Six weeks old

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;
which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)


e.e. cummings

I overheard two parents talking today while waiting as our kids participated in a playdate -- a playdate that's part of an application process that will determine whether they'll score one of the 54 spaces available for the more than 150 applicants to a local private school.


I never thought we'd apply to a private school in this city, but I made the mistake of touring the facility, and I fell in love with it and with the approach to teaching and emphasis on creative learning. The parents footing the bill are another story entirely. I have so little in common with them. And I still haven't figured out how I might pay the tuition, should Ryder get accepted.


I overheard quite a few interesting bits of conversation. Prior to the playdate, the kids participated in one-on-one interviews with local speech pathologists who were to evaluate where they are developmentally. One of the mothers said she stood at the door the entire time and listened in while the doc asked her daughter questions. The questions were basic at first ... the child was asked to identify the brown circle on a card, the red circle, etc. ... but then they got more difficult.


"One of the last tasks," she said, "was to identify the plate with eight strawberries on it. I mean, come on. She's three. She can count to eight but to recognize the number visually?" And I'm gloating because I know Ryder can do this. No, really.


It's ridiculous, but I began to feel like I was rushing a sorority or something, and that whole process is the part I really dislike. But I can't help getting competitive either.


Three teachers approached me after the kids came out, and based on their comments and my own knowledge of my son, I have no doubt he knocked their socks off. But, I'm still glad we don't find out anything until March. The results will cause stress, I'm sure, regardless of what they are.

Five weeks old

Oh, my heart, my beating heart!

Reflecting is a purposive process


Sometimes I think people care about minute details about which they really don't and shouldn't care. Sometimes I get stuck, unable to view things from any perspective other than my own. At least I can still break out of it though; some people seem to lose that ability as they get older, and I don't mean "mature."


There are conversations that make me think, that later show up in compact size in other dialogue. There is more than one conversation present in the simple statements above. Interestingly enough, the conversations referenced were between me and the same second party. I've been unable to define that individual's role in relation to ... anything. If I don't want to hear it I ignore it, right. It's a skill, actually; some might even call my mastery of it a God-given talent. Don't read anything into that. Don't read anything into anything.


Change gears. We had a busy, but exciting, holiday. I can describe how wonderful it was, and all the reasons why it was wonderful, but I'm not sure what the point in doing that would be. I am exhausted but refreshed. I'm in motion. I like where we're going.


I am thankful for how truly blessed we've been, and I'm not afraid to say that we deserve it.