Program Character Assets

Today Anjali started Inner City Tennis at Lyndale Farmstead Park 14 blocks from our house. Great program. They handed out a one-page folded handout and I was moved by what was written on the back.

Program Character Assets

Respect

• I will listen to others.
• I will share and take turns.
• I will be courteous.

Perseverance

• I will try one more time...forever.

Integrity

• I will follow the rules, even when no one else is watching.

Teamwork

• I will put we before me.

Service

• I will look for ways to help others...before they ask.

Responsibility

• I will do what I promised.
• I will make no excuses.

Enthusiasm

• I will do things with eagerness and joy.

What great values! I felt my heart expand at this great, simple summary of character. I'm going to hang this somewhere and talk about it with Anjali.

It's great to hang around people who are committed to these assets. Anjali had fun, all the kids were positive. Mark and I played at the playground where every kid had a parent, often a dad, supervising them and where several had both parents. I experienced a pleasant culture shock. I need to spend more time rejuvenating around well balanced, centered kids. And probably my kids do, too.

As we move on from Solomon's Porch in our church hunt, I think these values and that centered feeling are something we're going to be looking for.

My favorite today was I will make no excuses. Anyone else want to comment on today's favorite?

The bell has been rung

Yesterday Anjali asked me for a list of my mistakes in response to my comment that even moms and dads can make mistakes sometimes. On the fly I listed a couple and she informed me that my mistakes are boring. I was reflecting on this comment over breakfast today and realized that I've never wanted to make flamboyantly interesting mistakes since the consequences of my mundane ones have so awful. And even the consequences I've received from other people's bad decisions have had life long impact.

The one most of my mind this last 9 months is that I have abnormal cervical cells, possibly pre-cancerous. I have HPV, Human papillomavirus, which means I have wart viruses compromising my cervix creating an environment where things can mutate into cancer. I found out last fall after an abnormal pap smear. I was shocked and angry and deeply sad. I have a sexually transmitted disease, a venereal disease. Particularly insidious is that the virus can insinuate itself into the body so subtly that body becomes acclimated to the virus and recognizes the virus as itself rather than a foreign invader worthy of immune response.

I've been treating the infection for months and have seen some positive changes in symptoms I'd never been able to understand or resolve in all my years of healing. And these symptoms go back as far as I can remember. In fact, as I've done more reading recently, I've begun to wonder if many of my immune problems in my 20's stemmed from this infection as many of the treatments I did are also recommended for HPV.

And to where can all these consequences be traced? Back 38 years to the sexual abuse by my Grampa Eldridge when I was 1-3 years old. I have had this virus for nearly four decades and have spent 38 years suffering its undiagnosed effects along with spending uncounted thousands of dollars in treating it. I got a STD as a preschooler without ever choosing to have sex.

The bell of evil was rung 38 years ago and can't be unrung. And it continues ringing down these four decades.

I used to ask God for justice upon my Grampa but all the vengeance in the world won't unring that bell. Now I'm asking for justice for me.

For the first time, last Friday at my chiropractor's, she was able to muscle test and get the answer "virus" from my body. Now that I'm recognizing friend from foe, I can respond. I can boost my immune system and I can grieve and speak the truth to myself and I can reclaim my body for me and boot out the sneaky bastards. I believe I have a very good chance of getting well. Finally.

And then, perhaps- after I have paid the price, and after Kathy broke the terrible news to me and after Ginger and Joe and Tara have labored on my behalf for healing and all the unsung researchers have formulated remedies and the woman on the internet who compiled all the info has shared it- perhaps then this bell will fall silent. Or maybe it will ring until my death silences it and my children and grandchildren no longer live under the vibration of abuse.

God, bless all those who labor in kindness and hope for the silencing of the evil at work in my life. And I petition for justice for me and nothing less. Amen

Finally- in the dirt

I've been writing about my garden often and today- drumroll, please- I finally got the seedlings planted and the seeds scattered. Except for 2 kale seedlings which I bought and now can't find. Who steals kale?!?

Maybe this is the same person who stole a 40# bag of chicken manure compost from in front of my garage last year. I went back to the garden store to buy a replacement bag and plaintively asked, "Who steals 40# of chicken poop and why?" The store clerk replied, "It's good shit, man!" And we laughed away.

Special thanks to Tim who dug and dug and dug. Almost 85% of the garden plants I started with this spring have been given away and Tim dug up a lot of them. And kindly helped me dig the new ones in, too.

I also pulled weeds and mulched with straw. I've removed a lot of things which overgrew and replanted some of my favorites along with a few new tries. Seems odd that after nearly 8 weeks of anticipation, it's over. And honestly, it doesn't look too impressive although mulch always helps make it look finished and official. I'll post a photo soon. But you've got to smell and taste it for yourself because it's a sensual garden, not a visual one.

I still have some Mint-Who-Lived to share, Sheila, Megan, and Angela. So next time I see you, I'll dig and bring some.

Oh, and if anyone needs dill, let me know. I seem to have about 100 dills volunteering in my annual space, all I'm assuming from the seeds of 1-2 volunteers last year. Volunteer plants minister something to my soul and along with the dills I found a volunteer spiderwort today which I was about to pull as grass and I'm excited to see if it's pink or purple. My alley neighbor has pink so I'm going to ask soon for one to start in my garden.

And one yarrow bloomed hot pink! I've been wanting one but all my original starts 5 years ago bloomed white and yellow. So I tried last year and had 2 sprouts which lived but yarrows don't flower the first year. I gave away most of the yellow and white and moved the 2 mystery sprouts out into the vacated sunnier spot and lo, one is pink! Now, if only the other mystery one is peach, I'll get the red one from a neighbor...

It's good to have new adventures and be back in the dirt. And friends, it is the simple pleasures, isn't it? The volunteers and the mystery sprouts and the old favorites and the new tries and the missing kale and chicken poop and the empty waiting spaces. And wishes and dreams and nights of falling asleep imagining my sacred place. I rejoice in having a space to choose my beauty and to welcome the unexpected, too.

Mutually Assured Dysfunction

Mutually Assured Dysfunction. This is what happens when 2 dysfunctional groups collide. It has begun in my neighborhood. Family A and Family B both live on our block. We all began getting to know each other when the snow thawed and our girls began to play together daily. There have been barbecues and invitations to birthday parties and babysitting requests and visits to apartments and sugar snacks flying back and forth at a rapid rate.

Anjali felt left out because she never made a barbecue since a parent never contacted us and they happened after our 7:00 p.m. yard closing/curfew. She begged to go into their homes and requested one of the older girls be her sitter, too. And Mom, couldn't you be flexible about the ice cream man and the freezies and the snack runs to Super America and the pop and the ...

Nope. Not much for flexibles here. I repeatedly explained that we didn't know them or their families while silently reflecting on my block leader's email about their 16 year-old being investigated by the police. I stood firm by our policy that we don't go into neighbor's houses nor allow them into ours. Tim or I attended every party with Anjali and Mark. We bought her a watch and she set the timer to check in every few minutes. We repeatedly kicked kids off the trampoline for violations or closed the yard for the day or locked up the share bikes in the garage. Anjali and I discussed whether the people were trustworthy or not and why we didn't eat so many sugar snacks and how she felt about her friend bragging about lying to her mom or about finding no parents home and all the girls outside playing in the alley.

From my perspective the MAD vibe amplified as I heard stories second-hand. There was the call to the police by Family A regarding a member of Family B at one of these barbecues. And the email from the block leader regarding the Mom of Family B sometimes seeming "strange" and unpredictable. Money from older brothers offered to little girls and then taken back. Early morning mom-to-mom phone calls insisting on compliance to previous requests.

And it isn't even summer vacation yet, people.

But still, she regularly said, "Mom, I feel left out. It's so tough. Everyone else is eating sugar snacks and going to the barbecue and I can't. And they get to stay outside until dark and they can visit each others' rooms. And..."

Until Sunday afternoon, two days ago. Two days ago she came home and out of the blue said, "Mom, the neighbors are copying us." When asked to elaborate, she explained that Family A no longer drinks pop, Family B no longer allows their daughter into the other family's home, and that both families are talking about a one sugar snack a day limit.

"I'm really glad to hear they are making some healthy changes," I explained, "But I am even more glad that you see the value in what we're doing. And it's good to know that moms get to be right once in a while."

With a big smile and getting the humor, she replied, "Once in a while," reset her timer, and went back to play.

As I write this, I can hear my dad saying, "Hang firm, Amy, hang firm. Win now while she's 8 so you don't have to fight this when she's 18."

It is good to be right sometimes, friends. And it is even better when my girl knows I am.

Hats off to Matthew

This afternoon when I pulled out of the library at Southdale with the tired, hungry kids in the backseat, my engine temp gauge soared and given my recent car fiascoes, I knew I had oil problems. I pulled into the next parking lot, popped the hood, got out my 5 qt resealable oil container from the trunk, checked the slightly charred dipstick and yessireebob, I was low on oil. (Please note my improvement since last car blog.) I started taking the cap off to fill it- but no. It was stuck. I looked around, saw a young man with strong looking arms, and sent Anjali to fetch him. He came over cheerfully informing us that he had worked at a gas station and knew just what to do. Even had a rag in his car. But no. It was still stuck. So bless his heart, he drove home and back with 2 tools and popped that recalcitrant bugger right off. He even assumed I was competent to finish the job myself, which I did. His name is Matthew and he lives in Edina and he works at the Perkins off Hwy 100. I want to tell him, "Thanks! I will put a rag in my trunk and my husband says the cap does have to be on that tight so I'll inquire Monday at Saturn regarding one of those tools."

It is a measure of my recent experiences with the kindness of strangers that I sat with the kids on the grass median in the shade reading library books, blithely sure he'd come back and fix it. Which he did. Something tight and hard in my heart is letting go this year.

So a special thanks to Matthew and all those good samaritans who do stop and help strangers in need all for a thank you. Especially to the men who are bringing kind masculine energy into my life just because that's the kind of men they are.

The Playground Director strikes again

When I was a kid, I was not so affectionately nicknamed Amy the Playground Director by my family for my propensity to organize/boss all the kids around.

I remembered the title today with more affection as I recruited kids on my block to join our neighborhood's Youth Farm this summer. The count so far from our block is up to 4 including Anjali. I'd love to say I had noble motives but it was mostly self-defense as Anjali has befriended these girls and my Chaos-O-Meter is already nudging towards the red zone and it's not even summer vacation yet.

I did get slugged by compassion on Monday when one of these friend's family invited us to the neighborhood park for her birthday party. As I chatted with her mom she told me her husband is in Somalia and can't get immigration approval to come but her kids are now at home in America and don't intend to go back. She confessed that she likes MN except that it is so hard to raise teenagers here. She doesn't drive or read and write English and is dependent on her kids. I inquired what her plans are for her girls, 12 and 14, this summer and and she said that the girls dropped the registration forms I had picked up at the neighborhood open house between my home and their home two doors down so they haven't registered for anything. I offered to find another copy of the forms and she was very grateful. Compassion, mom to mom, was stirred within me. Walking home Anjali got choked up as she told me that she and the birthday girl loved each other like sisters.

Now what? Reach my hand intentionally into the tornado? Move to the suburbs? How do I do this without getting whizzed in the blender or falling into co-dependent controlling?

"Compassion, that was your first mistake," Tim said with a grin. "Compassion with good boundaries, " my sister said with a firm voice. I keep repeating both phrases to myself depending on if I need dark comic relief or rubber meets the road reminders.

Info in hand, I went to this mom's home yesterday to hand deliver it and asked if she'd like help with the form. She accepted and we sat on my porch this morning for 40 minutes filling it out. One thing lead to another. I wound up walking over to the neighborhood association with her and her son, Anjali, Mark, and Megan. We were a parade. Preschooler, 8 year-old strawberry blond, tall Somali teen, 20-something homegrown Minnesotan, hijab-wearing Somali mom, and me. People actually gawked at the stoplight as we crossed.

To really add to the complexity, I've been warned by my block leader that this son of hers is being investigated by the police. Yep. They didn't cover this in Motherhood Class and there's no chapter on this in my manual either. I checked.

It's one thing to send money to those poor lost souls in Africa but another thing entirely when they move in next door and start making my alley unsafe. I'm going to blog more about that later. Let me sum up by saying that I'm realizing that so much of what I labeled spiritual was actually co-dependent, controlling, manipulative, and fear-driven. I'm finding my life confusing, irritating, and comic. I am intentional in grounding myself when I start to feel grandiose- Super Amy to the rescue!- and in reminding myself what my goals are when I start to feel put upon.

I want my daughter to grow up knowing how to set good boundaries with difficult people and how to trust her gut and make discerning evaluations about her safety because not everyone, even the people we like, are safe people. I want her to be free to love a Muslim like a sister. I want her to have gritty tested values not hazy, dreamy ideals. I want so much for her and for her, I'm engaging.

So friends, look for me in the Youth Farm kitchen this summer. This mom and I are volunteering Tuesdays as kitchen helpers to make the kids lunch. Because the mom of any sister of Anjali's is my friend.

We're going to walk there together with all our kids on the first day. If you want to join the parade, we'll be leaving our yard at 8:30 a.m., Tuesday, June 22 and walking the 8 blocks to the check-in spot.

I'm serious. Come and walk and bring your friends and your kids. Let's give them something to gawk at. Together.

Family Fun- Funny Photos

I was looking at photos of our outings this weekend to Minnehaha Falls and Taylors Falls and was struck by the number of crazy poses we struck. This is a gift Mark and Anjali inherited from Tim.

Nice butt!

Do you know how hard it is to get a good shot with 3 hams on the loose? Here are a couple of the best.