Redefining Happy Endings

I just don't think I am cut out for this "mom of a high school daughter" thing.  It's more emotion and drama than I am prepared for.  Scary thing is I get to do it three times.  None of my girls will be in high school together and lucky me I will get to ride The Angst Machine three separate times.  Have you ever noticed how in the teen coming of age movies there is a predictable pattern.  Girl or boy feels like a complete and utter loser, always a well dressed and perfectly styled loser, but a loser none the less.  An hour or so of angst centered around perfectly styled teen and then teen decides to put him or herself out there, take a leap of faith, take the plunge, etc.  Cue the music, something happy and inspiring, and the forever fabulous girl or boy gets their happy ending.  The happy endings usually come in the form of getting the part, winning the game/tournament, getting the boy or girl of their dreams, making the team, etc.  Celebration ensues and credits roll.
This morning I found myself wishing I could create the happy ending for my daughter, but despite her putting herself out there and taking the leap of faith, she did not make the team.  And so instead I find myself redefining happy endings.  The happy ending becomes more about the discipline she developed training and getting in shape for tryouts, and the hours of determination in the backyard juggling a soccer ball, but most importantly, the pure guts it takes to put on the cleats and step onto a field full of strangers at a brand new school.   As it turns out, discipline, determination and raw guts are the what she'll need no matter which team she plays on.  And so this afternoon we will raise our glass to determination and guts over Five Guys fries, celebrating the real happy ending.  Cue the music. . .

Oblivion

It's official. I'm taking the plunge. In her book "Breaking Free From Emotional Eating", Geneen Roth speaks to my soul as she talks about the concept of binge eating. She writes, "Binges are purposeful acts, not demented feelings. . . a binge can. . . be an urgent attempt to care for yourself. . . Binges speak the voice of survival. . . A binge is a plunge into oblivion. We all need plunges into oblivion. Sometimes living is too much to handle." And so if you need to reach me today you can find me in oblivion. My oblivion usually involves home made chocolate chip cookie dough, a spoon and some serious time with the the Real Housewives of New York.

Moving across the world and then across the country has proved much harder than I expected. Especially for those of us who are 15 or still feel that age. Connecting with friends via facebook and skype makes you grateful for technology, but sometimes nothing short of human connection will do. The word from Georgia lately has been tragic. A young student killed in a car accident a few nights ago. An acquaintance of Micaela's. A hug and a few words were all I could offer. Before that I night I had never heard the boy's name but I know Micaela knew him and it would be a hard thing. This morning we woke to a call from one of her good friends letting us know that their good friend's Mom was killed in a car accident last night. This girl I know and adore. It's hard to watch your fifteen year old have to learn how fragile life is. Hard to watch her grasp at the reality of a friend across the country needing her, and her not being able to be there. Hard to watch her try to make sense of something that clearly doesn't. Hard not to have the answers she needs. Hard to think of a family coping with the loss of a wife and mom. With this news a hug and few words will not be enough, but it is a place to start. So bring on the cookie dough, and perhaps we'll need two spoons today. Housewives, here we come!
Dedicated to sweet Ada. We love you.

To My Love

I know you say that I do not appreciate you and all you do. I must not be good at showing you. Thank you doesn't seem like enough to say right now. But they seem to be the only words I can find so they will have to do. Thank you for the year in paradise.

Thank you for working hard to get us here and putting up with a completely foreign medical system day in and day out.

Thank you for forging the path and supplying all the comforts of home ready when we arrived, popcorn popper, basketball hoop, diet coke and all.

Thank you for making it possible for me to tramp up and down mountains and stand at the foot of waterfalls in some of the most remote, most beautiful and most stunning places in the world.

Thank you for understanding when I'd had enough and being strong enough for both of us when I had nothing left.

Thank you for standing up for me, even when it made you look as crazy as everyone thinks I am.

Thank you for backing up my crazy ideas and making it possible for us to get to do everything I had dreamed while we are here.

Thank you for driving us the entire length of the North and South Island more than once, despite my complaints of your driving too fast. For always getting us where we needed to be safely and on time.

Thank you for not getting mad and making a big deal when I screwed up big time and cost us too much money that is especially dear right now.

Thank you for putting up with foreign foods you didn't necessarily like and cups that are way too small.

Thank you for helping me show the girls the unending world of possibility ready and waiting for them.

Saving...

Thank you for sharing this beautiful land and all the experiences here, good bad or ugly. There is no one I would rather hang out in paradise with than you.

Thank you for being willing to take risks.

I can't wait for our next adventure!

xoxoxo

The Christmas Card that never was. . . again

Christmas came and went and with the holiday came the Christmas cards with perfectly groomed families. Some only send pictures of the dressed and prepped kids but the year the "weight" finally comes off or is added in all the right places in the form of implants, the whole family makes the Christmas card photo. At least that is my plan for the year I finally get the weight distribution right!

Despite all my efforts to organize a Christmas card photo this year, it did not happen. We battled attachment disorder, gale force winds, pouring down rain, the social life of a teenager and Brandon's call schedule. I had high hopes and great ideas but once again, it just didn't happen. Just another reminder of how I am not that kind of girl.

Someday I will decide that's ok and stop trying.

Everything I need to know I learned at Salford School

Yesterday was Ava's last day of school at Salford School. I cried as I hugged the principal, and Mr T, her fabulous teacher and asked one more time if they were sure they didn't want to move to the States and why not just bring the whole school with them! What a joy the school has been. Gone were the worksheets, the quiet lunchrooms where children sit in alphabetical order, the straight, quiet lines of students, the super safe playground, the librarian who tells you which of the books you are allowed to check out, the 15 minute recess (which gets taken away as a part of discipline), and the attendance officer.

Ava with Mr T

Let me give a big shout out to the entire staff of Salford School who taught Ava not only the basics but also taught her . . .

how to be bold,

Ava overlooks bungy bridge

to dance and sing,

Ava on stage for the Salford School Seussical

to think great thinks, to ask questions,

science night

to climb trees,

to be loud, to take risks, to get creative,

to get dirty, to have fun, to respect,

Ava and her mates

to love art, that school is a place of learning and learning is fun, and most importantly, learning doesn't only happen at a desk in a quiet room with a pencil.

To Micaela and Iz

I know you say, "don't let Mom pick the hike because it will involve a big hill" and you were once again proven correct with the Queen Charlotte Track that I did in fact pick. There were lots of big hills, both up and down, and 60 km was a long way to walk in three days, but the views proved to be stunning, brilliant, and unforgettable. And 60 km gave me a glimpse of the remarkable, strong women you are. So a great big thank you. Thank you for hanging in there with me and making me laugh and giving me a boost when I needed it. For singing "The Sound of Music" with me, for passing the time with questions, some thought provoking and some just plain ridiculous. For not hating me when I ask you to do something hard that stretches until it hurts and then stretches some more. For enduring kiwi style lunches and too nice dinners in resorts without cell service or TV. For putting your game face on and telling everyone that asked that you were enjoying the hike, when I knew you were not. For putting down your head and putting one foot in front of the other when faced with yet another hill to climb and for waiting patiently at the top for me to get there.

Love,
Mom

Wanted: The Better Me

I passed the bathroom mirror today and literally scared myself. Who is that crazy looking person looking back at me? I look like a really bad before shot for an Oprah makeover. Dark purple under the blood shot eyes and crazy hair (not done by my seven year old) and just looking supremely tired and sad. As further documentation for my intake sheet at the inpatient psych unit, last week I "lost" my keys in the front door for over 45 minutes when I was supposed to be picking the girls up from school, last night I forgot we had said the dinner prayer just minutes before, and the show stopper-this morning I left the house and went to the store in sweat pants and slippers on purpose. Slippers people. I can only say crazy in two languages, English and Kiwi (ok, kind of the same language), but I'm feeling it in many more.

I've been keeping the Little D diaries and it's too depressing to even write down anymore. I had decided that I should document what was going on in case I ever needed it. Great plan! As if walking in on a finger paint poop mural in progress in the bathroom in real life isn't bad enough, I can have the added pleasure of thinking about it again by putting it in print. Oh and every time I accidentally turn to that page in the book, I can reread it and have the wave of nausea and emotions come back again.

As of right now, I am in search of the better me. No more diary of crazy behaviors, no more videos of pathology to be used for diagnostic purposes, for him or me. No more checklists and google searches for "Attachment Disorder". The better me is turning on some Christine Kane, getting dressed and getting out the very expensive flat iron that she dragged all the way to New Zealand, and putting on make up. She is going to fix a grown up lunch, open a can of Diet Coke, and sit down and read the library book she checked out three and a half weeks ago that has not been opened (and has nothing to do with Attachment Disorder or regulatory parenting). She is going to make some fun plans for things to do with her girls and her parents when they come in a couple of weeks. She is going to get out her little book of big ideas and start writing and then working to make the those ideas her new reality.