Lessons from Addie

We went on a little trip a few weeks back.  A family trip.  Short, but a real, true vacation.  The kids came with us, but there was loads of free daycare provided, so we got to have time during the day to be together as grown-ups, like a couple!  It was amazing.

But it started out rocky as hell.

Addie just wasn't excited about it.  She was going to be missing her dance recital at school, and I think too she is still a little nervous going into new experiences, even though she historically has been very resilient and handled them quite well.  But on this trip, she was pretty intent on making things difficult.  Her stomach hurt.  She wanted to stay in our (incredibly tiny) room and watch t.v. instead of going swimming or playing games or attending kids' activities.  She pouted, she whined, she cried.  She wouldn't eat.  We were pulling our hair out and feeling really exasperated, and maybe didn't respond very nicely.  At all.

We know now that there was a medical problem underlying some of her physical complaints (more on that soon) but the main ingredient was emotional.  I had been pretty frustrated with Addie the first day or two:  we had spent a lot of money, and I felt like I really needed a vacation, for God's sakes, and couldn't she just be a big girl for these few days and have some fun?

It's hard to force people to have fun, if you haven't noticed.

Finally I got wise, and on the second day of the trip leaned down to Addie and whispered, "If there's ever, ever anything you need to talk to me about, you just please let me know, and I'll make time for the two of us to be together, and we can talk it over."

She was quiet for a minute, and then responded, "I do have something we need to talk about."

So we let Nolie and E. do their own thing for a while and we retired to our really very tiny room and had a talk, where Addie--in a quiet but steady voice--told me that she felt me and E. were being too hard on her, that we only liked Nolie, and that she didn't feel like we loved her.

Gulp.

I assured her right away that our behavior would change immediately, and that she was absolutely right about us being too hard on her, and that we could never love one of our kids more than the other, it was just physically and mentally and spiritually impossible.  And then I sucked it up and acted as cheerful and positive as Pollyanna.  Man, was that some kind of acting job!  Interesting how I expected her to be so cheerful and then had a hard time manufacturing cheer myself, isn't it?  But the acting was was good enough.

Because after that, she perked right up, got excited about swimming and kids' camp and eating, and we had a great rest of the vacation.

Ah, jeez.  There's so many lessons to be learned here.  To not be hard first.  To listen to my kids.  To ask them to talk to me, and then be available to listen and respond meaningfully.  To pay attention to signs and signals, especially indirect ones.  To believe the highest and best about my children.  To slow down.  To make time for them (by the way:  one of my favorite ways to do this is to schedule special "dates" with them--a trip out to lunch, a visit to the library, some craft time.  Just with one at a time.  I don't think it matters what you do, just as long as you clearly label it "our time" and give them all of your attention).

I don't know.  All this is just evidence that these are exactly the kids I was supposed to have.  I mean, they're such amazing teachers.  I'm so lucky to learn from them.  But school isn't always easy.

Hello, and See Ya

It's been a rough time at work.  Have you guessed that?  There's not much I can say yet, except that the recession has hit my workplace, if not financially, then at least mentally.  There is a scarcity mentality, and there is meanness, and a lack of respect for others.  Oh, and much misunderstanding.

But that is all I can say for now.

What can be said is that I've been grasping at moments of grace wherever I can find them, and trying to stay whole when everything feels as if its pulling me into a million tiny fragments.  These moments of grace have come in the form of phone calls from friends and family; E., who always listens calmly and has my back; from the laughter and joy of my girls; from Milo and the crazy kitties; from the beauty of nature; from the beauty of things; from hot baths and red wine and the everyday.  And this, the view from Van Bibber, where I try to walk Milo whenever I can:

We are so blessed.  And still I struggle.  My real struggle has been to stay in the present and not get lost in the elsewhere of wondering and guessing at and scheming.  Life in the present is pretty good.

I am away until next weekend, thankfully, but I'll be back posting soon.  I hope things are well for you, and know things will turn around for me, too, soon.

Today was

• snuggling with the girls and E. in bed this morning, and feeling overwhelmed by how much I love these people, these ones with their soft skin and dark hair and limbs all over the place.
• helping E get the girls off to camp, and promising Nolie that she can stay home with me tomorrow, but not today, because today I am tired, tired, tired.
• catching up on email, updating the to-do list, and missing the sterility of a hotel room in a foreign country that demands nothing of me.
• napping.  I don't know why sitting in airports and on planes should be so exhausting, but it just is.  I am wore out.
• vacuuming, laundering, unpacking.
• watching reality tv.
• listening to the quiet.  London in summer has to be the most vibrant place I have ever been.  There was no time when the streets were not completely swamped with people, when pubs were not overflowing onto the sidewalks, when we were not dancing, or shopping at the markets, or working with committed, brilliant people.  Arvada--my home, my favorite place, but also so, so quiet--might as well be on a different planet.  But it's a planet I love coming home to.
• reflecting on how much I learned about myself on this trip (not expecting that at all) and about my friends, who also happen to be my coworkers, and how amazingly lucky is that?

Travel Titillations

Okay. In D.C. now, where it is 75 degrees. I flew into Denver late last night, where it was snowing, snowing, snowing. And it was a slush-fest on the freeway this morning, let me tell you. Here's what it was like:

30 seconds of white-knuckled slow-driving, followed by
3 seconds of screaming as a big-rig passed me, sluicing my windshield with slurpee-goop so that I couldn't see, followed by
30 seconds of white-knuckled slow-driving.
Repeat.

But I made it to the airport, and my flight left only 30 minutes late, thanks to de-icing. Which is fine with me--I'm a fan of de-icing. Or is it deicing? I hope not. That sounds dangerous.

And I've survived 5 flights in 10 days. Which is pretty good. But I'm missing my honey bunches and my two repro-units much at the moment. And my stomach is still a little oogy, though that's probably from all the nasty travel food. Ugh. My kingdom for a plate of kale!

It's all worth it, though, right? The next three days will be a whirlwind of engineering education theory, practice, and know-how. Titillating!