I Won!

A follow-up to this post in which I decide to run a 10k to help Maia raise funds for her school.

It was close, but thanks to a lot of generous donors, Maia and I surpassed our fundraising goal of $1000. We found out while waiting in line at the neighborhood bakery - I was checking my phone and a congratulatory email came in from Crowdrise. She and I were cheering and jumping for joy and the people in line were smiling at our silliness. It was very bonding.

Running the race was more fun than I expected. I normally like exercising alone, so I wasn't sure what it would be like - surrounded by so many people. But it was fine. I kept my headphones on, listened to my jogging playlist and Nike + Running kept me conscious of my pace.

Surprisingly (at least to me) I was truly motivated by the people who came out to cheer at the sidelines. How awesome are they!? Certainly the two best moments of the race were when my friend Chaz appeared on the sidewalk at the 2nd mile, giving me a great big hug and yelling, "run Cori, run!"; the second was towards the end of mile five when a friend's parked car honked just loud enough for me to look over and catch my daughter's eye - peering out the passenger side window, hands waving, cheering "GO MOMMY!".

For various reasons (cough ... cough ... Aunt Flo ... cough, cough...) I knew this wasn't going to be my best 10k time. But I ran the whole way (no walking!) and did OK - especially considering the last hill that nearly killed me.

Due to a communication glitch, there was nobody to meet me at the finish line, which was, honestly, kind of a bummer. But not horrible. I received a medal and t-shirts and all the other swag for those who completed the race. Still, I skipped the beer garden and took a shuttle back to downtown Berkeley.

When I finally made it home, Maia greeted me with hugs and kisses and a homemade card with things like, "congratulations!" "you're the best" and "I'm proud of you!" scrawled across it in bright colors. She took my photo, told me to shower, and the two of us spent the rest of the day prepping for Thanksgivukkah.

In all it was a great experience. I learned a lot and reached two important goals: 1.) being fit enough to run a 10k and 2.) raising $1000 for Berkeley Public Schools Fund. Best of all, united in a common cause, Maia and I developed a kinship and closeness that we hadn't yet had an opportunity to develop.

I won thrice.

American Girl Lessons

While waiting in an excruciatingly long line at JoAnne Fabrics one day, I pulled an American Girl Magazine off the rack in a last ditch attempt to quiet my whining daughter. Full of fun quizzes and art projects - and advertisements for dolls and books and crafts and clothes (all sold by American Girl) - it was love at first sight. When we finally got to the register I had no choice but to buy it and bring it on home.

Naturally, the requests began. First - Maia asked for a doll that looked just like her. We created it on their website and ordered it for her 2012 Chanukah gift. Meanwhile I discovered American Girl books. Really good books. Everything from historical and contemporary novels, to self-help, to arts and crafts. I embraced them and began gifting them to Maia. She didn't complain.

Eventually Maia read that one of the (American Girl) books she loved had been made into a movie and was available to view via amazon. It was McKenna, about a young gymnast. After watching it 10 million several times, Maia requested gymnastics classes for herself. I signed her up and she continues to go now (8 months and counting) The sport has provided her with exercise and motivation for improvement. 

Then came Saige. I don't know which was first - the movie, the doll, or the book. Regardless, we managed to acquire all three (plus a matching "Saige" outfit in Maia-size). She must have read the book 5 or 10 times and watched the movie even more. This is Saige's story:

Saige’s new school year isn’t starting out well. She and her best friend, Tessa, seem to be growing apart. And because of funding cuts, Saige won’t have art—her favorite class—at school this year. Her grandma Mimi suggests that she do something about it, such as lead a "save the arts" parade and fund-raiser on Mimi’s horse Picasso. Soon Saige is training Picasso for the parade, which helps take her mind off her troubles at school.

Then Mimi is injured in an accident, and Saige waits and worries, wondering what she can do. Can she ride Picasso in the parade and make her grandma proud? Can she still raise money to protect art at school? Saige is determined to try. (From the AG website.)

On the drive to school one day, Maia told me her own story: "we only get to go to Cooking Class once a month now and Gardening Class is gone all together. I asked [my teacher] why and she said it's because funds have been cut. I said we should have a fundraiser so we can make enough money to bring the classes back... Maybe a bake sale, or a fashion show or ... a parade." 

Wow. Talk about life imitating art. 

I assured Maia that people were doing many things to try to raise money for these programs. The North Berkeley Gourmet Ghetto was putting on a tasting event, the PTA was trying to funnel more money into the programs, and the Inaugural Berkeley Half Marathon had a team to raise money for the Berkeley Public School Fund....

And everything came together - of course: I could run the 10k option and would join the the team to raise money for Berkeley schools. Even better, I could allocate HALF the money I raise to the school of my choice: Maia's school.

The race is two weeks away and Maia is elated - eagerly helping me figure out ways to approach people for donations. She looks at the fundraising site regularly to view the bar graph that shows how close we are to the $1000 goal. Together we subtract what's been given so far from our final goal to see what we have yet to raise. She watches my training carefully - making sure I'll be up to the task of running 10k in two weeks. It's all been a very very good lesson.

Sunday, November 24 (2013) will see me running my first ever race. Maia (and her brother) will be on the sidelines cheering me on. Last week I ran six and a half miles, so physically, I'm ready. Fundraising is a little slower, but we'll get there. Want to help? A $5 or $10 donation to the campaign "buys" a lot: 1. monetary support for Berkeley Public Schools with half the funds going directly to Maia's school; 2. lessons in math, strategy, and community involvement for my daughter; 3. encouragement for me to continue my quest for fitness in middle age. 

_____

I am in no way affiliated with American Girl and this post is not an advertisement.

It's Hair

Recently I took about six inches off the length of my hair. I did it in two steps - three inches at a time. The result is a chin length bob - straight and tidy. Friends on facebook used words like professional, sassy, sexy, sophisticated. The cafe owner around the corner said - you should have done this years ago. Acquaintances ask me how I feel about such a big change.

One part of me feels this is ridiculous. It's (only) hair. It grows back. Another part is relieved that those years of growth are shorn - those (dead) hair cells contained all the angst and drama and sadness from years ago - the hair that remains is newer and reflects the person I'm striving to be.

So when Maia asked to have her hair cut like mine I was only little surprised by my immediate rejection. True the time and energy saved by NOT having to  maintain her long locks would make both our lives easier, but her tangled mane contains so many memories and discussions and arguments and love...

Then I think - it's HAIR. Let's cut off her 10 inches and send them to Locks of Love so a child - who's loss of hair is truly emotionally and physically significant - can have a sense of normalcy.

I made an appointment for her next week. An old friend will be cutting Maia's hair - a stylist who gave Joe his first cut. Somehow this comforts me.

Maia will look adorable in a bob.

What I See (Wordless Wednesday)

On Wednesdays all over the internet, bloggers post a photograph with no words to explain it on their blog. Hence the ‘wordless’ title. The idea is that the photo itself says so much that it doesn’t need any description. 

The Dawn is Approaching

Being Silly

Last weekend Joe attended Cazadero Music Camp with a couple of hundred other 5th graders. On Sunday I drove up to see the concert they'd been working towards and to spend some "alone-time" with my son.

Joe and I had a good time together (with the caveat that he is a tween and goes from hating to loving me every 10 seconds.) We took lots of pictures.

Before bed on Sunday night (we stayed at Dawn Ranch Lodge - a gorgeous property about a half hour from camp Cazadero) Joe was inspired to write a poem. It's beautiful (if I do say so myself.)

The Russian River

The Dawn is Approaching 

by Joe Kesler (age 11)

Pulling the energy of life from the soil to the sky,

grooving to the very beat of the earth itself.

Each petal counting the days till dawn approaches.

For it is coming my friend,

it is.

Soon the soil will bloom,

Erupt,

EXPLODE!

Color rushes into the world.

The cold and harsh days of winter have faded my friend.

The flowers are coming.

The symbol of hope.

The dawn of the rainbow.

The end of the cold.

The sun is rising my friend.

It is almost here.

Petal by petal, the day awakens.

The new found life is almost here.

Away from the silence of the past.

The color of the world flow within the soil.

Soon my friend,

soon, the soil will break.

Endless beauty spills onto the world.

The dawn is approaching my friend.

The dawn of a new land.

The days of death are over.

It is almost here.

Colors of new and old are coming.

The cycle never strays.

The dawn is coming fast my friend.

A world of color is ahead.

Sex Education

"Ahhhhhh! There is blood on the toilet seat!" Joe screamed, running out of the bathroom.

"Oh, shoot, I'm sorry, I have my period and must have had an accident. I'll clean it up."

He looks at me, my baffled 10 year old and says, "you bleed when you have your period? I thought you were just super grumpy."

I'd had the talk about sex and reproduction with Joe, in fact, it's not been a taboo subject in my household at all (as illustrated by my response to his disgust), so I looked back at him - just as baffled - and said "let me explain it again."

I drew the ovaries and the fallopian tubes and the uterus and the vagina and explained how every month an egg is released and travels to the uterus and if it's not fertilized by a sperm it needs to come out an that is a period. Every woman has one. "Some of your friends at school probably already have it. I got mine when I was 9 ...."

"So are you saying that Maia will get her period someday?" he asked.

"Yes." Someday his baby sister would, indeed, get her period.

He responded, "So you're saying you will BOTH have your periods and you will BOTH be super grumpy every month?"

And that is how I knew my boy had become a man.

Just Like That

While cleaning my office this week I came across a story that my son Joe wrote last year. I think it's worth sharing - particularly since he turned 11 last week.

Just Like That

by Joe Kesler

Hi, you'll probably need to know a little bit about me before I tell you my story. Well, I live in Berkeley, CA. I have a dog named Mo, and I'm eight years old. Oh, and my birthday is in nine days. Right now we are picking my grandparents up from the airport. My Grandpa is pretty nice, but likes to play jokes. Once he bought a fart machine and it started making some really nasty sounds! Who knows what he'll whip up this time! My Grandma is sweet, but a little too over protective. She always makes me wear a jacket and is constantly asking if I'm hungry. Oh look, There they are! Time for hugs and kisses!

Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Joe, happy birthday daaaaay toooo yoooouuuu. Now and forever I'm officially nine.

It's crazy. Just like that. I'm nine. nothing changed. I sat down deep in my own thoughts, not even listening to the whoopee cushion my grandpa had deployed. Just like that. I thought that when I turned nine I would be big and strong and ... You know what? None of that matters, the only thing that matters is that I'm happy! And I am big, I am strong ... in my heart .... Just like that.

Joe on his eleventh birthday.

Relatively Maternal

A couple of weeks ago I had the good fortune to be in NYC and saw the Broadway production of Relatively Speaking. The show is a collection of one-act plays written by Ethan Coen, Elaine May and Woody Allen with Direction by John Turturro. Actors include Marlo Thomas, Julie Kavner and Steve Guttenberg ... wow.

Naturally I walked into the theater with expectation of being royally regaled. I was not disappointed. However I was completely taken off guard by the force of emotion that railed through me during the second performance. The PR blurb states "In George is Dead, Elaine May explores the hilarity of death" and that is what I expected. 

But that's not what I got.

Marlo Thomas (a hero of mine from days of That Girl and Free to be You and Me) doesn't disappoint as the incredibly spoiled socialite and suddenly widowed Doreen. But the real star is Lisa Emery who plays Carla Kerns, a frazzled woman desperately trying to make everyone happy - all to her own detriment. 

The story is doled out slowly, delicately, and then, shocking in its revelation of how these characters are related. It is not at all about the "hilarity of death" and I wonder how or why Elaine May allowed those words to describe her work.

In fact, George Is Dead isn't about death at all. It IS about a middle aged woman's desperate, and ultimately fruitless, quest for maternal approval. Her crusade is so encompassing that it destroys her marriage, career and self confidence. The failures are hers.

I sobbed after that play. Couldn't catch my breath. People stared. I didn't care. 

What does that say about me?

Montana Part II: Kid Swap

Last month my friend Jenna Skype'd to say she was getting her ovaries removed in (yet another) preventative measure to hopefully avoid a cancer relapse. I was in a rare position to afford the $300 plane ticket to Kalispell, Montana and decided to fly out to give her hand. This is the second of three posts about that trip. The first post is here. The third post is here.

Jenna grew up in Montana and moved back with her California-born husband in 2002 but they come back to the Bay Area every summer (mostly because her husband's job demands it) and I get to spend time with her then. Still, our schedules are busy (she works too) and we tend to plan our outings in such a way that we can be without children (and husband, in her case) to catch up and chat without interruptions.

Don't get me wrong. I love her husband and kids - and even their extended families - but when time is precious, I just want to hang out with Jenna. 

This trip to Montana would be different. For one thing, I was going with a purpose. While I was absolutely looking forward to long chats on her recovery bed, I was also determined to make myself useful by entertaining her two boys and taking some stress off her husband who is working full time AND going to school. I wanted Jenna to rest and recover from the surgery. My job was babysitting and cooking.

Of course I've spent time with Jen's kids. I've watched them grow up. I hear about their triumphs and challenges from Jenna. They know me as "Mama's friend Cori" in the way that a lot of kids know a long distance aunt: I say things like "oh how much you've grown" and pinch their cheeks and make them give me hugs. I'm also the one who takes away Mama's attention - or worse - takes Mama away completely when she comes to my house for an evening away... So, the first sentence in this paragraph is actually false: I've never really spent time with Jenna's kids.

I arrived on Friday - the day after Jenna's surgery. The boys were at school so we took the opportunity to settle her in (she and her dad had picked me up on her way back from the hospital!) and get her set up with tea, water, snacks and all her recovery drugs. We talked about the forthcoming weekend and everyone's schedule. At 3pm she said, "the boys will be home in 15 minutes" and sure enough they came skidding up to the door on their bikes, happy for the weekend to begin.

Noah is 9 - born a year and a half after (my son) Joe - and Kai is 6 - the same age as (my daughter) Maia. The brothers are mirror images of each other in that the older looks just like Jenna and the younger, exactly like his dad. Their energy is delightfully "little boy" which was a welcome presence in the recovery room. They were excited to see their mom who had been at the hospital for the past two days and - after the necessary hugs and kisses - I harnessed their attention (thank you Smarties lollies!) and brought them downstairs to let Mama rest.

The boys warmed up to me quickly and we were soon laying next to the fire chatting about school and friends and the kinds of things they like to do. When their dad got home I brought out my iPad and they all got busy playing with Google Earth (big map fanatics, these guys!) By the next morning Kai and Noah felt comfortable enough with me to leave their parents home and take me around the hood while giving geo-caching a go. We didn't have luck finding a cache, but ended up at a cozy local restaurant for hot coco and grilled cheese. On Sunday we poked around the house - played with apps on my iPad, made fabulous marshmallow/toothpick structures (lots), did homework, played some word search and I may or may not have introduced them to The Simpsons.

More interesting than all of this is what I learned about the boys. Jenna had always said that Noah was smart, but the kid is actually off the charts gifted. He enjoys studying cookbooks in search of the perfect chocolate dessert and he plans biking trips through the Italian countryside. He asks questions like "why do people prefer push pins to thumb tacks" and he wants a serious answer. (my statement about using magnets was not accepted.)

Kai bursts with energy. He is self sufficient (sometimes to a fault, but we don't cry over spilt milk) and somewhat stubborn. He loved playing with TocaBoca apps on my iPad and excelled at creating marshmallow/toothpick structures. Someday he may very well be an engineer. Of course, the highlight of my time with Kai was when he snuggled up next to me at bedtime and - instead of reading a story - we worked out way, together, through a word search puzzle.

By Monday night Kai and Noah were asking why I couldn't stay longer. They thanked me (seriously unprompted) for spending the weekend with them and gave me hugs and kisses without me asking.

I wish I'd spent more time with them sooner.

Of course Jenna and her husband say that Noah and Kai were on their best behavior because I was a guest. Furthermore, my job was to entertain them - of course they were good - they were having fun! So it got me thinking... I should spend time with other people's kids more often. In fact - other parents should spend time with my kids as well.

As a single mom there are times when I'm with my children for days on end without a break. We all begin to grate on each other's nerves. But what if I take a clue from my experience in Montana and swap kids with another mom for a day.

Seriously.

Children always act best when they're not with their parents. Spending time with a new/different adult is a learning experience for them and fun - in that the activities are different than what they'd be doing at with their own folks. Really - just a change of scenery, a change in general, can be a relief for everyone involved.

So, the next time your kids are driving you up a wall (during the upcoming holiday school-break, for example), approach a trusted friend and suggest a swap. She may look at you like your nuts, but when you explain that you're talking about kids (not husbands) she'll be relieved enough to actually consider it. Try it once. I'll bet you'll do it again.

Rules and Routines

(NOTE: This post was originally published at Single Mama NYC Single Moms Sunday series on July 17, 2011. I may or may not have taken the liberty to change certain facts upon this republication.) 

Every parent knows that predictability provides a comforting familiarity that children crave. When my kids were babies, I made my plans around nap-time. Missing the afternoon siesta resulted in meltdowns at dinner that could take hours to tame. People thought I was nuts (can't they nap in the car? in the stroller? in my bedroom?) but I learned quickly not to change the things that worked. I learned that routine mattered.

I don't have babies anymore. My kids are 10 and 6 but routine still matters... more for me, than them.

It started with the garbage. Taking it out every Thursday evening had been my husband's job. Now that I was alone the job - like so many other things - was mine. Then one night about a year ago, as I dragged the bins the curb, it dawned on me that I hadn't thought much about the garbage for months. "Remembering" to take it out had become as second nature as bringing in the mail every day...

This was a huge revelation because, although the weekly "routine" seemed to be under control, daily activities were not. The worst of it occurred in the morning rush to school - what to wear, eat for breakfast, pack lunch, etc. DVD's were watched while eating and fights broke out when it was time to leave ("just five more minutes!!!") School starts at eight a.m. We were always late.

So I started to institute new rules and routines. Not just for the kids - but for me. Lunches had to be made and packed the night before - likewise for choosing my daughter's outfits. I had to get up earlier and shower before waking them. They are allowed one mutually agreed upon television show to watch while eating breakfast. But no DS, Computer, smartphone, or anything else that could result in a reply such as "let me just finish this level!!!"

The first month was hard. Like you, I'm tired at the end of the day. I've worked, carted kids around, made dinner, gone grocery shopping and any number of other things. But I made myself prepare the lunches every single night. Upon waking, the relief of having this chore done was significant.

Now it's been almost a year and I've got the routine perfected. I wake every morning pleased that the "night-time-me" took care of the "morning-time-me." My kids wake up to a smiling, un-frazzled mom. We don't have to rush or raise voices. Everything is prepared.

I've listed what I do below. What are your life-saving routines? (Not just morning routines - I'd like to hear about ALL routines that help you manage.)

Evening Routine
(while the kids entertain themselves after dinner and/or after they go to bed)

• choose my daughter's clothes with her
• clear table and clean dinner dishes
• make lunches
• prepare coffee maker 
• tidy up the living room

I allow one 15-20 minute TV show
while eating breakfast.

Morning Routine 
(while the kids sleep *note I sleep downstairs and the rest of the house is upstairs)

• wake at six and go upstairs
• push the button on the coffee maker
• shower
• fill my mug with coffee, smile at the filled lunch boxes when I open the fridge to grab the cream, and go back downstairs
• dress
• sit down on my bed with my coffee and iPad or laptop and play (ie. Words with Friends, twitter, facebook, etc.) This has become one of my favorite times of the day.
• 7 a.m. I wake the kids and get them dressed
• they're eating breakfast by 7:30 (and I'm finding I have time to make them pancakes if they want)
• the agreement is no electronics but I allow one 15-20 minute tv show while eating breakfast. (I'd like to nix this, but for now it makes them happy and happy means a smoother morning)
• and we're out the door by 10 minutes to 8

Braids Before Bed

All ready for bed!

My daughter has a mane of thick wavy golden hair. Over her (six) years we've seen it through several styles. First, bangs with the classic bob. Then, after getting lice in preschool, we cut it all off and it curled up into a little old lady style that somehow suited her. Since then we've been growing it out. She has no bangs and it's gotten pretty long - to the middle of her back.

Getting to the point where I can actually comb through her tresses without tears has been a mess of trial and error. After years of fights, we've finally come up with a system that works for us and I'm sharing it here in hopes it might work for some of you as well.

• Hair is washed every other night.
• In the shower I put in shampoo and conditioner at the same time and, after scrubbing her head, allow it to sit on her hair while I wash the rest of her body.
• Using a wide toothed comb I comb through her hair while the shampoo/conditioner is on her head. 
• Rinse it all out.
• Towel dry hair by squeezing (not rubbing) into a towel.
• Comb through again (should be super easy) and braid (this is a crucial step) before going to bed.
• In the morning take the braids out and brush (should be very few knots because the braids have kept it from knotting up) and re-style for the day.
• Evenings when it's not washed we brush and braid it before bedtime so the morning is easy and ready for restyling.

Following this routine has made our mornings so much easier. There are never tears and rarely arguments. She's become excited about trying different hair styles and tolerant to the time it takes me to achieve them. More important, bedtime hair-brushing before books has become a time for us to bond, chat about the day and plan for tomorrow.

It's amazing to me that something we used to dread so much has become a lovely end-of-day ritual that leaves us both smiling.

On weekend mornings (when there is more time) she
can take out the braids and brush her hair -get this -
all by herself!

The Monthly Book Report

Joe's fourth grade teacher has been very creative in the way she assigns monthly book reports. Rather then traditional written papers, the projects have ranged in style from cereal boxes, mobiles and book covers to board games and pinwheels. Each form requires the same fundamental items (setting, characters, etc) but the production and vehicle for communication is different.

At the beginning of each month Joe chooses a book. By the end of the month, he's read five other books besides the one he'd planned for his book report. It's amazing to me that he doesn't mix everything up. He remembers the details of the characters, plot, thoughts, ideas - everything.

We work together on the reports. It's often a challenge and it would be fair to say that there is occasional dread involved (from both of us) at the impending due date. I've found that each report requires at least four hours and is best to do over two days - usually the weekend before it's due. Getting through each project is gratifying and, despite (not) infrequent arguments, his pride in the creations is gratifying. The time spent together bonds us. It's been good.

The final report of the year was "free choice" and Joe asked if he could do a movie trailer (I've been working with the students on digital stories so this is an acceptable format of submission) We got to work - starting with a story board... we created our own, not realizing that iMovie offers templates for movie trailers - had I known we were going to use one, I would have had him start there. (Live and learn --- Learn and live!)

We decided quickly that the kinds of images that Joseph wanted were too specific to find in a creative commons search, so he decided to draw his own. BEST DECISION EVER! His artistic skills (in my humble opinion as his mom) are stellar. Because we'd taken the time to make the story board he  knew exactly what illustrations he needed. It took out the guesswork. I taught him how to color his sketches in Adobe Photoshop - a program I use professionally. He was impressed with my familiarity of the software and he learned something about my field of work.

When he was done drawing, he took digital pictures of the illustrations and imported them to iPhoto, and from there to iMovie. Using the template provided, he chose the images he wanted; when he didn't like the number of images required by the template I explained how to add up the time of each clip provided so he could insert what he liked while keeping the movie in concert with the music.

Tomorrow Joe will turn in the dvd with the story board and notes in a plastic cd case What he created is really excellent. I'm a very proud mama.

Mother's Day Coupons Get Real

On Wednesday mornings I volunteer at Joe's school and today I was hanging out in the office putting packets together. A kindergarten teacher was making Mother's Day coupons for her students to fill out and give for presents. They were to get five coupons and needed to come up with a different offer for each.

"What do you think?" she asked. "Hugs? Kisses? Drawings?"

Well, those things are great, but I get them every day. Naturally I started to think about what I'd want if those coupons were somehow to come to me.... here's my five:

REDEEM THIS COUPON TO RECEIVE:

1. Clothes in hamper (as opposed to floor) for a whole week

2. Ten toys picked up and put away before bed for two nights in a row

3. One made bed three mornings in a row

4. A whole day without ANY whining (good for one time only) *I'm a realist*

5. An attention span longer than two minutes (for two minutes) *again, I'm a realist*

What do you want?

The Groove is Good

The combination of Joe's 8am school bell and my lack of morning humor can add up to potential meltdowns, so it's no suprise that the most difficult days of the week for me are Wednesday, Thursday and Friday - the days the kids wake up here and I have to get them out the door by 7:45. Ugh.

In the old days, before we were separated, David - who likes to rise with the sun - would run the dog and take Joe to school. I'd stay home and have a leisurely coffee while Maia ate breakfast. Her preschool had a more flexible start time so we'd stroll in around 9:00.

Oh times have changed.

Getting two kids out the door is a challenge and I've discussed some of the strategies I use for coping in previous blog posts. But it's gotten easier. And this week, it was really easy. Like almost FUN easy. Everything was just smooth - like a well oiled machine. And I tell you, when the morning goes well,  it makes for better day all around. And a better day means a relaxing evening. And that, in short, is how this week has been.

We're in the groove and it's really good.

Two Phases of Understanding

Tonight, while tucking the kids in, we were chatting, as usual. Maia was having a hard time settling into bed. She said (whined), "oh... Mommy, when I'm with Daddy I miss you and when I'm with you I miss Daddy. I want you BOTH." Maia is 4. Her dad and I have been separated since she was two and a half so she doesn't really remember the four of us as a unit. But she DOES understand - and tonight was able to put into words of the first time - that she loves us both and wants us together. This comprehension of the nature of divorce is new and self-learned. It makes me sad. It would make me sadder if Joe didn't respond the way he did.

The 9 year old - who has always maintained his hatred of the divorce and its inane wrongness - said to his little sister, "divorce may not be happy for me or for you, but mommy is happier and that makes me glad."

Holy. F*cking. Sh*t.

My boy just forgave me. Not that I need to be forgiven. But if he WAS blaming me (and given that his dad told him that the I left the family on my own accord, I believe he did blame me) then he just then, in that moment, that sentence - that lesson to his sister - forgave me. He showed such immense empathy and compassion that I could do nothing but break down in tears and tell him thank you. He understood the significance because he hugged me tight and told me he loved me.

That boy of mine.
He is an old soul and I admire him.
We're gonna be ok. And Maia is damn lucky to have such and awesome big brother.

Racing From One Weekend to the Next

There are a gazillion ways to arrange custody when divorcing. For us, a 50/50 arrangement was a given so we started from there. Because we have a little-one (Maia) we decided that a full week without seeing one or the other of us would be hard for her so that figured largely into the equation. In the end we came up with the following schedule: I have the kids every Monday and Tuesday. They are with their dad every Wednesday and Thursday. We switch off every other Friday and Saturday, and switch again every other Sunday.

So far the arrangement has worked for us (with minor tweaks and adjustments here and there to accommodate their dad's teaching schedule).

But it takes a lot of adjusting.

As it works out, every other week I drop the children off at school on Wednesday morning and don't see them again until 4 pm on Sunday. Five days.

When the 5 o'clock hour comes on Wednesday, the first day without them, I'm at a loss. I suddenly don't have to jump in my car and "play pickup kids." He's doing it. I can't pin down how this feels but the closest thing to describe it is anxiety. A pulsing in my veins, wringing of my hands, twiddling of my thumbs... What to do?

On Thursday evening it gets easier. By Friday, at 5, I'm lonely. Saturday rolls around and my objective is to get the house ready for them - laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping - so that on Sunday I can sit in my favorite chair and enjoy the New York Times with cup of coffee while KFOG plays the Acoustic Morning program on the radio. By the time they arrive at 4, I'm relaxed and excited to see them.

Until they arrive.

And I'm suddenly shocked into the reality of motherhood. Almost immediate whining, and requests for food, or gum or juice; quarrels between the two of them; very loud voices; screaming, crying, tantrums, defiance, anger, exhaustion. Wow. Mommying is hard work. Especially when you do it alone.

Monday morning, getting up in time to get to school by 8. I rise at 6 - try to get a half hour of time alone with my coffee before waking them at 6:30 to start getting ready for school. This morning hour is perhaps the most challenging of the day. Never mind me - I need to get two children dressed, washed up and fed in addition to making boxed lunches and tending to Moses the Dog. We leave the house at 7:50 and drive across town to Joe's school where we drop him off and then take off back across town (tracing where we've just been and passing our house) to Maia's preschool. Once there the ritual is that we spend about 10 minutes playing or reading together and then she "pushes me out the door" and I'm off on my own. An immediate sense of relief and freedom.

It seems to be one or the other - extreme stress or loneliness - I've not yet found a common ground. A place where one or the other is satisfying and fulfilling. Instead, one just seems like a race to get to the other. I'm constantly running and never winning.

When does this end?

Taking Back the Park

There is a park near my house that was a community project. For various reasons (subject of a future blog post) the City of Berkeley "gave" our neighborhood a plot of land to do with as we pleased. After many meetings and lots of work we created a wonderful sanctuary with a big grassy area surrounded by native fruit trees, plants and flowers. There is a tire swing and sandbox and a "mountain" to climb for the children. My kids and I go there a lot.

Last week Maia and I decided to take a walk to the "little park" (as Maia calls it) with Moses (the dog) and some toys for the sandbox. As we approached I saw three adults on the swing - drinking from paper bags and groping each other lewdly. Maia asked me, "Mama, what are they doing?" Fuming, shooting cold stares at the people, I told her that I didn't know. We spent a moment sitting on a bench across the lawn until Maia said she wanted to use the swing.

So we walked across the grass and I began to take back the park:

"Excuse me," I said, "my daughter would like to use the swing."
"Oh! sure, of course. Go ahead!" they said.
And they moved aside and Maia got up on the swing and I began to push her. The three adults (two men and a woman) moved a few yards away - near the sandbox - and lit up some cigarettes.
"I'm sorry," I said, "there is no smoking in the park" while pointing out the "no smoking" signs hung every 10 feet along the perimeter of the park. "There are ash trays just outside both gates if you want to smoke," said I.
"What are you trying to say?" said the woman.
"I'm just pointing out the signs." I said.
"You must be new to this neighborhood, right?" aggressive, accusations.
Me, "No, I've lived here for about 10 years now."
"WELL - I've been here for 48 years!"
"Wow, 48 years? You look awesome" I said.
She didn't know what to make of it. She cocked her head, like a dog. Her boyfriend, said, "Hey you guys, lets get out of here. We gotta go someplace anyway."
So they gathered up their stuff - including a bouquet of flowers. "Those are pretty," I said. "Yea - I know how to pick 'em." said the guy. "I guess so." My eyes glaring.

And they left.

I wonder if I'd have been so bold if I didn't have Moses with me - he looks scary. Big, dark and wolf-like. Or the protection of Maia - using a child as a shield - figuring that any decent person wouldn't hurt a mother in front of her kid.

I could have been wrong. It might have been bad.
As it is, I feel like I won.

Since then I've made the walk to the park an evening ritual. We use it the way it was intended. I'm going to start inviting the neighborhood families to join us. This park is important to me. I intend to keep it.

[Also posted on InBerkeley.]

Best. Mothers Day. Gift. EVER.

Joseph, my eight year old son, stopped by today with his dad to read me this poem he wrote. He delivered it as spoken word. Beautiful.


MOMMY

She is magic
she is magic
like the hand
the hand of her soul
she is amazing
she is amazing
like the heart
the heart of her body.

It is HER
who warms me
it is HER
who sings me
yes
it is her.
yes
it is her.
Yes, it is you mom.
It is you. WHY
because ...
because ...
You are the angel in the cloud,
You are the devil in the ground.
You are yourself
and you are you.
Yes.
You are you.

by Joe