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.