This Mom

Another trip around the sun with my son

Family portrait; Ashfield Fall Festival; October, 2008.

Sometimes I think the perfect situation would be to have two kids: one typical and one like my darling Fluffy.

In my imagination, the typical, easy child would provide the feedback that I am not defective as a parent, that I have the ability to guide and teach, discipline affectively, shepherd my child towards his own, incrementally independent life through the baby steps of sitters, playgroups, preschool, elementary school, and the land of overnights elsewhere—friend’s house, relatives, summer camp, etc.,etc. I could finally be a member of the Parents of Typical Children Club with all its requisite ease and normalcy along with the trials and irritations, challenges and quirks that everyone has to certain degrees since, as far as I can tell from this side of the plexi-glass, no child is a disney prince or princess.

Continuing along in the la la land of my imagination, parenting the Fluffy child would provide what it has all along: the discovery that nothing is what you thought it would be, the freedom and fear that such a discovery can bring, the experience of having the ground ripped out from under you just as you think you are getting your bearings, the opportunity for developing inner strength and fortitude like those characters in myths and fairy tales, the ones who wander alone, underground, searching for their hands.

I would have it both ways. I would stretch and see things I could never have seen before. I would let go of old judgments and certainties and fall straight into the pit of what most parents fear: something’s is going on with your child that may profoundly affect their entire life, livelihood and happiness and you may or may not be able to fix it, ie, give them a life that is better than yours. I would have a toe in the door to other people’s struggles. I wouldn’t *get * it all but I would get a lot more than I ever could have before.

But I would also *get * the other side, the ‘regular’ side. 

I wouldn’t have to brace against someone else’s child’s success. I wouldn’t feel that stick in my throat that appears when Fluffy veers wildly off course and I don’t know how to lasso him back to the track. I wouldn’t feel the ground beneath me rumble when I see the judgment and criticism of my son’s behavior or of my parenting. That’s when I veer off. I try not to. I work hard to stay calm, focused, good humored, resilient, to stay in the moment and FAR away from comparisons, worry, fear, hurt, anger.

But it’s hard.

And when the shit hits the fan, which it did over Christmas, in my imagination, with the two kids and the two worlds and the two points of view and me straddling the divide, I would be able to keep my balance, hold my tongue and wait it out, wait until the storm inside me passes with all the flying debris before I gather my words.

Tomorrow is a new day, a new month, a new year. Outside, fat flakes of snow steadily fall, covering the bare trees and triangular roof tops with soft and fantastically complicated designs, invisible to the naked eye. Imagine, that’s what the cold did to uniform and ordinary water droplets. 

Howard Glasser is my new hero. His Nurtured Heart Approach feels like the answer we’ve been looking for since the fall. We began a few weeks ago but we will begin again now, in this new year, with a new parent training class and his most recent book. I even found a class for Fluffy at a center whose staff has been trained in the Nurtured Heart style of teaching.

Glasser’s main point is to look at the way we choose to radiate energy. That’s the key. He says, many times a day, look at what is happening with your child and find the ways you can accuse them of success, over and over. What is happening that can be held up as a success? What isn’t happening that can be held up as a success? Keep creating these moments of success, what he calls the Time In, so that, in time, your child develops a deep and abiding and truer sense of self that will then, naturally, manifest everywhere.

Glaser calls the Nurtured Heart a spiritual intervention. I love that. I have a feeling this will help me come up from underground. I have a feeling it will help me find my hands. And when that happens, I don’t think I’ll have as much use for the perfect parenting situation of my imagination. The truth is, when I feel as if my own life makes sense, when I feel as if I am finding my own, perfectly imperfect expression of my one wild and wonderful life right here, nothing sticks in my throat and the ground is warm and steady beneath my feet.

Here’s to another trip around the sun with my son, myself, my man, my family, and my friends in the physical, and the virtual, world. 

Happy 2009. 

Painting Paper with Fluffy

A few of the wrapping paper sheets we did last night.

During the summer, the family cozied up to the inspiring Pete Seeger documentary, The Power of Song.

Pete, himself, thought it seemed too much like a eulogy and man alive, anyone can tell this man is NOT dead: chopping wood, ice skating and skiing, standing on the side of the road in the pouring rain to protest the war in Iraq with his handmade sign asking for PEACE, well into his eighties yet as strong and lithe as ever.

I love him.

I got to see him this fall in concert. He maybe passed his belting it out stage but the sight of him on the stage filled my heart with the beautiful sound of his voice, still ringing out from my childhood.

Watch the movie. He makes you want to be a better person. And he does it all with a startling lack of hubris. He couldn’t care less about being star in front of the crowd; he only cares about harmonizing among the voices of those gathered.

During a scene in the extra features during which Pete and his family made wonderful wrapping paper, we all vowed not to buy any Christmas paper this year. It’s been a project on my list for ages. I finally got to it last night and it turned out to be even more fun than I imagined.

Last night was Friday and Friday is movie night but yesterday was the day before leaving town to celebrate the holidays with family and everything was topsy turvey. Fluffy was on the computer in the middle of the day while Dave and I raced about, gathering piles and the suitcases in which to dump said piles. Outside, the snow steadily fell from noon on. The scene out the window was straight out of a children’s storybook, full of romance and magic as passersby dotted the white with colorful puffs of snowgear.

By the time I extracted Fluffy from the monitor screen, he had about 3 molecules of blood sugar circulating through his veins and needed to eat so I heated up a frozen pizza and we all ate like retirees, done by 4:30. The boys suited up and frolicked in the fading light for as long as they could last, coming back inside with red chins and runny noses while I, driven by my adult-onset compulsion to clean out the refrigerator before any trip out of town with the fervor of a marine corps recruit, frantically sniffed, dumped, wiped and scrubbed. Then it was upstairs for movie night.

Movie night started early enough for a decent bedtime but by the time the movie ended, Fluffy begged for more food and seeing as he hadn’t eaten for three hours, we trudged downstairs for grilled cheese.

The reason I tell you all this is because the next part, the part that went so well, was all because I didn’t get tense. After all, it was the night before we’re leaving on vacation with a scadillion things to do; it well after 7pm, Fluffy’s teeth were already brushed (never an easy task) and in pjs (which would not last through the consumption of food) and we hadn’t even cracked the big stack of books waiting for us on his pillow.

While Fluffy ate his grilled cheese at one end of the table, I laid big sheets of paper on the remaining available surface. I mixed simple poster paints and narrated my process aloud: Hmm, what kind of designs shall I make? Will they turn out? How do I even start? I brightened when I remembered the five elements of shape that we are learning about from the fabulous new art book I am using with Fluffy called, Drawing with Children (which I highly recommend!) and began narrating as I painted dots, circles, curved lines, straight lines, and angle lines. Fluffy was fascinated.

Soon he was up and circling the table with me, commenting all the while about how he thought it was coming, remembering his favorite wrapping paper designs (who knew he even had noticed!), making suggestions about what I ought to try next. I offered blank sheets for him but he declined and I didn’t push it. Instead, he offered the use of this stroke and that color and I followed his lead. It was our first true artistic collaboration. Fluffy art directed me––beautifully I might add, and I painted away and by the time we tossed the empty paint holders in the sink, it was after 9pm and we were high as kites.

So, we have our wrapping paper. At least, for the gifts from us. What Santa does is his business. I understand his paper looks remarkably like the rolls we’ve seen at the supermarket.

 

A Holiday Alternative?

I know the Nutcracker is classic fare for this time of year, but oh, how I'd like to take Fluffy to see the all-male comic ballet company, Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo!

You simply must see this quick slide show. 

Men en Pointe, indeed!

A few words about the party at a famous person's house

Over the weekend, we all went to a famous person’s party. I believe this now makes us all famous by extension.

The house was (I imagine it still is) grand and spacious, tastefully anointed with signed art on the wall, sleek modern furniture sprinkled about the vast sea of hardwoods peppered with handsome area rugs. Everything was newly done: new painted, newly remodeled, newly exposed, newly tiled, newly fabricked. The drawers in the kitchen floor to ceiling cabinets, designed by the hostess, gently and silently pulled themselves to a close with only the merest touch of the fingertips. How thoughtful of them.

There was a violent absence of clutter.

A shelf in the library displayed six Emmys. Three Caldecott Honor Awards hung on a  nearby wall. The third floor office space had a conference room, sitting area surrounded by all his many many books, and multiple work stations.

The host and hostess were very lovely and gracious. Their 7-year old daughter breezed in and out of her room where hordes of children (Fluffy among them) were pawing through her closet and shelves for toys.

In the star-struck category, I’d put myself squarely in the middle. I don’t fall to the floor and beg them to autograph my arm and I don’t breeze by, pretending they don’t fascinate me anymore than my pharmacists.

They do fascinate me.

It’s not the giant house or the loads of cash or even the shelf-full of awards. It’s wondering how it feels to be doing what you love and having that thing responded to, financially, so you don’t have to engage in long discussions with your husband about whether it’s okay to buy a holiday outfit or recover the couch since the materials you chose turns out to be hideous and scratchy and quite possibly made of plastic.

I’m still friendless here. Have I mentioned? I did my best to mix it up at the party; many of the attendees were my neighbors, after all. I had a very nice chat with the woman who lives across the street—we’ve had fun chats before. When she asked how it was going here for me, I said, Well, we love the area and things are mostly fine but I don’t have any friends here yet and I’m lonely for a pal! and she looked away and said, Yeah. Well, it takes a while and nothing more.

Fluffy, ever famous in my eyes, was a star. He navigated the tides of guests, small and large, slipped up and down the front and back staircases, helped himself to the bathrooms behind nearly every door, and found us when he needed something, a drink, more salami chunks, another brownie. Dave and I took turns keeping tabs on him but for the first time, this involved long stretches when he was out of sight. We would find him, spy, confirm that he was fine (and he always was, once kindly sharing a toy with a little girl, another time, playing on his own, another time, playing playmobile with a boy, another time, giggling on the back stairs with two other children) and then go back to the grown-ups.

UNHEARD OF A YEAR AGO. 

I would never have been in a new house filled with assorted children and let Fluffy out of my sight for even an instant.

I can’t say Fluffy is my work. He is my son. I don’t make little statues out of clay representing each year’s achievements. I don’t create his progress. Yet, the work of the last four years of my life has been about clearing the stream so his waters can flow. 

But you know the funny part? Most of the clearing has been inside my own waters, slipping on rocks, hauling debris, plucking out dead things, liberating others tangled but still alive, in waters up to my waist or in rivers dry as a bone, but always within my own banks. 

 

Today, a list

I’m no professional shopper. But the other day in the shower, as that dreamy Clarisonic ran circles all over my face and neck, I thought, this is one of the best things I've ever done for myself!

I thought of calling this my Top Ten but I can’t be pinned down so I’m calling it The First Ten That Pop Into My Mind:  

 

1.      Clarisonic. Pricey but worth it. I bought it last year with my Christmas money, feeling very indulgent and vain. Within a month, my skin was visibly more vibrant and those micro-bumps were gone. Almost a year later, I am still a convert, bringing it along even on overnights. I’ve used it on Fluffy on occasion and he thinks it’s a huge treat, tickly and fun.

 

2.      Isogensix. Again with the cleanse, but I must say, if anyone you know if wanting to loose weight, inches, and that old farty feeling, then jump on a cleanse. I’ve tried others but so far, this is my favorite. It’s expensive but made of lacto-vegetarian quality ingredients, and organics, and works. It may be a perfect for that new year’s leaf?

 

3.      HyperDash. Neither Fluffy nor I are big outdoorsy folks when the temperature drops below 50 degrees. I know, I know--there’s no such thing as bad weather, only improper gear but what can I say? We’re wimps. This game has been a perfect way to get a little bounce back in our step.

 

4.    Klean Kanteen. We have become a committed Klean Kanteen family. And now they have them in all sorts of colors so you never have to have another argument about which bottle is whose, or who lost how many bottles at $18 a pop, er--not that we’ve ever had those sorts of fights. You may be able to find these in your local health food store. I know they have them at Whole Foods.

 

5.     Donations in someone’s name. Times are hard everywhere these days and lots of people are asking for donations to be made in their name rather than one more book or tie or scratchy sweater. Your local food bank is a great place to start. Here are a few of my favorites (is it odd to say favorite and charity in the same sentence?) charities:

 

a.     FINCA, an international organization that gives micro-loans to destitute mothers so that they can start their own business.

b.     The Smile Train brings provides free cleft surgery to children, literally saving their lives.

c.     Women's Bean Project helps American women get back on their feet.

 

6.    That said, I do have two favorite books right now, both by Tristine Rainer: Your Life as Story. An amazing book for both professional writers and beginners learning the art of writing personal narrative. Recommended highly.

 

7.     And, The New Diary. Look for the updated version. Even though this was originally published over twenty years ago, it’s a wonderfully inspired guide to journaling in a host of creative ways. For the secret artist in your life.

 

8.     Backscratcher--the telescoping kind. This is the only successful gift I have purchased for Dave, my beloved and particular husband.

 

9.      Body Brush. Many years ago, my childhood best friend met someone on a plane who had the smoothest skin she had ever felt. Don’t ask me how she discovered this (those seats are quite close) but I’ve never forgotten the reason: daily brushing with a body brush. I promptly got one for myself, replacing it, year after year. It does make your skin soft. It has added benefits of releasing toxins and boosting your immune system. And it makes a great stocking stuffer.

 

10.  Rock and Spin Top. Every year, Santa brings something for the playroom. This year, it was between this giant top and a barrel like this one. The top won out for both financial and storage reasons. Great vestibular input and a bit of 'heavy work' thrown in if your guy does a lot of pushing, pulling, and carrying it about.

I’d love to hear your gift favorites! Feel free to list them in the comments section or link to your blog.

 

The hair down there

Do you read Salon? If so, you now know that 'Bush is Back'. 

They're talking about down there. And hair. 

Personally? I love the off-color conversation but I am always taken aback when I see read articles about things like the hair styles of the female nether-region. 

Last week, I read an article about the proliferation of specialty salons that nip and tuck, redesigning women's external trappings. With knives and shit. Apparently there's been so much, er, exposure that the ladies are wanting to spiff up the scene. Geez. It used to be that just our boobs or butts or noses or tummies or asses were too big; now we're critical of our labias?

Forgive me. I said it.

Labia labia labia!

Does anyone else wonder about the amount of time these women are spending with hand held mirrors? Okay, there was a time long ago when I sat on the bathroom floor with my own mirror but the whole scene was so complicated I gave up. 

Now, I've done a little yard work, come in close for the teeny bikini, not quite a landing strip and definitely never cleared the field. 

For this mom, it all comes down to organization and money. If I've got a lot of both, I'm sporting a Dorito. If things have been rough, I'm smuggling a hedgehog.

With this new trend spotted by Salon, I may not be alone.

Hi!

Hi!

Am I like that neighbor now? The one who comes over every day for a chat, clutching her steaming tea cup? Oblivious to your crying baby, your face caked in a Latvian green mud mask, the sound of chatter from your demanding house guests? 

I just have a few things to say. 

First, a tidbit: if any of you moms of special needs kids out there are struggling with teaching your son to print his lower case letters, may I suggest switching over to cursive? We're doing it and it's a smash hit. 

Fluffy is so proud of himself! We've only just started and he's already writing 'dad dad dad' over and over in his fantabulous chalky swirls. I bought the slim spiral-bound Loops and Other Groups used from Amazon at the bargain price of $5,000 or was it $50? In any case, it was worth it. 

Now, an admission: In our house, the tooth fairy is an idiot. Last month, Fluffy presented his fifth lost tooth to me in all its bloody glory. He swiftly deposited it in my hand and we danced and celebrated and once we were done, I lovingly placed it in a small glass ramekin for safe-keeping until nighttime. 

That night, after swooping through the kitchen with my sponge, dumping, wiping, and rinsing, I froze as the ancient axons sluggishly fired within my thick skull and then shrieked into my dishtowel. No small glass ramekin. No tooth. What had I done?

This is where my stint as a fabricator came in handy. I fashioned a tooth out of two pieces of brown rice. A bit of sculpting with the steak knife and voilá! After a slightly frantic search for the tooth pillow (which was never found) I slipped the facsimile into Fluffy's pillowcase and he was none the wiser.

Last night, the sixth tooth came out. There was the usual fanfare and this time, I never let that tooth out of my sight until bedtime when we gently secured it in the tooth pillow's (now recovered from behind the bookcase) compartment. 

And then the tooth fairy forgot to come. 

Fluffy wandered into our room this morning with the tooth pillow's compartment and his mouth hanging wide open. What happened? I asked, silently imploring Dave with my blinking eyes to go get a friggin' coin and sneak back into his room and put it somewhere on that bed! It turns out that he was simultaneously and silently imploring with his own blinking eyes, Well, then, get your butts out of here because the coin I'm after is here in my dresser drawer!

So, Fluffy and I went to the bathroom to ponder the situation while Dave uncharacteristically zipped here and there and then we all methodically turned over every pillow until we found the coin, OH! There is it!

But, why didn't she take the tooth? Fluffy inquired. 

Er, good question! 

And finally, a small rant: The local Freecycle seems to be run by bitter trolls. 

Dave and I both joined when we arrived here in Northampton, energized by a second wave of purging our home of unnecessary things. Dave put a pile of said things on the street and then posted to the Freecycle list, including our address so people could feel free to swing by and browse. He promptly got kicked off the list. Apparently they have a strict rule about not posting addresses. The reason? They don't want to encourage others to waste gas driving by a house that may not have the goods anymore. Oh. We didn't know Freecycle monitored the gas consumption of its members. Dave was told he could reapply for posting status in two months.

Two months went by; Dave applied to be reinstated and asked if he could have a discussion off-list about the policy and when the moderator agreed, Dave sent him what I though was a very respectful email, questioning the harshness of the punishment especially considering it was a first offense and done unwittingly. And, considering he'd seen others on the list do the same. And, considering that the moderators never post friendly reminders to the group, reiterating policy. The moderator replied with a bizarrely outraged answer, saying Dave sounded like a guy "used to getting what he wants" and that he "didn't buy it". He denied his request, and offered that he could reapply in another THREE months.

Oy vey was me. 

I posted to the list, saying, hey guys, make sure you don't put include your address in your notices and summarized what had happened to Dave. And, yes, you guessed it, I got kicked off the list with this notification:

"Your post just earned you a place in the dog house with your friend."

My question to all of you, does this seem in keeping with the spirit of Freecycle?

I think not. 

There was more to the exchange. I tell you, I despise injustice! Even ones at this miniscule level! I sent a flurry of emails to this moderator, more than I ought to have were I the kind of woman to be in possession of a modicum of self-control.

Fluffy and I; we're peas in a pod. 

Since you asked...

Warning: Weight Loss Talk Ahead

I’m only a beginner in the world of Isagenix Cleansing Systems but I’m already a convert.

My sister told me about it about halfway through her 30-day program, calling in every few days with weight lost and energy found in steady increments, both ways. She’s been working with a nutritionist for a while now, the kind of gal who ingests and slathers organics, exclusively, including face care and beauty products (while I soak in Oil of Olay Regenerist products made with every last chemical on the earth because it is meant to reduce wrinkles. Yes! I am vain!) and she, the nutritionist, said, you’ve got to try this cleanse, it’s an incredible product.

They say things like that in the biz’—product.

So she did. 

And now, I have too.  

There is a 9 day cleanse (you actually begin with 2 days of pre-cleanse so in my book, it’s an 11-day cleanse) and a 30 day cleanse. I did the 9 day (11 day) and am now 5 days into the 30 day.

The product is meant to pull toxins out of the body, toxins that are interfering with one’s ability to get the weight off. The product is meant to nourish and rebalance the body, taking away the crazy food cravings that are, at least for me in my regular life, running the show.

Maybe you aren’t like me. Maybe you are sane around food, eating when you’re hungry and stopping when you’re full. Maybe you always sit down to eat and chew fifty times before you swallow rather than stand while shoveling foodstuff into your cake hole like you’ve just been pulled from a cave. And so, craving an assortment of protein, fruits and vegetable, whole grains, and natural sweets of this good earth is your normal.

Me? I’m more of a potato chip and salami gal when the stress builds up. I eat pretty well most of the time but I’ve never really been able to sustain long-term good eating habits. I used to be able to take it but once I fell into my forties, the metabolism went on extended holiday.

This cleanse seems to be doing a few critical things:

1.     rebooting my metabolism

2.     eliminating my more severe and debilitating food cravings

3.     taking off the pounds and inches

The most important component is that I am in the real world with food while on I’m doing the program. I’m not relegated to only eating this food or that liquid meal or these pre-made meals. I am drinking shakes, yes, but every day I also must eat a meal, anything I want. And I must eat snacks. In fact, I must make sure my body gets food every 2-3 hours. This is key. The metabolism is like a wood stove. We don’t want to let the fire go out. Imagine the energy is takes to start a new fire every time you need some heat. Same with the food. It’s much more efficient to keep your metabolism on a steady burn.

So, you have your cleanse days and your shake days. In the 30 day, you have 6 shake days followed by 1 cleanse day. On shake days, you drink 2 shakes, have one meal, and snacks. And LOTS of water. On cleanse days, you drink the cleanse drink four times a day and no meals. But you are allowed snacks. And you know what? If you need to eat something, do. I did.

It appears, as long as you get the product in you, it works. 

I’ve been cheating the whole time. Not Big Mac or ice cream sundae cheats but smaller meals in addition to my one meal on shake days cheats, eating a small meal on my cleanse days cheats, and eating more in general than they recommend cheats. It's still working.

It’s expensive. It’s also infuriatingly hard to find prices on the site. They aren’t there. It’s one of those programs where you need to buy from an actual person. 

I am such a person.

That does not mean you have to buy this from me or from anyone. But you asked, so there it is.

This Isagenix is helping this middle aged mama find some balance around the food and it’s making it possible for me to wear some sexy-thass clothes I haven’t been able to get near for a couple of years.

And I noticed that yesterday, that husband of mine couldn't keep his hands off me. Hmm, that's its own can of worms...

Thanks to Laura and Arianna Huffington

Fluffy, beside his first ever Lego Mindstorm robotic project; November, 2008.

Thanks to a combination of an e-friend’s email that I got this morning (thank you, Laura!) and a tivo’d glimpse of Arianna Huffington on The Daily Show promoting the new book on everything you need to know about blogging (did anyone else see her? And does anyone else think she sounds exactly like Ava Gabor from Green Acres? Even though she’s (Huffington) Greek and Ava was, what? Hungarian or something?) I am back.

Here. To this blog.

Hello! Is there anybody still out there?

I’m not sure we need a book on blogging. Did you know that over 50,000 new blogs are started each day in the US? Over 80,000 each day in the UK?

What is everyone talking—er, I mean, blogging about?

Arianna says, blog your passions, in her case, politics and cheese. Be conversational, like you would in an email to a friend. The freshness is in the first draft. Don’t over think, over write, over edit. Just let it hang out there, dangling like so much underarm skin.

So, here I am, dangling, the underarm skin and all.

My passions? All things Fluffy, all things me: the on-going quest for balance in all areas, humorous and healthy aging, making peace with a past that included enormous periods of embarrassingly ineffectual running in circles, writing, making a meaningful contribution to this world.

First, as I dangle, I must also happily report, there is less of the underarm skin. I’ve been Isagenixing and it is doing the trick. I used to gripe about that last ten pounds but over the last couple of years those ten have doubled and brought with them the puckering and pouty sagging and jeering from the conflated thigh/ass region that has collapse its borders and is now referred to as my thass, and the terrible burden of getting dressed which feels as complicated and exhausting as adapting the Iraqi war surge strategy for the mountainous landscape of the Afghanistan/Pakistan border.

But no more! The weight, she is coming off. The standing in the kitchen shoveling starch and sugar substances into my mouth as if I am being timed is a thing of the past. I’m feeling, dare I say, SANE around food!

Things relational: the marriage needs work. Let me just toss that right out there. Years of neglect wear down the trust. I fear we have moved out of having no life outside the home to having only separate lives outside the home. We’re either with the Fluffster or in our offices doing work or out independently. We are now launching Operating Date Night Out, training one of the two new (and fantastic!) sitters to take on a nighttime shift so Dave and I can get reacquainted. That and a top notch therapist ought to do the trick. Cross fingers.

Things homeschool: I continue to revamp our whole approach and have found that even though I can’t entirely stop the worry from sneaking into the room, I am getting better and better at noticing when she’s skulking about. It’s much like Beegu creaking open the door with her snout and sidling over to the table to vacuum up food scraps. She’s always going to do that. Always. It’s just her way. All I need to do is gently shoo her away. Again and again and again.

Things Fluffy: he has a new friend! For their third playdate, they met at the mall on Saturday (with adult escorts, of course!) and played their first ever game of laser tag followed by snacks and then roller skating.

Things health: After five weeks (FIVE WEEKS!) of sickness, I am finally climbing free from my snotty mountain of Kleenex just as Fluffy succumbs once again and Dave shuffles about in his slippers, muttering a long list of ailments.

A couple who were all set to buy the house in RI (yes, we are trying to sell in this market) withdrew their offer after the radon gas report came back with an appallingly high number: 21 when the acceptable limit is 4. And you know the acceptable limit is more likely 1 or even zero. 

What’s the risk of radon gas exposure, you may ask? Lung cancer.

Are we all radon gas poisoned? Any reassurances out there?

So, here you have it, my passions spouted as if in an email to a friend, which is what you all are to me, friends.

Away to Florida I go...

Even though I now travel with a entourage of snotty kleenex balls clustered about my feet, a netty pot hanging out of my back pocket while hooked up to an airborne drip, I am boarding a plane in a matter of hours to fly south high above the eastern seaboard to our Sunshine State. 

Me. 

Alone.

This is a milestone event in our house, only the third overnight trip for me, solo, in the last almost eight years, and the longest one yet; I'll be gone for three nights.

As I was putting Fluffy to bed last night, snuggling in the soft darkness of his room he clasped his hands together and said earnestly, Oh Mom, I think I can handle this! 

I think he can, too. 

Dave as well.

For that matter, toss me in that mix.

I have some trepidation, as I always do when I'm off on a new adventure and out of my routine. However much I may sometimes curse the sameness, there is a comfort and ease and gift in having all this time at home. It's a nice home. Fluffy's a fantastic guy. I so enjoy him. Not only because he's my son. I find him interesting, surprising, and just plain good company. 

But I'm also ready for more letting go. And if this damn flu/cold/sinus infection would just leave me be I may actually have a ball in the company of grown-ups, enjoying uninterrupted sleep (what even IS that?), and the caressing warmth of that Florida delicious air.

I'll be at a workshop, exploring a new approach that I hope will enhance and support Fluffy's education, a way to help him integrate and process and find balance and strength. I'll also be meeting (in person!) some women I've communicated with on RDI and Enki listservs for years. 

Yay! In person grown-up time!

Blow us all kisses!