The Real Me...I Don't Want You to See....

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

It was the worst of times but not even close to the very worst of times with no best of times in sight ahead or behind of me. There were only 3 of us then. #4 was about to make his appearance. The monster was still lurking in the shadows leaving me to do battle with an unknown opponent. 

 

During the course of that day, I had reflected over my past and remembered another mean season. I firmly believe that God wastes nothing in his economy: time, money, effort, experience. Nothing. Knowing that truth, I also know that awful,earlier time prepared me to withstand a future relentless season of pain and despair. In that hazy time of long ago, I had coped with chaos by taking time each day to make lists. 

 

My survival lists included things I had done well that day as well as things for which I was thankful. I have to tell you: the first lists required painful effort. The ideas came slowly because I was convinced that I was a wasted, useless excuse for a human being. Over time I amazed myself. The obligatory list of 2 items per heading per day became 5 and then 10 and 20. 

Pecos, NM October 2011

 

 

Pollyanna that I was, I gathered us together at the end of yet another long, draining day and chirped, “Let's take some time to talk to each other about the things that have gone right today and what we are thankful for.” 

 

My eager to please 6-year-old sat expectantly, ready and willing to join in the game afoot. The grizzly bear sitting across from me glowered. Lightening, born of agony inspired rage, flashed across the room with a force that nearly knocked me off my feet. He growled his intense refusal. I sat, as I had so often, crestfallen and defeated. I choked my way through the remaining duties of the night until I could seek my refuge in isolated solitude. It was years before I offered the idea again.

 

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

If you have read much of this blog, you know that the grizzly bear eventually faced a sad, hard truth which, in turn, freed the child that had cowered in fear for decades. Once free from the prison of fear, he was free to express thankfulness and joy. He still struggles to acknowledge those things at which he excels, but he can accept appreciation when his excellence impacts others. Gathering to share our list of 'thankful things' has become a treasured time of family laughter and bonding. It was worth the decade long battle it took to get us there. 

 

Knowing that thankfulness is my daily ritual, I wonder why I have a visceral reaction as we navigate the American season of collective Thanksgiving. The reaction puzzles me, perplexes me. Facebook reminds me over and over again. The status update pops up, and yet another friend denotes those things that evoke thankfulness. I have been invited over and over to join in the ritual. I want to. My fingers flicker over the computer keys. I can't. 

 

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Yes. I could force myself and do it by rote. I could make a list that would make you happy and send chills down your spine if I chose to apply artful creativity to my effort. I tell myself it is my duty and that I should be ashamed. My heart does not respond to the chastisement. My fingers cannot follow through. 

My status blank remains empty save for the humorous pictures I share that evoke much needed comic relief. “What is wrong with you,” I ask myself. Only silence echoes back. It is the same silence that deafened me last year when I struggled with the same, sad old dilemma. Last year this time, I thought I surely would have conquered myself by this year this time.  

 

I ask myself if I am uncomfortable sharing deeply personal things in such a public way. Then, I burst out laughing because you and I both know. Given what I have written since May, I've burned that bridge already. I ask myself if I am a rebel who fights against convention. Yea, that's me. The hard core biker babe who is a rebel without a cause. Sigh. I know. You know that's not me either. 

 

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

This season is deeply meaningful for me. Like you, I am wounded with the battle scars of life. Yet, I am still keenly aware of the multitude of things that deserve my thanksgiving. This hesitance of my soul is a reminder that my arm wrestling match with God continues. The process of figuring out who I am and where I'm headed has not concluded. Every time my fingers flicker at the behest of my willing heart only to freeze as my soul flinches, I know we are still wrestling, my good God and I. I feel alone and shamed every time Facebook announces yet another list of thankful things.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Consolation often comes in an unexpected package. As October became November, a friend who survived a scary bout with cancer updated her status: 

“Let me just say for the record: I am so glad that October is over! Not crazy about breast cancer awareness during the *whole* month, reminding me at every turn of last year. Maybe, the further away from my diagnosis and recovery, I'll feel more like "celebrating" being a survivor. But this year, it honestly made me angry that I'd lost a year of my life and had to relive it at every turn :-/” (Reprinted with permission of G. Gagne)

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Her battle was different, but there I was smack dab in the middle of her post. I could see her struggle between thankfulness and horror. How thankful she was to have survived but how horrified she was at what her survival had required. I understood the cry of her heart because I feel it every time my fingers twitch above the keyboard. My heart tells my fingers how thankful we are to have survived. My soul asks why survival has required, and continues to require, so much so often. 

 

And then it happens. I am thankful. I am thankful for friends who fight to survive. I am thankful for friends that remained while I fought to survive. I am thankful for you because you have come along to cheer me on as I continue the fight toward wholeness of heart and soul. I am thankful for friends brave enough to speak the truth about their battles. I am thankful. Simply thankful. 

Courtesy B. Creasy

Isaiah 25:1 (Bible in Basic English)

O Lord, you are my God; I will give praise to you, I will give honour to your name; for you have done great acts of power; your purposes in the past have been made true and certain in effect.

A Fraidy Cat Prepares for an Empty Nest

Don't let anybody kid you. The empty nest thing - you start prepping for it the day you let the first one check the mail or park the trash on the street. You don't successfully navigate that step till you cut the rope you tied around the child's waist to tether him/her to the front door. 

Depending on who you are, it's all uphill from there. Meaning as a parent you spend most of your life walking uphill both ways while barefoot in the snow. (Southern speak dictionary available upon request.)

I know I'm a different breed. I figure it is my job on this earth to set my kids free to live bigger and broader than I was allowed to live at their ages.  That process started the 1st day of Son #1's K5 experience.

At the time, I had taken a solemn oath that I would NEVER (*interject sniff of superiority*) become one of those weird homeschooling moms that wore Birkenstocks with denim skirts, used homemade deodorant, and ate only homegrown organic vegan.

The collective K5 mom roar began in early July. Moms anticipated the dreaded first day. Most pictured a day of tears, fears, and jarring encounters as arms were pried lose from waistlines. Those were the mental imagines of  principals ushering moms out of Muffins for Moms while insisting the event did not last till the dismissal bell at 2:30p.

I always wondered if my little clutch of friends eyed me suspiciously because I was eerily quiet during these pre-game sniff-fests. My future looked rosy. 

1998

Instead of fears and tears, I anticipated hours at the gym followed by a few chores to justify my husband paying me to be a stay at home mom. I figured I'd followed up with some well deserved bon-bons and a book or talk show. The only thing I saw myself missing was a pool complete with cabana boys!

When the day came,  I tried not to dance as I took the obligatory 1st day of K5 picture. His K5 teacher was a dream. The classroom was awash in fairy tale themed props complete with a floor to ceiling beanstalk and Jack's leg dangling from the ceiling.

Courtesy M. Horrocks

I worshiped the ground that woman walked on. Even still, I hugged my brave fella goodbye, wished him a good day, and turned on my heel before he could see any glimmer of doubt on my face about what I was getting us into.

I figured I could do one of two things. I could set that kid free to live with my confidence, or I could forever tether him to my front door with my doubt.

Homeschool friends know how to Par-tay! 

I never saw it coming. I denied I'd ever do it. No one was more shocked than me when we began homeschooling mid-way through first grade. I have yet to wear Birkenstocks, have been told by really sweet friends to lose the denim skirt, and have never used homemade deodorant.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should report that I am moving my family toward a real food diet and have even flirted with the idea of paleo. Even tho' we came home to school, I never stopped seeing my role as that of facilitator toward the front door and right on out into the big wide world.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Over the years, there have been plenty of crossroads complete with gut-busting choices. One choice would have kept my child cloistered and tethered to the front doorknob of our home. The other would set him free to fly.

Despite having been told my sons have learning issues which would affect social interactions, I continued to look for ways to equip them to live larger than I was encouraged to live and to live more successfully than the doctors who evaluated them predicted.

I agonized when the church van pulled away to take son #1 on his 1^st and 2^nd Middle School ski trips. 

I was an old hand at how hard it was to set him free to fly when he went on a High School summer mission trip to inner city Atlanta. It was, however, still no easier when he spent a week in his mid-teens doing inner city housing rehab in coastal South Carolina.

I got really good at one part of the process, I think. I got really good at NEVER letting him see me flinch. We always reminded him we were as close as the phone if anything or anybody seemed amiss. 

Other than that, we never hesitated until after the wheels had turned enough revolutions to have him safely out of sight. Then, my heart sighed as I wondered, “What have I DONE?”

Yep. Yep. Ask me about socialization. 

We must have done something right because this kid with all the 'social' complications of his LD entertained a group of almost eighty at his 17^th birthday party. Take that all you doctors that told us how life was supposed to be for a kid with his diagnosis.

 He graciously extended the invites to his friends and their families. Homeschooled kids don't get the memo that they must only invite kids their own ages to big events in their lives. I present the pictures as exhibit #1 if ever unknowing prey wanders into my 'but what does a homeschooler do about socilization' trap?

2009

A year later, Son #1 surpassed his fraidy cat mom. A passport took him on his first airplane flight all the way to China and back. I'm clearly allergic to post 9/11 flying and even more clearly allergic to passports. Therefore, you know I was gratified that I had given this son of a fraidy cat wings to fly - literally.

Courtesy H. Wills - 2011

Two years later, he accepted a consulting job in Australia and flew solo to a country where his only contacts, apart from business, were blog friends who lived a four hour flight from Brisbane. He celebrated his 21st birthday in the company of strangers a week after he arrived.

As I write this post, my head is full of those memories tonight because we put Son #2 on this 1^st bus to camp today. He's had a lot more to deal with in regard to bullies than his older brother did. So, he left us with emotions that are as raw as sunburned skin.

Prayers, Tears, and Fears for Parents in a Fraidy Cat World

We are hoping he has a week of respite away from his tormentors. We are hoping the week will refresh him socially and spiritually. The camp staff has assured us they are on top of it. We are giving them a chance to put their actions where their words are.

The jury is out as I wonder yet again, "What have we done?"

And me? Today I did what I always have done. I hugged him long and strong. I told him to go make me proud. I affirmed the incredible chance he had to go where he was going. I reminded him we were as close as a phone call if anyone or thing seemed amiss.

I blinked . . . 

Then, I pointed him toward the door and watched as he walked to the car with his Dad and world traveling brother.  My men going off to face the world as a team.

I'm a fraidy cat. I don't fly. My kids? One day...they will soar right out of my nest and into the world I tried my best to prepare them for. And then, I'm going to go sit by a pool, eat bon-bons, and watch the cabana boys. Yea...that's my story. And, I'm sticking to it.

. . . and they were grown. 

Come back tomorrow and bring a friend? I think I can face Part 6 of my story as I write my way back to God. Thanks for your patience as I grope my way in the dark. I'm not nearly as a-skeert as I was now that I know I'm not alone. I see your clicks on my page and I hear you say,  "Go, Fraidy Cat, go!" So, if anyone asks, remember to tell them: Fraidy cats rule!

To read more about my parenting and homeschooling adventures, you might enjoy:

Fraidy Cat Parenting in a Fraidy Cat World

Mamma, Don't Pray

The Gentle Art of Kamikaze Parenting

Psalm 112: 1,2 (Amplified Bible)

Praise the Lord! (Hallelujah!) Blessed (happy, fortunate, to be envied) is the man who fears (reveres and worships) the Lord, who delights greatly in His commandments. His [spiritual] offspring shall be mighty upon earth; the generation of the upright shall be blessed.