tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83264665672757599412024-03-05T15:40:19.907-05:00Attempts at ClarityMy attempts at making sense of my world as a mom, a wife, a teacher, a reader and a writer. My attempts at understanding strokes, cerebral palsy, head trauma and what they mean to the learning process. V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.comBlogger150125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-86738611402514299072023-01-18T17:57:00.003-05:002023-01-18T17:57:38.929-05:00Helllooo?<p> My last post was almost a year ago...and I made myself a promise that I did not keep. I was going to write.... </p><p>I recently finished a book my son Chris suggested called <i>How to Keep House While Drowning</i> by KC Davis. It was about more than cleaning, it was about how we approach some of the things we struggle with starting and doing. Well, that was one of the things I got out of it. And it made me feel...emotional...and forgiven...if that makes any sense. If you ever look at pictures with my house in the background from me over the years there are various levels of chaos and clutter, and since I always felt like I had to finish the cleaning before I could write...and well, I could NEVER finish the cleaning or all the items on The List, I didn't accomplish. Honestly, I did not have the bandwidth for anything more than survival either.</p><p>I'm not saying that I have more bandwidth, or that I have figured myself out in any magnificent way that will unblock myself and enable me more 'freedom' to dillydally or discipline with focus, my writing, but I am not willing to give up on my dream of writing something meaningful. So I will keep restarting and restarting. When I returned to school as a mom, taking classes as one of the oldest members of every class, I had a family member make a comment about how I would be in my 40s before I graduated. I turned out to be much younger by the time I graduated from undergraduate school, I was 27. But I still needed a job and a Masters. Somehow I persevered and landed with the best job, an English high school teacher, in the district I love in. </p><p>So now that I am 55 and I still have a dream outstanding...now what? Can I find the grit that kept me going through raising the boys, through a divorce, through late nights, through a small support system? I'm going to find out.</p><p>What do I want to write? To start? This blog. I want to write about Kath's health issues. I promise to leave my other kids alone, and only write what Kath is willing to share. She is 16 now and has her own identity and her own story to write, maybe I can ask to be a guest blogger! I want to write a young adult fantasy story. I want to write a children's book. I want to write a book that might possible help someone going through life...hmm...a child with health issues and seizures? Teaching in a post-covid, anti-public education time? Being 55/older woman who wants to fight for justice but seems so very worn down? A book I would want to read.</p><p>Where do I put all this? Let's start here, with this blog and let's see where it takes me. I began this blog because I thought it would be a road map of sorts to show my 'start' in writing...but then Kath was diagnosed and it became a mish mash of things. Let the mish mash continue as I Attempt to Find Clarity.</p><p>VSG</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-42896707856525159602021-02-20T17:32:00.005-05:002021-02-20T17:32:41.757-05:00I know I keep saying this...<p> but maybe this time? </p><p>I have been putting my writing on the backburner for years, decades even. I have a To-Do List (always) and I feel as though if I do not finish that List then I have no right to write. Weird, right? Ah, but I am sure many of us feel that way about some parts of our lives...'can't do this hobby until I finish this work', 'can't have dessert until I finish my veggies' kind of thinking. </p><p>So, I have decided that I have to make my writing something that is on my To-Do List each week. I actually have written it on my list for the past several weeks but I have only gotten as far as putting it on the list. It's not something that is for the Good of the Family, so it's easy to shrug its lack of completion off. </p><p>I decided I have to push myself into an uncomfortable spot in order to do it, to really get myself going. I have to say it aloud to others. So loud that no one can mistake what I am saying and I might even be asked about it (horrors!) and, well, I wouldn't want to admit to not having done it. (Right?!) My logic is akin to what they say you have to do about going on an exercise or diet plan, say it aloud and others help you to hold yourself accountable.</p><p>My goal for this week of school break was to write, organize, read. There were other things too like cleaning, organizing, crocheting, getting the cross-stitch stockings going. Also starting a sourdough starter (I actually have not done that yet during the entire pandemic!). I completed many tasks, read, and started a sourdough. But now I am here, on Saturday and I haven't written, anything beyond recommendations. </p><p>We have dealt with: two health issues, one mine, one Roger's (still dealing with a kidney stone issue); three snow events; an oil truck that refuses to deliver much needed oil (still). Alex and I have also attended 3 college Information Visits (virtually). </p><p>But I haven't written. One day I actually told everyone, 'Today, after I finish this chore and that one, I am going to spend the afternoon working on writing and reading some books about writing.' The power went out. Seriously. Yes, I could have hand written, but I didn't. Then the next day was my next day's plan. But I didn't do that because Roger ended up in the ER and I began to try to dig and chunk out the ice on the driveway for the delivery (that as of writing this a day after it was expected) hasn't come, and now I don't expect it until Monday (ahhhh!!). </p><p>Anyway...I gave everyone 'off' of our normal Saturday chores today. I said "do what you feel you need to do for the week, do what helps the family, and enjoy your Saturday." Alex did help me with the driveway, and we did go get more salt for the driveway and we picked up space heaters from Target, but we also grabbed donuts at Dunkin Donuts and coffee at Starbucks. It was nice. We didn't 'do' much again this break except hang around at home, but it was nice. And needed. </p><p>And now I come to this. Writing. I started two things this week. I started to read <i>The Artists Way</i> by Julia Cameron and Stephen King's <i>The Stand. </i>I have started Ms Cameron's book several times, but I have only read the first chapter, until now. I read and loved King's book many years ago (my oldest was a baby the first time I read it, 1988). </p><p>When I read Ms Cameron's work I know I want to break through whatever it is that holds me back. Since I am not someone who is afraid of work...and failure...what is my problem? (I'm working on that, I'll let you know if I figure it out! Ha!). I wanted to reread <i>The Stand</i> because I wanted to see 1) if it was still my favorite King book (it is and I am only half-way through as of today); 2) I wanted to see if I could read and learn how he creates these life-like characters and dialogue. Instead I just keep getting pulled in to the story and I realize that I forgot to 'study' how he does it. </p><p>Where am I going with this? Eish, who knows? I think what I am trying to say is that it is past time for me to stop being afraid of my Self, my writing, my lack of skills, my messy mind, etc and just start seeing what I can see, start seeing what I can write. I will not be the next King or Gabaldon, but I will settle for the next Gaboury. Oh...and I have started a new health/weight/exercise thing too. </p><p>I hope to keep myself accountable here, perhaps share some blurbs of my story as I go too! </p><p>Take care and be well,</p><p>Veronica</p><p><br /></p>V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-83707555971380720682020-11-22T11:47:00.001-05:002020-11-22T11:47:26.411-05:00Hello again and exciting news to share.<p>It's been a very long time, almost a year and a half since my last post. Wow. Every time I think 'this time' I am going to write and stick with it, I have shown that...I do not. At least not where anyone else would see it. Not anything that is sharable anyway.</p><p>The world has turned on its side. We are in a pandemic. The girls were both terribly ill in the beginning of this year: lots of diagnoses; lots of absences from school; lots of time sitting on a couch not feeling well. They didn't qualify at the time for a test (testing was limited and we had not traveled outside the country nor been around anyone who had tested positive), but they seemed to have the checklist of symptoms, as we have come to see them since then. Things in the world ramped up with the Covid 19 virus, school went to remote learning and many cities, states, countries (not the US) enacted national responses to educating and constructing guidelines to keep people safe from the virus. I have often been a critic of our governor but his response to this pandemic has been guided by science and by data, often information that was not freely given to folks from the CDC, who initially downplayed it, which caused massive distrust of major departments. Our political situation has fractioned and divided citizens and families of this country even further in how people are handling mask wearing, social distancing, and even washing hands.</p><p>In our family, Kath's struggle to get her seizure medicine, though much easier than many others I read, was fraught with fearful moments and struggles in all facets of her life, since she was diagnosed. Staying home and learning remote, even this fall, has enabled her brain some time to catch up, and even explore her writing. She is resilient and she keeps stepping up her game. Alex is doing amazing, and after being so ill this year we have kept her remote this fall too, and she seems to be healthier than ever. She is old-soul mature and focused, as well as determined. Nick has been hit by this pandemic by being out of work. That has been a struggle for him mentally and financially. We help out where we can. Chris and Kristen were married last October, have gone through a pandemic pregnancy, and delivered a beautiful son. I haven't been able to go and visit or hold my new grandbaby because of our fear of passing along this deadly virus. Roger has been teaching remotely this school year: his school went virtual due to budget cuts, but he had requested a medical situation prior, so he would have been teaching virtually anyway. As for me, I began this school year in the school building, teaching to hybrid students and remote students, until we had a break out of cases and our school, then our entire district, went virtual. I had taped sections on my classroom floor to mark off my desk as a bubble, and to provide students with their own bubbles. </p><p>This is the month of National Writing Month. Sadly, I am not quite sure how students are doing with this because classes are shorter, I haven't quite learned my pacing yet, and teaching virtually is a different kind of teaching ("Can everyone put your cameras on?" "Does anyone see so-and-so?" "Thumbs up if you can hear me.") But we are trucking along and we all keep trying, doing the best we can with what we have to deal with. :) I am very behind in my word count this month, but falling in love with my story all over again as it morphs and grows in ways I didn't quite plan for. It seems to have a mind of their own.</p><p>So that catches you up on those parts of life.</p><p>Now to rewind so I can share some wonderful news. Wonderful for me as a writer. Last year I was asked to join a group of parents of children with a variety of diagnoses and write a chapter for a book: What I wish I knew then, what would I tell parents of newly diagnosed children to help them through the initial beginning of time. I jumped at the chance and then per my usual (see previous posts) I stalled and lost confidence. What on earth could *I* tell anyone about how to survive this and succeed when I felt like I was still limping along? </p><p>The deadline for my chapter creeped up and I was paralyzed with my lack of confidence and the swirling issues around me. I remember sitting at my desk, it was dark outside, and I felt so lost wondering if writing was just one of things I *wanted* to do but never actually would be able to do. The printed off contract I signed to write the chapter was hanging above my desk mocking me. I had been so optimistic and hopeful when I signed that paper and sent it off. Now, my head was so distracted with worry: worrying about finances that knotted around us, worry about everyone's health, worry about education, worry about what was being done to our country and the fiber of who we are as a people, worry about friends and friends' children who were struggling with their health. </p><p>I wrote a draft. I put it aside and worried some more. I edited. I worried some more. More edits. More edits. I asked a select couple of people to edit, fearing their critiques, but needing them. I edited some more and then I pushed 'send.' Yesterday copies of the book arrived on my door step. I came home from an eye appointment for Alex and saw a box, almost placed like in a movie centered on the front steps, and I thought, "Huh, I wonder what that could be? I haven't ordered anything." And then the realization that it was the book. Copies of the book. The book my chapter was in. </p><p>Nauseousness was my initial response. Maybe because what I wrote is so very personal and now all that would be 'out there' more than my blog, more than my social media. Ah. I couldn't just hit delete. The girls were beyond delighted, they keep just spontaneously hugging me. Kath happened to also receive a gift from author James Preller for her birthday and so she kept walking around, telling us how excited she was that she got a gift from a real author. Besides me. :)</p><p>I sat down and reread my chapter and my stomach clenched more. Ah. I would write it differently if I wrote it today, why didn't I spend more time editing? Why did I think anyone would read what I had to say? </p><p>This morning my stomach is still clenched. It will remain so until ... I don't know...maybe when others read it and tell me what they think. Maybe when I really get my self together and write my own book in entirety, with improved writing skills. Maybe never. </p><p>But, it's here. My first chapter in a book. Thank you to those of you have helped me to pull my seams together over the years. Those who never made me feel like it was an annoyance to help me make sense of what we were going through, those who helped with childcare, those who just listened, those who stayed in my orbit when I felt like I was drowning. Thank you to my online writing group, who I never spend enough time with, but who always welcome me back. This chapter may not be the best representation of my story, Kath's story, my writing, or what I have learned, but it was the best that person I was back then could do and I am proud that she didn't just step back into her darkness and allow herself to stop writing, I'm glad she pushed 'send.' </p><p>Here is a copy to the book in Amazon: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Awesome-Brohoof-Fashion-Design-Iphone/dp/1716525853/ref=sr_1_2?dchild=1&keywords=for+the+love+of+our+children+rose-anne+partridge&qid=1606055148&sr=8-2">For the Love of Our Children</a></p><p>Pictures will be uploaded soon.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-41558054391877142482019-07-17T20:06:00.000-04:002019-07-17T20:27:48.155-04:00Sense and a Story through Writing, Entitlement and Life GoalsWhen I began this blog, I thought it was going to be a way to keep me focused on...my writing. I started it in December of 2007 and by January Kath had been diagnosed and life just began galloping on a very different path than I ever imagined I would be on. (Warning: This post is more about writing than about Kath.)<br />
<br />
I've been thinking a lot about my writing, about entitlement and about Life Goals.<br />
<br />
Writing. I remember sitting at my desk at home and joining an online writing group, doing exercises, and starting to feel as though my energy and voice was returning to my words and stories through a community of very supportive writers. Then while I actually was online connecting to this other self of me, I got a phone call saying that my youngest son had been in a terrible accident in PE class, and was on his way to the hospital. When the school called me though, they actually could not get through because I was online writing and connecting with my New Writing Self (this was before we had a phone line designated for online usage). I live in a small town, the school where I worked and was currently job sharing my position so I could be home with the girls, was also where my kids went to school. They knew who my neighbor was so they called her and she rushed over to tell me to call the school. Nick spent 3 days in ICU and another day in a regular room. I became terrified to be online, in case someone couldn't reach me. I began to obsess over checking my phone, in case something else terrible was going to happen. Sporadically, I found times to write. Eventually our internet changed and we added another line dedicated to internet. But my writing was still sporadic and I always felt a bit guilty if I were writing. Always feeling like if I took my attention off my family...something might happen.<br />
<br />
And I also felt as if I were not Entitled to writing time, if I didn't clean first, grade first, respond to emails first, blah, blah, blah. I was never 'caught up' and since writing was just a 'hobby, ' I couldn't seem to get over feeling like I was not entitled to write.<br />
<br />
Writing takes a lot of time. You have to make a lot of mistakes (at least I do anyway!) before you can actually get something kinda-sorta right or at least on the right track. Again, I would tell myself I was worthy, I was entitled to try to write, but the guilt would come back. Who am I to demand my family to do and continue on without me, while I tap out words trying to make sense of either my story or my mind?<br />
<br />
Once Kath was diagnosed, if I sat down I fell asleep, or I could never remember where I left off in my story and I either had to re-read everything---therefore using up my few spare minutes, or restart, promising myself I would remember the next time. Writing for me also meant I wasn't researching how to help Kath, paying enough attention to Alex and Kath or Roger, contacting or spending time with Chris and Nick, grading papers, etc. So I didn't feel I was entitled enough to focus on something important to me again. Or still.<br />
<br />
Which brings me to Life Goals. My light has been dimming on my writing lately and I have been having internal discussions. Maybe I don't really have a story in me. Maybe I don't have the fortitude to go-the-distance on a story. Maybe if I was 'meant' to be a writer, it would be easier and I would 'find' time. Maybe it would be better off for my family if I just focused on what they need so everyone else can do what they need and want, especially since anytime I do step back or out...whether for an event at school, foodshopping, or the front porch to write, when I return I find chaos.<br />
<br />
(Chaos is that my youngest hasn't been hydrating so I come home to melt downs and tears and frustrations. Chaos is that none of the normal day-to-day musts have been taken care of.<br />
Chaos is that when I come home it takes time to bring everything back to baseline. My husband tries, but he does not see the interconnections of what impacts Kath's thinking and planning, he disdains any lists I leave and will instead start an entirely new and huge project which means he loses track of time, leaving Kath, unintentionally, untethered and lost. Chaos is that making up for the time I was gone or writing, takes longer than if I had stayed in the first place. I am 'on' 24/7.)<br />
<br />
So, I tell myself...get up early. Or write after everyone goes to bed. This is your Goal, Veronica, make it happen. Geez, how many times have I heard from people-- who do not live in my world-- "We all make time for what is important to us." That's a pretty platitude, but when one is trying to raise children, and when one of those children has disabilities and you are trying to make sure you raise her so she can exist in this world without you...there is no Me Time, or Entitled Time, unless someone else takes your spot, holds back other things for you and allows you the space and the time to do that...and makes sure that things run as if you were there...otherwise, when I do come back in, the catch-up time almost always makes it not worth leaving/stepping back in the first place.<br />
<br />
So, what do I do? Seeing as Kath needs me to sleep with her because she is afraid to sleep by herself---she, and I, still have some trauma from those scary nights before she was diagnosed with epilepsy and put on medicine (see previous post) when she was having seizures while she slept...so if I get up any earlier, so does Kath. That's not ideal, Kath needs sleep. I have gotten Kath to allow me to read to her at night, tuck her in, and then allow her to fall asleep by herself so I can spend some time with my husband and Alex. Roger has become involved in plays and their rehearsals, and Alex usually has homework, but this summer, after the girls' dance classes and their play rehearsals, we have been watching 'Game of Thrones' and watching the evening news, discussing what is going on and what our responsibilities are as citizens. During the day...it's a myriad of activities and driving and such, and now there is a puppy. Oh boy.<br />
<br />
So, what do I do? Do I give up on writing, on a Life Goal because I don't feel I am Entitled to it when I have such a huge responsibility? My gut says, No! What kind of lesson is that?<br />
<br />
But my energy and my brain say, "As important as my Life Goal is, Kath needs." Perhaps there are moments I can steal and try to create Sense and a Story from writing, entitlement time and space.<br />
<br />
There are always distractions. Kath will always need me. There will always be distractions and the tide of chaos will not likely to be held back for more than moments at a time. But it has me wondering and trying to find the strength and fortitude to make up my damn mind. I'm not getting any younger. If I don't attempt to push through the crinkly and shiny times and distractions, will I be a 'wannabe?' (As in "I wanted to be a writer...".)<br />
<br />
Or will it be like when I was a young and pregnant mom who decided that *if* I did not return to school to be a teacher, my sons might feel as though I gave up on my dreams or would they feel guilty because I let myself be stopped? Now that I am an 'old' mom, if I don't push through and find myself in my writing, will Kath one day read this, or find out, and feel sad? I would rather she and Alex (and the boys) know that *because* of them I did push through and write...whether it amounts to being published or not. I would rather walk my talk.<br />
<br />
And somehow, walking myself through the talk helps to fortify me to push through and make my steps, one at a time, to perhaps making Sense and a Story. Funny how writing down one's thoughts often can make more sense of one's thoughts, and make them more organized. Wish me luck. Here I go! Again and Still.V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-28397909291970685042019-01-19T22:31:00.000-05:002019-01-28T09:35:19.449-05:00Before-Air, Normal-Air and Post-AirEleven years ago next month I felt my head and heart break into pieces. I heard the diagnosis
that Kath had survived an in-utero stroke. Years later she told me she heard me ask her to stay
when she was ‘somewhere fun’, and so she did. I always pictured that was when she had the
stroke and she decided to ‘stay with me’ because I asked. I still think that she made a choice to
stay, even if the origin story may have altered; yesterday we got some answers to questions
that we didn’t even know we had.<br />
<br />
And my head and heart broke again. The mosaic pieces that had fused together into our new
reality for the past 11 years, shifted and shoved, fracturing again, until I felt breathless and
paralyzed all over again.<br />
<br />
Let me back-up. Last spring Kath started to have blurry vision episodes. At first I thought she
just needed to learn how to blink out sleep, I often have to walk her through learning how to do
tasks that come more naturally to others. They lasted for seconds. Then the descriptions started to sound like optical
migraines, brought on by stress. We spent 6 hours in the ER in June (the same day as Alex’s
8th grade formal--she had to get ready for the night with the help of my friend Jeff and her
father), while Kath had tests and specialists. Nothing nefarious showed up in the results, nothing
at all.<br />
<br />
We went home and all issues stopped over the summer...seeming to prove school stress
could have been a catalyst. We spent the summer in and out of more specialists’ offices,
everything seemed to continue to point to optical migraines. No issues all summer.<br />
<br />
In October things started again. She had been sick on and off since school started. The girl who
flicks off any cold or virus could not catch a break. The migraines started up, but never at
home--until Thanksgiving when I finally got to witness one. Night terrors began too. An ear infection.
Then Christmas break was the flu, another ear infection, more night terrors. A visit to the
neurologist started a ball rolling for new testing.<br />
<br />
January came and the sickness seemed to
morph and continue, she could.not.shake.it and the migraines and the night terrors started to
amp up. A chest xray was done to rule out pneumonia.<br />
<br />
In the beginning of January Kath had an EEG and an MRI and both tests came back
normal...well, if ‘normal’ means no real changes since her last one in 2008. However, we
planned on doing an in-hospital EEG to try to see if anything would show up if we had a longer
window. All forward. Kath and I started yoga, meditation breathing, walking more, focusing more
on hydration, and cutting back on activities when she seemed too tired.<br />
<br />
I was beginning to feel like we were walking through high marshy land. I’d pick my leg up and
the muck would try to suck it back down so I would have to use more strength with every step,
only to put my foot back down in another spot and have to repeat the process and struggle. Every day, every step, every
night, I didn’t know what to expect. Puberty? 6th grade stress? Dehydration? Not sleeping well?
Not eating enough protein, or bananas, or…?<br />
<br />
I was trying like hell to WILL everything to fall
back into place.<br />
<br />
Last week, another night terror. This week I had a root canal Tuesday, so I missed yet another
day of school after missing so many days of teaching the last few weeks for her sicknesses.
Then Kath came home exhausted and actually fell asleep, and soundly too, on the couch. I
made excuses...she has been out sick, still not feeling well...did she take her vitamins? How
about a protein shake?<br />
<br />
That night another night terror. Wednesday morning she seemed a bit foggy and struggled to
process, but I hoped she would be able to start to push through and not have these night terror
things have so much control over her or to take over so much of her life. I gave her advil, made her eat
protein and headed to my school. Roger drove her into her school (my brakes were grinding and
the auto class at school was going to work on my van). Roger texted and Kath called me 20 or so
minutes later, to tell me she had another ‘optical migraine.’ I could hear in her voice that she
was exhausted and my mom-alarm bells started to ring. I texted Roger back and asked him to
call in and go get her, to bring her home. I emailed her school nurse and I told her Roger was
coming to pick Kath up; she called back and asked if I would be okay with pulling Kath from
class so she could rest. I agreed. Roger came to pick her up and boy, was Kath so mad. I spoke
to her on the phone when I had a break and she understood, but she wanted to stay in school!<br />
<br />
Then she had two more episodes in the next few hours. An hour after the 3rd episode I got the
message (I had been teaching) and I had Roger call our pediatrician. (He thought since she just
had all those tests done that there was nothing they could do). Time sped up into overdrive from
that point on. The doctor suggested calling the neurologist and within another hour the
neurologist called me and told us to head to the ER, and to plan to stay in the hospital for at
least 24 hours.<br />
<br />
While students were meeting in my room for Key Club, I began to try to make lesson plans,
figure out what to do while trying to breathe through flattened lungs. My Hall-mates (thanks for my goodie bag and cards too!) came to my aid with,
“Ok, what can we do?” One even lent me her car! (The mechanics class hadn’t been able to
work on my van and I was afraid to drive it all the way into Albany. Thanks Colleen!) I went to
speak to our school’s secretary to set up a substitute and she even did the emails that needed
to happen (thanks Sharon!). Our Kiwanis liaison oversaw the Key Club meeting (thanks John!)
and I headed out the doors. I ran home to get packed and Kath was sleeping; my warning bells
were now pretty loud.<br />
<br />
We headed to the new Childrens’ ER at Albany Med--the most soothing and calming
experience, especially when one's adrenaline is running high. We told our story repeatedly to a variety of nurses, Kath smiled, we watched “The
Greatest Showman,” talked, and then, after Roger went home to pick up Alex from dance to tell
her what had been happening, Kath had another episode, her 4th that day. The nurses were
trying to put an IV in her arm, but she got nervous, then her veins seemed to disappear. Kath
said, “I’m seeing blurry” and then she pulled her legs up. Thankfully the nurses were there so
they could see to document it too. She was alert the whole time, she even spoke and answered
the nurse’s questions, but she couldn’t see and she couldn’t seem to relax for about 20
seconds. Then it was over. The doctor who came in, who immediately said this was not his field,
said it didn’t seem to be a seizure because she was so present during it. I relaxed some, we
finished watching “The Greatest Showman”...the first of THREE viewings in the first 24 hours
there, and waited.<br />
<br />
We got a room at 10:30pm and I began to see that this would not be a simple straight 24 hours at the
hospital. The next day we still had not seen a doctor, the EEG had not started, but neither had
she had an episode nor a night terror.<br />
<br />
I was a bit of a fraidy cat. I did not think it was silly or maddening that nothing had started even the next
morning, I knew they were watching her. I also knew at this point, deep in my gut, I knew that things were going to shift in our lives, and I could not control it. I felt like I was trying to dig
my heels in and not go down the path I was being dragged down, knowing where it was leading. I was taking big gulps of Before-Air.<br />
<br />
Soon after, before the EEG had been set up on Kath, our neurologist spoke to Roger and me and
informed us of the start of our new world. Upon closer inspection of Kath’s recent MRI, and
because of vast improvements in technology, her scans were more defined. They showed she
did not actually have an in-utero stroke, instead she has Congenital Brain Malformations. The
two malformations presented the same kinds of symptoms and challenges as what we have
been dealing with her stroke diagnosis, but they also open up a new world of issues.<br />
<br />
Kath had the EEG probes placed, a video was set up and off we went. We had a wonderful roommate
who had to move down the hall when the recording began (privacy issues). It is nice to have
one’s own space, but it’s also nice to have another mom nearby who understands, with her
heart and soul, the bare, raw fear of not being able to fix or control anything with your child's health. I visualize it like your
child has a rope tied around their waist and they are being pulled along a dangerous road with
cliffs on the sides and all, and you are behind them, holding on with sweating, slippery hands,
trying to not loosen your grip, trying to not let them fall off the cliffs, or veer into danger...and still
trying to pay attention to the other people in your life. And your career. And the oil delivery, bills,
finances, snow storms and on and on.<br />
<br />
During this time, a shining spot was that I was honored to see two of my former students
working in the medical field, how wonderful was that? Little breaths of Normal-Air.<br />
<br />
The EEG did record for about 24 hours, Thursday and Friday. And despite Kath not having any
night terrors, nor full out ‘migraines,’ it did capture what the doctors needed to see. The one time
she had blurry vision, she didn’t go into a full ‘migraine,’ but it also did not even register as
anything on the EEG.<br />
<br />
Despite this...there were many other times Kath registered seizure activities, but the video
showed no outward physical signs. And over the night, despite not having any outward
reactions or ‘night terrors’, she had ‘misfirings’ and lots of activity. No wonder the girl is tired,
she is having seizures and we don’t even know it, and she doesn’t even know it.<br />
<br />
The doctors did not need to see anything more to know what they could do to help her and to
diagnose it. A new additional diagnosis: Epilepsy. She likely has been having seizures her whole life, but the
perfect storm of her illnesses, puberty, lack of sleep, has not helped her.<br />
<br />
So. Post-Air. We now embark on anti-seizure medicines. And a whole new round of research
begins as to what the Congenital Brain Malformations polymicrogyria and cerebral heterotopia are, and what I need to do to make
Kath’s life as normal as possible. She still has cerebral palsy and the issues that brings as well.<br />
<br />
She is the same girl I had before this new diagnosis, but now she has more fragile edges. It’s
even more important to get a good night’s sleep and eat right. It’s even more important to drink
enough water and take her medicine. Now her new normal has to be rediscovered, as does our
family’s and mine.<br />
<br />
I’m feeling shattered, splintered, breathless, guilt-filled, but unlike the first time eleven years
ago, I know that those parts of me will recover and become a different mosaic. And although I
can see that Kath has lost her confidence and even part of her identity '(I’ve always said I was a
stroke survivor, what am I know?' 'I have e-ep-epilepsy, what does that mean?' 'I could be having
a seizure right now?!'), she will pull up her resilient-self and soul and live her best life being the
amazing warrior she is.<br />
<br />
Thank you to you all, the ones I have leaned on and needed these last few months and this last
week, and those who read, follow, and support from varying distances, while I try to hold my
seams together. My guess, if history is future, I will take a bit before I start getting some stride
back, so thanks in advance for your understanding and support.V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-81458791204864157912018-11-13T21:03:00.002-05:002018-11-13T21:15:02.420-05:00It's November again.<br /><br />Every year Kath’s birthday is one I joyfully celebrate, but even this many years since her diagnosis, I still struggle with. Sorry if you have heard this before and I sound like a broken record. Maybe if I write it out enough times it will stop taking my breath away.<br /><br />I am blessed she is here. She almost wasn’t. <br /><br />The day of her birth was one I remember well, waiting around for the time to leave the house and drive to the hospital; she was a scheduled induction. When it was finally time to leave, off we went. During the delivery I remember a time when I started to look at everyone and everything as if they were all far away. Roger didn’t notice anything was amiss, but I still remember the eyes of the nurse as she realized things were going sideways. My blood pressure was dropping, Kath was coming out face down and I felt like I suddenly had a choice to make. I made the effort to swim back towards the pain, my baby, my life. Sounds overly dramatic, doesn’t it? But to me it has always felt like a very pivotal moment. And I have never taken it for granted.<br /><br />When she was a baby, Kath was the easy baby. She didn’t reach and grab things while I ate or cooked or shopped. She was on my hip more than any of the other kids, she always wanted me to hold her -and it often truly had to be me that held her or she would be very upset-, otherwise she was smiley and happy.<br /><br />Months before her 1st birthday I remember looking at my other children’s first calendars- the ones that you record milestones in. Kath was missing lots of milestones, but every child grows at different rates, I wasn't too worried. I figured it was because she was on my hip so much. I figured it was because she had older siblings who did everything for her. I made lots of excuses. But as time went on...as her oldest brother went to study in Nicaragua and her other brother went to college in Rochester...it became more obvious that something was wrong. At her first annual appointment, our pediatrician said that although she didn't see anything amiss, she trusted her parents. County Early Intervention therapists soon came to the house to evaluate Kath and before they left the porch, they said she needed intervention, although they didn’t know why. Three months later Kath was diagnosed having survived a massive in utero stroke. <br /><br />My heart has never returned to its normal beating. And every year around her birthday it gets even more erratic before it settles back down. Some of my friends, those who have children with disabilities mostly, understand, but I think most others, including some considered closest to me, think it’s just my “November” mood.<br /><br />Despite knowing logically that Kath’s stroke was not my fault, I am guilt-filled anyway. I couldn’t protect my girl...when she needed it most...when she was in my body. How basic is that?<br /><br />When Kath was about two years-old, she stopped me from reading one night and said, “I am glad I stayed.” I asked her what she meant. She told me that she remembered when she was in my belly, then she remembered having a good time playing somewhere, but she heard me call, heard me ask her to stay with me, not to leave, so she decided to stay. The wild thing about all of this is that one day while I was pregnant, I didn’t feel the baby move and I had a bad feeling. I drove myself to my doctor's office and the nurse couldn’t find the baby’s heartbeat or register movement either. She left the room to get cold water to help make the baby more active, but when the nurse left, I had a bad- bad feeling. I started rubbing my belly and begging my unborn baby to “Stay with me. Don’t leave me.” I didn’t tell anyone that because ...well, it sounded crazy...but Kath apparently heard me. And she stayed.<br /><br /><br /><br />So, every November I celebrate and I struggle. I celebrate the brave-little-engine-that-could girl who was gifted to me and I struggle with the inexplicable other components of guilt, of what-ifs, of having dodged a soul-crushing-grief bullet. I always strive to be that upbeat embracer of Good and Hope and Light, but there is also that part of me that knows that if I don’t give myself time to breathe through these moments, to let them be felt and then to let them go... they will fester and decay my innards, my heart and my soul. Luckily for me this is the month of writing (National Novel Writing Month) so I get to release my thoughts on paper and try to write though all of these emotions. Most years I see progress. It might be easier if it didn’t get dark so early, but she stayed and for that I will always feel blessed. Happy birthday to my beautiful Katharina.V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-37970071725227879402017-05-20T09:16:00.002-04:002017-05-20T09:30:10.569-04:00My Lesson too for my 168 hours a week.When I was younger my days seemed to last longer. I felt like I had more than 168 hours in a week.<br />
<br />
Saturdays and summers were eternal - never feeling stuffed-to-the-rim-with activities and only mere moments of calmness, like nowadays. Instead they felt full and nutritional, like a well-cooked healthy meal that is savored over good reconnect conversations. Not swallowed fast and unchewed, eating for survival.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I had my students create a list of their life goals - what do you want to do between now, and oh, say, ten years from now.<br />
<br />
My list? (no particualr order)<br />
~ Catch up on bills<br />
~ Write my book, then bookS<br />
~ Get healthy<br />
~ Be more present in my kids' lives and my husband's life, as well as my own<br />
~ Travel, anywhere and everywhere<br />
~ Read more<br />
~ Volunteer<br />
~ Garden<br />
~ Be a better teacher<br />
<br />
Then I asked my students to write down the activities and things they actually do. How do they spend their days?<br />
<br />
Mine:<br />
~ School<br />
~ Grading and planning<br />
~ Key Club<br />
~ My Phone<br />
~ Taking care of the house and bills<br />
~ Sleep<br />
~ Eating, meal prep too<br />
~ Homework with Kath<br />
~ Reading about education and writing<br />
~ Schlepping the girls around for school and activities<br />
<br />
A few students said they spent time crying and napping. I thought they were kidding about the crying until the second class came in and a few said the same thing, then I felt really bad about shrugging off the first class. These kids have more going on than we may know, and possibly struggle with how to handle it all.<br />
<br />
I noticed I didn't even have reading or writing on how I actually spent my time. How on earth will I write that book if I don't put my butt in the chair and write?<br />
<br />
Next step was to reflect honestly on how much time (in minutes and hours) we actually spend on the ways we spend our time each day, then add to figure out how much time we spend each week.<br />
<br />
Some came up with more hours than the actual 168 hours there are in a week, "Many of my things overlap!" Eish.<br />
<br />
We then reflected on whether we were happy with how we spend our precious seconds and hours, and whether they were actually leading us towards our lofty Life Goals and Perception of How Our Lives Will Look in Ten Years.<br />
<br />
I brought up that people say you are, or you become, what you are actually doing right now. We don't just wake up upon graduation or our ten year mark, like a butterfly from a cocoon, and voila! we are and we have the life we dreamt of. It's those day-to-day decisions of how we use those hours, that create that life we want.<br />
<br />
We discussed how school and homework time is the dress rehearsal, the practice, before we go on stage, run out on the field of Life and what time we put in now shows up later. As well as how efficiently we use our time doing school and everything else.<br />
<br />
Then we also discussed the reports I heard and the CNN report they watched. The report was a reporter asking high school students why they were always on their phones. The students said because people would post things about them and they had to defend themselves, plus, they needed to stay informed or they would feel like they were out of the loop. The CNN report we watched together showed a man who designed apps with the intent of making them addicting.<br />
<br />
Between the crying and napping and the intense need for instant gratification (how many likes) and the need to be in touch at alllll times, their use of technology is different than mine, for the most part. There's not a lot of calmness or true reflection or true breathing time for any of us.<br />
<br />
I use technology to:<br />
~ check my school and home email<br />
~ check social media: Facebook, Twitter, Instagram<br />
~ check news : NYT, NPR, CNN,WaPo<br />
~ check banking<br />
~ check text messages<br />
~ shop<br />
<br />
I also see how friends are doing with surgeries, treatments, and children.<br />
I also find new recipes (that I never seem to have time to try).<br />
I find new ways to organize, handle stress and help inspire me.<br />
I find support from other stroke moms, and overwhelmed teachers and moms.<br />
I search out news.<br />
<br />
My students feel an intravenous need and feed of self-value, self-confidence, self-reflection and sometimes even a moral compass (for good or bad) through the devices---those are things that I earned and found in much different ways when I was growing up.<br />
<br />
When I was a kid if I wanted to talk to friends I had to ask if I could use the family phone, that was connected to wall, and tell my parents who I would be calling. If I wanted to avoid sitting at the kitchen table while talking, I could stretch the cord under the basement door and freeze on the stairs, but I always knew my family could hear me through the door or open the door at any moment. Oh and I could be told to get off the phone at any point, I had limited phone time. "You spent enough time on the phone, go do something."<br />
<br />
My students have hundreds of unheard and unobserved interactions every day. Oh, except for those conversations snap-chatted, or screen shot, then posted on the un-erasable and unforgiving internet.<br />
<br />
Their cores and morals, as well patience and understanding, are tested repeatedly with every interaction...in a bubble without (for the most part) adult supervision. A moment of weakness, unkindess, bad judgement is carved into documentation as if they were adult politicians of current day, as opposed to teenagers working their way through life's mistakes of youth.<br />
<br />
And we are letting them. Mostly untethered, or with false tethers.<br />
<br />
We let them have devices because "everyone else has them."<br />
We trust they will be good, forgetting this medium has a long memory and mob-mentality.<br />
We are also so busy on our own devices that it's become an easier way to communicate and connect, even with the people who live in our homes and hearts, while also staying busy with our own stuff.<br />
<br />
I decided last weekend that my hands---like Granger's Grandfather (from Ray Bradbury's <i>Fahrenheit 451) </i>needed to be doing more creating. My days were feeling too frantic and unproductive.<br />
<br />
So. What now?<br />
<br />
I didn't have devices growing up.<br />
I read a lot I played SPUD on summer nights with the neighborhood kids. I caught lightening bugs. I rode my bike all over and knew my town. I wrote stories.<br />
<br />
My boys (now 29 and 28) didn't grow up with devices, though they did have game systems. I limited their time at my house. They rode bikes, played ball games, street-wide hide-and-seek, built forts and god-only knows what else.<br />
<br />
My girls (13 and 10) don't have devices and I'd like to keep it that way. They are usually at school (lots of free phones, or I email the school secretary (love that woman!) and ask if at some point in the day she can get a message to my daughter if plans changed from when I dropped her off in the morning before I pick her up) or they are with me, or another adult. I see their peers with phones in their hands as if their young intravenous feedings have begun---the books, the balls, the items noticed and picked up from the ground, forgotten as the technology begins to wire itself through their brains.<br />
<br />
Me? I am absolutely ridiculous with my use. I know it. My phone is always on me (though as I write this on my front porch, it is upstairs, far away my hands which perpetually need 'just a second to check.' Yeah! Small steps!)<br />
<br />
This person who lists her life goals as wanting to write, garden, exercise, travel, stay present found that when I was honest with how I spend MY 168 hours a week...there was a lot of wasted time reaching for and getting lost in 'just one second, let me check....'<br />
<br />
So, one of my new goals is less phone-in-hand-time. I even hand-wrote my rough draft of this, with my arthritic thumb killing me, but a change needs to happen. If I want my kids---by birth and through school, to use their 168 hours more efficiently, with more joy and with a sense of purpose, than so must I.<br />
<br />
I'll let you know how it goes. Want to join me?<br />
<br />
I know this isn't going to solve the world issues or instantly make me a better teacher, mother or writer, but I am hoping it will put the spot light of my life back on doing what's important to me. Maybe the things that distract you are different things.It might not be your technology use like me or my students.<br />
<br />
I am just tired of being controlled by my distractions.<br />
<br />
Look, I just spend three writing this. I haven't written this long in a long time. I'd say it's a good start as I try to reclaim some of my 168 hours from a void.V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-73059284507343230862016-10-30T09:52:00.000-04:002016-10-30T12:38:30.839-04:00Unclogging. A sneak peak at the puzzle picture.I felt the transformation on the way out, just as I did on the way back home from the writing conference.<br />
<br />
On the way to Albany Airport, to Chicago and then to Vancouver and finally to Surrey, I felt the change from the all-encompassing wrapped-my-soul role of mom, Mrs Gaboury and the woman my husband rolls his eyes at to...me. To Veronica Steiger Gaboury, the writer from New York, the States, with an almost visible parenthesis around my location that apologizes for the horrible election everyone else is watching.<br />
<br />
While I was gone, I didn't miss my roles like I thought I would. That surprised me, and probably anyone who knows me. I had said my goodbye's, wrote letters, left behind 3 pages of notes after trying to show for the last few weeks, "this is how I do it." And now it was someone else's turn to take over and I was on my way. For at least a couple of days.<br />
<br />
Almost like a symbolic dip into a transformative pool, I stood at security and took off my shawl wrap, my scarf, my bags, my boots and immediately set off alarms, needing further clearance to leave.<br />
<br />
For months since I pushed the registration button to the Surrey International Writer's Conference, I second guessed whether I should back out, get a refund, go another year. Despite the fact that I knew so many people who were attending this, so many from so far. Who knew when we would all reconvene again?<br />
<br />
I was worried though because a couple of years ago I was asked to present at a National Conference for the National Writing Project in DC. It was a round table discussion with my fellow writers from my local Capital District writing group. At the last minute I let my group down, though they were gracious, and I bailed on them, feeling unable to leave the family behind to fend for themselves.<br />
<br />
Because of Kath's disability she can sometimes be a handful for her dad or for others who may not understand her triggers and her rebalancing needs. Right before that trip things flared up and I couldn't imagine how many steps backward Kath's progress would take and how hard seeing the chaos would be on Alex. I bailed.<br />
<br />
So here I was planning on going away again, not to present this time, but to attend, meet friends, to learn. The cost was much more. There would be much more traveling. I would be going with strangers I only knew from online. What was I thinking?<br />
<br />
All summer I tried to prep everyone, including myself, and in-between I was cloaking myself in fear and doubt, thinking maybe I should cancel. I didn't allow myself to get excited or fully commit to the anticipation of this experience. I didn't think I could handle another huge disappointment if it didn't work out. School began and the girls and my schedules are pretty packed, how could I leave so much on their father's shoulders when he didn't know the lay of the daily land?<br />
<br />
I think I may make it look easy. (Alex told me when I returned and she was giving me the play-by-plays of each day, that Roger had said, 'It's hard being mommy and daddy,' but she said, "He was just being daddy." Yet he did keep everyone alive and that counts!)<br />
<br />
Finally, I decided to cancel my trip. I hadn't made flight arrangements yet, the hotel was sold out, and I had just hired a math tutor for Kath and signed her up for a science and an acro class. Alex had a comp workshop weekend coming up right after, Kath's birthday party needed to be planned. I went online to the conference's website to cancel and found out the deadline was the day before. I actually considered still canceling (just not going), losing my money and saving myself airfare and hotel, as well as, stress and incidentals.<br />
<br />
But a friend of mine, who also has a chaotic home life like mine, told me I had to go. Had to. The family would be ok for 4 days without me, but that I needed this. I listened. (Not about going to the Halloween party this weekend, but to this I did.)<br />
<br />
I committed. Then everything started to click, like puzzle pieces when you finally understand what the picture is supposed to look like. I suddenly had two sets of roommate options. Flight plans seemed to work out without too much jiggling. A shared cab from airport to hotel and a ride back to the airport at the end of the conference all worked easily into place.<br />
<br />
I made plans for the house (did I mention I wrote 3 pages, many drafts), cancelled some things so my husband wouldn't be overwhelmed by my daily routine, made lesson plans for my 6 classes, discussed at length what the girls should do, how they should handle things, and packed my bags. (The only major thing I ended up forgetting was my inhaler...I didn't actually forget it, I packed one that didn't have enough puffs left to it, but after a day of panic, my breathing relaxed and I actually forgot I needed it, though I did meet someone who lent me her emergency inhaler just in case.)<br />
<br />
Once things started to fit, the transformation began. I began to let myself get excited.<br />
<br />
I have dreamed of going to this conference for at least ten years. I have followed the stories of online friends who went and how energizing this conference is for writers who do most of their work alone, but grow most by interactions with others.<br />
<br />
I arrived at the hotel, checked into the conference and ran with my bags to the first Master Class. It was with Diana Gabaldon one of my favorite authors. The class was on How to Write a Sex Scene. Hmmm. I don't really need to write any scenes like this due to the genres I usually write in (young adult and non-fiction), but I just wanted to be in this class with the woman who helped me to survive some pretty intense times in my life: a divorce, a diagnosis for my daughter, my mom's death, my diagnosis, etc. I tried to absorb the 'what-would-Claire-do' factor (Claire is the main character in Ms Gabaldon's books and one of my role models) and I looked around and found some of my writing friends who always accept me to the online writing world despite how long I am missing.<br />
<br />
Meeting up with these people I know through my writing was like a reunion; a coming home.<br />
<br />
This experience was one of transformations, one which was the bud of a feeling and thought that perhaps my own words could become strong enough and perhaps I could write my Tabitha/Traveling Trees story and others.<br />
<br />
For every person I met, as This-Me, it was like some archaeologically dust was brushed off and I became more uncovered and I loved what I saw. It was in my eyes, my walk, my heart, my head, my energy. I felt like I hummed at a different frequency.<br />
<br />
I worried though that not enough dust was uncovered to complete the transformation, or to allow me to continue. It was only 4 day,s after all.<br />
<br />
I was partially correct because once I came back it was hard to assimilate this new me with my many other roles. I returned to my old roles+plus, as though I was expected to make up time for daring to step out. Many friends asked me supportive questions about my journey. Many followed my trip on social media. My girls clung to me asking specific questions and wanting to see my pictures and hear my stories. My students were excited for me. My sons contacted me asking me about the journey. Not everyone asked or was excited, but I buzzed for days.<br />
<br />
On the way home, after one hour of sleep, I wrote. Ten pages, handwritten. It was a rough draft for this blog, it was letters to my girls, it was a journal, so, not my story, but it was more than I have written in probably a year. I have a lot to do to make sure the dust doesn't gunk the cogs of my brain feeding the fear and self-doubt. Writing is the frequency I need to hum with. That much is evident after this trip.<br />
<br />
More to follow....V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-78607983820131000522016-07-05T17:48:00.002-04:002016-10-30T12:28:23.549-04:00A year tomorrow. That was my last post- a year ago! That alone tells me how little I have emphasized my own writing time. I know it is my 'sanity' time, I know how important it is but I always put it on the bottom of the 'family's' priorities (even though I know my family does best when I am also a priority) so it does not often make it to the top. And when it does, it takes me so long to return to my Writer's Mind that I waste my time circling and circling and not writing anything of substance.<br />
<br />
The problem is...me.<br />
<br />
There is always something that pulls me. Pulls at me. Pulls on me. Pulls towards me. Grabs my hand and tries to drag me, but what I am going to work on is my writing-- the 'thing' that strengths my resolve and determines who I will be. I try to always make sure everyone else has Time for their events and activities, but I shuffle myself back in at the bottom of the deck.<br />
<br />
I see the Facebook Memories of This Day and I see that many times I have said this.<br />
<br />
Many times I have tried to shame myself into writing. I've tried to coax myself. Sometimes I have scared myself into writing and also away from writing. Mostly...I see that some of the same things I said a few years ago are still relevant: I have this story. I have this idea. I want to write. I think I can do it. If I try. Hard. If I give myself permission to fail, fall and time to recover and get back up. <br />
<br />
I have finally grasped some form of Control in my life. Things don't always feel like we are flailing...even when I have no idea where the money will come for x, y, z or how I will juggle the schedules of the girls, husband and myself or, how I will handle a regular day in our world. Things are still flailing and out-of-control, but I have found a better way, most days, of dealing better.<br />
<br />
I was thinking back, my husband had made a comment about how I was being 'controlling'...like when things were moved or not put back where they belong and I got ansy; or when I said certain things, like meals, had to happen within a time schedule for Kath; or when I got upset about any kind of mix-up in Kath's schedule;...and I realized that I was indeed controlling about many things now, that before, I never was. I didn't have to be once upon a time. Before Kath, life moved along or things didn't get done, no biggie, or just a ripple of a deal. Things got done or they didn't, they didn't undermine months of scaffolding and work. But since Kath, there always needs to be a 'lesson plan' or a game plan or an explanation of Life as We Do It. And since I have figured out a bit more of how Kath's brain works, I have found that my 'whatever, it will all work out' way of being, my very essence of thinking, had to change or she wouldn't have a chance to be able to handle this world and its pacing. It had to be me helping her step from her brain to this world, who else could it be?<br />
<br />
I had mostly been the kind of person who didn't stress too much over cleaning, organizing or schedules. I liked the ebb and flow of doing and moving on. But Kath and her stroke-brain gets stuck, her engine will continue to rev and she can't figure out how to get unstuck, unless I show/tell her, unless I explain step-by-step "Ok, so what you should do now is try to think of what you could do next so that you can get the rest of this homework sheet done, and not allow yourself to get stopped here at number 2 for the whole night. What can we do? How about we leave this and come back to it? Or let's go get a drink of water and take a little walk." And then we talk through the process of How and Why. Step-by-step. With me right there. Everything is step-by-step, organized, goal-setting, otherwise everything becomes an insurmountable mountain that immobilizes her and makes her shut down.<br />
<br />
That's what I let happen to my writing, it became a paralysis, an insurmountable mountain. I couldn't even jump into conversations with my writing friends. I couldn't figure out my next steps.<br />
<br />
I talk about wanting to write. I sit down and tap out a few sentences and then I get called away, and it's too easy to stay revved, distracted and stuck. So I stay on the peripheral and drown in the paralysis, hardly even remembering what I am writing about anymore. I am almost afraid to even try. How did *I* get to this spot?<br />
<br />
I have Kath on a tight leash of, 'Ok, go brush your teeth and go to the bathroom, I'll be up in a minute." And then after 5 minutes I call up, "How's it going? Ok, you need to refocus, brush your teeth now." I have to check-in and continue to build small scaffolds so her brain can soon learn to go through the motions and she will know what to do without my check-ins. But I also give her, especially in the summer but also all year, chunks of "go play" time. And each summer I see her unfold slowly, at first she wants to watch a movie, she fears the freedom, then before I know it, I struggle to get her to eat because she has immersed herself in some imaginary play, relaxing into allowing her brain the freedom to roam.<br />
<br />
I had to learn and relearn Kath's brain to help her to be able to make a place at the World Table, or at least her classroom and playground. I had to reteach my brain so I could scaffold teaching and learning for Kath...not just for short, 'minor' issues, like how to approach a homework assignment, but all the major Life Lessons too, especially Resiliency. I think I have had my brain on a short leash, always focused on 'what is next on our agenda and how can I break it down to build her up" and now I have to teach and learn how to unleash my brain and let it 'go play' because I appear to be stagnant, revving and not accomplishing what I should be able to do in my writing at this point in my life.<br />
<br />
So. This blog looks like it will rebound a bit and be about getting myself back into my writing like I originally intended (for at least this summer) in addition to our journey with Kath and her brain journey.V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-59409948098796638762015-07-06T12:41:00.001-04:002015-07-06T12:48:31.877-04:00Ripples that started 8 years ago, still reaching changing the coastline.<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">It’s been awhile. Once upon a time I wanted my blog to be a share of my drive as a writer and a teacher. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">Within a month of that decision, it became what we are doing as a family as one of us struggles with having survived a stroke.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">What I found as time went on was that I needed more writing, more immediate feedback. So I turned more to Facebook and less to blogging. I could post a status and hemi-moms, and other friends would immediately comment and I would feel less alone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">Sometimes blogging is lonely. It’s like standing in front of an audience, an audience that doesn’t show its face and doesn’t give feedback other than staying in their seats. It’s a bit like Life. Day-to-day life is lonely sometimes, no one stays in their seats. I don’t have family nearby, I don’t have a support system that bops in regularly, and even if I did I probably would only be more self-conscious of my messy, frat-like house. :)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">Once upon a time I wanted to be something different than what I have been morphing into, especially these past few years. I wanted to be a leader in learning. I worked so hard to get my degree in education, interrupted for awhile as my life took a different path; I became a young mother. But I doggedly continued my schooling and graduated before 30. Then after a divorce I thought I would step up my career again and focus on becoming a voice in teaching. But I fell in love, married again and became the mom to my two girls.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">Daughters are different. Raising daughters after sons is different. One daughter having a disability changed everything. I still have a career but I no longer aspire to be an education guru. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">Everything shifted. It had to. This past year made it even more obvious to me: Kath had some major injuries; I couldn’t always attend meetings and committees I had committed to; Kath’s learning issues will increase as she progresses through the school system; and Alex needs me to help her balance between being the sibling of child with a disability and being a kid.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">I have to look at the world with different sets of eyes. I look as a woman, a woman in her 40s who has given life to 4 children. A women who has survived divorce. A woman who teaches young students and young writers of all abilities. A woman who has survived tweens at least twice. A mom who has survived tweens. A mom who has made many mistakes, but also done some pretty good things despite inexperience and lack of confidence for my sons. A mom who has continued to make mistakes but also done some pretty good things despite experience, fear and confidence. A wife who has struggled with relationships and knowing how to claim parts of herself in a life where all parts are already claimed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">I’m not often a good wife or friend. I’m not a good daughter, sister, niece. I’m not a good daughter-in-law, sister-in-law or cousin. I don’t have enough energy to do or be more than what I already struggle with.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">I live in flight or flight and survival mode most of days. I live in fear. Fear of Katharina’s struggles; her balance issues which lead to falls which sometimes mean a hospital visit; her vision issues; her understanding issues; her friendship issues, her fitting in issues-her becoming a follower issues; her everything issues.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">We were walking to the ballgame stadium on Saturday and I was holding her left hand, but I could feel her struggling, she had slowed down and was moving oddly. “What’s up, toots?” “Nothing, just trying to scratch my ear with my hand and it’s hard.” “Do you want to use this hand?” “Nope.” And so she worked at making her cerebral-palsy effected right hand (the one that doesn’t listen well to her brain) scratch an itch she had on her right ear. And it reminded me that…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t only live in fear. I live in awe and amazement. I live feeling honored; Kath once told me that she chose me as her mom because I was the best-while I don’t believe that I am the best, I am honored. I live with someone who struggles to comb her hair, cut her food, dress herself, wipe herself, remember math facts and climb on playground equipment. I live with someone who can’t catch a ball to save her life, but she did learn to throw a frisbee and a ball, so we have hope that we can convince her eyes and coordination to get their act together for catching. I live with someone who can snowshoe, swim, and ride a scooter. I live with someone who knows that many things the rest of us take for granted, will be a challenge, that she will have to learn around her brain spots to be able to do it…differently…that she will have to work 10X harder…but she will do it to the best of her ability…eventually.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">I live with someone who teaches me grace. I live with someone who teaches me patience. I live with someone who teaches me resiliency. I live with someone who teaches me strength. I live with someone who teaches me to laugh at myself. I live with someone who teaches me forgiveness. I live with someone who taught me things are different than my plan, but that’s okay. They are still beautiful, still tasty, still bright and shiny. I live with her sister who also teaches me these things every day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">I will never be a leader in education in the way that I envisioned for myself when I graduated from high school. There was a mourning for that version of me this year. I was angry, I felt it slipping through my fingers and I was mad because that version of me could not do what I needed it to do. And damn, did I try! I couldn’t be what I need to be for Kath and Alex and be that leader-woman. And Alex needs me just as much as Kath, just differently.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">My career will be a classroom teacher who schleps her bags of papers back and forth, who reads and rereads 9th graders' writings, and tries to get my students to see their own value. I will not be a speaker at conferences. I will not be a presenter at workshops. I will not write that book about teaching.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">I will be Chris, Nick, Alex and Kath’s mom. All I have is there. And it is more than enough. What a wonderful revelation. I am not 'giving up,' or 'settling.' I made a very thoughtful, very honest and genuine choice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">Over this past year I have had people grab my hand and say, “Hey, I’m worried about you, are you okay?” “You are tired, I know, but are you okay?” and even just those words make me feel less-alone and more-strong. This year was a struggle as I came to grips with myself and just what my plan, path and new goals will be.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">I am not just invisible as the supporting actor in my children’s and husband’s lives (Or my students').</span></div>
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<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">I am me, writing my awareness posts so maybe Kath’s life will be understood by those who fear ‘others’ who are ‘different.’ Maybe my status writing and blog will help people to remember that the siblings of a special needs kid are also people who despite how amazing they are, still need support.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">I am still very determined to work on my novel stories. I still have my dreams of being the best teacher my students need and a published writer.</span></div>
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<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But this year I realized my path swerved again and it’s okay. This summer I am not teaching, or going to conferences or </span>workshops<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> or trainings. I am teaching my girls ‘summer home-school style’ and helping Kath see how to scaffold for herself. We are writing, going to museums, the lake, reading, adding, subtracting, dancing, acting, playing, coloring, visiting family, working on projects around the house, hoping to learn sewing/quilting. I am still writing. I am still listening to my husband as he shares his career dreams that once were mine too. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">And I am finally (almost all the way) okay with my new shift. </span></div>
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<div style="text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">When one of us had the stroke, we all felt the ripples and we have all dealt with the life shift and change it brought, reidentifing us in our own ways. We have all morphed from who we were before the stroke to who we are during our dealing with the ripples and waves after the stroke.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'; font-size: 12pt;">And here I am.</span></div>
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At least for Today. </div>
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V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-50358854650016805542015-02-22T11:37:00.002-05:002015-02-22T11:37:23.444-05:00Dear Governor Cuomo While this might be too long of a letter to actually send, not sure he reads what he receives anyway, I think it is something that needs to be said. Or at least I need to say it.<br />
<br />
To Governor Cuomo,<br />
<br />
What can I say that others more eloquent and knowledgeable haven't already said?<br />
<br />
My story.<br />
<br />
I am the mother of 4 children. Chris is 27. He graduated from NY public schools and attended Bennington College in Vermont. He now works in Washington DC at a job he loves. Nick is 25, almost 26. He graduated from NY public schools. He attended the University of Rochester. Alexandra is 10 years-old, she is in 5th grade and she has gone to Miller Hill Elementary School her entire education career except that year in our local pre-school. Katharina is 8 and she has spent more time in educational programs than any of my other children had at this point in their lives. Her path has been different.<br />
<br />
My first 3 children have always been full of curiosity, they loved to learn and had wonderful educators who helped bring them along to their next level of education. Many times that level was ahead of their peers and ahead of grade level, but these teachers were not concerned with keeping students "on the same page" or on "test prep," nor were they concerned with a formal formula curriculum, so these educators helped to feed my children's curiosity and allowed them to keep growing at their own paces, which further encouraged them to have curiosity and love of learning. It's a great natural cycle.<br />
<br />
And these educators did it for all of their students. They met the students where they were and brought them as far they could. Not everyone reached the same end points...but they learned as much as they each were capable of. They had individualized instruction because everyone knows that everyone learns differently.<br />
<br />
My last daughter, Katharina is a stroke survivor and she has had to be more involved with learning how to learn and formal education for some of the years my other children had free-play time. She has mild cerebral palsy, vision issues, cognitive delays and speech delays. But before you discount her as someone not worthy of a 'normal' education, let me tell you about her.<br />
<br />
Katharina fought like hell to survive and be here. She survived a stroke before she was born. She has been blessed to have wonderful doctors at Albany Medical Center and now specialists throughout the Capital District. She had wonderful therapists and programs through the Rensselear County Early Intervention program and has amazing public school teachers in our home district of Averill Park.<br />
<br />
My Kath has a burning curiosity and desire to learn. Just like her siblings. She has more empathy than many adults. She has the resiliency and the persistence that would outshine Olympic athletes. Her laugh is contagious, her hugs are healing and her eye contact is steady. She dances in ballet, tap and jazz with accommodating teachers who see potential and not disability. She rides a horse at hippotherapy. She loves museums and books and dolls. When she grows up she wants to work with Winter, the dolphin that the movie "Dolphin Tales" is based on.<br />
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Kath knows she had a stroke. She's beginning to understand that's the reason she can't always keep up with friends on the playground and in the classroom.<br />
<br />
Kath is beginning to understand that for her, her life will always mean that she will need to work harder and smarter. She knows that learning her math facts means spending 5 times (or more) longer than the other kids. She knows she might not get through all of the stations in physical education class or have the time to complete an art project or finish reading the library book in the given week of borrow time. She knows she wants to play an instrument when she gets to 5th grade, besides the piano she already takes weekly lessons on with another wonderfully patient teacher. She knows when we sit to do homework each night it will probably take her two hours to do the work she missed during her different therapies as well as the 'normal' homework.<br />
<br />
My community--Averill Park, Miller Hill Elementary School, Albany Medical Center, Rensselear County, Isabelle School of Dance, EBC Horse Therapy, Ms Mary, my friends and her siblings-- have surrounded Kath with so much love and support that Kath has succeeded in ways none of us imagined when she was first diagnosed as a massive stroke survivor.<br />
<br />
However, what I fear now for my amazing daughter, as well as for my other daughter, my students and my husband's inner city students is a one-size-fits-all education model which does not work for the various abilities and strengths our real life children (the children behind the data) have.<br />
<br />
We, as communities, have an obligation to raise our villages up. To lift one another to our highest branches. Our children each bloom at different times: some need more sun, some need more rain, some need more time, some need it all, but they bloom and they grow...given the respect for who they are and what they can do. And given the time they need.<br />
<br />
The idea behind making sure that each student has an equal opportunity at a solid education is a noble one. The idea of testing and forcing each student to gallop through the curriculum regardless of how they learn is devastating to our children. Tying students' scores to the effectiveness of a teacher is insane. Teachers are not quality control agents inspecting each product and passing them along or rejecting them.<br />
<br />
My beautiful, courageous, strong, smart, caring daughter struggles to take tests, especially timed tests. She shuts down and cries when we try to practice at home. Her confidence-level is fragile and this education reform of standardized one-size-fits-all education is chipping away at her and other students who teeter in your data margins.<br />
<br />
The idea that next year she will be asked to have hours of test prep instead of furthering her love of learning, her curiosity, her math facts, her reading, her love of cultures is frightening. The fact that with her disability she will be permitted extra time for this insanity...time which will be taken from learning...means that my daughter will not have a chance to 'catch up'...she will not be able to ever ever catch up.<br />
<br />
This education reform that you are pushing through, Governor Cuomo, goes against everything we have found to be research-based. This education reform will mean that only certain students will be able to get a decent education, the rest will be forced into more 'academic intervention services' (missing more classroom/learning time) for prepping for tests that are developmentally unsound and unjust.<br />
<br />
I never want my daughter, or other children who struggle to learn the 'normal' way and speed, to believe that they are 'not-good-enough' or that there isn't enough room at the school tables for them.<br />
<br />
I beg you to reconsider your position and your push for Common Core, standardized testing and draconian teacher evaluations. Our children need us to be the village that can help them through their school years with support and research based methods for teaching and education.<br />
<br />
Thank you for taking your time to read this,<br />
<br />
Veronica Gaboury<br />
Mom of 4<br />
Public High School English Teacher<br />
<br />V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-77487005394749798212014-12-09T14:53:00.000-05:002014-12-09T14:53:06.562-05:00This was the speech I was asked to give at the Women's Business Council of the Albany-Colonie Regional Chamber today. <div class="MsoNormal">
A few months ago Angela Tobin asked if I wouldn't mind speaking for the Bus Stop Club. I do not think I am a good public speaker-I am great and more-than-fine (and humble) in my classroom-but in front of other people who I have one-shot to make an impression?? I don't think I am good at first impressions. But because it was Angela and because it was for the Bus Stop Club I did it. I drove through ice and snow and I spoke and cried in front of people who had supported the Bus Stop Club for the past year. I made them cry too, so I think I did okay and I think that maybe they know a little more of what their financial support means to their Adopted Nonprofit group, the Bus Stop Club. And as the year closes out and you might be considering donations, please consider the Bus Stop Club and other groups like this. </div>
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This is what I said.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Thank you for welcoming me here today to hear what the Bus
Stop Club means to my family and so many other families.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Let me start by telling you a little about me. I am the kind
of person who takes great pride in being able to take care of myself and my family.
I can actually be a little crazy about it, defensive even, if someone seems to
suggest that I can’t do it all.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Or at least that is how I used to be before I had my last
daughter Katharina. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am a mom of 4 children. Chris is 27, Nick is 25, Alexandra
is 10 and Katharina is 8. I am a high school English teacher. I am co-advisor
to Key Club (a Kiwanis group), A World of Difference (a group based off the anti-defamation
league), and a group called the Knit-Wits (who like to sit together on Fridays
after school and knit, crochet or learn how to knit or crochet). I also advise
a group of kids after school in a writing group. I am a member of the Capital
District Writing Project. I am used to being the person who holds it all
together and still finds time to sit on the front porch with a cup of coffee on
a summer morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But 8 years ago my son, Nick, who is now 25 had an accident
in high school that resulted in a Traumatic Brain Injury, months before I had
Katharina. Katharina was diagnosed 15 months after she was born with having
survived an in utero stroke, resulting in mild cerebral palsy, vision field
cuts, cognitive delays and speech delays. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My world was flung into complete and utter disarray for a
few years. I went through a grieving process as I watched my honor’s student
son struggle and eventually drop out of college due to his concussion issues.
As Kath’s therapies increased and we began to be able to feel around the outer
edges of her diagnosis, I struggled with just being able to make a meal, pack a
lunch, and pay the bills. I read every piece of literature on strokes I could,
I found a wonderful group of parents online who eventually moved to Facebook to
share stories with. I grieved the loss of the life I imagined Kath would never
have access to.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Slowly over time I grew beyond most of that and my son
traveled down a different path, not the one I envisioned for him, but one he
has found success and validity on. And I realized that my little girl was a
warrior in her own right who was not defenseless. I learned to embrace more freely
who she is and how amazing she and this path we are on own, is.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have met some of the most amazing people who have stayed
when it would have been easier to leave and others who I found because we
travel the same road.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But one of the most amazing and wonderful people who has
blossomed right before my eyes is my daughter Alexandra. While Chris and Nick—awesome
siblings in their own ways--have only lived at home for a short period of time
since Kath was born, Alex has been the one who has been there every single day
that Kath has been alive.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alexandra is now 10. But she has a soul that is old and
wise. And she always has. From the time Alex first met Kath at the hospital, a
few hours after she was born, Alex has been linked to Kath in a way I have
rarely ever seen except in fiction movies. Alex has always been a Little Mommy
to Kath. When my mind blew at the fact that Kath had a stroke, Alex was solid.
Poor Alex had to take on roles for older people…she found that if she didn’t
put a paper in front of me with a pen in my hand, I probably wouldn’t remember
to sign it. If she didn’t remember whatever was going on and needed for school
and dance, it was forgotten. It was like that for a couple of years as I put
everything I had into understanding strokes and what could be done around the massive
damage that Kath works around.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not once did Alex ever act out. Not once did she throw
herself on the floor and demand that she get equal attention. Not once did she
blame me if she missed out on something because I forgot. She would rub my
back, like she was the mom, and tell me, “That’s okay, mom.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Who does that at so early an age?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For several years we had Kath’s therapies at home. I was job
sharing so every other day I was the one sitting on the floor learning how to
make Kath’s muscles want to move and her brain engage; on the alternative days
it was my friend and sitter; and every single day, it was Alex. She watched the
therapists and then she played games with Kath that made Kath use the same
skills she just learned.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who does that at so early an age?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alex could get Kath to do things on some days that the
therapists and I couldn’t. Many times Kath…even now…will call for Alex to help
her before she will call for me or her father.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I often kid around and tell people that Alex was really
supposed to be MY mother and I was supposed to be her daughter. Over time my
world has righted itself and I am back to being able to think and plan better
than those early years. I remember when I was starting to come back and I got
frustrated because Alex kept asking me about something, trying to make sure I
understood something, and I got defensive, “Oh course I know *that*!” and I
realized how far gone I was that she felt so responsible to make sure I got it
right. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a bit like cold water in my face. I had focused so
much on Kath that I often didn’t focus on Alex. After all, she was okay. She
knew what to do and how to do this and that…and I then I thought, “Wait a
second…she is only 8! She shouldn’t *have* to know all that!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was into alternative therapies for Kath as well as the
mainstream therapies. We drove, and still do, an hour to hippotherapy…Alex had
sibling lessons. When I think of that I cut myself some slack because I think
that maybe…maybe…I was not AS bad as I think I was with Alex. Maybe she didn’t
raise herself…completely! I did think that *she* needed something that was for
her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also started to take Kath to massage therapy, the owner of
the spa worked to loosen up Kath’s tight limbs. And I let Alex get a massage
too, she worked hard with her sister. Why not? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then one day a retired teacher, the receptionist, who worked
at The Ivy Spa told me about the Bus Stop Club. She knew I was trying to make
sure that I didn’t let Alex slip through the cracks. She told me this was a
group she volunteered at which supported the sibling of a child with a
disability.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The second meeting Alex could have gone to was a trip to
Target, to go shopping. Each child was given a gift card to pick a gift for
themselves. I didn’t send her because I felt like I didn’t know these people
who would be taking my daughter on a bus to a store. And what was with this
spending money? Huh.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After that Alex went every month. My quiet, shy girl loved
going. She got to have pizza! Although I waited in the building, grading papers
at a small table at the YMCA, she felt like a big kid, going to the meetings by
herself. She had time to talk to other kids who had brothers or sisters with a
disability or illness. Many times she told me how much easier she had it than
other kids. Every time she felt like she belonged.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The people who volunteered made my quiet, shy, strong girl
feel special. They listened to her. They asked her questions. They didn’t make
her feel rushed (something I was often guilty of). After a sharing time the
kids played games and then they had a choice of swimming or basketball. Alex
always chose swimming. She is a fish who loves water…it doesn’t matter if it is
20 degrees outside. She loves the Y’s pool.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When Alex gets in the car after a meeting, she is relaxed
and excited. She has talked with other people who ‘get it.’ At school she is an
academic. At home she is many things—daughter, sister, Kath’s cheerleader,
mother’s helper. At Bus Stop Club, she is Alex. She has a sister who has
different abilities, but she is still Alex.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During the last 8 years my family has continued to struggle
financially. Because of Bus Stop Club we have been able to take the girls to
basketball games. Alex has even gone down to the court at half time and taken
shots! We have gone to baseball games! We have gone twice to Six Flags in MA.
We haven’t taken a vacation in years so having the bus, the tickets, and meals
taken care of for the day made it so we could concentrate on just the kids for
the day. My son Nick has even come and shared the day with us. Alex did go
shopping at Target last year with her gift certificate and she bought herself
something and she, of course, bought Kath a little something.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alex has not been able to go to meetings this school year
because she has made her dance school’s
competition team and both are on the same night. But we look each month
to see when we get the emails to see if there is something she can attend. And
we will keep doing that because we know she will be welcomed back at any time.
What a great feeling.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alex made connections through Bus Stop Club. She felt like
she was not the only person in the world with a sister who had a disability and
a family that struggled sometimes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s harder for adults to make these kinds of connections,
but when the families all sit together in an arena, or on a bus, we may not
have deep conversations about the future of the country or religion, but we all
know that we are all going through something similar. And for just a couple of
hours we are less alone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that less-alone feeling that is provided by you, by Bus
Stop Club, makes it so we families can sometimes reset ourselves, stop the teetering
for a couple of hours, so we can do what we need to do the rest of the time. I
will never again believe I can do it all on my own, but I also know that it’s
okay that I need and get help sometimes. Thank you for all you have provided my
family and so many other families.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-87582286977016156902014-11-11T22:42:00.002-05:002014-11-12T11:20:59.634-05:00Stay With Me<div class="MsoNormal">
I was reading an article on my front porch this morning and
it made me sob. November is always tough for me. It used to be that I
struggled with this month because it is a light-less month. It feels suffocating to
be in the dark so long.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s also a month where I start to feel overwhelmed by
school work, by the needs of my students, the needs of my family, the lack of
time for me. I had to cancel pamper time (I planned at the beginning of summer)
for me yesterday because I couldn’t be two places at once. I needed to be somewhere
for Alex.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But now it’s also a month where I relive some of the most
challenging times of my life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kath’s birth day. And the year before and the year after.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The year surrounding her birth was one of my most difficult.
My son Nick had an accident the previous February in physical education class
that landed him with a Traumatic Brain Injury diagnosis and 4 days in the
hospital, 3 of them in ICU. It put the brakes on the life he had been flowing
with; he has struggled to come back up to a place he feels he belongs and can
get foothold to move forward.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember when I was pregnant with Kath and I prayed, as I stepped
in to watch a class for a special education class for a few minutes, that I
would never have a ‘special ed’ child-- I was so wrapped up in worry about not
being able to help Nick; watching as my other son Chris was moving on in
college-- and I knew I could never handle what these women, these moms of kids
with disabilities, dealt with every day. This stuff, this life I was in, was
hard enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a soul exhausting time and I remember that first
night of Kath’s life. I sat crying because it hurt to get up and down with her
but I was afraid to fall asleep with her in the hospital bed. Roger had gone
home to be with my other daughter Alex and to work on school work. I questioned
myself and being able to handle what I had already and now there was someone
new who needed me even more. I know now most of this was postpartum, but at the
time, I knew how to behave and answer questions to the nurses so as not to
raise eye brows. I was ashamed, what kind of mother has these thoughts?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I lay in the dark watching the nurses come and go and I felt
trapped. It wasn’t just about not being able to get up and down without pain.
It was about my body being stretched out of shape, again. It was about my
nipples hurting so much from nursing attempts. It was about putting the hard-fought
career I had been building on hold, again. It was knowing that my writing would
again take a back seat to my care and love of this new little one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A woman’s life changes in so many shallow and deep ways. I
knew that my breaths would be for someone else. Yet, one more piece of my heart
was now on the outside of my body. I don’t think men feel it that deeply.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I lay there feeling selfish, unworthy and very much alone.
How dare I be a mom of this miracle, I had this beautiful perfect baby, and all
I could think about was what was going to shift in my life?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve tried to tell others but my thoughts always felt
‘wrong’ to share.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We brought her home. My husband named her. My one contribution
of her name was making sure there was the “h” in her name (Katharina) and it is the part that
is mostly silenced or left out by others. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everything changed for me. Child
four. I held her and she pushed me away. I tried to nurse her and she pushed me
away. She’d stare at me and behind me. She’d smile above my head and I said she
saw her angels. But I felt alone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I took care of everyone. But didn’t take care of anyone. I
couldn’t get it all balanced. I put her on my hips and ran after Alex. I put
her on my hip and cooked meals for everyone. I put her on my hip and sang to
her and danced with her as I drove around trying to keep my head together going
to the other kids' events.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My love for her was as deep as with my other children but it
also moved me onto another path, a path where I was alone. None of my friends
were having babies, except one friend who lost her baby during her second
trimester; being around me after that was too painful. I am an 'older' mom. My
husband has his career and his own life shifts he was dealing with. When I
struggle, I wrap myself up tighter, self-protection-mode. I am not easy to deal
with.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were mornings Kath smiled and my world lit up. And
other mornings where she would not smile for anything, she would not reach her
arms up for me, she didn’t want me, I thought.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A year after her birth I traveled to Nicaragua to visit my
oldest knowing when I came back Kath would be going to start a string of
specialists because through it all, I finally knew something was wrong. What made it so she was missing her milestones? I had my other
kids’ baby books out and she was far outside their boundaries. I thought maybe
she was on my hip too much. I put her down. She sat and watched us but wouldn’t
move beyond swaying. If someone came near her she would startle and scream. No
one wanted to hold her and I wouldn’t have let them anyway. Momma bear was
rearing up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we saw her pediatrician in November she told us, “I am
not worried yet, but I trust my parents,” and she set us up with Early
Intervention therapists. They came and evaluated Kath in December and before they left they said
she qualified for services and the plans started, she would start immediately.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two weeks later, in January, Kath began Physical Therapy.
Kath had started to learn that she couldn’t do certain things, like move her
arm so Sue taught me how to show her to work around her brain and make memory
paths in Kath’s through repetition.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the end of January we met with a neurologist. He said it
was either cerebral palsy or degenerative autism (or something, I don’t
recall). I remember hearing ‘CP’ and knowing of two students in my school who
were in wheelchairs, I was shaken to my core, deeply. We scheduled an MRI and
waited. Fortunately there was a cancellation and two days later we got the
call.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Katharina had survived a massive stroke during her second
trimester that caused damage to both sides of brain but mostly her left
occipital parietal lobe. It meant her vision was probably damaged, she would
have cognitive and speech delays as well cerebral palsy on her right side.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning's article that made me sob lightly touched on
what I felt at this point. I did what I could to live a healthy life, but I still couldn't prevent this or protect my daughter. I don’t
do drugs. I don’t drink (I do drink more occasional glasses of wine now!). I exercised,
somewhat. I took my vitamins, but somehow this had to be my fault. I didn’t
keep her safe and healthy. I screwed something up…and then I
remembered my secret prayer to God all those months ago, “Please don’t give me
a child with special needs.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had done this. I had cursed her with this life because I
was so selfish.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know most of this sounds crazy and unreasonable to most
who will read this. I know I didn’t do anything to cause her stroke, but
sometimes these thoughts leak through my pores and spill out into my life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A mother's world changes in ways a man will never know. A
father may glimpse at it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But it is usually a mother's world that shifts and must
accommodate the fault lines.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I grieved intensely for a long time, for her and for me. I
knew I wouldn’t go into any sort of leadership or consultant path now. I knew
life would be a struggle for her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I look at old pictures I can see how my once open and
bright eyes became distant, pushing the smiles. My husband and I dealt
differently. Roger dealt by starting a second job. He was asleep by the time I
got the girls to bed and was up and out before the house woke up. He was still
taking classes, he stayed at school late. I dealt with the therapies,
specialists and the day-to- day juggling act. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two weeks after the diagnosis, while he was driving home
during a snowstorm from an administration program he had started that fall,
Roger answered my phone call. While telling me he was almost home, he flipped
his car in a ditch. The last thing I heard was, “Oh no, hold on a sec.” then the
phone went dead and I was standing on the stairs, with Kath in my arms and Alex
nearby, screaming into the phone, begging him to answer me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are times I swear we can feel our brains shatter. Mine
had done a good job trying to hold it all together, but it chugged to a halt
that night and I felt a shift. Yet another one. This was one of
self-preservation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger needed 6 staples to his head. He refused to quit the
second job, despite the anxiety I was in every single morning he left; despite
how it was twisting our relationship; despite how it made me the one who
shouldered all the decisions about Kath’s care, as well as Alex’s; however,
that job is why we have been able to hang onto our home despite great financial
challenges. But I felt more alone. I
know he did too. We moved in parallel worlds. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He worked. I read lots of books, blogs, articles and I read… Kath.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kath struggled with transitions so everything revolved
around learning how to best teach her, how to make it so she could learn. The
year before I returned full-time to teaching she had 13 therapies a week. I
kept the therapies at home instead of at a school because that seemed to be best and the
calmest place to center her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned that she couldn’t see peripherally so I made sure
I positioned her when holding her or standing near her that I blocked her so
people couldn’t startle her when they seemed to come out of no where. I learned
to warn her verbally about people coming up to her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned that too much stimulation made it so she couldn’t
figure out what to focus on; we stopped going to busy places, like Chuckie
Cheese or the mall. We left events early if she seemed to get overwhelmed. Poor
Alex had to leave too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned how Kath’s balance could or would not compensate
for other children, for different and uneven surfaces and for various
lightening. My hands were always close enough to catch her or to at least make
sure she wouldn’t break when she did.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned that she watched face expressions carefully and if
she thought you were upset with her she would try to make you laugh. She was my
Muppet’s Fozzie Bear. But she would take it to the point that one of her first
teachers at a special education school thought she was misbehaving. This
teacher then wouldn’t give Kath the positive smiles she sought, so Kath started
to fear and hate school. Until she met her public school special education
teacher, Mrs. Brown, that is.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned that she had swallowing issues that made nursing
difficult, then later chewing and swallowing solid food. She pocketed food like
a chipmunk and didn't know how to get it out of her mouth. We worked on
teaching her and reminding her to swallow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned that if she was not hydrated she would be
challenging, if she ate too much sugar she would lose her mind, if she didn’t
have enough protein she couldn’t pull herself back from the edge.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned that she hates having her arms immobile, held
against me when nursing, even now she needs her arms out of the night blankets,
she doesn't like to feel trapped.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned she didn’t lift her arms for me, or hug me,
because she couldn’t.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned that other people have no patience for little
kids, but they fear how to handle a child who has ‘issues.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned that friends cannot always deal with difficulties and
they move away from being with you because you are too heavy. Everything in
your life is about what you are dealing with. And it should be because you are
the one who has to give subtitles of Life to your little one. I also learned
that sometimes they feel guilty about it so they make you hurt on their way
out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned that it is lonely being different from mainstream.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned that just as I have to teach Kath to be careful of
others, I too can’t be too careful. I still share too much in my effort to
understand my world, in my effort to make sure no one else ever feels as I did,
in my attempts to make people understand her and me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned I have to teach her where her weak spots are so I
can also show her where her strengths are.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned I have to teach myself the same thing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned that this wasn’t my fault. We had her
blood tested and everything came back normal. We didn’t have my blood tested.
So there is always the, “it could have been me” but I have also been told that
it could have been the environment (whatever that means) and I have been told
“sometimes these things happen.” But the guilt is there. Always, anyway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The oxygen turned off while she was in my body. She had a
massive stroke. The oxygen came back on. Unborn babies can have strokes, I
never knew that. Another lesson.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When she was real small and I had started to try to explain
her stroke to her she said, "I remember when I was in you. You told me to
stay with you. And I did."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I never was on this shift, this journey, by myself after
all. She is right there. And regardless of my guilt she loves me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe when she gets older and understands it better she
might blame me for her shifts and struggles. But for this year I am getting
better at forgiving myself. Or maybe I am just getting better at being okay
with losing control of the plans I make. Maybe I am getting better with being
okay with being alone sometimes and seeking out those who can handle me when I
need them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe it is about the resiliency of reaching out, staying
and proceeding calmly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m still learning, and my girl teaches me every day. And she gives some of the best hugs.<o:p></o:p></div>
V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-30659165796281579542014-08-18T12:21:00.000-04:002014-08-27T10:18:50.993-04:00A Balancing Act of teaching...writing...and being a family.<div class="MsoNormal">
Balance<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This summer, I have spoken a lot about balance and
sustainability with Roger, my husband of 12 years. We are both writers and
teachers, me for 17 years and him for 15, with big plans for what we feel we
want to accomplish. And we are parents to 4 children: two sons, aged 26 and 25
who are off and on their own, and two girls, aged 10 and 7 who are still in the
need of having parents who prioritize them. Our seven year-old is also a stroke
survivor who has mild cerebral palsy, vision issues, cognitive delays and
speech delays.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Balance is not something either one of us feels we have done
well in the first 12 years of our lives. Our married lives anyway. So now,
before we head into another school year, we want to have a plan.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He has just experienced a week of the Freedom Writers
Institute with Erin Gruwell. A week he feels empowered him, surrounded him by people
of a variety of ages and backgrounds and teaching levels, all searching for
what I consider the Golden Ticket. A way
into making their teaching magical and powerful and everlasting. He immersed himself
into the program so much so that we barely heard from him: he barely responded
to texts; said goodnight to his children or me; and rarely checked in just to
make sure we were all breathing. Sure there was a 3-hour time difference to
contend with but it would have been nice to hear his voice more often anyway. And this is something he has
always struggled with anyway … during the school year, he leaves for school
often before the girls wake up and gets home shortly before their bedtime, most
nights anyway. And summers he fills with professional development opportunities,
curriculum development and overall “thinking about” school rather than
recharging and reconnecting with family as the main priorities. It is something
many teachers struggle with…balancing the need of your students with the needs
of your family. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He came out of this latest experience feeling he ‘found his
smile’ like Billy Crystal in the <i>City
Slickers</i> movie and that this experience surrounded him by a legion of
people who made him feel like he was ‘not alone’ in his classroom anymore and
that he was ready to use his new-found anger to make the changes in his
inner-city school in a more powerful, aggressive, meaningful way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I, of course, feel jealous and hurt that he had to find his
smile elsewhere but he assures me that though he found his smile elsewhere, his
happiness is with me. Aren’t those words sweet?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We met as teachers. In a Shakespeare workshop. What a
surprise, right? Our first conversations were all about our philosophies in the
classroom. One of his first statements that we laughed about was when he said, “I
hope to see your room one day!” after hearing about how I described my
classroom. He meant my classroom. I thought he meant my bedroom. And that
symbolizes us. He is more about furthering his career and I learned from a
failed marriage that I need to work on being there for the people who I
treasure. Neither is wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have struggled with the balance of family and career as
well, but maybe because I have had family before my career it is a different
path for me. I had to go finish my teaching degree and master’s degree part
time while raising my young boys, working and going through a rough soul-ripping divorce.
I made sure I cooked a real meat and potatoes meal every night possible (now I’m
okay with occasional cereal and sandwiches because I am around much more). I went to every
one of the boys’ games and events that I could, even if it took me longer to get
there and drive back than to actually stand there watching. I drove to pick
them up from Ski Club –out of state—when it would have been easier to pick them
up from their school after the bus dropped them off, and it would have given me
time to do some of my schoolwork. Then I remarried and when we had the girls I
stepped down from my full-time job and job-shared my position so I could be home to raise our children. When Kath was
diagnosed I hunkered down and focused every waking moment into making sure she
had what she needed---therapy-wise, attention-wise (she choked often when
eating too) and then I tried to make sure my other children did not feel like ‘my
other children.’ My classroom teaching was far from what I consider being an excellent
educator … especially because I took forever reading and commenting on
assignments, grading tests and so on. My interactions with my students were
solid, I paid attention to the humans in front of me, I had good plans and
ideas, but my follow through with turning back assignments was horrible because
when I came home … I was Mom. I leave my school every day after school, no matter what by 3, so I can be
the girls’ pick-up, I don’t stay until the students decide to leave. I have come to the realization that I will
never be the Teacher I once thought I would be. I can’t be that person I dreamed of …
because I cannot put my career ahead of my family. They need me even more than
my students.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even in how we handled our anniversary shows how we have
grown to value different things. I worked for a week on a 5 page letter to him,
re-dedicating myself to our marriage and our lives. He gave me flowers, let me
nap, and cleaned the area in the garage where I need to go to reach dinner prep
stuff. He had planned to make me a trellis for my garden but wasn’t able to get
the saw and the wood he needed because he didn’t look for them until the day of,
and after the hardware store had closed. We move differently and prioritize
differently.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The man who grew his hair because I said I loved running my
fingers through his long hair. The man who practiced a song for weeks to sing
to me at our wedding. The man who surprised me with a horse drawn carriage from
the church to our home reception ‘ran out of time’ to make me something or
write me something. But he made sure he did things he thought I would treasure
as a symbolism of our 12 years.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I have decided that maybe that is our balance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Balance. How on earth does one create a balance as a
teacher---a job where one can easily get pulled into the lives of the 25-150
students in front of us…then come home and be mom and wife/father and husband
in any real way? And write? And read? And keep individual dreams alive?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That is what my husband and I, as teachers and partners, are
trying to understand. I contend that we need to understand what our goals are.
And make a plan. I contend that we need to schedule and be merciless in that
schedule and rigor … yes, in regard to our careers, but never to the detriment
of our loved ones. We agree, at least until September. <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t think that is possible for many of us—to really budget
career and home. Yes, you see some teachers leaving when the bell rings, every
day, and you know they are going home and not bringing schoolwork…but does that
mean they are not attending to their students and their career in the same way?
On the other hand, you see some teachers who leave late, lug home bags and lug
them back…does that mean they are attending to their family?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where is the balance? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is it making sure to maintain eye contact, that visible
connection, with family during dinner around the table every night? Is it in each
parent trading off the responsibilities of planning and making the dinner? Is
it in limiting the after school activities of the children so there can be time
for homemade meals and sit down dinners with all of us? Is it in making sure
each partner gets some time to explore their writing, their teaching, do their
grading and planning…in a non-guilty take-turns way? Is it in waiting for the kids to get old
enough to swap in to take over some of the chores?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if we…our family…could find a way to balance and take
turns so that we can <i>all </i>achieve all
of our goals and desires?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is Balance sometimes deciding that maybe…just maybe…the
balance is <i>bigger</i>? The balance is me stepping
back so he can step up to do what he feels he needs to do and me stepping up in the home areas to
take care of what I feel I need to do? Is maybe balance of family and work in a
family of two teachers and writers…could it maybe be about reworking the
boundaries and reworking the definitions so you can see if it can work and
everyone can get what they want and need? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year, with his new-found smile and legion-backing of
the Freedom Writers and his desire to change the world, and my rediscovered
storytelling world and desire to be Wife/Mom/Teacher and my desire to make my
place, my here and now,a better place…maybe we can balance one another out,
strengthen one another, not leave the other feeling disconnected and adrift?
And at the same time strengthen our family? Maybe we can both reach our goals,
sustain one another and balance our family out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stay tuned to see what we discover.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
PS He helped me edit and clarify this post. :)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-32756597951929082652014-08-10T23:55:00.000-04:002014-08-19T08:52:00.260-04:00August is like one long Sunday night, said someone, probably a teacher. (Snippet of my story included)It has been a wonderful summer. We have played (Alex was in the play School House Rock Jr Live, her first experience), we have swam, we have gardened, we have had dance classes, writing camps, and reading. We have had museum visits and traveling to DC to visit big brother Chris. Kath has gotten her leg brace (that's for another post, later). We went to Six Flags (girls earned free tickets through school because of their reading) with big brother Nick. Roger did raise the money to attend (he is there right now) the Freedom Writers Institute. We have two events still to attend with the Bus Stop Club (they pay) including a baseball game and another Six Flags trip, this time to MA. I have had many morning coffees on my beautiful front porch. We have paid off 3 more bills (it's amazing how in-debt one little family can get in a few short years and how it takes double that time to pull out of crisis, another post on that later too! It's probably not so amazing how Centered financial struggles are to how a family functions, but still very important) which will make our lives much easier--once we start getting paychecks again, but we are still going to squeak into September paycheck season on a wing and a prayer, as usual, though maybe a little harder-hitting this year (unless we win Lotto, haha). And I have found a powerful, inspirational on-line (open 24 hours a day and many write fiction) writing group to compliment my in-person (mostly non-fiction/teacher oriented writing) local one.<br />
<br />
But it is August. For teachers that is like a month of Sundays (ie anxiety, nightmares, and feelings like time was not well spent).<br />
<br />
And the bank accounts are depleted.<br />
And there is a big chance my friend who has watched my girls since shortly after I started back to work after Alex was born will not be able to take care of them this year (Defcon RED has been reached).<br />
And I have not completed all the projects on my summer list.<br />
And I have not read all the books I wanted to read.<br />
And I haven't gotten in shape (though the girls and I ran/walked a 5k yesterday!).<br />
<br />
And well...my first draft isn't done.<br />
<br />
I told myself at the start of the summer that if I didn't finally get out a first draft of the story that has been bugging me for years, that I was going to put it down and move onto my other stories, other pieces of writing. I have made a ton of progress, but I am not there yet. So to push me towards that final sprint of August I decided to Shame Myself into sharing a bit of what I do have. Is that okay? I did, afterall, start this blog 6 and a 1/2 years ago as a Writing Blog, but it morphed into a Life-ish blog when Kath was diagnosed. Anyway...here is me, challenging myself to finish.my.damn.story. Disclaimer...still in rough rough stage.<br />
<br />
Here it is:<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">I hadn’t been in the woods for a bit. At first it was because of what happened to my grandma. Even though no one found her body, it was a pretty mysterious way for a 60 year-old to disappear. When the police first came to investigate, they asked questions about grandpa’s and her marriage and they asked us if they had been arguing. It was clear that at first they expected something strange had gone on between grandma and grandpa, which anyone who knew them knew that they loved one another greatly. Grandpa would rather die than to have anything happen to her.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">At first I was mad at the woods because that’s where grandma went missing, and no one would let us kids near the trails, but over time, no one stopped us. But also none of us tried to go back into the woods. Why would we? I’m not sure what they decided happened to grandma, but no one seemed to think there was anything sinister in the woods. Honestly, I was a bit embarrassed, because I couldn’t seem to remember things like I used to, like the day that grandma disappeared, I was with her, but I couldn't remember anything. My lack of memory was a bit scary, but I didn’t want anything else to be wrong with me so I pretended I was fine and went about my days as usual. I didn't tell anyone.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">Shrugging off my negative thoughts again, I grabbed my backpack which I always had stuffed with my notebooks, pens and granola bars and headed towards my door. With any luck, everyone would still be sleeping and I could slip out unnoticed and be back before anyone suspected I had gone. Hopefully my parents would just think I was sleeping in.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">As I began to pull the bedroom door closed behind me, my eye caught a glimpse of the picture on my wall. It reminded me of a picture from the children’s book grandma read to me a child, </span><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt; text-decoration: underline;">Goodnight Moon, </span><span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">even though the view was not of the quiet sleeping room, but rather it was of a gothic looking house with two huge stained glass windows. It had the same green walls and a red balloon floating in the background. Even when I was a kid, I always did a quick double check on that balloon, it always appeared to be coming through the frame and into the room, or at least moving around. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">But that was crazy.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">And I saw a shrink once a week to stuff that kind of crazy back in.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">Breathing in deep I could she smell bacon. Mom was making Saturday morning breakfast. That usually meant the regular chores would not be completed. Chances of my hike just improved greatly, everyone would be in relax-mode.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">I heard sounds from my brother’s room, but they stopped when I paused by his door. Latham probably woke himself up to play video games but didn’t want mom and dad to know because they would make him do his chores or homework first.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">I continued down the hall to the stairs, but it was right there as I took my first step down that I finally realized what was wrong, what felt different when I first swung my legs over to get out of bed. It shook me so much that it was as though I was being pushed from behind. I grabbed the banister so I wouldn’t fall. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">I wasn’t limping. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">I wasn’t tight.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;"> I didn’t struggle with pulling up my jeans or pulling my shirt over my head. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">I just did it. It was as if I woke up and didn’t have CP, or at least this is what I *thought* that would feel like.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Not knowing what to make of this all I decided to just keep going and try to figure it out as I hiked. I had felt like I needed to be alone today; now it was </span><span style="font-size: 14.44444465637207px;">imperative</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">. Maybe I was really just starting to go crazy. What was it that Clarisse in </span><span style="font-size: 14.44444465637207px;">Fahrenheit 451</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> said, "I'm 17 and crazy"? Well, I'm only 16 but maybe crazy starts sooner in the country.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">I knew my father was awake because the coffee was brewing as well the bacon was sizzling, he was the coffee maker. But he wasn’t sitting at the table nor was he between me and the door. No one was tending to the bacon, so I got to the mudroom and grabbed my boots. I didn’t even want to take the time to lace up them, I didn’t want to be stopped. I grabbed the boots in my hand and slid out the screen door into the early Indian summer morning and headed towards the small, almost invisible to the eye, opening in our berry bushes.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">I walked across the yard, my socks getting damp in the morning dew, but I kept going. If I made it without being noticed I could sit on the bench at the start of the trail and pull them on, unseen by anyone looking by chance through a window in the house. If I didn’t, well…I didn’t want to think about that, I already was feeling insane, being caught walking in wet socks wouldn’t make me look any saner.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">I looked back once I made it to the bush divide and I thought I saw the curtain in Latham’s room shift but I turned and continued on. He’d rather play his games then come for an actual outdoor adventure. He wouldn’t want to get cold or wet or use real muscles. He also wouldn’t want to risk telling on me and having to follow me out here today. So I knew I was safe as I headed down the hill to the bench. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">Maybe I was dreaming. This was all just so weird. Maybe I really was still in bed with Buffy laying across my legs pinning me to the bed, stealing my blankets. I had that weird feeling that time was moving at a strange pace so maybe I should just go with it and maybe I’d find that it was all okay. Just a dream. A pretty elaborate dream...but a dream.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">I started walking the path. The leaves were so thick on the trail that I shuffled through them, making quite the noise emission as I went. I’m sure every woodland animal heard me coming from a mile away. The rustling of the leaves were such that I never even heard him until he tapped my shoulder and I screamed, turned and punched him right in the mouth. Latham's eyes flew open and he held his hand to his jaw with a shocked expression.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">“What?! Why would you do that?!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">I ran to him and tried to touch him but he backed away, now starting to get angry. “I’m sorry Latham. I was just so surprised! I was in my own thoughts, the leaves were loud…I was thinking about grandma….”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">His look softened as he rubbed his jaw. “Ok, but still. I had no idea you could move so fast!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">I bit my tongue because I didn’t really want to tell him about my weird feelings…feelings like the cerebral palsy I was born with had gone away when I woke up this morning. That would sound so weird and he would drag me back home to tell mom. And I felt a pull, a need, to continue on.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">“Yeah, well. Don’t scare me.” I turned and continued on. I expected that he would just turn around and leave me alone, but nope, he followed me. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">“So where are you off to today? You haven’t hiked in a long time,” he started to try to bring a conversation into our walk.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">I didn’t really want to talk, I had been looking forward to this walk all week and now he was ruining it…making twice as much noise and trying to talk to me. I could not catch a break. I just wanted to be alone to try to figure things out. ‘It’ being the lack of muscle tightness. And ‘it’ being the cafeteria fiasco yesterday and my crazy friends. "It" being everything in my life that didn't make sense. Everyone said that your teenage years were supposed to be your best years, but if this was 'good'!? Oh boy. I just wanted some time away from everyone, time to think.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">But when the albino deer stepped into the path and stared at us both, I was suddenly very glad Latham was by my side, even if he took an extra step and walked into me before noticing the deer. The way the deer stomped its front right paw, lowered its head and stared without blinking was not very deer-like. It was more aggressive than any deer I had ever seen in my woods before.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">“Shoo…go along now, shoo,” I said to it. I was tired of everything getting in my way today. Now a deer?? This was just ridiculous!</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">“Are you trying to be scary,” said the deer, “or just dramatic?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">Now it was my turn to take a step back. How was this deer talking? If I felt like I was in a dream before, now I knew I had to be! This had to be a dream and I really was just in my bed snuggled in. That idea helped me not to panic and run away screaming.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">But there was another part of me that felt almost like this was déjà vu. Especially when the man dressed all in black stepped out from the curve of trees.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">“Were you really just talking to a deer? That’s kind of cute.” The deer stamped his foot again like he was angry at those words, turned and walked back down the trail a little more, then it stepped off the trail and disappeared down a ravine. A steep one judging from how quickly it disappeared from my view.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 10px;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri'; font-size: 11pt;">“You both need to come with me. We have been waiting a long time for you.” And with that the man swirled around and his long duster swirled with him, miraculously not catching on any brambles. It was almost like he was a hologram because I kept getting caught and had to pull thorns out of my skin, which lead me back to realizing this was now my number one reason for knowing this couldn’t really be a dream-- I was bleeding. But the insanity of the moment was too much to process so I decided to pretend anyway.</span></div>
V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-55607463228522410272014-07-05T07:58:00.002-04:002014-07-05T07:58:49.638-04:00What does summer mean?Summer means that I can think about my family foremost...and not my students, state ed, grading and the assorted groups I advise.<br />
<br />
Summer means I can clean my frat-house-like house.<br />
<br />
Summer means that I can teach two weeks of a teen writing camp and one week of a young writers camp. Imagine teaching to students who WANT to be there and who want to write!<br />
<br />
Summer means that I get to have luxurious cups of coffee that I can drink while hot.<br />
<br />
Summer means being able to go to the bathroom when I actually need to.<br />
<br />
Summer means I can refill my brain with stories and words that I use during the school year faster than I can refill.<br />
<br />
Summer means I can reconnect with my family.<br />
<br />
Summer means I can sit without moving.<br />
<br />
But mostly for me, this summer especially means that I am giving myself an ultimatum. This summer I must get at least a shitty first draft out of the story I have been gnawing at the edges for in one form or another for the past several years.<br />
<br />
I have danced around writing Swinger Of Birches. I have set it aside to care for everyone and everything else and I have pushed back my writing as though it were that luxurious cup of coffee.<br />
<br />
This summer is it. I will write or burst. And now I have written it down and posted it, not just said it to my writing group. The pressure is on.<br />
<br />
Feet to fire.<br />
<br />
Summer means ...giving myself an ultimatum. Write this story or finally move on to another writing piece.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<br /></div>
V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-46370230490514932692014-05-26T12:37:00.001-04:002014-05-26T12:37:17.086-04:00Traffic CirclesSometimes I feel like life is a giant traffic circle.<br />
<br />
I think you can almost figure out how one handles life by how they approach a traffic circle. Or at least how they handle life at this particular phase of their life anyway.<br />
<br />
One day about a month ago I was at a traffic circle on Fuller Road in Albany. The people in front of me, about 4 cars ahead, were stopped because there were cars whipping around, no one was doing a long enough pause at their red yield station to allow another car at another station a chance to pull in...the take-turn method was clearly not working with this particular group of vehicle users, our part of the circle was stuck waiting for a chance to break in. So the man behind me began to beep his horn, angrily. I put my hands up so the car in front of me knew it was not me beeping and I decided to try to ignore the man, so I could give attention to what was going on in front of me.<br />
<br />
When it came my turn, again people were speeding around, faster than traffic circle speed limits. This time I could see a young driver approaching and he was obviously struggling with his speed and which lane and so on, so I waited. I am a teacher after all, I can wait for a young person to figure out something painfully obvious to me. I began to prepare for my turn to pull out when the male driver behind me (the one who was beeping seconds before) just about lost his mind and suddenly appeared on my left, almost grazed my car in his effort to get around me, nearly hit the young driver and gunned it so he could make a right turn around me...I was going straight into the circle.<br />
<br />
My daughter Alex was in the car with me. Had this man hit my car and injured her I am pretty sure I would be in jail right now because the anger that welled up was so intense and primal.<br />
<br />
He did not hit me, nor did he hit the young driver. He pulled way and off into the sunset. I am pretty sure he thought he taught us all what to do in a traffic circle. You go.<br />
<br />
I have since been reading posts about traffic circles on Facebook (funny how that happens, you experience something and you notice people talking about the same subject) and I have been watching how people handle them in various towns where they have sprung up.<br />
<br />
It seems to be there are very specific ways people deal with traffic circles.<br />
<br />
And I imagine this is how they handle life, especially the people they interact with. I have found that the way I handle traffic circles is how I handle people and I am proud of it. I can sleep at night knowing that the three seconds I could have used to get ahead of that slow driver were not necessary nor worth putting everyone else's lives at risk. I waste more time than that checking Facebook for goodness sake!<br />
<br />
There are the people who pretend there is no traffic circle. They don't slow down. They don't look to the sides to see who is coming. Everyone else must watch out for them or rue<u> </u>their choice. I imagine these people are the ones who see inconvenience in most parts of life and are angry that they have to even deal with other humans. I wonder how they would deal with my students who struggle and need more time. I wonder how they would take the extra seconds it takes to re-explain something to my Kath. If they don't have patience for something so minor, like waiting their turn for a traffic circle, what kind of patience do they show to other parts of humanity throughout their day? How many other times during the day do they only think of how things affect them and just push their own agenda through?<br />
<br />
There are people who come to a complete stop even if no one except them (and me behind them) are on this strip of road. Maybe they had a bad experience before so they just.stop.and.won't.move.for.a.long.moment. Are these the people for whom life moves way too fast? Are they my struggling students, my grieving friends who just need a second to remember where they are and where they are going? I imagine those times when I realized I drove upstate to Long Island when my mom was dying and I had no idea how I did it and I don't remember much of the actual driving. Are they dealing with something I cannot even imagine?<br />
<br />
There are the people who pause, foot on break, coasting and testing the waters, gauging the pace of the other cars, ready to stop when that one person speeds up or doesn't use their indicator. There are people who know that there are all different types of people going through all different issues.<br />
<br />
At one point in my life I would have been the first driver and just said, "You don't have a red light, you have a red yield, go. Go! Hurry! We are going to miss our chance. UGH. Why didn't you just go, dammit. Now I'm going to be late...."<br />
<br />
Then life happened. And I'd like to think I grew up.<br />
<br />
Now I look at the drivers. I look to see if they see me, if they are looking where they are going. If they slow down, unsure, I don't make them more anxious, I give them space. And I don't drive up next to them sneering at them if they do something jerky.<br />
<br />
I'll get to where I need to. And I will try to do it without making anyone else more anxious, angry or unsettled. I picture my friends in the other cars. I have patience for them, why not have patience for someone else's friend? I picture my mom or my dad in the other cars. I have patience for them, why not for someone else's mom or dad? I picture my students and I picture my kids. I have patience for them, why not have patience for someone else's kids?<br />
<br />
What if how we handled a traffic circle was how we handled everyone in all our interactions; what if we just gave one another a second to breathe, think and go at their pace? Imagine that world? That's where I want to live. And that's where I want this next generation and especially my children to live. Don't you?V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-5011927292571557602014-04-18T11:12:00.000-04:002014-04-18T11:23:01.771-04:00Stuck in NeutralEveryday I accomplish a huge laundry list of what needs to be done, from making lunches to making dinner, to making time and saving energy for homework and reading to making sure bedtime is quality time sharing and relaxing. I also pay bills and juggle an insufficient amount of money due to a financial crisis that rocked our world and almost took our house a few times. I also teach at a full time job, advise and support 6 student groups after school every day, with one group alternating weeks with another because I don't have enough days in the week for them to have their own day.<br />
<br />
And I have my 4 children with different challenges and struggles. Not the least of which is my youngest who struggles with learning because of her pre-birth stroke, cerebral palsy, vision issues, speech delays, and cognitive delays. And in our home, I am the main person at home for all of her typing her therapies to her life, as well as reading any and all research I can.<br />
<br />
I say all of this because I sit here the last Friday of my spring break and I have not accomplished my Big Ticket items on my To-Do List. I know I am not alone. I know many parents, usually moms, who feel this, this 'stuck in neutral' feeling.<br />
<br />
This week, during my vacation...I did not correct my huge backlog of assignments from my students. I have not written more than 500 words on my story. I have not cleaned my house. I have not learned all about gluten-free eating so I can try a new way to help Kath's learning, through diet. I have not organized the spring and summer clothes of my girls and me so that the next 9 weeks of school won't be of my over-dressing them, especially Kath who struggles with regulating her temperature and needs appropriate clothing, every day. I didn't start Easter preparations, baskets, baking and main meals even though this year I have a vegetarian and will need a different way to prep this special day and meal. I didn't visit my father on Long Island. We didn't go to the Butterfly Garden or Ben and Jerry's.<br />
<br />
And every time I try to get any of this done I buzz into not being able to concentrate. I can't sit and read without falling asleep. I can't sit and write without remembering I need to do this, that and the other thing. My brain won't stay on the assignments and tests I need need need to get done, a month ago. I can't finish one job without beginning three others.<br />
<br />
I feel like I don't know how to sit and think deep thoughts anymore. I am stuck in neutral, revving my brain and accomplishing things that aren't even on my list, but so unable to cross off the things that will make me feel in control. That will make life easier for my girls. Things that show I am making some kind of progress. I know others feel this way too.<br />
<br />
I did have a good time this week with my girls, after weeks of illness and antibiotics, a broken nose and an ambulance ride. We had brunches as well as dinners. I did watch movies at home with them, 'Frozen' and Alex's dance competition video. I did fall asleep with Kath in my arms many a night this break. I did rewatch Walking Dead with my husband. I did read part of a free choice book. I did meet up with my writing group for brunch. The girls and I did go to Fort Ticonderoga for the day and then meandered home getting roadside ice cream as well as dinner at Chiles. We did clean up the front yard and Roger started to turn over the garden. The front porch is set. I did have an overdue dentist and periodontist appointment. I went to a Paint and Sip with friends from school and created a piece of art I am proud of.<br />
<br />
But I sit here this Friday before Easter weekend, excited that my oldest will be home but realizing that his room is so blocked we can't even reach the bed, despite the fact that we had a path a couple of months ago, things got thrown in. I look around and realize how unorganized things are for Alex's birthday next week. My skin feels too tight...I wanted to take today to do one more day trip, but things got thrown in...there are piles of papers everywhere...my schoolwork, bills not filed, Roger's toppled schoolwork and undescribed papers litter the stairway. And Alex is still working on a project that should have been finished at the beginning of the week.<br />
<br />
My frustration is that I want to do so much. I want to be there for my girls and their school, dance track and such. I want to be there for reading and resting time. I want to advise these students groups but the second I look away from the housework...the piles grow. The second I look away from my school bag it multiplies. The second I look away from the bills, the late charges start adding up. The second I take my eyes off Kath she falls behind because she needs constant supervision and guidance in academics and physical activities. I know I am not alone in these feelings of inadequacies. <br />
<br />
I see an improvement in that last year I could never have done so many groups and clubs. But I still sit for long whiles at my computer, mostly frustrated, that I can't pluck and tease out the story in my head. I can't seem to write my blog. I can't seem to get words out of my head and that is always a sure sign of my struggles. It's like a clog in the drain, nothing substantial can pass it. And it makes me doubt myself and my dream goal of writing and publishing my story.<br />
<br />
Revving in neutral, working on reminding myself how to switch to drive. I guess I should be relieved that I haven't slipped into reverse...and I know I'm not alone in going through this. And as Robert Frost said, "The best way out is always through."<br />
<br />
So much to go through, gotta get out of neutral. And I know, others feel this way too.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-12665427046316565822014-01-20T18:36:00.000-05:002014-01-20T18:36:17.858-05:00100 Day ChallengeListening to the radio today I heard about this 100 day challenge ...do something mindfully and purposefully...for 100 days. And reflect on how it changes you. Considering my post yesterday about wanting to 'sit and write something soul dimensional'...and how I also signed myself up to do a 2014 km in 2014 and how I...well, I seem to have a lot of things I want to accomplish. But I am either lacking enough determination and focus or I don't have enough drive...or horrors...I don't think my goals and dreams are important enough to give them my time and energy.<br />
<br />
I seem to have no problems with registering my children up for activities when they express their interest and desire to try something and usually I end up being their coach. I have signed Alex up for soccer and was the coach (I dragged my oldest son into that with me), we have assorted dance classes going right now...tap and jazz, ballet and mini comp team for Alex as well as kinderdance for Kath. (I have no coaching involvement with this, I know nothing about dance!) Hippotherapy for Kath--an hour drive there, a half hour session, an hour drive home that I gladly make for her benefit. I have co-coached Odyssey of the Mind for the past two years. I was a Daisy leader. I am signing myself up to be a 4H leader with a friend. This year I was asked to be: the advisor for the high school Key Club (didn't even know what Key Club did!); to co-advise A World of Difference (an anti-bullying group that includes training and presenting in various classes); to be an advisor for a new group called Unified Sports that is about having students with disabilities play on a high school team with 'regular' eduction students.<br />
<br />
And this week I saw a post from a friend on Facebook who said that her mom used to tell her something along the lines of, "It's okay to say 'yes' until you realize that being a creative person takes time and energy and if you give it all away, you can't expect to still be able to create."<br />
<br />
Wham...I, of course, have heard this before...about spreading oneself too thin, about being something to everyone but nothing to yourself, about needing to put the oxygen mask over your own face first (I even wrote a blog about that myself), but somehow it never quite hit me this way before.<br />
<br />
So Alex has decided that for her 100 days she is going to make sure she exercises and writes every single day. Kath has decided she wants to play outside, read and exercise and well, she wants to roate through all of her things. Roger even mentioned that maybe he will throw one thing away every day (hey, it's a start! :D). I thought..."Oh, I want to write. Oh, I want to walk my 6000-10,000 steps a day. Oh, I want to read."<br />
<br />
But most importantly...for the next 100 days I want to make sure that I start to do the things that are for me. I do think they will also benefit others, but I have to first do them for me. For at least this 100 days.<br />
<br />
Are you in?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-40605196156164335352014-01-19T17:29:00.000-05:002014-01-19T17:29:12.313-05:00Sit and Write Soul Dimensional Stuff, dammit....I have been trying to find a way to juggle writing my novel and well...life. And not doing so well with it. Mostly because sitting down to write seems to be a luxury...something that I should only be able to do after I have finished all of my other chores. Since I never finish or get caught up I never seem to have time to sit and write. See? Even that phrase "sit and write" sounds like a 'rest' -- something that many people only get to do after all chores are done.<br />
<br />
And chores are never done. I am never caught up with my school work. I am never caught up on house work. I am never caught up on my piles of organization. Heck, I can't even catch up on putting my laundry away. And I keep getting volunteered for new committees, or I raise my own hand before I even know what that traitorous hand is doing...and I am getting crankier and crankier.<br />
<br />
Because writing is the part of me that makes sense.<br />
<br />
Pretty much the only part. And without it, I shimmer and shake and have trouble making sense of what keeps flying past my side-view mirror.<br />
<br />
Writing is the only place where I feel okay with the struggles, where wrestling with the words helps me understand what my feelings are behind the letters themselves. The letters on paper are soul-dimensional.<br />
<br />
I have thrown this one story idea around for years...the idea of a young female protagonist character who has a disability in this world but in a parallel world, where classic lit characters live (I have been working on this much longer than Percy Jackson and 'Once Upon a Time'), her struggles are seen as her strengths. I want Kath, my stroke survivor extraordinaire, to find strong characters in literature who she can look up to. I want Alex, her amazing old-soul big sister, to see her strengths reflected in her daily actions and find connections in a world beyond the playground of kids who don't value the same core vitalities she does. I have this story that is has been rattling in my head...but again it has to wait until I have Time. (Except in November when I participate in National Novel Writing Month...when I write and write and write and allow myself that time to fall behind in everything else and I say things aloud like, "Sorry, I have to write....")<br />
<br />
I post a lot of facebook. Mostly because I get to write in 15 minute spurts...and post and share and people respond and it's very exciting for a wanna-be writer. I have also had people complain (to me and god only knows what they say behind my face) that I 'certainly do post a lot," "I know your whole life" (haha, you think? Think again!) And I have allowed them to make me feel bad about my writing, about sharing, about me. <br />
<br />
Right now I am not grading papers and doing school work. I am writing this. For every time I 'sit' and write...I have to move something major over. Time grading. Time playing with my kids. Time talking to my husband. Time reading, time spent with friends...okay...so maybe it kind of sounds silly but when one is already over-extended and weary, taking time from any activity feels stressful...and selfish.<br />
<br />
Earbuds in, sitting at the kitchen table while hubby and one child watch football (ad plays on the ipad) and the other girl sits at the table with me doing her homework. That is happening right now. And I have guilt because I am not talking. Guilt because I will still need to do all that paperwork in those school bags. Guilt because education is a swirl of inequity these days and I feel I have to stand up for my students...yet here I am writing for me. For me.<br />
<br />
Then as I write, I think about the few things that happened this week.<br />
<br />
One, I got a piece of mail from the massage school I applied to a year and a half ago, and it reminded me of how close I was to leaving this teaching path not too long ago and how I would now be almost done with my massage degree, had I followed that path. Seeing that paper made me unsure of my choice. I questioned, "Had I made a difference in teaching this year and a half? Had I made anyone's life better for being their teacher?"<br />
<br />
(I sure as hell had not written my book.)<br />
<br />
Second, I had feedback ---from more than a couple of friends on Facebook (whew!)--- about how my writing helped them. How much they looked forward to reading my posts. How *they* didn't feel so alone and adrift after reading me.<br />
<br />
Not my fiction novel. Not the story that haunts my dreams, but the writing I actually wade into every day in my 15 minute spurts. The writing where I share reflections of the girls and life and maybe even education.<br />
<br />
(But I'm still not any closer to completing my book.)<br />
<br />
Third, I read a post from the writer Anne Lamott that really moved me. She wrote about being 'in the process' of shifts in her life and she also talked about how when she started to write about what was going on in her life she "<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">realized with the Sitch (an issue that she is struggling with) that many, many women have it, and I am now
in healing process with it. I've begun a journal. So it's no longer in
some darker corner of the cave: it's been brought forth, into some
light, where the movement of grace can have a Go at it. And--I don't
know if you can believe this--but I have hope now, WOW, and even a sort
of excitement. I will share more as I can. But in the meantime, we can
still stick together, right, even without all the details? Are you in?" </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">And she made me realize that just as these friends on Facebook shared with me that my writing has helped them, it has of course, helped me. I wrote one day about a financial problem and almost deleted the post, I was pretty embarrassed at our financial struggle. Then suddenly others were sharing and 'liking' and discussing how hard life was sometimes, how money struggles made things harder than possible sometimes, but those of us who have dealt with health issues, put the money topic in another folder of our lives. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">It was all liberating and embracing. And suddenly not as embarrassing.</span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">And maybe that is a really good reason to 'sit and write.' To take those issues 'out of the dark corner of a cave and bring them into light and allow the movement of Grace and Hope have a Go at it.'</span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">Finally, I also was told a dear family member is undergoing testing for what could be a very major health issue. In that blink of a moment my make-believe list of 'what should be done first before writing' seemed awful silly and shallow.</span></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
So. What if I've been so focused on trying to 'sit and write' the fiction story and maybe I need to just write and stop trying to figure it all out? <br />
<br />
Maybe it will just work itself out...if I just sit and write. If I just sit and write that soul dimensional stuff, dammit.V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-38254460629558487092014-01-09T22:47:00.003-05:002014-01-09T22:47:59.852-05:00And the lessons keep coming.Lessons sometimes come when I am not really ready...like when I am driving. Lessons I teach and am taught.<br /> <br />
1) Tonight Kath told me that she doesn't get the ball during scooter
ball as much as everyone else. She said her scooter was too slow. Then
she said her pants were too long. For a second I seriously considered
letting her think those were the reasons. Then I thought about how today
my students and I talked about student athletes who are admitted into
colleges when they <span class="text_exposed_show">can't even read above
a 4th grade reading level, how we really aren't doing them any favors,
but setting them up for failures. So I had to say, "Kath, it's not that
your scooter is slow or your pants are too long. Your body works so hard
to just do what it does do that riding a scooter on top of all that is
that much harder. You may never be fast at riding a scooter but you are
good at other things." She answered, "Like what?" I asked her what she
thought she was good at. She hardly paused before she started to list,
"Hopscotch, skipping, dancing...and on and on." I told her she was also
one of the best huggers I knew (she made sure she hugged my writing
group to near asphyxiation tonight after that) and that she is always
concerned about her friends. And then it was ok. Even though I had that
sour taste in my stomach that comes when I have to make something
understandable to her that I think is so unfair. <br /> <br /> 2) She talked
about how she read in a book that the stars are always out, out in
space, they don't go to sleep when the sun is up and that some people
don't know that. <br /> <br /> 3) After my writing group meeting I asked her
if she had a good time joining me and she said, "Yes, but I didn't get
to do my writing." (we spent the whole meeting talking) <br /> <br /> 4) On
our way home Kath pointed to the stars and told me that stars are really
angels of the people in heaven looking down on us, watching over
us...she saw it in a movie (It's A Wonderful Life.) She knows my mom is
in heaven and our sitter's mom died last week, so this is something she
is trying make sense of.<br /> <br /> So I made her face the deal about
'slow' scooters, but she seems to know and believe in space and
angels...and that seems okay. As long as she knows science is real I
have no problem with angels and the comfort they bring. I believe in
them too. I seem surrounded some days by them esp when I am struggling
to get through a day of making sense where none can be found. Strokes
suck, but their survivors are pretty awesome.</span><br />V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-83955208082141075762014-01-09T22:47:00.001-05:002014-01-09T22:47:50.673-05:00And the lessons keep coming.Lessons sometimes come when I am not really ready...like when I am driving. Lessons I teach and am taught.<br /> <br />
1) Tonight Kath told me that she doesn't get the ball during scooter
ball as much as everyone else. She said her scooter was too slow. Then
she said her pants were too long. For a second I seriously considered
letting her think those were the reasons. Then I thought about how today
my students and I talked about student athletes who are admitted into
colleges when they <span class="text_exposed_show">can't even read above
a 4th grade reading level, how we really aren't doing them any favors,
but setting them up for failures. So I had to say, "Kath, it's not that
your scooter is slow or your pants are too long. Your body works so hard
to just do what it does do that riding a scooter on top of all that is
that much harder. You may never be fast at riding a scooter but you are
good at other things." She answered, "Like what?" I asked her what she
thought she was good at. She hardly paused before she started to list,
"Hopscotch, skipping, dancing...and on and on." I told her she was also
one of the best huggers I knew (she made sure she hugged my writing
group to near asphyxiation tonight after that) and that she is always
concerned about her friends. And then it was ok. Even though I had that
sour taste in my stomach that comes when I have to make something
understandable to her that I think is so unfair. <br /> <br /> 2) She talked
about how she read in a book that the stars are always out, out in
space, they don't go to sleep when the sun is up and that some people
don't know that. <br /> <br /> 3) After my writing group meeting I asked her
if she had a good time joining me and she said, "Yes, but I didn't get
to do my writing." (we spent the whole meeting talking) <br /> <br /> 4) On
our way home Kath pointed to the stars and told me that stars are really
angels of the people in heaven looking down on us, watching over
us...she saw it in a movie (It's A Wonderful Life.) She knows my mom is
in heaven and our sitter's mom died last week, so this is something she
is trying make sense of.<br /> <br /> So I made her face the deal about
'slow' scooters, but she seems to know and believe in space and
angels...and that seems okay. As long as she knows science is real I
have no problem with angels and the comfort they bring. I believe in
them too. I seem surrounded some days by them esp when I am struggling
to get through a day of making sense where none can be found. Strokes
suck, but their survivors are pretty awesome.</span><br />V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-45495931101122388422013-12-30T15:24:00.000-05:002013-12-30T15:24:02.918-05:00Keep. Give Away. Pass. Walk Away.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
As the year ends and the reflections begin I found myself
hearing two very varying views on… books. And they seemed to represent
different views of Life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One person, a used book store owner, said he worried that
with the technology world we live in, we were creating a world where all books would be
on technology instead of hand held, paper bound hard copies of books. He
wondered aloud if a challenged book could eventually be eliminated with a simple click of
a button. In true Ray Bradbury fashion. He also worried about what we would pass along to the next generation...not textured books...but cold technology?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other person is a mother of four and she said she wasn’t
buying books anymore because she didn’t see any sense in holding onto something
that might not ever be read, or might only be used once and then it would just
take up space. They are avid library users.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Both of these views about the value of book ownership made me think about why I hold onto
books, and why I hold onto so much…other stuff.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We have books in every single room of our house. My girls
walk around with, and usually they each have, books in their schoolbags…free-choice,
unassigned books. They bring books in the car for almost every car ride. Even Kath, who cannot read more than an easy reader, carries
around Young Adult books, because to her that is what she aspires to be, a reader. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love love love literature. I love to hold books, I love the texture of the pages and cover. I love to
smell books. I love to turn pages and hear the sounds books make as you go from
one breath of the story to the next. I love the way words look on paper.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Santa gave all four of my children Nooks this Christmas. Although
I love ‘real’ books, I also love to READ and sometimes I can’t get to the book
store fast enough and I need a quick fix…and the ease of downloading a book and
voila! being able to immerse myself right into a story world…is well, kind of
intoxicating. And I like to pass on that type of intoxication! Apparently so
does Santa! :D</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But we also bought my kids and their cousins old books,
because in my world, nothing replaces a ‘real’ book. We went to the Book Barn,
a local used book store, and looked for the oldest, smelliest, (not mildew, but that
earthy old smell), most interesting, classic literature books and bought those
books for the kids and inscribed each book with our thoughts as to why we chose
those books…aside from the smell and feel. It was fun. And the kids loved it, (even
the kids whose mom won’t buy any more books :)<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"></span></span>
unless they are just really good at gift receiving etiquette :).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I look at books they are a bit like a scrapbook of my
life. “I read that book when I was….” “I read this book when….” I remember
times, places, life events through the books I read.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aside from books I wondered, looking around my house with my
mind’s eye, why my house is filled with pictures, music, movies, … and why it’s
important to me to keep it that way. We even have twine strung across the wide passageway
to the playroom where we clothes-pin up assignments and art projects the girls
bring home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why do some people save books, pictures, knickknacks,
writings, DVDs, music cds, recipes, kids artwork when it obviously does clutter up the living space? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think I am the kind of person that has memories trapped in
every object I have been given, bought or gifted. My mom gave me all of her
Christmas village pieces a few years before she died. I keep.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I saved up –at a time I could barely pay my rent and food-
and bought the boys a big plastic play castle for the backyard. I keep. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I finally have started to give away clothes my kids wore
when they were babies (they are now 26, 24, 9 and 7). Although I am keeping
some- the ones I have specific memories I want to hold onto. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I walk away from buying or accepting many things I find unnecessary,
especially as I get older. Do I Need, or do I Want, I find myself asking
myself. My needs are becoming simpler.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I keep and want the things in my life that tell stories…the
books that I grew up with and that inspire me to keep going, or that contain
stories that revive my soul or motivate me to be a part of the solution. I keep
the pictures of everything and anything that we have done and lived through. I
keep the music that I enjoy or that gives me a peek into my past that I am okay
peeking in on. I keep all my journals and writings, they show my place in this
world. Evidence that I exist, my story. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not big on movies so they aren’t as
important to me, but I do keep many movies the boys watched and now the girls enjoy.
And my husband loves TV shows and movies of all sorts, he likes to relax, find
the humor and find a way to unplug. All of the Things I keep tell some story.
Invoke some memories or feelings. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do the things we save…keep…give away and pass on tell
something about what we treasure? About what ignites our souls?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if we had three metaphorical boxes to put all parts of
our life into? The Keep box. The Give Away box. The Pass On/Over/Through box? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where would I put the people in my life? Who will I keep?
And why? Not just because I ‘have to’ to keep them…but why? How close will I keep
them, how much time will I allow them to take, how much space in my head and
heart?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where will I place my job? The house? The furniture? The
after-school activities I sign up and pay for our children to be in…and away
from us? The breaks/vacations? The music? The TV shows? The exercise? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a meme I saw on Facebook that said “There are
940 Saturdays between your child’s birth and when s/he leaves for college."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So again I ask, with a slightly different twist…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What do I keep and hold onto for 2014? What do I let go?
What do I allow to pass us by? What helps our kids find their way…to find what
to treasure…to learn to let go of what needs to let go…? What will help me reach my life goal of completing my book? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This seems to be what I am focusing on this year as I make
my resolutions, as I re-start my jar of Things-Worth Remembering, as I begin
the metaphorical road of 2014. What will I Keep? What will I Give Away? What
will I Pass On? What will I Walk Away from? Can I make my life reflect what is
important to my core? What ignites my soul? This year I will think of those
metaphorical boxes as I wade through the year.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My top ten goals which will hopefully help me weed through
to reach the core, important things I treasure:</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"> 1) <span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Be in the moment. Put down the phone. Put Facebook
and Instagram down and be in the moment.</div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"> 2) <span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Read. A lot. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
3) Write. Much More. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
4) Laugh. Belly laughs.
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"> 5)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Find and make time to cook good meals that feed
our souls and bodies.</div>
6) Treat my body better.<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
7) Save up money for the future I want to live…want
vs need. Never again allow the debt to overtake once we are caught up this
year. :)<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"> 8) <span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Stay organized in home, school, finances.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9 9) <span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"></span></span></span>Let go of the things I have no control over and
focus on the good, the abundant and the positive.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Last but not least…</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1 10) <span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"></span></span></span>Be courageous in what I stand for and in what I
want.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
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I plan to Keep these goals. I plan to Give
Away my fear and hesitations on what I know I can do. I plan to Pass on and along
the good, the motivating and the positives. I plan to Walk Away from the stagnant,
shallow breathing parts of my life.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Happy New Year to you. Here’s to a good
solid 2014! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
<br /></div>
V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-62649354058560494412013-11-26T23:02:00.000-05:002013-11-26T23:16:20.418-05:00No Good Reason<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Before I got to my writing group (AKA PWC) meeting at the Midtown Tap and Tea in Albany tonight, I was thinking about how hard it has been
since Kathryn passed away…how I seem stuck in neutral with my writing, how I
don’t know what my problem is, how much I still miss Kathryn. And how silent my
blog has been. And how silent I have felt since she left us. I can’t explain why I
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So on the way in to Albany, I was excited to see my friends and talk writing and teaching, though I also had that same little nervous feeling I've had since September when getting together with my PWC meant it was a meeting without Kathryn. </div>
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I almost stayed home tonight because my husband Roger had a headache and I was afraid to leave him
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Anyway, I finally arrived and even when I parked I felt less than
confident about being at this meeting. Even though Brian and Sean do not make it to
every meeting, it is Kathryn I miss. I do miss Brian and Sean but they are gone
for good reasons; they are raising babies. Kathryn is gone for No Good Reason
and I still can’t completely deal with that.</div>
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I was walking towards the back entrance of the Tea Room when
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was sitting in the driver's seat, to drop her off, probably because of the wet snow/rain and icy conditions. As I reached the car, I asked the older woman if she needed a hand. She looked up
at me and for No Good Reason, I took her hand before she even said yes. It was a good thing I
did because just then she slipped on the ice. I held her up and steadied her. She was so grateful, she smiled at me with
this huge powerful smile, held my hand and called me her guardian angel. She even hugged me when we parted.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We walked to her restaurant door hand in hand and she kept blessing me. I
don’t know if she knew I needed her warm hand as much as she need mine. Or that her, ‘Bless you and bless your Thanksgiving. I hope
you have a great Thanksgiving. You are my guardian angel, you were there at
just the right time” helped me feel like I slipped back into my life-notch. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She had no idea that I wanted to turn back and go home so many times
tonight, but I didn’t. I kept going, dragging myself forward knowing that once I reached my writing group friends, I would receive some
solace. Knowing once I arrived I'd let myself be held in the warmth of our teacher/writer conversations
and our future personal and professional plans and, as always, our writing discussions.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had no idea how meaningful and how important it would be
for me to go to my writing group meeting tonight--- for non-writing reasons as well as writing reasons. For that woman in the parking lot. For me. Maybe I needed to come for myself, of course, but maybe
I needed to know that I need to write for more than just me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I miss Kathryn. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But today I felt like it was ok to miss her
and still write and still reach out to be a part of my Professional Writing Cohort. Kathryn was the
reason I went to that winter meeting up at Nicole’s family cabin last February…she was the
reason I was a part of this group. Kathryn always spoke so positively about me, about
how I taught and about my writing, she gave me the confidence to share what I write to a small group of passionate educators and they helped me share to a bigger audience. She was my bridge. She brought me from being on
the peripheral to being a member of this life-changing group. And when she was gone I wasn’t
sure where I fit with my writing anymore. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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And then that lady grabbed my hand, told me she was glad I
was here and called me her guardian angel. And for No Good Reason I felt like a
weight had been lifted. And just maybe I could remember how to use my words again. Kathryn would have wanted me to fill my pages with words and to share it. She would have wanted me to write for teachers, for the silenced, for No Good and for Every Good Reason.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8326466567275759941.post-32725860053345813822013-09-02T10:11:00.002-04:002013-09-02T10:33:16.786-04:00A Teacher's Prayer for the New School Year.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Please let me teach…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…without the PA screeching a most important announcement.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…without a student getting an early release.</div>
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…without a child who thinks they need to go to the health office, the
bathroom, the water fountain, the vending machine (‘I’m starving!!’), the
guidance office, the locker room, the phone to call ‘my mother.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please let me teach…</div>
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…the importance of thinking through a problem to a clear analysis
with examples to support, written in a way that any reader can follow the
thinking—especially someone who doesn’t know what is being talked about but
also for someone who does and who will look for holes in their logic.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please let me teach…</div>
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…the love of gently drifting into a story that haunts their
days and keeps them up at night.</div>
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…the love of being dragged kicking and screaming into the
storyworld and seeing life and the world through someone else’s eyes.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please let me teach…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…real poetry that grabs their souls.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…real writing that is meaningful to their hearts.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please let me teach without…</div>
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…fire alarms interrupting.</div>
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…loud, roving bands of unchecked students yelling in the
hallway.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…equipment and technology breaking down.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…a bee holding us hostage until he finds the unscreened
window again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please let me teach…</div>
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…the meaningful, the deep.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please let me be.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Please let me teach without the teststeststests that
frighten full grown intelligent educators and take our focus off the teachable
moments and put our focus on CYA type methods.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please let me educate, excite, motivate, embolden and
challenge.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please just let me teach.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
V. Gabouryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08655093864617149385noreply@blogger.com0