Category Archives: Nature

My Brain Hurts Sometimes

Today Bean asked, “What is a symbol?”

I tried to answer. A symbol is a small picture that represents a thing that has a certain meaning. The letter T for the “t” sound, for example. Words are symbols. A red light is a symbol, telling people to make their car stop at it, while a yellow light means to slow down and a green one to go. A logo — like the eagle on the side of the mail truck — is a symbol for the company that is called the U.S. Postal Service. A picture of a heart means love. Candy canes are symbols for Christmas.

Then she asked, “What is the symbol for the universe?”

Wow! I told her there are many symbols — religious ones, scientific ones, artistic ones — but that the universe was sooooooo big that no one symbol can completely show what the universe is or means.

That seemed to satisfy her for that moment. More stuff for that growing brain to think about!

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A Day of Doing

What a busy day we’ve had. First we began with an alphabet craft project, the letter L, for leaves and ladder.

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Then we went and got haircuts. After that, we went to the grocery store with $5 of Bean’s money (from her aunt) to purchase food for the food bank. First Bean chose three bags of rice:

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She tried to move the basket down the aisle, but it’s big and she had to choo-choo it:

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Next she chose two bags of beans:

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After the grocery store, we went to the mall to buy gifts for the Family Giving Tree. Bean wanted to choose two little girls her age. One wanted “anything princess” and the other wanted a child’s DVD.

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We went to Target, where Bean demonstrated her penguin walk:

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Then her eye was caught by a big pink box of temptation. I reminded her of our purpose for being in the store and said that pretty soon Santa would come, and other gifts would come from family members, and so to be patient. She selected Finding Nemo and a Beauty and the Beast Deluxe Bag (small dolls and dresses with a horse and carriage).

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We purchased the items and brought them back to the tree, where they will be picked up tomorrow. All that shopping made us hungry, so Bean asked to go to Popeye’s for rice and beans and french fries. We used to eat there a lot when we lived close by; since we were near, we went. We had a leisurely lunch.

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Then we went home, where I raked the leaves in the front yard. It was Bean’s first encounter with a pile of leaves, and she loved it! See the sheer joy:

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And leaves in her pigtails:

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This is all I had hoped for Bean’s childhood — the same joys I was privileged to encounter in my own:

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She has now crashed for a late afternoon nap, and I’m savoring a quiet moment myself.

Autumn Collage

Bean started this by drawing branches with a green marker. Then we went to town with glue (I helped squeeze) and she chose what to put where and put stuff all over. We’re doing a lot of crafts lately, especially because Hub is out of town and we are together almost 24/7 (except for sleep).

Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.

–Stanley Horowitz

autumn collage

How We Get Here Part 2: The Identity Project

To continue with my exploration (see this and this), I’m posting some thoughts from Singh’s book. I’m not certain I have the energy to do more than quote her, as I’m emotionally buffeted by some personal family issues lately (on both sides of our family).

So, we are born and we grow. We encounter “splits” in our being as we develop and the ego grows. Who we are narrows into mostly mind. We focus on developing language, rationality, competency within our world. Language is so powerful, so immersive, that we tend to forget we are in it. We mistake it, and thought, for reality. Our culture, the biosocial band, is a filter of myths, stories, and worldview that we are born into. We have not only a self, but a self-image. The ego is “an identity that conceives of itself as a separate and inner entity, existing inside the body somewhere in the region of the head, and assumes it is commanding the body from on high.” Singh continues:

We all believe and act as if our identity were something with substance, with reality, and with enduring characteristics. In point of fact, however, our identity is nothing more than who we think we are at any moment in time, a compendium of inner desires, aversions, memories, and tightly interwoven beliefs. Identity is something that exists only in being conceived.

We talk to ourselves incessantly to establish a sense of our existence. We narrate our lives, issue judgments, articulate opinions, engage fantasies, and chatter to ourselves constantly in our heads. We believe our identity is our name, occupation, relationships, diplomas, biography, etc. We are capable of introspection and self-reflection.

When the adolescent ego begins to look at itself, it encounters an existential abyss of fundamental dimension. When it begins to look inside, it knows that it is, but hard as it tries, it can never quite grasp what exactly it is. In some vague and slightly nauseating, slightly terrifying way, the mental ego senses its incompleteness, the flimsiness of illusion upon which it is constructed. The abyss is quickly side-stepped.

And where do we go as we dodge away? We embark upon the identity project.

The identity project, which arises at first out of defensiveness against terror, becomes a lifelong endeavor. We choose a persona (or several over time) and focus on becoming that. It might arise from our profession or relationships. For example, I was a a perpetual student and later a therapist. I was a single woman and am now a wife and mother. We work to solidify and secure these concepts of ourselves. And you know what? We achieve great things in this.

The level of ego is an elevated and encompassing level of consciousness — quite an achievement for our evolving and beloved species. Certainly, hosannas can be shouted for what we have achieved in our identity projects wiht the use of our faculties and talents. We have become capable, technological selves, acting upon the world in ways that further our own evolution. We have quintessentially lifted ourselves by our bootstraps.

And yet, we also create our own dramas, our own suffering. We are embroiled in the soap opera, forgetting that we are not the show. We are more than that, but we have forgotten.

Most of us plateau here, until we are informed that we are terminal and have a short time to live. Then we face the fact that we (as defined by our ego) are not in control. Nor are we complete or whole. While this terrifies us, it is actually good news. We’ll get to go home. And for some of us, we find a way to go home before we leave our bodies, through a dedication to meditation over many many years.

This is an extremely simplified synopsis of the journey into ego in Singh’s book. As I read it, I had an understanding that exploded between my eyes (in my third eye?). I get what Jesus meant. He was trying to enlighten people, to help them understand that this is not all that is, but that as long as we cling to our “treasures on earth,” we’ll not see this. His death was a way of showing what the ego must endure — its annihilation — which is required before we can transcend to unity with the Ground of Being. And I knew this, growing up I understood this, but it was laden with fear and ideas of hell and punishment and worthlessness. Later on it was tarnished by the stupidity of the simplistic “born again” prayers/positions espoused by the churches I was in. It was like buying eternal life insurance. Say these words and all is forgiven, but the focus on “being saved” from my sins and from damnation was misleading and eventually rang hollow for me.

The mental ego must die before true life, whole life, heaven, nirvana is found. And everybody will enter whole life, find unity, because every body dies. Buddha said it. Jesus said it. Many prior and subsequent mystics and philosophers have said it. The message is we each will get there, and we don’t have to wait until we are dying to do so (or to try). We can arrive at enlightenment; we can be born again. What does that really mean? What is that really like? What is transpersonal consciousness? What is connection with the Ground of Being/God/Unity? The ego, the identity we cling to, is deeply established. It must actually confront its fear of death (which pretty much qualifies as hell for me) as we travel the path of return. We will only know as we go.

I don’t even know if I should be writing all this here. It’s not polished. I’m tired and have little time for finesse. But that’s what I’ve got, folks.

New Version

If you were raised in the Christian tradition, read this prayer below and see if it rings true for you, and if it seems familiar.

Radiant One, You shine within us, outside us —
even darkness shines when we remember.

Focus your light within us — make it useful!

Create your reign of unity now!

Create in me a divine cooperation: from
many selves, one voice, one action.

Help us fulfill what lies within the circle
of our lives; each day we ask no more, no less.

Loose the cords of mistakes binding us as we
release the strands we hold of others’ guilt.

Don’t let us enter forgetfulness,
the temptation of false appearances.

Truly — power to these statements —
may they be the ground from which
all my actions grow.

The above is a translation of the Lord’s Prayer from the original Aramaic. I find it liberating, and fascinating to see a greater truth in this version than in the stilted (though much simpler to memorize) version I grew up with. This was synthesized from a book of various interpretations entitled Prayers of the Cosmos: Reflections on the Original Meaning of Jesus’s Words, by Neil Douglas-Klotz. For a line-by-line comparison, see below. Continue reading

Spirit

Back in 2004, when my father-in-law was gravely ill, I happened across a book that I was compelled to buy: The Grace in Dying: How We Are Transformed Spiritually as We Die, by Kathleen D. Singh. I began to read it, and in the introduction the author suggested that if the reader was in the process of dying or reading this because a loved one is dying, to do the following: know that you are safe, all is well, and put the book down.

I took her advice. Four months later my father-in-law died, and I was with him for his last week nearly 24/7. It was a daunting, draining experience. I watched him take his last breath. In the process of his dying, it occurred to me that it seemed much like a labor. And having had a child since, I know it is indeed labor. But what, I wonder, is in the process of happening? Is dying just dying? The lights simply go out? What happens to the entity called “me, myself, or I”; is it really annihilated?

Or is it a transition, a birthing into something else?

I was raised religiously and have traversed a varied spiritual path. In recent years I’ve applied the term “atheist” to myself, though “agnostic” is probably more accurate. I do not need “god” as humans are able to articulate the term; I believe the universe is marvelous, and science is a way to explore it all, and isn’t that miracle enough? I am drawn to Buddhism, particularly Zen Buddhism, although I have not become a practitioner yet.

However, I did have a remarkable experience back in 1996 that at the time, I believed (as much as I could believe, which was really a process of trying to convince myself to believe) was the Holy Spirit. When I left the Christian religion (for the second time in my life), I categorized the experience as an anomaly, as an experience of self-hypnosis or psychological wish fulfillment.

I was a member of a conservative, bible-based, fundamental Christian church. The story behind the path that led me to that after years of atheism can be read here. Anyhow, one Saturday evening I remained after service. It was common for members to remain and pray with each other. This was a church where people sometimes experienced the “baptism of the Holy Spirit,” evidenced sometimes by people speaking in tongues (seeming to babble) and being filled with the Spirit, evidenced by joyous, continuous laughter. Not hysterics, not banshee laughing, just a robust laugh as one would do watching a funny show.

One evening a woman sat on the floor experiencing this laughter. I observed awhile, curious. Another woman came over and asked, “Would you like to join and be filled with the Holy Spirit?” I answered yes, but expressed a worry that it wouldn’t “take.” She said, “Just trust. Let thoughts and worries go and just be with whatever is.”

I sat next to the spirit-filled woman, put my hand on her arm, closed my eyes, and waited. To my wonder, I felt a tingling warmth from her enter my hand and flow up my right arm into my body. Whatever words I summon to describe the experience won’t do it justice, but here goes: As I was filled with this feeling, I felt light, both weightless and incandescent. I began to feel a laugh bubbling up in me. I allowed it to come forth. I sat for however long, bathed in this energy, laughing gently, feeling joy. At the same time, I also felt a part of me was still there, observing. I was not generating or creating this. Nothing was forced by me. At the same time, I did not feel “possessed” or taken over; I still felt I had agency. It was an experience unlike anything I’ve known before or since.

At some point I felt satiated, full, and decided I was done. I removed my hand from the woman’s arm and opened my eyes. I felt new. I felt connected, united with myself and with everything. As I walked, my feet connected in a way that felt like I was the earth and the earth was me. I had a feeling of well-being, life, and love. This feeling remained with me for many hours. After the night’s sleep, it had dissipated. I did not seek this encounter again, and one year later I came to terms that I did not agree with aspects of this church’s dogma and no longer wanted to pretend I did. But I remembered this experience and cherished it awhile.

Then life happened, and the incident faded. Whenever I thought about it, I lumped it in the “I’m not certain what that was but it probably wasn’t real” category. Except… it felt real, and it still resonates like an authentic experience, an encounter with the energy that makes up the universe. While I don’t believe in an anthropomorphic god, I do believe there is something that makes the universe go, something science does not explain completely yet, that it is real, we are made of it, and that we can access a connection with it. (As Carl Sagan said, “We are star stuff.”)

And now I have reopened Kathleen Singh’s book to face the question of dying, of what it’s about and what might follow. The experience I had in 1996 was a glimpse. My hunch is that this connection is possible, is accessible via meditation practice over many years, and that it is our destination at the moment the body dies. As I read her book I will process some of my reactions here.

Another Trip Around the Sun

Although Bean’s birthday is actually the 8th, we are having a party tomorrow with friends. (And later this week the preschool class will sing happy birthday to her, and at the end of the week she will have another party with her grandparents and aunt in NY!)

My baby is no more. She adamantly rejects that term.

Mornings have changed. I used to get her out of the crib and cuddle and rock with her a good 15-30 minutes in the morning. She’d wrap her arms around me. Even after she got the toddler bed, she stayed in it. I’d hear her call for me, go in and scoop her up, and have our cuddle. (This would also happen after her nap.) In the past ten days Bean has taken to getting out of bed, knocking on her bedroom door (she likes it closed but hasn’t figured how to open it yet), calling for me: “Mommy?! It’s the morning of a new day! Come get me!” I open the door and barely get a hug before she charges out; or, if the cat scoots into her room when I do, she launches herself at Stella to give her hugs and kisses before announcing it’s time to feed Stella and offer treats.

As of Monday, she has dropped her daily nap. I miss rocking and singing to her. I tried to encourage her to just rock with me, not to nap, but she refused — vociferously. I also miss the break for myself. Not being a child who takes well to being confined, she will not have quiet time in her room. Well, she will play there of her own volition, but I haven’t managed to convince her that she should be in there alone for an hour at the former nap time. We are working out how to shift gears and give her some down time after lunch (and me too). By late afternoon she is slightly off-kilter, a little clumsy, rubbing her eyes, clearly tired, prone to crankiness, a bit hyper, but she is done with naps.

Since Husband’s commute is now so bad that he doesn’t get home until about 7 p.m., I’d been worried about what would happen to our family time once she dropped naps. We also haven’t been able to eat many evening meals together anymore, because she just can’t wait much beyond 6 p.m. for dinner. So Bean and I eat together, then I steer her toward a bath. Husband gets home and eats dinner while I bathe her, and then he has about half an hour to read her a book and play a little before rocking her down for the night. She conks out suddenly at about 8 or 8:15 p.m. and sleeps through until 7 a.m. Then we do it all again!

My beautiful girl is nearly three. Can it be?

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A Full Weekend

The weekend was fast! So much happened. We went to a toy store and bought a tricycle that one of Bean’s relatives is giving for her third birthday. The funny thing about all this is that in the store, the only toys that captivated Bean were the stuffed animals. She was hugging them, playing with them, using her imagination and having them say and do things. She had zero interest in the trike at the time, and even less interest in the other stuff packed into the small store. Makes me wonder when we’ll be getting a dog, since that is her very favorite of all time beloved animal. However, she did get into the trike once we got home.

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Then later in the evening, we made our first backyard campfire. We were waiting until it was dark enough early enough so we could still have a reasonable bedtime. The fire pit was a housewarming gift from a relative. (Hey EP, it might look different to you, and that’s because it is. The first one was just huge for our patio space, so we exchanged that for the one in the photo.) We roasted marshmallows, which Bean decided she didn’t like. She likes them uncooked. And she likes chocolate. And graham crackers. Just not all together in the form of a s’more. Mmmmm, I enjoyed some!

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Bean was learning about heat radiation and how to figure out the safest distance.

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This evening I was puttering in the garden, and I gasped when I saw the flower below. I was beginning to wonder if they’d ever bloom. Bean calls them Morning Glorias. It was the first batch of seeds we planted right after we moved in. I see a ton of buds on the vines now, so we’re in for a full bloom soon.

our first "morning gloria"

From Our Garden

The first week of June, Bean and I planted seeds, a heritage seed package stating it was designed to attract butterflies and hummingbirds. We have a lot of hummingbirds around. I haven’t seen many butterflies, but this is the first year we’ve planted. Tonight Bean and I picked some flowers, and here they are. (Oddly, our “Morning Glorias” have not bloomed. They’ve grown robust green leaves and vines, but no flower buds.)

from our backyard garden

Stained Glass Streamers

We made the simplest craft the other day, and it turned out so well. To make this, you need a roll of clear packing tape, some string or yarn, a hole punch, and a bunch of tissue paper of different colors cut up into small bits. Put a strip of tape on the table, sticky side facing up, and invite your child to put the paper pieces onto it. I had to tape the ends to the table to keep the strip stationary. When she feels it’s been decorated well enough, put another piece of tape, sticky side down, on top. Trim off any bits of paper sticking out of the edges. Punch a hole in one end, help your child get the yarn through the hole and then hang them outside in a tree, on a bush, off a pole — wherever you can tie them. Here they are hanging in the window for us to admire before going outside.

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Now they are in the tree, fluttering about.

floating in the tree

We watched them dance as we sat on our porch eating icy pops.

streamers in the distance

Inspiration

The moon followed me home tonight
kissing me with her brilliant light
wishing sweet dreams for my sleepy head
then tucked me gently into bed.

——

It’s a beautiful night, with a waning full moon. The heatwave has broken. A breeze blows. Lately we’ve been reading The Rainbabies, which features the beautiful Moon. (And it has an unexpected sweetness for me because the main characters are an older couple who dearly long for a child, and are given the miracle of that gift.)

Thus a small poem!

A Morning Outing

Yesterday on a neighborhood walk, Bean told me, “I want to show you the world, Mommy. The wonderful world!” She does, every day!

We live so far away from the din and havoc the comes with living in an urban area like Silicon Valley. About five miles from our home is the entrance to the Santa Teresa County Park. (There’s a trailhead about a mile from our house, but I went to the main part this time.) We see the hills from our home, so today I took Bean for a little hike. We wanted to see what nature had to offer.

Summer in California is the season of drought, dust, and death. The grasses turn “golden” (i.e., tinderbox dry and brown), and there is no rain for about five months. It is certainly not California at its prettiest. (I’m partial to the emerald green hills of the rainy season.) Here’s an example of the “hills of gold”:

the spare golden hills

And the poor parched ground:

dry ground

Nevertheless, nature knowns no season. It always exists. It’s always interesting. So we headed out on a trail…

intrepid explorer

Even during summer, flowers manage to bloom.

summer flowers

The view from on high is expansive!

the valley of din and strife

But we also had to keep our eyes sharp for other things.

warning

Looking around reveals interesting shapes…

beautiful tree

And glimpses of a bird soaring high in the sky (that teeny dot in the blue is not dust on your screen!).

hawk in the distant sky

Then we were treated to a surprise! A turkey vulture perched on a dead tree, I guess airing its wings. It sat still for several minutes like this!

hawk airing its wings

Once it flew away, we returned our attention to the path.

looking closer

We found a branch covered with lichen. Such interesting colors and textures!

found branch

And we also found some pinecones and hardened pine tree sap. We brought the rock of resin home for later exploration and research.

crystallized tree sap

At the end of our walk, we ate a snack at a picnic table. On the way home, I asked Bean what her favorite part of our adventure was. She said it was “sitting and looking.” It was so quiet and breezy there. A lovely Monday morning.

Give Way

This is perfect.

Being Human

I wonder if the sun debates dawn
some mornings
not wanting to rise
out of bed
from under the down-feather horizon

If the sky grows tired
of being everywhere at once
adapting to the mood swings of the weather

If the clouds drift off
trying to hold themselves together
make deals with gravity
to loiter a little longer

I wonder if rain is scared
of falling
if it has trouble letting go
If snowflakes get sick
of being perfect all the time
each one trying to be one-of-a-kind

I wonder if stars wish
upon themselves before they die
if they need to teach their young to shine

I wonder if shadows long
to once feel the sun
if they get lost in the shuffle
not knowing where they’re from

I wonder if sunrise and sunset
respect each other
even though they’ve never met

If volcanoes get stressed
If storms have regrets
If compost believes in life after death

I wonder if breath ever thinks
about suicide
I wonder if the wind just wants to sit
still sometimes
and watch the world pass by

If smoke was born knowing how to rise
If rainbows get shy backstage
not sure if their colors match right

I wonder if lightning sets an alarm clock
to know when to crack
If rivers ever stop
and think of turning back

If streams meet the wrong sea
and their whole lives run offtrack
I wonder if the snow wants to be black

If the soil thinks she’s too dark
If butterflies want to cover up their marks
If rocks are self-conscious of their weight
If mountains are insecure of their strength

I wonder if waves get discouraged
crawling up the sand
only to be pulled back again
to where they began

I wonder if land feels stepped upon
If sand feels insignificant
If trees need to question their lovers
to know where they stand

If branches waver in the crossroads
unsure of which way to grow
If the leaves understand they’re replaceable
and still dance when the wind blows

I wonder where the moon goes when she is hiding
I want to find her there
and watch the ocean
spin from a distance
Listen to her
stir in her sleep

effort give way to existence

Naima Penniman

Blazing By

The summer speeds along. It’s astonishing! Our transition into the new home continues. Bean, especially, has difficulty. Her sleeping habits are regular again. However, she has zero interest in being away from me, ever (even for me to be in another part of the house sometimes), and she is especially rejecting of others. It started right after the move, with her Grandma Kay. Whenever Kay would come near her, she told grandma to go into another room, to go away.

One of my sisters visited later in June, and Bean was pretty horrible to her too. After the first day in which Bean was shy and sweet, she would raise her voice to her aunt. “Don’t say words!” “Go away!” “Don’t look at me!” These demands were accompanied by screeching. (Bean didn’t have the same feelings toward her uncle, however; he was just nifty.) We took the opportunity to admonish her about being kind, but the bottom line is that in this new house and new life there was an unfamiliar person taking a lot of my attention and time, and this just didn’t sit well with Bean.

A couple weeks ago a friend of mine came to visit, and Bean behaved similarly. She warmed up to my friend a bit, but would bluntly state her wishes too, such as “Don’t talk to me.” Then last Friday, when her beloved babysitter came for the first time in a month, she decided the babysitter was no good either. After about 45 minutes with A__, she didn’t want the babysitter to sit in the same room, or touch any of her toys, and so on. I got a call about an hour before I was due home; A__ informing me what was happening to let me know. I decided that as long as Bean was safe (not self-injuring or something), that I would come home at my planned time. When I came home she’d been crying and wailing for me and clung to me.

She’s even been mean to her father in this way. And increasingly, Bean says, “I want to go back to the old house.” I conclude that this has been a seismic shift for her. If she can be taken away from her home, then what about Mommy? What if Mommy is taken away, or she is taken from Mommy? Many days she doesn’t want to go anywhere, sometimes not even outside. Not to the grocery store, the park, for a walk. Pushing her is a catalyst for a tantrum; then everyone is miserable, so what’s the point?

And the tantrums! Oh, they have become ever more voluble and frequent.

However, it’s not all negative stuff. Bean is as sweet, playful, and loving as ever — even more so. So much change in a little life…

We’ve done a few activities, such as:

Berry picking in June!

our bounty

“Washing” windows:

think she'll be willing to do this when she's a teen?

Baking cakes (and licking batter off the beater):

licking the batter off the beater!

Having backyard picnics:

the joy of a backyard

Enjoying the sprinkler:

sprinkler fun

And making stuff, like sand clay and painting birdhouses! Bean made the bowl with a little shaping help from me, and I made the candle holder.

sand clay

I painted the white coat and Bean added her flair:

birdhouse 1

Onward to August!

On A Clear Day…

uvas reservoir

This is a photo of Uvas Reservoir. It was an impeccably beautiful day, taken during my sister and brother-in-law’s visit in June. I want to come here often with Bean (once she decides she wants to leave her comfortable home and explore the world).

Can it be July? Already?

Steps Forward

Bean moves steadily from toddlerhood toward childhood.

Yesterday in the bath, Bean said she was performing a science experiment. She has Munchkin foam letters, and they stick to surfaces in the tub and the stall walls. So she took the letter J and put it on her head to see if it would stick. She shook her head, and it fell off. She did this four or five times. Then she said, “Let’s see if the letter L will stick.” She repeated the procedure, and indeed it did! (My occasional guilt for allowing her to watch television in the early morning was alleviated in this moment. She learns a great deal from her favorite shows: Caillou, Curious George, Olivia, Word World, Sesame Street, Between the Lions, and My Friends Tigger & Pooh.)

At the same time, she still needs lots of cuddling and mothering and fathering. Her sleep remains disrupted from the move. I added a makeshift curtain to her window to help darken the room a bit. The challenge, it seems, is that on days she naps she has difficulty falling asleep, and on days she does not nap she falls asleep early and well but it is a long, cranky, and sometimes tearful afternoon and evening until then!

Last night I rocked and sang to her, and she was all wiggles and squirms. After 25 minutes of this I told her it was time to go to sleep and I put her in the crib. She protested with a whine. I covered her and said nighty-night. Then I left. The whining continued. I did some chores in the kitchen as the whining progressed to crying. First it was protest crying — not entirely real, not fully committed — but after half an hour she was crying at full bore.

I went to her and asked, “What’s with all this llama drama?” (See books by Anna Dewdney for reference.) She asked for a tissue to blow her nose, and then I rocked her. As she lay in my arms with a tear-streaked face, she spoke in a tremulous voice. She said she’d felt alone and that she was crying like a baby so I would come back. She said she had a boo-boo on her knee, and so I kissed it. Then she explained how the Kleenex helps get the boogers out of her nose.

So I rocked and sang again, for about 25 minutes, and she snuggled against me and fell asleep. At 9:20 I put her down in the crib, and she slept until 6:45 (earlier than usual, but much better than 5:20 a.m.!)

In a few moments we’ll head out to a farm and pick berries with new friends from down the street. The boys are 7 and 5, and they love Bean and (so far) play well with her. I notice that Bean really plays well with older kids who understand turn-taking and sharing. She doesn’t follow game rules very well yet and isn’t as organized, but she has more fun with kids who don’t grab toys from her and understand when she “uses her words.” The extra benefit of these new friends is that I really really like their mom!

Hidden Blessings

It had been a rough winter for Bean. She got sick nearly every month since September (and coincidentally she started preschool one day a week that month), had two bouts of pneumonia, and required treatments to help her breathe. The latest illness began on Mother’s Day, and by Thursday she was in a spiral of non-stop coughing. I mean that literally. She couldn’t utter a sentence without coughing between words. She couldn’t eat; she coughed so much and so hard she vomited. She hardly slept. The doctor had me bring her in and gave her breathing treatment, then sent us home with a prescription for prednisone and albuterol treatments. We also discussed whether to forgo attending preschool in the fall.

At our follow-up appointment on Tuesday, we discussed the situation. It turns out that Bean has asthma. This may be something she outgrows, as her respiratory system gets bigger and her immunity builds. She’s very petite. We have an asthma plan. When she’s healthy, it’s the green zone, and we need not do anything. At the sign of any sickness (fever, runny nose, sneezing, congestion, coughing — any one of these) we enter the yellow zone. We are to give her albuterol every four hours round the clock and prednisone twice a day until the cold goes away.

However, if she’s in the yellow zone more than a week, or she falls into a coughing spiral as she has, we enter the red zone and need to seek emergency attention — Urgent Care if they’re open, the ER if not.

At first I felt a little sad about pulling her out of preschool. I really want her to have the social outlet, and I want it too. The doctor pointed out, though, that if she’s sick all the time, she can’t get the social contact anyway. And preschool is a lot more exposure to illness than small play-dates with friends. So, I set about creating an at-home curriculum for us next year: reading/phonics, science, art & craft, music, games, adventure days. I’ll invite a couple friends over to join us now and then. And after more pondering, I realize that I have a gift. Soon enough, Bean will go to school five days a week and enter into her own life away from me. I have the privilege of her company for another year, at least, and maybe two.

I just returned from a day-long retreat with my friend Karen, where I realized something else. We’ve resorted to doing “puffs” — breathing ten times from a little chamber where the medicine is squirted into — because she fought the breathing treatments that took ten minutes every time. And I realized, today, that by sitting with her and helping her count breaths to ten, I am setting the foundation for her to learn how to settle herself and become aware of breath. It also helps me to stop and breathe, and be quiet. Breathing is the foundation of meditation, which leads to attention, which leads to love, which leads to patience, which leads to forgiveness, which leads to peace.

So what first seems like a hindrance has turned out to have aspects to appreciate. I’m grateful for that.

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I have written this post quickly, because my life is in flux and I have to give my attention to other things: dinner, and packing. I feel eloquence is lacking in the above reflection, but it will have to do. We move on Tuesday! So much to do before that!