Waiting for Morning

"Mom, remember the night I couldn't fall asleep?" Nic asked recently.

There was no one time that immediately sprang to mind, and I said so. Truth is, Nic didn't sleep through the night with any kind of consistency until about third grade. He persisted.

"You know, that night where I tossed, and I turned, and I ended up at the foot of the bed."

OH. THAT night. And I do remember him at the foot of the bed, finally asleep.

"How old were you, Nic? Do you remember?"

*shrug* "First grade, maybe?"

"And why couldn't you sleep?"

"I was just waiting for morning."

The phrase jars me in a way Nic's random proclamations often do, and haunted me in the early morning hours as my little one climbs into bed with me and falls asleep. Lately, he's needed me more at bed time, and often wanders in the wee hours like a little ghost looking for me. And this morning, I realize with a great deal of dismay, he's grinding his teeth in his sleep.

Nic has ground his teeth in his sleep ever since he's had them. Gabriel has not. Until now.

So again, I find myself seized with fears in the darkness, wondering yet again if I am doing enough for him, what am I missing? What else do I need to be thinking about? Has the bus stop ruined him for life? How can I fix this? Is he already broken beyond repair?

I think of people I knew, and one person in particular who my mom said was a troubled soul.

I thought for a moment. "He was always a troubled soul, mom."

She was quiet a moment. And agreed.

So to what depth troubled? To what extent broken?

I find that I, too, am waiting for morning.

Why Bother?

Sometimes I have to ask myself the question: why bother?

Sometimes, these moments, where Nic's teammates help him run in the 1600, are the reason.


I remember the same place cheering Nic's completion of his first 400 last year and thought that moment would be a hard one to top. But when I heard one of Nic's teammates ask an official "Can we run with him?" as Nic struggled into his last lap, I could have cried. And watching those three boys--who had just finished their own 1600s--trot alongside him in the last 300 meters, it was all I could do NOT to cry.

But I do feel the unasked question: why make him run? Why do this when you know he'll never finish first?

He likes his team. He likes to be near them, even if he isn't always sure how to interact with them. And he can outrun most of the kids in his gym class, which has its own set of bragging rights, even if the people in the stands don't know that.

Why bother? Because Nic is a part of a team that would not be the same without him.

And that's a good enough reason for me.

Alternate

"Mom, it's okay if I'm an alternate." Pause. "What's an alternate?"

Thus begins my first stage/sports mom experience. Last year, a small team enabled my elder son the experience of Penn Relays; this year, a larger team relegates him to 'alternate.'

Don't get me wrong; as a coach, having alternates is a good problem to have. The downside: all the senior boys got to run last year. This year, there will be disappointment.

"We're doing this on times," I told the kids at the end of practice yesterday. "Fastest kids go. I'll be posting everyone's times every week."

We had a fifth junior boy join yesterday, which pretty much guarantees that Nic is not going to run. The force of this disappointment surprises and vexes me.

"But mom," said Nic, "You still have to coach, so we still have to go."

It occurs to me that the other alternates may not feel this way, and that Nic, who can either run up or run down this year only, is peculiarly situated to be an all-around backup, if need be.

And he is absolutely okay with this. Isn't that the very essence of teamwork?

And isn't it awesome that Nic gets that?

As much as I model for him, he models right back to me.

And I am okay with that.

Super Powers

I always wanted to be invisible. This seems as good a place as any to start. I am--have always been--painfully shy, an observation that makes people who think they know me laugh out loud. But no, I spent the better part of my life wishing I could blend better into life's furniture and background. But God had something else in mind.

Because there is Nic, who is the antithesis of shy and retiring and is everything and more than what I was at age 12. Nic has all my tectonic force and emotional storminess minus the female circumspection and decorum. He lays everything bare without any thought of what it could cost him.

Which led me to ask the question: where the HELL did he come from?

My answer came to me this morning while I drove into work, thinking of conversations I've had with colleagues and a conversation I had with a fellow mom last night about some one who feels compelled to move because of her family's ostracism from their neighborhood and my response: "I know what this looks like--can you have her contact me? Email me? I'd love to talk to her."

This was one of those moments where I was saying the words, but they were as new to me as they were to my listener. Because as I listened to this stranger's story, I heard my story. I watched my little one perambulate around the room, humming to himself, and I noticed a few sets of eyes looking at him.

Yes. Ostracism. I know something about this.

For all the self-flagellation I engage in about not being a better model to my boys, I realized this morning that Nic is OUT THERE because I am OUT THERE. For the last 10 years I've been knocking myself out--sometimes literally--to ensure that my boys are part of the community. And the pains I have taken are starting to pay off.

Take the sacraments. All I had to do at any point in the last 5 years is ask Fr M to administer sacraments to Nic. It's been my preference, however, that he receive the sacraments in the community, just like every other kid his age in the parish has done. Nic's behavior posed a big limiting factor to this; Gabriel's does not. Gabriel, consequently, will make his sacraments on the same timeline as his peers. And I just got the green light for Nic to make his sacraments of Penance and Communion with G. Nic will then make confirmation with his class next fall.

The point here is that my boys do this with the community. And it looks like, at long last, this will happen.

I look at all the other things we have going on right now: track, scouts, swimming, bowling, music, and I realize that all these years I have been throwing myself out there, getting thrown to the mat, picking myself up and dusting myself off, Nic has not only been watching, but he is also doing. For better or for worse. I am teaching him how to be a proper warrior. And he's learning. He is not always right, or quiet, or neat, but there is nothing half-hearted about the way he rolls. Not even his laugh.

I asked for invisibilty; I got armor instead.

Slouching hopefully down the mountain

I'm sitting here at G's weekly music lesson, trying to wrap my head around the last little while. We went skiing last Friday; metaphors swirl around the whole idea of edging to the top of the hill, taking a deep breath, and then letting the speed and wind of racing downhill take your breath away.

It's some of that; realizing that once and for all we have found something that Nic can do and, reasonably, leave him to do on his own and he'd be fine. And realizing that slowly, he's coming to do all the things we'd expect a boy of 12 to do on his own.

As I told our story again--for the first time in 18 months--to back to back classes yesterday, I realized anew that my children are both wildly surpassing everything I ever hoped they'd be at these respective moments of their lives. We're up to 5 team meetings so far for Nic this year--and we all laugh. Because the kid has a sense of humor and is writing his own story--that someday he will tell in his own way. That he tells every day in the way he lives.

At our encampment with scouts at the Battleship NJ, we had our first uneventful encampment--ever. It was exciting for what didn't happen. My boys carried on just like the rest of the pack, and Nic even got to run a television camera during one of our many stops throughout the ship.

I did an interview with Dr Dan Gottlieb for Voices in the Family just about two years ago, and at that time I told him that our family looks just like any other family. It feels that even two years from that moment, that statement is, possibly, more true now than it was when I said it.

But that's how it's been going. Bit by bit. Day by day. Year by year. The boys continue to gain ground; certainly not at the speed of their peers, but my God, to think that I ever expected--or dreamed--of any less.

Their success has always been a product of finding what works for them--throwing stuff against the wall, and seeing what sticks. Lately, lots of stuff is sticking. We're hard pressed to eliminate anything from their busy schedules, because they are getting so much out of everything.

Sooner or later, we will slow down, and take a deep breath. But for right now, all of us, we are just enjoying life. And each other.

Time for Inner Changes

They've already happened, apparently when I wasn't paying attention. And where do I begin? Let's start with a dead car battery....

...so, I was making my daily endrun to get the boys with an added stop; pick up soft pretzels for the evening's Pack meeting. I did that first, then went to get the boys. Nic's pick up was uneventful; G's was until we got to the car. And the damn thing wouldn't start.

Nic immediately flew into dramatic overdrive. "MOM! WHAT WILL WE DO?"

I can't fault him; once, that would have been me.

I pulled out my work BB (my cell phone is officially dead from being dropped one too many times, and yes, I'll deal with that, eventually) and call hubby, and tell him to call AAA (after all, that's why we have it, right?) He says he'll be there as soon as he can.

Which would be at least 40 minutes. I knew it was getting on 6; we needed to be at the pack meeting before 7.

"Why don't you guys go over to look at the monster truck parked over there?" I had gotten out of the van, fumbled around for the hood release. The kids, however, lingered to see what I would do. I went around the back and pulled out the jumper cables, thinking MAYBE some one would stop. I see the pretzels in the back and wonder if they are going to get where they need to go.

Three cars passed. All the drivers looked the other way. The boys, seeing I wasn't going to do anything else for the moment, wandered off to the truck, arguing. Some one pulled over and parked to talk on her phone.

Which gave me an idea. I reached for my BB again, and this time dialed the cub master. "I have good news and bad news," I began. "The good news is that I got the pretzels. The bad news is that we're stuck over in the school parking lot."

Did he laugh? Probably later. "I'll be over as soon as I can."

Which was all the time it took to put on his shoes and drive over. By that time, the woman who had pulled over had driven her car over to mine. Two girls and a set of jumper cables with nary a clue between them about where to start: this is probably where S started laughing.

My boys ran back over. "Mr. R, Mr. R, what are you doing here?"

Giving mom an advanced tutorial. "First thing we do," he announced, "Is untangle the cables."

Yeah. Duh. Sorry.

"Kids, step back, this may blow up." And without missing a beat, he hooked up my car to my other good samaritan's (and cleared the trap of old leaves) and signaled me to start up.

"It died!" Nic wailed disconsolately.

"Nah, it didn't die, it's just tired," he answered.

I turned the key, and the engine roared to life, as did the stereo, which blared "Alone Again (Naturally)" I smothered a laugh at the irony. The kids cheered. S unhooked the cables and handed them back to me. "They're yours? Wow, prepared."

I handed off the pretzels. "This way, I know they'll get where they need to go. And thanks."

I called hubby back and told him to cancel the service call. The kids piled back into the van, and everyone went their separate ways. And I laughed.

"Mom, what's so funny?" Nic asked.

"You guys got to see what friendship looks like in action." And I didn't realize how true this was until I said it. "We had a problem, I asked for help, and I got it. A friend will help you, even if it puts him or her out."

Actually, my thought had been about the pretzels, and the last thing I wanted S to think was that I punted. And of course I knew that he would know what to do with jumper cables.

All this happens against the backdrop of conversations I've had with a colleague over the last few weeks, some one who wants me to look at things another way, to stop thinking 'either/or' and replace it with 'both/and'. In a somewhat related story, I've been thinking a lot of making better use of the gifts I've been given. Yesterday, I was tapped to give a couple guest lectures at a local university--something I had stopped doing for the wrong reasons.

Guess what? I'm back on the circuit. Thanks to another hero.

The larger story is that I'm finding blessings and opportunities in all the things that most people have come to regard as inconvenience (at best) and disaster (at worst). I know there are hundreds of inspirational quotes out there that urge you to think this way, but a vast majority of us really don't; we SAY it, hoping we get to a point where we may actually mean it.

But no. I realized in my drive home that I'm there. I'm really, really there.

And grateful, as always, for the people who show me the way. And remind me.

It's good not to be alone.

Housekeeping

Feeling a lot of things right now. Gratitude sits on top. A lot of other things simmer below. I'm thinking primarily of our outing last night; Nic wanted to go to a fund raising event at a local eatery. We went; he knew some kids, we saw people we knew, but it was a zoo. On one hand. On the other, I saw a bunch of guys I knew from scouts there with their kids, like me, who weren't there with anyone else but themselves. One guy even sent his son over to us to offer their seats when they were done.

Nic went off to talk to some kids, and when I returned to our seats, he went off (I found out later) to stand guard at the kitchen for our order and bring the wait person over to our table with our order--a smart thing to do, considering the sheer volume of people packed into the small space.

That was his idea.

I've been quiet here because I've been processing a great deal on the subject of friendships and how they relate to me and the boys. That they do not have the same childhood experiences as hubby causes him anguish; I cope by telling him that their childhood was not all that different from mine.

Revisionist, much? Hell yeah.

I can write volumes on this subject, but to what purpose? Let's keep it simple; I keep the boys busy because it's easier for me to drown out sadness and hubby's angst and limit the kids' screen time all in one fell swoop. Oh yeah. Let's not forget alleviating my own guilt for not modeling better.

I need to write a few lines about this. Friendship did not come easily for me. I found myself casting a wider and wider net as I grew up, knowing that if I were to find like-minded people, I stood a better chance of doing so outside of where I grew up.

(It actually makes a weird sort of sense that my best friend was born on another continent and lived in another state the first 3 1/2 years of our relationship. But anyway....)

But how I got here....I spent a lot of time on my bike, riding far away from my neighborhood, a constant stream of daydreams running through my head. Actually, you could argue that my boys do very much the same between themselves, except they run lines from well-loved movies. And they sing. A lot. While I run them from one activity to the next. I come home, aching, tired, wanting to just sit with a glass of wine and a book, but then there's more to do to get them finished homework, bed time routines (they won't do these alone; every night it's like a whole new experience). Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Then I read this from Thomas Merton last night: "...self knowledge is impossible when thoughtless and automatic activity keeps our souls in confusion....we have to cut down on activity to the point where we can think calmly and reasonably about our actions. We cannot begin to know ourselves until we can see the real reasons why we do the things we do, and we cannot be ourselves until our actions correspond with our intentions and our intentions are appropriate to our own situations."

Here lies the intersection between my spiritual and secular lives; Fr M gave me the book (actually, all the PREP teachers got this book for Christmas), but some one I work with actually prompted me (unknowingly) to read it. And, suffice it to say, some things are coming together for me. I pay a whole lot of lip service to letting Go and letting God.

The trouble is, I have a hard time letting go. I'm beginning to get that. But on the plus side, the boys have something neither their dad nor I had growing up. They have each other. They are best friends. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

So. I have some decisions to make. And some cleaning to do.

Time to start putting my money where my mouth is.