The Kindness of Strangers...and others

I must have a look on my face right now. Gray clouds, lines of worry on my brow. A complete and total stranger asked me if I would like a hug just a moment ago.

Picking up a travel game and a cup of iced coffee at a local book store I was asked by the man behind the cash register how I was doing and, of course, I told the truth, never one to just say “Fine” and be done with it.

“Oh, it’s a challenging day,” I said, darkly, I suppose.

“What’s going on?” He asked me. And I told him.

“My son’s having surgery at the end of the week and it’s just difficult leading up to it,” I said. Wondering why I was sharing with a total stranger. What’s the point, really?

Turns out his nephew had three surgeries for scoliosis as a young child and is doing great now. He passed me my iced coffee. “Well, I hope it all works out for your son,” he said.

“It will,” I assured him/me. “It’s just difficult as it all comes bearing down,” I ended. I turned away, moving towards the side counter to add cream and pop on a cover.

He looked at me over the espresson machine on the other side of the counter. “Do you want a hug?” he asked.

Wow.

I turned him down with a smile, knowing I will soon be amongst some of my best friends at a homeschool park day and then later on the couch at our therapist’s office. It’s a day of many hugs both virtual and actual. Thankfully.

It’s Tuesday, just one day before Ben and Mark take off for Philadelphia. In less than a week Ben’s surgery will be over and he will be feeling fine, most likely. But the lead up, the waiting, the uncomfortable expectation is so difficult for all of us. This morning Ben’s first words to me after arising from bed were, “I don’t feel good.”

“What’s up?” I asked knowing it could be therapist-itis, post-playdate exhaustion, or pre-surgery blues. It was the latter. “I want a different back,” he said.

Poor guy. It’s hard to shake those blues.

The good news is I was able to arrange with the chef at Sur la Table to rearrange her curriculum to accommodate Ben’s schedule so he could take make up classes today and tomorrow (having missed two days of cooking camp a couple weeks ago due to a cold) before leaving on his journey. I dropped him off this morning in the store’s kitchen where he stood shyly eyeing the pretty teenage girls on the other side of the table as well as the pasta machines piled on the class’s work tables. “Good food and women,” I overheard him telling some friends the other day, “that’s all I need!” I predict his needs will get met this morning.

I haven’t done a very good job of predicting our needs presurgery with these most recent two. Of course, when he had his brain surgery four and a half years ago it all happened so fast I didn’t have time to prepare us. Boom, bang, bop. It was upon us. But this time and the last I had months to mark off the calendar or think about what we’d need and be going through.

As it happened, I was off the mark repeatedly. For the surgery in February I had no clue that in the two weeks leading up to the surgery I would be a germ’s worst nightmare and an absolute freak on an antibacterial crusade. We had all sorts of plans, all ultimately cancelled, during that time period that involved sitting in crowded theaters with hundreds of coughing, innocent but germ-infested citizens, or playdates with children with runny noses. I didn’t even contemplate all the germs we’d potentially encounter on the plane flight back east or the train ride from NY to Philly. It’s amazing we survived without mishap.

This time we had to take a surgery date that conflicted with a camping trip with other homeschoolers in Yosemite. I thought, “Great, one parent will go with Ben, one with the other boys.” Neat and tidy. He picked Mark to join him (“Mom’s my emotion parent, Dad’s my hospital parent.” Logical enough.) and so that was that. I was going to Yosemite. But as the time has approached not only have I grappled with the anxiety that is rolling over me about not being near him while he’s in surgery, but I realized that I will not be sleeping a lot while he’s gone, that I’d have to be focused on getting the rest of us packed up for a challenging camping trip at 9000 feet, and that once I’m in Yosemite I would be out of cell range and unable to talk to him. Clearly, this was not going to work.

I’ve rearranged things now so that Harry will be going on the trip with my good friend Laura and her son, Harry’s friend Wyatt. He’ll get the forest time he needs, attending Yosemite Institute naturalist programming for four days, surrounded by our homeschool friends the whole time. Toby and I have chosen to stay back, close to the phone, our critters and our burgeoning garden. We’ll be spending some happy and distracting time in Santa Cruz with my sister-in-law Sharon and her husband, Alan, as well. No one questioned my last minute change of plans. In fact, all of my friends agreed I was making the right decision. But the stress is much reduced.

I got an email last week from my pen-pal Rona, my emissary of immense good will from Philadelphia. Rona contacted me about a week after we’d returned from Philly in March. The mother of our beloved Dan the concierge, she had read my whole blog (Hi Rona, I know you’re reading this!!) and heard all about us and offered not only her friendship but her love and care of our family. She told me that their family was our adopted Philadelphia family and we embraced her right back. She and her husband will be taking Ben and Mark around Philly on Thursday for a (distracting and) fun tour of their city. I’m just sorry to miss the meeting.

So we are embraced. Embraced at the cash register at Copperfield’s Books, embraced by the cooking teacher at Sur la Table, embraced by our friends and relatives, original and adopted.

I’ll keep you posted.

p.s. I apologize for the lack of photos of late. Having some major technical difficulties here in my house full of IT personnel. Hope to have things ironed out in a week or two.

Sick Day

To be sure, life has not given me many opportunities to sit still of late. But today I am quiet with the tail end of a cold, the boys are tucked away nose to the screen, I'm sure, with Pokemon or Firefly or Team Fortress 2. I don't have the energy to argue, and besides, it gives me a chance to update my blog!

Both Harry and Toby returned last Sunday from weeks away at Camp Tawonga. Harry was there for three weeks as a Specialist in Training. It was energizing and fun, full of new friendships, inside jokes and new responsibilities. He seems to have thrived in so many ways while there and plans to return next year to do it again. Toby also loved camp, but he says not as much as last year. Hard to believe since his big brother was there as a staff member at the same time, but this is what he says. Harry also related to me that Toby seemed homesick a lot, even into the second week, which surprised me. Maybe it's hard to go back the second year when you have been envisioning it as a repeat of the first wonderful camp experience. Maybe it just can't live up to that memory. Anyhow, he's still talking about "next year" when he goes back, so it wasn't bad.

On this end, it is good having them home and after the initial bumpy "reentry" period life seems to be back to normal.

Ben had a particularly hard time accepting their return. Life as an only child for my middle son was quite sweet! He and I travelled to LA to visit Papa Joel and many cousins two weeks ago. We stayed at the Best Western Sunset Plaza on the Sunset Strip. The hotel had a lovely pool. Got to have an eyeful of the babes du cosmetic surgery lining the pool's edge, too. I'm sorry, but boobs just don't come like that naturally! (Ok, so I've truly become a cornpone, living in the country as I do, gray hair, no make up and definitely, no cosmetic surgery for me! I just think bodies look better au natural.) We had a good trip, saw lots of family and friends in a very short time, and spent some quality time together, too.

Last week Ben and I went camping in Mendocino with several other moms and kids. The kids played LARP (I've mentioned this before, Live Action Role Play with foam weapons, etc.) and the moms hung out together. It was a fantastic week. The moms really bonded and the boys had amazing adventures for three days straight.

Most challenging for Ben was the pain he has begun to feel as his curve gets worse. The downside of the adjustable rod technique is that while he grows it holds his spine down and it seems Ben was feeling more aches, more muscle spasms and less flexibility during his heavy play. This was new. He'd been very active until recently with both LARP and swimming. But, the length of the days playing, the intensity of the play, and the constant bashing of swords against brace and body took their toll. By the middle of the second day he was in excruciating pain.

Face white as a sheet I took him into our tent, laid him down and tried to soothe him with word and touch. Not much helped. His mood became very dark. These are such difficult days for Ben. I recall the time, in the months before his February surgery, he hid in his closet crying and wanting to kill himself. Again, he has hit the bottom, wanting to trade in his life for another issue. Being unable to engage in his favorite activity took everything out of him. "I hurt," he told me as we sat in the warm tent. "Where is the pain? Can I massage that spot?" I ask him naively. "No, Mom. I HURT. Inside. All of me." I am blown away by his ability to talk about that emotional pain. His sharing it with me. I ended up just sitting, quietly, waiting for the hurt to get more fuzzy as his energy returned.

Eventually, he went back to play with the other LARPers. He had struggled with wanting people to know his situation and wanting no one to know. Wanting accomodations and not wanting to do anything different. It's a hard line to walk. Sitting in the tent we had talked about the challenges everyone faces, that he is not alone in facing demons, overcoming obstacles to just living life. In a group of homeschoolers it's easier to find the kids with issues, of course. We tend to be a self-selected group of square pegs! But that is excellent. Especially for my boy who up until he turned 8 lived a golden life in which it all came so easily to him. Not much easy these days.

The next surgery cannot come soon enough. Two weeks and a couple days from now. He is brewing a cold, which I pray does not blossom. Any respirartory ailment could cause the surgery date to be postponed and that could mean waiting until October! I don't actually think he could do it, the pains being as severe as they are. So he is in bed, sipping chicken broth and watching movies on Netflix instant download.

I will be taking the boys camping on Sunday for a few days with our new homeschool crowd, a group of very wonderful moms and kids all seeking deeper commitments and relationships in our community. We're again going up to the Navarro River in Mendocino county, but this time just to lounge, play in the river, hike around, and roast marshmallows at night. We're packing our board games, knitting, foam weapons, and nerf guns. How well rounded!

When we return we'll be packing Ben and Mark for the journey to Philadelphia. I'm putting that aside for the moment. It's a lot to hold on to, you know?

Catching up

Foggy summer morning in our new garden.

I would have to agree with my friend Sarah who said recently that the longer you stay away from your journal the harder it is to return to it. I have definitely been remiss with this blog but life has a way of getting in the way. I have been overwhelmed by the minutiae, and unable to find enough time to gather my thoughts, cull through them, and focus on this task.

Truth be told, the main reason I didn’t write a post just after Jasmine’s wedding was that the only thing I could really talk about was slugs. Yes, slugs. SLUGS. With all the wet weather and then the warmth, the slug population in our area has skyrocketed and there are slugs everywhere. In the garden, on the front porch, all over the hay barn, on the wheelbarrow, inside the grain bin, inside the grain bag.

There were so many all over the hay barn, that I adjusted how I dressed for the task of feeding the animals every morning: cowboy hat pulled snuggly down to my ears, flannel shirt buttoned up to my neck, collar up, even as the weather warmed up. The thought of one of those slugs being shaken loose and falling onto my head and down into my clothes almost kept me from the job. They are baby slugs or a small variety, but their tininess doesn’t make them less disgusting to me. People keep saying, “Too bad you don’t have chickens” but if I did I’d then have to face the fact that chickens eat slugs and then I eat their eggs…better not to know.

Slugs on the outside of the hay barn as seen from the inside.

Above L, the hay barn. Above R, slugs as seen on the outside of the barn.

It offended me to follow such a pretty post with a post about slugs. But for a bit, that was all I could think about. So I didn’t write.

Almost three weeks later the slug fest is pretty much over and I feel that there’s enough space between the slugs and Jasmine’s wedding to proceed.

The slugs (guess I am not quite done) have been ravaging my garden as well. Despite the copper tape edging all of my raised beds and the saucers of beer that I’ve put out, there are nibbles taken out of almost every leaf and some crops have had a hard time overcoming their place in the late night buffet. The weather has changed enough that I think we’re getting ahead, the garden is bursting with new growth. I almost wrote “Maybe there’s enough for everyone” and then changed my mind. There’s not. I’m selfish about my garden. I want it all for us humans at Three Boys Farm. The tomatoes, the beans, the lettuce, the tomatillos, herbs, and nasturtiums. The pumpkins and cucumbers and squash. The flowers that the boys planted. I want it all for us! That’s why Mark and Harry built so many gorgeous gopher-proofed raised beds for me this year. No sharing! Once we start harvesting, if you’re human come on by. If you’re slug or gopher, this offer is not for you.

Summer is officially here. The camping trips, beach days, afternoons at the pool or the Russian River, and Fanwar (LARP: Live Action Role Play) events are filling the calendar. The boys sleep late while I go out to feed the animals and water the garden. I love this weather as I have always loved the beginning of summer, when you can really appreciate the change of seasons.

People ask me if we stop homeschooling for summer and I usually respond that our whole year looks more like most people’s summer vacations, so no, I don’t tell the kids, “It’s June. Stop learning.” and when September comes around, “It’s September. Start learning.” Our homeschool life IS learning. Wherever, whenever. We’re not gathering every morning to say the Pledge of Allegiance and the boys don’t sit in desks doing penmanship. There are no timed quizzes and there is no extra-credit busywork. By my bedside table are some new books that are inspiring me about science and nature journals, and one called Macbeth: for Kids to get us prepared up for the Sebastopol Shakespeare Festival next month. But no, we don’t stop for summer.

I saw some school kids the other day in town, a small gang of teens in cut-offs and tank tops, and they had the definite look of kids just set free from school. A wave of recognition swept over me, a sensation I remembered very distinctly, that feeling one has the first week of summer break. It’s pure freedom. No homework, no early morning bus rides. No pressure. I grew up in Santa Monica and those first weeks of summer were amazing because we’d grab our towels and hit the beach, just a few blocks from my home. This season was such a contrast to the rest of the year, not to mention the weeks preceding the last day of school/first day of summer break that had so much anticipation built in. The weather was warm and the ocean was calling to us.

My kids don’t have that definition in their lives even though our activities change during summer. Their lives have so much more freedom on a regular basis that they don’t chafe at the end of spring to be set loose. That makes our life different from a school-based life. Better in myriad ways, I believe, than it would be if we were sending them to school every day. But I still felt the nostalgia for the traditional when I saw those kids in town the other day.

Harry’s bags are packed and his hair is newly shorn for three weeks at Camp Tawonga. We’ll be taking him to the camp bus pickup tomorrow morning. This summer he’ll be an S-I-T, Specialist in Training, his ultimate goal is to be the arts and crafts counselor one day. We’ll miss him, but it will be a great experience for him and he has always loved Camp Tawonga. Toby will join him in a week, and is thrilled that his big brother will be a “counselor” while he’s there.

The rest of the summer holds three camping trips (two to Mendocino and one to Yosemite’s Tuolumne Meadows), cooking camp for Ben at Sur la Table, and the Homeschool Association of California’s annual conference in Sacramento.

Oh, and a surgery for Ben.

Three weeks ago we took another x-ray of Ben’s spine and found that his curve has progressed to 27 degrees, up 12 degrees from the last x-ray. This is a sign of growth. As he grows the rod is holding his ribs down and so we need to get him to Shriners Philadelphia so Dr. Cahill can get in there and adjust it. Just a centimeter…or should I say, a WHOLE centimeter! We just got the surgical date (July 30) this week and have begun to make the arrangements. Ben and Mark will be going while I’m in Yosemite with the other guys. We had two choices of dates, July or early October and the latter just felt too far away with the amount of change we’d seen in 7 weeks. Also, Ben had already opted out of the Yosemite trip, so it wasn’t a real conflict for him. Well, on one level, anyways.

I called the Ritz-Carlton yesterday. It was just like I remembered. As soon as I said who I was (speaking to the general manager’s assistant) I was greeted with, “OH!! How is BEN?! Everyone is asking about him!!” Within minutes the wheels were in motion and a “superior” room was booked for us and I was arranging for our star to have a tour of the restaurant kitchen one of the days he’s there. Those folks are so incredible. They want to do anything to make Ben happy, it’s truly incredible. Ben and I were interviewed recently for the Philadelphia Inquirer about our stay there, since now the hotel has developed a special program called the Medical Concierge, to help people staying there who are in Philly for medical treatments. Ben’s quote is priceless (“They treated me like a god”), and his story was the lead story in the article. His picture (from my blog) graced the front page of the newspaper. If he was a rock star there before, he’s a mega star now. I’m sure he and Mark will really get the royal treatment.

That helps a bit, but this is Ben’s personal rollercoaster of emotions and he’s having a hard time of it. Just when he was feeling really good physically (running around and battling with foam swords at Fanwar events, and rolling and jumping into swimming pools), he’s facing down his demons again. July 30th is just around the corner, but it feels like February 15th was not so long ago. This surgery should be much less difficult, with fewer hours under anesthesia, only a day in the hospital, less pain, if all goes well. However, as much as he enjoys seeing his friends and fans and being pampered at the Ritz-Carlton, I think he’d trade it away in an instant to have what he calls a normal life. He’s had seven surgeries in his 12 years, with more to come, and that is bitter for him. For his mama, too.

If you’ve made it this far through my post, I will say thank you. And, I promise to try to keep up with my posts, even if it means following up beautiful and sweet with disgusting and slimy. This, is my life. I need to appreciate the definition!

A wedding

I went to a wedding yesterday. It felt like a milestone for me, but of course, I was only an innocent bystander. Jasmine, the bride. Now it was a milestone for her.

I was weepy all day. In fact, I was a wreck. I cried on and off the whole two hour drive down to Walnut Creek. I cried as I sat waiting for the festivities to begin. I cried every time I hugged that girl. So much emotion welled up in me. I was holding some powerful personal history in my heart that day.

On the way down Mark made sure I was wearing waterproof mascara. He's so thoughtful, for a boy! He even carried the kleenex for me.

Jasmine, as you may recall from a previous post, was a student in my class 23 years ago. I was her 4th and 5th grade teacher and she still calls me that when she's introducing me to her friends.

Towards the end of the wedding we were hugging goodbye and she grabbed the photographer to have him take a picture of us together. "This is my 4th grade teacher," she told him, as if that would express the significance of our connection.

He did seem to get it, though. "Wow," he said, eyebrows raised. I suppose most people's 4th grade teachers don't attend their weddings.

Jasmine's mom, Gina, and I had a bit of a love fest. Lots of hugs, lots of memories and tears, too. Gina was Jasmine's rock and I told her that. (Like teachers, moms often don't get the credit they deserve, I think.) Gina stood out from a lot of the moms I encountered in Vallejo. She was there in the background, working hard, making sure her kids knew that she thought their education was important. Jasmine's dad was not a part of the picture then or now, but her brothers and mom were. At the wedding her younger brother Julian walked her halfway down the aisle, and her older brother Jimmy took her the rest of the way, to the altar and then "gave her away."

Gina told me what I've meant to Jazz. More than a teacher, more than a friend. I honestly can't put into words what our relationship has meant to me. Gina didn't seem to mind calling it "like a daughter" and she's right. "You've watched her grow up," she said. And that's true. I remember Jasmine when she first came into my classroom. A sweet and somewhat spacey kid. I remember her performance as a possessed girl in our simulation of the Salem Witch Trials (!). I remember reading with her, singing with her, watching her play dodgeball at P.E. I introduced her to the beach and bagels and horses. And I remember visiting with her as a high school student, talking about the future, hoping to instill in her a sense of importance about her future and what she could make of herself.

I give Jasmine the credit for the connection she and Chanel and I still have. Without Jasmine as the glue, and sometimes the detective (there were years when I just couldn't find Chanel and Jasmine would ask around their extended group of old friends until she found her or at least found out that she was okay), I don't know if I would have had the joy of being a part of her celebration yesterday or Chanel's baby's birth in April. Thankfully, she has always been very good at keeping in touch.

When I think back on the Jasmine I knew in 4th grade, she looks a lot like the girl above. Gorgeous smile, full of fun, sweetness and a sense of humor. And what a sense of style! (This was one gorgeous wedding!) Jasmine is goodness. Her heart is full of love. I love that about this photo, I just want to hug that girl!

Jazz met Clinton, her handsome husband, when they were in grade school, but since he's a few years older than she I didn't have the pleasure of meeting him until they began dating about 10 years ago. She'd had a crush on him forever, but it wasn't until after he came home from college, Grambling State University in Louisiana, they finally started dating.

Things were going great and then one day in a horrible downpour, Clinton was in a car wreck on the highway. He was paralyzed from the waist down and was told he'd never walk again. Seriously, you read about things like this. But here they were, this young couple, and a tragedy of epic proportions hits.

Jasmine was his rock. I watched as she hung in there with him through the hospital stay and his recovery. I watched their commitment grow, too. Having gone through recoveries in my own family, I know that this road is not smooth. Jazz and I had many conversations about commitment, marriage, feelings, communication, and faith during those years. This was no fairy tale, this was gritty real life. But they persevered.

Today Clinton's walking. They have a beautiful little girl, Amora. And they're married.

Mark and I were honored to be included in the celebration of their past and their future. It was a beautiful day.

I'll leave you with a few images of the event.

Crafty Girls

My niece, Eliana, age 9, is coming over today to quilt with me. I can't wait! I'm sending Mark off with the boys. Clear the house out. I believe he's taking them to the dump (and the awesome dump store!). A day for just us girls.  (Now doesn't that sound like divisions down gender lines? I must admit, however, I enjoy a trip to the dumpstore, as well.) My sister may hang out too, which would be fun! This is the second time we've done this together. I love that she can come up to our "farmlette," play with the boys, play with the horses and donkeys, and craft with me. She's also a great reader and usually gravitates to our sunny booknook at some point in the visit. Seems like we have the potential for some great memories there.

For our project today I've been collecting "vintage" bedsheets and bedspreads (I say that with a smile, since I'm not really sure how old some of them are, mostly from the 70's, I think) to make picnic blankets. The project is from Amanda Soule's wonderful book Handmade Home. I will post photos as we go today, I hope!

This is the top of my picnic blanket which I prepared ahead of time.

Midway thru we stopped for a biscotti break, our reward for all of our hard work!

Eli wanted to hide a penguin in the blanket. Here her cousins are searching for it. (She found out that my sewing machine will embroider a penguin, so she couldn't pass it up.)

The penguin.