As the Fall Settles In

Tomorrow will mark eleven months since my 9-year-old nephew was killed when a driver left the roadway and killed Lucian on the sidewalk.

The weather outside is starting to turn more towards fall and away from summer. It's starting to be more like the weather when IT happened, that moment that divided my family into Before and After.

We have weathered our year of firsts- the first of every holiday After. The first Thanksgiving After, the first Christmas shopping After: How many times did I see something cool and think, "I'll bet Lucian would really like that." And then I would remember. Birthdays, family gatherings, vacations and celebrations- they've all come and gone and we've all been very aware that Lucian was missing; that he should have been there.

My oldest son turned 9 this year- the age that Lucian was and will always be. It didn't seem right or fair. Lucian was always supposed to be the older cousin.

There have been times in this last year when I've thought of him, of his parents and his brother and I've thought that IT didn't happen- IT couldn't have happened- and then I remember that IT did. Sometimes when I remember, it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room. Sometimes the tears physically hurt- they start in the center of my chest and work their way up my throat before they come spilling out of my eyes.

Mostly I have been able to think about Lucian with life and love and laughter. We have talked about him often- my children have had a need to discuss Lucian- who he was, what he liked and what he meant to them. We have bought books he loved or would have enjoyed and donated them to the library at my kids' school. We have talked about him when we've flown kites and played baseball and walked in the woods. We've talked about him when they were making contraptions out of Legos. He was important to us and we have missed him.

As the weather has begun to turn, though, I find myself transported to the day that compartmentalizes us- the one that thrust us into After. I remember the flat, lifeless sound of my mother's voice as she told me the words that couldn't be real. I remember the heartbreak in my father's voice when I talked to him later that evening. My phone wouldn't stop ringing and no one told me what I wanted to hear- that IT didn't happen. When I think about those phone calls and the sound of people whom I love so dearly in so much pain, that's when the tears come the hardest. Those phone calls have left a scar behind- a brand that hurts when you touch it.

I can't say that I'm moving on. That makes it seem like I'm leaving something behind and that's clearly not the case. I can say that I'm moving forward. I can think about him without always thinking of his death. I do not tell every stranger I meet about what happened (I was doing that for a while- I couldn't help myself.)

I may no longer think of fall as a season of rest, though. It has become a season of sorrow instead. Hopefully not forever, but at least for a little while.

Give Me Liberty

My kids are in second grade and Kindergarten, so the news of the Sandy Hook shooting hit me very close to home. At this writing we are a couple of weeks out from the tragedy and the aftermath is alarming on a number of levels. What is most disturbing to me is that the media (and their customers) seem to have an unquenchable thirst for news on the subject. We are feeding on the grief of the parents with an unending appetite for their sorrow. It is time to let these people grieve in private, without the rest of the world looking in their windows.

What is also disturbing to me is the reaction to the tragedy in a more practical way. How can we prevent such a tragedy from occurring again? The truth is that we can't. Mental illness is not always predictable and how do we know when someone is going to commit acts that are unspeakable, unthinkable? Should we have armed guards at every school, shopping mall and playground? Or do we shut them down completely?

We fear something whose chance of occurring is remote and unpredictable that we can't adequately prepare for regardless.

Bad things happen in this world and they happen all over the world. We are a violent and terrifying species- our capacity for atrocity is unmatched in the animal kingdom. We try to curtail this part of our nature, but occasionally it leaks out.

I went to my children's elementary school last week and had to sign in and put on a visitor's badge in order to check the lost-and-found for my kid's hat (it wasn't there). Everybody knows me there and I'm on the PTO board. I am not a threat to the school and they know that. Is it a good idea for the school to know exactly who is in their building at all times? Probably, but I wonder what we're giving up in the process.

Locked doors, security checkpoints, body scans, please get your id ready, don't talk to strangers, everyone is a suspect. What is the message in all of this? I was raised with the old rule that I had to get home when the street lights come on. Has the world really changed that much in the intervening years? Or is it simply that we think that we can protect ourselves from the random, unpredictable injury if we simply put up one!more!barrier! to it.

How many more steps toward protection to we need to take before we no longer leave our homes? When I was 7, I was riding my bike a couple of miles from my home in order to visit friends. We'd then get on our bikes and ride around their neighborhood. The thought of putting my 7-year-old on his bike and telling him to be home in time for lunch is terrifying and I wonder what kind of adults we are raising with all of this "protection." Can we really expect our kids to explore their world if we're constantly looking over their shoulder? I believe in living life boldly while at the same time I prevent my children from experiencing the same freedoms I enjoyed while growing up.

I feel as though we are on a precipice as we navigate these post-Sandy-Hook waters. I don't know what the right answer is, but I don't feel that we can adequately insulate ourselves from harm and danger. I feel that freedom is too precious commodity to trade in for "safety," especially when you consider that the safety we seek isn't even achievable.

The words of Patrick Henry, "Give me liberty, or give me death." seem a little chilling under the circumstances, but I keep coming back to them. I truly hope that our freedoms are not too greatly impacted by the legislation that is sure to be the aftermath of this tragedy. Protection from harm comes with its own price, and I am anxious to learn what that cost will be and can only pray that the cost of the freedoms we will give up will be less than the price of the injury it seeks to avoid.

(I also truly hope that the parents of the Sandy Hook victims are afforded some privacy as they try to find some peace in the tragedy's wake. My heart goes out to them all.)

Now What?

The bus has pulled away and an eerie silence settles over the house. I can hear the refrigerator. I can hear the cat walking across the room. Can this be the same house in which I was just commanding, "Henry, stop shouting! Henry, Stop Shouting!?" In fact, it is, but it feels like a different place all together. Both of my kids are in school full time.

Henry started Kindergarten three weeks ago- hah! Henry started Kindergarten last week- I just double-checked the calendar. It seems like it's been so much longer. I already feel spoiled when I go to the grocery store and don't have to explain why Mario or Angry Birds-themed foods might not be the best nutritional choices on the shelves.

It's a new chapter for me and I'm curious to see what the year is going to bring. I've been teaching knitting at the local Y for almost 2 years now and the Y, which originally courted me to teach, has been continually frustrating to work with and I've just been informed that I'm losing my room (again) and can teach my class in an outdoor pavilion, the lobby, or a windowless dungeon of a conference room that is burdened with large tables and an oft-used supply closet: I may be looking for new digs in which to teach my class.

I'm treasurer of our PTO and I'm excited to be in a position where I can be an ambassador to the school and the organization (while recognizing that the one who handles the money may also have to be unpopular sometimes.)

My law license is active and I need to attend some continuing education courses to stay in good standing- what's going to happen with my career, such as it is, over the next year or two or five? What opportunities will come my way? I have lots of unanswered questions right now.

My promise to myself is that I'm not going to make any rash decisions- measured steps only. As I've gotten older, I've become more inclined to take longer to make decisions and this has resulted in fewer, better decisions about my life. I don't know what path I'm on right now, but I know that my life is good. I'm not anxious about my current lack of clear direction- I have enough purpose in my immediate tasks- but I'm interested to see what's next.

My New Gig

I got a new gig. I'm the Lake YMCA's new knitting teacher.

I'm really excited about the position for many reasons:
I'll meet new people in my still-fairly-new community and they won't all be moms of young children- I like variety in my friends
I get to pass along the craft I've grown to really love
I get to hone my skills in the process
I get to unload some of my yarn stash

A little over a year ago I recognized how much I love knitting. I love the feel of the yarn in my hands. I love the way the needles slide against each other in a gentle shhh shhh as I knit. I make garments in vivid colors, warm and durable and soft; sweaters, hats, mittens and blankets to embrace my husband, my children, my family, my friends and myself.

The process of creation is multi-step and every step is one of discovery. The pattern choice is probably the most important and most exciting- who will it be for? What season? What function will the garment have? What will it have to match? Cables? Or color?

The pattern choice drives the yarn choice. Choosing the yarn is the most exciting step- what fibers? What weight? What colors? Does it need to be machine washable? Where will I get the yarn? When do I get to feel it?

Next comes the gauge swatch and then measuring the intended recipient- torso length, arm length, shoulder to fall line, chest size. The most exciting step is next: starting. Seeing the sweater or hat or mittens or blanket begin to take shape on the needles it delightful. Does it look just as I thought it was going to look, or is it a little different? How quickly is the project going to appear. Seeing the project grow off the needles is like watching a genie come swirling out of a lamp- it's just as magical.

Blocking comes next and blocking is usually fairly straightforward. However, I have had an item or two completely change again during the blocking process. A knit blanket once went from being lumpy-bumpy and cute to being flat and sleek and beautiful. Even blocking delivers an occasional surprise.

The final stage I can't complete fast enough- the finishing up so that the knitted item can be used. The sewing together and weaving-in of the ends always looks like it will take forever until I actually start doing it. Suddenly I'm down to the last end and I can give it away. Giving something away is like giving someone a perpetual hug. It's love and warmth and comfort.

I get to pass it all along to a new group of people. That makes me one lucky person. Maybe the most exciting part will be seeing a new group of knitters complete their first projects.

Life is good.

I Want a Hot Dog

My oldest child is in Kindergarten. He's sensitive and high-strung and inquisitive, stubborn, smart and very sweet. Putting him on the bus that first day in August and pushing him out of the nest was hard, but I knew he'd love school. I knew it was the first major step towards him becoming his own person, independent from me.

He's got his own friends and his own relationships now. He knows people I don't know- the gym teacher and the lunch ladies, the librarian and the school nurse. He had some conflict two days ago with one of the women who monitors the playground- yesterday afternoon he told me it had been resolved.

It's fascinating to me to see the evolution of my child. I see glimpses of the person he's going to be, even while the majority of his self is still firmly rooted in the 5 year-old person he is now.

Many of the changes are subtle; this morning's was not. "I want a hot dog for lunch today, Mom." Ted announced at breakfast. For the first time ever, he went to school without a lunch I'd packed. He's going to stand in line with the other kids and get his lunch, typing his code into the cash register to take the payment out of his account. He's not going to have me there to cut it up for him- he'll have to manage it by himself.

I want to be a fly on the wall and check on him. I'd like to ride in his pocket and just make sure that he's doing fine- give him encouragement throughout the day. Of course, that's not mine to do. He's got to figure it out on his own, just like I did when I was his age.

He took charge of another area of his life today. I am proud of him each time he takes another step towards independence.

I'd already packed his lunch when he asked for the hot dog. I didn't tell him that though, and his sandwich, vegetables and goldfish crackers are in the fridge. He can have them tomorrow.

Today he's having a hot dog.

.....And They're Off

We got a puppy. He's going to be a big dog- he's 4 months old now and is almost the size of a small Lab. He's jumpy and nippy and boisterous, but we can tell that he'll eventually settle down into a very nice dog. He's sweet, tolerant and lovable.

Henry adores him. He can't get enough of Skipper. Every day I run interference so that Skipper can sleep without being piled with toys, blankets and Henry. Eventually, despite my best efforts, Skipper has to give up his nap, get up and play with Henry instead.

We were outside one morning- Skipper was minding his own business, napping under a lilac bush. I was pulling weeds in the herb garden. Henry was playing with a bungee cord he found. Henry spied Skipper sleeping and took the bungee cord over and used it to attach the lid of the sand box to Skipper's collar. Henry then came over to me to get sun-screened for the morning.

The sandbox lid is made of a lightweight plastic, but it's fairly large- maybe 2'x 3'Here's a picture of it:

As I was spraying Henry down with sunscreen, Skipper must have moved. The lid moved with him and spooked him. Skipper took off like a shot. Howling and running as fast as he could, he bolted past me and down the driveway, turned the corner and flew in front of the house, sandbox lid trailing behind him like a flying carpet. "Rooooooooooo! Roooooooooooo!" I dropped the sunscreen and started running after him as fast as I could, "Skipper! I'll saaaave youuuuuuuuu!" With a scramble of nails against asphalt, he turned the corner and ran past the garage. "Roooooooooooo!" all the while pulling his airborne sled. He scrambled around the last corner and got the sandbox lid wedged between the trashcans and our yard trailer. I finally caught up to him there and was able to release him from his pursuer.

Skipper ran off to recuperate. Henry, I'm sure, was already thinking of the next thing he's going to do with Skipper. Yesterday Henry covered him with truck stickers. Henry tells me that Skipper is his best friend and I believe it, but I don't think Skipper is going to fall asleep near the sandbox any time soon.

Changed Again

I changed my comment posting policy to something that may cut back on the spam but that allows my friends to leave comments again. Hopefully this will help- I'm still getting spam comments so my attempts to curb it haven't been totally successful. I still don't think my readers are interested in German Viagra so I've been vigilant about removing the spam comments.