Marveling

A year ago today, I  was heart broken and constantly fighting or giving in to tears, depending on the moment (I learned to keep my sunglasses on at school pickups and just let the damn tears fall at stop lights and on early morning runs).  We were two months into kindergarten at our neighborhood school.  I had known it would be a challenging transition, but it was proving to be so much harder than I anticipated.  

I look back now and see that I was deeply re-grieving Vivian's diagnosis as new information came to me about her responses to the stress of the mainstream classroom.  Viv had functioned for five years as a hard of hearing student in ideal deaf and hard of hearing settings.  The depth and complexity of her challenges and needs due to CHARGE Syndrome had laid under the surface as she acquired language, speech and listening skills in small and specialized classes.

A year ago today, her sweet kindergarten teacher - with whom Vivian had such a connected, secure relationship - talked to me after school about some observations and ideas to help Vivian.  As much as I loved her teacher and was so grateful for her proactive and gentle approach to helping Viv (and me - I was a hot mess!), there was little that felt right about where we were.  I had spent every day for the previous six weeks researching private schools, moving, any alternative that could get us out of a place I knew wasn't right for my Viv.  My flight tendencies were on fire - I was ready to grab my girl and get out of there.  But where to go?  It was a heart wrenching question I could not get an answer to.

On this day a year ago, I pushed the kids home in the stroller after that conversation with her teacher (oh, how I miss our one block commute to school), and I suddenly knew what to do.  I knew where Viv had to be.  Like a switch, the heart wrenching fear and flight turned to hope, secure knowledge and understanding.  I will forever marvel at that moment.  A true series of miracles followed in the hours and days after that four minute walk home.  Eleven days later she returned to the public elementary school where she had attended deaf and hard of hearing preschool to join their mainstream kindergarten class, with access to so much support for her needs.

Vivian is in first grade now.  She is where she needs to be.  There are still lots of challenges.   I celebrate a lot and I grieve a lot.  My flight tendencies pop up but are calmed as I tap into one of the truthy truths I've gleaned this past year, which is another precious miracle I marveled about on Instagram the other day:

Thinking about my Vivian today, and the things I do and don't have control over in this life.  It comforts me to remember that I have the ability to keep our connection and attachment strong, to be her soft spot to land.  It comforts me to know that I can make our home the place where she is known and loved, exactly as she is.  And I am thinking about this quote from Teacher Tom.  I have it hanging on the inside of my kitchen cabinet : "The hitting will fade away.  The voiceless will find their voice.  The rough will learn gentleness.  The fearful will find courage.  Your child will move on to [their] next developmental stage...and learn to love and be loved.  Who we are never matters nearly as much as who we are becoming."  That last line is my mantra lately.  

Vivian {7}

On August 9, tucked into the reality of our year-long Pinecrest Lake dreams, our Vivian turned 7.

With a blip of elusive lake wifi, I wrote on Instagram a few days later that Vivian has been leading us on Pinecrest Lake adventures with her 'compass' and walking stick.  I can't help but think that this has been her role since coming to this earth 7 years ago : she confidently and bravely leads us to places that may seem scary and foreign at first, but end up being right where we need to be : beautiful and heart stretching terrain where I am learning to walk bravely and confidently, too.  Love you, my sweet Vivian.

The words that come to mind most often as I parent Vivian are "let her be who she is."  I marvel at her innate curiosity and confidence and long to nurture those unique parts of who she is. She is plucky (that's a Pippi reference) and spunky (that's a Ramona reference) and keeps me on my toes. She is empathetic and imaginative and kind-hearted.  So grateful she's the person who made me a mom.

In These Deep City Lights

I text Vince the words "I miss New York City" often. And I think those words at least daily.
I tagged along with him on a business trip as a ninth wedding anniversary treat to ourselves (because, 9!) back in April.  My parents generously moved in and took over Vivian and Luke duty.

It was my first time to New York City.  And the reason I'm still texting Vince about it is that I loved how I felt there: brave and alive.  In my day to day suburban life I am on autopilot : feeding, reminding, driving, encouraging, sweeping, comforting, wrangling, delighting, redirecting, hugging.  Lots of good nuggets mixed in a lot of mundane ones.  It is, to be honest, exhausting and emotional work for me.  There are brave and alive moments but they get lost in the shuffle of the everyday really easily.

And since New York City is not my everyday, it was a beautiful exhale to be in a place that gave me space to be brave and alive and notice it.  I had wondered if being in a hustling and bustling city would do me any good at all but oh, it did!  I loved the anonymity, the green spaces, great food, grittiness and fanciness and old-timeyness, I loved walking fast and hailing cabs and people watching.  I came home and settled right back into this life I'm so grateful for (but I have spent some nap times researching rent in the West Village and wondering how we might finagle a Spring or Fall in NYC.  We'll see how that pans out. ;) )

We spent the first day in the pouring rain, recovering from our red eye with doughnuts,

then on to squishy shoed walks around Chelsea and the Village soaking in all the cute and lovely,

 ate really fantastic pizza at Bleeker Street,

 had the long awaited for crack pie at Milk Bar (it lived up to the hype for me),

 and finished the day with a lovely dinner at Babbo.

The next morning the sun was out, and we got bagels (nothing compares)

and then I got my brave on and went to a Physique 57 class in Soho. This is my very favorite workout video to do at home. I took a class with Tanya Becker, the instructor from the DVDs.  It was a sweaty starstruck awesome hour for me.  

                                                    \\

I sat in Washington Square Park for a long time, 

then got some lunch at Chelsea Market and took it to the Highline

 
(lots of selfies texted to the kids!)

explored the MOMA and then walked by the library to say hi to Patience and Fortitude (library lions) to meet Vince for a drink, and went to the Burger Bar nearby for a quick bite

 

On Friday I explored Central Park

                                        

 

ate Shake Shack by the pond

visited where my mother-in-law's grandparents lived (in a little apartment on the roof of what used to be a bank),

                                     

and had a great dinner at the Spotted Pig before taking my blistered feet to bed.

On Saturday Vince and I had a great brunch in the Village and hung out in Madison Square Garden soaking up the spring day before heading home to our babies.  

We will be back for you, New York City! I've got a major crush on you.

Luke {3}

On April 22 - just a few weeks ago - I craved salami and provolone cheese.  Exactly three years earlier it was what Vivian and I ate on our last "just the two of us" night.  By dinnertime on April 23, I had baby Luke in my arms.

Luke at three years old is tender hearted and observant, cautious but still brave, earnest yet fun loving.  He is slow to warm up to new people and places, but when he does he's charming and friendly.  He categorizes his world into good and bad, nice and mean.  He is curious.  He feels and experiences life deeply.  Being his mom is refining and enlightening and exhausting in such wonderful ways.

I loved the name Luke for its meaning of "light".  I see the light he brings into our lives everyday, and I'm so grateful.

State of my Heart

Oh, my tears.  They have fallen all over town the past month : on an early morning jog, at tea with friends, behind my sunglasses on the school playground, making dinner.

I can look back on my adult life and see the pattern now : my first year teaching, the year following Vivian's birth, Vivian's first couple of years at the school for the deaf, my pregnancy with Luke, and now.  These were all seasons of unknowns that felt uncomfortable and unsettling.  I long for it to be easier for me to wade through these vulnerable times, to not feel it all so deeply, to not emotionally exhaust myself by being - well - me. These pesky tears that spring up at the most inopportune moments and demand to fall down my face are my periodic release from the tense, anxious worry that is the default state of my mind and heart these days.

The truth is, this transition to mainstream kindergarten is harder than I expected (and I didn't expect it to be easy).  Vivian is weathering it well, with her signature mix of tender feistiness and open hearted-ness.  I am weathering it not as well, with my signature tears and literal heartache.  I am fighting my flight tendencies and constantly reminding myself to take the long view (which tends to be my specialty and brings me peace - but I can't seem to stay in that headspace too long these days).

It's that time again : to be brave (my mantra all summer), to grow and learn while experiencing something that matters so deeply to me. But another part of me drags its feet and says "I don't wanna!"  I don't want it to be so hard.  I don't want to wonder and doubt.  I don't want it to hurt.  I want it to be easier.  

This post has been sitting here, unfinished (like so many of my posts from the past few years) for a couple of weeks now.  There isn't a neat and tidy way to conclude a missive on what basically describes the human condition.  I usually land at gratitude - for this life, for the unique mortal experience to grow and be and do better - even when I don't wanna.

Vivian {6}

This girl, who :

spontaneously shares her love all the live long day

plans things such as "like and love" parties for her daddy, with a dinner, dessert, and "like and love" comments for Vince like, "I like that you're funny and I love that you're in our family - we wouldn't be a family without you."

asks for a hug when she needs one - to be grounded, take a breather, get through a tough spot

wants to talk to me all the time - about my childhood, about hers, about our future, about her imaginary world, about the things we have in common (for example, we both like : reading, quiet, sweet treats, sunrises and sunsets)

oozes enthusiasm for the little things in life

has a kind and loving heart that I find myself wanting to protect fiercely (and I mean fiercely!)

turned six while we were in Pinecrest.

She slept in on August 9 - when Vince and I first heard her stirring, we looked at the clock and saw it was just about 8:23 in the morning, the time she entered this world six years ago.  She came down the cabin stairs with her fabulous bedhead, her delighted smile and fell into my arms for the most beautiful embrace.  After quiet time she asked for a "fancy hairstyle", hence the curly gift ribbons in her hair.

This post has been sitting here, unfinished, for two weeks because I can't find the words to sum it up.  So, without summary as my goal, I'll say that I am so grateful this is the girl who made me a mother.  I am a better, softer, stronger, more loving woman for it.  It is not her job to refine me, but she inspires me to do that work for myself.  Six years of Vivian - I'll just shake my head in awe and gratitude and conclude with some pictures.  

I love lake life.  I love that it's simple and slow.  Pinecrest Lake has my heart.  

We spent an August week in a quintessential Pinecrest cabin.  We woke up each morning, ate some breakfast, plunked ourselves down at the lake, played, snacked some more, read, people watched, meandered back to the cabin for afternoon naps, enjoyed happy hour on the front deck, had campfires in the backyard, put the kids to bed, sipped bourbon with giant ice cubes and stargazed on the front deck, then fell into bed tired and happy each night.  (Please note that there were meltdowns and whining, too - but funny how memory softens that little bit of reality, ahem.) The days ran together, with very little to differentiate one from the next.  But to me, that's a vacation - I want to be plunked somewhere beautiful and healing and have nothing to distract me from just enjoying it.

our view every day during beach time

this boy is so happy in water

lake conversations

my parents set up camp at the lake each morning so we'd get our fave spot

I want to be there. Now. (Please.)

beach cuddles

happy

snack shack visits

sisters!

Viv loves her quiet time

I just couldn't keep my eyes open

capturing s'more madness...

that was crazy sticky messy - embrace it

party boat!

Tio and Vivian as party boat co-captains

happy hour on the boat in dolphin cove (sarah and I named this little lake corner that in our youth)

sigh

Vince and I celebrated 6 years of parenthood with a solo hike around the lake

 

last night happy hour on the lake with cutie pie parents!

epic family picture (it was happy hour, natch) - my kids are the fourth generation to love Pinecrest Lake