Month: September 2013

by

I don’t like it one bit OR the attack of the killer centipede

Without considering the consequences, I hit the snooze button today. Twice. When I finally got up the panic hit me. I not only had extra things to do before leaving, but I needed to leave early today.

I quickly showered, dressed and was about to open my door when I heard the scream. I knew from the volume and pitch that my dearest daughter was not angry or hurt. She was scared. Really scared.

I had heard that same scream at 2 a.m. when she had a bad dream about a creepy doll that was dirty with antennas, yellow eyes and green skin. It was hours before either of us could get that image out of our heads. Yikes.

I opened the door and she leaped into my arms.

“What is it?” I said. She was shaking all over.

“Look!” she proclaimed and pointed at the wall behind me. There was the BIGGEST, MEANEST looking centipede ever. All its little legs and antennae were waving at us. It was crawling up the wall toward the ceiling. We would have to pass this bad boy to get downstairs to breakfast.

It made a quick lurch across the wall and we both shuddered and screamed.

Our complete panic awoke brother who came stumbling out of his bedroom putting on his glasses.

“What’s going on?” he asked and yawned.

“Look!” my daughter and I screech at the same time. At this point it turned the corner and was out of sight.

“Don’t let it get away,” my daughter yells and runs into her room and shuts the door.

I glance at the clock. Brilliant. We have to be out the door in 20 minutes. Both kids are in their underwear and I haven’t made breakfast or packed lunches.

Both children are now barricaded in their rooms and they will not budge until I proclaim the evil centipede dead.

Did I mention it was HUGE? And that I HATE killing things?

So I inch down the stairs keeping my eyes peeled. When I get to the bottom step I see it. It’s too high to kill, but I bend down and grab one of my husband’s shoes in anticipation of its quick movement. When I look back it’s GONE.

“You get it mom?” the kids yell from behind their closed doors.

“It went into the air conditioning vent,” I completely lie. “It will be killed when the air comes on.”

“Turn on the air,” my boy yells.

I head back up and force them both to get dressed. We now have to be out the door in 10 minutes. Neither child will walk down the stairs, so I agree to carry them down one at a time. They are 6 and 8, so carrying them together is too hard now. (Yes, I used to carry them both at the same time. Don’t ask.)

I take my daughter first. We get to the bottom and I set her on the last step. Just then, YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS, the STUPID centipede comes running at us across the carpet. Misses my foot by a centimeter.

You can bet I screamed. My girl dashed back upstairs and slammed her door all the while screaming, “you lied, you lied!!”

My boy also retreats back into his room screeching.

Sigh. I have to kill it and produce a dead body if I want my children to ever leave their rooms. I could freak them out and explain that centipedes hide everywhere and one might be IN their rooms. But, come on. I’m not cruel. Or stupid. And I’d love to sleep again.

So I arm myself with my husband’s enormous shoe and look for it. I figure it’s hiding under the shoe basket. I attempt to call my boy for help, but it’s not happening.

I kick the basket with one foot and prepare to pounce. The creepy thing scurries out and WHACK I get him.

“He’s dead,” I yell. But I’m not 100 percent sure. It’s dark in the hall and maybe he scuttled away. Please let there be a dead bug on the floor. Please.

“You sure,” they both yell opening their doors a bit.

“I think so,” I say not wanting to lie again. “Not positive. Let me turn on the other light and look.”

I’ve never been so happy to see something dead. Curled up it was quite small.

“I’m sure. Come and see.”

Nope. I still had to carry them down. One by one I show them proof of its death. Still refusing to set foot on the floor, I also carry them TO the kitchen table. They both sit with their feet off the floor.

Only 5 minutes to go. As they down bowls of cereal, I quickly pack their lunches and realize I have NO time to make coffee. Did you catch that? NO COFFEE.

I bring their shoes to the table, triple check them for bugs and then carry them out the front door. Because, obviously, they are NOT walking on the carpet ever again.

We make it to school on time and a friend buys me Starbucks. Not bad.

Now let’s just hope they will walk on the carpet after school.

Then again, my arms are getting flabby…

by

Get rhythm when you get the blues

I didn’t know what to expect. Nervous and feeling a bit silly, I drove downtown. The neighborhood was beautiful, filled with so much green and shade.

I could just take a walk around here, I thought. No. Walk through the door.

When I walked in I was greeted by several smiling ladies who told me a bit about this thing called “Sweat Your Prayers.” I didn’t understand and really wanted to wait for my friend. But something told me to just go in and see. Walk through the door.

Crossing into the room I was unsure about what I saw. A few people were dancing on a beautiful wooden floor. A woman stood at the front playing music. A table had stones, feathers and a crystal on it.

The ceiling was made of old wooden cross beams that were dotted with a few antique-looking chandeliers. I just stood against the wall. I took off my shoes and focused my eyes upward. I studied the lines of the wood. The chandeliers had these metal pieces that looked like flowers or maybe stars. I studied them.

I soon found I was stretching a bit. Moving my arms across my chest. Hugging my insecurities close. The music was fluid and easy to move to. I left the wall and moved a little out. Still clutching my arms across my body, not ready to be open.

Then the beat changed and more people arrived and started to dance. I found that the more people came in, the easier I moved. I started to relax. I watched some and found that I didn’t really need to. I just wanted to feel the beat and move. So I did.

My friend came in and a flood of relief rushed over me. A familiar face. She smiled. I moved a little farther away from the wall.

For two hours I danced. I don’t think I have words to express what happened. My body seemed to know what to do. I found it moving in ways that it rarely does, but it felt so natural. I felt alive.

I found myself laughing at the freedom and joy that I felt. All these people were just letting go, just feeling and being open. It was overwhelming.

Twice I fell apart and sobbed. I was cradled, held and caressed. No words were needed. I felt safe to let it out. No judgement. Just being.

I was struck by how real and natural this all felt. It was as if I tapped into something ancient within that I didn’t even know was there. My body seemed to have been aching for this.

The connection I felt to humanity is what I’ve been craving. I’ve been so hungry for it. This is the entire reason I have been wanting to dance at night clubs. But without alcohol and the sexual tension to distract me from my real purpose, real things happened.

There is so much work to be done, but I’m feeling more hopeful and less alone that I have in a long time.

Last night I dreamed in dance. It was an exhilarating dream of movement, color, happy, sad and finally peace. I have no idea where I’m going, but I’m starting to accept that.

I’m choosing joy and that’s all I have to do right now.

*If your interested, 5Rhythms dance is held Thursdays and Sundays in Sacramento

by

Just a glimpse out the car window

He was sitting on the top step of the porch. He had no shirt on and his tan skin stood out in contrast to the stark white house. His jeans were dirty and he held a cigarette in one hand. His arms were crossed and he was leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His blonde hair was sticking up in spots. His bare feet were on the step below him.

The light turned green and I stepped on the gas pedal. I took one last look at him and he lifted his face. Our eyes locked. It was just a second. Just one breath. I could feel tears in my eyes and I suddenly found it hard to breathe. The intensity and sadness of those blue eyes. The pain. The distress. I fought the urge to turn around and go to him.

“Mommy,” my girl said from the backseat.

“What?” I said swallowing hard and trying to concentrate on driving. Just a few more blocks and we would be to school.

“Did you see that man?” she said.

It was then that I looked back at her in the rearview mirror. She was clutching Panda, her protector bear, very tight. Her knees were drawn up and her eyes were wide.

“I did,” I replied trying to sound calm.

“That was so sad,” she said. I could hear the tears threatening to come.

“What man?” my son chimed up cheerfully. He had a bag of his sisters hair bands on his lap and was busy making bracelets for his friends.

“The sad man with no shirt,” my girl answered. “I hope he will be OK.”

“He will,” I told her.

“Good,” she said loosening her grip on Panda. Her head slumped to the side of her car seat.

“I’m tired now,” she said and yawned.

“Me too,” I said and reached for my coffee cup.

“What man?” my son said again and strained his neck to try to look behind us. Of course we were several blocks away now and almost to school.

“He’s gone,” my daughter replied. “But he will be OK.”

The rest of the ride to school was silent. We parked on the street and walked brother to class. After saying our good-byes and giving kisses we walked back to the car. Her kindergarten is at another school a few minutes drive away.

“Why do you think that man was sad?” my daughter asked as I started to drive.

“I have no idea,” I said.

“I think someone died,” she said. “But it will be OK. That person is in heaven and he will see them again.”

“Yes, that’s true,” I said.

“I love you mommy,” she said.

“I love you.”

We parked at her school and held hands as we walked to the play structure. She ran around happily showing Panda all the things she can do now.

Her teacher played the flute and she ran off. Panda and I both waved good-bye.

She is going to be OK.

I’m going to be OK.

by

Casting stones with third graders

rockAs they filed passed her, she grabbed a smooth stone from the basket and placed it into their waiting hands. In silence they accepted the stone and lined up outside the classroom.

For the next 20 minutes or so they walked in complete silence. Some clutched the stone toward their chest. Others tossed it in the air occasionally letting it fall to the ground. All were silent.

They followed their teacher as she led them off the school campus, across the street, through the neighborhood to a well-worn path that cut down to the river.

Forming a line along the river’s edge, the children watched their teacher and mimicked her movements. She held the stone out in front of her with both hands. She closed her eyes. When she opened them she threw the stone out into the river and watched the ripple cascade out from where it fell. Recognizing their cue, all the children started tossing in their stones. They stood quietly watching where they fell.

Stepping back from the river they formed a circle.

“Would anyone like to share what they were thinking about?”

Hands raised very quickly.

“I was thinking how I need to be nicer to my brother.”

“I want to do more things for my dog.”

“I want to work on my patience.”

“I think I can listen to my mom more.”

After sharing, the class sang several songs they had prepared for the day. The songs were filled with glee and hopefulness.

The walk back was anything but quiet. Lots of silliness, giggling and reflection.

“That was weird not talking, but cool.”

“I think we could have surprised a deer!”

“I’m proud of our class.”

Once in the classroom they had the traditional snack of apples and honey.

The teacher then presented the children with a new stone and said “Shanah Tovah,” which means “Good Year.”

The stones that were thrown in the river represented things to “cast off” from the previous year. The new stone represents the year to come.

This was my sons third grade class celebrating Rosh Hashanah. He attends a charter Waldorf school and it’s part of the third grade curriculum. They have been learning, through story and watercolor painting, the creation story. Rosh Hashanah is the “anniversary” of the creation of Adam and Eve.

These are 8- and 9-year-old children who walked in complete silence for almost 30 minutes AND participated in self-reflection.

Love this.

Next week the children will be building temporary structures called sukkah’s and the week will culminate in an evening feast for all the families.

Love this too.

I feel so lucky to have witnessed this beautiful example of reverence and reflection that is at the heart of Waldorf education.

I was even able to cast my own stone into the water. As I watched it sink to the bottom I tried to let all my pain, anger and sadness sink with it.

I’m doing work, my friends. I am starting to feel hope. Thanks for all the kind words and hugs. They have not gone unnoticed or unappreciated.

Shanah Tovah.

by

Hello? Anybody out there?

You are not alone.

At this very moment someone else is going through something just like you.

They may be sitting in their car blaring Johnny Cash and bawling their eyes out.

Just like you.

They may be fighting the urge to have a drink at 9 a.m.

Just like you.

They may wish to just keep driving until the world seems right.

Just like you.

Then why do we feel so alone?

Depression. Abuse. Marriage problems. Parenting. Addiction. Death. Health struggles. It’s all hard and so many are struggling with similar things.

Yet…

We feel so alone.

Our society is sick. Just keep marching forward with that smile. Don’t you dare show weak eyes. Distraction, distraction, distraction. I am not sure, but maybe its always been this way. Maybe that’s just the nature of life. Keep your pain inside. Suck it up. If you give into the pain then it will only serve to make you feel it more. That cannot be good for anyone.

I know that religion is the answer for many. They turn to God and church. They find a community to support them, friends who lift them up and God to pray to for answers and guidance.

I have not had luck on that front in my life. I have found churches to be filled with judgement, fake smiles and hate. They speak the right words and dress the part, but it’s empty. Sunday morning faith. You put someone broken in front of them and you get judgement and pity.

They will “pray for you,” but at a distance. Please do not muddy up their “perfect” lives with your imperfections and questioning. Your lack of faith is ugly.

There are the exceptions. I have met a few people lately that have shown me what real faith and love look like. They show kindness and understanding. Positivity and light pours from them and you can feel hope just being around them. They do not minimize struggle or try to fix you. They recognize that faith and love are personal struggles and that all you want is someone to say, “I’m here. You are not alone.”

I’m here.

You are not alone.

This weekend I went to a nightclub to dance. I wanted to be surrounded by people. Strangers. We did not talk. We just danced. I could feel a connection to those around me. Something about the music, darkness and allowing myself to let go felt real. I felt alive.

Don’t freak dear friends and readers, I don’t plan on becoming a clubber who leaves her family for that feeling. It just struck me hard that what I crave is contact and real connection. Yet, something about dancing with strangers met my needs in ways other things have not.

There was something about being vulnerable, looking like a fool and then just accepting that. Not caring what these people thought about me. Seeing how free others were to just be.

I want some of that.

I spent a fair amount of time over the long weekend staring at the sky. The clouds have been just amazing, filled with shapes and movement. Then the sky opened up and poured yesterday. I filled my house with candles and tried to focus on the light.

I have no idea where I’m going with all this. There are no answers or wisdom to be found here. I’m just fumbling through another day and spilling myself out here.

But I’m spilling all this out in public because I want you to know I’m here. I’m here and YOU are not alone. WE are not alone.

So struggle on friends. We will make it.

I love you.