It's personal. Or not.

Today after church, a mother of a boy in the son's class at school (well, K-3rd) approached me.

For context: Her son has just started violin with Gray's teacher and we ran into them at
lesson last Monday afternoon. They asked how Gray's class has been - and we broke the news
that he was not in class this year.

She greeted me warmly, and then leaned in very close to me. She lowered her voice to
a barley audible whisper and said, "Can I ask you a personal question?"


I am always unsettled by this question. Everyone has a different understanding of personal... and
I cannot think how there is any other answer to this question, with this particular wording, other than, "Um, OK?"

"Why did you decide to homeschool after all these years in school?"


I hear Alicia Silverstone from Clueless in my mind, "You say that like's it's a bad thing."

I am not sure for who this would be too personal a question. I am not that person. I have an infant and the questions that flashed through my mind went right to love life after infant questions. This person would have no reason to ask me this - those are questions I consider personal.

The list of reasons is so long and involved I am not sure that I can even begin to explain in a comprehensible manner. I attempt a brief rundown. She nods for a bit, as I talk in bullet points. Then, she has a pen out. She's jotting down notes and saying how interested she is and can she call me. Wait, is this a feeling of admiration I am sensing?! She thinks I am brave. (There's that line again, but this time it has a genuine warmth to it.)

I am a rebel! I have never been a rebel. I like to do expected things. Stable, known, organized things. Every single time I go to Cafe Bariloche for South American food, I order the Pastel de Choclo.  (A Chilean corn and meat pie that is delicious!)

Now, I am getting rebellious. Maybe I will order something different next time.

Patience

While I prepared to make the Big Decision, I made many lists.
Pros and Cons assembled over months, daily schedules, curriculum thoughts,
wish list of what we'd study, cons broken down into area of concern.
There was the social aspect, the friendship issue, keeping up with grade level, all the general
concerns that revolve around removing a child from the traditional school setting.

There was one list I never made. My cons.

I knew that my son and I had a working relationship in that,
He is good-natured enough to sit down to instruction. We have slaved
through (and more often than not - as of late-  enjoyed) three years of violin lessons and practicing. I knew with a reasonable certainty that our teacher/student relationship had been ironed out. (More like, warm iron, no starch, no steam kind of ironed. Better than a mess right out of the dryer, at least.)

But, could I take it? I might have a slight reputation for losing my temper with him. It is the struggle and agony of my life so far. My passion for everything else - let loose when things get on the wrong side of my control, my comfort, my agenda. I never listed this anywhere, even though I knew it to be the most significant obstacle in making homeschooling feasible. In my defense, he can be really irritating.

It is here where homeschooling became not just a leap of faith but a base jump into the fathomless pit of my anger. I think that this is why the first day, the first hours, were the worst. How can I limit my son's daily life to our home, knowing that when things get heated with him, I can get mad?

In all the ways that homeschooling have been easier, there is one way that it has been hard. I have been yanked out of contentment with small changes and forced to pursue deeper, authentic change.

The comfort is that after a morning involving some yelling and at the end of myself, I found, like one of those pools cave jumpers find a thousand feet down in the pitch black, the grace of God for today. More real than I have ever experienced it. Real enough to touch and taste and get up and ask for forgiveness and go on. Forward because I know only one thing for sure: there will be enough grace down there tomorrow.

Pacing

Another lesson learned this week.

I had been putting off my large Amazon order. The online cart had been all set for weeks, but I could not bring myself to "complete purchase". Included in my cart was the math curriculum Grayson's class is using this year. Because I have been afraid of falling behind, we have been working hard in the last three weeks to do at least an hour of math work a day. I found an online math program, IXL, that we have enjoyed thoroughly. It is a monthly subscription site, but it's detailed breakdown of concepts and reporting features have been very useful. Grayson has been working hard and carefully through new concepts.

I finally made our order and all the shiny new curriculum arrived in the mail. When I started evaluating the math text from his class for this year - it started to dawn on me that we had already covered quite a bit of the material. After doing a more thorough evaluation: Grayson has demonstrated mastery of more than half of the concepts being introduced in his class text this year. I knew he was working hard, but in 22 hours of working to complete more than half of the year?! I am still not sure what to think. Does he know it well enough? Have I been pushing him too hard? Did I miss something?

I think we'll slow down a little there and try to focus on catching his writing skills up to level. I had a picture of always catching up, never that we would move too quickly!

It's (was) the weather?

Now the California weather upon which all stereotypes are created has returned. We are once again enjoying the land of eternal springtime. Inside the home, although the temperature has returned to it's typical 72-75 degree range, things are heating up considerably.

Grayson has, lagging a few days behind me, come to accept that this is life as he knows it for the foreseeable future. His behavior is slightly worse for the wear.  So, when all else fails, text your spouse.  Despite being the one in our pair of marital bliss who has never quite been thrilled with this entire endeavor (and I think that these text messages are a teeny, tiny taste of what that was all about...) he was unflappable.

I am despondent that it is only day 13 and I am staring down failure. (maybe just in my mind, but it feels a lot like) He responds: "You haven't failed. He has deep seated patterns that can't be defeated in a short time." My response, "I cannot do it." Him: "He needs to build his endurance. Like an athlete. Start small. Just like violin."(When he struggled to extend his violin practice time to 45 minutes/day we went back to 15 minutes and forced him to stop after that short time had elapsed. He ended up wanting to practice longer.) "It's going to be a hard first two months. Take a break. Don't try to do too much. Make some cookies."

I sent the son out running - around the block four times, 20 jumping jacks on each corner.

And I guess that says it all for today.

Friday at last.

We will definitely be embracing the resting element of the weekend this Labor Day.
I have spent a bit of my "free" mental energy these days (a very slow trickle with a nearly broken circuit) weighing the work argument of homeschooling vs. traditional classroom.

The truth is, sending a child to school is a lot of work. There is the rigid in and out of the door in the morning, the lunches, the papers to organize and sign ranging from PTA forms to permissions slips to t-shirt orders, the homework to keep organized and to monitor in the afternoons. It is a busyness that is hard to explain exactly, but it is there - a constant stream of paper, details, and driving all centered around school.

I recognize that we were in a somewhat unusual situation. Gray, due to his tendency to talk through assignment explanations and daydream through classroom teaching times, relied very heavily on homework time. The reality: if I did not teach him the material at night, he did not know it. His classroom work, done without direct supervision, was generally unreadable and unfinished. His teachers knew he was capable of better-  his tests and assignments done at home reflected his abilities. (I never did them, but I forced revision and attention to detail.) Unfortunately, with two other kids at home, having every afternoon between 3 and 5 a battle with an exhausted child learning what he should have learned in class was too much. We could not enjoy the time we were spending together during the week. I dreaded Mondays and lived for Fridays.

Maybe I am doing it incorrectly, but in 9 days of school I have never felt more free. Granted, I am only teaching one student, and I have him alone for the first 3.5 hours of the morning. Alice is at school, Auden sleeps. I teach once (he listens and learns, there is nothing else to do!) when he is rested and fed. He practices and reinforces directly following.

As the news begins to find its' way out I can't go onto the school campus without being approached by a different parent. They all say a variation of, "That is so brave. I wish I could do that, but I would never be able to."  I think they might be saying this to make me feel better? Make themselves feel better? I don't know. I don't feel brave. I feel scared and uncertain. I can only answer for our circumstance. Every parent has a pile of heart-wrenching decisions to make (popular ones, unpopular ones) for the good and benefit of their child. It was a very difficult decision, fraught with only unknowns and one exception: If I did not do it because I was afraid of the time I would sacrifice, I would always regret it. What better way could I spend my time than on my child who I see needs me in this way? As it turns out, the time commitment so far is a drastic reduction from life before. Life is easier, simpler.

Heat

The days have been hot, hot hot. Grayson and I sit, sweaty arms stuck to the dining room table, heads bent over math and grammar and writing, ceiling fans whirring in every room but ours. We get the large light fixture. Incandescent bulbs and recessed lighting add another 5 degrees to our heads. We fill and refill Ball jars with ice from the icemaker and water. These leave plate-sized puddles of water on the table. We move the books around the water, protecting all the paper from the pools. It is too hot for him to protest all the writing. He methodically unsticks his arm from the page over and over again.

I learned something new about him today. After spending three days working on a difficult math concept, a breakthrough. I taught him the principles, demonstrated the use, and set him to practice problems. He struggled through them for a day or so while I resisted giving him the answers. I explained the principles again, but did not demonstrate on the problems he was working. Finally, he found himself stuck on one he could not find a way to apply the principles to and solve. Maybe some whining was involved. I got frustrated and took the pencil. I leaned across the table and silently, angrily, solved it. He gasped a quiet "Oh" and polished off the rest of the page with a flurry of pencil and computing and smiling.

My son needs to be shown as many variations as possible. I plan on saving my voice quite a bit here forth.

Day 6

An early trip to fedexkinkos (seriously the name on the store. Did I miss something?) and then a stop at Peet's for coffee drinks and some studying in a new setting. It would have gone perfectly - me and Gray and espresso drinks in mugs, all our schoolwork spread on a table, tolerable music in the background. Not to be. Auden would have none of it. She moaned and groaned and cried to such an extent I had no choice but to hold her while Gray worked. She sucked on the table, her hands, her arms, my sweater, my hair, the memory stick on a cord around my neck, copious amounts of drool covering all the aforementioned areas with the addition of my lap absorbing the extras. She was quiet (ish), at least.

The heat has been oppressive the last few days, and our afternoon of math lessons went well, despite taking 90 minutes and having us both exhausted and sweating over the table. It has not been under 80 degrees in the house in 5 days.

The smoke from the Station Fire in LA, here in the early morning of day 7, turn the sunrise into a glowing orange and red haze. The world seems to be lit by a campfire of gargantuan proportions. I suppose, in a way, it is. The air is completely still, and hot.

I absolutely love teaching Grayson at home.

Day 5

Monday Morning.

The reality of the school year stretching before us - all 180 days of it - moves towards the acceptance phase in my mind.

We began this morning with a grammar review, spelling pre-test, and a history lesson. We read an overview of pre-history and I learned more than I would really care to admit. We worked together in his history notebook writing a summary of what we'd studied and making some lists of early people and their inventions.

Next, some more multiplication, large number, place value reviewing. Boring. (says the son)
"You said we were going to do rock studies and interesting stuff."

My line: the standard response about not doing the interesting things all the time.

We have our first Field Trip Day towards the end of September. We have three or four such days planned before Christmas. The girls will go elsewhere for the entire day and Gray and I will go for a full day of exploration. Possibilities for this month? The Huntington Library  and Botanic Gardens or our standard, an art study (they have some great lesson plans on the site) at The Getty  (the Getty Villa is closed on our planned day), or perhaps MOCA . We do enough working with different art mediums at home, so integrating some writing, history, art study and investigation into our trips will be up on the list. Also, getting a Getty guided tour  device all to himself to wander around and his choice of lunch in the cafe will be quite the thrill. (The beauty of having to share all the time with the sister.)

Day 4

Still considering Monday our official Day 1, but we have already dipped our brains into the pool of some basics. This is where we've started:


1. As a nod to the California obsession with rapid acquisition of advanced math skills, we have math as our priority these days. I have done countless hours of research into different math curricula and have yet to decide. I liked the review, learn, drill, review style of the Kumon Grade 4 Math series. They are nothing for a fancy night out in the world of learning new concepts, but they do methodic drilling well. That's good enough for us this week.
We have been reviewing multiplication, using large numbers (billion, trillion, 987 trillion), geometric shapes and their manipulation, and measurements of various kinds. I have him ripping his hair out tolerating patiently times table flashcards. We are about to move into more advanced long division and, although I try to explain what counting on his hands will be like while trying to get through the division of four and five digit numbers, he knows more than me and is fully convinced I need the instruction.


2. Spelling. All of his spelling lessons for the year are on the textbook website. Even the different levels of challenge words are there. Today was a spelling test. I can barely stomach the memory of all the hours we spent using spelling words in different ways for homework assignments. Oh, the torture! This is one area where I am breathing a deep sigh of relief over the reduced workload.


3. Grammar. We are using First Language Lessons (for the Well-Trained Mind) It is old-school and rote and involves sentence diagramming; but he is learning grammar now and he was not before. We had to start in the 3rd grade book because his understanding of the parts of speech and their use simply was not at a 4th grade level. It is not exciting, but memorizing lists of pronouns, helping verbs, state of being verbs, linking verbs, and prepositions is helping him grow as a student of the English language.


4. Logic. We spend time everyday (usually a warm-up) working a logic puzzle simultaneously. We work separately and share our answers. He is smarter than me. This is no surprise. He cries more still, barely.


5. Reading. He is a voracious reader. (I thank God for this blessing every single day.) I bought him Lloyd Alexander's The Chronicles of Prydain 9 days ago. He is already deep into the fourth of five books. The only thing that I have added into his reading universe is some diversity, (ie. He had to read a chapter of Where the Red Fern Grows for every chapter of his current fantasy read.) and a written book journal. I have also been known to give pop quizzes on books that seem to be going by more quickly than expected.


6. History. This year we're going to study California. From the beginnings and early people, missions, agriculture etc. I am also reading aloud to him from E.H. Gombrich's A Little History of the World and he is writing summaries. As a well-written, broad overview of world (read: European) history, I love it. Gombrich is instructing about history, understanding history and piecing it together as a story. I read it for fun and enjoy it thoroughly.


7. Music. Violin practice happens everyday. Today, for reasons I don't know, he picked up the violin and sight-read his next piece. I dropped dead of shock cooly ignored it hoping not to disturb it, the same way one might regard a hawk that has happened on the backyard birdbath. "Can it really be? Where is the camera? Will it stay if I move a single muscle?" I was secretly hoping that taking initiative in his learning would be a result of this independent education venture. Maybe this is a sign in the right direction?


And, my favorite opportunity afforded by a more flexible bedtime? This December he is going to perform in two local productions of the Messiah. He has already begun the task of learning the soprano part for all the Christmas portion choruses. He sits, score flopped open on his lap, ipod buds on, singing along and listening. This week: And the Glory of the Lord and And He Shall Purify. He is able to make the evening trips to two different locations for rehearsals because he does not have to be at his desk by 8 AM anymore.


Now, a weekend off.

Homeschooling Week One

Well, Day 3.

I have considered it for years. Bored every single person who knows me to death talking about it.

Planned for it the last 3 summers as August approached.

This week, in a step of bravery that was more terrifying and exhilarating than I could have ever imagined:

I cut the cord and did not send my son to the 4th grade.

Last year I went at night, up to the class list postings hanging outside of the school office.

The class had only 18 kids, many of them the brightest in the grade.

The teacher was considered a favorite.

I knew I should send him, it seemed the right thing to do.

This past Sunday evening (OK, creepily late at night) I parked in front of the school and left the car running.

I used the light from my cellphone screen to see the class lists.

Alice was securely settled in a nice kindergarten class with a very sweet and competent teacher.
(And I already tortured her having her at home last year with me  - and a brand new screaming bundle of spitting up sour milk love)

All I needed to see was that there were 34 students in his class this year.

My son prioritizes his life in the following manner: if you asked him what five things he would need to survive on a desert island, food and water would not be involved.

Without someone to talk to, life is not worth living.

And so, for this reason as well as myriad others, I kept him home.

I think he will learn more in half the time. And nothing like a little proverbial desert island to grow some character. (read: washing dishes, doing laundry, cooking, babysitting)

I kept him home on Tuesday, The First Day of School. It was a hard day.

I was not quite ready to launch into our full daily schedule - and the day was hot.

Grayson was bored and spent quite a bit of time carrying the baby around and

washing dishes and doing math drills.

I had a walk to the brink of meltdown. I don't know what my expectations were for what this would be like, but I was not prepared in any way for how scared and vulnerable and insecure I felt.

At the end of Day 1 I figured I could send him off to school in the morning and forget it had ever happened.

Day 2. Violin practicing, working through the Messiah portions for choir rehearsal, handwriting, math practice and review, two books reviews written gave me confidence that I could, at minimum, survive the week.
Whether or not I will be knocking at the school office door by next Monday begging them to take him back remains to be seen.

It has been nearly a year since my last trip East with the kids.

When we first moved across the country, one of my greatest concerns would be that
we would not be able to travel "home" enough to continue the precious
relationships we were leaving behind. Not the least of which included my parents, my siblings,
their spouses. In the first 4 1/2 years away, no problems. We flew back and forth several times a year, spending
a lot of time having the kids bond with their grandparents and aunts and uncles. We went to weddings, funerals,
important birthday parties, wedding dress shopping, holidays, the birth of babies, surgeries. The 5 hour trip from LA to Philadelphia did not deter us in the least from being as involved as we could in our other life.

Now that almost a year has gone by without a trip, I start to feel the pangs of longing for Philadelphia in autumn.
The kids have a week out of school in October and this has been a natural time to travel most other years.
This year, this time, for the first time in my life... I had to acknowledge I was just not up to it. The thought of the airport, the crowds, the long flight, the baggage - too daunting. My husband was cheerful and supportive (despite his job being quite closely connected to the housing market) but I just cannot face the prospect of
airline travel. Granted, I am pushing five months pregnant, with two other children to drag through security; but I don't think that would have mattered to me earlier.

Well, I know it didn't. I flew with my daughter at one month, at three months, at four months, at eleven months and on and on, making my son drag his own luggage through the airport all those times. "NO, you cannot ride on the stroller (after walking a mile lugging his bag) you have to carry your bag!"

And so approaches the longest amount of time that has ever gone between my trips to the East.

Hopefully I will get my energy back - we all miss it.

Hmmm...

after so long the ideas for posts have begun to come back to me, but I am sure this blog is long forgotten.
How to begin all over again?

the best and worst of times

Because nothing that you look back on and wish you remembered seems significant at the time, I have no way to know how many times I have flown coast to coast with my children.

In the midst of dragging myself, two children, luggage, and a dripping hot coffee (why do the cups that drip always come to me when I am either dressed up or travelling?) through airports in Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Atlanta, Raleigh/Durham, Chicago O'Hare, Dallas, Houston, JFK, Philadelphia I have no clue why I don't immediately arrive at destination and whip out the scrapbook. Probably because, after each trip, I spend several weeks saying to myself, "For the love all things peaceful and sane WHY do I keep flying these children across the country?"

I know the answer, and the truth comes back to me after a few months of using full-size toiletries: My love for my family is not peaceful or sane; but it is one that makes you do crazy things like coaxing crying children off of airplanes when they refuse to go one more step with their bag and you are preventing about 167 travel-weary people from getting off that plane! And so, we fly. My best estimates put roundtrips at about 14 (70000 miles!) with one or both children since May 2001. I like to fly with them alone, and usually do, because they are better when we have three seats together and it is clear there is nowhere else to go and nothing else to do but sit.

I have a long list of tips about flying with children of varying ages. (infant to 7.5 - although once they reach 6 you can buy a Game Boy and some acceptable games and bring it out only for flights. It is magic.) This trip, some more were confirmed.

1. Crocs are a heinous crime against fashion; but they are a security line lifesaver!
2. Do not rely on airplane coffee to feed your caffeine addiction - unless you enjoy leaving your children to sit in a random waiting area while you run 1/4 mile to the nearest coffee stand and back with scalding hot coffee. (during very short layover)
3. Use the bathroom at the last minute possible before landing.
4. Make sure you are in the correct terminal to avoid long walks through mile-long underground tunnels.
5. Don't take offense when the lady in front of you turns around at the end of the flight and says, "You know I was dreading having to sit in front of two children for this whole flight, but I didn't even hear yours."
6. Pray for kids movies. Nancy Drew and Even Almighty shown back to back saved our return home. Don't worry, the sound isn't good enough for the movies to influence them very much.
7. Dress the kids up a bit, and straighten their hair. Nothing like a couple of cute kids to inspire people
give you little extras. Free food, snacks, headphones, extra cans of drinks.

peaches, again

August is here and with it comes the explosion of our peach tree. June Gloom did not arrive as it usually does here on the coast; and I believe the increase in sunshine sped the fruiting of the tree by a few weeks. We were away on vacation for the last week and 1/2 - and I knew I would arrive home to many peaches fallen and rotten and a tree still overloaded. Yesterday morning was my first chance to get to the business - and I went out armed with a kitchen spoon for the ones on the ground and a bag for the picking.

I first scooped more than 30 that had fallen - and then more than 50 from the tree. After making a peach cobbler for dessert (a big cobbler for the 5 children, Jay and me, and my sister in law and husband who had come to help with some canning) we had more than 11 pounds of peaches left over. The scalding, peeling, and prepping to cook them took us until 9:15 - and then Jay and I took on cooking by ourselves. After over an hour of bubbling they were still only the consistency of peach sauce. Nearly 11 PM by this time we had to accept that peach sauce was going to have to be good enough - and we sterilized the jars and canned it all into 11 pint jars. I made pancakes this morning and spooned some sauce over them - it is truly plate-licking delicious.

It seems that, soon enough, there will be another 11 pounds of peaches to pick. Maybe we can get them to preserve consistency the next time...

in praise of modern generic medicine

Yes, this last month I did witness a miracle of modern medicine as my
80 some hours old nephew was emptied of all his blood, chilled, and in open heart surgery, given a 3-4mm piece of Gore-Tex tubing for reasons a layperson would need a complete heart anatomy lesson (with diagrams) to gain even rudimentary understanding of. That acknowledged, my praise of modern medicine is on the other end of the spectrum. I am not quite sure if I would have survived this last month if not for Dr. Alexander Fleming and his Penicillium notatum and that little 2 week vacation he took in 1928.

Between my abscess (gone, healed, dried up in days thanks to some strong antibiotics) and last week's bout with strep throat (Technically raging tonsillitis - mine looking scary enough for some horrid 30 second consult pamphlet on otolaryngologic anomalies - I know this because I have read some of those consults. Being grayish black and roughly the size of apricots certainly qualified them.) I am spending time in awe of the incredible discovery that this particular little mold (even diluted several hundred time over!) ate away at bacteria.

He isn't credited with making it useable as a drug in humans, but he did discover early on that the bacteria became resistant if it was only exposed to the pencillin for too short a period. And, he is credited as being the first of a million people to advise that it should not be used unless clearly medically indicated due to this resistance.

It was certainly a miracle of a discovery and I am very glad for it. One day, down in bed with the telltale flu-like fever and chills of strep, next day celebrating the 4th of July with the family.

These days the drug companies and their money-grubbing ways, their outrageous campaign contributions and lobbyists to match, new drugs rushed to us more for the revenue they'll deliver while the patent remains exclusive, Dr's offices jammed with drug-company sales reps all leave me cold fretting over who we can trust when it comes to drugs and our health. I like the moment of a return to straight-forward, clearly indicated, medicine. Something plain, generic, Gram-positive pathogen killing penicillin. Done.

mending, part two

Now my computer has been repaired and I have advice:
Buy a first generation anything Apple, invest in the warranty.
Ours has saved us a lot of money on this 1st gen iMac.

Today we needed a new power supply - and now I have my computer back!

I, however, have not fared as well. If only I could overhaul my power supply.
I now have a lovely strep throat thanks to the boys in the house who, tired of
theirs, decided to spread the love.

Thankfully the trip to the Dr was brief and simple.

One glance at my throat, the record of Gray's positive culture from Friday, and
I was hooked up to get my own little red Target pharmacy bottle.

Some actual writing coming soon.

technical difficulties

my computer is broken and in need of some overhaulin'

Thus, I will be without for a little while -
please don't forget me while I am away.

The upside? I have a good back-up this time!

mending

There is nothing more satisfying to a Mom at home all the time
then feeling needed by a grateful family.

I now recommend, if you feel your husband is getting soft
and your children are beginning to leave their shoes on the table
and living like they have skipped straight to some university frat house,
go away for a few weeks.

Just pack up and trust that husband will be able to find emergency
childcare and rustle up food from the freezer... or from every restaurant in town.
Go away for a few weeks.

Mine seemed to be just fine when I arrived home. Clean clothes and house, no one
was starving or particularly dirty. Nails were trimmed - but I knew they must be
longing for their mother on the inside. I figured they didn't want to hurt their father's
feelings that he was not quite good enough.

A few days went by and they still seemed unable to admit that
things were much better when I was around.

To soften them all up, (maybe a touch of domestic wiles)
I began baking blueberry pies.

It was after a few bites that son and even husband declared with a smile,
"We are very glad that Mom is back, aren't we?"

Victory!

P.S. On a more serious note, as I dressed my wound this morning Alice considered it carefully
and declared it to look like a giraffe. I would describe it more simply: a hole. A hole where there should not be one unless one has just been caught in the path of a bullet.

Clean Cut

The tears kept tumbling down, wetting my hair and the paper cover on the pillow under my head. I felt stupid, silly, weak lying there in my doctor's small office "procedure" room. A small operating table covered in pine green vinyl and that useless white paper that turns to shreds the minute you shift around at all, fluorescent lights slightly flickering, the searing pain right below my left collarbone. The pain that came with me on the long plane ride Friday night, that distracted every attempt on Saturday to enjoy the reunion with my family. The pain that by Sunday was all I could see, hear, feel, touch - overwhelming any other sensation, dragging down my mind.

And so, Monday morning, I have the phone in my hand 5 minutes before office hours begin. My 3 year old daughter, who has only been able to cry or talk about how much she missed me in the two days since my return, reacts like she has been slapped when I tell her she is going to have to spend the morning with her aunt and cousin. "But Momma I already miss-ED you so much, I want to come to the doctors with you!" She is nearly inconsolable and I have to promise to spend every moment after her nap with her later on in the day.

The nurse barely glances at my sad, infected skin. Perhaps I was fighting off infection all along and the stress, heat, heavy bags of last week finally exacted their price. She clucks sympathetically, hands me a gown, instructs me to lie down on the table, and leaves me alone with my thoughts and the unflattering lighting. In the 20 minutes I wait, I fight back tears over the pain, not wanting shots, not wanting to be cut open on a Monday morning, and possibly tears over all of last week.

My doctor is a very gentle man. He has a kind voice and kind eyes and can see my misery - in my eyes and as he assesses my abscess. He asks if I've had a fever. I tell him that I haven't noticed. It is 100.3 and he starts shaking his head slowly. "You have been walking around like this for three days, oh, tsk tsk- Jessica!" It is a complete mix of scolding and sympathy. In that moment I realize that he only means my obvious problem; I feel the correction too deeply for it to be simply about my physical condition. Not for long. He draws out the needle and as he numbs my pain, and it vanishes into my memory I start crying in earnest. The relief of the pain is part of it, but the relief of crying all the contained stress and worry and exhaustion. He looks startled, "It isn't hurting, is it?" "No," I say. "It's been a really long week. Please, just fix it."
And then, a clean cut, some pressure, and careful bandaging later I am free.

I thank him on the way out - of course he nods automatically - but I have never felt more
healed.

Where in the world?

More detailed posts about my travels to follow,
but since I have been silent so long, I figured I'd update.

I let my husband and kids for the last nearly two weeks
to be with my sister and husband in Philadelphia.

My flights were timed very nicely, I made it for the birth -
and subsequent trials of the first week.

Now, however, it's his life story - and his blog to read:

The Life, so far, of Sullivan

Coming soon: Transportation Possessed