Spicy Dragons & Dinosaurs

About 20 minutes, 18 or so. Sitting in one place and deciding to write something.

Julia: Had the day off from school today. Unexpected. Due to a teacher call in day. A bad new conservative governor move, trying to force further cuts on our schools and teachers. Conservative rural Wisconsin who voted the fool in might be willing to sacrifice quality education for their kids but noisy, liberal Madison was not going to stand for it. Noisy rallies yesterday and today (not something we could attend -- a bit over the top in stimulation), a sleepover for college students in the Capital last night. All very exciting -- democracy or mob rule? Depends on which side of the cuts you are on.

Back to Julia: She was sad that she could not go to school. Which was great! Amy, who is now in the neighborhood, walked over this morning. Had tea with me, while her girls played first with the cat and dog and then with some toys. At the point that Amy put on her coat, ready to leave, the three girls were playing together. Julia having refrained from playing “with” and preferred to do a bit of bossing around from her perch on the couch. So, Amy left and the girls stayed and they played together for another almost hour. The social skills being practiced were almost worth the day off from school.

We are settling back into some calmer way of being together. Was it just me? I am not sure. Heck, I have no idea. I know it wasn’t just her. But we are loving again, not fighting so much. She is listening sooner and is also telling me to take deep breaths and calm down. She is my teacher.

Waiting for Julia at clinic, and watching a teen group assemble. Will we be coming when Julia is a teen? Until this moment, I have assumed that therapy will end somewhere around the end of middle school, but who knows.

I went into the Waisman Center for an appointment with “Ann” while Julia was at the clinic. Ugh. I insisted on a meeting with the wrong Ann -- yes, there are two teaching in our program. And did not realize my mistake until Ann 1 was gracious to spend some time with me. Actually both were gracious, listened to my moaning and groaning, and tried their best with my questions.

And my question, although I had one more specific question about general brain development, was about how I can fit into the Development Disability World. Of course, I just do not want to fit in, I want to find something to do related to children and complex trauma. I want it connected to the adoption world. It amazes me how mercurial I am -- I both know and don’t know. I am still living on the fence.

The line from the monologue -- what if you are, and had been for quite a long time, exactly what you should be doing -- is constantly surfacing. What if . . . what if. . . what if. And what does that mean? Life is very cluttered right now, still. PTO, LEND, my mother’s estate and house, my renovation, and then Julia’s therapies really do crowd me. There are messy piles in the house and in my head -- piles that I keep planning to organize, maybe take notes on, and then get rid of. I wish that I could just get rid of the easy stuff -- easy=stuff I know that I want to get rid of if only to move on from. My mother’s house! My old tv and vcr! Furniture that I am not using! That is the easy stuff on the periphery of my concerns, but clearing those things would feel like movement and would feel up some space, inside and out, to consider other things. How is this related to that line. Well, I am wondering whether I should take a year off from commitments to sort it all out. To see where I would lean and where I would go if the clutter cleared. Part of me is definitely scared of slowing down. Yes, indeed. If I slow down, I may just stop and never start again. Ever. Irrational and intense fear. If I slow down, I may get lazy and not long for the passionate life -- but I don’t believe that one. If I slow down, I may be even sadder and more unhappy than I am now. That is real. If I slow down, I may feel more alone that I do now. That too is a real fear.

Ya’ know, I am getting used to slogging through muck! I have bought the heavy goulashes, put on my best comfy socks, and tucked my favorite jeans inside. I wrote a month ago, that I thought I saw some light at the end of the tunnel of grief. Well, I think I’ve lost the light, but I do believe in it. Meanwhile, I slog. I will go to the grief group at church which started in another week. Honestly, I don’t expect much from it. Some companionship, I guess, but no answers, nothing really helpful. Is that too cynical? Life simply hurts, but in some sense I am getting used to it. I don’t mean that I never want the hurting to stop. Of course, I do. But I don’t really expect it to anytime soon. That is a new feeling.

Maybe having this long flu, which is by the way getting so much better, and straining the back of my knee, which I did last week and which has left me on the couch whenever I can, have provided somewhat of a physical metaphor. Nothing I could take really got rid of that flu, no action really helped my knee. Rest and stillness. Taking care of my body and not pushing at all is finally what had helped. I have not been ready to do this for my grief, could not let go of all structure and let the grief lead. Rest and stillness of the soul. I think I may have to get there. There is still a well of tears to cry. There is still a pit of sorrow. So much muck and no way through it but through it. Thank goodness for those heavy goulashes.