Following Elias

A trick or two

Bacon, coffee, and candy corn.

How's that for a healthy Halloween breakfast? That's what I tasted as I started my run this morning. Sluggish and chilled, I took off with Tonsina through our neighborhood, towards the woods of Takishla Park.

No stroller to push. Just me and my dog.

A rare opportunity to explore some of the single track trails that run off of Chester Creek.  I hopped over roots and wound my way through Evergreens on the frozen moss-covered trails. I came to the edge of the creek, where the terrain shifted to marsh, with tall-standing reeds turned brown with the Fall. Moose territory,  I thought, slowing my pace and scanning my surroundings for a large brown mass of muscle and hoofs.

I ran a few strides through the reeds and stopped short.

Tents and tarps. An illegal campsite--one of the many homeless camps in Anchorage-- and my dog was already sniffing at the door.

"Tonz, come!" He kept sniffing, looking for scraps. "Tonz!!"

We backtracked and took another trail only to get turned around by the creek. 

This was only my second run this month. I'm still not back in pre-pregnancy shape, as I haven't quite figured out where exercise fits into the equation of two children and full-time work. But my adrenaline propelled me forward to a third trail. Gotta get out of here!

Why am I scared of a homeless camp? Is it the alcohol bottles on the ground? Is it being a small female alone in the woods? Is it the social stigma of haves and have nots? Is it a justified fear or an inflated one?

I made it back to the thick of the Evergreens, where the trail winds so tightly I couldn't see more than a few feet ahead of me. Another tent, hanging on a tree to dry. Socks. Part of a pink bicycle, without wheels. Frost covered gear scattered on the ground. Shoot, I need to retrace my steps.

I found my original trail and started running back the way I came. Tonsina ran ahead of me, tail wagging. In the distance I saw a man with a backpack and the form of another person ahead of him in the trees. I froze.

This isnt really a hiking trail. Its more of a moose path that neighbors have discovered and claimed as an off-road trail between Northern Lights and Chester Creek.

My guess is I woke up the camp dwellers and they were temporarily relocating. The police in Anchorage have been cracking down on homeless camps, as we've had far too many people die from exposure over the past year and a half. But without adequate housing there will always be camps. Below freezing or not.

"Tonz!" I yelled, not wanting him to follow the men, wanting to avoid any interactions, wishing I'd chosen a different route. I left the trail and ran straight through the woods towards Northern Lights as Tonsina followed. I stopped at the edge and put him back on leash before stepping out to the sidewalk where the cars whizzed pass heading West towards midtown. I was still more than a mile from home.

But I have a home.

Complete with pumpkins at my door. Smiling jack-o-lanterns to welcome visitors. And on this Halloween, its my imagination that scares me more than life itself.

As usual.

Its my insatiable ability to predict the worst.

Jogger found in the woods. Foul play suspected.

Chances are if I confronted the campers they would have smiled at me and said, "Good morning!" "Nice day for a run!"

And sure its better to be cautious, but as I found myself in the darkest part of the woods I let my fears take hold. They're out to get me!

Its this same type of thinking that seizes me at night when I try to predict Elias's future and can't pull the daggers from my heart. When I only see the scary stuff within Cerebral Palsy and visual impairment--when I can't stop shivering despite the warmth that is my boy.

Because really, this house, this family, this life of mine is pretty darn warm.

Elias isn't scared so why should I create terrors where none exist? Future demons disappear the moment we let go of our predictions, the moment we stop worrying about what we can't control.

On this Halloween afternoon, as I prepare for an onslaught of kids at the door, dressed in costumes as diverse as they are, eager for a treat, I'll try to remember a trick or two.

We all have personal goblins we hide behind masks of  "OK" "Normal" and "Fine." The key is to see through the pretense, through the stigma, the groomings and the scars, to the similarities within us all.

The trick is to suspend judgement long enough to connect.

And when all else fails, start of your day with bacon, coffee, and candy corn.

Fully Committed to his Current Classroom Job

"In six weeks Olive will be a year old," I say to Nick. We sit at the kitchen table with full bellies and empty bowls.

He thinks for a moment, "Seven."

"Ok, six and a half but still it will be here fast." Olive sleeps in her crib, an early evening nap, which doesn't bode well for the night ahead.

"And you know what that means." Nick looks at Elias. "It means this guy will be seven."

Elias grins. "Whooaa!"

"And that means someday you'll be ten." I hold up both my hands.

"Whooaa!" Elias sits in his booster chair, in his size four pants, grinning and kicking his legs.

"Double digits!" Nick says.

"And someday you'll be thirteen."

"Whoooaaa!"

"Oh, I can't think about you being thirteen." I touch my pointer finger to his nose.

Elias laughs, excited about our number play, oblivious to adolescence and my overstuffed closets of angst. "And then I'll be fourteen!"

"Whoa, you'll be big then."

"I'll be up to here," He reaches his hand towards the ceiling.

We continue upwards. Sixteen.. Eighteen... Twenty...

"Someday I'll be twenty-one!" He declares, stretching the one into a shout, excited about counting, with no knowledge of the liquid freedom that comes with this age.

"Twenty one! Wow! What do you think you'll be doing when you're twenty-one?"

Without his normal processing delay, Elias bursts, "Maybe, I'll be able to erase the whole board!"

The Radio Flyer...

 

...Strikes again

Happy friday!

Ten Random but Interconnected

1.  "You forgot to eat your lunch Mom," Elias says to me as he points to a glass plate of seashells on my desk. Oh yeah, you're legally blind, I think.  I tend to forget that my son can't always see and that perhaps this is why he thinks the Alana in his class is the same Alana who is in Camp Fire, even though they don't look alike. 

No wonder he misses so many social cues.

But he compensates so well for his lack of vision that our new Assistant Princapal didnt even notice that he was visually impaired.

 

2. Olive smiles and shakes her head, "No," as she dumps all her Cheerios on the ground. "No thank you, Olive," we say as we take her tray away.

"What is my sister doing?" Elias asks.

"Playing with her food."

"Why," he asks as he tilts his head to the side and looks at the floor.

"Oh, because she's a baby and that's what they do."

"Did I do that when I was a baby?"

"Yes."

"When was I a baby?"

Wasn't it just yesterday? How is it that you are you six? Who is this big boy with morning breath and reading glasses and expressions like: "I don't particularly like this."

 

3."He's digging in your pocket," the 1st grade girl tells me at recess.

"Its ok he's her son," the boy standing next to her says.

"He's your son?!?"

"Yes, this is Elias and I'm his school counselor aaaand his mother."

She looks from me to him and back again.

"What happened to him?" she asks wide-eyed and innocent.

 

4. Elias and Olive sit next to each other in the bath. Bones and chub. Muscled shoulders alongside marshmellow thighs. Elias pale and almost yellow with bags under his eyes, bruises and scratches like tatoos, ankles turned inwards, stiff and awkward. Olive all Gerber-baby with her rosy cheeks and kissable rolls. She reaches towards Elias, all smiles and he pushes her hand away. She laughs and reaches out again. He scowls as he looks into the milky water and I can't help but wonder what will happen when he really wants to know why...

 

5. If I've learned anything its that in this messy life of ours nothing is guaranteed. Olive could develop a life altering condition overnight. She could die in her sleep. She could continue to wrap me around those marvelous thighs of hers for years to come and then find an open window or a reckless driver who steers his way across and through my heart.

Life hurts.

This I know.

So Olive may not grow up, healthy and able, but if she does, if she makes it through, I hope she is sassy, wise and strong. And even more than that, I hope she loves her brother, loves him like a shark with a a Teddy Bear's heart.

 

6. Beer or wine at night and coffee in the mornings. That's how I survive these days. And before I judge myself for filling my cup, I'd like to propose a toast. May we all live for the moment!

7. There are days when I wish that I didn't work at the same school as my son. I am always Mommy, even at work. And sometimes my dual roles, school counselor and mother, conflict.  I make the assembly worse for Elias by checking on him, giving him a false out. Or I know too much about a particular student in his class who spends a lot of time in the office for his violent tendencies. The counselor in me wants to support this boy; the mama bear in me want to take in out back.

During one of our meetings I even told him, "I'm putting my Mama hat on now." He looked around the room, then smiled as I pretended to put on a cap. "I don't want to hear about you messing with my son. You are more powerful than he is already, you can use that power to help him instead of hurting him."

The boy looks at me with eyes that have seen too much and I'm reminded, again,  that we all have holes.

Elias runs towards me at recess, his blue canes hardly touching the ground, "I knew you would be out here!"

"I know you would be out here too!" I reach my arms out and we hug.

And I wouldn't want to work anywhere else.

Even when it's difficult.

As it is always difficult.

 

8. I keep my bike in the book closet by the back door of the school. After my 90 minutes of recess-duty, my guaranteed time outside in the middle of the day, I bike home. It takes me about a minute to get from the back playground to my driveway. If I went inside to my office first I'd never leave, I'd be pulled into the dramas of the day and forced to choose between responding to the children before me or returning home to my husband and child.

I only get a half-hour duty free lunch, but that small window of time with Olive and Nick bolsters me for the afternoon. Sometimes its hard to leave, but knowing they'll be there when I return helps me hop back on my bike and pedal around the corner.

And besides, you can't beat the commute.

 

9. "I hope my sister gets this classroom," Elias tells Ms. Myrna as she walks him from Camp Fire to his classroom at the end of the hall. He has stopped at one of the 3rd and 4th grade rooms, with large flowering plants along the window sills.

"Why?" Myrna asks.

"Because its the most beautiful classroom of them all."

When Myrna tells me this I have to hold back my tears. In action, Elias seems to despise his sister-- and yet here he is wishing beauty upon her.

Apart but together.

 

10. Happy ten months Miss Olive, like the tendrils of a vine that twist and stretch towards and away from each other, may you and your brother live long and interconnected lives.

 

A Six Hour Stretch

Asleep in her crib.

In.

Her.

CRIB!!!!

Hallelujah!

Happy Friday!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Do you all have moments like this?

It happened again.

That moment where you look at your child and your breath stutters as you wonder: Where did you come from? How did you get here? Look at you! What the...

Elias walks around the corner carrying a Ranier beer can between his two capable hands, he weaves past you, like a drunk, but walking, no red and silver walker, no blue canes, just Elias on the way to the laundry room to smoosh the empty beer in the new wall-mounted can-crusher Nick found for him at a garage sale.

Elias walking.

Walking while using his hands.

Helping. Recycling. Doing a chore.

Elias:

He can walk to his room, pick out school clothes and carry them out to the kitchen.

He often returns with three pairs of pants, or one sock instead of two, but he walks to his own freakin' room.

He follows direction. Completes a task. Stands on a stool in the kitchen to "help" at the counter:

 

Elias.

And it happens again:

Your breath stalls as you listen. "Todd fox likes to jog... Todd is hot."

"Nice reading! Next page." With your arms around Elias, who squirms on your lap, you help him turn the paper copy.

He leans forward, his eyes inches from the page. "Todd Fox sits on a rock. The rock is hot!"

And it continues like this, with you occasionally asking him to check a word, but Elias reads on...

"Todd hops off."

He reads.

"Todd Fox sits on a log."

On.

"The log is hot!"

"Yes!" You say, putting your hand on his head, just inches from the valve that still connects to the shunt in his brain.

Yes, yes, yes!!!!!!!!

A Slide Tackle Shapeshift

Woke up grumpy.

Maybe because I wasn't ready to open my eyes--

Because I could sleep for a few more moons,

For decades,

And I'd still want to chase dreams down slumber road.

 

I'm tired-- and coffee helps, but its doesnt change the number of hours in a day. I'd trade a year's worth of lattes for one week of full nights' sleeps. One week without crying in the night or the sound of Elias's door opening.

So I woke up grumpy.

And when I sat at the computer to write, Elias elbowed me in the chest  and blocked the screen with his head as as he pushed his way onto my lap. "Let's check the forecast!" he said, as he does every morning.

I love my children but I don't always want them touching me. I want to sit without small hands reaching to climb Mama mountain.

I want to be a small hill in the distance that noone needs yet.  

I want to be an eagle flying overhead.

Powerless to shapeshift, 

I played soccer.

Met the Sunday crew at Dimond high school, where we played five on five on the side of the field as a girl's team practiced for a tournament. In between plays,I found myself watching the teenagers scrimmage.

I'm still that girl, I thought,  still chasing soccer balls to shift my mood.

 

If we all just put our hands on our chins

"Just for the record, it offends me when you called him a little girl," I tell the angry sixth-grader who sits on the yoga ball in my counseling office.

"But I don't think before I say things," he says.

We just finished a mediation between him and another boy after a verbal disagreement escalated in the lunch room, with the two hurling derogatory names at each other as other kids egged them on to fight.

The fact that they didn't throw punches is almost a cause to celebrate but their choice of language still needs addressing.

Along with a rainbow of colorful curse words, they both claim the other used racial slurs. One denies doing so but the one who remains in my office admits he called the other kid a white boy.

They both admit to calling each other retards.

The R word. Lovely.

"Do you know what that word means?" I ask.

We discuss the fact that they are insulting an entire group of peple with intellectual disabilities who deserve dignity and respect just like them. That when they use the word to insult someone, they are also insinuating that defenseless individuals are somehow bad as well.

We speak about the students at our school in our Life Skills or Intensive Needs classrooms and how they are not bad or wrong or broken.

We talk about Elias.

They agree not to use the word anymore and I'd like to say that I believe them, but between us, I doubt this one conversation will change their vocabulary as retard and gay seem to be the insluts of choice among elementary kids.

My guess is we'll be having this conversation again.

And again.

And again.

But I have hope for the boy who bounces before me.

Two years ago he wouldn't have thought twice before clocking the kid and here he sits telling me he doesn't want to fight the boy, he just wants him to stop insulting his culture.

"I'm proud of being native," he tells me.

"As you should be."

"I am."

"I know." I pause and look into his strong face. "I'm proud of being a woman and just for the record, it offends me when you called him a little girl who should go sit at the girls' table."

"But I don't think before I say things," he says, not wanting to offend me.

"Well did you ever think that maybe he doesnt think before he says things either,  that maybe the two of you have more in common than you realize?"

"Nuh-uh, he thinks before he says things," he says all earnest and adamant.

"How do you know?" I smile.  "You can't see his brain working."

He rocks on the ball and looks at me with his serious brown eyes. "I know because I saw him put his hand on his chin."

Aaaah, of course, the telltale hand on the chin.

Parenthood

Instead of writing about it tonight I'm gonna sit on the couch with Nick and watch the show.

 

Sheep, what sheep? Give me the freakin' sheep!

I'm tired.

Before writing these two words, I sat here at the kitchen table with my hands on my cheeks thinking of different beginnings:

A girl changes everything...

No.

Let the games begin. Playing hockey and soccer and watching Papa's Giants score touchdowns on T.V...

No.

I can stills see clouds in the sky at 8:18 on October 3rd, but this is the month we lose over five hours of light a day. I see winter approaching and I'm not sure if I'm ready to reach out my hand...

No.

Holding the weight of my head in my hands, I dismissed each direction and stared into the fog of the screen.

Start with where you are?  What's your truth?

I'm tired.

As my Dada would say, I'm so god damn tired.

That place just beyond exhasution but before break down.

I want to write everything this head holds but over nine months without a full night's sleep is messing with my mind.

And with four top teeth cutting through, this week's been beyond brutal.

So its another picture night.

Someday this will be our bedroom, with windows and a patio door, walk-in closet and a double head shower:

And by the way, I'm in awe of my husband, who with the help of family and friends, is doing it all, while learning the skills of trades from carpentry to electrical to plumbing to all that goes into building homes.

Someday.

Until we finish, you'll find me in the door-less family room, wishing I could dream about my master suite, if only my children would let me sleep. Elias will be asking me to put my arm around him and trying to sneak his feet between my calves as Olive stands up against my shoulder and bounces at 4:00 am. or wakes in pain and screams at 2:00.

Yep.