Professor Mother Blog

From a school activity sheet:

I am special because: I am special because I am a gynast.  I can also be special because I like fashion, clothes and nail polish.  I am lucky because I have friends, a dog, and I can travel.  When I am biking, I feel special.  My besty friends also make me feel special.  My parents can make me special.  I can also be special because I have a house near the beach, the pool and the pier.  When I eat candy, I make myself special.  I am also sweet, nice, and lovable.  So I am special!

This just amuses me on so many levels… not the least is how her answers are so framed along what is socially acceptable for fourth grade.  Example- the candy remark.  She HATES candy…  And living by the beach- that is pretty special! 

Last Friday, I had a rather upsetting day- events that have no bearing to this blog, but still… I was upset.  Very upset.  I dropped Ray off at soccer practice and I took Bailey for a walk around the field.  I was walking to burn off steam; I was walking to process, and I was walking so that I would not sink into a morass of depression and anxiety.

Ray’s soccer field is a new one, and it’s a bit in the middle of nowhere.  Surrounded by scrub palms and live oaks, it’s a reclaimed bit of marsh land that while environmentally I’m sorry to see it built, as a soccer mom, it makes for a really lovely field.  I hadn’t really gone off the pitch before, and I realized as I headed out into the underbrush, I really didn’t know where I was going.  But that was all right- I really didn’t know where I was going in all senses of the word.

I was following a trail- and feeling the peace of the woods begin to sink into me.  A random blue jay would call, a woodpecker was hammering above me, and in the background I could hear the muffled shouts of the boys kicking the ball and the lower tones of the adults coaching them.  I was upset, but I was finding solace.

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately…” Thoreau

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep…” Frost

And magic happened.  Magic that doesn’t often exist in Southeastern Georgia.  Magic that is old and deep and rooted. I came upon a labyrinth built into the woods.  A small labyrinth, to be sure, but … A labyrinth.  Just off the soccer fields.

As stated in Lessons4Living.com,

We are all on the path… exactly where we need to be. The labyrinth is a model of that path.

A labyrinth is an ancient symbol that relates to wholeness. It combines the imagery of the circle and the spiral into a meandering but purposeful path. The Labyrinth represents a journey to our own center and back again out into the world. Labyrinths have long been used as meditation and prayer tools.

A labyrinth is an archetype with which we can have a direct experience. We can walk it. It is a metaphor for life’s journey. It is a symbol that creates a sacred space and place and takes us out of our ego to “That Which Is Within”.

A labyrinth with a little sign that said that it was planted and maintained by the Sea Island Ladies Garden Club.  Thank you, ladies…

Bailey and I walked the labyrinth, and I was struck at how much I needed to remember that life may turn and that life may double back on itself, but that I will always come back to where I need to be.

And just as I finished, I heard the subtle distant noise shift made when the practice was over and the boys were breaking up into social language, rather than sports talk, and I headed back to my life.

As a friend of mine said “That was no accident”… and indeed, it wasn’t.  I hope that everyone finds a labyrinth in the woods just when they need one.

Take notes, now!

According to Ray, 8 years old:

I put sugar and water under my arms.  They said that that makes me smell sweet!  That, and giving them a Silly Band.  I’ve got lots of girls to choose from now!

 Who knew it was that easy? 

And yes, he did take a shower last night to remove the stickiness.  Sugar water as deodorant?

There exists between readers and a writer, a sortof “invisible” wall.  After all, I don’t exactly know everyone who is reading this, or who might read it later.  Certainly, writing a book is the best example of a really long monologue- a lone voice in the wilderness of Amazon, Barnes and Noble- shouting in a cacophony to get your attention, but once your attention has been captured, it’s an entirely one-sided lecture.  I tried to make my book amusing and informative, and helpful and supportive, but in the end, it’s you reading my thoughts with no real chance to respond.

A book is in stark contrast to talking to friends and exchanging ideas…  a true conversation with give and take and a flow and an ebb of topics.  Then there is private writing.  The diary, the journal, in which you are the only reader.  It’s an advanced version of talking to yourself. And then, there’s the wonderful blurring of all of these lines with social media.  Even with Facebook, there is some measure of control over who reads your innermost thoughts- and just fyi, some of those thoughts probably should have stayed private.

Blogging is a wonderful place between… This is public- which means that anyone, everyone- has access to it.  The glories of a blog is that some of those “invisible” readers might actually write back- it comes close to a conversation!  But I get to expound on what I want to think about!  I get to reflect and ponder and share!  I don’t have to follow perfect grammar and punctuation rules!  And sometimes, I get to respond to other people’s thoughts!  Blogging, for me, is a wonderful “at this moment” diary as I process through things, a conversation with folks, a chance to share in the larger discussions within the fields of autism/giftedness/education, etc, a chance to try out ideas, and honestly, a way to share my kids’ lives with my mother and my friends.

Over the last week, my readership has jumped.  I knew there was a reason- I knew that Google hadn’t placed me at the top of every search.  Normally, I don’t have personal conversations with one set of readers or one person (Hi, Mother!), since that would be excluding all of those other readers or people I don’t know.  But my fabulous friend, Wendy, a prolific writer, speaker professor, former beauty queen- and amazing mommy and friend (really, if I didn’t love her so much, I’d hate her!) apparently made reading this blog a class requirement for her students.

She has learned, as I have, the power of the blog for exploring different points of view, for learning the struggles and the joys, for getting to feel like you know someone by their words.  I have leaned on several blogs over the years- I didn’t always comment, but I read, and I checked in almost every day.  See my BlogRoll?  I check in with them often.  I haven’t met them in person- all right, I’ve met one- but I feel I know them.  I know their humor, I know their eloquence, I know their turn of phrase, and I learn from them.  I learn grace under pressure, I learn things to say in difficult situations, I learn of what’s possible, I learn what to do, and I learn that I am not alone.

So, if you’re in Wendy’s class, or you found this site from a Google search, or you’ve been to one of my presentations and you’re tuning in for the first time, or if you’ve been reading since the beginning (Hi, Mother!),

Welcome!

Grab a cup of coffee, pull up a chair, sit down, lean forward over that computer monitor or cell phone, and enjoy!  And if you have a thought or a reaction, or you find yourself talking to the screen, the Comments section is down at the bottom of the blog.  My Comments policy is posted to the right.  You’ll have to put in your email address- but only I see it.  You may find yourself disagreeing.  You might find yourself cheering.   You might find yourself bored.  Come join the conversation!  Read some of the other blogs I follow.  Read some of the blog posts that I refer to and share with others all the time.  And I hope that as you move on with your very busy life, you find a little bit of humor, a little bit of a tear, a little bit to think about…

And remember…  you’re welcome at my blog anytime!

I was talking to a friend of mine at my son’s soccer practice on Friday, when I mentioned that I had been talking to a consultant for work stuff.

Elizabeth broke into the conversation and said, very excitedly, “Oh, Daddy used to be an insulter!”

The really funny thing is that James is one of the most laid-back guys I know.  He ALWAYS sees the good in people.  I often laugh that he’s a much nicer person than I am.  “Insulter” is just so NOT how one would describe him!  But it makes for a good story…

So, I’m trying very, very hard to make the deadline for a grant proposal that looks at how teachers can help anxiety and stress in children with autism and Tourette’s.  Yup, research is me-search! It’s complicated, I’m new at this grant writing stuff, I’m trying not to let down my partners, I’m trying to be there for my kids and well… I’m stressed.  Ah.. the irony of it all just gets to me.

I got my hair cut last night.

Sunday night, we were watching the old movie of “Nanny McPhee” when the cook was yelling at the children (You know, as cooks trying to get dinner ready are wont to do).  “Look, Mommy, she looks like you!” laughed my daughter. This is Mrs. Blatherwick, the cook from Nanny McPhee.

Yes, my hair was up in a scrunchie.  Yes, I had been writing in my office and then biking and doing upteen jillion loads of laundry.  No, I had not showered.  And yes, I knew then, that it was indeed, time to get my hair cut after a six month wait.

Every woman has her “thing” that she likes.  For me, it’s my hair (we won’t talk about my weight, my skin, or my eyelashes, but hair… I’ve always liked my hair).  It’s thick and sortof wavy and until the last few years, light brown with gold highlights and pretty much does what it’s told.  Now, it has swatches of gray and I live in the most humid place on earth, which makes it frizzy, and I’m teaching 8am classes, so I am just not getting up at 5:00 to blow it dry and smooth and perfect and who has time for all of that?  It was time for a ‘do.

So, I went.  I went and got my hair cut and conditioned and highlighted and gooped and blown dry and gooped and ironed.  All total- it took 3 hours.  Now, it looks a bit more like this….

Other than my wrinkles, and my definitely-not-yoga body and the I-won’t-tell-you-how-many-more-pounds, and my lack of makeup and my nose… yea, that’s me.  I’m having a good hair day.

There are three problems- which I realize aren’t really problems, but are still challenges to this positive self-image thing that I’m rockin’.  The first is that I will have to wash my hair.  Probably not today, and maybe not even tomorrow, but soon.  The quantity of products on my hair are weighing it down and it’s a moment before greasy at this point.  The second thing is that I live in the world’s most humid place.  And there’s a hurricane hovering off of our coast.  It’s moist.  At some point, I will have to go outside, when my hair will arise and form a Brillo pad. 

The last issue is that my husband LOVES it.  Not just likes it, but loves it.  As in, I got an extra-passionate, like-the-old-days kiss from him this morning.  I understand that any man prefers Jennifer Aniston to Mrs. Blatherwick, but the effort it takes to create one from the other is… oy.  Let us remember that it look my hairdresser three hours to do this- and she’s a professional!  Me- I am an amateur.  And there really is no middle ground here- it’s either Jennifer or Blatherwick. 

But there is perhaps another reason I might (beyond the promise of more kisses) try to re-create Jennifer more than once every six month.  When I arrived home and was brushing out my daughter’s silky, lustrous hair for school pictures, she said “Look, Mommy.  We have the same hair”, and held my now-lighter tresses against hers where you could not tell where one lock of hair ended and another lock began. 

Locks of love, indeed.

And when you see me as Mrs. Blatherwick, please try to remember that with, oh about 4-5 hours worth of work, there is Jennifer Aniston hair waiting to come out.  And really, don’t we ALL have a hidden movie star somewhere? 

I know, I know- for all of you non-academic types out there, the calendar reads “August”, but for me and mine, it’s a brand new year! 

It’s why I love teaching.  It’s why I loved school. Every August is a brand new slate.  A brand new clean organizer.  A brand new start.  This year, I will be organized.  This year, I will be on top of assignments.  This year, I won’t make the mistakes that I made last year.  Right now- it’s all possibility and anything is possible.

One of the secrets that teachers don’t tell is that we’re excited about the first day of school, too.  We don’t sleep that night before either.  We plan out our clothes and our lunches and our activities with tiny attention to detail so that we can feel in control of the vast unknowns.  We want to know who’s in our class, what are we going to be asked to do, will it be hard? 

I watched Ray go through his Trapper Keeper yesterday and saw him planning on a brand new school year- one in which he’s organized.  One in which he’s on top of things.  A year in which Tourette’s and anxiety and autism do not win- ever.

And I watch Elizabeth plan her clothing scrupulously as if the right top, the right pants will make the ocean currents of fourth grade girl friendships more navigable.  A year where autism and giftedness and being nine years old do not conflict and do not hinder- ever.

All of us, planning, excited, fearful, and anticipatory. 

…..

I have a quote that I have always shared with my students the first week of class by Shel Silverstein:

“If you are a dreamer, come in. If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar, a hoper, a prayer, a magic-bean-buyer. If you’re a pretender, come sit by my fire, for we have some flax-golden tales to spin. Come in! Come in!”

And so we prepare for the first day, my children and I, all with bated breath about this coming year- We want to know who’s in our class, what are we going to be asked to do, will it be hard? 

It’s all possible…

I just watched “Eat, Pray, Love” with Vicki last night and I’m searching for my “word”.

“Eat, Pray, Love” is the story of Elizabeth Gilbert who searches for meaning of life after a terrible divorce.  She goes to Italy to learn how to enjoy life, to India to search for the meaning of life, and Indonesia for balance and love again.  She’s a writer and so she gets to go to these places and write about them for her living- as opposed to the rest of us who get to search for these things in our own backyard.  There are some issues I have with the book and the movie- not the least was her realization that God is within us, but not taking the next step to realize that such peace, prayer, and pleasure is within oneself all the time- sortof a spiritual Wizard of Oz.  But that quibble aside, it’s a thoughtful, interesting book, and a lush, gorgeous movie.  In the craziness that is my life, I enjoy taking a peek into someone else’s life every now and then…

There was a game that Liz played during her trip of distilling the essence of a person or a place down to one word.  She described New York’s word as being “achieve”, Los Angeles’ as “success”- similar to, and yet different from New York’s- Stockhold as “conform”, and Rome as “sex”. 

She did the same with people- her sweetheart was “antevasin“, one who lives at the border, and she decides that her word was “attraversiamo“-”Let’s cross over”. (Yes, I know that in the book, she was both, but I’m not nitpicking here).

I have always loved word games like this.  When James and I were dating, we often read to each other from a series of books called “If”… If you had to name three books you would take with you on a deserted island, what would they be?… If you could talk to one person from your past, who would it be and what would you ask?…?  They’re fun and interesting.  Perhaps it’s the dual nature of these types of questions that I like- at once shallow and thoughtful, light and yet insightful.  And so I’ve been thinking about it…

My word is Venn- as in Venn diagram.  I played with “connection” or “bridger”, but my gift, my skill, my interests, lie in finding the areas of connection, of lapover, of teasing out how are things similar, yet different.  How is autism like/unlike giftedness?  How is parenting like/unlike teaching?  How are the joys and sorrows of living dangerously close to the drama of bipolar?  When do talents become impairments- and impairments, talents?  How is the spiritual manifested in our world?  How is our culture embedded in our myths?  How much connection is there between work and life, heart and mind, spirit and body?   I live with labels- and how much overlap, similarities, and usefulness do these labels have?  Yup- my word is Venn. 

That one word captures most of me- but not all of me.  It is a trivial game that provokes thought.  I asked Ray last night as I was putting him to bed what his word is, and he thought seriously for a moment, and said “I don’t know- it’s not “soldier” (he was playing with his green army men), or “son”.  It’s more than that.  Maybe, “word”?”  And then, he was off to another topic, his ADHD kicking in and there was no going back.

I’m fascinated by these glimpses into his mind every now and then… are words so important to him?  Did he mean “Word”, as in “listen up”?  Or was it a random neurological echolalia?  I’ll ask him again later… and Elizabeth, and James all of those people whose hearts and minds I’m constantly discovering and relearning.

What’s YOUR word?

with apologies to Eric Carle…

On Monday, Ray ate one banana

On Tuesday, Ray ate two Nutragrain bars

On Wednesday, Ray ate three chicken nuggets

On Thursday, Ray ate four nachos

On Friday, Ray ate five handfuls of popcorn

On Saturday, Ray ate two poptarts, one bowl of grits, two mini-pizzas, one sno-cone, one hot dog, seven carrots, three slices of pizza, one glass of Instant Breakfast and one chocolate lava cake.  Oh- and three glasses of water.

And then he turned into a chrysalis and then a butterfly and flew away.

Ok, no, he didn’t, but apparently, Ray is following the “Eat a week’s worth of food in one day” diet.