Sometimes, You Have to Get Down (Follow-up)

If my Sometimes, You Have to Get Down post resonated with you and if you have 20 minutes, this is really worth watching.   Brene Brown is a researcher who has studied vulnerability and also struggled with the implications she found in her research.   She is a great story-teller.  One of the gems I take away from this talk is that we cannot selectively numb emotion.   When I eat or nap or watch a rom-com in order to numb the pain in my life, I also numb joy, gratitude, love and other positive emotions.  That describes the last few years of my life with crazy precision.   Makes me sad.

Another gem:  Wholehearted people are willing to let go of who they thought they should be in order to be themselves.   I probably need to get off this computer and just go journal for a couple of hours about this one.  I remember being in grad school about a decade ago and having a very strong picture of who I was going to be in the world.  In short, it involved being a "strong woman" (whatever hell that meant to an inexperienced 26 year old), with a world-saving career (never really thought about how children would fit into that picture), with amazing depth and spirituality, in an awesome marriage (again, what the h*** does a 26 year old single woman know about that?) and with a gorgeous body (!!!).   A decade later, I am realizing just how short I fall from being that super-woman.  I was on the superwoman trajectory for a while, but my picture was falling apart at the edges.  Then came two boys, who spilled stuff on that fraying picture right from the start.  It was unrecognizable at about day two of being a parent.  I was never going to be that picture.  What I am is imperfect me.  If I could only convince myself that that is enough. 

Lent and Me

During Lent, I have chosen to temporarily shut down my Facebook account and to stop taking naps M-F.  As much as I love being in touch with people I love through Facebook, I need some time to let it take a backseat.  It is too easy for me to check my computer every time I pass by it, picking up a conversation here, "liking" something there, sharing some random tid-bit.  Being that I am home most of the day, that is a lot of checking FB!  I feel this crazy pull towards my computer even if I was on my way to do something else, perhaps something I needed to do and I get sucked up for 5, 10, 60 minutes at a time.  My brain has enough distractions as it is.  I want some uninterrupted time, even if it is just to go to the dryer, get clothes out, walk to the back of the house and fold them without several computer breaks.

I miss this blog and my faithful journal (yup, after more than 2 years, I still haven't filled it up).   There is something about writing a blog or a journal entry that takes more intentionality, more reflection, however mundane the topic, than a status update on FB (for me).   I am desperately craving depth and cancelling my FB account was one way for me to make room for some changes.

I confess that I miss FB already!  Today has been really hard!  Several times I've come to my computer and checked my e-mail (remember that?).  Hahaha.  I never get anything there anymore!  I had to delete my FB shortcut because I'd click on it without even thinking ... and then a screen appears with my login and password.  All I'd have to do is click ENTER and I'd be in.  I will enter again.  I love my FB peeps too much not to.  But right now, my mind and soul are what need entering, lingering, checking.

About naps...  Why on earth would a tired mom give up naps?  I am still wondering this myself, but it came to me clear as day at an Ash Wednesday service tonight.  Here is why I am nixing napping (M-F).  My mornings are filled with either getting Boo-boo to school (twice a week), running errands, taking him to speech therapy and trying to get some work done.  We (Boo-boo, Bill and I) meet up around noon for lunch together at home.  Then Bill is off to work and Boo-boo is down for his crib sing-a-long (he doesn't sleep but is happy singing at the top of his lungs for an hour).  I do some last minute straightening up and then I nap.  But I just about always wake up a complete crank.  I scoop Boo-boo up in a groggy mood and we pick up Scootle-doot at about 2:15.  I am pretty much a grump for the rest of the day until they go to bed at 7.  SOOOOO, I will experiment using that nap time to do some other type of restorative activity, since napping is counter-productive.  Maybe that will be the time I can finally spend with my journal, since it is often my only hour alone.

So there you have it, whether you wanted to read this or not, you made it here.   I think I'll be blogging a lot more... about whatever is on my mind.  Don't say I didn't warn you.  

And I want to end with a shout-out to my FB peeps!  (Who probably won't even know I have new blog posts because FB won't tell them!)  I miss you!

Fully Loaded

Bill and I are in the market for a new (to us) minivan - specifically, a used Kia Sedona.  Our Subaru Forrester (190K+ miles) is getting expensive to maintain and Samba would like to be able to go on a trip without having to squish into a little ball underneath our feet.   She is a demanding, luxury lovin' dog.  Sheesh. 

Up until two days ago, I was convinced that I wanted a fully loaded used Kia Sedona - leather seats, DVD player, automatic sliding doors, a sun roof, seat warmers and auto seat position memory based on what key you used to start the car.  Pretty nice, huh? I wanted luxury.  Luxury upon luxury that is, since owning a car, however basic and old, is already a luxury.

I was shaken back to my senses the other day when I heard a story about two different mothers in East Africa leaving a not yet dead child on the side of the road on their way to a refugee camp.  They left these children to die in order to save their other children, to save themselves.  These are not isolated cases.  I've been standing by, stupefied, when I read or hear things about the famine in East Africa.  It is so hard to know what to do to really make a difference.  Yet I am a part of the web of humanity.  I believe that my well being is tied up with yours.  It is tied up with those mothers.  Fully loaded minivan.  Famine.  Something's gotta give here.

When thinking about what I could do, I thought of purchasing Plumpy'nut.  I first heard of plumpy'nut a few years ago (before even thinking of adopting) and it just made me happy.  It made me happy that people cared enough to come up with it, that it was so simple and that it had such life-giving potential.  Beautiful really.  Since having my boys, I have heard stories of how some of their fellow adoptees (and maybe even Mr. Scootle himself) have been saved by plumpy products.

I looked up plumpy'nut the other day.   Here are some figures I copied from the Edesia website:

$50.00 treats one child suffering from the worst cases of malnutrition.

$100.00 meets the nutritional needs of five children under the age of two.

$1,000.00 prevents malnutrition for fifty children under the age of two.

Did you read that last line?  $1,000 = fifty children.  Do you know what the difference between a fully loaded minivan and a basic minivan is?   About $1,500.  That is 75 children brought back from the brink of death. 

That got me really thinking, really doing some soul searching.  Do I want to live a fully loaded life?   Will I be comfortable in my warm leather seats, the ones that not only cost a few cows but also cost the possibility of keeping 75 children from their graves?  I know that is harsh way to look at it, but I am afraid I am caught up in a harsh system, one that does not think about our connections, one that makes us think we are individuals, masters of our own destinies whose decisions only impact us. Only they don't.  I don't want a fully loaded minivan anymore.  Not at that price. 

I have found some freedom in our decision to go with the basic minivan.  I am so socialized to want the very best, top of the line, that I forget to see the benefits of enough.  In case of the minivan, less mechanical things to go wrong and have to fix, less anxiety about what my children and dog are doing to my car,  less buttons to distract me while I am driving.   It feels good to get out of the race for more, to step aside and say, "no thank you, this is enough for us."  What feels laughable now is that at first it felt like a sacrifice to give up fully loadedness.  A sacrifice?  I know nothing of real sacrifice.  If my fellow human, mother, sister is having to sacrifice her own child, surely there are small ways in which I can act in solidarity with her. 

It is becoming scary how often I plop down $50 for this or $100 for that these days.  Some of the things are necessities, but often they are not.  $50 = one child.  What would it be like to take a few moments before every purchase I make and think $50 = one child?  Or even $1= one packet of plumpy'nut?   I think I might start getting a better picture of what I really need for myself and my family, what I really need for my human family.  I might start understanding the true costs of things.  Something's gotta give.  I think those mothers have given enough.   And fully loaded is weighing me down. 
   

The State of Me

My interim work in the afternoons is done.  I have handed over 40 kids and 5 staff to a most capable and energetic person.  I am thrilled to see this little piece of the world that I helped birth flourish.  And with Ms. E, I know it will.  It makes me happy.  Happier still to walk away, to come back to my afternoons at home with my two, hereby to be known as Boo-boo (K) and Scootle-doot (A).

For our first weekday afternoon together again, Boo-boo, Scootle-doot, Samba and I napped, popped corn, cleaned up the back porch and switched out toys.  Watching them lying on the floor, playing with cars they had not seen in a while made me wish I could just sit like that, totally engrossed in a little activity.  Working threw me back into the world of doing, doing, doing.  Even though I am not good at it (notice how little I have blogged), I was doing a lot of multi-tasking.  Now, I am a little nervous to just be, to just do one thing.   

But I desperately need to be.  I have gotten pretty far away from me lately.  There has been no time for me.  So I have been trying to get to me by falling into my worst of habits ... feeding my hunger for depth with food (which never satisfies, by the way), spending a lot of time thinking about the future (new van, travel plans, etc.) instead of experiencing life around me, not stopping when that inner voice says ... "write this dream down, it's important"  or "bring your camera with you tomorrow and capture this" or "write a real letter to that friend you miss" or "blog."  Amazing how wise my inner self can be. 

Oh, me!  Surely there will be a little opening each day now where we can sneak some time together, where we can pick up that journal, where we can sit on the floor and play with the little guys, where we can not stress about what's coming next or where we will find our next sweet.  Boo-boo, Scootle-doot and everyone around will be glad we did.

Tonight I Make A Photobook

I've been putting this off and putting this off.  I have only started and I realize why.  I have started making a photobook for someone in Ethiopia.  This someone is a link to the boys, someone who loves them, someone who thinks about them everyday.  I began looking at pictures from Ethiopia, from where our story as a family of four began.  A knot immediately made itself a lodging place in my throat.  In the day to day of laughter, tantrums, school, dinner, baths and meals together, one can easily lose sight of all of the pain through which our family was born.  Pain that will always be a part of us, along with everything else. 

I had to stop and write this post.  I could not go on.  How do you explain to that someone in Ethiopia that K was born deaf?  And how do you explain that he can now hear?  How do you explain the gadgets on his ears?  How do you explain that A doesn't understand much Amharic or Sidamic anymore, but that he has started reading small words in English?  Though he has forgotten the language, how do you explain to someone that they are not forgotten, but that A often mentions this person and that person and that person in his prayers?  How do you explain the inconceivable material differences between the life the boys now have and the one they left behind?  How does one hold all of these tensions, all of this love and all of this pain?

I have been avoiding this lump in my throat, this tightness in my chest, these tears I just cried.  Time for courage.  There is someone in Ethiopia who needs to see our boys' smiling faces, to know we did not forget, to know that we will always be woven together.  

Dear Brazil,

Saturday morning, I woke up to my child(ren) (K did not yet have his ears on) listening to this:

 

I just sat in bed and listened to A playing with K, who was still in his crib.  They have started this new ritual that allows Bill and me to sleep in a tiny bit on Saturday mornings.  A turns on the lights in their room, K stands up, and A makes K laugh and laugh with his antics.  The room is always destroyed, but we are grateful for the extra sleep.  

As I listened to them play, I also listened to that beautiful native tongue of mine drifting in from their room.  I listened to the fun rhymes that are impossible to translate, remembered my childhood and that old feeling came creeping in.   I didn't have to say much to Bill.  He said, "saudade."  Yes, saudade. It came out of hiding, to say hello, to say, "remember me?"  Of course I do.

There are some crevices in my heart that are filled with saudade.  Saudade of Evelyn when she was just "Lyn" (leen) or Eh-veh-leen.  Saudade of the girl who was finding her way there only to be transplanted here.  Nothing has marked my life as much as this uprooting, this sharp change of course, this splitting of myself.  I don't know if it was for better or for worse.  It just was and it just still is.  

As I am embracing a third culture into my family, I am afraid of Brazil getting pushed even further back into my memories.  It can get so lonely sometimes. I don't get to speak Portuguese on a regular basis.  Yes, there are some Brazilians here, but most of them came for very desperate reasons and find me an oddity.  "So, how long have you been here?"  They ask.  "27 years."  Silence.  We are very different.  I have established my life here.  They are just trying to make a go of it.  I look like them, I speak like them, but I am definitely odd. Odd?  Me?   I share much more in common with my American friends than my Brazilian ones in Brazil.  Much more, except that.  The saudade and the hole in my soul are mine.

Two of my brothers were born in Brazil and moved here to the US at the same time I did.  Except I was ten.  They were two and one.  They don't remember Brazil, and unlike me have no biological ties to it.  They feel no saudade.  Bill and I laughed yesterday, because his parents have lived in the same house he grew up in.  They are still there after 33 years.  Before going to college, I counted that I moved on average every two years and once, it was to another continent.  His story is the opposite of mine.  We love that in each other.

But as I was thinking about all this saudade,  feeling quite sad and sorry for myself, of course I had to wonder about A and K.  This move marked me more than anything in my life and yet I moved with my mom, with my brothers, with my step-dad.  I am still connected to my family in Brazil.  My support system remained the same.  I had the thought (sorry mom and por favor nao deixe commentarios aqui - mande por e-mail se quizer - em serio), "How could my mom just pluck me up and bring me here?"  The question seemed to echo, echo, echo....  She had her reasons and I know she did the best she could do given our situation in 1983.

But this is 2011.  And in 2009, we plucked up two beautiful little boys from Ethiopia and brought them here.  How could we?  And yet how could we not?

Sweet boys, 

I want you to know that we did the best we thought we could do given our situation and yours in 2009.  I will never fully understand the feelings you already carry within your little souls, but I am here to hold you.  And when you see me drift off into my saudade, I hope you will understand that it is okay to mourn something forever, it is okay to wonder "what if...," it is okay to be mad at your mommy and your daddy for the part they had in it, it is okay to cry with confusion, cry with sadness and cry when you don't even understand why you are crying.  Because there are some things that we just can't comprehend, can't let go of, can't reconcile - ever - at least that is what I currently understand.  I also hope you will always know that I am here, not only to hold, but to listen and to love you.  And you have each other.  You may feel differently about these things than your brother, but always share, always listen.  You have each other.    

With all of this talk of saudade, you might never guess that being born in Brazil and raised in the US is one of the things I like best about myself. It has made me one-of-a-kind.  It has given me a different way of looking at the world and I like it.  Yes, it makes me lonely sometimes, but it has also brought such great things into my life, too.  I have known since I was little, that the world is a big place, but that we all have something in common, we all share in a basic humanity, a basic goodness, the ability to be friends and to be family.  Perhaps having my family stretch across two big continents early on made it make perfect sense to have you come from another continent, too.  Our family is further strengthened.  Our hugs go farther around the world. 

Though both of you and I are both far away from where we began, love is one thing you cannot get away from.  You are so loved, my dears.  Both here and there, you are so loved.  May life be gentle with you, may it give you lots of love where your saudade can rest and may it also help you celebrate how unique and magical your journey has been.  Though I started writing this feeling saudade, I am finishing writing this feeling felicidade (contentment, inner peace, jubilee) for all that my own little journey has brought me - you and your daddy especially. 

Te amo, wud e shaloh, I love you,

Mommy

Carry Me Home

I went to yoga for the first time tonight in months.  Not surprisingly, I found myself crying during savasana.  After an hour plus of twisting, stretching and moving to soothing music, silence and candlelight, it all came pouring out.  I had this subconscious thought that arose, that I was home.  Why home?  Because for those 90 minutes, even though I was in a room with other people, I was focused solely on me.  Thoughts and stress fell away as I moved.  I realized how much I miss me and how lost me has become.

We are nearing the one year mark of a family at home  (Dec. 26).  We have all been physically here, in one place, under one roof, but we have all in one way or another been trying to find out what home really means.  For all of us, it has meant an upheaval, a turning upside down of everything we once knew.  It has been a stressful (to say the least) journey, but it has also been a journey filled with unmatched gratitude and amazement. 

I just went to check on the boys in their room as they sleep.  They are so beautiful and wonderful that my heart aches thinking about them.  They are also so needy, so tantrum filled, so present 24/7, that I feel as though a tornado picked me up at the end of last year.  It has been twirling me around and I've been getting hit with debris, only to be put down (I think I've been put down) to find myself completely and utterly off balance, lost and light headed.

But I do feel (hope) that I am feeling some solid ground beneath me.  What I need is some major courage.  For the last couple of years, especially during the wait, I found that mindlessness and staying away from the depths, the heavy stuff, was one way to ward off the intense pain of longing for my children.  It seemed easier to stay "light." Only it became a habit, one that has kind of kept me in a fog this year (along with those two sweet boys, who are demanding something of me ALL of the time).  I have avoided the deep end - the pain of my children's history, the pain of the transtornation of my life.  For a while, it was literally more than I could bear (thank God for medication)!

I am tired of shallowness.  There are some amazing things I have missed this year because I was either too caught up in that tornado or too afraid of experiencing the enormity of what has been happening to me.  Going back to yoga tonight reminded me of what it feels like to live more deeply.  I have a Brian Andreas print by my dresser that a friend once gave me.  He recognized me in it once, but it has most certainly not been me lately.  On it, there is a quote that says:

She said she usually cried at least once each day not because she was sad, but because the world was so beautiful & life was so short.

Today, I cried - not out of utter exhaustion or frustration, as my cries have been lately.  I cried with relief to be with myself again.  I cried because in 90 minutes of silence, I connected with my own soul.  The last song that played in class brought it all to perfection:  "Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home."  It was sung by a woman with the sweetest voice, in a slow, Celtic kind of way.  It was a strange selection for yoga class, but perfect for me. 


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 Note:  Reading blogs has been something that I have had a hard time doing, too.  I have been avoiding both pain and beauty.  Don't give up on me!  I want to come back.

too much

it seems that even though i am almost at six mo of being a mother, 2 children + one having special needs + me being very hard on myself and expecting to be supermom = just too much.  add to that a solid month of traveling and having several overnight guests and you get me, at my edge.  out of frustration and stress, friday, i punched the floor with my fist and broke my right hand.  too much.  i know, this is the second bone in 6 mo.  for those of you who don't know me in person, i promise i am not crazy.  passionate, yes, but not crazy.  but this is a crazy time in my life.  tuesday, i have an appt w/ my doc.  i will ask for meds for anxiety/depression for the first time in my life.  i have never reached such an edge before - not one i could not exercise, meditate, therapy or talk my way out of.

day to day life is really great.  it really is.  the joy i get from my boys is incalculable.  i just don't seem to be able to handle extra stuff very well.  and extra stuff is here for a while with this crazy month and k's surgery.  people always ask me about siblings - is it a good idea to adopt two at once.  yes.  but when i say it is hard, "hard" here is the hardest i have ever experienced.  blogging and commenting will be hard for a while.  this has taken me so long to write.  this is my second chance to let go of a lot of things, reach out for help and get healthy.  i am confident, but broken.

Even if You Just Adopted Two Children, Don't Forget to Take Care of YOU or You Might Just Break a Toe

Even though I have been enjoying having two boys and adjusting reasonably well, let me tell you, it is STRESSFUL!  It is easy to forget how stressful it is as you begin to get through the days half-way intact.  But for those of you getting ready to bring little ones home, remember that it will be stressful, so figure out a way to take care of yourself or you might end up with...

A broken toe.  I am going to write this, but let me first say I am extremely ashamed of what I did.  Yesterday, my little K would not stop crying right before his nap.  And by crying, I really mean SCREAMING at the top of his lungs in an octave I didn't think I was supposed to hear after age 30.  He would stop breathing and then start screaming, stop breathing, start screaming.  His pacifier was at the other end of the house, so I took him with me, only to trip on a wooden truck of A's.  I retrieved the pacifier with screaming baby and on my way back, tripped on the wooden firetruck again.

And now, the moment of shame, the moment I have re-played and wish I could take back ... I kicked the hell out of that firetruck!  I kicked it clear across the room in a perfect soccer ball arc - except it is not a soccer ball, but a heavy, heavy, wooden firetruck.   I was wearing my soft crocs and I immediately knew I had broken my big toe.  I hobble back, put the baby in the bed and look at the darn toe - not good! 

Mother fail!  You have no idea how much inconvenience that stupid decision is costing me and my sweet family.  After about an hour at the Social Security Office this morning waiting to get the boys a SS#, my dear husband and boys drive around town for another hour and a half while I go to the doctor (we only have one car).  Now, I can't walk my dog for 6 weeks or take my boys for long walks in the stroller.  I can't really do Yoga.  I hobble around the house and am supposed to stay off my foot.  Right!

I am so, so frustrated and ashamed of myself.  What lessons have I learned? (Though I have 6 more weeks to learn more.)  This is a HUGE, MAJOR life change that we and the boys are going through.  No matter how great some days may seem, the transition itself is still STRESSFUL.  Self-care is not a luxury at this point, it is a life-line, a must.  Stupid things I do now affect a lot more people than just me.

And WHY am I posting this?  Because I don't want to just post the highs and not the lows - this is reality.  AND, the "Baby Love" post I was planning just didn't feel genuine today.

My Words, Her Song

Two years ago, in the midst of incredible longing, I wrote my own words to a song. The song is To Ndje by Kaissa. I don't know what she is singing in the song, but I hear longing there and I hear love. The song can make me cry and smile at the same time. Kaissa's voice is so strong and beautiful.

I debated on whether or not to post my little words to her song, but want to do so to honor another woman whose song I get to sing in this crazy, heartbreaking and breathtaking world....

I'm wasn't trying to be a poet here, but just to give voice to the longing I felt, which now gives voice to the longing I feel.

Today, I think about you...
A smile spreads across my lips.
I'm waiting, waiting to know you -
Praying that God would give you peace.

Oh, I know your journey won't be easy,
it's hard to understand the 'why' sometimes.

One thing I know for certain,
Yes, I was made to love you both.
I know everybody won' t understand,
but YOU have made me the lucky one.

You were born in my heart,
And in my heart you will always, always stay
....
I already love you so much!

Chorus:

The mother love I have for you just keep on growing,
growing, growing! (4x)

My children, I love you so much!

Good luck to you in trying to fit this with the music. It makes sense in my head and I don't believe two little boys for whom I'll sing this will care too much.

(I will add a little annectode ... on the day we got our referral, Bill and I were so overwhelmed that we went to see a movie that night. I, more than he, was feeling really afraid. We were picking up movie tickets for a later show, so Bill pulls up in front of the theater and lets me run and get the tickets. When I get back to the car, he is BLASTING, I'm talking BLASTING as in car rumbling BLASTING this song in front of the theater. I was so embarrassed, but also tickled. The love affair that started with two little ideas, now had two very real little faces. I was finding out who I'd written the words for.)

The End of a Journal

Two and a half years ago, I began writing in this 800+ page journal. We had already started our adoption process (with Brazil). I was sure I would write of meeting my children and of the beginning of our life together. It is funny to look back on what you have written and see your naivete...

There was soon a change of plans (it would be next to impossible to bring home young siblings from Brazil), plans filled with joy as I always felt our children were in Ethiopia...



Then the wait started taking its toll ....

With some glimpses of hope...



I drew strength from the Psalms, who seemed to lament with me...


I wondered what was going on outside my understanding...

The wait became so heavy, so exhausting, so repetitive...

And yet, I continue to have beautiful days among the bad. I still laugh. Life continues. I am so grateful for so many things. But I confess, I am tired.

I only have 6 pages left in my journal. I am writing in really tiny letters and not skipping lines any more. I write with more urgency, trying to keep my thoughts compact. I don't want my journal to run out on me.

I am reserving my new journal for what is to come. What will this journal hold?

Well of Mercy

My retreat was so good for me. I spent less time in my head than in any other past retreat -- I spent more time with my senses experiencing the beauty all around me. I found a lot of beauty in me as well, as I realized that I already have within me most of what it takes to be a good mother. I found a lot of peace and trust, for the whole timing of this adoption. It will happen, it will happen :) I felt a lot of wholeness through this period of quiet and contemplation ... makes me want to live life more contemplatively, too, experiencing the wonder of all of my moments - even this waiting :)

Here are some pics that give you a sense of the beauty of the Well...

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

I'll Be At the Well

For the next four days, I am going on a personal retreat. I do this once a year by myself and I usually go to the Well of Mercy in NC. It has been a place for me to re-charge and to re-focus, a place where I get some grounding. A few days away from the computer, with no alarm clock, no schedule, no chores, nowhere to go, around strong women and surrounded by prayer and silence always gives me such clarity.

For this retreat, I want to focus on motherhood - my long stretch of waiting for my children has become so ambiguous that I have not taken much time to really explore motherhood and all that it has meant and will soon mean to me. It has been much easier to focus on getting the house ready for all of these months than on getting my soul ready for the arrival of two little beings into my heart forever.

I feel this is a special time - I feel the tides changing. I am tired of the lack of direction I've had in my life for the last few months. It was good to have the time to transition out of all of my previous roles, but now, it is time to start embracing my new ones. This week, I voted, found out I'm closer to my little sweethearts than I thought and am now going on retreat - it feels like all of the pieces of the puzzle are coming together.

I don't know when it will be possible for me to take a personal retreat again, so I am going to enjoy every last drop of this one. With the holidays coming up and the fun volunteering opportunities I have lined up when I get back, time is going to start moving a lot faster. I want to be ready, I want to be strong, I want to be a good mama, I want to be a good partner for my wonderful Bill.

I'll be back next week around TUESDAY - the tides really are changing one way or another ...

Another Yoga Dream...

It is way past my bedtime, but I can't sleep! Maybe writing this post will make me sleepy...

Today in yoga, we had a very long ending shavasana in which my mind wandered almost subconsciously across the globe. I sometimes have these vivid day dreams that start with an image and then they run on with almost no control on my part.

I pictured myself as a beautiful, orange butterfly about the size of my palm. I flew down to Brazil and found my dad sitting in the sunny veranda of his apartment. I landed on his arm and made him smile. He just delighted in this pretty visitor, not knowing it was me. We just enjoyed the warmth together.

After a while, I flew across the Atlantic and the African continent to Ethiopia. It was still the same sunny afternoon somehow. I flew to the countryside where I found a small hut type dwelling. There was a young woman inside who was ill. I don't know what was wrong with her, but she was very weak and in a small bed. She had a very young baby girl on her lap, wrapped in blankets. There was a little boy crawling on the dirt floor. I landed on the woman's shoulder and tried to give her some of my strength. I brushed my wings on the baby girl's cheeks, telling her that I loved her. I flew in front of the crawling baby boy and he giggled as he tried to catch me. The sun's rays illuminated the children and I knew they were my children. I loved them and I loved being able to see them, but I also had peace and patience.

I flew outside and found a young man coming in from the day's work. He was very, very tired, but he smiled when he saw me. I tried to send him some strength, too.

My mind in YOGA

For the past month, I have been doing a "Yoga Challenge" at the yoga studio where I go. The challenge is: complete 25 classes in 30 days and get one month of free, unlimited classes. Today, I will go to two classes and thus complete my challenge! As a result of this past month of Yoga, I have noticed a few things:

• my posture has improved tremendously (Bill says I stand much taller)
• I am much stronger physically, though the strength seems to come not so much from bigger muscles, but from a stronger inner core
• I am less stressed
• I respond to things more calmly
• I am in a better mood generally

Last night, I had a sweet experience at the end of my class. While in shavasana, my mind just started free floating as it often does after an hour of yoga. Usually, my mind seems to go blank and just fill me with peace. Last night, I felt so strong and subconsciously wanted to share that strength. I pictured myself in Ethiopia, with the biological mother of my children. She was tired and worn out. I took her and washed her hair really gently. I rubbed fragrant oils on her scalp and hair. I braided her long hair and helped her relax.
It was time to come out of shavasana and end the class. I was left with a real sweet feeling towards that mother. I do wish her strength and wellness. I pray for her often, that the decision she makes about our children be one that will truly be the best for her and the children. I feel a lot of love for her and wish I could go there, see her and give her some of the strength I've found.