I is for ...

'Tween moon glow

And the dawning

I waken to a light on

His eyes on me

They shine on

The love for him

They see.

Cross-Country Race

I haven't taken any sick leave in over a year, the incentive being an extra paycheck for unused days, right before Christmas. As it happens, tomorrow I will take a couple of hours off to watch my son participate in a cross-country race. Because he asked me to.

He hasn't been training for long. In fact, it's only been once a week for the past month, at school, before classes start in the morning. I like those days because I get to the office early after dropping him off and feel like we are both getting a productive start to the day.

Truthfully, I could do without the race but it is included with the activity fee, tee shirt and all.

I want my son to run because he can already put one foot in front of the other and running simply means doing so at a faster pace. It's what the literature recommends for DCD kids. Activities that involve reciprocal movements of the arms and/or legs such as swimming, cycling or running. Of these three activities, running is the only one he can do with relative ease. We have been working on swimming in an adapted program for the past seven years. Cycling, the past four. It's been exhausting for all of us but particularly for him, because the gains are so slow in coming and he is so behind in everything. Deep breath, mummy. One day at a time.

I decided the best strategy was to prepare him both physically and mentally for not winning the race, even though I know he secretly wishes he would. So we have been training on my treadmill, trying to improve his individual time and speed, without having to compare himself to others. We've also been working with the occupational therapist on things like technique and breathing.

The most difficult part however, is the mental preparation. It takes incredible persistence on his part to learn a new motor skill let alone improve upon it. And even with all his hard work, the payoff is at best, mediocrity, all of which take a toll on his self-esteem. "I suck" or "I'm not good at that" is a pretty common refrain these days and while I don't feed into it, we do discuss how he feels about things. So the challenge is to avoid setting him up for failure and to find a deeper meaning to the race, something that will stay with him longer than any medal would, long after the runner's high has faded.

I hope the race is a positive experience for him and that running remains an activity he can pursue long term for all its health benefits.

I will be watching the race with my heart in my throat tomorrow, cheering for my boy.

What My Father Smelled Like

Life of the party
in fancy suits and silk ties
and Hai Karate.

Dancing With Leaves

My dog does a jig in the window 

as I gather leaves into bag number forty

and I'm not sure if it's me 

he wants to dance with

or the swirling leaves that escape my stuffing

but I appreciate his cheering me on

as my iPod plays its melancholy raking mix

and the sun makes me look taller and thinner

on the newly swept lawn.

Stair Training

the referral said

teach exercises

and train stairs

we reach the second floor

easy peasy

where her son waits

she's fine

but the dizziness may cause a fall

it already has

mended bone, broken spirit

does she want to go upstairs?

no

do you need her to go upstairs?

no but --

she needs to move more

to stay strong

he looks towards the room 

where she used to sleep

and at me

tired eyes plead

bring her back 

the mothering mother

who comforts

not the other way around

right then I am useless

so I bring her downstairs 

to the bed in the living room

where I show her exercises

that will keep her strong.

Fixer-Upper

Three years ago

I bought my soul back

And remortgaged the house

I'll give it a year, I said

Before giving up

And when a year passed, I said

I'll take it one year at a time.

The other day my father told me,

Your fence needs mending,

Then watched me sag against its twisted trellis

How long will you stay

He asked

At least two years, maybe seven

He sighed.

One should not remain

In a house that can't be fixed

Or a relationship without tenderness

I left the marriage

But kept the house,

Searching for peace

Within crumbling walls,

And buried brown thumbs 

Deep in its neglected garden,

Hoping to find something to save

And love again.

The Wild West Island

Post-op update.

I sat for all of five minutes in one of the nicest waiting rooms I've ever seen in my life. Gorgeous red leather chairs, tasteful art work on the walls, sculptures of healing hands, free wifi, and would you believe a coffee pod machine! I found it odd that the pen I was given to fill in the medical questionnaire was so crappy. Turns out it was a deterrent to me writing my life's story.

Much to my dismay, I was called into the "operating room" before I was ready. What's the point of a nice waiting room if you don't get to wait in it?

On the other side, things were rather clinical but still tasteful. An assistant set me up in a chair soooo comfy-cosy I could've had a nice nap. She bustled about the room giving me post-op instructions when all of a sudden this tall cowboy walked in. He was wearing blue jeans and a kelly green gingham shirt with what looked to be a little pink cowboy on the front pocket. I can't remember if he wore a hat or not but I can assure you, he looked exactly like this.

"Howdy ma'am. What seems to to be the trouble?"

"I broke a tooth."

"Don't you worry about a thing. We'll get it out for you."

And get it out they did, the cowboy and his posse. Six hands taking care of my every need, kind of like a French restaurant where the service is so good, you only have to take a sip of water before someone is hovering with a pitcher ready to refill your glass. In this case, all it took was for a little gurgle, a trickle of drool slipping out for not one but TWO suction technicians to make it disappear. I swear, there was no splatter to be found when I got home.

I must say it was odd, this tooth extraction experience. There were so many people in the room at one time, I felt like I was at a cocktail party having to make small talk. Overall though, it was a really good experience considering why I was there. Cowboy Gingham to the rescue!

Think I'll go early for my follow-up appointment to have extra lounge time in that lovely waiting room. I'll take lots of pics and maybe even sneak one of the cowboy hat. Yee haw!