Help When You Need It

This just in from my dear friend and counselor Karen Langley who is a serious student of A Course in Miracles (ACIM). I'd put out a call to her for support and insight on how to create more "me" time and here is her response.

Back in the day, I waited for my daughters' nap time and then dropped what I was doing and ran to the meditation pillow. Also, I had another mother who was working at home across the street from me and we would sometimes cover for each other. I agree that as a single parent it must be crazy hard.

Even now I forget to try this kinda simple thing. See if it helps: When Daniil's attention is on something else, close your eyes and remember meditating... rest in that remembrance for a few seconds and you might actually feel like you meditated when your attention returns to Daniil.

OR, remember sharing a moment of quiet peace with friends, or the laughter (usually at ourselves) with friends. Take as long as you can in that remembrance and you might feel that peace or laughter again.

OR, think of a color, or sound, or person, or painting, or a nature scene that centers you, or inspires you, etc. and let yourself go into that feeling.... Sometimes remembrance of what once worked/helped before brings about the same experience.

The brain is quite easy to trick. It really does not know if we are in that experience now or if we are remembering. This is kinda the reverse of 'being here now.'

Instead, be where a lovely moment happened (that you can bring to mind) and see if you can re-experience it now. This could be fun finding what works and what does not. This helps me a lot while waiting for doc. appts. or my grown-up daughter to show up when she is nearly always late, or even when my old sweet dog is taking her time doing her business and I am freezing outside. (I think of summer heat warming up my skin.)
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I say, 'whatever works.' We are already and always in The Love of God and often need to trick our brains into reminding us! It does not have to take a long meditation. In fact, ACIM says that a few moments of True Remembrance does more for us than a lifetime of meditation.

Renunciation 2

"Dying to one's life as it was." I came across this definition of "renunciation" while watching a PBS special on the life of the Buddha. It immediately resonated. Ah! That's it exactly. This is the process I'm undergoing as a new mom.

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Death of any kind is unnerving, to say the least, even one that results in enlightenment or transformation. I know from experience that this process of renunciation/transformation/resurrection would be much easier if I totally surrendered to it. But I keep holding out: there must be a way to hold onto the me I once knew--my routines, my creativity, so much of my self-care, alone time, even my very thinking patterns--mustn't there? It's proving fruitless. As I continue to cling to my past, I'm only causing myself more (psychic) suffering.

So it's time to figure out how to create the necessary conditions for "letting go." I recall a beautiful letting-go poem by e.e. cummings, one I memorized many years back:

let it go-the smashed word broken
open vow or the oath cracked length
wise-let it go it
was sworn to
lllllgo

let them go-the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers-you must let them go they
were born
lllllto go

let all go-the
big small
middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things-let all go
dear
lllllsso comes love

Okay, so I’ve got to trust that when I let go, love is there to catch me. This sounds really good, but, honestly, I'm still left resentful that I have to give up so much of what makes me "me" to be a mom.

Then I remember the work I did with a terrific therapist in Arlington, MA. Although Suzanne happened to be a practicing Buddhist, our work together consisted of doing something traditional Buddhism would not condone: we created overarching "frameworks" or constructed narratives that I could fall back on when I felt myself entering unknown territory in my life. For instance, she'd often remind me of the mythology of entering the underworld. It's a given: one can't see for a while. It takes time for one's eyes to adjust in the dark. It's also a given that as I keep walking I will indeed begin to see what needs to be seen. And not only that. I'll also be given necessary aid along the way. A helping hand from a stranger. Direction from a snake that, at first, appears to be an inert gray stick. Eventually, I will emerge up into the light, transformed, wiser for the journey and the trusting and the reliance on the natural order.
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I've decided to contact Suzanne again and ask her to help me create another useful narrative to help me chart this uncharted new- and single-mom territory that is putting my very fibre to the test. I'm hoping that her support, along with prayer and talking with lots of other parents about their experience, will ready me for complete surrender into motherhood.

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Perhaps I will soon get to the jumping-off point where I can say, wholeheartedly: "Yes" to this too, O Life, O Love, O Great and Blessed Unknown. Let my surrender into motherhood change and transform me as You would have me changed and transformed for the sake of service and the sake of Joy.

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Then again, maybe I'm making things way too complicated. Maybe all I need to do is go out and corral a big stable of able babysitters and then shell out the money to insure a set number of "Lisa" hours each week. I'll try both tacks and see what happens.

First Christmas, Snapshots

Power drill and tool bench a bit hit. Thanks, Santa.


Pop's lap, the comfiest chair


Baba and Danya send the slinky all the way down the stairs.

Christmas Adventure at Long Pasture

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Aunt Coco can always be counted on for fun.

Mama helps with the unwrapping.

Christmas: "I like it."

The Grandparents

Daniil and "Dayadushka" (my dad)

Danya and Pop (my stepdad)

Danya and Baba (my mom)

Higher the Better

Daniil likes serious high heels and pulls them out of my closet every morning and night. "These are my shoes!" he insists, laughing, and looking at me with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. "Your shoes?!" I respond in mock surprise. "Yes, my shoes," Daniil asserts, sashaying with impressive confidence, I must say, in my/his 3" heels.

I Like to Talk

I'm left speechless in the face of my boy's exploding speech. Tonight I told Daniil how much I enjoyed listening to him and hearing his English develop. "I like to talk," he said and clearly meant it. There's been a palpable shift in the past day alone, like turning on a faucet. It's been exactly 3 months since we touched ground in Boston and Daniil started his English-language immersion. I've always been told when it comes to behaviors, like giving up caffeine or adopting an exercise routine, that it takes 90 days to break an old habit and solidify a new one. I'm not sure if this three-month rule of thumb applies to languages, but it sure seems to be the case with Danya.

Today we checked out from the library for the second time the low-brow toddler classic Everyone Poops. (We'd already checked it out once and read it aloud most nights for two weeks' running.) When we got to the next-to-last page, Daniil took over and narrated non-stop in complete sentences straight down the line of animals:



"Giraffe eats leaves. Lion eats meat. Gorilla eats bananas. Zebra eats grass. Pelican eats fish. Pig eats slop. Boy eats kasha." Complete sentences, in English!
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I took one look at my boy and realized that he was as bowled over as I. It was then that I applauded his progress. "I like to talk," Daniil replied. "And I love to listen to you talk," I said.

I look forward to years of talking and listening, listening and talking, as language opens up my boy's heart, mind and soul to me and others.

"Befaneet"

Meet Bethany, our morning Nanny. Daniil and I hit the jackpot. Bethany lets herself in at 6:15AM, empties the dishwasher, feeds Frieda and Simon, puts on my tea water, and starts breakfast prep for my boy. By the time he and I wander downstairs around 6:35, Bethany's ready to roll with breakfast and trains and the long drive to the Sandwich Montessori School, and I'm ready to take off for a full day of work. How blessed I am to leave my boy in the arms of a caring, fun-loving and skilled young woman--who has fallen in love with Daniil. He asks and comments about her frequently in the evenings and over the weekends: "Where's Befaneet? Befaneet's driving... Befaneet's eating... Befaneet's sleeping."

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My return to work was a shocker. It's like feast or famine. For the past 12 weeks I've been with Daniil for 14 waking hours every day: marathon Mom. Now, on work days, I'm lucky if I see my son for three hours total: 30 minutes in the morning and two-plus hours in the evening before his 7:30PM bedtime. I sure wish I could create a more balanced scenario, but, alas, there's no part-time option for a middle-school principal. My dad reminds me that Daniil's world is expanding and that this is good and healthy. I appreciate this reassuring perspective, and it appears to be true. Daniil loves Bethany and her undivided attention each morning. And he simply adores his teacher Sarah who sings and dances with him, along with his new little friends in school, including a girl he reportedly likes both to kiss and to boss around: "Walk, Leila! No running, Leila!"

Not the Only One

Email received from my friend Carolyn (mother of five): "If you have any new frustrations, as a result of trying to meet professional goals amidst the mindful mind full of motherhood, be well consoled that I feel ya."

"New frustrations"... that's putting it mildly! And I thank you, Carolyn. Good to know, at least, that I'm not alone in my single-professional-new mom overwhelm.

The Tibetan Buddhists have a wonderful meditation practice called tonglen in which a person who is suffering in any given way opens his or her mind and heart and realizes that there are countless others on this earth, at this very moment, who are suffering likewise. Given this realization, I can breathe in the suffering for others, and carry the load on their behalf (since I'm already feeling this pain anyway), and then breathe out relief and ease to all, myself included. I will do this tonight on behalf of all single parents everywhere, from Boston to Bangladesh.

And I need to add, although perhaps it goes without saying, that of course it's not all suffering. But it sure does get challenging parenting alone. As a psychic friend responded when I told him I was planning to adopt as a single mom: "Ah, a brilliant sacrifice." Yes, there is great brilliance. And, yes, there is great sacrifice.

77 Viewings Later

I've yet to tire of this Sesame Street video clip, Daniil's favorite for two weeks' running, his continual request for "Pick a Peck of Peppers" (actual song title "Sing After Me"). I use it to entice him to get dressed every morning and to get out of the bath every night. Madeline Kahn is one class act. Check out her delightfully expressive eyes.

For some reason I can't quite figure, the video elicits longing in me, perhaps for some safer and simpler world. Maybe it's the melody, reminiscent of a sweet Broadway musical.

While Reading a Bedtime Story...

Danya sat on my lap in the little chair in the corner of my bedroom, his new preferred place to hear a bedtime story. We had just finished Cornelius P. Mud, Are You Ready for Bed?, a cute book about a pig who definitely is not ready for bed, when Daniil leaned back in my arms and rolled his little cheek back and forth against mine, applying pressure. At one point he stopped, nose against my cheek, and took in a big breath.

"Smell," Daniil said.
What do you smell? I asked, thinking I might have garlic or some other odd odor on my breath.
"Mama," he said.
I smell like Mama? I asked.
Yes, he said. And smiled.

****

Earlier in the evening, we built our first fire in the fireplace. I took time to lay out the groundrules, mainly that Daniil is never, ever to touch the fire, the fireplace, or the fireplace screen. Only Mama. After that, he was so concerned, he refused to sit any closer than a good six yards from the fireplace! Still, he was mesmerized. He sat stone still, gazing at the flames. I had to teach him this new word, along with the word "fire." (Although Daniil shouts out "firetruck!" each time one passes, and he visited an actual fire station last weekend, until tonight he had no comprehension of what a fire actually was.)

"The fire's dancing," Daniil said, after watching the flames intently for a good two minutes. He was right.

Little Boy's Dream

Daniil has made his first official friend, a love of a two-year-old boy named Silas who happens to have the biggest brown eyes in all the world. In fact, when I asked Daniil, before our first playdate with Silas, if he remembered him from the music class where they met, Danya nodded and said simply: "Silas. Eyes." Silas' dad just happens to be a Chatham firefighter, so this past weekend the two boys took an insider's tour: they got to clamber all over fire trucks, fire rescue boats, fire rescue ambulances and all.

Sanctuary

We've been twice to the antique carousel at Heritage Gardens in Sandwich. The gardens are proving to be a godsend to me, acres and acres of arboretum with choice conifers, towering deciduous trees, winding lanes (no cars!), quiet, exquisite breathing room. I feel a sense of renewal simply driving down the road to get there. How I need sanctuary, especially now that it's "boy: 24/7." If I ever get around to writing a book about this experience, that might make a good title.

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More on sanctuary in a future posting. Once again it grows late, nearly midnight, and Daniil and I have a big day tomorrow: his first Suzuki violin lesson. This will be an experiment. At 3.5, he may or may not be able to concentrate and hold it together. But he sure is keen on the violin, pretending often that his right-hand index finger is a tiny bow.

All Boy

No gender boxes for this boy. Rambunctious as all get-out on the playground, Daniil also likes to put on Mama's lipstick, clomp around in my red heels, and insist on wearing my pink flowery apron, not his little one featuring a brown bear, whenever we cook side by side. Today it was homemade pesto in the blender, followed by ridiculously healthy bran muffins packed with fresh cranberries.

I consciously am not going to squeeze Daniil into any traditional gender roles. I pray that the entire world remains open to him for as long as possible before he has to start making amendments to fit into "acceptable" society.

Banjo, for Real

Why is Daniil nuts for the banjo? You got me. But every time he hears one on a CD--we listen to a lot of bluegrass, along with Pete Seeger--he correctly identifies it and exclaims: "Banjo!" And most mornings of late, he requests to see and hear banjo on YouTube. Here's the clip I show him, from Dave Letterman featuring two of our country's finest banjo players, Tony Tricshka and Bela Fleck, along with the multi-talented Steve Martin. And, to boot, check out the "girl" fiddle player. That's my very own teacher, Brittany Hass.

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p.s. Daniil got to hold his first banjo, for real, this past weekend in Cambridge. Three-year-old heaven.

PreSchool

Choosing a college? It's got to be a cinch compared to all we've been through choosing a pre-school. Finally. Eight weeks and 15 schools later, I've landed on the Sandwich Montessori School. Will this be the perfect fit for my son? I don't pretend to know what that would look like at this point, only 9+ weeks into mothering Daniil. I do know that the teachers are skilled and caring and communicate constantly, the environment is inviting and stimulating, and that there will be small chance that Daniil will grow bored and restless, as he seemed at the first school we checked out.

Daniil starts next week. I'll have two weeks to ease him into school, into his morning nanny, and into his afternoon pick-up with another Montessori family who lives in the neighborhood, before I return to work full time.

More later on the countless things I've learned along the way about early childhood education. For now, I'm simply exhausted--and relieved to know my son has an educational home.

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Like everything else right now in my new "life with boy"--and perhaps in all of our lives--this school is an experiment. I've taken the best action I know how and now turn over the results. It will be interesting to see what happens... May there be joy and light and ease during this next major transition both for Daniil and for me, a first-time Mama who is learning many ropes fast.

Memory Lane

This is the email I sent to everyone back in February when I met Daniil for the first time. I recently re-discovered it and am delighted to report that my initial impressions continue to bear out. (Note that I hadn't yet changed the spelling of Daniil's name.) Photo is the very first one taken of Daniil and me together, five minutes post meeting. He tentatively took my hand and we slid down the indoor slide in the orphange side by side.

2/11/10

The boy is a treasure. My little mishka. I've officially "agreed": if all remaining paperwork goes well, Danil is my son. My meeting with him felt graced. This is what many adoptive parents say about their children. How grateful I feel to be able to say the same.

Thumbnail sketch: The Baby Home Director said of Danil, after describing in detail the sad circumstances of his life before his arrival: "This boy is open to life and open to love. He is ready to love and be loved." What glorious statements, and she is so right. Over the course of several meetings Danil sang and danced, recited a little poem he had memorized, did yoga with me (a tippy little tree and ferocious little lion), sat in my lap and named bears and cats in story books, played hide and seek, threw an impressive overhand fast-ball, squealed with delight in response to every funny face, dove with me into the "ball pool," let me gallop him around the room while he clicked his tongue like horses' hooves, quietly watched the falling snow outside the window (“Snyek,” he said softly, correctly identifying snow in Russian), gently rocked and sang to a baby doll, and learned to say two words in English, hello and goodbye, in the sweetest little voice in all of Russia. All to say, he appears to be a multi-dimensional 2.5 year old, game for everything and able to fully connect with his world.

The Baby Home itself shattered all stereotypes of a sad, paint-peeling orphanage: it features a Montessori classroom, speech therapists, play rooms, a swimming pool, hearty meals and, most importantly, a loving and devoted staff. But still, it is an institution, not a home.

The Kremlin left me awestruck. I'm hooked on blinis with butter and caviar. Everyone wears the most outrageously beautiful (politically-incorrect) furs. Classical music at the Tchaikovsky Conservatory blew me away.

All to say, I’m off on the grand adventure of parenting!

Thank you for your ongoing support. I can’t wait for you to meet Danil! Hopefully I'll be able to return within 2 months to bring him home. It was hard to leave him in Apatity, but I know that he's in caring hands.

Da svidániya!

One smitten, excited Mama bear,
Lisa

"Create fun and a little weirdness."

This is one of Zappos' core values. Also good advice for getting through the day with a toddler. Come to think of it, this might be one of Daniil's unwritten values too.

Dancing in the Streets

Daniil was pumped after his first parade, the Honk parade marching down Mass. Ave. featuring activist street bands from around the country. Drums booming! Horns blaring! People dancing on crazy high stilts! Lots of lefty chants about boycotting Monsanto and freeing immigrants held in detention. Gotta love the People's Republic, as Cambridge is fondly known. Daniil did his own little sidewalk dance caught by our friend Sara.
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We see so many friends in Cambridge and I feel buoyed by a level of love and support I simply haven't cultivated in my mere two years on the Cape. It's always a rather sad drive home, as Daniil continues to say goodbye to everyone he's met: "Goodbye, Uncle Matt... Where's Shelley?... No kisses, Vashti [Bill and Mea's collie dog]... Where's Beryl?..." Tonight, Daniil had had it by Exit 6 on the Cape. We were almost home, but he couldn't hold out and started to cry. "What do you want?" I asked, as has become my custom whenever he whines or cries. No response, simply a high-pitched whine-cry. "Do you want a hug?" I asked. "Da," Daniil nodded his head. "Right now?" I asked. Another nod in the affirmative. "We'll get off at the next exit," I said, and did.

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I pulled off Exit 6 and onto a gravelly area on the right of the road. I got out of the car, opened the back door, and reached in to hug Daniil in his car seat. "Seat belt off," he said. I hesitated, concerned that we'd have a struggle putting it back on. But I looked at his sad little face and decided to go with it. I picked him up out of the car, held all 40 pounds of him in my arms, and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, as cars zoomed by and dusk fell. He held me tight and wrapped his legs around me, letting his head fall on my shoulder, utterly releasing and relaxing into Mama. I sang softly in his ear "You are My Sunshine," the first verse, and then his favorite "Hush, Little Baby." We rocked and I sang, and then Daniil looked up and saw the first star. Likely it was a planet, so big and bright, but we called it a star anyway and Daniil was mesmerized. "A star," he said quietly. And then we turned and saw a bright crescent moon. "The moon!" he declared, more loudly. I placed him back in his carseat, no struggle, and we drove the final 10 minutes home. "Where's the moon?" Daniil contined to ask. "Behind us," I replied. "It's still in the sky, you just can't see it right now."
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No bedtime story, Daniil was too tired, so we simply turned off the light and jumped into bed, tonight with his school bus right beside him, not the beloved tractor trailer. Per this week's new custom, Daniil asked for kisses: “Big kisses… small kisses… big kisses… small kisses…” He softly whispered over and over, in nearly perfect English: “Big kisses… small kisses… big kisses… small kisses…” as he turned his head this way and that so I’d kiss exactly where he wanted on his neck. So very beautiful and sweet. He said goodnight to both the star and the moon before falling asleep.

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I've had my moments, believe me. Unbearable moments when I've completely broken down sobbing: what have I gotten myself into? Single motherhood is no picnic. Let's be blunt: it sucks a lot of the time. I've got to be constantly "on" as there's no one else here to provide respite, even a short 20-minute break during the day to make a phone call, vacuum the kitchen, wrap a present or run to the grocery store without toddler in tow, let alone read a poem, think or reflect. (I thank heaven daily for my incredibly generous mom who stops by whenever possible to lend a hand.)

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But then there are these other moments, counter-balancing times like tonight, when I get to stand by the side of the highway and reassure my son that his Mama loves him, that all is right in his world. Perhaps needless to say, I wouldn't trade this tenderness for anything.

Moy Zychick (My Bunny) Wears Prada

It was all Daniil's idea. I didn't put him up to it, honestly, I didn't!

Music's Where It's At

Harmonica, piano, violin, drums and now the vibes... Daniil's into them all... with a particular 3-year-old spin, of course...