Writing

I love words. I love them. I love how people have "voices" in the written word and I love how certain people can craft the most perfect sentence that it sends literal shivers down my spine. Or better yet, when I feel like a whole new area of my brain opened up from a simple sentence or idea.

I want to write. I've been told I write much like I speak. (It is what it is.) I want to write more. I want to write creatively. I want to write a book. But when I think about what I want to write about, I feel like I don't have enough to say to fill a blog post much less a full book. Then, there are countless sleepless nights where my brain is spinning so hard and fast, I swear smoke is coming from my ears. There are moments with special people, when I feel at ease and comfortable and I have so many ideas and so much to say that there aren't enough hours in the night, or wine in the house, to get all of it out of me.

Then, I prepare to write. I stare blankly at my screen and every intelligible thought running through my head has suddenly disappeared. Where have all my thoughts gone? For the longest time, I anguished over this. Why is there this need in me to write and why, when I try to write, I can't find anything to say?

Today, I realized what the problem is: fear. I am afraid that my thoughts and words are not profound 'enough.' I am afraid that I will be tied to those words forever: that those words are absolute truth for me, forever. When the truth is: I am a constantly evolving, learning, changing being and I can change my mind. I can see things from another view. I can learn and decide that maybe I wasn't right. Sometimes, I am afraid I will be judged. I have thin skin and criticism hurts, and I do not actively seek out pain. Writing whatever is in my head and heart and putting it "out there" is almost actively seeking pain.

Still... I want to write.

Yesss.

And that's why I love you

Ruby is in her third year of dance class. This fall she was, again, in a class for 3/4 year olds and it was clear she was not being challenged and losing interest. So, I signed her up for the 5/6 year old class for this spring semester.

The thing about Ruby is that it seems music speaks to her. Maybe it does with all kids, I don't know. She loves to dance and feels music in her body. She has rhythm and learns choreography incredibly easy. She memorizes words to songs after hearing them 2 or 3 times. She blooms with music. She has much more interest in it than I have ever had and there has been more than a couple of occasions where I pick her up at school and she is dancing in the middle of a circle of friends and parents watching her.

Last night, she had her first class with the 5 to 6 year olds (Ruby turns 5 in a few days). She was a tad nervous, as she didn't know any of the other kids or the dance instructor. I was grateful as the instructor saw her nervousness and asked the other kids to introduce themselves to Ruby, which they did shyly. When they began dancing, all I could think was "UH. OH." The ballet moves were intricate with names neither Ruby or I had ever heard before. The footwork was complex and my stomach flopped, thinking I'd made another parenting mistake. I also worried that Ruby would get frustrated and give up, as she can sometimes be a perfectionist. But, I continued to nervously watch.

Ruby's eyes never left her instructor. The first few tries, she would mess up her step or forget to point her toes, but she watched her instructor and try again and soon enough she had it. Her eyes literally did not leave her instructor. She would watch so hard, that if another kid moved in her line of vision, Ruby would move up to stand directly next to her teacher so her view would not be obstructed. She was glued. At one point, they were doing a "ballet obstacle course" with a series of four ballet "moves" (I'm not a ballerina and am still earning the terminology) in sequence. These moves would be difficult for me to do without some practice - and there was my daughter, in line with all of these bigger girls, stumbling, struggling at times, but smiling... working hard and focusing intently... Then the song "True Colors" (by Justin Timberlake and Anna Kendrick—Trolls, Ruby's favorite) played - and I watched my girl working so hard, the tears just came.

It wasn't that Ruby did so well. It wasn't that my daughter is a dancer. It certainly wasn't that some dreams of mine are being fulfilled.

It was seeing her joy, her focus and concentration, her hard work. The small smile of satisfaction she had when she did the move right and persistence to get the next one right. I was so proud of her.

Bloom, honey. Bloom.

In a world full of people

You can lose sight of it all

And the darkness inside of you

Can make you feel so small

But I see your true colors

Shining through

I see your true colors

And that's why I love you

So don't be afraid to let them show

Recently, there was a story in the news about a newborn baby found in the St. Paul Cathedral. A cathedral worker found the brand new baby, the baby was later named after him. The police who responded had gone to buy the baby pajamas and blankets after the baby was brought to the hospital. The baby has been turned over to DHS and will hopefully be adopted by a loving family.

The mother... I think about her. I think about how she is healing, and what circumstances brought her to leave her baby at the cathedral. I think about her heart and I hope she is not hurting so badly. I am tempted to go on about how brutal life can be. Circumstances forcing women to make choices like that... I think of the families torn apart at Aleppo and a million other places in the world... but then, I cannot bear it. I cannot bear to think of all the babies and children in this world who do not have safe, content homes to grow up in. I want to take all of them and love them and raise them. (Then I remember hissing for the 100th time at Ruby this morning to get dressed, ready to rip my hair out. Some realism for breakfast, maybe.) It disturbs me so deep in my bones, all of these children who bear too much, who are scared too much, who hurt too much and I could wail at the injustice of it.

It's so awful. I feel like there's something there, in my empathy that is calling me to do something. But I don't know what it is. I don't know what to do with my hurt or where it goes. So, I think of Mother Teresa's response to how we can promote world peace: "Go home and love your family." Now, there's a start...

http://www.startribune.com/newborn-boy-left-in-laundry-basket-at-st-paul-cathedral/409784895/

2016 in review

At the start of 2016, I could feel a change coming, personally. I won't even begin to discuss the year 2016 in anything other than a personal way, as the events of 2016 globally require too many words, too many thoughts, and too much heartache for me to bear. But personally, 2016 was a year headed towards path unknown to me.

A few different things lead towards this shift for me: a settling of legal issues regarding Ruby, a new relationship, events at my work that meant I either change or leave, and a renewed hunger to create this life I feel in my heart and dream about, but for so many reasons have not created.

I began the year without resolutions but with a fistful of ideas and hope. I knew most of the "external" events in my life would evolve organically, as those things tend to do. It was my internal voice and direction that needed some work. So in January, I began an online class, Living Brave, by Brene Brown. It was a full semester, with the first half focused on her book Daring Greatly, and the second half of the semester focused on her book Rising Strong. If you've never heard of Brene or read the books, the basic gist is this: To live a brave and beautiful life, you have to be vulnerable (Daring Greatly). In being vulnerable, inevitably you will crash. Rising Strong is exactly about that: how to rise strong when you've been vulnerable and crashed and to find the courage to Dare Greatly again.

The class was no joke. Never have taken her class before, I expected less work and more "fluff." It turned out to be a lot of work, a lot of emotional "heavy lifting," writing, and more tears than I ever dreamed. But it was so worth it! I learned a ton about myself and healed some dusty corners of my heart that I didn't know needed healing. I learned a ton... and then soon came to the realization that knowledge is one thing, but putting the knowledge to work takes a ton of practice. So, I've been practicing. I've been practicing being vulnerable and I've been practicing rising strong.

Emotionally, I feel a huge shift in myself. I feel more grown up. More mature, even though my actions can sometimes betray the newfound maturity (practicing!). I feel softer, yet braver. Although so much of it feels new to me, and I go back to review my work and remember the lessons, I feel calmer. I have an innate (it feels innate) understanding that I didn't have before and it makes me feel a bit more confident. By innate, I mean so many times through the course, it was like remembering something you already knew, instead of learning something fresh. Brene commented on that several times, and I paraphrase: "You know this in your heart, but because of life circumstances and survival and the emotional guards and tactics we learn, the innate knowledge is lost."

Such good stuff. I am so glad I took the class!

In 2017, I am taking another Brene class called "The Gifts of Imperfect Parenting: A Wholehearted Revolution." So anxious to begin...

You make me so funny

Oh, my kid.

She turns 5 years old in just under 2 months. Her sense of humor is exploding and I love it. I've noticed that, developmentally, things happen in big bursts with her. Maybe that's all kids. There have been spurts when I've seen her sense of humor blossom before and I'm thrilled to see it happen again. Partly because it's so cool but also because there's nothing better than hearing her laugh.

Today we were at the park. It was 29 degrees and she was bundled the most she's been bundled yet this winter. (I admit, it's difficult getting used to the extra bulk again!) She was trying to climb this rope jungle-gym thing, and she went to raise her foot to the next rope up and with her extra bulk she couldn't lift her leg high enough, she was about 3 inches short. She tried once. Breathy chuckle. Tried again. Bubbly giggle. Tried again and didn't get any closer than her previous 2 attempts and she began to giggle so hard, I was nervous she would lose her grip and fall. I cannot fully express my delight in seeing her laugh at herself (especially at something she "failed"). I cracked up too, mostly because it was comical to see her see the humor in herself. So deliciously awesome.

In addition to those kinds of moments (there have been plenty the last week or two), she is highly conscious of the effect she has on making me laugh. I have to be careful to not laugh when she's not trying to make me laugh; which is difficult because she's naturally a super funny kid. But if she isn't trying to make me laugh, and I laugh, she gets self conscious and feels I'm laughing at her in a mocking way. We've been working on this and I've tried to explain how these situations work. She's beginning to get it now. It's so fun to be her mom.

(When she was littler she mixed up the words "funny" and "laugh." Occasionally she still does.
So instead of saying "you make me laugh" she would say "you make me funny," which is even better, I think. Another post on all the words she's used or gotten mixed up that have sent my heart aflutter.)

New Love

Yoga has always been fascinating to me but I have somewhat a love/hate relationship with it. I would love to become a dedicated yogi, but I lack the discipline, which tells me that I probably need yoga more than I realize. Anyhow, this past summer (while Ruby was away) I took a few outdoor yoga classes from an instructor who has a studio in town. The outdoor classes were held at different parks, and women of all ages stumbled up in yoga pants, messy buns, a yoga mat in one arm, a coffee cup in the other arm. I don't know if it was the yoga, the outdoors on a beautiful Saturday morning, the instructor's hippie–love vibe, or a combo, but I left those classes feeling euphoric. I found my groove in these classes.

I had taken yoga classes before and I always left a bit disappointed. Yoga is a mind–body–spirit practice and the classes I had taken felt like simply a body workout. With daily stress, a nonstop schedule, a billion things to remember, I need the mind and spirit workout also. I never went back.

Well, I follow the instructor's studio on Facebook and closely watch the schedule for upcoming classes that may fit with my life (single working mother, who can never seem to get organized enough to not feel frazzled). It never seems to work, as I would have to get childcare for the classes I would like to take and the combination of the cost for the class, the cost for a babysitter, and the organization of both = too much effort. I have stuck to the occasional practice at home with videos online and a 45 pound child hanging from my Warrior 1 or sliding under my Downward-Facing Dog.

Last week, I spotted a class that might work "Fundamentals of Yoga: ALL are welcome!" ALL? Even antsy-pantsy 4 year olds? Turns out: YES! Ruby and I went to the Fundamentals of Yoga last night, where we were taught about breath, intention, and the basic poses. It was wonderful. The class was not held at the yoga studio, but at Development Homes and we had a motley crew of participants. There were a few special-needs ladies there (with their care-takers sitting quietly to the side), a couple of elderly ladies, a couple ladies my age, and Rubes. Now, out of that crew, I suspected Ruby would be the most disruptive. I was wrong. Ruby did surprisingly well. I think it was a little slower paced for her, but overall, she did fantastic. The special-needs ladies beside me nearly had me dying from holding the laughter inside. Their little comments throughout the whole class "This is too damn hard!" - with the caretaker shushing them then correcting them "Your right leg. Right leg!" Ugh, too much for me! I was smirking inwardly the whole time.

I loved the commentary (the instructor did too) but the icing on the cake was during Savasana (or Corpse pose). The room was very dark, and the indie music was playing low. The instructor was walking slowly around the room quietly talking about intentions and sending love out into the world. Ruby squirmed quietly next to me on her mat. The special needs woman to my right whispered "I just farted."

I died. Apparently, everyone else did too.

The caretakers all got the giggles and were trying to settle down, and I lay there on my mat in the dark, silently laughing so hard the tears were falling into my hair. I died! Ruby wiggled over to me and snuggled in, then asked me why I'm crying and I silently laughed even harder. I had composed myself by the end of Savasana, but when we left and got in the car, I had to let it out. I kept thinking the exact tone she said those simple words "I just farted" accompanied by the dismay and hilarity of the care-taking ladies (the sound of their struggle, trying to compose themselves in the dark!) and I couldn't help myself. I laughed so hard I cried again.

Now, that is some good yoga. By far the best class I have been to - and I will say: my mind, body, and spirit were quite renewed afterwards!