Xmas

Xmas season is upon us and I had an early gift - 4 days away in Salt Lake, with my sister, to do genealogy research at the Vatican of genealogy libraries there. It was a thrilling time to find new bits of knowledge about our ancestors, turning up new names, going back more generations. But in so many ways the gift was about time (and it was 'about time' I got away for a break, too!). Our trip started out with the huge disappointment of learning that since a 91 year-old Mormon church elder had passed away, the library would be closed almost the entire 2nd day we were there - thus a third of our research time, gone. But we re-framed our thinking, passing time together in sunny Salt Lake & hanging out at a spa (lesson learned: always book a 90 minute massage if possible. :-)

In a much deeper sense what got blazoned in my brain is the time limitation we all have -- thus the reminder of spending it wisely. Searching through generations & generations of records - which are essentially an ancestor's life distilled down to birth, marriage, more births, and death - you see the cycle of life keep repeating and repeating. And of course it's impossible not to be acutely aware that you yourself are in the middle of one of these countless cycles. We're all just part of the current blip in this little patch of evolutionary time...

A sobering example of the life cycle presented itself again at the end of our trip. This time with sad news that hit home. My lifelong friend, Liz N, finally lost her battle to leukemia. She was suffering and the quality of her vibrant, exuberant life had dwindled so, perhaps making the news somehow more acceptable. But it still hurts & she will be missed. It's all a profound reminder of "Life is short, make the best of it." To me that means Love yourself, Love your family, Love your children, Love your friends, Love your community, Love your planet - in no special order. Merry Xmas.

Well.

Well, well, well. (Did you hear the one about the three holes in the ground?) Well... here I am after a significant break from alphabet dancing. What can I say other than "life's distractions," of which I have plenty. Boring to list them all here, but the one that deserves the most attention in the last few months is the Presidential Election. This one had too much at stake to sit on the sidelines, so I poured my energy into making history: Bake sales, debate parties, fund raising, trying to convince (and sadly failing) my parents to vote Obama; and of course being glued to every turn on the road to the White House. The end of this long campaign culminated in an election celebration with friends which was muted by a nasty cold virus fighting to take over my body, where it is now attacking my vocal cords leaving me with writing as the best means to communicate. So while I am thrilled that our country is on the path to wellness, I am frustrated, struggling to stay on the same path to my own...


Wellness -- not something I like to take for granted, though I often ride that nexus of healthy living while frequently teasing my well-being with indulgences like wine and non-vegetable-like foods. (Certainly no crime, but sometimes I wonder if eating a raw food diet would obliterate illness...) But staying focused on wellness in the gestalt sense is how I aim to live. And I pretty much believe that the more people in a community that live "well," the healthier the community. I also think it has a trickle down effect: if the people at the "top" are unhealthy, irrational, dysfunctional, that will ultimately affect the people at the bottom. I remember being given a small poster as a child, and it must've resonated with me even then, because I kept it on my wall all during high school. The words went something like this (only on my poster it was not attributed to anyone):

If there is to be peace in the world, There must be peace in the nations. If there is to be peace in the nations, There must be peace in the cities. If there is to be peace in the cities, There must be peace between neighbors. If there is to be peace between neighbors, There must be peace in the home. If there is to be peace in the home, There must be peace in the heart.- Lao Tsu

So the fact that we, as a nation, elected a rational, deep-thinking president has given me great hope - something I have not had for this country in a very long time. And for each of us - families, communities, cities, nations, and the entire planet - I believe this bodes very Well.

Vagina.

Vagina - well we all know what a vagina is - even my almost five and a half year old knows. When she and her little sister take a bath, it doesn't go unnoticed, especially if somewhere in the process they see their dad make a pee-pee in the potty & they are faced with the opposite appendage. And though she doesn't entirely understand what it's for, the vagina has certainly made it's way into the psyche of my 5-year old.

So, I guess we shouldn't have been surprised when C came home from Grace Art Camp with a bag full of art that included the mysterious genital. The theme for the week was Denmark & the children did art work based on a Hans Christian Andersen fable about a princess and her 11 prince-brothers who had been turned into swans. As we praised C's sweet little drawings of crowns, princes and what-not, we stopped a bit short when we pulled out the next "what-not," which was a ceramic sculpture of yes, you guessed it - a vagina. Actually, it was a "swan"-- and it vaguely looked like a swan -- only the top of the swan was unambiguously a (ahem) labia with painted feathers. To be fair, it had a little pointed head with dots for eyes, but that could be interpreted another way, I suppose... N and I suppressed giggles and our innocent C (after glowingly telling us about her swan sculpture) moved on to show us the rest of her art -- a felt puppet, a refrigerator magnet, and her very own personal coloring book.


I suppose if artists like Georgia O'Keeffe can paint flowers in which admirers patently see vaginas, then somewhere in our collective psyches the female sex organ begs to be represented. I mean, even if you take Freud out of the picture, few would argue the ubiquity of the phallic symbol. But leave it to a cherubic 5-year old to tap into such a powerful icon, which certainly must've given her camp counselors a chuckle when they pulled it out of the kiln.

For right now the little vaginal swan sits on our kitchen counter to get lost among the clutter until we get bit by another organizing bug. It will probably then make it's way around our house to be re-discovered from time to time, at which points I would love to be a fly on the wall watching whomever examines it. Will they chuckle? Will they blush a little? Hopefully it won't horrify anyone with puritanical sensibilities. The most curious moment of re-discovery will be when C picks up her little art camp memento when she's a bit older (a good bit older;-) and the light of recognition goes off in her head. And when it does, will she chuckle? I hope so. Will she blush? I hope so.

Uneducated.

The Uneducated, or maybe more accurately, Undereducated masses, have become screamingly obvious to me since the dawn of the Internet. Yesterday I somehow managed to find five minutes to read the latest on the Barak Obama phenomenon. It's been fascinating how the press plays him, how "the people" perceive him, and how the two go so hand-in-hand. So my usual visit to Talking Points Memo reveals some insightful reporting on recent events by people & bloggers who comment with well-thought out, well-stated remarks. Then a drill down on CNN or ABCnews.com takes me to a string of comments by "the masses" -- the antithesis of well-thought out or well-stated. The comments made English look like a foreign language, with the words strung together haphazardly and barely making any sense. I see this with increasing frequency: people who know their way around the Internet and may have something valuable to say, but are only passably literate and post comments that are more often remarkable for their mistakes than their meaning.

This literate/non-literate division (is it better or worse in the past 40 years? Or is it just more obvious because now we "read" each other's thoughts online?) has always been an uncomfortable spot for me. There's the part that gets frustrated, annoyed, and yes, somewhat condescending. Didn't these people listen in school for crissakes?! And then there's the part that feels pity, believing "we're all equal no matter what" - and that part berates the other part of me. But increasingly I get angry, angry at a system that seems to keep the masses ignorant, because somehow that works better with the Capitalist, Corporate, Military Industrial Complex that America is to such a degrading fault. For if the potential soldiers and mothers of potential soldiers could comprehend a global, multicultural existence and even half its complexities, how could they ever allow themselves to fight in an unnecessary war? Or if they really understood the basic intricacies of the planet's limited resources along with how goods are manufactured & marketed, would they ever allow us all to get to the ecological precipice on which we now stand? (Hell, I know I'm culpably part of that latter category, despite my ability to analyze information!)

I'm usually not of the mind that our inferior education system is the result of a dark conspiratorial intent. But likewise I always get stuck in this place of feeling that people are capable of more. If I can easily envision a better educational system, why can it not be so? I couldn't possibly be the only one who thinks we should lift the bar higher & that most are capable of rising to a new level. But generally that frustrated question sets off a mental paralysis. I don't know where to go from there. Maybe this year with my daughter entering this questionable education system, new neural pathways will form and I'll be able to take a next step, however small. Or maybe my perception will shift and I won't think it so inferior. Either way, I plan to be eyes-open and I hope I will be in good company.

This.

This Alphabet Dance has certainly plummeted to the bottom of the priority list as it's been over a month since I've managed to post. Doesn't mean I haven't been thinking about it, though. "T" was going to be Temporary Abeyance after 2 weeks had passed, then "Time Travels" when being blasted back to the '80s at The Police concert. "Trying" for 'trying to write during Trying times with a toddler' gave way to "To Do" as in the list that never stops growing - but that was superceded by simply "Time,"of which there's never enough. "Tinkle" certainly would've been the most eye-catching title as we aim for M to catch her tinkles in the potty. But since that's not really happening to our liking, "This" will simply have to do.

"This" is very simple. It brings one to the Here & Now, and the here and now is this blog, this thing called writing that continues to creep back into my life. It's tricky because This could be the Italian homework I want to do, or the Entangled Minds book I'm eager to finish, or the new surnames I would love to add onto ancestry.com -- all these "This"s call to me, now that I have a couple hours of post-girls'-bedtime silence. If it were daytime This would be competing with family time, exercise and laundry, to be sure. But back to This blog, which is what I'm doing now (not counting, of course, the half-dozen google searches I've done in between paragraphs).

I know that staying focused and present is no doubt my biggest flaw. I'm sure it's learned from my parents, maybe even genetic. When all my distracting thoughts and interests hungrily suck me in or scream at me, I keep circling back to focus on whatever it is I deem as being more important. I keep trying to center on the This, and I have no idea if I'm making overall progress. It may take me my whole lifetime to evolve to being in the Now, and at best I'll only get to Zen monk status by the end of my next life. In the meantime I'm surrounded by distraction and battle with the guilt ("That" f#*ked up issue, guilt) of my under-abilities to focus on "This," the everpresent G-d of Now.

Social life

Social life vs. friendships. When M visited this past week, I asked her if she had managed to find any friends in her new town. She somehow adapted my question to answer in terms of her social life, as in needing to find more time for a social life - but never managed to answer in terms of friendships. Of course this got me to thinking, is there a difference?


I guess I would define social life as the broad milieu that includes friends, future friends, waning friends, colleagues, and generally speaking, fellow human beings. Friendships, on the other hand, are more pointed - people who like you, want to know you, respect you, are generally honest with you - no game-playing necessary. I suppose one's social life feeds one's friendships and vice versa.


My challenge has always been the great balancing act - that delicate dance of drawing people into your life with whom you both feel completely at ease, but who also help you discover new parts of yourself. In my 20s, less comfortable in my own skin, and just trying to figure out how to navigate adulthood, I drew similarly insecure people to my life. My friends were an eclectic crowd whose issues and flaws all manifested differently, but were somehow tolerable: the annoyingly cheap, but completely sincere D; the misfit S who was afraid to really connect to people, but who by-golly kept trying to try; colorful & assertive P had it all together, until you realized how fragile she truly was; M had a swagger that belied a weakness I never figured out; and of course, A, the lovely one who always had a boyfriend no matter what... I could go on and on. Me? I somehow managed to fit in and swim with the flotsam and jetsam in the Los Angeles cesspool known as "showbiz."


Enter my 30s, which forced me to define who I was and how I wanted to live my life. A lot of shift happened. My social life morphed as friendships were shed (some by my choice, some by circumstance, and some through painful loss that I may never understand). I found my one true love, and so many things fell in place when I married him. We merged our social lives together culminating with an unforgettable, fantastically fun wedding. Embracing the new reality of nurturing friendships in coupledom, we discovered as most people do, it's all the more challenging to "click" with 4 personalities (much less the 2 of "each other":)


Now in my 40s with yet 2 more growing little personalities in the mix, the complexities of a social life are exacerbated by even less time to make those friendships that grasp the paradox of feeling simultaneously at ease and challenged to grow. Somehow, it's more simple this way. With so little time, I've gotten very adept at sniffing out the bad fruit. I don't make room for negative energy, dead weight, or people with issues beyond my limits. And the most important friendship I have finally is the one with Myself. After 4+ decades of voyaging through the social web of relationships with all its eccentricites & "ego-centricities," at last I get it.

Resolution.

Resolution on the school choice next year -- finally. Yesterday we sent out our letter to Catlin Gabel declining our acceptance, and this is a week after we signed the contract for Buckman, after finally getting in. We're at peace with the choice, though certainly not without some nagging thoughts should we let our minds wander to the "what if." And in some ways, it almost felt like the Universe was guiding us away from the elite school on the hill. I had received a call from their admissions director wondering why we hadn't come to the Kindergarten orientation or the other end-of-year celebration. I picked up the call, off-guard, on my cell-phone during a grocery run with both girls in tow -- all things which are a rare occurrence (me out with both girls at the store, my cell phone ringing an unknown number - and me actually picking it up), so I was not able to hide my shock & disappointment that we weren't notified of the events. Surely it was a fluky oversight, but one which was such a profound bummer, since the whole reason we put the deposit down was precisely so we *could* go to such events and see how it "fit."

And then today, I get a call from a Catlin mom who says her emails to me (informing me of play dates and other community events) have not gone through, being rejected by my spam filter -- only my spam filter is empty of any emails from her. So, at this point I am taking it as a sign that somehow there is an anti-Catlin Gabel vortex surrounding us, not by our choice, mind you. And it's somehow strong enough to keep us from ultimately making that connection, perhaps just for now. So who knows what the future of our educational journey will hold, but for now we have resolved to say yes to Buckman Arts and we will do everything we can to make it a deep, rich, happy experience for C.

Quiet.

Quiet has been calling to me all week. I am up to my ears in whiny, shrieking little girls (whom I love with all my heart, I must add ;-) And this weekend we head up to Seattle for N's high school reunion. The best part is that Uncle P & Auntie R are excited to take the girls for a two-night overnight - yay! Everyone is a winner here: C & M can't wait to have a big-kid overnight in a house with dogs, cats, and doting relatives. N & I get to stay in a swanky downtown hotel - and best part is that I get a night alone while N goes out with his high school friends on Friday.

Dinner alone with a new book or a light chick-flick movie. Snuggled in luxurious sheets maybe after a hot bath. Peace. No whines, no "she hit me, mommy" in raised, high-pitched voices. Just me. A brief but welcome escape. Peace & Quiet.

Peter Pan.

Peter Pan joined our household a couple months ago when Grandma E brought a videotape of the 1950s telecast starring Mary Martin. Shot with a static camera pointed to a proscenium stage, low production values and zero special effects to speak of, it was surprising that the girls took to it like they did. Within days, M was singing "Tender Shepherd" and C echoed along with "I Won't Grow Up" - and for some reason, both adore the exaggerated oddball Captain Hook. Maybe it's the sing-songy music, the "magical" flying actors, or simply the fact the Grandma was excited to watch it with them , but there is something so sweet and innocent about the girls' attraction to this show from a bygone era.

About a boy who refuses to grow up, Peter Pan takes Wendy and her siblings on a wild adventure to NeverLand where the nefarious Captain Hook and his goofy pirates chase after the children and their "Lost Boys" companions. Complete with a Tinkerbell fairy and pixie dust, I'm sure this movie set imaginations aflight in countless children, including my own little Darlings. My own imagination (clouded by the guilt that the lyrics & images of these songs are actually taking up brain space in my 2 year old) whirs around Peter Pan as well. Ahh, wouldn't it be neat to stay in a time warped 1950s version of 2008 where my children innocently delight in simple songs and never experience a harsh moment of the "real world?" Could they (and we all) be like Peter Pan and not grow up anymore? Or if they must grow up, could I sprinkle some pixie dust and fly to NeverLand to save them from Captain Hook?

No doubt that N's and my yearning to hold on to our babies pangs us so because C will start Kindergarten in the fall - a milestone that represents the "outside world" encroaching on our being her sole influence. I remember my mom saying she cried when I started Kindergarten & I'm sure I'll be in good company when I do the same. The truth is though, that this change doesn't happen in a single day, and that we parents will never stop being a major influence in our kids' lives. But there is something so damn harsh about being aware of the slowly slipping away of youth, of time. And while I wouldn't trade awareness for the alternative, and I know in my heart it's what gives life meaning, it still can suck.

Tonight during dinner C asked "Mommy, someday can we visit NeverLand?"

"Uh, yeah, someday... we can visit a pretend NeverLand?"

"We can make it with cardboard boxes and stuff."

"Yes, C, we can visit NeverLand!"

If pixie dust and Peter Pan can live in our imaginations then maybe we don't have to grow all the way up...

Obama.

Obama won Oregon and is probably on his way to the Democratic nomination. I feel good about this. I voted for him, as he can talk & "think" circles around our current president (but who can't (?) I might add...) and demonstrates inspirational leadership. But I don't know what is holding me back from feeling "woo hoo!!!" about this election. Not sure if it's my age & just feeling jaded from getting hopes dashed too many times about the possibility of a great leader turning this country around. Or perhaps the damage done in the past 8 years of Bush is such a huge trash-heap of a mountain to climb to even reach a vista from which to figure out a direction forward. Surely, a large part of my restraint is the disappointment and apprehension I feel about this crazy Democratic Primary Season. Two candidates, virtually identical in policy plans, have somehow polarized the vast majority of the population who, it would seem, has been ready to overthrow the current "regime." Either candidate, it would seem, could handle the job - Barak Obama or Hillary Clinton, even maybe Barak and Hillary... but now I must digress:

Hillary, if I could have your attention for just a moment...

Sister, what is going on?!? I so wanted to vote for you - to usher in a new era for women, for humanity, for my daughters, to ring in the death knell of sexism (even knowing in might take a few more knells...) - but you have spiraled down to desperate, disappointing behavior. And this has nothing to do with your challenging "likeability factor." This nomination has been yours to lose & you're doing a good job of losing it. Maybe you've just picked a lousy campaign team, which doesn't help your case for being a good president. Maybe the taste of power you've had being with Bill all those years in the White House is clouding your vision, throwing you off-center. Or maybe it's another 'vast right wing conspiracy,' I don't know. But I do know that you won't easily, or legitimately get the nomination at this point. And if you somehow manage to wrangle it out of this screwy primary system, the damage done will only hit another new low.

So, buck up, sister! Rise above your ego to unite this abysmal divide. Bring your redneck followers into the 21st century and let them know it's okay to vote for a black man. Convince your more conservative voters that McCain would keep us marching on this dark militaristic path leading to the Christian-God only knows where... I mean, "can't we all just get along?"

Thank you for listening. Now get on your way, girl, but keep your head high.

No.

No is a word that doesn't come easily. So instead of saying "no" to Catlin Gabel, the beautiful private school on the hill, we bought more time by putting down a deposit. After a long and perfectly intense, fun evening going out with B, her friend R, and K -- all women who are, or have been in the throes of the same difficult decision -- I came home after midnight with a fire in my belly that we should investigate both schools further. After all, there probably is no more important decision we can make for our kids. Of course, that fire got squashed after N woke up (having written an eloquent "rejection" letter to Catlin that night) completely baffled and annoyed at my inability to say No to this opportunity. And what is it we are saying No to? We _think_ we know...

If we send our kids to Catlin Gabel, we are saying No in some fashion to any or all of the following: our close knit community, a greater ease with money, the possibility of significant travels, 2 extra hours each day for something other than driving (which in and of itself is saying No to a healthier environment), our kids being surrounded by economic & racial diversity, a greater ease of maintaining a less stressful lifestyle, and last but not least, more family time.

If we send our kids to Buckman, we are likewise saying No to: a stellar education in a broad spectrum of subjects, every educational resource a student could want without any hassle of budget challenges, small class sizes where we know the teachers will more deeply understand how our child learns, having little worry that a department will close or a subject slashed for lack of funding or a school district re-vamp, resting easy that classes are not taught only to the average student or to achieve certain "test scores."

So with this expensive extra time we will dig a bit more, try on both for size, and talk, talk, talk to more people. And maybe instead of making this decision based on what we'd be saying No to, we can figure out what and why we are saying Yes to. And let's hope to God the Yes will feel right & good in our gut.

Money.

Money, or how much a person has, is generally an indicator of nothing. But money, and how someone spends what they have (or don't have) can be an indicator of, well, probably a lot. The "money" thing is a loaded subject - and one that I am so uncomfortable with. I'm glad I have some of it, but I think I would do much better with wampum, or living in a primitive-yet-friendly tribe where members traded skills, chickens and all cooked over a common stove. But all kidding aside, we're back to the school decision, and at some level it boils down to "money."

We found out this week that C got into the Catlin Gabel School off of their "wait pool." They told us she was high on their list and that they wanted her to be part of the small 17 kid classroom. Who doesn't want their child to be cherry-picked for a top-notch school, a premium education? But at nearly $20k a year, just how big of a pool are they picking from... We have to let them know by May 9th, whether we're in or not. And the following day, we got the Portland Public School Lottery letter notifying us that Chiara is waitlisted at Buckman (and for this we feel lucky, as we know some people who were flat-out rejected). But naturally, in keeping with the drama of this whole process, we won't know officially where we are on the Buckman waitlist until after the deposit is due to Catlin. And then there is the poor little neighborhood school, Irvington Elementary (I so want to love you more than I do) where I just don't believe C would thrive like she should. So, given these choices and my nature of being overly-thorough, I find I must torture myself by talking to anyone who can give me insight to these options. And what am I learning? That it all seems to come down to money.

Those for whom money is no object, it would seem, have a much less difficult time choosing Catlin. Paying that tuition (times 2) doesn't crimp their lifestyle, nor are they fazed by being part of a community where nearly everyone appears to have an abundance of wealth. Choosing Catlin *would* put a crimp in our lifestyle and I, personally, am fazed by being part of a wealthy community. But I don't want my baggage to affect this choice for my daughter. So, I find myself thinking very rational thoughts about how the commute alone would lower the quality of our family life, how money we wouldn't spend on tuition could go to any number of enrichment opportunities, etc. etc. So, why does some part of me fear that I would be cheating C out of an amazing educational experience? Just because I've always been more comfortable connecting to the working-class, immigrant roots part of my background - even though I grew up among the uber-wealth of Boca Raton, Northwestern, etc., doesn't mean my children shouldn't broaden their level of comfort among various social classes. Yuck - just the fact that I'm writing about this discomfort *and* the fact that this dilemma is steeped in bourgeois angst - is an irony that doesn't escape me and certainly disgusts me.

Well, I think I know what our decision will be and I will simply have to accept that every choice I make for me, for C, for us, will open up new opportunities while limiting others. I guess it's my job to be on it, be aware of what's going on with C's development - and just try to be at peace with the process. I mean, why did we even apply to those elite schools? To have choices and options. And the burden of having those options is actually having to choose one. I am grateful we can afford the choice.

Limping.

Limping along these past few days with a sick, feverish kid - while still trying to maintain some kind of momentum, I am. Steady rain and cabin fever certainly don't help the feeling of limping along. And of course motherly guilt is the worn down crutch that insures an uneven pace. How can all those guilt-inducing questions not slow one down: Am I paying enough attention to my kid? Am I doing the right things for her? Am I just laying the foundation for years of future therapy bills? And when I manage (with the good fortune of having nanny hours) to get a few hours to myself, I do some long overdue genealogy review and tree-building on the computer - how fun for me & how selfish when my 5 year old is miserable.

And even if C weren't sick, I'd still have the same guilt. I don't *think* I have too much on my mental plate of priorities, but maybe I do. Certainly adding this blog hasn't helped my bloated list, which now consists of: family-care, self-care, household maintenance, genealogy project, Italian practice, writing - of which the first three include countless subcategories. So those are six things -- oh and that doesn't even cover maintaining friendships, pleasure-reading, any community contributions, etc. And I don't even have a job-job.

So I feel when anything moves forward a bit (like looking at genealogy notes that are over 5 years old and finally inputting them into Ancestry) that everything else lags far behind (like this blog, for which my original intention was to commit to doing a new alphabet letter just about every night, but in reality has been a couple-few times a week). I certainly get more "done" if I don't exercise (self-care), but then I also feel like shit. Do I just settle on doing several things "well enough," and not excel at any of them? Does anyone manage to keep all the balls in the air? I sometimes think there's this perfect goddess of a mother-woman (please be imaginary!) I'm supposed to live up to. She is the quintessential role model, a beacon, the North Star to help me navigate through such challenging days, but usually she just brings out the fear in me that I'm just a lazy slob. So... maybe limping along isn't so bad after all.

Kindergarten.

Kindergarten looms, yet we still don't know where C will go in the fall and it's starting to get to me. I'm trying to stay positive and embrace the not-knowing by staying focused in the moment and "trusting" that things will "work out for the best," but it's oh so challenging as our options seem to be dwindling. In a perfect country there wouldn't be all the inadequacies regarding education and the lovely brick schoolhouse down the road would be excellent, but hardly a perfect country this is. So after an abundance of research we settled fairly contentedly on applying via lottery to Buckman Arts as our "first choice," while adding Emerson Charter as a strong option if we were lucky enough to get in, and applying to 2 highly regarded private schools in the area as possibilities. Well, as it all shakes out, we've now been waitlisted at the 2 privates, which, quite frankly, is fine because going to either one would be loaded on so many levels: crazy high tuition, a nearly half hour drive to the other side of town, "community building" (and playdates) with kids from who knows where, the socio-economic uncomfortableness of it all... but we'd be nearly certain C would get an top-notch education with an abundance of resources.

However, those aren't an option, and neither is Emerson where we are 74 on the waiting list. This leaves Buckman, the sweet little magnet school with a cohesive arts focus 8 minutes away. And it's free. And L just told me that they had record applicants this year with 100+ people applying for 45 slots, an unknown number of which will go to prioritized siblings. Sigh. So we wait. And when I trace my funky mood back, it started when I learned about our less than 50-50 chance to get into our first choice. Maybe I'm just not evolved enough to get "zen" about this - and what choice do I have because there is absolutely nothing I can do but wait? Tell that to the pit in my stomach.

Juggling.

Juggling, jumping, acrobatics and tumbling - C starts her Do Jump class today and is beside herself with excitement. She's been practicing all kinds of stunts on her trapeze and declares she can now join the circus. Cute as this sounds, it's no small feat for her given that only a couple years ago she was diagnosed with XLH rickets, a genetic disease affecting bone growth, which requires medicine 5 times a day along with regular blood/urine tests, X-rays and renal ultrasounds. The first time we took any kind of gym class when she was just starting to walk (at a late 18 months), C was the little duckling who lagged behind while all the other kids were running, jumping and doing donkey kicks. And I was the mom who was holding it together walking that balance beam of telling myself that "all kids develop at different rates" on one side and wanting to cry because I could feel the "what's wrong with that kid?" pity from the moms on the other. So for my daughter to now actually be the one who inspires her preschool mates with the "wow" of upsidedown trapeze spinning is a whole new and wonderful experience.

Today I continue walking that balance beam while juggling everything else in my life -- and I still try to challenge myself to grow in different ways. But the real joy is watching my daughter experience her own growth trajectory as she jumps and tumbles her way to the circus...

Iawaska.

Iawaska is actually a phonetic spelling for "ayahuasca" (the aforementioned hallucinogenic Amazonian plant) and is somewhat of a preplanned step in this first alphabet dance as I wanted to have 3 entries in my initial exploration of synchronicities. It just so happens that the week of accumulating coincidences sort of peaked when L mentioned "Iawaska" while recounting her trip down the Amazon and insights from a book on the subject. I froze, having only heard the word once before when N, MR and I were having our late night meandering "creativity" fest. M told us of a friend who did Iawaska, relaying his descriptions of unbelievably real and wild hallucinations. Apparently, a subculture of people exist who are "in the know" about this powerful plant primarily used by natives on a vision quest. That had immediately spun in my head as a story idea: What if a group of people around the world were into some rare, hallucinogenic drug like this Iawaska - only they discover slowly over time that they are all having elements of the same collective hallucination? I thought it was one of those "aha!" ideas that could be fun to write in some form or another. So, as soon as L mentioned Iawaska, I had to recount my introduction to the word, and told her about our creative spinning that night.

She didn't even react, but rather glided over what I was saying, because *that's exactly what her understanding of this vine is* - that it creates collective hallucinations when groups of people use it together; that there is sort of a parallel universe of other-worldly creatures that "users" see during their trip; and that these "visual" (?) experiences can seep into the dreams of those who sleep nearby. All pretty mindblowing to me. And, if these shared psychoactive experiences are common, then what on earth (or not) is this all about?? I mean, can a chemical really react the exact same way in every brain, shaping one's perceptions to such a level of detail?? And if someone nearby is passively visualizing the same thing in his or her sleep, then doesn't that prove telepathy exists? How intriguing are the mysteries of the mind, or should I say, collective mind. Is it possible to even try and answer any of these questions without ending up deep down a rabbit hole (laden with Iawaska no doubt)? I, for one, am eager to feed my bold curiosity - and will certainly borrow the book when L is finished.

Homero.

Homero is my closest friend from High School that I'm still in touch with regularly, and I write about him because I so wish I could have one of our fascinating conversations about the edge of reality as we understand it. He's one of the few people I know who can have a non-judgmental and completely rational discussion about the notion of synchronicities, parallel realities, energy healing, and other completely "out there" stuff (and he's not just some "stoner dude;" a degree from MIT & a PhD in cell biology from Berkeley makes him probably the smartest person I know who can even *grasp* these ideas on a possible scientific level). I miss having friends with such history and friends who relish going out on an intellectual limb. Maybe it's just the "kid" thing with my Portland friends, where staying up past 1 am feels like going out on a limb...

But H is also representative of friends with whom I would like to stay in better touch - I guess one can only spread onesself so micro-thin. Thankfully, he's also one of those friends whom I can go without talking for a few years, and then pick it up like it was yesterday. Perhaps I should make that happen soon. I think I can manage - one night in the near future, after the kids go to bed - to pick up the phone and call my old friend, Homero.

Gestating.

Gestating in my head for the last day is a subject I yearn to write about - and one that has probably been cooking in me for 20 years: the idea of synchronicity, how we all can tap into a "collective" mind or thoughts, how our energy is interconnected. In the last century this family of notions clearly fell into the realm of "woo woo," not to be taken seriously -- and I firmly believe that in the next 50 years or so, there will only be a minority of people who *won't* grasp these concepts and accept them as "real." I envision various forms of energy healing will be de rigueur along with traditional medicine; that people will treat the vibe/mood of others as something that is known to be infectious (for either good or bad) and will choose their relationships accordingly; and possibly, most importantly, that societal problems will be attacked from all angles from the onset because people will finally grasp that building prisons without buffering early childhood education solves nothing. Okay, call me an idealist - but better to at least have a hopeful vision of the future.

Back to my gestating piece... I came to the idea of noticing "synchronicities" as a possible way of navigating meaning in one's life way back in the very early 1990s when I read "The Celestine Prophecy," a brilliant exhibition of these ideas, (albeit with mediocre writing). So when I have enough "thinking margin" in my life (which is starting to happen again now that M is becoming more self-sufficient - yay!) I can focus to the point of noticing and contemplating these synchronicities. Maybe it's navel gazing to a degree, but I'd rather have some kind of texture to my life than simply go from meal to meal, bedtime to bedtime, etc.

The quick recap of this week's building coincidences: On Monday in Italian class the story we read was about an Italian shaman-type woman who created a telepathic experience for a village woman whose husband deserted her. Then we all talked about various personal telepathic experiences, something that 20 years ago would've probably been laughed at. On Tuesday, I saw my own "energy healer" of sorts for a Body Talk session (okay, another huge subject to tackle elswhere...) and had an experience where she nearly verbatim asked aloud the question I wrote about in my previous post ("How do I take care of me while simultaneously taking care of my family/friends, etc.?") Did this looming paradoxical question in me somehow jump out at her during our session? And then on Wednesday, my lunch with L reveals her new fascination with an Amazonian plant with hallucinogenic properties (more in a couple days). Her description of it was nearly identical to my stoner "screenplay" idea, which totally floored me as I have never heard much about this plant, much less ever experienced a hallucinogenic trip. These coincidences have so many layers of meta-coincidence - but at this time I'm not capable of making sense of it all. I guess these thoughts just need more time to gestate...

Fairies.

Fairies - who knew this alluring word would make bedtime fly so fast? We've always read to C before bed, but nothing has ever gotten her so eager to brush her teeth, pee, and climb under the covers as this new Rainbow Fairy chapter book series. Seven fairy sisters (each a color of the rainbow) have been captured, leaving dazzled protagonist little girls eager to find them. All I can say is thank you Scholastic (and E for introducing us) for making this a whole series, several chapters each - which should be good for a couple months of bedtimes!

Falling in love with reading is such an amazing part of growing up; I so delight in being part of the magic. We should all be so lucky to keep finding enchanted fairies tucked in the recesses of our minds. They are certainly there -- it's losing the desire to discover them that makes for a very tedious, drawn-out, and simply unexciting bedtime.

Expectations.

Expectations? Sometimes I think I have too many; other times not enough. Earlier today I was thinking about what my "E" word would be tonight. Maybe "enthusiasm," or "excitement" because I was going to my new Italian class for a fun-filled 2 hours of bettering my budding bilingualism with new friends and yet another motley crew of Italophiles (18 years of various Italian classes has put me in the middle of many motley crews of Italophiles). But as J even noticed , my impatient foot was tapping away at the slowpokes in the class - predominantly one new student, a guy who was either grossly underprepared to be in an advanced class, or was otherwise impeded with dyslexia or something. And in this situation my frustation became juxtaposed with that behavioral "need" to practice the virtue of patience (maybe a "need" created by so many years with nuns). My head: C'mon, pick it up. Didn't you learn basic Italian pronunciation? What are you doing in this class? My mouth: pursed, silent, semi-smiling.

So where is that balance of striving to meet one's own expectations and self-expression while meeting the expectations of others? Is it somewhere between the minivan and the kitchen when I'm rushing the girls along, annoyed that they aren't moving fast enough because I don't want us to be late for preschool - yet trying to maintain a semblance of calm lest I become the harried mother? Is it somewhere in the tapping of the keyboard when I'm trying to write while N keeps calling down with questions for me and is hoping we can go to bed early? Can I be both a fully expressive "me" and a "good" wife/mother/friend? Who knows if these paradoxical questions will ever be resolved, but I'm guessing the answer to the question of expectations is, it's best not to have them.

Dam.

Dam - the homophone of which came out of my mouth at 5 in the morning when I slipped on the floor getting back into bed after the nightly wakeup (or 2) by M, which is getting frustratingly old.

Today I felt the mommy me ready to burst, run, scream from all the whining, screeching and general unmanageability of my daughters. Only a permanent, invisible dam separates those
%!@#! emotions from the relative calm and ease of what I used to know as life before I had kids. The tide behind the dam ebbs and flows (rather frequently) and on occasion gets to the near-breaking point. Thank God I have a husband who gets it. So this morning, instead of the planned errand running together, he took the girls and I stayed home in a house filled with sweet silence. Mind you, a good portion of that time was spent grocery shopping online... but no interruptions for 2 hours was a beautiful thing and all too rare. Hell, I'd be happy with a smattering of interruptions -- or more -- I'm primed for it at this point. But _please_ not in the middle of the night, not at a decibel level requiring earplugs, or at the pitch normally emanating from a herd of screeching cats --and definitely not before I have my morning coffee! And if this list puts me squarely in the camp of those uptight moms who can't roll with the punches, well then... I really don't give a damn.

Caipirinhas.

Caipirinha was the unexpected cocktail featured at the unexpected "party" that we gathered at our place tonight. K & L returned from Ecuador last week eager to share their travel experience down to the fermented sugar cane drink. R & C came too. Our little girls played, and for the first time it was pretty easy - no meltdowns, no constant neediness, and actual adult conversations going on. Are we ushering in a new era in our lives perhaps?

I suppose this evening may've represented that in other ways too. The whole adult friendship thing has been challenging these past 7 years in Portland. But in all fairness, the 15 years in LA enabled friendships to be built without couplehood & babies complicating the matter. And if we had stayed in LA with kids, I'm certain that evenings like tonight would be few and far between, and that we'd be seeking the same change we made by moving here. So tonight was fun, easy, and all around positive energy -- the kind of casual evening that colors memories when one looks back on his/her life. And with N & I being gregarious by nature, this sort of improvisational dinner party - as much as we complain about the cleanup - I think feeds the core of who we are. So here's to more positive, easy friendships - ones that grow deep and come with unexpected caipirinhas.

Birthday Cake.

Birthday cake is what we contributed to the preschool potluck & planting party - leftover from half a sheet cake, that was only going to develop freezer burn until we eventually trashed it. But this is not about cake, but rather that familiar feeling of not quite being the enthusiastic team player. All the parents were supposed to bring new plants to plant in the preschool yard. You know, show the kids appreciation for nature yaddee yadda yadda. I fit in about as much as a desert cactus would in this Pacific Northwest 45 degree rainy weather in which I miserably stood for over an hour, trying to look part of the parental team. I don't know the first thing about gardening. Xylem, phloem, photosynthesis. That's about it.

When I see the passel of moms on their hands and knees getting down and dirty, I wonder how anyone actually *enjoys* gardening. I know it's a huge pasttime, but to me it just seems like backaching work. (Perhaps that's the part of me meant to live in a highrise somewhere.) I have to remind myself that a lot of them would think I'm insane to get a rush out of spending days in a genealogy library.

But our differences don't end in the yard. The potluck food was, for the most part, homemade and painstakingly presented. Oven-baked enchilada things. Turkey and cheese rollups (each wrapped in plastic). Cookies, salads, brownies, pasta dishes. Me? I brought C's leftover birthday cake. I hope they enjoyed it.

Act.

Getting back into writing. One can only think about it so much. Time to Act. A year ago with a 1 year old & a 4 year old, I thought the whole idea of blogging during mommyhood was an insane endeavor. Who could *possibly* have time to muse daily with all the other kid-priorities. Well, here I am. Just diving in with no idea of direction -- other than the self-imposed daily alphabet theme. Every day I make an entry it will start with a word that begins with each successive letter of the alphabet. This should offer me plenty of latitude and a myriad of possibilities, yet still have a semblance of structure & fun.

Today I "Act." Kind of sums up a lot of my life in a paradoxical way even, as so much has centered around the anticipation of acting on something, the fear of acting, the overthinking of the act (or lack thereof), etc. etc. So, today I acted, and actually completed the thought; didn't get stuck on endless research of the pre-act. Congratulations to me.

We shall see where this alphabet dancing will lead me tomorrow. All I know is that it will "B" something entirely new.