December weather —gray and wet, damp more than cold —does not inspire festivities. Neither do the circumstances of our larger community — justice, kindness, compassion seem never-present. Pondering the absence of fair minded people to think fairly about issues that we’ve all talked about since before I was born has quieted my typing fingers. I have no unique perspective, I do not move in a large world, the issues that I am passionate about may touch peripherally on the challenges of the day, but I have so little to add. And yet the racial, ethnic, religious and neuro-diversity of our community is something that I cannot absent myself from. Do I do wrong to turn from the issues of the day in favor of my passions?
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.
encores
It looks like Julia’s dancing ballerina dinosaurs will again be offered as part of a Paper Cloud Apparel fund raiser. This time, they have asked if we have a local cause we would like to have proceeds going to. I thought of the adaptive skating program that Julia is going to on Sunday afternoons. Julia and a gaggle of other kids from very little to older teens work with volunteers in small groups and one on one to learn to skate. The same folks offer an adaptive hockey team for older kids and adults and I know at least one person who is on the team. Julia struggles a bit but she is willing to go each week and she is getting better little by little.
grandpa
Did grandpa love me? Was grandpa excited when I came home? Did grandpa scoop me up when I was a little baby? Did I have a dress on when I met grandpa? He did think I was cute? My grandpa would never abandon me. My grandpa is handsome.
During breakfast, I was checking Facebook and Julia spied a picture of her grandfather, David’s father, that one of her cousins posted on Veterans Day. It unleashed a torrent of questions and ideas that must have been bottled up for sometime.
It was a candid picture of Bob Schanker during his air force days. A half smile, jaunty tilt of the head and obviously happy. He was a navigator during the Second World War and, if his stories were to be believed, he lived some of the best years of his life during that time. He thrived in the company of men from all over the country. He explored outside of his Jersey roots. He was no longer under his mother’s thumb. He saw a little action — I’m not sure how much. Most of his time was spent state side, first learning and honing his skills, and later teaching those navigators who came in behind him. Much later, he would become a favorite and beloved high school business teacher and so I do not doubt that his gifts were put to good use in the service. There are many pictures of the girls and/or women he met during his service time. He had no special girl at home, at least the way he told it, and so flirted and socialized (and took pictures) as he moved from base to base.
dreams
“Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depth of your heart; confess to yourself you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.”
Came across these Rilke words this morning as I looked for something else. Rilke always speaks to me, from wedding vows (“. . . a good marriage is one in which each partner appoints the other to be the guardian of his solitude . . .”) to growing a spiritual life ( “. . . learn to love the questions . . .“). I come back to, stumble across, have quoted back to me words that he wrote that always draw me deeper.
small steps
Julia put a new roll of toilet paper in the holder on Friday. A small gesture but one of the “one small step . . .” kind of things. I know that for any 13 year old to actually notice that some household chore needs to be done and to do it without being asked is pretty incredible. For Julia, the noticing of the world around her in that way and to reach out to contribute to it is a “giant leap.”
Is the the vision therapy and probiotics at work? Or is it just maturation? Certainly, it can’t just be being 13.
Brunch yesterday with friends and talk about middle school and their coming sabbatical. The middle school talk was interesting. I got to vent which I seem to need to do with ever increasing frequency these days. My friend talked of how much she likes the school that I decided not to send Julia to. I cannot say that Julia would have been better served there. The change of principal seems to work in that school’s favor but it was big and crowded and at least last year there was no possibility of asking for an art class each semester. But my friend talked of the near magical teachers, welcoming community and her son absolutely beamed talked about HIS school. Oy!
blue parts
I wrote this yesterday but after planting 400 bulbs, having a delightful dinner with a friend, and watching part of the last Star Wars movie with Julia, I fell asleep without publishing. Ah, the writing life.
Observing myself this week possibly more closely than usual. Looking for what to write about each day — umm, well didn’t work yesterday. The mix of joys and sorrows and frustrations and blessings abound. And the petals are falling on the dining room table.
Election result. I am disappointed. Not surprised. I inform myself, I read, I think about who is running and what they believe in, I vote, of course, but I did nothing to work for those candidates that I believe in. I don’t believe in turning away from our system in frustration and despair, but at the same time, I would rather not expend my energy working and advocating for the system. Is that a mindset that just doesn’t work in a democracy? Is it my job to be involved no matter what else there is in my life? When I was in theater, I believed, however wrongly, that my art was all of the outreach I needed to do. I would impact my world with my art. I’m not saying that I really did that or that my work had some more global effect on anyone.
Later, when I worked for the federal court system, I was not allowed to be politically active in a visible sort of way and it was easy to embrace the judicial lifestyle. Now. Well, I did a little bit of campaign work when Obama was up for elections. Didn’t love it, didn’t hate it. I don’t feel it is my calling, but I hate feeling powerless or frustrate. There are only so many productive hours in the day. My plate does tend to be full but does that matter when I am watching the steady trek backwards in terms of policies that I think are important?
More middle school frustration. More. More. In the assignment notebook last night was news of a science quiz. There was a review sheet of sorts but it wasn’t clear whether Julia was supposed to fill out more of it than what was already done. And she has no idea. Her special ed teacher and I set up a procedure for taking quizzes and tests that involved getting Julia ready for tests over a period of days. And so, a review sheet or sample test comes home a week or so before the testing day and we study little by little. One night of studying does absolutely no good and it just frustrates Julia and I.
So that was where we started last night. I had her read the little bit of material on the review sheet a few times and switched to practicing cello.
Today, I went in with her. Talked to the special ed teacher who was also frustrated that the science teacher is not following the plan, but then again the aide in that classroom is different from the aide who was there when the plan was set up. And I made my case for reducing the number of people that she sees. Every doc and therapist that I talk to has agreed that Julia needs a smaller and consistent staff. When I made this pitched to the principal later, she talked about all the variables that can’t be controlled for. And I agreed. Someone is sick and out, someone is on leave, someone was needed in a place of higher need than Julia. All of the makes sense and I know that Julia needs to learn to accommodate for that; however, if her people-environment is smaller to begin with she might start building some relationships that will allow for some change and flexibility. As it stands now, it seems to be all change and transition for her— bells going off every 45 minutes, changing classes for each class, kids she doesn’t know and a building she is only beginning to recognize. Some of this is the bedrock of middle school, but the plea that I am making is to make some changes where we can. I see people as a possibility. I think Julia’s special ed teacher can see that. I am not sure about the principal. It is system change that I am looking for and the powers-that-be would rather put a bandaid on the gap than change.
People with only neuro-typical kids tend to say that all kids face these kinds of challenges. Middle school is a big change and some kids take a long time to settle. I was going to write that if those people could spend one day with Julia they would know that her challenges with these change make typical kid settling into middle school look easy-peasy, but what strikes me is that if it is difficult for many kids, why is this the system? I have read that middle school can be generally considered a wasteland between elementary and high school that needs to be endured. I wonder why we are punishing kids for getting into sixth grade? Why shouldn’t the system fit the kids instead of fitting those kids into an unfriendly and sometimes destructive system?
ivy
The doll has caught her interest.
Backstory: Julia has never liked dolls. I brought a baby doll with me to China when we met but it had eyes that opened and closed and that terrified her. She threw it on the floor of our hotel room and used a teddy bear to beat on it. It wasn’t until she was home for almost four years when she found a stuffed toy — Lizzy the purple t-Rex dinosaur — to cuddle with in bed. She was nine and still crazy interested in dinosaurs. The trip to Disney, the T-Rex Cafe, and finally Build-a-Dino that started the love affair with Lizzy.
I think I re-gifted the baby doll Julia’s third or fourth Christmas home. She didn’t beat it up but she didn’t play with it either. But last Family Day, the combination of a doll that looked like her — American Girl Doll Asian-version Ivy, a “best friend” doll — and the Gryffindor uniform and robes that I made for Ivy made for pretty good insurance that she would look a bit favorably on the doll.
to yourself . .
So, I signed myself up to blog everyday for the month of November and rather conveniently I found a very good excuse not to do it yesterday. I did jot a few notes for yesterday including that I was feeling slightly embarrassed to share the enhanced writing life on a daily basis with Facebook. If the feeling continues I could disengage the Facebook feed or I can grit my teeth and just admit to the world that I write a lot of crap much too often.
Part of the excuse for not writing yesterday is driving to Chicago and a full day which included a long eye doc visit and a trip to the american girl doll store. The high point of the day was late and delicious Chinese dinner with good conversation. After which, sleep was the only thing I was interested in. Continue reading
and again . . .
Call to action or just a terrible awful week? Um, maybe 12 days. And maybe both. Processing and working to avoid leaning to despair or Poly Anna optimism.
Yes.
So the terrible part. Starting with last week — Julia unraveling in orchestra because there was no cello for her to play. Tests without preparation to assess what was being learned when I could see the answer was ‘not very much.’ Projects coming home to finish without adequate instruction for me. Sometimes not coming home at all. Julia constantly rearranging the all important binder and losing its contents all over the school. Julia picking and scratching at her head and growing bald spots — clear anxiety. My own trip to the ER last Friday which postponed the teacher and staff meeting that had been scheduled for that day. Continue reading
vibrato
Julia is still struggling with counting eighth notes, which is not unusual at her level, however, this weekend she wanted to leap to some much more advanced level. We listened to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons and she heard vibrato. She has heard plenty of music with vibrato but this weekend she recognized it for the first time.
“What is that wobbly sound?” And I tried to explain.
When it came time for cello practice, she tried to reproduce the sound by vibrating her bow instead of the fingers on the neck of the cello. Quite ingenious really. It looked very silly but she managed a sound that was something like vibrato.
When I explained how the sound was made, Julia did not like it as much as moving the bow around. She tried it as she practiced and I asked her not to do it until Martha, her teacher, explains it much better than I could.
Bow hand and arm positions and directions, posture and sitting position, and recently having all of her tapes taken off, there seems to be plenty to concentrate on. I send up a secret prayer that vibrato can wait a year or so down the line.
Still, gotta’ give the kid credit.
Chasing Joy 