Disorderly conduct

Rushing out the door today I had to leave the kids in the car in the driveway and run back into the house twice (once, for my cell phone, which turned out to be in my pocket, and again, for G's DS) and then drove away muttering about forgetting my hat and coat.  "Mom," said 8-year-old G, the calm back seat observer. "You are so disordered."

Disordered?  Did she mean disorganized?  That would be true. Disorderly?  That is also sometimes true.  But in our world, of special needs classes, doctors, therapists, schools and camps, it's entirely possible she simply meant what she said. 

All we knew, for years, was her struggle.  That inside our child there was more energy, more chaos, more sadness and joy than could be contained in her little body.  And that society had labels for it: out-of-control,   undisciplined, difficult.  It wasn't until last year that more accurate labels were found:  Tourette Syndrome, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Anxiety - each one bringing equal parts relief, "I'm not the only one!" and despair "Why do I have to have this?"

But naming the demons was the first step to taming the demons.  For G, who desires order in her universe, a disorder is a description, not something inherently bad, good, scary, or cool.  It helps her make sense of others' difficulties and quirks, what makes her, and others special.  And she's not shy to share her psychological insights.

"Mom, you told me you would bring me a snack, and then you got distracted again.  You have got to get your ADD under control."

"Daddy would be a whole lot happier if he could learn to go with the flow."

"Hey, are you sure that kid doesn't have ADHD?  It sure seems like it to me."

"Hold on a sec, I'm trying to put myself in that person's shoes."

Some kids once asked a group of parents why there was a class of students with 1-1 aides at school, and the adults were silent.  G, stating the obvious:  "Because they have autism.  They need more help."

As a teacher of yoga for children with special needs, I often meet parents in the process of having their children evaluated.  It can be such an emotional process, of wanting answers, wanting help, yet dreading a diagnosis, wishing it would all just get better on its own.  We dove in hoping to learn how to help G, show others how to work with her, appreciate her, bring out the best in her.  But along the way, the process became most empowering for G herself, teaching her about herself and the world around her.

So when G says her mother is "so disordered," I think she knows what she's talking about.  I'm going to embrace that diagnosis, and go take my Omega 3s and get more rest.  She says that's good for improving memory, and that's good enough for me!

Know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em

There I was, during 8-yr-old G's drumming lesson, making a list of possible activities for me to learn before I turn 40.  Skydiving didn't fit the theme of  learning skills kids typically learn but that I somehow missed.  Skipping double dutch seemed like it would involve wrangling friends into turning ropes ad infinitum and I'm pretty sure none of my friends have that much free time.  And facing my fear of rivers on a raft or inner tube seemed too, well, scary.  When along comes G's drumming teacher. Out of the blue:  "Have you ever thought of learning the drums?"  he asks.  I laugh and tell him what I'm doing, the list, the blog, etc.  He says "I think you should learn the drums. You're here anyway.  Do the lesson with G.  Then you can help her practice."

Never mind that hand-eye coordination is not my forte.  Or that in high school I was told by a choirmate that rhythm was clearly not something I was born with.  Oh well, what the heck - we already own the drum kit, gathering dust from G's aversion to practicing.  If I'm terrible at it, it will make G feel good about herself.  If I'm decent, I will have learned something new about myself.  At the very least I get to make some noise, which a yoga teacher doesn't get to do very often.

As it turns out, I love practicing - as my mind struggles to make sense of the rhythms and patterns, my arms and legs struggle to do what I tell them to.  It feels like I'm stretching in all sorts of directions.  When I close my eyes and let it happen without thinking too much, I'm in the flow - no worries, no plans, just drumming - it's like yoga, to a beat! 

But G is not amused.  She's uncooperative, unhappy.  She throws down her sticks. After a week of practicing together to the point of tears nearly everyday, she wails "I'm no good at this!"

Hold it right there.  G is good at the drums. The day G played at her recital she was so truly proud of herself, it was like seeing her inhabit her own skin fully for 3 1/2 beautiful minutes. 

I ask "G, do you not like the idea of me playing drums too?"  Silence.  "Do you want it to be just your thing?"  She nods, and buries her head in me. 

Wow.  My worry has been I don't do enough of what my kids are interested in.  So I never really considered how my desire to show them I can be game for anything could crowd them out. Make them self-concious, stressed.  Back off, Mom.  Go sit on the sidelines with the other moms.  Let me show you how it's done.

Good for you, G.  Own the seat, the sticks, the stage, the beat.  I'll be cheering from the back row, so loud it may be embarrassing.  That much, you'll have to put up with.

P.S.  Want to release your inner "Animal" (Muppet)?  Go see Pete at the Muzic Store in Dobbs Ferry. http://www.muzicstore.com/.

How to Stand Out in a Crowd of 7 Billion: To KO, with love

DH, dear husband, is away celebrating our best friend KO's 40th birthday with a boys' weekend in Wisconsin.   I can only imagine.  We've been hanging with KO since junior high school - I know what shenanigans we were capable of then - now, a weekend away from kids, wives, responsibilities?  I hope no one posts pictures to Facebook.

Actually, I am just jealous - KO invited me with the highest compliment, "You're one of the guys!" but I demurred.  Bachelor parties and midlife-men's weekends should really be sacrosanct.  But that doesn't mean I can't try to control things from afar...

I am gifting KO with The Encyclopedia of Immaturity, Part II (only fitting that DH, his other half, has Volume I).  And I am throwing down a challenge! 

KO, can you learn 10 of these ridiculous feats and come back and blog about it?  Easy ones you already know how to do, ie "Make Rude Noises," "Mess up Family Portraits," "Amputate Your Leg" don't count.  But take the quiz "How Weird Are You? And How Weird is Your Friend?"  Experiment with the physics of the cannonball and "How to Get People Wet" on your friends and neighbors - just like high school physics, but in swimsuits!  Wow them at home - key word - at HOME - with the trick "Without Taking Off Your Pants, Take Off Your Underpants."  Enter a contest the guys could win:  the "Do Your Feet Stink?" contest.  And one you can do by just being you:  "Stand Out in a Crowd of 7 Billion."

Life at 40 is a lot more complicated than it was at 14.  But laughing til soda comes out your nose is just as good.  You've been there for us at every milestone, and every pace in-between.  I can't think of anything better to wish for you now, than to be surrounded by friends and to unleash your wicked sense of humor on all of them.  Have a fantastic weekend, my friend.

Saturday, what a day

Last week, 3-year old R declared, out of the blue:

"I'm not grown up.
I'm not gonna grow up yet.
(Pause)
I'll grow up on Saturday."

For the rest of the week, I told everyone we encountered to take a good look at her because on Saturday, she would be grown.

After big sister G started school last week, R announced: "When I grow up I'll pick G up from school." Big plans!

Well, little R started nursery school today. Sauntering in her self-chosen mismatched socks and sneakers, sporting a stiff new backpack and a large smile, as pleased as could be. "You got my snack mommy? Who's gonna pick me up? Who's my teacher again?"

When 8 year old G started nursery school, it was like touring a foreign country: "What is this thing, you call 'School'? 'Cubby'? 'Clean up time?'" For R, having seen G off to "the big school" every day, it's like finally getting to see the Eiffel Tower or the Great Wall with her very own eyes.

Later, we picked G up from the big school together, and before G or I could say anything, R boomed proudly "I, had a good day at school today!" So grown up. Just like she had planned. Sigh.

Waiting in Line...

In a few hours, G will start her first day of 3rd grade. She's been anxious for weeks. Yet tonight, I'm the one that can't sleep!
We've spent a lot of time at amusement parks this summer, giving rides new to us the once-over, checking height requirements, how fast, how high, how spinny, assessing the scary-to-fun ratio. And then waiting on line. For the wary 8 year old, it's agony because she's not sure she's going to like it. Every inch forward is the question "Do you think we should do this?" I gulp down my own butterflies and tell her "Yes, absolutely" and go first to show her it's fine.

For R, the intrepid 3 year old, it's agony because she wants to go on "RIGHT NOOOOWWW!" while Mommy tries to bring her to her senses. R was the first in the family to try a waterslide at a local pool (Mom: "You don't have to honey, you can wait to do it next time, with your sister." R: "It's okay mom, I think I can do it." She did it!). And she was the first to go on a bungee-trampoline, laughing all the way.

What is that about? Is the younger sibling more adventurous by nature? Or has the 8 year old accumulated enough experiences to make her more anxious? When she was 3, I remember G running pell-mell into the ocean, over and over. This summer, she would only go in holding her dad's hand.
Well, we're waiting in line again tonight. Tomorrow, she'll hold my hand walking in the door. Will it be okay? She'll want to know. Yes, absolutely, I'll say. And then I'll let her go.

Zen and the Art of Boogie Boarding with Barb

The first time I went boogie boarding with Barb (http://upside-down-patty.blogspot.com/2009/07/boogie-boarding-with-barb.html) was bliss. Actually, two parts of it were bliss. The part that was safe on land, where we ate grapes and read Cosmo and listened to music on her ipod like teenagers. And the part where I actually rode a wave on a boogie board - woo hoo! The parts in between - getting in the ocean, scanning the horizon nervously, feeling the sand fall out from under me or the water going over me - were a lot more anxiety provoking.

So when we were boogie boarding recently for the second time and getting knocked around by waves, I felt unsettled. Barb kept calling to me, "Look out!" a second before I got smacked upside the head. When Barb observed "I don't know how you can stay with your back to the waves, I always like to see what's coming at me," it finally occurred to me to turn around - aha, seeing the waves makes things easier! But scarier, too - seeing each swell - gosh, how big is that going to get? What should I do? Where is it going to break? Help!

After one big wave, Barb laughed "I love that moment, when you're looking at a wave and not sure what to do - should I dive under or jump or ride it in? That's the best!" I laughed inside. The moment when I don't know what to do? That's the part I hate!

Zen and the Art of Happiness says simply "Be Happy."

Barb and I floating on our boards under the blue sky? Happy.

Sitting on the beach basking in sun and good company? So easy to be happy!

But to be happy when off balance, out of one's element, uncertain of what is coming?

That is Zen and the Art of Boogie Boarding with Barb! That, right there, is a practice worth cultivating. Om, peace, B!