Is it any surprise that I develop a 24-hour intestinal flu on the eve of the 2 year anniversary Katrina? Over my adult life, I have developed some definite beliefs about my "body clock," but this example seems more extreme than my usual melancholy that comes before I realize why the date might have an embedded trigger...like "that's when Kevin's mom was dying," or "that's when Mom told me about her breast cancer." Maybe my temporary illness is unrelated to 'the season' but all my sensitive, woozy sadness on this rainy day gave me an excuse to really feel what I need to.
I stayed in pajamas today, working on pieces of grants from home. At some point mid-afternoon, I felt panicked about getting the children home. I just needed them closer than they'd been all day. While peeling shrimp for dinner, I cried into the discarded heads and tails, thinking about New Orleans two years ago...all the people who had lost their homes and lives. Of all the older citizens who died from the broken heart months later. Of my beloved school, and that piano that so many children learned to play on, that became waterlogged and useless.
Our evacuation had all the semblance of an extended vacation. Living in a house on the bay. Endless evening BBQs with family friends. Sunset pontoon trips to watch dolphins feed. An occasional jet ski...sounds lovely. Except for the part where we're glued to CNN, looking for any familiar site or face, trying not to become unglued for our hosts because it was all too painful. Or wondering if my new baby and I would have medical insurance since I'd lost my job. I remember seeing a former student listed as one of the missing children of the storm. She was in need of medication? Where were all my kids? I was sure that they were all over, having started out in the Superdome, most of them. Hopefully, they are all still alive.
I feel like I focus on our recovery almost every day. Kevin and I are active in our neighborhood. My work feels like a contribution to the efforts to rebuild our city, supporting parents who support so many different worthwhile efforts around NOLA. Focusing on the good of everyday citizens and the many grassroots efforts around here is absolutely essential to keep the crooked politicians, stagnated processes, and sheer economics from bringing you down.
But this year, I am going to allow myself some necessary grieving. For my home town and what it was, and for this tragedy that surely could have been avoided. I'll pick up the silver lining on the 30th.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Staying on vacation
Kevin was off this Thursday and Friday...anyone who knows me knows that I am generally overwhelmed with taking care of the two kids most nights. Usually, when Kevin is home, I see this as an opportunity to take a break...have him bathe them, put them to bed. He's amazingly helpful all the time, despite his crazy work schedule. When he goes in at 3, we'll come home to sumptuous dinners sometimes. Anything to ease the dinner shuffle.
This week, I felt a great lightness in being with my family. I just wanted to eat them all up. I'm so grateful for Kevin, with or without his crazy schedule. He's the best husband and father and friend I could ask for. And my kids drive me crazy with love and anxiety. What a gift. We enjoyed each other so much this week...great Kevin dinners both nights (shrimp and angel hair one night, pork tenderloin with cherries and sweet potatoes the next); late night (8:30) swimming at Georgia's pool with Ana now wearing one of those floatie football player all-in-one numbers that keeps her head up, and Elliot putting his face in the pool...running wet from her house to ours and getting gelato in our pajamas...it's been dreamy.
Saturday night, I went out to Art on Oak (kids with Tita), and enjoyed touring the shops and sampling chilled sangrias. Sparkling bellydancers in one block, prim flutists in the next. Running into old friends, and new. Then joining Georgia for a yummy dinner at Asian Cajun. Phil Melacon was there, with his tongue-in-cheek performance. There was a real movie quality about the evening, with random diners rising to sing loudly or play the piano as thonged aerobics instructors who were participating in the Krewe of Oak's Same Ol' Thong and Dance parade, trickled in for a bite. These moments are why I love this city. The fact that none of these things seemed strange. Only in New Orleans.
This week, I felt a great lightness in being with my family. I just wanted to eat them all up. I'm so grateful for Kevin, with or without his crazy schedule. He's the best husband and father and friend I could ask for. And my kids drive me crazy with love and anxiety. What a gift. We enjoyed each other so much this week...great Kevin dinners both nights (shrimp and angel hair one night, pork tenderloin with cherries and sweet potatoes the next); late night (8:30) swimming at Georgia's pool with Ana now wearing one of those floatie football player all-in-one numbers that keeps her head up, and Elliot putting his face in the pool...running wet from her house to ours and getting gelato in our pajamas...it's been dreamy.
Saturday night, I went out to Art on Oak (kids with Tita), and enjoyed touring the shops and sampling chilled sangrias. Sparkling bellydancers in one block, prim flutists in the next. Running into old friends, and new. Then joining Georgia for a yummy dinner at Asian Cajun. Phil Melacon was there, with his tongue-in-cheek performance. There was a real movie quality about the evening, with random diners rising to sing loudly or play the piano as thonged aerobics instructors who were participating in the Krewe of Oak's Same Ol' Thong and Dance parade, trickled in for a bite. These moments are why I love this city. The fact that none of these things seemed strange. Only in New Orleans.
Ana's creative process
Tonight:
Me: Our stories are very important, aren't they?
Ana: Yes. Sometimes, I look out my window for ideas for my stories, and sometimes I don't see anything. So I'll look in Elliot's window, and sometimes, there's something interesting there. And I'll use that for a story sometimes. And sometimes, I'll just keep it for me.
Me: Would you like to share one of your stories tonight?
Ana: No. That's alright. You go ahead. Wanna think about it? How about three minutes? You have three minutes to think about it. Alright?
Me: Alright, my baby. Alright.
Me: Our stories are very important, aren't they?
Ana: Yes. Sometimes, I look out my window for ideas for my stories, and sometimes I don't see anything. So I'll look in Elliot's window, and sometimes, there's something interesting there. And I'll use that for a story sometimes. And sometimes, I'll just keep it for me.
Me: Would you like to share one of your stories tonight?
Ana: No. That's alright. You go ahead. Wanna think about it? How about three minutes? You have three minutes to think about it. Alright?
Me: Alright, my baby. Alright.
CMV
What's that CMV stand for anyway?
Charming Model Valentine?
Campy Manchurian Ventriloquist?
No, it's CytoMegaloVirus, and you can learn all about it by clicking on the link.
I'm in the process of editing all my posts entitled "Elliot's Health" to include CMV. If you've found this blog by googling CMV, please visit the archived posts to learn about our story.
His is one of the faces of this condition or disease or impairment or whatever it's supposed to be called. Elliot is amazing, inspiring, and besides all that...he's the best of all: He's just a regular, beautiful kid.
Just Typical
Kevin and I find it quite funny that Elliot's latest includes telling us NO for random requests:
- Gimme a high five: NO
- Besito? NO
- Get down. NO
- Stop please. NO
Sometimes, he says NO, then does whatever it is a few minutes later. On his own terms.
That's Elliot. A typical two year old. What a blessing.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
The valley is low
My friend Holly's struggles with her three year old (Ana's big buddy) prompts me to write today...of course, I can't comment on her blog, so Holly please regard this as a response to your entry, and my own need to get some support.
Months ago I remember waxing on Ana's angelic behavior at a social gathering, and the feeling of pride at her mastery, after many months of social skills and manners and potty training--all galvanizing on this one night in particular. Ah...that seems like an eon away these days. But I knew it would.
Ana regresses intensely, and these periods throw us for a loop. Although this time, I'm worried that there is something deeper happening.
Ana has begun lying. Most of the time to keep from getting in trouble. Many times about her pottyaccidents. Which are many these days. Particularly when she doesn't nap. Which is everyday. She believes anything we say is negotiable, and is now effectively using the phrase, "Tell ya what..." She has intense fits when she doesn't get her way (which is often). She says hurtful things that I thought I'd have to wait until adolescence for. And here's what makes me think there's some deep-seated anxiety (although I think I've made a pretty good case so far): she now bites her fingernails, and picks at her toenails. She does this mostly at bed time. Which she can no longer face alone. Even if we can manage to get her to sleep in her bed, she ends up in ours. For months, she's been telling me about the "Dark Shadows" that chase her in her dreams, and try to grab and touch us (not in any place forbidden. Yes, I asked.)...all of us. I ask her some nights, when we are lying in the dark, "Is something bothering you? Is everything OK? Do you want to talk about anything?" She doesn't share anything that I think would cause such stress.
She's also strangely and beautifully devoted to me...her distracted and often disheveled mother. She tells me she's in love with me. She holds my face in her hands, and tells me she loves me "anywhere and everywhere, up to the moon eight and six times." My way of parenting, which is fairly strict, is usually effective with her...but unfortunately, I feel like my first few attempts at getting her to do something in a kind voice usually don't work. She doesn't listen anymore, until I get very strong with her. Still, she wants her mama so much...and her daddy, who asks for hugs and kisses and I love yous much more than I, she slightly shuns in a playful way. They play this strange cat-and-mouse...
To me, it's like she has no doubt that Daddy loves her, but needs to know on a regular basis, that I do. Yes, I know this is typical working-mom guilt. Somehow, despite all I do, am I communicating my love to my children, and giving them the best that I can. I'm not sure what's the cause here...I just feel I should put it all out there. Am I letting her know that she's OK? That's she's a good person?
Tonight, for the first time, I withheld a Toralora story. All other consequences for behavior seem to have no effect on her. And tonight, I couldn't muster the energy or creativity after a litany of disagreements based mostly on her not listening to anything I say. These stories are like the mortar in our foundation, and she railed against me for this. And now as I write this, I wonder if I betrayed her in some way. I made it clear to her: I love you. No matter how terrible you may act sometimes. Now until forever. But my story to you is a gift. And I can't give you a gift after today.
But the beauty of our story, it is where we explore the challenges of being a human being, and it opens up the dialogue about our day, and our own struggles. I don't know if I can do that again. But frankly, I don't know what to do.
Is her behavior typical? Should I consider getting her some help? Is this what regression looks like at this age, or is my child stressed out? SOS.
Months ago I remember waxing on Ana's angelic behavior at a social gathering, and the feeling of pride at her mastery, after many months of social skills and manners and potty training--all galvanizing on this one night in particular. Ah...that seems like an eon away these days. But I knew it would.
Ana regresses intensely, and these periods throw us for a loop. Although this time, I'm worried that there is something deeper happening.
Ana has begun lying. Most of the time to keep from getting in trouble. Many times about her pottyaccidents. Which are many these days. Particularly when she doesn't nap. Which is everyday. She believes anything we say is negotiable, and is now effectively using the phrase, "Tell ya what..." She has intense fits when she doesn't get her way (which is often). She says hurtful things that I thought I'd have to wait until adolescence for. And here's what makes me think there's some deep-seated anxiety (although I think I've made a pretty good case so far): she now bites her fingernails, and picks at her toenails. She does this mostly at bed time. Which she can no longer face alone. Even if we can manage to get her to sleep in her bed, she ends up in ours. For months, she's been telling me about the "Dark Shadows" that chase her in her dreams, and try to grab and touch us (not in any place forbidden. Yes, I asked.)...all of us. I ask her some nights, when we are lying in the dark, "Is something bothering you? Is everything OK? Do you want to talk about anything?" She doesn't share anything that I think would cause such stress.
She's also strangely and beautifully devoted to me...her distracted and often disheveled mother. She tells me she's in love with me. She holds my face in her hands, and tells me she loves me "anywhere and everywhere, up to the moon eight and six times." My way of parenting, which is fairly strict, is usually effective with her...but unfortunately, I feel like my first few attempts at getting her to do something in a kind voice usually don't work. She doesn't listen anymore, until I get very strong with her. Still, she wants her mama so much...and her daddy, who asks for hugs and kisses and I love yous much more than I, she slightly shuns in a playful way. They play this strange cat-and-mouse...
To me, it's like she has no doubt that Daddy loves her, but needs to know on a regular basis, that I do. Yes, I know this is typical working-mom guilt. Somehow, despite all I do, am I communicating my love to my children, and giving them the best that I can. I'm not sure what's the cause here...I just feel I should put it all out there. Am I letting her know that she's OK? That's she's a good person?
Tonight, for the first time, I withheld a Toralora story. All other consequences for behavior seem to have no effect on her. And tonight, I couldn't muster the energy or creativity after a litany of disagreements based mostly on her not listening to anything I say. These stories are like the mortar in our foundation, and she railed against me for this. And now as I write this, I wonder if I betrayed her in some way. I made it clear to her: I love you. No matter how terrible you may act sometimes. Now until forever. But my story to you is a gift. And I can't give you a gift after today.
But the beauty of our story, it is where we explore the challenges of being a human being, and it opens up the dialogue about our day, and our own struggles. I don't know if I can do that again. But frankly, I don't know what to do.
Is her behavior typical? Should I consider getting her some help? Is this what regression looks like at this age, or is my child stressed out? SOS.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Masking Tape
Some $#*@#& virus on my home computer now keeps me from contributing comments to anyone's blogspot posting. This drives me quite mad...as I usually have something to say about most anything.
The computer at work does not have this problem. But I don't often have the luxury of just tooling around and asserting my opinions about others' lives at work. So I am silenced by the same tool that lets me share all my business with you. Go figure.
In anycase, Shokufeh, I'm looking into Bahai. Thank you for a promising lead.(-;
The computer at work does not have this problem. But I don't often have the luxury of just tooling around and asserting my opinions about others' lives at work. So I am silenced by the same tool that lets me share all my business with you. Go figure.
In anycase, Shokufeh, I'm looking into Bahai. Thank you for a promising lead.(-;
The cows have Moooved.
Today we went on a search for cows (no, I'm not suddenly Buddhist. At least, not yet). El's fascination with our bovine milk mammals has caused us to wonder...has Elliot had a real life experience with one? Let's get them eye-to-eye.
Some folks head for the zoo (are there cows there?), but we head to the Westbank. Some past memory planted the seed in Kevin that these are just roaming the pastures of Westwego, so we loaded the kids up before dinner and headed over the Huey P.
Our wanderings led us only to a farm with two young boys herding a family of chickens, the incidental horse peeking out from the stable. Our search continues tomorrow with a little more research (tips are welcome!).
We did find two potential pearls for future visits...one was the Debirgny Antebellum Plantation. Surprisingly close, looked lovely from the locked front gate. The other was a nursery farm...lush and overgrown, and yes, also closed. Both on River Road (on the other side of the river).
Here's to keeping the spirit of travel alive!
Some folks head for the zoo (are there cows there?), but we head to the Westbank. Some past memory planted the seed in Kevin that these are just roaming the pastures of Westwego, so we loaded the kids up before dinner and headed over the Huey P.
Our wanderings led us only to a farm with two young boys herding a family of chickens, the incidental horse peeking out from the stable. Our search continues tomorrow with a little more research (tips are welcome!).
We did find two potential pearls for future visits...one was the Debirgny Antebellum Plantation. Surprisingly close, looked lovely from the locked front gate. The other was a nursery farm...lush and overgrown, and yes, also closed. Both on River Road (on the other side of the river).
Here's to keeping the spirit of travel alive!
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Back from Vacation
We just returned from a week in Orange Beach, Alabama, or as Ana calls it: Chicago. We were so primed for a vacation that we did a poor job of teaching geography this trip. Now, any place with a pool is Chicago.
My mind is such a swirl of post-vacation resolutions and past missed postings that I just thought about forgetting the blog. Too much pressure. But then I always have to remind myself that this thing is for me. So often I filter out what I really think or really feel because it might fall into the wrong ears. But to hell with that.
Before we left for vacation, we had an impromptu party for Elliot. Friends, family, it was just right. Esp. with my friend Erin supplying some finger foods, and all the paper products (I really think this could be a service for kids parties. Is that called catering?). Elliot had a blast splashing in the wading pools, and despite our rocket pinatas' poor performance, the kids managed to entertain themselves. We had plans for a beach party with our families (which we did end up having) but I couldn't resist throwing Elliot a bash with his little pals from the neighborhood, and old friends from forever.
Once in the condo, I struggled for a short while with the usual work anxieties. It was so hard just to get to go on vacation...so much planning, foresight. But by day two, I was adapting to the routine of waking up late, going to the pool, eating breakfast, going to the beach, taking a nap, eating lunch, you get the picture. Having many hands to love, and play, and feed the kids was a real treat too. I'm all about the low-key vacation now. Although my beach book that I picked up at a supermarket has me in the throes of a spiritual quandry. I am struggling in a way that I haven't in a long time.
My mind is such a swirl of post-vacation resolutions and past missed postings that I just thought about forgetting the blog. Too much pressure. But then I always have to remind myself that this thing is for me. So often I filter out what I really think or really feel because it might fall into the wrong ears. But to hell with that.
Before we left for vacation, we had an impromptu party for Elliot. Friends, family, it was just right. Esp. with my friend Erin supplying some finger foods, and all the paper products (I really think this could be a service for kids parties. Is that called catering?). Elliot had a blast splashing in the wading pools, and despite our rocket pinatas' poor performance, the kids managed to entertain themselves. We had plans for a beach party with our families (which we did end up having) but I couldn't resist throwing Elliot a bash with his little pals from the neighborhood, and old friends from forever.
Once in the condo, I struggled for a short while with the usual work anxieties. It was so hard just to get to go on vacation...so much planning, foresight. But by day two, I was adapting to the routine of waking up late, going to the pool, eating breakfast, going to the beach, taking a nap, eating lunch, you get the picture. Having many hands to love, and play, and feed the kids was a real treat too. I'm all about the low-key vacation now. Although my beach book that I picked up at a supermarket has me in the throes of a spiritual quandry. I am struggling in a way that I haven't in a long time.
Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert is the memoir of a 30-something woman who travels for a year after personal upheaval and crisis...to Italy in search of pleasure, India in search of her soul, Indonesia for love. I'm still in the middle of it. Funny how I breezed through Italy with her detailed descriptions of divine delicacies in front of fountains I recall with a great fondness and longing. It's a good thing this part of the book is first. I don't think I would've suffered through the spiritual crisis (in India) had I not become invested in the author in Italy. Now that "I'm in India," I'm struggling (as is she) with the crisis of learning to calm the anger and fear that exists inside her...and getting in touch with her (divine) self. So much of her struggle with a divine connection mirrors my own: It seems so noisy when I try to pray. I've never had a moment of real connection, I think, where I feel like I can transcend and commune. My spiritual beliefs about service to others being service to God guide me (I hope) daily, but I don't have an ongoing relationship with God. I don't seek God out. I certainly don't ask for things. I mostly say thank you. On Thanksgiving. Or at sunsets. But mostly, my head is a noisy place. I feel like I'm struggling for this calm too.
There was a time before Katrina, when Ana was so little I could actually try this, that I was searching for a church community. Being a New Orleans (and Hispanic) Catholic, I tried that first. I was actually becoming a regular at St. Matthias in Broadmoor. A Catholic Church that seemed more warm and inviting (with singing!) with its African American population. However, I've always been disdainful of how we Catholics sit in little pockets away from each other. How our rituals incorporated so little of each other (with the exception of the "sign of peace" during which folks -like fish out of water-seemed gasping for some interaction). But still, I struggle on a very basic level with so much of the Church's current teachings and views--women, abortion, safe sex, you name it...even if I could manage to forgive its questionable history.
I feel like I'm ready to start my search again. This book has really got me thinking about myself, this spiritual journey is so palatable, humorous, sarcastic, entertaining. I hope you'll pick it up...Even if you're just a lover of travel. You won't be disappointed.
Here's what I want. Is it too much to ask?
WANTED: Left-wing leaning faith community, belief in One God (but many paths Muhammed, Allah, Buddha, Yahweh) to God, not too sure about Jesus, believe in the divinity of each of us, and our own potential, belief that God is love, belief in service to others as service to God, looking for people who talk to each other...Any suggestions?
In the meantime, I've come back from vacation with the desire to be in the moment, to acknowledge my fears and anxieties, and then let them go, and to become more in control of my feelings of anger and seek a healthy way of releasing it. And besides being in control of my anxiety, fear, and anger, realizing that I'm not in control of anything else. I just want to let it all go. So I am continuing this journey. If you find me, let me know(-;
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Elliot at TWO!
What a dynamo! Elliot at two is barrels of fun in a charming, chatty, daredevil of a package.
His Loves:
- Big Sister Ana
- Going outside (which he demands several times a day by turning the doorknob and repeating, "Outside!"
- Drums, guitars, maracas, and dancing in a wide circle
- Water (in pools, puddles, the tub, and yes...the toilet)
- Cows and Dogs
- Tita!
- The anticipation of being tickled, or found when hiding (instant belly laughs every time)
- Ms. Gwen
- Apple Juice
- Counting to 8 (it's fun to see!)
- ELMO
- Books!
- Rocking on horses, seesaws, you name it
- Driving plastic cars (steering wheels, really)
- being patted on the back (he'll pat you back)
- smelling flowers
- finding bugs
- sliding with his sister Ana
He Detests
- Doors being closed to his intended destination
- saying Goodbye to Dada in the morning
- Ana crying (he cries too)
- when it's time to rest
My big boy, I can't believe you're TWO years old. Your loving spirit draws so many people and blessings your way, and your happiness brightens our world. Happy Birthday, Elliot! We love you-
Daddy, Mama, and Ana
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
The Letting Go
I've been thinking for days about what I'd write on the eve of Elliot's second birthday...not about him (that comes tomorrow) but what being his mom has done for me. It's been such a journey of hope and despair, intense love, and a tremendous letting go that someone with my control issues doesn't do naturally.
Elliot came into our lives from the darkness of his wet world 3 weeks before our whole city was transformed into a dark, wet world.
His birth, and my confidence in my ability to mother were quite smooth by comparison to my first foray into mom-dom. I remember the feeling of completeness and calm looking into those light brown eyes, as they were at birth. I saw my mother in his caramel eyes. I had my boy and my girl.
We were just getting into the swing of parenting two when Kevin and I argued in the living room--a massive whirlpool swirling over where the Louisiana coastline used to be. Typical of me and typical of Kevin: he didn't think we needed to evacuate; I let him know that the children and I would be evacuating and he was welcome to join us.
The rhythm we'd established was completely thrown off, and Elliot (along with a few items from his layette, previously Ana's unisex layette) was buckled into the car. He cried the whole way to Pensacola, and when I look back at it, I feel like he cried the whole time we were away (until early October). This earned him a reputation among the friends who'd taken us in: One day, that kid'll sing at the Met!
What a crazy world I felt I'd brought this baby into. What could we give him if it was all gone? How could we provide for him? Where would we live? My anxiety about providing for our family was settling into my bones as we lined up for food stamps: Even the curve of his hair on the top of his head resembled a perfectly formed hurricane.
Little time was spent getting to know our guy. We tried hard just to keep him quiet and content, to be little trouble to our hosts. He went from arm to arm, even as we'd go to free potluck dinners for evacuees. Accepting toys, clothes, diapers. Oh my pride. It burned. Those moments of complete need...I would cry from start to finish. In part from the beauty of the human heart. To give to strangers. And to a great degree, my pride at really needing and being so vulnerable with this tiny beautiful person and feeling I had nothing to give.
How much of our stress Elliot siphoned I have no idea. But when we came home (to uncertainty, fear, looters?, squatters?, but HOME), when we literally walked into the door, the content spirit that he exhibits today became so apparent, and I thought to myself, "and I thought this baby was going to be such a challenge. He's so easy!"
Months later, on our second monthly visit to the pediatrician, I still never questioned that all the testing that defined his 5th month would be unnecessary. But how I clung to that baby. I was MAMA. That was what I had to provide (my MAMAness), as I searched for a job, and searched for a way out of this place.
By January, we were being referred for a host of services, and the pain was incredible. We couldn't leave. There was too much uncertainty. We needed Tita. We needed stability. It was all too much. The doctor urged me not to google cytomegalovirus. I went numb just hearing her say it. After the neurologist pointing out his microcephaly (small head), I couldn't stop staring at baby's heads. I'd fall apart after a trip to the store. I couldn't even see Elliot during this time. I mean, really see him for himself. I saw his diagnosis, I saw my fears, I saw the images of random disabilities from my google search. I lost this time with Elliot, as I worked hard to hold it together on the outside, and mask for Mardi Gras, grin and bear it.
My friend Erin, though she might not know how much, held me together with her promises. "He will be fine, Emmy. This first year will be so hard, and then you'll see. He WILL go down the slide with Ana (one of my promises to her)." She would tell me this over and over. Or just hear me sob and say nothing. Both were equally helpful.
After we rode that wave, I got a hold of myself. I was losing Elliot in all this. We'd dutifully participate in his therapy sessions, and try our hardest to make these interventions a part of his life. But I felt like I was managing his life, and not sharing in it.
All at once, after being sick of my own self-indulgent pity process, I began to see what God had truly given us in this boy that can be described as no less than a SPARKLE: Through Elliot, we had learned what it truly meant to receive, and to let go. For every one of our worries about Elliot and his future, there was a therapist. Coming into our home. Challenging him, pushing him, and so LOVING him. For every challenge Elliot faced, there he was, pushing, smiling, and so LOVING, and so happy. I couldn't allow myself to do this any longer.
I've now learned that this feeling comes back and back and back...then it goes away again. In our life along the river, it's all cycles of water and heartbreak, and great joy.
My friend Renee said to me just yesterday (as a believer in heart chakras) that she can "feel the love emanating from Elliot when she holds him." His spirit is so powerful that it's humbling. Elliot's spirit is the great constant.
In all this, I couldn't see myself leaving Elliot to work, and so designed a path that would have his daily life intermingled with my work through Abeona House. I thought I was sent to Abeona so I could monitor his therapies and hold on so tightly to this boy who needs me so much. My MAMAness had to be the glue. But I was surely sent to Abeona House for Ms. Gwen, who would become his teacher, and care for him, teach him, and LOVE him like Kevin or I would if we were there.
Teachers, therapists, our friends and his, nameless school children who pray for Elliot each day at St. Peters...yes, it's true. And our family, his mama and papa, and Ana...
I believe that parenting is a journey of how to let go of this person who belongs to the world, and comes through you. I always imagined that I would be learning this lesson bringing my kids to college. But through all of the people who have loved Elliot, and demanded a share in his spirit, I have learned how to hold on so tightly, but also let him go; to accept help without my pride and know that these many people have something to give him that we may not. And that our love for him includes this vast circle of people, and an intimate knowledge and appreciation of All Things Elliot. My MAMAness is NOT what's holding us together. Elliot's love is what releases us to love each other, and accept the gifts they bring in so many forms. How rich he has made our lives.
Elliot came into our lives from the darkness of his wet world 3 weeks before our whole city was transformed into a dark, wet world.
His birth, and my confidence in my ability to mother were quite smooth by comparison to my first foray into mom-dom. I remember the feeling of completeness and calm looking into those light brown eyes, as they were at birth. I saw my mother in his caramel eyes. I had my boy and my girl.
We were just getting into the swing of parenting two when Kevin and I argued in the living room--a massive whirlpool swirling over where the Louisiana coastline used to be. Typical of me and typical of Kevin: he didn't think we needed to evacuate; I let him know that the children and I would be evacuating and he was welcome to join us.
The rhythm we'd established was completely thrown off, and Elliot (along with a few items from his layette, previously Ana's unisex layette) was buckled into the car. He cried the whole way to Pensacola, and when I look back at it, I feel like he cried the whole time we were away (until early October). This earned him a reputation among the friends who'd taken us in: One day, that kid'll sing at the Met!
What a crazy world I felt I'd brought this baby into. What could we give him if it was all gone? How could we provide for him? Where would we live? My anxiety about providing for our family was settling into my bones as we lined up for food stamps: Even the curve of his hair on the top of his head resembled a perfectly formed hurricane.
Little time was spent getting to know our guy. We tried hard just to keep him quiet and content, to be little trouble to our hosts. He went from arm to arm, even as we'd go to free potluck dinners for evacuees. Accepting toys, clothes, diapers. Oh my pride. It burned. Those moments of complete need...I would cry from start to finish. In part from the beauty of the human heart. To give to strangers. And to a great degree, my pride at really needing and being so vulnerable with this tiny beautiful person and feeling I had nothing to give.
How much of our stress Elliot siphoned I have no idea. But when we came home (to uncertainty, fear, looters?, squatters?, but HOME), when we literally walked into the door, the content spirit that he exhibits today became so apparent, and I thought to myself, "and I thought this baby was going to be such a challenge. He's so easy!"
Months later, on our second monthly visit to the pediatrician, I still never questioned that all the testing that defined his 5th month would be unnecessary. But how I clung to that baby. I was MAMA. That was what I had to provide (my MAMAness), as I searched for a job, and searched for a way out of this place.
By January, we were being referred for a host of services, and the pain was incredible. We couldn't leave. There was too much uncertainty. We needed Tita. We needed stability. It was all too much. The doctor urged me not to google cytomegalovirus. I went numb just hearing her say it. After the neurologist pointing out his microcephaly (small head), I couldn't stop staring at baby's heads. I'd fall apart after a trip to the store. I couldn't even see Elliot during this time. I mean, really see him for himself. I saw his diagnosis, I saw my fears, I saw the images of random disabilities from my google search. I lost this time with Elliot, as I worked hard to hold it together on the outside, and mask for Mardi Gras, grin and bear it.
My friend Erin, though she might not know how much, held me together with her promises. "He will be fine, Emmy. This first year will be so hard, and then you'll see. He WILL go down the slide with Ana (one of my promises to her)." She would tell me this over and over. Or just hear me sob and say nothing. Both were equally helpful.
After we rode that wave, I got a hold of myself. I was losing Elliot in all this. We'd dutifully participate in his therapy sessions, and try our hardest to make these interventions a part of his life. But I felt like I was managing his life, and not sharing in it.
All at once, after being sick of my own self-indulgent pity process, I began to see what God had truly given us in this boy that can be described as no less than a SPARKLE: Through Elliot, we had learned what it truly meant to receive, and to let go. For every one of our worries about Elliot and his future, there was a therapist. Coming into our home. Challenging him, pushing him, and so LOVING him. For every challenge Elliot faced, there he was, pushing, smiling, and so LOVING, and so happy. I couldn't allow myself to do this any longer.
I've now learned that this feeling comes back and back and back...then it goes away again. In our life along the river, it's all cycles of water and heartbreak, and great joy.
My friend Renee said to me just yesterday (as a believer in heart chakras) that she can "feel the love emanating from Elliot when she holds him." His spirit is so powerful that it's humbling. Elliot's spirit is the great constant.
In all this, I couldn't see myself leaving Elliot to work, and so designed a path that would have his daily life intermingled with my work through Abeona House. I thought I was sent to Abeona so I could monitor his therapies and hold on so tightly to this boy who needs me so much. My MAMAness had to be the glue. But I was surely sent to Abeona House for Ms. Gwen, who would become his teacher, and care for him, teach him, and LOVE him like Kevin or I would if we were there.
Teachers, therapists, our friends and his, nameless school children who pray for Elliot each day at St. Peters...yes, it's true. And our family, his mama and papa, and Ana...
I believe that parenting is a journey of how to let go of this person who belongs to the world, and comes through you. I always imagined that I would be learning this lesson bringing my kids to college. But through all of the people who have loved Elliot, and demanded a share in his spirit, I have learned how to hold on so tightly, but also let him go; to accept help without my pride and know that these many people have something to give him that we may not. And that our love for him includes this vast circle of people, and an intimate knowledge and appreciation of All Things Elliot. My MAMAness is NOT what's holding us together. Elliot's love is what releases us to love each other, and accept the gifts they bring in so many forms. How rich he has made our lives.
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