Get the Balance Right

The hiatus is over.  Nothing dramatic was cooking, I just needed some time of quiet.  I've had a virtual freeze on all social media--even emailing.  Sometimes a girl needs to purge her brain of excess goop. Emptying the trash bin.

That being said, I've thought of countless tales to share, but haven't mustered up the energy to do it.  Like the 48-hour "Sosi the Destroyer" period  oh, how I wish I had taken photos.  She started by chucking my sunglasses down concrete steps, scratching the lenses.  She moved on to frying my phone by dunking it in her (expensive) hair oils that she poured all over the coffee table (which pooled onto the carpet).  Then she got her paws on the box of markers and drew a 4-foot swath of "rainbows" on our cream rug.  As I was cleaning the rug she was in the kitchen sink shattering juice glasses.  Then she opened the windows and colored the screens with Chapstick.  And to top it all off, she poured laundry detergent into her palms and "cleaned" the walls and windows.  All in less than 48 hours.  Each feat was accomplished with remarkable speed by dragging furniture to access drawers/shelves previously out of reach.  I now shudder when I have my back turned and hear, yook, mommy yook! You would think I'm sucking down mini eclairs in the backyard and letting her run amuck.  I swear she scales walls with speedier precision than Spiderman himself.

So yeah, she keeps me busy.  She does all of these things with a truly innocent smile and she is so eager to show me her accomplishments.  I am working on finding the balance between keeping her pride and creativity intact while grabbing the damn markers out of her hands before there is anymore damage.  Thanks to my friend, Unis, for recommending the fridge lock.

Balance.  That has been the theme of this past month.  Finding it with her.  Finding it within myself.  It's funny how quickly one's life becomes out-of-balance.

That's my not-so subtle segue to what has really been occupying my mental space...

Remember when I desperately reduced my work hours?  Working half-time was not a good fit for Noemi; and my supervisors were incredibly accommodating when they agreed to a one-day/week contract.  I knew that it would come to an end with the close of our fiscal year, but hopes were high that we would be able to write me into a new contract.  That was before the PA education system took some serious budget cuts and has since become, ummmm, gravely unstable. And so, myself along with many other educators will not have a contract next year.  Yesterday was my last day of work.  The boxes full of what occupied my cubicle sit on my dining room table and I'm just too dang sad to unload them. 

I've long said that I wanted to be home full-time with my children; and in theory I still do.  But that aspiration was at its height before A: the years of pouring my heart into my career all while trying to become a parent  B: experiencing the sobering reality of parenting a child with special emotional needs.  Frankly, I need a break from the intensity.  Those 8 hours at the office were my bring-me-back-to-center time where I cultivated other passions-- where I felt like I was good at something and that I actually completed tasks--where I knew no one would scream or hit me or spit at me--where I had meaningful adult conversation.  It's been my balance.  So I'm in the midst of an identity shift as I consider what it means to walk away from one's passion after 15 years and looking for the door that God is going to open.

Things are still going well with Noemi and I love how much I like my daughter.  Her vigor and kind heartedness and stamina and curiosity and courage and humor and sing-songy loveliness remain.   But as I have discussed with other parents who have children with attachment and trauma-related needs, the brain does not just heal one day and the needs *poof!* disappear.  Rather than the healing happening linearly, it happens like a spiral slowly rising out of the muck.  Noemi cycles in and out of things; and her symptoms change as she ages and moves through developmental shifts.  The source of the anxiety is the same but how it is manifested in behavior morphs as she grows.  She's a hoot of a lot higher on that spiral than she was 6 months ago, yet there is much healing that is still happening.

I am grateful to be the mother of such an infectiously joyful child and never want my discussion of the challenges to communicate otherwise.  I'm simply seeking a new balance--because it makes me a better mother, wife and human.  Perhaps that balance will include a new creative endeavor--or--perhaps we'll keep it simple and just build that wine cellar that I've been jonesin' for.   Time will tell.