There is a short story burning inside of me. I've had a vague outline rumbling around in my imagination for a few months. Yesterday, I felt some beginning coming. I burn with it right now but I must make the time to write a first draft to see if there is any worth in doing more. I know that if I let this burning time pass, that it will get lost, the passion will be gone. Like a crush on that cute boy in tenth grade, except that I went to an all girls school.

Julia is watching me type. She wants to know what I am writing about. When I tell her that it is about a story that I want to write. She asks what the story is about. When I tell her people, she asks if someone dies in the story. “You know, people die,” she comments as if she is giving me literary advice. I don’t pursue the topic. She needs to finish her waffles so that her belly is full before the school bus appears.

I told Julia that I might be getting a new phone like Ellen’s. Ellen has an iphone. “Then get Angry Birds.” “What about that cool conversation app that you worked on with Linda?” “Sure. But I like Angry Birds better.” How many times has she played, has she even seen Angry Birds?

The intensity of the late fall is beginning to wane. We are not free of scabs and itching, but Julia has stayed in school for entire days this week, and this morning there is no bandage on Julia's right lower leg. There are still a few bandaids on scabs that are now just red bumps but the skin which was hurt by the topical steroid cream is healing and it is time for some air. Julia is unsure that she can be trusted not to scratch on that part of her leg and I put a few extra bandaids where she is concerned might itch during the day. The awareness that something might itch and needs to be protected is new. Responsibility for taking care of her body is shifting to her. Which is what I’ve been working on. Which is what needs to happen.

Shifting on a number of fronts. I can see it coming. I think. I want it so bad I can . . . well, you know. It tastes very sweet. But no counting chicks or even t-rexes until they are out of their shells.

Lizzy, the stuffed T-rex from Disney World, and her sisters, Lukie and Sally, seem to have acquired two brothers. They are Evan and Aevan. They don’t live with us. And Julia has begun to speak about the birth parents of these dinosaurs. Lizzy misses her birth mother. The boys fight. Working on a new work book in attachment/trauma therapy, Julia draws pictures of herself feeling sad, angry, and scared. The sad and scared pictures have to do with her birth mother. The words and conversations seem to have suddenly appeared. And we so need to talk about this.

And then my feelings. Two passions seized me yesterday. Two signs that the intensity of the past months is waning and I am getting back to my wants in this life. I want to add a being to my household. I put it this way because I find myself once again considering a kitten and once again looking at waiting children in China. Then I wonder China? Maybe somewhere else? Maybe foster care.

Yes, the hill from musing about a kitten to doing foster care is rather a steep climb. But I am musing, not planning. I did ask to see a child’s file. A child from China who is with an agency. Her family had just found her, so no file for me. The agency noted that with a 10 year old, I would be restricted (by them, not China) to a child younger than 10 to preserve family order. I would not fight them on this; however, I also would not use them. If I adopted again, I want to be open to kids up to 12 or so. There will be no family order here no matter what the age of the child. That is, unless I adopted someone about 4 which is not in my thoughts at all. Any child over 6 will probably assume the older sister/brother role to Julia after they are home for a short while, and so what does it matter if that role is played by someone who is 8 or someone who is 12. In fact, it might be less confusing for the new child, if they are older than Julia is and would naturally fit in an the older sister/brother.

Of course, I contemplate single parenthood. I wish that my children had their father. But that is not our reality now. I think that I am keeping David spirit alive in Julia, but his impact in her life will fade, is fading. If a new child was brought into the mix, David would have never been his/her father. It is what is.

My other returning lust is to wander. Travel again. I don’t know if we will have the means this year. I don’t know whether it is the right time but I want my feet on foreign soil, my soul in foreign air. My first thought is China but that is still not possible for Julia. If I adopted again, I would bring her without question, because even if it was hard for her, it would be worth welcoming a sister that way. But for just travel, I can wait until she is more ready. Then, I think of Italy. Where David always wanted to return. Where I left a chunk of soul. A month in Italy. That would be pleasure travel to be sure.

But then, I think of Bolivia. Bolivia where I could possibly do some work. Work at an orphanage for a month. Do something that might point me in some direction. A piece of my heart lies there as well. And I could see how Julia would do in the kind of work that I would like to make a part of our lives.

No answers today. Just ideas. Vague and unformed. Wild and maybe impossible. Throwing it all to the universe to see what comes back to me. A sure sign that I am finding the path again.

Posted by the Dalai Lama on facebook today: The first beneficiary of compassion is always oneself. When compassion, or warmheartedness, arises in us and our focus shifts away from our own narrow self-interest, it is as if we open an inner door. It reduces fear, boosts confidence and brings us inner strength. By reducing distrust, it opens us to others and brings us a sense of connection to others, and sense of purpose and meaning in life.

Last night I went out to dinner with the religious education committee that I joined this fall. This is the first time that I have socialized with the members of a committee that I work with. I had the vague idea to do such a think when I was PTO president but my circumstances with David were such that it was impossible. Last night, I went to dinner at a restaurant where I celebrated my birthday with David and Mary and Robert a few years ago -- was a a life time ago? Was it two birthdays ago? -- and had a lovely time. It was dinner with six women, one of whom has a four month old baby at home. We had a glass of wine -- not the new mom -- and talked about nursing, birthing, schools, kids who don’t eat, sleeping and the lack of doing so. Yes, parent talk. Probably what women have always talked about. It was unselfconscious. It reminded me strongly of other times. Times discovering how lovely talking to women could be. It is not that I don’t do that now, but I don’t do it enough over a glass of wine and dinner. I do it on the fly if and when I do it at all.

It was not easy getting out to go to dinner. Julia had OT and speech therapy appointments after school -- the amazing stuff we did there will be discussed next! -- and there was Madison traffic coming home -- something I rarely see as i almost never travel during out brief beginning and end of work day travel surge -- and then there was a quick bath, bandaging and bandaiding and then dinner to prepare before the sitter came. Of course, the sitter had to be one of Julia’s therapists who has no trouble with the long list of Julia’s operating procedures -- to say that I am splendidly blessed by the young women who guide Julia through therapy each and every day is so much less than the experience of having them in our lives. All was done and ready by the time Bethany made it to our house and I was out the door so meet my supper companions by 6:20.

And Julia ate her supper, play with Bethany, and got through the remainder of the evening ritual before bedtime and was asleep before I made it back in the house by 8:30.

And it was delightful. It is not that David fulfilled all of my needs for friends and acquaintances. He was not everything to me all the time, but he did provide a solid partner. With his companionship, I could still miss a good talk with my girlfriends, or a good talk about some topic that did not interest him at all. But I could, when necessary, survive on little else but his companionship and be satisfied. Without him, my loneliness is my constant, broken at times with conversations that splash into the bottom pit that is my neediness. Marcia’s check in phone calls, Lisa’s texts, Amy’s walks, tea with Mary, a short conversation with a therapist, the morning’s walk around the block with the dog and parents who see their kids off on our school bus, email from my Findhorn friends, a visit with Cheshire, even a friendly interchange at a shop -- this is what feeds me but it is a starvation diet. Not that I am not grateful for each and every interchange. They are keeping me alive. They connect me with what is outside of me and feed my optimism that I will either learn to be satisfied with this level of companionship or that I am still capable of companionship on some level and will someday have all that i crave. I don’t want the level of companionship that I live with now to be what I have for the rest of my life and I will do what I can to have what I want. But in the changing what can be changed and accepting what can’t, I see that this may fall into the later category.

And I wonder if I have had all the joy that has been allotted to this life for me. This is not a poor me, self indulgent with heaps of self pity statement, just a wondering. Some people have much less joy that I have experienced and there are still so many things that make me happy and willing to pick up my tasks for another day.

I have been wondering about apps. Iphone, ipad apps. Not too long ago, I read an article about apps for autistic kids and followed some links to a confusing array of possibilities. It was overwhelming and I was sure it was not going to be an easy jungle to make my way through. I put the idea aside but definitely sent the request to the universe for some help. And it arrived today. The help, that is, in the form of Julia’s speech therapist who showed us a conversation app that she is beginning to use in therapy. I have been on the fence about buying an iphone, which I want but have not been able to fully justify. I’ve never spent money on a new phone. I have always picked one of the “free” phones offered by whatever carrier I have used. But I have had a hankering, a wanting a new toy wanting, for an iphone. After watching Julia interact with this conversation app, I am ready to buy an iphone tomorrow!

The program shows a picture, of a child holding a snail, for example. And asks the player to choose among three things that might be appropriate to begin a conversation with this child. One choice is a statement similar to what Julia would usually say. In this snail conversation, the statement was “Your hands are dirty.” A choice that would not encourage interchange but that is generally on topic. There are also two questions and the “right” answer, in this case was “What are you holding?” Clearly, none of the three possibilities are wrong, per se, but there is always one that is best for starting or continuing conversation. Most of us gravitate to the best conversation starter, missing now and again, but managing to make out way through conversations all the time. It is how we survive as social animals and we do it naturally. How incredible this is! But a kid like Julia, kids on the autism spectrum, don’t get it. They don’t naturally learn conversation. They blurt out observations or facts that are interesting to them, trying and failing to interest other people. It is miserable as a parent to watch these misshapened attempts at connections. And so, Julia listens to social stories, she and her therapist and I work on scripts, but conversations rarely follow scripts. It is so much improvisation and kids with autism are so woefully bad at improvisation.

This program that she used yesterday gives the three possible things to say, provides reasons for why one is the best, allows the child to record the best statement, and after a few interchanges, provides an entire conversation that can be played back. A complete and appropriate conversation that the child has helped to put together. In the child’s own voice. And I teared up to hear two simple and appropriate interchanges with Julia’s voice as one of the speakers. And she was fascinated. I believe that she can learn how to have a conversation which is a step to learning how to have a friend. But I also know that we have not yet found the tools that she can use for the learning. Maybe now we have. Yes, it is still all about improvisation, and she is still not good at that, but I see her generalizing all the time in her reading now. If she can generalize with reading, there is a decent chance that she can do it to learn to make friend as well. And she does so want friends.

Kitchen pictures in House blog. Still in progress and looking so barren right now, but give me another week!

Posted on facebook, but as relevant here: I'm looking for a new wii game for Julia. A game that is not about violence to people or things, that is about building or making a world or something, that might have, dare I ask, some good lessons and beautiful graphics. Oh, and probably does not have a tv or movie tie in. Have I totally gone over the edge?

Every so often I check who is following the blog. The other day a blogger named Wrathnar the Unreasonable joined. Umm, did you know Julia in a past life? Wrathnar has joined a number of interesting and incredibly diverse websites. I await a comment.

And comments, Sharyn, yes, would that I could have read what I write now five years ago. I am pleased with my deliberateness in writing it all down. Well, some of it down. I’ve collect almost all of my blog entries in monthly files and I will begin sifting through them with the idea of putting them together somehow. I can’t say much more than that about the process. It will have its own way.

Notes on Concerta: Julia is now taking 36 mgs. which is a lower dose than she was on with Adderall even though the mgs are higher. At home, she is not rubbing her fingers together as much. She is telling me about how much parts of her body itches. I am hoping this is the self-awareness that we’ve worked so hard to develop. I just wrote a note to her teacher, saying the I really wanted Julia to succeed today at staying in school. Do I want them to cheat? No, but she need to succeed a bit. She has some very itchy places that are healing. What I would give for healing without so much challenge.

Why is healing so hard?

Yeah, ok. I get it.

Julia has stones in her pockets today. A pink stone called rhodochrosite. I found this on its healing power : Solid to clear pink. Gentle, yet probably the most vibrant loving stone to heal the heart chakra, especially for giving/receiving love. Also for loneliness, loss, heartache, fear, insecurities, inner-child issues, abuse, and incest. Helps self-forgiveness and trust issues, spiritual and self love, desire to live, purpose. Best worn 24 hrs a day. Electro magnetic. Stronger than Rose Quartz. Solar plexus, stomach (anxiety), food addictions, anorexia, asthma, eyesight (especially emotional not-seeing, to avoid pain). Thymus. Open the hand healing chakras. Specialized uses to detox / heal blood, liver and cancer. And a green stone called Chrysoprase. Chrysoprase is used to speed the healing of any wound. Carry a Chrysoprase in a pocket to help heal. Also keep a Chrysoprase close to your bed at night to speed healing. Chrysoprase helps to make conscious what was unconscious. It strengthens the workings of insight and the higher consciousness, encourages hope and joy, helps clarify problems, and has been used as a cure for restlessness.

Does this sound a bit crazy? But I have had friends who have used stones and gems for years. How often did I make fun a crystal collection? And yet, I have collected, without really thinking about it, stones from favorite places, some near, some far. Stones that live in my bedroom in a little pile or reside by my front door in a nook that was built for a phone connection and now has shells and stones. I have collected, placed, and lived with these stones instinctively, consistently. As if I did it intentionally. As if they were part of my private rituals. And if anyone would have asked me about them, although no one ever has, I would say that they were just stones, rocks, things I picked up walking in a field near Avebury or the dusty ground at Tiwanaku or in Prospect Park in Brooklyn. Is it any wonder then, that a move from unintentional collection to stuffing particular stones in Julia’s pockets is not too difficult for me? I feel a little crazy. I certainly am more than a bit desperate to engage heaven and earth to heal my child. Storming the heavens has taken on so much broader a meaning. Then again, what stones should I be carrying?

This weekend, Julia saw Happy Feet 2, bought a Buddha coloring book, and decorated for Christmas. She is also hatching a dinosaur egg in a glass of water. We added another 10 flash cards to her addition facts and she read a story in Highlights about Hanukah is space. Full days for us. And she tells me she dreams about cookies.

And thanks for asking about the kitchen, Sharyn. I had a vague grand plan to post pictures of the finished kitchen weeks ago, but as the end of the process has dragged on, I have been, in turn, at a loss for patience, not really seeing the progress, not wanting to document little gains, embarrassed that I just want transformation and not process. And a bit sad too. Sad that I am making this house more of what we wanted for just me. Me and Julia, of course, but me. Sad, that David will not get to use it. I allow myself a bit of that wallowing now and then.

Putting some things away, however, and still having Ed in my house numerous times during the week, I am noticing where adjustment need to be made. And that is very good. The dishwasher, reinstalled on Friday!!, door rubs just a bit on the cabinet next to it. The spice rack needs adjustment. The trash/recycle pull out cabinet does not close like the other drawers, and neither does the pull out cabinet for cans.

All this to say, that another round of in process pictures is warranted. I’ll let you know when they are posted.

I am sorting out in my head the difference between magical thinking and the learnings of life. It is not that the kitchen is taking so long past the final drop dead due date to teach me anything, but I can glean a few learnings from the process. Maybe everyone else knows this. Maybe I am just slow. But there it is. I am getting something. Four months of lying fallow for a bit of wisdom.

"Rawr means I love you in dinosaur" I love it! Thank you, Bobbi Jo.

Saturday was busy. I started in earnest to move into the kitchen while Julia had a therapy morning. No, the kitchen is not complete which probably means no baking until after Cheshire comes home on the 18th. A small piece of countertop was not the correct size and it will be another week before it comes in. And there is still trim work and adjustment that is waiting. I have given up on an actual drop dead date and the only irritation comes from the fact that Ed will be in the house this next week and I’d like to do the cleaning and moving in on my own schedule, rather than work around his. I need the discipline of sharing for the week.

Today, I put away baking pans and serving trays, organized the pots into two drawers, washed the wine glasses from my mother’s estate pausing briefly to try to remember why she only had two tall champagne flutes and congratulating myself that I only lost once of the glasses (although how one broke and no more is a bit of a mystery). These will go in my glass-doored cabinet along with a few pretties. I expect that I will rearrange in time when I find out what I want close to what I am thinking of, but for now, I am sticking to a plan that I devised when I designed the kitchen. The order of putting away has more to do with what cabinets I can fill than anything else. It is random and not incredibly useful

I have six more kitchen boxes. Much of what needs coming in goes on the shelves which are nearly finished. They are up and strong but there is sanding of the fill and painting. Not big tasks but messy and needing them to be empty until it is finished. And I am longing like a whinny child to fill them up.

Julia has been in a happy mood all weekend. She did scratch some today when her newest therapist was with her. Still slowly, and a day of scratching sends number of sores back to the beginning. I explain over and over. Does she hear any of it? Does it matter? Those sores that begin to heal go through a lump/bump phase that is so perfect for scratching. I hope that we get some answers when we see the pediatric dermatologist. I wonder how much will be healed by the time our appointment on the 23rd comes but then, these sores take so long to heal. There will be something for a doc to look at.

Last week, Julia showed herself to be the same self as she who came home 5 years ago. I was bandaging and bandaiding after a shower, when Julia scratched a different part of her body than I was working on, so quickly did those hands fly and attack that I did not really see her do it. I asked to see the place and sure enough a almost healed bump was bleeding. But also, the areas around the bump was very red and two smaller bumps had been raised. I asked Julia to do what she did again so that I could see how hard her scratched. I did not really think that she had scratched hard. She refused to show me, I insisted. I was neither angry or upset, just inquisitive. I kept insisting, she refused. I told her that she should stand in the bathroom (where she was) until she showed me. I brushed my teeth, and asked. I put on moisturizer and asked. I went into the bedroom and checked on her every 15 minutes, expecting each time for her to give in. Finally, after standing for an hour, I went into her and talked to her until she showed me a little something, although not how she really scratched. I backed down at that point and put her to bed. Amazing how stubborn she can still be. How stubborn she always has been. That will of hers scared me that night. She used to be like that all the time. When she had no attachment to us. To me. What would she be like, unattached, without love, without devotion, if she was 14? 16? 20? Julia is not the same child who was so stubborn five years ago. She likes cuddling into my arms. She leans against me, casually, as if I belong to her. She looks to me for help, for guidance, for comfort, for care. And this looking to me is what she needs, even if it takes a long time to grow. And for the stubbornness, that too will help her, at the right time and in the right place.

Julia was at school the entire day today, losing two chances, but holding on to that third. She is spending her entire therapy time in Christmas bliss. She and Ellen walked the dog and went on a Christmas hunt, finding houses lit and decorated.

I found the necessary extension chords to light our lights outside and the candles inside.

And once inside, Julia and Ellen decorated and lit the little trees that I've been collecting for years and which went so well in our Indy house. They have languished in Madison but now that the bookcases have shelves under the windows the little trees have a good home. I have tiny light sets that I've bought at after Christmas sales and lots of little decorations.

I pause to wonder if Julia was ready for this kind of celebration last year. I have no idea. We were hurting and it was enough to live through the days. She did make splendid dino decorations for our little tree, so she might have been able to enjoy it, if we could have. But it is this year and we have now. Now. Today. This year.

These days are not conducive to sitting to write and I have been too lazy, too tired to exercise the discipline necessary. I am up so early and tending to tasks and chores of the house. I have met my meditation and exercise goals most days. I have picked Julia up from school a few time for losing her chances. I have started the great hunt to make Christmas. I am still bathing and bandaging Julia’s wounded body. And my eyes close too close to the time that Julia’s eyes close with all good intentions of getting up again out of the bed to taps on these keys.

The outside gets colder and there is frost on the cars and on what remains of the lawns but no snow yet. Soon. I am sure. But not yet. I put up a few lights yesterday. Yes, Christmas lights, of course, but it struck me a few years ago that putting up lights and decorating the house is such an incredibly pagan thing to do. I am not really celebrating the birth of a sacred babe, but furiously preserving the light against the great dark and cold of winter. Sure, a creche can be put up, a reminder of the “real” celebration that is Christmas, but at least for me, and I dare say for many others, it is not the creche that we long for, that we can’t wait for each year. It is the twinkle of colored lights, the smell of an evergreen in the house, mystery packages and children who search through the house for “santa’s” hiding place. It is the hugs and kisses of those coming home, the conversations that catch us up, the food -- the glorious food, planned for, made time for, cooked for days, allowed only because of the holiday. Food that mothers and grandmothers made, food that is sent from far away only once a year. It is all so sensual, so of this body, so of this earthly plane.

It is the time of year and also that I’ve been deprived of a completely working kitchen that all I can think of is the food! I am hoping that I can do some baking and some mailing of my baked goods, but that needs to depend on how long it takes me to move back into the kitchen and put the house in order. (And clean because my cleaning lady has changed her phone number and I have no idea how to get in touch with her. I haven’t seen her since the kitchen remodel started -- okay only two months -- but enough time to lose someone.) But even if I do no baking before Cheshire comes home, she wants to do some to bring back to New York. And it is not just the baking but the menu for Christmas brunch. She is leaving on Christmas day in the afternoon (can it be a tradition to buy those cheap airplane? How we stretch our economic gifts.) and so, brunch with Mary and Robert is the plan. Linde too will be with us and the house will be wonderfully full. I hope it will be very noisy!

But the food, the food! Combing through recipes, I found a lovely grapefruit salad, perfect for a meal that has feet in the morning and afternoon. But even the contemplation of it sent me back, sent me to remembering that this will be the first year in the last thirty that there will be no Florida grapefruit from grandpa. David’s father. And I am chilled to remember that everyone is dead. Not everyone, but everyone who would remember to do that. There is no moving forward without having a touch with what is behind. No unmitigated joy. No fiery joy without the damp of what is lost.

And I don’t mean to deny any religious inclination to the winter holidays. Not at all. Actually, for years, I’ve felt that Christianity makes so much of a babe’s birthday, when it is his parents who should be celebrated. Yes, birthdays are for children, for the one who is born, but as I get older, I’ve come to believe that birthdays should be the real mothers and fathers days, maybe a real ancestors day. What kind of parents were Mary and Joseph that they could raise a son who could have the courage to preach and perform miracles and change the world’s order? How did they encourage that child? What was his learning? How much love did they pour into him that he could grow up and pour love into the world? Would that every parent take their lesson to heart, although clearly self-preservation was not among their lessons. Talk about roots and wings! Maybe only now, do I understand a little something about joy and loss, raising and growing together and then letting go. No, I have not lost a child, but I can see the possibility of such a losing. And I am not that sad today. Not today.

Back to the sensual, my delight in the pagan joy of light. In the early days of my relationship with David, I had to give up my utter joy of Christmas. As a kid, David felt the outsiders view of the holiday. I don’t think that Hanukah was celebrated with as much gusto as it is today, and although his parents put up a tree “for the children” a few times, by the time I met David, he wanted nothing to do with the winter holidays. Those first years we did not have a tree although a small tree crept into our lives before Cheshire was born. It was Cheshire that wanted lights on the house like everyone else and David allowed something “tasteful.” I don’t know if given complete freedom if I would have stayed with tasteful or would have exploded into Jersey excess. Tasteful has now become my own mantra, even when I long for the lights. So, I put up a few lights, a bit of greenery, and some lanterns outside. I try to separate Hanukah from Christmas -- doing more generic decorating and even Hanukah decorating during the Jewish holiday week and then sliding into the reds and greens of Christmas. Years like this one, it is impossible with Hanukah forming a perfect parenthesis around Christmas. And this year is about reclaiming, carving out something new, adapting the old to the new. And Julia is very much into decorating this year. She saw the Christmas boxes and she could talk about nothing else last night. I think she would have been the same way last year, but before that, she didn’t really understand.

It was Cheshire that dragged us into Christmas. She was seven when she insisted on a glorious angel for the top of our tree. And we made yearly excursions to stores and shops for some special decoration. And lights! In the early days, I put no lights on the tree. In deference to David although now that I think of it, once a tree came into the house, what difference did lights make?

By the time, Cheshire was 7 or 8, the routine of Christmas morning, usually at our house, or somewhere where we had put up a tree. We had a few law school years of driving out to Jersey for Christmas. We would stay at David’s father’s house to give us some private family time as his parents were in Florida that time of year. We would bring out decorations and tree stand and lights out from Indiana, along with Cheshire’s gifts which had to be surreptitiously packed into the trunk. We’d buy and put up a Jersey tree and later vacuum and clean every needle so that his father would not know we brought a tree into the house. We had a ritual of setting up the video camera and our breakfast before allowing Cheshire into the room. Oh, she complained and whined and pleaded. For so many year’s worth of Christmas mornings.

To think of it now, it was all so delightful. David mellowed into Christmas -- he had no choice, to be sure. I mellowed out of the Christmases of my family of origin. We arrived upon what felt right for us, not some arbitrary midpoint, but some melange of celebration. Celebration of light. Celebration of our little family. Celebration of those we loved. And perhaps of raising and growing together and letting go. No joy without pain, but I will leave a window slightly cracked open just in case some joy wants to come in.

Decorating the outside with lights and candles against the coming cold and the dark, dark days and nights. Listening to Michael from Mountains. Countertop gets delivered today and Ed will be working for the next two days to hopefully finish everything! Making my lists of gifts, of groceries, of replacement bulbs, of a second pair of jeans. Hauling the four boxes that have Christmas in them up the basement stairs and searching for sufficient extension cords.

It will be Christmas this year.

Framing some Julia art this weekend. Hanging pictures this weekend and today. Pictures and knick-knacks are scattered all over. Every where. Making for hazardous walking. Almost impossible for Julia. Must hang today and start clearing debris away!

Started a meditation regimen using Deepak Chopra’s “The Spontaneous Fulfillment of Desire: Harnessing the Infinite Power of Coincidence”. Twice daily meditation plus some exercises. I have long been interested in coincidences and Chopra, although at times more ego driven that I am comfortable with, has a lovely voice and interesting ideas.

Julia and I had a very good weekend together. We were busy -- helping to set up for the school “dance” on Saturday, running to church and then back to the dance in the evening. Julia enjoyed watching the popcorn machine and the ladies sewing our school’s signature hats probably more than the loud music and darkly lit gym. Yesterday, we went to a cheesy, commercial, too expensive dinosaur exhibit which Julia loved. She is ever amazing in the dinos she can spot, she engaged a dinosaur sculptor in conversation (a bit stilled but a conversation nonetheless), bought a small souvenir with her own money, and I realized that she can recognize and name the continents at least when a dinosaur lived there. It was so lovely to have a good time with her. I hold me breath hoping it will continue.

And lastly, at my last session with Ellen, I asked my spirit guides what I had to do to give me more strength and purpose and resiliency. And they laughed at me! They said that it was all there, only waiting for me to move out and do what I wanted to do. I have been mulling this answer over for a week. At first in a whiny way -- "I am not strong at all." -- and then, I became pretty silly -- "Time to climb the mountain, sing the aria, and take that foster parenting class" -- and now, a bit sober. Watching Julia's body heal, after her self inflicted torment, I have been instructed in healing. Slow. A few steps backwards all the time. Patience building. And small celebrations when the skin closes and only a bruise is left to mend. It maybe that my soul is in the bruising phase.

Our cat, Didi Chi, ran away last Spring. Julia looked for him and called for him every time we took the dog on a walk through the summer and fall. This morning, for the first time, as we walked the dog, she suggested that maybe we should get another kitten. I wonder if Santa was listening???

Once again, I thought I would sleep in today. Our first therapist comes at 9 and we could both use a lie in until 8, but no such luck. Even without the alarm, I am ready for action before 6. Drat!!

Julia lasted until lunch time yesterday. She had three chances/ three warnings that she was picking or scratching. After her chances were used up, at 11:55, I was called and I collected my teary little girl from the nurse’s office at school. Although I was really sad that she didn’t make it through the whole day, this was the outcome that we -- me, her therapists and teachers -- had hoped for. It’s been great that she has managed to stay in school through two weeks of reminders and redirection, the scratching continues. She needed to feel the consequences, know that it was serious. I hope that this impressed upon her how serious her picking is.

She cried a bit in the car. She told me she was sad and also angry. Then, she ate what remained of her lunch. We did errands and then went home to settle into doing some school work.

I had planned to spend the afternoon sorting pictures to hang on the walls and framing some posters and some of Julia’s art. This kept me in one room most of the time and I could oversee her work without sitting with her all the time. Julia enjoys working with me too much and I don’t want this consequence to turn into a fun afternoon with mom. We did cuddle on the couch to read and answer questions that her teacher put on post it notes in a book. She kept up her work for almost two hours before I let her spend some time coloring.

This is all so “love and logic” based. I never expected to be doing a real L&L intervention, but here we are. It is hard. My first impulse is so much to shore up the deficits, to support and coddle, and I think that is the impulse of most of Julia’s team at school and at therapy. Julia’s sweetness and spunkiness draws adults to her and they want to protect her. And so, this “intervention” is hard. Okay, every intervention is hard. Julia needs to learn that she is the one responsible for her body. Right now, it is me and teachers and therapists who are responsible, and yet, Julia is the only one who can really heal her body. Please, please, let her learn that! And quickly.

Quick side note of a conversation that Ellen, therapist, told me last night:

Julia was on Ellen’s lap and they were taking some quiet time together. Ellen has been with us for more than two years and Julia adores her. They do a lot of art projects together and Ellen has taught Julia much more than I have about making art.

Julia: It’s all my fault.

Ellen: What is all your fault?

Julia: My body is ruined and it is all my fault

Ellen (tearing up): It’s not all your fault.

Julia sniffed a bit and was quiet. Ellen said a few more soothing, sweet things, feeling very emotional.

Julia: Ellen, you smell like noodles.

Ellen: i had noodle soup for lunch! (And the moment was over)

Julia has full intentions, at least for today, of being in school ALL of Monday. We’ll see if she can pull it off. I know that this is still a challenge for her, but each day with minimal scratching is a healing day for another scab or two. She is not healing quickly by any means but there is slow progress being made. I stopped counting bandaids a long time ago, but there are less of them, at least by a few. I am using a Kielh’s moisturizer which is very mild and without any scent on the parts of her body that were most effected by the steroid cream. After almost a week of twice daily application, that skin is looking a bit better. Amy also gave me Wound & Itch Ointment from Wildwood Institute. After trying on a few scabs, i am using it all over her body. The ingredients are plaintain, yarrow, calendula, rose hip seed oil, olive oil, and lavender essential oil. Some of the ingredients have been recommended to me before by other friends. It is not irritating for sure. It seems to calm the sores and because it comes in a little tin, Julia can carry it around and use it when she needs it. It provides her with some power over her itchies. I’ve heard some glowing reports of its efficacy and would so like to add mine.

Julia also carries around little cards with alternative activities for her to do with her hands when she wants to scratch. Larger versions of the list are pinned up all over the house, at school, and at the clinic. And Julia has becomes a good enough student to make use of these lists and suggestions if she can remain in her rational mind.

We have a busy day today. I hope to keep Julia busy until she is tuckered out tonight. Busy and not scratching or picking. Another healing day would be lovely.

Hi Deb,

I feel like I am sending my kid to the gallows! We've talked about the new procedure all night and morning. She is as ready as she can be. Her salve is in her bag. Also, there is a small laminated card that has suggestion for what she can do with her hands. She and her therapists came up with the list. She can carry that or put it on her desk. Or do whatever you think is appropriate. She did not scratch during the night.

Good luck!
Suzanne
I will be close to the phone all day

Hi Suzanne,

Oh my! I know - I am just thinking about today, too. I am going to go over the plan again with Julia before school starts. We have a larger colored copy of the suggestions and we have been reviewing them each day. The laminated copy will be great, too. We can keep that in her pouch that we carry the manipulatives in.

I will keep you posted. Things will be okay. Whatever happens we will be okay here and if we need to change anything at anytime let me know. We are flexible.

Hang in there!

Deb

Thanks, Deb. You are the best!

Suzanne

Updated plan for Julia’s Scratching/Picking-until Winter Break:

*Julia will lose a chance in school for scratching/picking, when she picks in the bathroom, or any time that someone notices that she has picked on a scab.

*She will be sent home after 3 chances are taken away.

*Julia has a laminated card with reminders for what she can do to keep her hands occupied. There is also a larger sheet with the reminders on it. Please review this frequently throughout the day. If she asks to do one of the activities, allow her to do it right away.

*If Julia asks for salve, it will be in her backpack. Administer on irritated area with gloves and reapply band-aid.

email from the clerks office

Suzanne,

We hope this email finds you and Julia well. It appears that winter is coming though many of us are in denial. We were sad to part with David's items from his office, perhaps we hung onto too long, but know they hold so many memories for you. As the holiday nears we are discussing our gift exchange. I think David thought we were a little crazy. The white elephant exchange is a highlight for the office. There was some curiosity whether you kept the 3 foot decorated frog that David won one year and I volunteered to ask. Again, hoping you are well and please know we miss him too.

T.

Hello T.,

It is very sweet of you to write and ask about us. Julia and I are doing well. Healing takes such a long time and we have good times and challenging times but we are moving forward. This year's winter holidays will be better than last year's as we carve out new traditions and let the memories of all of our Thanksgivings and Hanukahs and Christmases show around the edges. Like lace peeking out from beneath a skirt. I can still be brought to tears in an instant but we are laughing more as well.

Thank you for saying what you did about David's office things. I waited so long before picking them up. Retrieving those boxes put an end to that part of his life. It was taking him away from all of you, that part of him that did not involve me or our girls. It was sweet to see the souvenirs that I brought back for him from Vietnam and Bolivia, trips that I made without him. It was sweet to see the pictures of the girls that sat on his desk. To paraphrase Joan Didion, those things won't be in the office when he comes back. Magical thinking? Very much so. Not conscious, at least not altogether conscious, and it had to be done.

As for the Christmas frog, I hope you will all forgive me for not sending someone an email before I got rid of it. David was so amused when he brought it home, and although I was not crazy about it, we celebrated it as a rather strange good luck token. Not much about 2009 was lucky, as it turned out, and I really didn't want to keep it. It was untaken in my yard sale last summer and a few weeks ago, I delivered it to St. Vinnie's on Park. If it makes its way back to the clerks office Christmas gift exchange this year, you must tell me so that I can have a good chuckle.

Thank you for all your good thoughts and support. Thanks for missing David. That is such a silly thing to say but . . . it is how it feels.

Please extend my best wishes to all those in the clerks office and also to the Justices, especially the Chief (of whom I miss hearing about so much), for the coming holidays.

All the best,

Suzanne

School email on the coming consequences

Hi Deb,
Interested to hear how Julia is doing/ did today.

I had a long talk with our psychologist on our IDS team. She strongly suggests upping the consequences of Julia's scratching so that she experiences the consequences. I admit to being reluctant to do this -- I want her to succeed and not "fail" but for her to remember and to realize how important the consequences of her present course is, I have to agree. We have three weeks before winter break and this may be a very good time frame for this experiment. That is, if it doesn't work, we will regroup and try some other strategy next semester. She suggested that Julia lose chances in school for scratching/picking, and that she also lose a chance when she picks in the bathroom, or any time that someone notices that she has picked on a scab. At the same time, she will lose dinosaurs at home when the therapists or I observe her scratching or when I see that a scab has been picked. (I do have a plan for dino reprieve every so often so we don't run out of dinosaurs.) How do you feel about this? Do you want to check with the school team and see if they are ready to go to this extreme, knowing that Julia will probably be sent home a number of times in order to learn.

I'd also ask that if we do this, that you send home some work sheets -- cursive, spelling, math, anything really -- so that I can spend her "school time" at home doing school-type work.

Question: Do you have any idea where the salve (in a little tin) that I sent to school yesterday went to? Julia was supposed to bring it home at the end of the day. I wanted her to have it to use both at school and at home and right now I just have one tin of it.

Finally, and on a much brighter note, Julia is really sounding out words now! She did it by herself and without any prompting for her spelling words and as we were reading last night. I didn't know if it would ever happen and I know that I have Shannon and all of you to thank for incredible perseverance and hard work. Listening to Julia put sounds together and make words is incredible music to my ears!
Suzanne

Hi Suzanne,
Julia is doing okay from what I have heard, but she gets to her scabs so quickly that they start bleeding before we can even give the first redirection. We can start that tomorrow - I think having to go home may make her realize this, but we will see. There is a sub for Ms. Stork (she has been pretty sick lately), so the morning was a little different for her. So far she has had one chance taken away.

I will send home the salve today, I had shown it to the nurse and she had it in her office (I have to do that with anything that comes in from home). We are going to keep it in her locker and send it home each night.

I will get together a folder of activities she can work on at home if she gets sent home. How about I send it with you today and you will have it there as needed? Does that work?

Glad to hear she is sounding out words! She seems to be improving so much . I was so happy when she did the reading to herself and answering the questions on sticky notes on Monday!

We have a presentation this afternoon so I will back up Julia's things to have ready so she can go to the office from the LMC.
Talk to you soon,
Deb

Suzanne,
Just want to clarify - she would lose a chance if she even picks/scratches (no opportunity for alternative).
Is that correct?
Deb

Deb,

Yes. She loses a chance when she picks and scratches without an opportunity for redirection.

And I understand about how quickly she can bloody herself. Part of the problem is that her scabs are so fragile but just rubbing them rather gently can cause them to burst open.

I am not looking forward to this but I think we must do it. I am ready to pray hard for realization and change. Thank you so much for all your support.

Suzanne