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.

Just Wondering

I was happily ellipticalling along on the elliptical trainer this morning at the YMCA and almost 60 minutes in I moved from heavy breathing to panting. As I glanced down at the time to see how much more torture I had in store on this contraption, I noticed the fine print. It says, "stop and get medical attention if you experience faintness, exhaustion, or shortness of breath". Huh? Isn't that the point of the machine, to get you feeling exhausted and short of breath? Just wondering.

And while I'm on the topic of the gym. Do you get some super hero extra muscle building power if you grunt while you are lifting weights? Just wondering.

I saw a notice that they were starting Zumba classes at the Y here. I went to sign up but the class was full. I was kind of bummed until I happened to be at the gym the first night of the class. The line looked a lot like a casting call for Richard Simmons "sweatin to the oldies". I would not have been shocked to see Richard Simmons himself jump out of somewhere. Whatever happened to Richard Simmons? Just wondering.

What's the deal with posting feedback about the people you buy crap from over the internet? Is it a competition to see who can get the most stars? I bought a USB piano keyboard for my girls so they can live their garageband dreams and the seller posted feedback that said I was a "brilliant first time trader". What does that mean anyway? Can I put that on my resume when I go back to work early next year? Just wondering.

Does anybody actually read what I write here? Just wondering.

Landmarks

I have three or four different places that I walk to keep me sane. Some are much more visually appealing than others and I definitely have a favorite that I go if the stars all align just the way I need them to. No matter which place I choose, I have landmarks that I watch out for along the way. Some are places I pass and some I hear through the headphones of my iPod.

When I hear Pearl Jam tell me to "Just Breathe", I know I am at the half way point and it is a reminder to do just that, breathe. When I pass the Lotto shop with the big purple sign I know that in about 10 minutes I'll be back to my warm car. I usually think about the times the kids I stop at that shop and get huge scoops of Tip Top ice cream hand dipped in the most divine chocolate. It makes me pick up my pace just enough. I pass the old rusting truck in the middle of the sheep pasture and smile and think about Brandon and know that I'm a fourth of the way home. And when I'm almost home, I laugh at the sign that warns me that I could die. Something about a cable under the river. In a land that throws all caution to the wind, it's funny to see that sign.

The nice thing about landmarks, whether early in the journey or the ones that signal you are near the end, is that you get an idea of where you are. You can gauge how much energy it will take to get you to the end. This journey with Little D is all new to me. There are no landmarks to navigate my path. Does three days in a row with screaming rages lasting three to four hours mean we're a fourth of the way in? When he asks for a hug do I know we're almost there? When he looks me directly in the eye, glaring, and pees and poops all over the floor, does that mean we've taken a step forward or back. There is no gauge to measure how much energy and determination it will take to get us to the end. I don't even know where the end is at this point or what it looks like. All I can do is hope, and muster up the energy and determination for one more step.

Inefficiency

I joined the YMCA because I believed what the Village People said, that "they can help you today", and something about not getting down and getting yourself off the ground and I'm sure they mentioned fun in there somewhere.

.

I had a fitness assessment this morning. I didn't want an assessment because that sounds too much like test which might mean criticism, but in order to get the nice boy to show me the exercises that will give me Michelle Obama arms, I had to be assessed. I was thinking, great, I walk everyday, oh and I play the Wii. I thought maybe they would have me hit some baseballs or tennis balls or bowl a few lanes and then tell me my fitness age. I was prepared. I thought.

The very nice lady told me what a beautiful figure I had and then stuck me on a bike and told me to ride. She measured something called my VO2. I don't really know what that is but she explained it is basically measuring stamina. My number was so low it was literally not even on the chart. I must have started looking stunned because she next told me it is not really stamina, but a measure of how efficient my body is at getting oxygen to the cells. I thought for a few seconds and looked at her and said "So you're basically saying that I'm inefficient down to a cellular level." She laughed. I must have looked even worse because she next told me that it's basically 70% genetics. Now we're talking.

I know I'm inefficient. I certainly didn't need to ride her bike to give me that news flash. I have boxes of unfinished projects and a house that is never all clean at one time. I leave the house each morning and without fail have to go back inside at least once to get something I forgot. I don't make one trip to the grocery store a day but three or four because I forgot some key ingredient. Inefficiency is my middle name. I contemplated asking for my $320 back and then something occurred to me. The glorious part about the assessment is, I now know my inefficiency is not my fault. It's my cellular make up. And if that wasn't enough to make my day, it's genetic! Something else that is all my parents fault. I left her office happy to know I now have the perfect excuse. I am inefficient but it's not my fault and because it's genetic, there's nothing I can do about it! I'll spend the day blaming mom and dad and then start apologizing to my girls.

My Cinderella Story

New Zealand doesn't have much to offer where fashion is concerned. When I hit the continent, I felt like I moved 18 hours ahead while warping 15 years behind. Mullets and mohawks are the norm and it is nice to live someplace that no matter what your size, leggings are it. The one exception to the fashion time warp is the shoes. I have never considered myself a "shoe girl". Comfort always takes precedence for me, but the shoes here are ogle worthy. They are also expensive and so I have only been an admirer from afar. That is until last week when walking by a store window on Esk street, these boots spoke my name. Not just a whisper in passing but a make you stop dead in your tracks kind of speaking. I knew instantly they were to be mine. Sole mates, love at first sight, instant attraction, whatever you call it, I experienced it on the sidewalk. I tried them on and all was right with the world. The only thing that would have made it better is a chocolate bar in hand. We were shopping for shoes for Izzy and Ava who were wearing shoes whose soles were literally full of holes and falling off, and we left $268 later with patten leather red boots for me. And when I wear them, happily ever after seems entirely possible.

Ava's shoes that still need replacing!

Someone Else' Child

About a year ago, the Reynolds five somehow became the Reynolds six. I'm not really sure how it happened, although I am fully aware of where babies come from, and I am even less certain how long it will last. Little D made his first appearance last August. He is the son of Big Daddy's brother and has had a tough three years, to say the least. It's a strange feeling when to have responsibility for a stranger's child. A child you are completely unsure of the history or the future. A child who has the ability to melt your heart and make you think you are truly insane all in the same 24 hour period. You learn a lot about yourself, most of it not pleasant and you get a clear picture of who you really are, most of the time not the person you thought you were or want to be. You also learn a lot about the power of "mom and dad", for good or bad.

How is it that long before we make our appearance into the world, two people are able to screw us up. And when we do make our appearance, that power to wreak havoc grows exponentially. The best part by far is that once the havoc is there, it is almost inevitable that the havoc spreads wherever the child goes.

Whatever the reason, right now I am "Mom" to a three year old. An adorable three year old with chocolate button eyes. A three year old I did not grow or deliver, but who was delivered to me.

A three year old who has experienced hurt, more hurt than most will experience in their lifetime.

A three year old who cannot say that he is hungry or tired or cold, he has no idea those are things you don’t have to feel.

A three year old who has no idea what it feels like to have a “go to man”, someone who has your back no matter what. And because of the power of "mom and dad", he is unable to let me be that man.

A three year old who manipulates and controls at all cost, there is no cost too high. He has lost everything already.

A three year old who cannot look me in the eye without trembling and sobbing at the very request. I might see his fear and hurt and he, he might see my love.

A three year old who has no trouble looking me in the eye to lie. Who stares at me with cold dark eyes full of hatred and contempt. And when I see the intensity there I am relieved he can’t find the words to express what he feels. And I dread the day he does.

A three year old I am struggling to like. A three year old I fiercely love, and wish with all my heart that love would heal his.

Shopping for a New Mom

Little D does this thing when we go out in public where he shops for a new mom. A mom who will be more like his vision of “the perfect mom”. At the supermarket on Monday, he found two possible candidates and later that evening when Big Daddy invited one of the medical students over for dinner, Little D was sure he had found “the one”. Seconds after she walked in the door, he announced “I love her”. Signed, sealed and delivered!

The thought of being replaced used to have me running scared, but Monday as we walked through the market collecting the staples, like Oreo cookies, Ice cream and Diet Coke, I decided this idea of shopping for a “mom” might not be such a bad idea. A “mom” right here in New Zealand might be just what Little D and I both need. So up and down the aisles, amid the canned goods and bakery offerings, I shopped too.

I’m not sure how Little D makes his picks, what kind of selection process he goes through, but I started my search with the contents of their trolley. If they didn’t have a trolley, they were automatically eliminated based on the assumption that the pantry would resemble the contents of the trolley and without one I couldn’t tell. If the items in the trolley passed the test and included, the basic necessities and then some treats thrown in, I looked at the shopper themselves. The too old and too young were quickly eliminated and then I was left to watch how they shopped. Lose the “mom”’s who use a list, and gone were the chicks who couldn’t decide. I looked for a smile or “that certain look” in their eye. You know “the look”, the one that tells you she will listen patiently when you need it and tell you to stop whining when that is what is called for. The mom who will fill your freezer full of ready meals and drive your kids around in your convertible VW beetle for a week while you soak up the sun with your husband on a tropical island far away. The mom who shows she cares with phone calls and packages and forwarding of clever emails. A mom who has a candy cupboard and white bread when you go to visit. A mom who is always up for a “project” no matter how big (helping you move across the world) or small (finishing the easter dresses where all you had left do was hem them).

Vinny and I left the supermarket with only the food staples we had come for (and an extra treat or two) and when we got back to the house and I looked forward to my planned skype later that afternoon with the chick I knew was perfect for the “mom” job. She never leaves the market without a full trolley and she has exactly “the look” I was searching for. As it turns out, she doesn’t live in New Zealand, but half way across the world. And that will have to be good enough for now.

Overjoyed

I went for the most fabulous walk/run yesterday. The sun was shining through cotton candy clouds and the sky was the most amazing shade of blue. It was another true "pinch me" moment where I felt extremely grateful. Grateful to be here in New Zealand. Grateful to experience the people, the culture and the incredible beauty that is in every direction. Like one of my favorite songs, I was struck how,

“All of the world is designed to remind you
All of the light you could find is inside, under
All of the noise, and here’s your chance to be overjoyed?”
-Christine Kane, Overjoyed

And with the noise gone, surrounded by a world designed to remind me, for those 45 minutes I truly felt OVERJOYED!

Show of Nature

Living in New Zealand has taught me many things. Some simple like, don't waste the sunshine and that Boy Scouts have the right idea: Always be prepared! In my case it's prepared with a full tank of gas because you never know where the next petrol station will be and with a gold coin for parking and always have toilet paper for your seven year old who still has to see every public restroom, even the outhouses. Another lesson New Zealand has taught me is that just because it is raining right here, does not mean it is raining everywhere. And sometimes the bad weather brings the spectacular.

On Saturday we took off to see more of the coastline we still have not seen. We came across a little place called Cosy Nook and followed a dirt road for some time and arrived at the nook. It was a little bay with rocks jutting out of the iridescent blue water like clothes thrown haphazardly on the floor of my daughters' room. It was lightly sprinkling and the wind was blowing as it always does along the coast here, showing it's mighty power and reminding me how small I truly am.

We ate our picnic lunch and enjoyed nature's spectacular "show". Out of the cloud, a rainbow fell into the water. The wind slammed the water into the scattered rocks and magnificent sprays of water hit the air. Micaela wanted to venture out on some of the boulders and she and Brandon took off. Common sense won out over adventure in the end for her but I watched Brandon scramble over rocks and jump over incoming waves to reach a little island. He stood for a long time watching the waves hit and feeling the power of nature and when I reminded him the tide was coming in and if he didn't head back the only alternative would be to swim, he scrambled back to safety.

A couple of weeks ago, I called a tramping company to talk about reservations for Micaela and I to tramp the Milford Sound Track. The lady helping me told me that the best times to go are in the early season in Nov and late season in March because they have wetter weather then. She said the worse the weather the more spectacular the trail.

We drove home along the coast Saturday and I thought how my life feels like a spectacular "show" of nature right now, waves crashing, wind blowing and gray clouds dumping rain on a regular basis. Every once in a while I get the rainbow dropping out of the cloud and the sun shines through absolutely brilliantly on occasion. Sometimes I am lucky enough that the brilliant sunshine coincides with a high point to look out, and I get a glimpse of the bigger picture. And other times, I give in and trust the power that is greater than myself and hope for the magnificent and spectacular outcomes that often come on the other side of the bad weather.

To All the Well Meaning People

To the well meaning lady in the grocery store who asked me if I couldn't just give sulking, whining Little D something because he looked so sad and he is such a good wee man,
Seriously???

To the well meaning grocery store clerk who wanted to know if he couldn't just have one little lolli so he might stop crying,
I can't quite hear you because of all the noise he's making.

To the well meaning Nursery Leader who in the midst of a Little D's tantrum in the foyer keeps telling him what a good little boy he is and wants me to tell him what a nice little boy he is as well,
We're not establishing eternal worth here, just taking care of current unacceptable behavior. I get it, if you don't maybe you could just step aside and leave me to it.

To my well meaning friend who brings books and puzzles and snacks for Little D to get us through church,
This is my first time with a two year old in church, why didn't I think of that? (I say with the greatest of sarcasm while I hand them back)

To the well meaning driver who honked his horn as I was driving the speed limit yesterday,
Thanks for reminding me I am a law abiding citizen on occasion.

To my well meaning teenager who stayed after school practicing basketball without my knowledge while I drove frantically up and down every street in Invercargill looking for you,
Sincere thanks for trying to text me, your phone will be delivered shortly and I will program the correct number in for you. (I say as I'm on my way to the mobile phone store, and she genuinely did try to text, just got the number wrong!)

To the well meaning birth mom who keeps emailing and asking when she will be able to skype with Little D,
You've had your opportunity and screwed up everything possible. DELETE, DELETE, DELETE

To my well meaning husband who takes the dirty dishes out of my hands and leads me to the bathroom where he has drawn a bath complete with bubbles, candles, and the book I am reading,
Thank you- I love you!

Aliens on my Wall

As the afternoon sun hit my family room windows today, I was sitting and holding and rocking Little D and the coolest shadows of tree limbs surrounded me. For fifteen minutes, I watched the branches dance and sway across my walls. And I spent those fifteen minutes convincing myself that there were aliens outside in the trees. I swear I could see an alien riding a bike and then stopping to catch her breath and then pedaling with all her might again. I don't know how I know it was an alien woman, but I just do. I was convinced to the point I went and got my camera and headed outside to take a picture for my daily photo blog with my sister, Mel DropZoneS2.blogspot.com. I got outside and there was no alien to take a picture of. I went back inside and the alien was still on my wall riding her bike. Once again, don't ask how I know it was a her, I just do.

Little D started chatting incessantly about pirate ships and snacks and how he loves to read books and how his mommy makes him happy and how the black on the socks is on the bottom of his foot and whatever else came to his little mind.

Minutes earlier he was in an all out screaming rage, staring me down with dark, intense eyes that could give a terrorist a run for his money. The rage started because I reminded him if he was asking me a question, he needed to look in my eyes. I know it is a scary prospect but those are the rules in our family. I can see the talk bubble above his head now, "You want me to look you in the eyes, then I'll give you something to look at!"

I looked at Mr Chatterbox and thought how much he has seen and experienced in his short life, how he knows pain and has given up things I can't even begin to imagine the loss of, how he showed up in the Atlanta airport with a small suitcase full of belongings and that was all he could claim as his own. If I, who am the proud recipient of a college degree and a can say I have a relatively sane brain and am full adult (notice I did not use the Grown-up word), am able to convince myself that there is an alien riding her bike behind my house, it's not a far stretch that this little guy is able to convince himself the world is out to get him and that he cannot trust anyone farther than he can throw them.

My job is to convince him he's wrong. Unfortunately, I'm sure it will take more than a look-see at the trees in the backyard.

Things I Believe In

I believe in loving and being loved, in afternoons with a

good book, and in embracing sunshine.

I believe in playing four square, tag, and hopscotch, that chinese jump rope should be an Olympic Sport, and in grade school recess weddings.


I believe in cloud gazing and stargazing, in power naps, and in Sonic Happy Hour.

I believe in the therapeutic power of a big bowl of popcorn and a chick flick, in extra butter, and in chocolate as an essential food group.


I believe in laughter-gut busting, pee your pants, stomach muscles sore in the morning kind of laughter, in the power of girlfriends, and in sisters who always make the best girlfriends (after the age of 20, when you're old enough to get over yourself).

I believe in Mom and Dad, in clean sheets(and underwear!), and that clean and dry kitchen tables and pencils are essential elements of math homework.

I believe in water fights and food fights, snowball fights and light saber fights, and in fights where you find yourself throwing plates when you've had all you can take.

I believe in asking questions, in going against the grain, in rocking the boat and in painting on smiles.

I believe that there is power in family and in sharing and in believing.

Lost

The day before the big move to New Zealand while trying to tie up last loose ends and making everything just perfect for the girls to move across the world, while trying to locate an old favorite picture for Micaela to put in a book to take to with her, the unthinkable and unexplainable happened, my iPhoto library was completely wiped out with the stroke of a key. I'm still not sure exactly what button I pushed or didn't push or how exactly it came about, but as the realization sank in, I was rendered speechless, a rare event indeed. I felt like I would certainly throw up, and then came the tears. I took some deep breaths and remembered I had been backing up my computer only for the last several months but surely that would take of things.

A search of my backup files revealed one of my more glaring faults, rarely taking advantage of the safety nets readily available at my fingertips. The last backup I had done was dated November 1, 2009. I could restore my photo library that was in place that date. That meant that the last 3 months of pictures were gone. Disappeared into thin air.

Pictures of birthday parties x 3. Pictures of Thanksgiving and visits from family and friends. Pictures of Christmas: hanging the stockings, the wrapping paper war, Auntie Mel's fabulous festive red dress, surprises from Santa, and many other memories. Pictures of Micaela's final basketball season defending the Lady Indians of Lumpkin County. Pictures of recent travels to New York. Pictures of long time friends as we said goodbye.

An emergency trip to the genius bar left me seriously in doubt of the qualifications for an Apple genius and with $100.o0 of data rescue software for no charge after the "genius" had erased any chance that the pictures would be easily recovered if recovered at all. Thank you to level headed parents that continue to watch out for me and speak up when I am unable to do so.

It's hard to describe the feeling of loss. How much I had relied on those digital images as a gatekeeper for the memories. How simple the day would have gone if I had only used what was readily available for preserving something so precious. Over the next weeks I spent countless hours with my laptop and the rescue program. I was amazed that I could find images from years back completely intact, and completely free from damage, but images taken of Big Much and her fabulous teacher we left behind in Georgia, taken only one week before was not recoverable. In the end, only a small percentage of the images were recovered. Everyone offered their advice about all the things I should have done. Add it to the reel already playing in my head.

Flash forward three weeks and while on a walk with the girls after school, Middle Miss dropped her brand new bright pink iPod Nano somewhere along the trail. We doubled back several times but could not find it anywhere. Amid sobs from a heartbroken girl, her sisters all offered great words of advice about how she should have left it in the car (translation: You're an idiot). There was nothing we could say that could compare with the voices already confirming that fact playing loudly in her head already. Quite miraculously, Middle Miss who is the shyest girl on the planet, on her own approached an older couple who was walking the same trail. They had found the iPod and she recovered what she had lost. I'm sure it will take much more than that to quiet the voices in her head.

For me, the lessons of the experiences were not about images or iPods. Those can be recovered or replaced or are soon forgotton, but the trust I lost in myself is not so easy to recover. Long after the items are a thing of the past, the proof remians that I am disorganized and just that stupid. And now, each night as I sleep, my computer is backing up. And with each backup the volume on the reel of voices is turned down just a decibel or two. But that is enough for now.

This week Iz celebrated her 11th birthday as week booked our first week here in New Zealand. She had partied it up at home with a slumber party with her friends and she had received all her presents because she would need them for the long day of travel (ipod Nano and North Face jacket). I still wanted to the day to be special, to stand out for her and to set the tone for our birthday celebrations while here. Her dinner request was pork tacos and she wanted to go to the Splash Palace after school. I spent the day driving among the three markets(grocery stores) in search of ingredients that would make the dinner and cake taste just like home. I came home missing key ingredients for the meal and couldn't find birthday candles anywhere. The chocolate cake recipe was in metric and the oven burned half the cake.

I felt like the mom in "The Poisonwood Bible" who takes her daughters to the African bush with her minister husband and insists she take Betty Crocker cake mixes with her so the girls birthdays would be "just right". What she discovers in the kitchen hut is that she has the cake mixes but is completely without the things that make them "just right". No eggs or oil to be found.

Frustrated, I walked outside to let all know dinner was ready and heard giggles and squeals of delight as they played in the huge yard. And I realized, we're not in the land of Target and Wal Mart anymore and that's a good thing. The birthday celebrations won't be the same. Instead of spending time and energy making everything feel like home, I need to spend that time and energy making this home. Not a hard thing when you look around and meet the people and feel the breeze and the sunshine.

We sat down to a dinner of pork tacos missing the black beans and jalopeno peppers and real limes or cilantro. All three girls excitedly talked about school and new friends and things they can't wait to see and do. The chocolate birthday cake did not have glowing candles. And as we made birthday wishes for Iz, they were not wishes for things, but for experiences here.

It turns out you don't need Betty Crocker after all.