Our lovely electronic devices

Last school year Daniel brought a video game to school because a friend of his wanted to borrow it (a DS game, those tiny little things). Actually, for some unknown reason he brought his whole pack of games instead of the one. The pack of games was in his back pack during bio class, and then when he went to lunch, 20 min. later, they were gone. He thought he dropped them. Checked back through the classroom the hallways, the lunchroom. They were gone.

Our initial reaction was, of course, "WHY DID YOU BRING THOSE TO SCHOOL??" And then we told him that they were probably stolen. Daniel refused to believe that anyone could have stolen his stuff. Well, after days & weeks of looking, hearing some rumors, filing a police report, and setting up a sting, the perpetrator was caught and he replaced all of Daniel's games. It was a tough lesson and I think it hurt Daniel's faith in human nature. He was mad at himself, he was mad at the situation, and ultimately, even the return of his stuff was bittersweet.

Moving on to.... Today! I took my youngest to his Saturday enrichment class, and then went to a parent meeting about the 7 keys for college readiness. Yee ha. I multi-tasked during the meeting, with my laptop open on the table, trying to take care of teaching-related work while listening to the speaker. You see, Tuesday my hard drive crashed. I lost all my info from this school year -- my grades, my templates, my lesson plans... you name it. I just started using delicious.com for bookmarks, so I had a few of those saved, but many others were still just on my bookmark menu.

I taught through Tuesday without really knowing what I was teaching. I couldn't hook my laptop up to the projector to demonstrate a new concept. I had a hard copy of the week's lesson plans, but my brain was in a fog as I tried to puzzle out exactly what I had lost. And it's the end of the quarter! Grades are due!

With what was backed up to the network from the year before, I was able to recreate my grading sheets and lesson plan templates. By Thursday afternoon I had a replacement laptop, but my motivation had taken a severe blow. But my hubby send me a big bouquet of flowers, and I disappeared into some good yoga for a while, and came out of my funk able to let go of what I can't control. Move on. Back to work. Recreate what is lost. Start typing.

So, back to the meeting. I was reminded during the meeting of something I needed to add to my grocery list, so I took my itouch out of my purse and added some things to the never-ending list that I keep. I put the itouch back in my purse and zipped it. I remember this. The meeting ended soon after, so I put my computer away, grabbed my jacket, made a quick stop in the ladies' room, and then headed to the car. I had 50 minutes to get to the grocery store & shop before I had to be back to pick up Dominic.

I got to the grocery store and opened my purse to retrieve my never-ending list. Couldn't find the itouch. Dumped the purse. Nada. Went back to the car. No itouch. Drove back to the high school where the meeting took place. The itouch is not in the media center, the ladies' room, the hallways... no where. No one has turned one in. My itouch is gone.

I picked up Dominic, came home, and asked Daniel to come talk to me. I knew he would understand! I told him how upset I was. He hugged me and said, now you know how I felt when I came home from school that day... and yes I KNEW how he felt; I've lost important things before. But I was mad at myself; why didn't I put the damned thing in my pocket? Why did I lose it? Did it fall out? But I zipped the bag!!! He said, "Mom. It was probably stolen." And I said, "NO! I was in a parent meeting for God's sake!" Daniel just looked at me & shrugged.

I was really hooked on that itouch. My family gave it to me for Mother's Day. I used that cute little electronic device all the time. It organized me, helped me exercise, and was portable entertainment. I'm about to go do some yoga, to try to release this spasm that I'm working myself into. The itouch is just a THING, after all, a lovely electronic device but a thing, none the less. I don't need it. What I need is the love and comfort of my family. I have that. My kids gave me hugs. My sister in law (my wife! :-) ) gave me mental therapy. My husband gave me his sweet words and verbal hugs (see you in less than a week, babe!) My faith in human nature remains.

Perspective

Perspective changes everything. I remember roiling in angst when I was in my 20's over something... a relationship? Money problems? Who knows anymore. I took a walk outside that evening into a moment of perfection. A rising moon, branches silhouetted against the surreal shades of blue and green. In wonder, surrounded by something much greater than myself, my worries dropped away. And when I picked them back up again, as I felt I needed to do, I found they were not quite as powerful as they had been before. Why? Because I had been able to let them go, if just for a few moments. The magic of the moment was tangible, and I could summon it, from time to time, to help me let go of angst again.

I am missing my best friend today, my partner, my love. It colors everything I do. So what I do, for now, is go through the motions of the day, and hope for a golden moment of perspective.

Tomorrow!

I get my laptop back tomorrow. Matt says I should have ditched it and gotten a newer model. But honestly, there are just too many bills to pay right now. I got a new hard drive, and I feel like I'm recycling. Yay!

We were out late last night at the ESPN Zone in DC, having a total blast. They were great about Daniel's celiac, too, I have to say. It was at a private event, so we didn't have to wait for food or games and the kids had a blast. I forgot my camera, but got a couple of pictures from my cell phone. I'll post those later.

Today we were all a bit tired. Snappish. Daniel and I got into a little tiff over summer reading assignments and other such nonsense. Then later we all went out to local Lake Needwood, rented a couple of boats, and went paddling around through the gorgeous afternoon. At one point Daniel and I were by ourselves in the paddleboat, and he apologized for being snappish.

The sun sparkled off the lake. The paddleboat squeaked, sounding like a rusty bird, as we slowly clunked and pedaled across the water. It was a moment to be supremely thankful: for the day, the lack of humidity, for the shared moments with my family, the bittersweet ache in my heart as I watch Daniel turn from a child to a thoughtful young man. I'm sure there will be moments like this with my other children as well, when they reach this turning time in their lives, when they become unrecognizable. And suddenly, as familiar as ever. I want to hold these moments forever, so filled with sharp wonder, with breathtaking, painful joy.

Mommy Blues, Mommy Joy

It was hard to let Daniel go off to Boston this weekend, even though he was with his dad. I knew there would be time where the kids would be buddying up and off exploring. That's not anything new for him; he's done that on other field trips in the past -- before diabetes. Before celiac.

These teenage/high school years are tough on parents in so many ways. It is natural for our children to learn to care for themselves, and to break through the boundaries of comfort into a new, risky world. It is right for them to do this, to push away, to cause the little arguments that separate from the nest.

Really, it was only a couple of years ago that I did the same thing. No one kicked harder, screamed more, and fought against parental authority than I did. So I remember. I *know*.

Now I'm getting it back, aren't I? Not that Daniel is mean and nasty like I was; quite the contrary. We are so blessed to have an excellent relationship with him, an open, caring, communicative connection. I think that some of that is a by product of the diabetes diagnosis within the last year. We've had to rely on each other in a new, raw way that only served to strengthen our parent-child bond. I feel his needs now with the same intensity I felt when he was a newborn, the kind that mellows as children grow older and more independent. Fighting this disease brings out that early, ferocious motherlove. At the same time I see Daniel starting to slip through these bonds. Part of him holds on, I know, because he is learning a new way of life, and is thankful for the love and support Matt and I give him. But part of him is breaking away, as he should.

It's heartbreaking and beautiful at the same time to watch your child transform into an adult. You see it physically first, his arm and leg bones lengthening; his head changing shape, giving him a more focused, less wide-eyed look. Then there is a change in attitude. He's helping without asking, opening doors & carrying packages. He's discussing world events. He sees outside the bubble of his inner world. He connects with people who have sympathetic views of the world. He speaks easily with both younger kids and adults. He is thinking of who and what he will become. Yet he is still forgetful, leaving blood testing strips staining the kitchen table, and assignments for school sitting on the printer. He growls at his younger brother for touching his stuff. He is caught in between one age and the next.

So often we get wrapped up in our day to day routine. Get to school, get to work, pay the bills, worry about tomorrow. Spring break ends tonight, and the wheels will start spinning faster. I guess I just wanted to take a snapshot of this moment, before Daniel leaves childhood entirely, to appreciate him for his successes and his faults, for his bravery and his retreat. I hope I can let go gracefully, so that he will come back, fully grown, on his own to reconnect with his parents on a different, more complex level. Always in love, always in beauty.