Kismet at the Playground - A Motivational Monday Post

  This blog, however active I once was, has really fallen to the very tail end of priorities. It's not that I don't often sit and think about things I want to write... but things like showering, feeding my children, cleaning up after said children, working part-time as a sewing instructor, managing the demands of a VERY loud toddler, driving up and down Central Avenue, and the rare occurence of exercise... things like that tend to use my waking hours of the day and night. 

 This also is not a valid excuse for why I didn't revisit writing during the pandemic. For our family, it felt like we should have had extra time - but the ongoing virtual learning with anxiety, that didn't exactly spark motivation in me either. ALSO: I think I sewed nearly 500 masks for friends and strangers. That took up some creative efforts. 

Anyways, in other realms of the internet - I have tried to devote Mondays to motivational messages from our vivacious preschooler Delphine. Sometimes messages happen on a Tuesday (or not at all), but it helps my overfunctioning brain to shift my perspective to what a four year old sees and experiences. All of a sudden, it becomes much easier to see the positive or remark on something new. 

 So to lead into why this post has anything to do with Motivational Mondays...It has a lot to do with intention, luck and kismet.

 One of my Pandemic goals, or shifts, was to seriously begin thinking about learning American Sign Language (ASL). We used a very basic book when our babies were babies - and the intuitiveness always intrigued me. And the words we learned STUCK. All of my kids remember how to sign for "more" or "eat" or "baby". I was always pleasantly surprised when I got the chance to use that knowledge to say thank you to a customer at work in ASL or follow along when there is a deaf character in a tv show. 

 I purchased an online program to learn ASL after a Facebook friend shared it- 1st kismet! 

 My oldest daughter bears the biggest impact of my online lessons. I'll watch a few videos in our office/sewing room and quickly run across the hall to make her guess what my sign may mean. Fun way to annoy a 15 year old! 

 But my youngest daughter, Delphine, is often sitting right next to me. Drawing in MY adult coloring books (that I have officially surrendered) and halfway paying attention to Youtube videos and my screen as an instructor demonstates each new sign. She's been a fun learning partner. 

 This past spring, we were involved with outdoor soccer... about that time where Covid cases really were dropping off and we felt comfortable playing on playgrounds. I believe that half of the allure for kids playing any sport, is the chance to play on the slides *after* said practice. We play at the local park and the playground is just mobbed after each age group finishes their running back and forth. 

 One of these nights, I could see that a woman was nervously watching her child/grandchild (?) climb up the steps. It wasn't the normal type of helicopter parenting... she wasn't speaking to him, but trying desperately to keep eye contact as he weaved in among all of the other running kids. He was deaf and I could just sense her anxiety radiating off of her. I asked her if he could sign yet, and she said he only understood a few words. That's one aspect of ASL that I'll have to learn much more about - how does one teach this to a young child? 

 I grabbed Delphine and told her that the little boy wanted to play, but he wouldn't be able to understand if she said "Come on!" or "Let's pretend!". What makes my heart surge is how quickly she adapted. Talking is a HUGE part of her play routine and how she interacts with others. But she did her best to keep eye contact and she improvised what she thought might be the best way to show what to do next. Like patting the slide next to her or pointing in the direction of the swings.- 2nd Kismet! -  They played so happily together and I hope the other woman was able to breathe a bit, knowing that if she lost the little boy into the swarm of kids still wearing soccer cleats, he'd have a new friend who knew how to communicate. It gives me goosebumps thinking about how random this interaction was. 

 SO. To the point. It's a Motivational Monday. 

 Our knowledge infects others. Our intentions infect others. And I use the word infect, finally, in a good way! We spent all of these months trying NOT to spread germs or infect another person with a virus... but we stayed home and affected each other in a myriad of ways. Was everything I did during the quarantine a good influence on my kids? NOPE. Lots of swearing, lots of impatience and self-absorption. But dang it if an online ASL class hasn't changed our perspective for the better! Given us the tools to communicate outside of what we already knew. I'll always say be more like a toddler/preschooler/kid in when facing uncertainty. I'm so proud of Delphine's giving heart and willingness to meet another human where they are. 

An HSP in Disguise

 Oh, the perks of getting older... and realizing that my emotions really aren't much different than my teenage years. Wasn't I supposed to reach a state of Zen or maturity at some point? Why does it still sometimes feel like I'm sitting at home, by the phone, on a Friday night hoping that I will get invited to the party? 

 Is a mid-life crisis just as bad as being ousted from a clique in 5th grade??? Please say no!

My wise friend recently pointed out that maybe one of the reasons adulthood feels so difficult (even in the best of circumstances) is that we feel the pressure to act as if everything is ok. That we ourselves are completely fine. EVERYTHING IS FINE. Our houses should be well decorated, we should have a satisfying career, we should have money to explore our hobbies and travel at will. We should have a well established social circle and our families will too. We won't feel insecure or unwanted or very uncertain about everyday decisions. These are the unrealistic expectations. We all have serious doubts/fears and probably incorrectly, feel judged about not having it all figured out. 

EVERYTHING IS FINE.

Except it isn't. Parenthood, if anything, is a test tube of self-doubt. You never know if you've been too harsh or too lax. Are we reading enough books or watching too much television? Why don't we have game night more often? Are my children happy? (On a side note: I actually think it's healthy to feel that way - because if you think you know it all... you're probably not reacting to your children's varied personalities and their feedback should help guide you.) Adulting is rough! 

But if you think back to the teenage years, when everything felt out of your control and school was a social experiment (even in the best of circumstances) of whether you'd be elated or crying in the bathroom. What made those years bearable and what produced some of the best friendships... was the mutual understanding that life SUCKED for all of us. We fought with our parents, felt misunderstood, had raging hormones that were unpredictable. It was okay to write a dramatic note to a friend or say you didn't have a clue about what you wanted to study in college. It was okay to be a hot mess, because the assumption was that we were all hot messes in one way or another. Together. We saw the messy dynamics of each other's families and asked for help when we needed it. 

Fast forward to adulthood and it's so hard to be open and vulnerable. We hide behind social media posts - sharing mostly good things. It's frowned upon to be negative. It could be a liability for work or being accepted into what is now the "mommy clique". 

What I am learning as an adult, is that I am much more sensitive than I ever realized. I recently read only the introduction to the book The Highly Sensitive Person - I was ready to be diagnosed. Yes, that's me 150%.

 I have always "brushed off" rude comments or thought I was secure enough in my confidence to let criticism fall to the wayside. There are still parts of me that are very well-defined - I am very comfortable with my achievements, my balance with spirituality, my independent streak and my major life choices. But I also don't rebound quickly from rejection. I am hurt deeply by people's insensitive actions. I sometimes feel like I absorb the feelings in the room. If someone is stressed, it hits me with electricity. There's no turning it off.  I will think about our conversation two years from now. 

So what's my point about being a highly sensitive person in adulthood? I fear that adulthood prevents us from making those deep connections with others. Out of fear for being judged or not having it all together. Can't we all kind of revert and coddle our inner adolescent selves a bit? Can we all shout out loud "I DONT KNOWWHATTHERIGHTANSWER IS?" And can we all truly see each other for a moment... reach out and send a silly note, voice our concerns and value friendship like we used to. 

Are you There Internet, It's Me Alexis

This is a test. A test because several years have passed since the last "Balancing on One Foot" post and I'm setting a timer for when my kids will find this post. Maybe it's the year-long captivity we've experienced... but my children recently starting reading old posts and find their antics to be very enjoyable. 

 I haven't written here since 2013 - mostly because with limited time, I spent the hours I had on the sewing machine, working at a quilt store (until PANDEMIC) and raising now five kids. Time to update that ol' "about me" section. I had actually completely forgotten that I'd started a more professional Sewing blog at one point. 

 So if you find this Ayla, Jackson or Elliot - and you want me to post more embarassing stories about your youth, I'm game. 

 Sending this out into the void....

Four Months Condensed in One Post: Boom! Done.

 So... it's almost October and I haven't written a single post since the beginning of the summer. Most parents know that once your kids are out of school for the summer break, most personal projects and that one or two hours of downtime you grew accustomed to just disappear. Not to say that I was diligent in my blog posts before summer, but... well... our lives got even busier.

 No complaints here: I will take a social life and vacations over countless available hours on the internet. When we first moved to Buffalo - life was much less hectic (due to not knowing more than five people!) and with only one kid in school. Now Ayla is blossoming in second grade, bouncing between playdates, homework, swim and gymnastics class. Jackson is loving full-day Kindgarten and ballet classes - as well as refining his Wii skills before and after school. Elliot is now old enough for preschool and literally rolls his eyes at me if I don't leave fast enough at drop-off. We are a family that enjoys our time together, but damn, they also love to get out of the house and be with their friends! I am thankful every morning for their confidence and happiness to be away from me! (But also thankful that they are happy to see me at the end of the day too.)

 Our summer itself was bonkers. In June, we hosted grandparents for Ayla and Jackson's dance recital. We traveled to Canada twice: once with my cousins and their adorable children to camp in Pinery Provincial Park, and another to finally meet my cousin Lynn's children for the first time. (Seems like not such a big deal... until you hear that these boys are in high school! Unfortunately, in my spread out family - it's not uncommon to go 15 years between visits.)

 In July, we took our first beach vacation in three years. Thanks Gramps and Nano for having an amazing beach house and keeping in un-rented at the peak of the season. We traveled through Greensboro (to see more family), to Holden Beach, NC for a week of boat rides and baking in the sun. And on the way back, packed three kids and myself into my sisters' compact DC apartment for a little sightseeing and DC food trucks. Not to mention seeing my college roommate and bridesmaid, Ilyse, for the first time in almost a decade.

 And in August, we co-hosted a big "check out" party for my husband and his co-worker Luke. Basically - there is an enormous amount of training when you sign on to be an air traffic controller. Months in Oklahoma City, months (okay, even years) of on-the-job training for your local airport. So what better excuse to celebrate and get everyone together for the ice-luge?

  We were also lucky enough to have more visitors in August! My friends Sara and Shane brought their two kids en route to Maine; the highlight being our trip to the fairgrounds and the Maid of the Mist at Niagara Falls. Grandparents and Uncle Matthew came to our party, Ayla turned 7 (whattt!), and an overnight visit from Gregory's Uncle Chris. There was also a little wedding dress shopping with my sister in the 'burgh... eeep!

 Did I mention that we also sent the kids to Pittsburgh for some solo time with their grandparents? That means Ayla and Jackson were gone for two weeks and Elliot spent a good four nights away as well. Gregory and I went on a date night without paying a babysitter! We also turned our house in Pittsburgh over between renters - it was emotional, yet awesome, to be back in our first home, cleaning, replacing floor tiles, putting the wet vac to good use and trimming back the grapevines in the backyard. Epic events.

 That brings us to September: getting back into school routines, packing lunches and running to different daily activities. More time for sewing (which is a main reason this blog has fallen to the wayside), my Etsy shop is busier than ever and I can power through quilts in less than a week. More time for daytime lunch dates when Elliot is at his school and more time for Zombie Mud Runs... and for Baxter's little accident.

 Yes, Baxter had an accident. He has always been known to take off running at the slightest opportunity. This time he ran straight into a moving vehicle. We watched him charge down our street and then bounce off a sedan. And then bounce back up and run back to the house, utterly bewildered. Somehow we didn't hold a doggie funeral and one week later, he is back to his normal (ha!) self.

 This was all on a day that we had friends from Pittsburgh come up to run the Zombie Mud Run with us... so we were pretty spent from darting growling zombies and trudging through mud, having our dog get hit by the car proved to be too much for one day.

  And here we are, with some trips already planned for fall and incredibly lucky to have a life filled with friends, family, vacations and Zombies, too. 

It's not the Teenage Years you should be worrying about...

Although I am dreading what kind of trouble my kids will be getting into ten years from now... they are pretty ridiculous these days. The toddler years. The preschool years. The... duh duh DA... elementary school years.

 Ayla, Jackson and Elliot have a keen ability to make the most mischief out of the time we give them. If we give them an inch, well, you know exactly what happens.

 The other night we had put them into their beds upstairs. All three are sharing the upper floor of our cape cod house. (As a side note, I kicked Elliot out of his bedroom downstairs and turned it into my office/sewing room. He has the most adorable nook to himself and he loves it up there, hanging with the big kids.) So - all three are up there and not exactly willing to go to sleep.

 But they were in bed. And we were done parenting for the day. We walked thirty feet into the backyard and layed in the hammock for about ten minutes before we saw a little face pop up in the dining room window. Jackson yelled, "Mama, where are you?" I yelled, "In the hammock. Jackson, where are you?" He replied, "In the house!" Now, all of that was settled.

 He was instructed to go lay in our bed and we hoped that he was the only straggler.

 About a half hour later, we went back in the house. BUSTED. Jackson had grown bored playing games on a cell phone. He knows better. So, he turned on the tv and was just watching a show. He knows much better! And he must have heard us come in the house and realized there was no safe place to turn. Not enough time to turn off the television!

 He was easily put to bed. But at least upstairs was quiet, right? I am sure it hadn't been while we were outside. It looked like they threw a preschool kegger. All of the stuffed animals had been unearthed and thrown around the room. Elliot was literally sleeping on top of a huge Elmo doll. Ayla was sprawled across her bed with God knows how many little toys hidden under her pillow. They must have had a blast.

 My thought is this: if they can get crazy in a half hour when we are still in the yard... what hope do we have when they are legally allowed to be by themselves? Will they rob the convenience store around the corner? Will they invite fifty friends and fill the house with popcorn? (You've read this book, I assume.) Will they make Elliot do the kinds of pranks I made my own sister do?

 I should have taken pictures to document, I know. But sometimes it really gets difficult to keep up with the shenanigans. As I write this, they are all in bed.... Jackson was singing about 15 minutes ago... but I think we are safely out of hijinx for the night.

 Famous. Last. Words.

Everybody Cries at the Gym... Right?

 "Why, why... tell them that it's human nature.... why, why, does he do me that way?"

 So... I have an embarassing habit.

 If a Michael Jackson song "shuffles" into my playlist while I am running... I kind of start crying. Yeah, I start crying. For real. I think this is the essence of my workout: to pound out all of those circling thoughts, worries, aggression, fears, to-do lists and general over-caffeinated-ness. Now that I *try* to consistently run a few times a week, I find that it gives me an outlet for the trials of simply being human. While that is awesome (and better for my stomach than ice cream therapy), it also comes with the side effect of emotional vulnerability. In the presence of everyone at the YMCA.

 I don't mind though. Consider it more of an emotional swell than a bona fide breakdown, with tears of awareness more than sadness. I dare anyone to listen to "Man in the Mirror" without some sort of self-introspection occurring. It's just that running brings all of these emotions and questions to the surface. And when the two collide: it's crazy town on the treadmill! :)

 Reason #1 - Running makes me think of my father: a complicated, happy then sad then happy again person. He has been out of my life (deceased) for 15 years, yet time doesn't make a difference when it comes to that specific loss. He was a runner. He ran marathons. Of all the things he probably should have been consistent at, one of those things that seemed always to be in his life was running. I remember how he would go running after work and then come home to finish his workout with sit ups on one of those generic camping mats. He was gross and sweaty, and probably sat on the couch without taking a shower first. He would open a Rolling Rock and sometimes let me have a sip. Therefore, it is my most nostalgic flavor in the world after zucchini fritters.

 When I was old enough to run, he helped me "train" for the Osborne marathon. Our elementary school made a big deal about running laps around our school - probably to the tune of a mile or two. He supported my dismal races on the middle school track team, coming to cheer me on until I stopped wanting to go. His biggest rule: don't stop running. Hold your arms above your head if you have cramps, just don't stop running. This could be a HUGE analogy for life if I could just get a grip on the words.

 I am nothing but an amateur runner: I don't have hopes that I will ever have the discipline to run a marathon. But it's my default exercise and it always brings me to a space in my head that is calmer. I wonder what my father thought about on his runs and whether it had any sort of Zen affect on all of those grown-up troubles he must have had.

 Reason #2 - Listening to Michael Jackson will always make me sad. I miss him. Duh.

 Reason #3 - Ever since the Boston marathon bombing, I have come to equate the spirit of marathon runners as an untouchable grace. Humanity is one screwed up venture. People are often so shitty and so awful that it makes you question "why, why does he do me that way?". To attack runners and their spectators in an event that takes months and years of training, for something so quintessentially innocent, is baffling. Of course I felt the same way after the Newtown shooting and many other senseless tragedies. But I think my reactions to ALL of the garbage I have seen in the world is culminating in this most recent shitstorm.

 It all comes down to my inability to accept that life is going to be unfair. I want bad people to be known for who they are and to be punished. I want good people to be recognized and left alone. Gregory would qualify this as my black and white thinking. It's true. I have major beef with humans. I don't like that otherwise "good" people can become crazy or delusional and do "bad" things, all while completely rationalizing it. I don't understand it. I'm not perfect... but as an adult, I keep busy with crafts and my kids and trying to think of what new recipes to try: not how to actively hurt people. It bothers me that I live in a world where people do horrible things and that my kids will grow up and learn that fact as well.

 So, on my runs, I cry about that too.

 And then the moment passes. I laugh at my ridiculousness. I feel better that the run is over and I can cross that, metaphorically, off of my daily to-do list.

 ***And as an emotional disclaimer: I know I come on here every few weeks and rant, I promise the next post will be a little less philosophical and little more haha, my kid did something funny anecdotal. ***

Artwork to Soothe the Soul

 I should be writing about the Boston marathon. The bombing has caused panic and pain nationwide, including my own psyche. I can't think of many more events (other than the daily life in elementary school) that is hopeful, awe-inspiring and benevolent than a marathon and it is absolute SHIT that someone felt the need to set off explosives.

 Yet, I haven't wrapped my brain around what exactly I need/want to say. April is an emotional month for me as it is, and coupled with terroristic acts, the anniversary of Virginia Tech and my overbearing parental feelings: I am upset. We all are. Events like this make us question humanity and why we have to coexist with such madness.

 While I gather my thoughts and try to not belittle the events with sensationalism and trite sayings; let's just focus on the two drawings I have been meaning to scan for the past month. God Bless the survivors and God Bless the poor family that lost their little boy.

Ayla's recollection of having the stomach flu. The projectile vomiting is intense! 

Jackson's "definition" of love.