Before Dawn

It's vewwy vewwy qwiet.  I've been spending way more of my night times awake than I care to for the past five nights.

But I've gotten some reading done.

The Second Child - a wonderful collection of poems by Deborah Garrison

Shadow Puppets - another in the Hegemon series, sub series to the Ender series, from Orson Scott Card

The Secret History of the Pink Carnation - a rollicking historical first-novel by the talented Lauren Willig (who has released two more novels since this one that are now on my list.)

Isn't It Romantic, 100 Love Poems by Younger American Poets, foreward by Charles Simic - this one was a re-read its still good.  some of the entries are of lesser depth and frankly I'm no sure what love has to do with many of the selections but oh well.

Now I'm reading Velvet Elvis (see link below).  There's always a bit of a danger in enjoyment of a book about spiritual matters, and this one is subtitled "Repainting the Christian Faith."  What if it says something that causes me to go out and behave in ways that will later make me groan and wish I'd just taken a nap instead?  I don't ever worry with any other kind of reading material that comes into my hands, but matters of faith and practice are different. 

It's not possible to agree in principle without agreeing in practice if there's to have been any point in the reading at all.   And I am very much enjoying the first few chapters of this one.  If you've kept up with my theological reading in the past, you might at first consider this on "spiritual light" compared to some.  Maybe I've entered a "spiritual light" phase of my life. 

The little church that Tina introduced us to has opened it's arms to my little family and made us feel welcomed and safe.  Yesterday morning, I spent in the company of some wonderful ladies who are part of a team (They call themselves B.A.G. ladies.)  Primarily, the B.A.G. ladies are a quilting circle.  They make simple lap-sized quilts which are rolled up and placed in a bag they make from the same fabric.  The bags have several pockets and are larger than necessary for the quilt.  One outside pocket gets a stuffed animal.

These bags go to the Sheriff's Department, a center for Domestic Violence, and an agency which places foster children.  Because of the chaotic nature of life for the children affected by violence and foster placement, they may find themselves wrenched from one home and taken to another with only a moment's notice.  We've been told that sometimes these bags are the only thing the child has to take from one place to the next. 

Last year, this little group of women made and gave just over 100 of these bags.  This year, they hope to double that number.  Well, I have a sewing machine, the ability to do this, and the desire to be involved.  Over the past several years, we have received much kindness during some very difficult times, some of that kindness from unexpected and unasked for sources who wanted nothing from me in return but they met needs that I was at a loss to meet for myself.  There's no way to repay that kind of thing.  But we can pass it on. 

That's about the level of my spiritual path right now. 

Comfort and Joy

I'm dealing with a perfectly wretched sinus infection.  The worst part is that a sinus infection, not being a serious illness, makes me feel irritated beyond all reason that it slows me down at all.  But it has slowed me down. 

And made me think about things like comfort, peace, happiness and joy. 

There is much to be savored in a well-brewed cup of tea.  (My friend, Heather, from Ireland, tells me that us Americans don't know the first wee thing about brewing proper tea.  But I'm content with what passes for tea around here.  Celestial Seasonings, or Tazo ... good times with honey.)

I'm also partial to creamy soups.

A soft old blanket.

My big blue chair.

The happy purring of a cat curled on my lap.

A book of poetry.

Old clothes.

Bare feet/or feet wrapped in fun socks.

Tucker seated at the table drawing me characters from Mario's World - tonight it was Bowzer, Princess Peach, and Yoshi - all of whom he felt essential to my happiness. 

Michael sprawled on the couch reading a book.

The television off and no one missing it. 

I don't feel well enough for house cleaning, working, or even packing another box for storage although there is still a significant amount of stuff here that needs to be taken there.  Whether I would have chosen it or not, I'm being forced to stop, swaddle my aching self in comfortable things, and not even think too loudly because loud thoughts make my face hurt. 

There are worse ways to spend a Thursday evening. 

It's too bad it takes an infection to get me to stop and do it. 

When an Odd Duck Quacks, Does it Sound Like Music?

Tucker marches to the beat of a different drummer.  No doubt about that.  We're starting to get a handle on why and how he marches.  Julie gave us a clue last Spring when she said, "It appears that this child has a sensory integration disorder."  The Special Ed team and diagnosticians at his school here are getting even closer to an answer. 

There have been several incidents with Tucker at his school this year.  The kind of incidents that have left me bewildered, have left him in a bad position vis-a-vis his classmates ...

The school team made a concerted effort to write down time lines to see exactly what happened in what order.  And when they compared notes today, they discovered that every single incident had a specific sensory antecedent.  They aren't stopping with this information, they are honing in to figure out as best they can exactly what it is that Tucker reacts to and what makes him over-react. 

See, sometimes, there will be a small incident that would be "nothing" if it were you or me involved, but when Tucker experiences it he just loses it.  He will break down into sobbing, or he will (over) react as though he's been attacked. 

Today, we had an incident that revealed the other side of it all.  He walked into the computer lab with his class and immediately said, "Something stinks in here.  Something is really really bad in here.  It's making me sick."

At this point the other kids and teacher were bewildered, they didn't smell anything.  But Tucker kept insisting that something was bad wrong and that he could smell it.  He was on the verge of tears when he also saw a little puff of smoke at the back of one of the monitors. 

The teacher investigated and realized that a short in some wiring had caused a small electrical fire that was getting larger.  She evacuated the room, they called maintenance.  The day was saved.  And even after, the class was still talking about how lucky it was that Tucker smelled it. 

He's like that.  He sees things, smells things, hears things, feels things, tastes things ...

The next step is to have him evaluated by the autism team.  I didn't know it before today, but apparently sensory integration disorder is another piece of the autism puzzle.  Sigh.  My poor babies. 

Some of you have wondered how Tucker got hold of a razor.  He didn't actually.  He got hold of a little electric trimmer.  His brother has naturally very thick and heavy eyebrows and Michael likes to trim them a little.  Tucker used Michael's trimmer to take off as much hair as possible. 

The photo from this morning makes it appear that he didn't quite shave the whole brow.  That picture is misleading.  Because he used a trimmer instead of a razor, the thickest part of the brow was too thick for him to get all the way to his skin and there's a little residue, like razor stubble. 

I am encouraged by WickedGlee's promise that kid hair grows like kudzu.  Maybe in a couple weeks he'll be back to "normal" or at least a little more normal looking. 

***Updated***

My son shaved off his eyebrows. 

Every single stinking little hair and whisker.

I kept staring trying to figure out why he looked so ... strange.

He just kept giggling.

I kept thinking he looked like John Malkovich in some film where John Malkovich played a serial killer.  Or maybe I just dreamed that.  But it was weird.  And now it's my weird son.

Giggling. 

I could pour myself a drink.  But that won't make the eyebrows grow back. 

I could paint them back onto his little face.

o_0

He's going to look surprised until sometime into next year.

I would so like to say I'm shocked,

This morning I see a little shadow of some razor stubble - maybe it won't take forever for them to grow back.  Sigh

If I seem to be typing slowly - it's because of Gladys

September 2007

Slow rain chase indoors
the cats, dogs, rowdy children
who make apartment complexes busy
with the voices of houses that used to be.

Before divorce, before mom lost her job,
before the cost of paying all those bills
demanded the walls of the room with
yellow paint and glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars.

Before the primordial soup bubbled
hot with rolling lumps of trying hard
to hang on to the smooth sides
until a new community formed.

Renters, all, who crowd their shoulders,
their freezers and china hutches
into spaces designed to impress college kids
with bean bag chairs and blow-up mattresses.

Before dust blew through the canyon.

Now September rain washes,
says start again, just like you learned
in those long ago Septembers of new saddle shoes,
new pens, new faces, new desk assignments, new plans.

Sigh -

My poor Razorbacks are not having a good year.  We have some of the best players in college ball today.  A top contender for the Heisman Trophy, and his teammate who also managed to rush for a respectable 1000 years last year.  And for some reason, we can't catch a break.

This week? 

Virus.

Seven of our players including the two super guys, throwing up all day and during the game, although they played anyway.  But they definitely weren't playing their top game.  They had some good moves, Felix Jones had an awesome punt return for a touchdown, and then promptly retired to the sidelines to toss his cookies.  D Mac - our Heisman contender, had to leave the game before the end of the 2nd quarter to get iv fluids because he was getting dehydrated - he didn't return until well into the third quarter. 

Sigh

That's frustrating.  I don't like being frustrated.  I'm guessing they don't like it so much either. 

Oh well, I hope you're having a good weekend.  Someone should be having a good weekend.

Friday Fun

It's a Friday
It's Payday
It's my best friend's BIRTHDAY

and I sneaked out for lunch. 

I love the food here.  There's a chance that I'm totally blowing my diet all to smithereens, but oh, my it sure tastes good in these parts. 

Today I had a chili relleno that was just about perfect.  I hestitate to say perfect for sure because there MIGHT be another recipe out there that's better, but frankly, I can't imagine it.  So if you're thinking about a trip through Albuquerque - Padilla's is awesome. 

I hope your Friday is full of fabulous frolicking, feasting, and Fun. 

How Long

Mom - How long has it been since I Swiffered the Kitchen?  Well, I think that's too long. 

Oh, yeah.  Tucker mopped the kitchen again.

It's about time at least one of us got domestic around here.  If it weren't for this annoying habit that my boss has of expecting me to get work done, I'd do more cleaning, and cooking, and taking care of the house.  But he does have that habit.  And I do like getting paid. 

Oh well. Happy Thursday everybunny.

**I'm working today on a Financial Literacy Unit on the Subject of Identity Theft and I found a GREAT quote.  I don't know if I can use it in the unit, but I can sure share it with you here ...

"There is nothing fantastic or ultradimensional about crab grass... unless you are an sf writer, in which case pretty soon you are viewing crab grass with suspicion. What are it's real motives? And who sent it here in the first place? It only looks like crab grass. That's what they want us to think it is. One day the crab grass suit will fall off and their true identity will be revealed. By then the Pentagon will be full of crab grass and it'll be too late. The crab grass, or what we took to be crab grass, will dictate terms."  Philip K Dick

Tucker is a kid on the ball.

Albuquerque Sunset

Joe played with his thingamabobber til he was all bobbed out.

My cool hat that Cool Mary sent.  It says, "Women who behave, rarely make history."

Saving Grace

I used to think that it was grace extended to me that saved me and held me up.  What I have learned is that its grace that lives in me and through me that makes all the difference.  The grace that comes from the outside may be resisted.  But yielding to grace and allowing myself to be an instrument of grace, that's powerful.

"Let this be our prayer,
Just like every child
Needs to find a place
Guide us with your grace
Give us faith so we'll be safe."

The boys and I drove home last night through three different storms.  One that struck just as we were heading up Raton Pass, which if you've ever driven I-25 between Denver and Albuquerque you know to be the most challenging stretch of that road. 

I probably make a bigger deal of it than it is.  I know that after we came through the pass in the U-Haul truck, Mary suggested that perhaps I shouldn't be quite so scared that apparently I possess the skill necesary to navigate the steeps and curves. 

Be that as it may, it is a very steep stretch with big curves and sheer drops off the right side of the interstate that go down down down down down down ... down.

My kids are never worried.  They just ride along safe and comfortable in the little bubble of the car while lightning flashes and ominous shapes loom off on the horizon.  That's okay, they don't have to know about all the bad things out there.  I know.  And I'll do the best I can to keep the scary things away at a safe distance.