Category: Growing a Daughter

Updates and stories about my daughter from China who came home with challenges described in letters—PDD-NOS (on the autism spectrum), ADHD and RAD (Reactive Attachment Disorder). Her learning curve has been steep and therapy is a way of life. School and social interactions are a challenge. Making art is a way of life. So is a vivid imagination.

always through, no matter what

A boy bringing in the new year.

“Get your shoes on. It’s time.”

Four days after Christmas, a few more days after Solstice, and one less than a few days after Chanukah. There is still New Year’s to look forward to or dread, but we are still in that breathing time amidst all these holidays. These are always days that I don’t expect to do or accomplish much. Not that these days are just for rest but for playing with paints or starting a 1000-piece puzzle or clearing that little pile of things with no place they belong on the kitchen counter or piling a whole bunch of papers from all over the house onto the in-box on my desk to be sorted at some unspecified future time. Nothing is resolved, but small movements towards big steps are being taken.

Yes, it has been like that these last few days.

Julia went to her day center last Friday. Ed and I went to the gym and then spent the afternoon on our laptops, reading, writing, and planning a weekend in NYC to see a friend’s play and to celebrate Julia’s 25th birthday. It will be cold—we remind each other a few times, thinking about where we will stay and how we’ll feel about public transport in the middle of January. And walking.

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those thousand-mile journeys

The picture is of the window ledge over my kitchen sink. It is, for the most part, my plant hospital for plants that are not faring well and need special attention. Most of those plants heal, start thriving, and get put in the living room that gets attention but not daily and more light. But what I wanted to write about is the parable I see in the two paper white bulbs growing in water that are close to the window in the back of the photo.

I love paper white narcissus for the winter holidays, although many years I start them too late or forget to find/order some at all. This year I remembered and may have a few blooms by New Year’s.

These two healthy bulbs were ordered from my favorite bulb distributor and put in water on the same day. The bulb on the left took off like gangbusters. I think it was in water less than two full days when tiny roots appeared, the greens followed quickly, and a tiny bud has formed. The bulb on the left was the opposite. It has taken a few weeks for any roots to appear. They are short, and there are few of them. The greens have hardly begun. 

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the work

The work of Christmas.

Some of choir is singing for both services and if Julia didn’t have to sit through both services, plus the early call for rehearsal, I’d sing both. There is a song in the second service—Sing we now of Christmas—that is evocative of the dark night and the quiet before celebration. I was happy to do it at choir practice.

A new choir song that we are learning for Christmas Eve.  There are two services that night.  7 and 10, or 10:30. This is the only time of year when we are in the church at night.  The stained glass windows are dark from the inside, no color except from the outside. I don’t notice the stained glass windows that often, but when they are dark. I see them clearly. 

The Work of Christmas is a song, according to our director, that Everyone is singing. The message of the song is that the work of Christmas begins after the tinsel is off the tree and the shepherds are back tending their sheep. It does seem like the perfect Christmas song in this year of tumult and chaos.  A time when we have so much work to do when these holidays are finished.

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morning after

Veterans’ Day: The end of World War I, called the Great War before the next war. This national holiday sees the fewest people off from work—that is the way that we count holidays, right?  I have an oral surgeon appointment this morning, Ed has a doctor’s appointment, Julia’s day center is open, I don’t have my HILR class, Julia has no rowing, and parking is free in Boston today. If there was ever a time to observe and ponder the end of a “great war,” it is today. My very deep hope is that we are not headed straight into another war that the Washington fascists are putting into place. 

Generally, I don’t agree with the most progressive of conservatives, but I would never agree to silence them forever, to ensure that a Republican politician never wins again. I thought that was part of the rules we play by. And yet, that is what this administration is saying—they are going to fix it so no Democrat can ever win again. This is not inference or subtext or even something overheard at a secret meeting. They say it loud and clear for every one of their minions to hear. And they are knee-deep in a dozen conflicts that they are making up as they go along—Orwell had nothing on these guys, these white guys and their lifted and painted white ladies.

Today was a quiet morning.  Perhaps that is why I can give over a few brain cells to a political rant. It is the calm after the storm.

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on one hand, the other hand, and something else

A week, not quite, most of a week of forced quiet. I took last Wednesday off feeling the beginnings of something like being sick. I missed a Shakespeare class at Harvard and a choir rehearsal in the evening.  I slept a good deal of the day, wrote emails, figured out a new drug insurance for myself and checked on Julia’s, and started the book club book for this month. And was quiet.

I stayed home on Thursday, not going to see Cheshire and the boys.  Honestly, if it were not for the drive —a good 45 minutes to an hour and always in traffic— I would have gone for a short time. I was on the cusp of feeling better but not completely there.

Writing this, I realize that my RSV bout in January is influencing my behavior. I am slightly fearful of the good health that I have enjoyed.  Last January showed me that I could get sick. Good and sick.

And so, I stayed home to take care of myself, again being quiet for the day, catching up on small tasks that have slipped through a life with cracks and working on housing for Julia. 

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vermont 2

It is Indigenous Peoples Day. We are in Vermont, ready to leave today to return home. Julia’s day center is closed today. It will rain for most of today and tomorrow. I hope to stop to do some food shopping on our way home and make butternut squash soup for tonight’s dinner.

There the scene is set. 

It disturbs me greatly that trump proclaimed today a celebration of “the original American hero, a giant of Western civilization, and one of the most gallant and visionary men to ever walk the face of the earth.” It goes on to say that “[u]pon his arrival, he planted a majestic cross in a mighty act of devotion, dedicating the land to God and setting in motion America’s proud birthright of faith.”

Why does he—or they because that man cannot speak a single coherent sentence. There are way too many grammatically correct sentences and way too much warped “history” to believe that trump had anything to do with the drafting of his proclamation.— but why does he need to lie ALL of the time?

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vermont 1

Shelburne, Vermont. Definitely morning frost. And thank goodness it also turned chili at home before we left. The extra sweatshirt thrown into the bags at the last minute will be used!

Ed and I are ensconced in a sweet and small B&B owned by an architect turned painter and her husband, who is very nice, but I haven’t drilled him on his work life. Yet.

Julia is at Zeno Mountain Farm for a five-day, four-night weekend. She went to their fall weekend last year and was invited back for this year.  (She has not yet been invited for summer camp, which is my goal for her. Once invited, she can come up every year for the rest of her life.  Everyone does, and thus, the wait is long for a spot.) She helped me pack her stuff and then re-pack when we found out how cold it was really going to be. The ride up was pleasant and uneventful until we got to the country road part that goes up and down a mountain for almost 30 miles, okay, a small mountain. Julia began getting angry, anxious, and extremely unpleasant.  At one point, she lobbed a sweater at Ed, who was driving. She spent a good deal of time swearing at the mountain, the road, and us. By the time we arrived at the Farm, I had to spend time with her trying to figure out what she wanted to do. (Not at all sure what we would do if she wanted to not go to Zeno altogether.)

I was unsure if we could leave her.

And then she went through the big farmhouse doors, and someone said hello to her. And in almost an instant, or at least a few minutes, she was all smiles. Hugging two people she knew, ready to hand off her meds to the nurse and go to her assigned room on the third floor. When she came downstairs, she was ready to have us leave. She gave us happy hugs and went off to a giant bay window with couches in front of it to watch the sunset. 

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Kirk

Thoughts and prayers. You know the drill. Second Amendment . . . Guns don’t kill . . .

“I think it’s worth to have a cost of, unfortunately, some gun deaths every single year so that we can have the Second Amendment to protect our other God-given rights. That is a prudent deal. It is rational.”

My empathy is gone for such a monster and obviously at least one person agreed.

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news of the week

Julia came home from The Price Center on Thursday with two pieces of news.  First, that she had gone to the YMCA with peers. She got on the van and spent the morning on the stationary bike, if she is to be believed. I am not sure she spent the whole morning there, but when she goes to the gym with me, mostly on weekends, she can do 40 minutes on the stationary bike. The big part of that news is that she was willing to leave the building!  She has gone on a few community visits, like the zoo, to help with watering plants, but that was of high interest to Julia—she loves zoos, loves watering. I know there is a lot more going out into the community that she can take part in.

Fingers crossed that this is a beginning. 

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