Sew Cool!

During the last few weeks of 2nd grade, the girls' school had enrichment time at the end of the day. They were allowed to choose from a variety of offerings and Dixie chose sewing. She brought home a cute little apron, with only a few missed seams.

Yesterday, I finally got the last of my sewing and craft things put away and organized. After taking the girls to rehearsal, I made my way through my mending pile and then returned to it after dinner. I got fabric I'd bought years ago and never even touched made into a cute blanket.

Charlie amused himself with Legos, Melody read a book, but Dixie sat and watched me. "You know I can sew in a straight line now, right?"

I've long said that if you can sew in a straight line, you can sew anything. Dixie proved me right.





If you know Dixie, you know that Baby Elephant is sacred. She has had Baby Elephant since she was a baby and nothing absorbs Dixie Tears like Baby Elephant Trunk.



Baby Elephant now has a blanket, pillow and mattress, made from a fabric I bought years ago, in case my friend Deanna ever had a girl.



Since we had a conversation with Dixie today about her birthmother that made for a bit of a hard evening, some crafty bonding over Baby Elephant was just what this mother-daughter team needed. It might even make going to sleep that much easier.

Days with Charlie

This summer, I am working as the vocal coach for a local community theatre group. It's a children's summer program and we are putting on 101 Dalmatians. I've really enjoyed going to spend an hour or two a day with a small group of motivated kids. It's so different than my usual gig of 400 kids before lunch that I don't really know what to do with myself some days.
The cast was skimpy to begin with and a few kids had to drop out for various reasons. At the end of last week, the director decided to throw my girls in to bulk up the song and dance numbers. Because the program is designed as a day camp, Melody and Dixie are now at rehearsal from 9-4 every day this week and next.

While their summer has been rather packed with activities, this huge amount of empty has been hard on me.  I'm having to put away my own dishes, if nothing else. It makes me rather glad that my original plan of being a stay-at-home mom for a few more years didn't pan out. Charlie is so content to play in his own little world that he rarely lets me in. I am being forced to deep clean and exercise in order to stay busy.

But some mornings, if I find just the right moment, Charlie will let me into his world.  This morning, Charlie was being a kitty and allowing me to be 'da gwown up dat plays wif da kitty'. When he got tired of the strings and laser lights and no longer wished to be petted, he grew wings. "Dat is why dey call dem flying kitties."

I tossed him over a shoulder and we began to fly around the living room and kitchen. As the pathway were were taking became bolder and more adventurous, he protested. "You hafta remember I am a new flying kitty dat was jest born. You hafta be careful wif new flying kitties jest born."

After a good hour as a feline, he's got play-doh out and is making minnows and worms. They, too, can fly if they are bent at one end to be shaped like a candy cane. Just like toy cars can fly, but only if they have their doors open like wings.

I would like to fly, too, but no one is volunteering me a ride on their shoulders.

Watermelon

I'm convinced there's no piece of childhood summer that carries more magic than the watermelon. Without it, summer has not truly begun. There's just so many memories attached--just the smell makes me seven again, sitting on the back deck with a green and red smile of melon, juice dripping down my chin, trying my mightiest to spit black seeds further than my brother. I even lost a tooth in one once. When I realized it, I frantically sorted through my little white seeds looking for which one was really a tooth. Don't remember that I found it, either.

I still remember the sight of mom spreading out the paper bags to catch the juice, getting the biggest chef knife and working on a melon with her ninja-machete skills. She'd start telling about when she was a kid and laughing at the slipperiness of the task at hand. Dad would start in with stories of his own as we were shooed out the back before we made a bigger mess in the kitchen.

Watermelons somehow got my parents talking. Acquaintances of my parents in their current era selves would never guess the hardship and poverty either grew up with. Mom talked about her childhood far more often than dad. Her adobe New Mexico home with four brothers and as many girls has happier stories, despite the hard work in the chile and onion fields that was part of meeting their basic needs. Dad's nomadic childhood involved six rapscallion kids with on-and-off-again parents and their addictions.  But for both of them, one of the joys of summer would be the day mom or dad brought home a watermelon.

Recently, Charlie lectured me that I needed to 'bwing home a watermewon fwom de stow de next time dat you are dere.' Who could refuse such an order? Since this is the week we have two bonus children, the timing could not be better.

Yesterday evening, as we dragged in groceries and luggage from our recent weekend at Oma's, I suddenly felt an attack from behind. Dixie was crushing me, jumping up and down and squealing about how I was the best mommy ever. Charlie was in bed already, but saw it there on the counter this morning and ran in for a rare mommy squeeze. Like most childhood magic, the rarity and anticipation sometimes eclipse the event itself.

BLTs and watermelon seemed like the perfect lunch for five children, so I sliced melon while the bacon sizzled and the toast toasted. Little hands grabbed pieces and got shooed out the back door before they made a bigger mess in the kitchen. Within a few minutes, all the seeds were spit, all the rinds in the trash and their arms had trickles of pink juice tracing up to their elbows. Mommy had told her stories and the sweet crispness of this fruit was certainly worth the anticipation and the mess.

Summer has officially begun.

Swimmers! We Got 'EM!

One of the things I've felt guilty about for awhile is that my girls are 8 and 8.5 and can't swim. In fact, at the end of the school year, the girls had a trip to the municipal pool as a reward and it was terrifying to send two almost-swimmers in amongst the hordes.

Two summers ago, Dixie could swim from me to the edge and Melody was almost there. I knew we were one summer away from little froggies.

Then we moved to Small Town, Texas, where I teach roughly 9% of the elementary-aged population in town. In suburbia, I could drive ten miles to a pool where I was far enough away to not risk running into my students. Here, that's not possible. (One of the ways the kids entertain themselves in Wal*Mart is by counting how many students we run into. We average 8 a trip.)

My students are not seeing me in a swimsuit. I am not seeing them in their swimsuits. This is simply not happening.

Also, last summer was crazy busy with traveling, not to mention record-setting heat. In a summer with nearly 100 days over 100 degrees, we were not going outside to get in warm water.

So this summer, I planned swim lessons for all three kids. I knew the girls needed just a little technique and encouragement to be swimming merrily along, but didn't realize how good they'd get and how fast.

By the end of Monday's 40 minute lesson, they were both swimming about fifteen feet independently. By the end of Tuesday's, they'd figured out how to swim on stomach and back and how to come up for air. Wednesday, they took their first dives in from the side, then both braved the diving board. Today, Melody did a forward flip off the diving board, landed in a relatively-coordinated fashion, and swam to the edge. Dixie is still getting the nerve up for that, insisting that she will conquer it tomorrow.

My girls can swim!

As for Charlie's progress--well, he's no longer clinging to the side in desperation. That's about all I can say about him. Can't win them all, right?

But the best part? I made a new Mommy Friend!

My Gymnasts are Not so Tiny Anymore

Melody's events are:
Beam
Bars
Vault
Floor
Beam was definitely her best, for you skimmers.

Dixie's events are:
Bars
Vault
Floor
Beam
Bars and vault were her best, but she was having a rough day. She's been through a recent eight pound and one inch growth spurt and her muscles haven't fully adjusted to the change.

We were supposed to do their meet first, grab lunch, then go back for Charlie's meet. He started getting mopey during the girls' meet and we didn't bother buying him food because he was grunty and resembled a lump. After 45 minutes in the restroom at Grandy's, we made a stop at Walgreens and went straight home. He's so miserable that I don't think he even realized that he was missing his time.

Thoughts from Charlie's Head

"Im starting to see my dream. The pictures flash like when someone takes a picture with a camera. But there's no person, and no camera. Flash, flash, flash. It's harder to see the pictures when the sun is up."

Charlie likes to sleep in complete darkness, no easy feat when he goes to bed long before the sun goes down. His shades are pretty good, but the four large windows allow it to creep in around the corners. Once, last fall, he got very mad at me because, "We go to sleep when it is the daytime and wake up when it is the nighttime and this just makes no sense."

He's right, but I didn't make the bus schedule.

At Easter we went on a family retreat at our new church. I was initially skeptical, but was sold by the notion of no dressing sugar filled children up in layers of fluff to endure an extra long, extra full church service then try to take those hungry children home and make them wait we while I throw together something fancy.

Instead we had church in our shorts down by the riverside in the cool morning breeze. The day before was like a scene from a movie. A couple hundred people on the green, soft hilly grass. Someone playing guitar with a guy beating on a djembe, people canoeing and swimming, bubbles blowing and kids playing. Talking, laughing, fun. It made me miss Austin. It felt like Austin. All that was missing was a dog with a frisbee and some teenagers with a hackey sack.

Charlie thought about God that weekend and told me that, "God must have two hands, that way He could make us both." I was drawn in by that beautiful, loving image and was thinking to myself for just a moment that Charlie is really growing things up, really thinking things through.

But just for a moment, because he then informed me, "And God made chickens so they could rule the galaxy!"

This notion has cracked me up for weeks now. I asked him once why we ate them, if they do indeed rule the galaxy. He informed me that this was part of their plan . . . once they are inside of us, the takeover can begin.

So perhaps vegetarians are saving us from a fowl future?

He also told me this morning that "My life is very hard." Unfortunately, the poor sweet boy is right about this. He gets so angry and he can't stop. He says, "When I am angry, it never goes away."

He has come so far on so many fronts, but his anger and rage are wearing us all thin. It is not a constant, but seems to pop up at moments that are supposed to be happy and fun, but out of the ordinary. I spent church on Mother's Day outside with a screaming boy and then Thursday I pulled a wagon of screaming boy through a parade at the girls' school.

He is so high functioning that I forget sometimes how much he needs structure, planning and control. Since I tend to be very spur of the moment and am all for spontaneous fun, I'm not always good at preparing him for what is happening. I think our busyness doesn't always work in his favor.

But there are three of them. Five of us. His needs can't always dictate our plans. The girls are learning so much about compassion and patience from having Charlie as a little brother, but sometimes I'm worried that his needs hold them back. So then I try to make sure they get to experience everything while limiting his world to the things he can handle and preparing him for the things that can't.

And then I am frequently told I look tired.

I am.

But I just have to eat more chicken and hold out until they take charge. Perhaps they can do a better job of it all?

Enough, already.

I forgot to update, and I'm sorry.

 Dixie's heart is fine. The cardiologist saw the concern on the old EKG, said it was still within the normal range and he probably would not have even considered looking into it, but his colleague that read the original is more cautious. He did a new EKG and an echo. Her heart muscles, valves and walls were all in great shape.

Now on with it.

***

Enough already. We have enough already.

Dowlan got paid today. We got tax money from an error a few days ago. I got paid for a secondary project at Pearson last week and there is more coming in next week. We have a considerable amount of money in the bank and nothing to do with it.

It is the strangest feeling.

I even sat down today and got completely caught up on all medical things and there is money left. And I found out that since I'm dropping my health insurance at work my paycheck is going up by like 700 a month and my next check will have a refund for May's health insurance premium. And I'm doing another brief Pearson project at the end of the month. And since my employer pays $350 a month to my health insurance and I might as well use it for something I can have secondary coverage on just me, which means the sinus surgery I'm having this summer won't cost nearly what we thought it would.

This is the strangest feeling, having enough. It is just as terrifying as not having enough, because I'm afraid I'll screw it up somehow. Or that the shoe will drop. Something enormous will go wrong soon because it is there.

The money he made while working out of town helped us get caught up on a lot of things, and life has been cheaper now that we don't have to travel to see each other. There are a couple of conveniences that we no longer use now that he is home, like the Schwann guy, the housekeeper and delivered pizza. Mostly it's just that a steady diet of paychecks has been good for our household. We are about to buy Dowlan a better car, I'm about to bring our school cat home for the summer and the will be vet bills, there are summer trips and camps to pay for.

But last week I spent about $400 on my van and I didn't have to even think about how to pay for it. No need to squirrel anything away or decide what to not pay quite yet.

It has been a long time coming, but enough. Already.

Oh good. A new doctor.

I've avoided saying much because it is likely to be nothing. But just in case it is something, we could use your thoughts and prayers. Dixie has been on ADHD medicine for the last year and the medicine she is one is a stimulant. Because her birth mother had a congenital heart defect, the psychiatrist we've recently started working with wanted to do an EKG just to double check that all was well before continuing on meds that can be hard on the heart. We got the results jack about a month ago. We are either dealing with a defective test or a defective heart. Tomorrow we go see the pediatric cardiologist at 10 a.m, heavily hoping it is the first option.

Fighting

At christmastime, my mother, aunts and I had all commented about how incredibly well my children got along compared to other sibling groups. How they would get frustrated at times, but really didn't fight, yell, hit or scream.

It was nice while it lasted.

While I still think I have quite good kids, some doozies have broken out lately. The most impressive of which was a week or so ago when I was fertilizing the front yard and had to run to the backyard and break up the screaming match on the trampoline.

I'd you ever needed proof that my family was strange, here it is.

Charlie was mad because the girls had uses this springy fabric tube that the kids can crawl through to build a portal to another dimension and it didn't work. If those ridiculous girls had placed it in a slightly different spot on the trampoline, the spot where he wanted it, he wouldn't even be there to phase to put up with their incompetency or have to 'use his imagination' as they so ridiculously keep suggesting.

Book Review: Lost and Found

In the five years I've been writing this blog, I have talked a lot about my favorite things: Dixie, Charlie and Melody. I've also talked a lot about my least favorite things: unemployment, autism and exhaustion. Today we're branching out in a new direction: books. Specifically, book reviews that are through the book club section of the network my blog ads come from, blogher.com.

So, yes, I'm getting paid a bit. And, yes, this is still my honest opinion.

While books are one of my favorite things to talk about, this book is about most people's least favorite things to talk about: money and food. Specifically, losing both.

Oh, fun.

In Geneen Roth's book Lost and Found: One Woman's Story of Losing Her Money and Finding Her Life, an author and speaker who usually delves into the world of compulsive eating and spirituality takes on a new direction. She tells the story of the day her friend called to tell her the shocking and life-altering news: that Bernie Madoff had made off with 30 years' worth of savings, earnings and retirement.

Her description of that dizzying afternoon reminded me of the day my world changed. The day I laid on the bedspread, propped on my elbows, staring at the phone. I could not believe my husband, the supporter of all five of us, was out of a job soon.

There were times where I had trouble relating to a married woman with no kids struggling with money despite two incomes when we had three kids and no income. Somehow, still, our experiences were so much the same.

Roth describes the suffocating feeling of standing in a high-end clothing store with a friend who was excited about all the beautiful things around her while she was panicking at the thought of each and every price tag. I cannot tell you how many times I did this in Target or at the grocery store.


Different scale, same anxiety. Same need to re-center and find a new normal, which both of us eventually did. Her interpretations of spiritual life are far different than mine, yet we both needed to reexamine what we really needed in life and what our decisions about money say about ourselves.

Because so much of her adult life has been spent working through her own food issues and then helping others do the same, many of her reflections and thoughts tied in money, food and self. Roth states, "I saw there wasn't a huge difference between problems with money and problems with food: Most of the world doesn't have enough of either, but those of us who do seem to always want more and, for the most part, refuse to believe that the problems we are experiencing 'out there' originate--and need to be solved--'in here.' "

If money and food are internal struggles for you, she has provided an excellent framework for self-examination as she processes through her own struggle.

More discussion can be found here: http://www.blogher.com/bookclub/now-reading-lost-and-found