have ADHD because their diet is better, there’s state-funded maternity leave and they don’t use cell phones”, “you’re giving her DRUGS?  Oh, wow.  Why didn’t you alter her diet first?” , “maybe try the drugs, they aren’t so bad”, “oh, you work?  Don’t your kids deserve more of your time?” , “why aren’t you on her teachers 24-7, this isn’t her fault.”  When I see or hear this all I want to do is scream.  Parents of kids with learning needs already feel bad enough, what we really need is understanding, a feeling that we aren’t alone and will not be judged because we just want to do the right thing for our kids.  We don’t want to live in secret, afraid that if we ask for help, we will be judged by others who blame US for their kids’ differences.  All we want is understanding.

Since I’ve become more vocal about my own experiences, I have had several parents approach me asking for help or advice.  And I’m so glad that I’ve been able to help them.  I want to be an advocate not just for kids but for their parents, who live daily with this struggle and some days are good and some days are bad.  Today is a bad one for me.  But tomorrow will be good because I got this out and someone will read it and know that someone else is out there, too.  And that makes it worth it. 

Now that I got it out, I do feel better.  I’m counting my blessings and remembering why I’m where I am, why my family is where it’s at and our place in this big blue ball.   I’m where God wants me to be at this very moment.  Esther 4:14 tells us “for such a time as this” and that cannot be more true for me than it is now.  But that doesn’t mean that some days it is perfect—I guess I just had to be reminded today that I’m not in charge.  But that’s great because that means I can hand over the responsibility to someone else for now, dust myself off and breathe again.

So that didn't happen

Y'all, I think I might have over promised and under delivered.  I had every intention of doing a travelogue about our trip to Ireland, but as you can see, I didn't get past Days 1 and 2.  It's not for lack of trying--I have sat down at my computer multiple times since I got back last Monday, but then there's this funny thing called "work" which enables me to take these trips.  Then there's "back to school" and those pesky kids who need things like "clothes" and "school supplies" and "attention."  Geesh, don't they know that I'm creating here??

And then there are my other creative ventures...like sewing and knitting.  I was inspired in Ireland to knit and sew and create.  Maybe it was the Cliffs of Moher and the natural beauty, maybe it was all the gorgeous aran-knit sweaters for sale in the shops on the west coast (right by the Aran Islands, no doubt), but sitting down and writing about it seems far less enticing to me than actually living the experience and inspiration I felt! 

So I made pajamas last weekend...lovely cherry print pajamas that I just absolutely love, and if my computer would behave I could post a picture...but alas, I think my computer is also on strike and refusing to cooperate.  So just imagine if you will a cute retro cherry print, made into short sleeved shirt and pajama shorts.  Got it?  Great. 

Then there's the knitting...I finally finished a gorgeous blanket that is a wedding gift for someone who got married a year ago...yes, a year ago.  Hey, it's been a year of transition for our whole family.  I'm sure she will appreciate it now as a 1 year anniversary gift.  No one ever remembers you on your wedding anniversary so this will be a treat, right?

Long story short, I've been busy.  I wish I could get enough time to sit down and write about my experiences in Ireland, but as it turns out, "you had to be there." 

Dublin Days 1 and 2

So we finally got to Dublin---the oldest daughter and I are taking a “dream trip” to Ireland for a few days.  She’s never been overseas and I haven’t for a while-plus, I felt like we both survived middle school after the last two years…anyway let me tell you about traveling with my daughter.

The first thing you need to know is that my daughter has inattentive type ADHD and thrives in situations where she has been appropriately apprised of the outcome.  Which is why our trip got off to a somewhat rocky start…due to storms on the east coast, our original flights to Dublin were cancelled and rebooked for the following day. You can only imagine what the news did to her.  She not only panicked and acted disappointed but was having a full-blown panic attack as I attempted to negotiate a new flight and air carrier.  I was in full on frequent flier mode, using every possible trick I had in the book to assure that we would get to Ireland within the original 24 hour period.  And it worked.  But for a while there it was me on the phone, using all my cell phone battery life, negotiating with an airline whose customer service is awful (this is the third time this airline has messed with me, they are dead to me now), then an airline which quite honestly never gets the credit they deserve (Delta).  Meanwhile my oldest was quietly in a corner of a gate area, chewing on her hair and breathing deeply. 

But this post isn’t about my daughter’s medical diagnosis, it’s about our trip!  So after three hours of some fancy footwork, we are headed to Paris. Paris!   Our original flight plans didn’t include France, so this was an extra treat for us.  I majored in French in college, and it’s been a few decades since I was able to use it so I was kind of excited, even if I’d only use very simple phrases….so after an 8 hour flight we landed at CDG.  The air was extremely hazy, and I now see why the entire country takes the month of August off if it’s this gross and sticky in the city.  Or, just for a chance to fly out of this terminal….

With this lounge area….

 Needless to say we enjoyed the few hours we had in France, even if we never left the airport. And a couple of the men reminded me why I abandoned my high school fantasy of marrying a man named Pierre who made wine—as one body-checked me getting on the plane and another cut me off as he was getting off the flight. Talk about a Jacques-ass. 

Finally to Dublin, where we got off the plane and were first in line to Immigration.  I’m really proud to be a ‘merican most all the time, but especially when there’s a plane load of Europeans and we get priority status going into the speedy line.  And for anyone following politics, which is I guess the entire world, it didn’t take me thirty seconds on Irish soil to be asked about Donald Trump…so much for leaving the states to get away from politics!!  Our driver, Michael, was so great and chatty and what you’d expect in an irish cab driver.  He gave us a mini tour as we speeded into Dublin, which only took about 20 minutes from the airport to our hotel at St. Stephens Green….

 And not that I’m a hotel expert or anything, but I did score with the hotel we are at: The Fitzwilliam Hotel.  This place is wonderful and has all the benefits of a nice hotel with a boutique feel.  The room is spacious by European standards and the bathtub….oh wow, the bathtub is something else!  We are bathers and this one is perfect.  A fully grown adult male can lay prone in the tub.  And it’s as deep as it is long.  I actually struggled to get out of it after a shower, it’s that tall.

While I’m going on about recommendations, I’d strongly recommend Irish Rail Tours for day trips out of Dublin. Today we took one to County Wicklow…we were one of six, so it was intimate enough that we could ask a ton of questions but not so stifling that we couldn’t go off and do our own thing.  Plenty of time for sightseeing and shopping!

This is where Bono has a residence….nice view.  Glad my consumption of your music helped fund this oasis for your family!

We proceeded via train south towards County Wicklow, home to Avoca (because yarn), the Meeting of the Waters (because why not?) and Glendalough (which is the Valley of the Two Lakes). 

Wonderful little day trip up and down winding and gorgeous mountains.  We wandered through an ancient cemetary in Glendalough, which my daughter claimed was haunted and she could feel the ghosts around her (I think it was just the European tourists with boundary issues).  She still swears it was haunted…and it may have been.   Check it out…

All in all a nice day to kick off our journeys around the country.  Our partner in this voyage was a family from South Africa, and I had a nice conversation with the mom.  Because when two moms get in a room it’s likely they will talk, and this was no different.  She was a career mom trying to raise two boys around my daughters’ age.  She struggled with work-life balance and sexism in the workplace, and we talked about that for a while.  So moms in America, even in those countries that appear to be “better” with socialized this or that, the problems of being a mom don’t go away, and as two upper middle class people, that maternity leave still sucked and the health care system was mediocre at best.  Not that I want to get political, but I just have to say that.  Also, they asked me about Trump…because I just can’t get away from that either.

We are relaxing now as we have another big day ahead of us.  Looking forward to hitting the hay.

Congratulations, It’s a Girl!

So I love having daughters.  I do not hide that fact at all.  When I was pregnant with my daughter fourteen years ago a midwife at my OB practice “thought” she was a boy, and I made my doctor do multiple ultrasounds to prove otherwise.  The thought of raising a boy seemed so foreign to me, as would a lifetime of sporting events and ball-throwing.  I am a girly-girl, who doesn’t like sports, camping, the Three Stooges or any of the other masculine things that are so often attributed to the male gender.  Also, my husband is a sports-crazed fool and I figured that with a boy in the house I had no chance of ever seeing the inside of a day spa or bookstore again.  Having girls was my only hope.

And I got two!!  I love it because I have two awesome daughters who love to help me do stuff and make crafty things and love clothes and shopping.  And because they both have different hobbies and interests that mirror my own I have my own special bond with both. And my husband is happy because he’s off the hook for having to coach little league, engage in Boy Scouts or do any of those general “father son” activities.  He is free to sit in his man cave alone and watch baseball or the O’Reilly Factor or a Hitler documentary and not feel that pang of guilt that he really should be teaching his son how to throw a curve ball or whatever fathers and sons do.  AND he has three women who treat him like he’s a rock star.  It’s a good life for him. 

But I don’t think my husband expected what he’s gotten, and that is two adolescent girls.  You see, there are things that we women omit from our description of having girls, and puberty is one of them.  It’s out of a desire to protect the species, really.  If we tell men the truth about adolescent daughters they would find a way to never have them—look at China.  Some woman over there must have spilled the beans to Chairman Mao, which is how they got those archaic restrictions on the birth of girls. Someone ratted us out. 

I’ve learned a few things along the way that will help you, your adolescent daughter/s and your husband navigate through adolescence, that moms are free to adopt if they so choose.  Listen up, mom of baby girls because you’ll want to save this or bookmark it or whatever:

1.  Get that girl a cell phone, STAT.  I can’t stress this enough.  My daughter and I will have entire conversations about “lady things” with my husband in the same room without even having to speak.  How do we do this?  Texting.  Gone are the days of embarrassing your daughters with asking them if they need any supplies from “that area” of Target.  Thanks to Tommy Motorola, we can now text those kinds of requests.

2. While you’re at it, invest in some ear plugs.  No, this isn’t for that crazy rock-n-roll music they are playing, it’s for your kids.  Because they can hear EVERYTHING…and before your mind goes to the gutter, it’s for those conversations you will have that have the occasional four letter word in them...or maybe that’s just my family.  We do work in the political world so we talk like sailors.  My children are scandalized.

3.  If you want some time away from your family, ladies, just kick off a conversation by saying “maybe we need to have a talk about your changing body. . .”  I find that this will clear a room faster than my geriatric dog’s gas.  I now have at least an hour to ponder life, read a book or watch episodes of Intervention on my tablet.  Ahhh serenity.

4.  Remember when you were in denial?  Go back there.  Sometimes denial is okay, it’s to be embraced.  If you don’t want to think of your daughter as being moody because she has PMS pretend it’s something else.  I hear that John Lennon’s song “whatever gets you through the night” was actually a song written about how he coped with Yoko’s hormonal mood swings.  See, now you’re going to be singing that and also pretending that your daughter is moody because that guy from One Direction left the band.  Problem solved.

5. It takes a village.  That means that this is not the time for helicoptering or making frenemies.  Let go of your desire to be Queen Bee of the yoga pant-wearing set and welcome the friendship of other moms.  We all need each other.  It also makes it so much easier to keep an eye on them.  Drones are still quite expensive. 

6. This is a tip from my husband: learn to like their music.  My husband stopped listening to music around the time “Born in the USA” came out.  We are both classic rock aficionados, and I’m proud to say that my girls know the difference between a song from “The Wall” and “The Dark Side of the Moon.”  However, there comes a time when they will grimace when you turn on the classic rock station, and it will suddenly become very uncool to hang out with mom and dad.  Turn on Hits 1 or whatever they’re listening to in your town, learn who Taylor Swift is dating this week and just go with it.  I will never forget the moment when my husband asked another couple at dinner “did you all realize that Taylor Swift and Katie Perry are really not on good terms??” 

We all nodded, of course, because we knew.  We knew the way into the heart of your teen daughter.

I'm ba-ack!

Yep, like that creepy little Carolanne from Poltergeist, I am back.  Now with 100% less goo (watch the movie if you don’t get it)….

So a lot has happened since I last posted about 18 months ago or so….

1.       I switched jobs, which was life changing

2.       My kids switched schools, which was life changing

3.       My husband switched jobs, which has been life changing

4.       We sold and built a new house, which I only recommend doing amidst the above three if you have a desire to fund a therapist’s vacations for a lifetime.

5.       Both of my kids have been diagnosed with a learning disability.

So, yea….that has all happened.  I will say though that I am blessed.  I don’t mean “#blessed” in the way so many talk about things that make them feel blessed in a pumpkin spice latte kind of way.  I mean I am blessed because through a long journey of self-introspection and healing, I have come to the conclusion that I’m good enough.  Not perfect, not a messed up person, but I’m good enough.  For me and everyone else.  Think about it—if you are reading this you likely live somewhere with good internet access, drinkable water, and the money to afford a device that allows you to surf the interwebs for this suburban woman’s blog. Did you know that more people in the world have a mobile phone than a toilet? 

So while some days are harder than others, and because of this chaotic season of life, I have had to abandon a lot of what I used to hold dearly (like karate, crafting, my sanity).  But it’s allowed me to reprioritize.

For example, realizing that my kids need me now more than they ever did when they were babies.  Trust me, new moms.  I know your baby right now is a vulnerable little love-muffin, and has not yet mastered the “full body whatever” but listen to me.  When your kids hit puberty, they need that love and attention more now than ever.  They need a parent or parents listening to them, paying attention to their emotional health, and simply being there.  It’s a different experience, being a mom to an adolescent, and it is often uncomfortable because it is a humbling experience.  You might be like me and have had to relive your entire awkward middle school experience through your daughter, and you’d really just rather forget it.  But God has a really awesome sense of humor, and the pain you thought you experienced in delivering that child into this world has nothing on the pain in your heart when your daughter cries because she feels like she is completely lost in her life.  By experiencing this, I’ve been able to let go of a lot of trash in my own emotional garage.

I’ve also recognized that as I get older the less patience I have for things that waste my time or cause me stress. I learned that the hard way when I became physically ill from adrenal fatigue.  It’s taken me nearly 6 months to recover from the experience but I’m getting there.   I used to be able to push through stressful times with adrenaline surges—unfortunately I’ve learned that if you do that too many times you no longer have any to give.  These days things get heavy and I have to step away—my body rejects stress like a toddler rejecting green veggies.

I’ve also learned that it’s okay to admit that you are in over your head.  My husband’s job change allows him to be at home more, and I couldn’t be happier.  Not just because he’s fun to be around and I love him madly, but I don’t have to be supermom anymore.  I am also less likely to be the martyr about work and parenting and cooking.  It’s okay to admit you are tired and just can’t even.  I never allowed myself the vulnerability, and now that I have I wonder why I spent 42 years fighting it!

So anyway, why am I writing this?  Because I’d like to start blogging again.  And talk about stuff that matters to me.  Like my family, my hobbies, being a mom, learning not to lean in or lean out but to just draft some of the time and be the front of the pack other times.  I don’t have all the answers, and I often make an ass of myself, so I’m hoping that by sharing these experiences you can learn the lessons I have learned before your hair turns grey and your metabolism starts to slow down to a sloth-like pace.

Hope you enjoy my second act—I fully intend to so stay tuned!

Getting Mad

So first things first: I really need to change the title of this blog because writing about knitting is sort of boring.  I mean, I love knitting, I love to talk about knitting and I love to read blogs about knitting.  But there’s something about me writing about knitting that is just…..blah.  I love to write and I love to knit, but I don’t love writing about knitting.  So there.  I’ll have to think of a clever blog name. 

And that brings me to the next topic: my other hobby, the martial arts.  This has been a really difficult fall for my family and me.  My two daughters have experienced some challenges at their current schools, and my attention to all of my hobbies has taken a back seat to my first job, which is being a mom.  My paycheck job is spent being an advocate, and I’ve had to spend more time being an advocate for my kids.  Many nights when I would have liked to get to the dojo have been spent helping on homework, shuttling kids to tutors, sending emails to teachers, and sometimes, just sitting down and taking a moment to give a lot of hugs.  I’m reminded often of just how much it sucks to be 12, and hope that my experience and empathy for what my girls are going through will help them through their transitions to adulthood.

We are getting there as a family.  Changes are being made and issues are being addressed.  I’m fully confident that 2014 will bring better things, and more time to pursue my hobbies.  After all, if momma ain’t happy, nobody is happy.  I’ve been running on fumes since September, mostly because I’m lacking an outlet for my stress.

I attended karate class last night—finally!  We generally spar once a month, and last night was sparring night.  And let me just say that I am not good at sparring.  Mostly because I’m not coordinated.  Me sparring generally looks one step above a girly slapping bar fight, but I’m getting better.  But so much activity sprung on me is sensory overload, and while I can focus on combination strikes and keeping my guard up, I am challenged in other areas like looking for opportunities to capitalize on my opponent’s weaknesses.

Last night, one of my partners was trying to help me by giving me encouragement and tips as we sparred.  I was hopeless!  At the end he said jokingly “you need to get mad.”

I didn’t take offense to this, and totally understood what he meant.  It’s an idea that’s been shared with me by other sensei and the master.  You have to unleash your “inner bitch” or “momma bear” when practicing the martial arts and self-defense.  Last year, I got so frustrated while we were sparring---one of the young men was getting fancy-dancy with lots of high kicks and careless guarding, so I popped him unexpectedly hard in the face.  He ended up going down, and then I felt bad.  It wasn’t my intent to hurt my partner like that, but what that taught me was that I have the  capability of releasing that inner bitch—and when she comes out you’d better not be in front of me!

The problem is that I have spent a lot of my life expressing my anger inward.  As I mentioned before, I spent years trash-talking myself and performing the reverse cut-down in an effort to spare myself the agony of others doing it.  To project that outward when confronted is something that takes a lot of practice for me and one of the reasons why I’m in the martial arts—to gain the confidence to defend myself against those who attempt to hurt me.  And do it in such a way that it’s less self-destructive than what I have practice for so many years. 

So it’s really not the idea of needing to get mad.  I get plenty mad about a whole host of topics, just ask!  Most of the anger I’ve projected over the fall has been focused on defending my children from school bullies and the sluggish educational bureaucracy. It’s the way I process this anger and how I express it which is what I must work on.  And it is that: a process.  Just as I am learning to find my voice to defend myself (and my family) verbally I must also use my muscles and training to defend myself against a physical attack. 

Just as Peter Cetera sang in what might be one of the cheesiest songs Chicago ever composed, “you’re a hard habit to break.” 

Happy Friday!

Oh Canada

Hudson Bay Inspired Blanket

So after two months I finally finished this blanket..but first, a back story..

When I was a wee girl, I saw a Hudson Bay Blanket in the LL Bean catalog.  Something about it, the cream colored wool, the perfect primary colored stripes, just spoke to me.  Its simplicity was beautiful, and it's coziness reminded me of crisp autumn nights, apple cider and my favorite time of year. Long ago, and I don't know whatever happened to it, we had an ancient Bay blanket and I think it was eventually thrown out, moth eaten and bedraggled. 

And okay, confession: my older brothers introduced me to the McKenzie Brothers and the movie strange brew.  Hey, I was 10 and I lived in Central Illinois, Canada was exotic to me.  Don't judge.

My parents replaced the original Bay blanket with a ginormous king-sized blanket which I believe weighed no less than 900 pounds.  It was put in a closet after my mom realized that there was no way in Hades that a menopausal woman could get a decent night's sleep under it. 

Fast forward to now.  We went to Canada for a summer trip--it was my kids' first "international" trip; shocking since we live about 30 miles from the Canadian border. We took them to Niagara Falls and Toronto.  One of our stops was The Bay--the department store that served as the original Hudson Bay company.  There you can buy all kinds of things with that iconic 4-stripe--from blankets to bikinis.  So I got an idea....why not crochet and felt a blanket inspired by my childhood love of all things cozy and Canadian?

So I assembled what I needed, which was 3 large skeins of natural Lion Brand Fisherman's wool, and 2 skeins each of blue, yellow, red and green Patons Classic Wool.  What eventually came out of all of that was this:

The happy part?  I have just enough yarn left over to make a matching hat, which I will wear on my daily trip to Tim Hortons with pride.

Dancing with the Ninjas

First, for crafting stuff.  I’m finishing a blanket that is styled after a Hudson Bay Blanket.  I was inspired this summer when we visited the Hudson Bay Company in Toronto, and wanted to do something that would remind me of our Canadian neighbors. 

And my karate update. . .I’m presently working on my third kata, which I need to master for my red belt.  It’s hard to explain to my non-karate friends what a kata is, so I’m going to use the Wikipedia definition:

“Kata (型 or 形, literally: "form"^?) is a Japanese word describing detailed choreographed patterns of movements practised either solo or in pairs. The term form is used for the corresponding concept in non-Japanese martial arts in general.

Kata are used in many traditional Japanese arts such as theater forms like kabuki and schools of tea ceremony, but are most commonly known for the presence in the martial arts.”

(source: Wikipedia)

The katas we learn are the five traditional katas taught in karate and tang soo do—there are other katas the advance ranks learn, too, but right now I’m only focusing on those that I need to learn right this second.  The third one I’m learning is called Pyong Ahn Sam Dan.  When I tell my friends this, their first reaction is “is that what the North Korean military does in all those You Tube videos?” or “what the hell is a kata?”

Well, the easiest way I can describe a kata to someone who doesn’t know is to say “a kata is a sequence of punches, strikes, kicks and stances that are done to represent a battle with an invisible opponent or opponents.”  And then when I get the typical blank stare I say “it’s like a dance routine.”

Yes, it’s Dancing with the Ninjas.  Only it’s awesome. 

Last night I attended a monthly kata class that our dojo hosts.  It’s an hour or so of nothing but working on the incredibly nuanced moves that make up a kata. I did six years of dance when I was little, so the idea of learning a choreographed sequence makes sense to me.  However, instead of shuffle-ball-change, I’m simulating punching someone simultaneously in the jaw and gut, nailing him with a crescent kick, stomping on his foot, then ending with a jump that’s supposed to simulate my hopping over a body.

Imagine the reality show?!!  I’d tune in. 

Moving Ahead While Feeling Like You're Falling Behind

So first, an update.  I got my red stripe!  I killed that board when I broke it.  It was, as my husband would say, “like sh*t through a goose.”  I am so proud of myself, and I realized today that I never wrote an update to the last post, which was so insightful and deep, but was important for me to talk about, given the struggles I’ve had and my efforts to be in a better place.

So that brings me to my latest “thing”…not that I like to live my world in 24-7 drama, but as a full time mom/wife/worker bee, sometimes that rock star life comes with drama.  And I’m really working hard to find balance in my life.  This has been something I’ve struggled with ever since I brought my oldest daughter home from the hospital, put her in the middle of our bed, looked at my husband and said “okay, so what do we do now?”  I’ve always personally struggled with my role in life and always felt like if I was to be successful in one aspect of my life it meant that other aspects of my life had to suffer.

Since I turned 40 this year, I’ve decided that the search for perfection is unattainable as we are humans and perfection, while ideal, does not exist on this planet.  I have made a conscious effort to practice this in all aspects of my life. But as someone with anxiety and a serious problem with perfectionism, this is much easier said than done.  I am constantly fraught with guilt over not giving enough attention to one aspect of my life, be it work, family, my hobbies. 

I was a knitting machine for a long time, and for a while this summer, I was sewing like a mad woman.  But school started last month and with that I had to put the sewing machine aside to make room on the kitchen table for homework and the occasional family meal.  The same with karate—I was working so hard to get my red stripe, and my sole focus for the entire summer was to achieve that personal goal.  And now that I have it, I am so much more motivated to get my red belt.  I really enjoy the advanced practice and am so proud of my achievements thus far.  But. . .

Life continues to get in the way.  I am often having to sacrifice that 2 hours a week of martial arts in favor of practicing katas in a hotel room somewhere during a work meeting, or skipping class because my kids came home from school and I knew that this was a night where hugs and family time were more important.  Or I have to put that knitting project aside because the night I was going to work on it was the only night my husband was home for a 2 week stretch.  And then work.  Oh, work.  The thing that we all would wish would go away, but somehow living in a van down by the river isn’t so appealing as it might have been when we were 20 so we do what we have to do to bring home that paycheck to pay for that roof over our heads, braces and of course, yarn and karate classes.

I’ve memorized the Serenity Prayer because my mom is a therapist who happened to run an alcohol/drug treatment program, and the prayer was etched into my head at a young age.  I used to think of it as the dominion of substance abusers, but have only recently realized that it applies to just about everyone.  Let me remind you of some of its words:

                God Grant Me the Serenity

                To Accept the Things I cannot change
                The Courage to Change the Things I Can
                And the Wisdom to Know the Difference

 

So just to break it down, what I can’t change is the actions of others and of society—I cannot force the world to bend to my will.  What I can change is my attitude towards the world and its perceived injustices. I am wise because I have finally realize that I can’t fight the momentum of the universe, but I can find my way in it and be okay with that. 

My point is (and I swear I have one) is that before I would have beat myself up over having missed a special event with my kids because I had to attend to a work issue, or a deadline to finish a baby blanket, or even a karate class, and would have found some way to strap on that Superwoman cape and accomplished it all, Martha Stewart-style.  Only Martha has an army of staff, and hey, she’s human too, having served some time in the pokey.  I’m sure Martha would approve of my decision to sometimes say, “I surrender” and just take a breath. 

So whatever journey you’re one right now, just be kind to yourself.  There’s going to be stop lights and detours and occasionally that really annoying “shut down” that gets in the way of your progress.  You have two choices—you can stomp your foot and cry about the injustices of the world and the crap hand you’ve been dealt, or you can take a deep breath and remind yourself that this is temporary, that you’ll get back to the task at hand as soon as you’re able.