Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Good Fences/Scrambled Circuits

I have spent my entire life trying to be nice to everyone.

I was born with that innate "Namaste", honour the place in you that is the same in me, "love your neighbour as yourself" mentality.

It's reinforced in childhood.  Be nice.  Be friendly.  Include everyone.  Think of others.  Even the Dalai Lama - and Christ - and any religion in the world - tells us to live with love and compassion.

And I definitely have Asperger's.  Until the past few years I honestly believed that adults would follow these rules.  As a child, I knew that children didn't follow them but I always assumed that adults matured into them.  It just never even occurred to me until recently that most adults still behave like two year olds.  Maybe it's not Aspgerger's; maybe I'm just naive.

It must really be killing my neighbour.  I have spent the better part of the year trying to understand her and why she acts the way she does.  I have a hard time relating to her actions and I try to think out why she would do them.  They make no sense to me.


Take the fence.

It is an inferior, part rotten wood, part barbed wire (I KNOW!  DON'T MAKE ME CRINGE!) monstrosity that separates our paddock from her paddock/rusty steel storage area/muddy motorbike track/undredged mosquitoe infested dam.  (I have spent long enough NOT judging!) 

She owns the fence, her property AND ours.

I have spent a year trying to talk myself into believing that different cultures (and classes of people) do things differently and that barbed wire might be okay and that not everyone can have a post and rail fence.  I have spent a year trying not to judge.

Although I did apologise to Ryan's new horse who came from a posh suburb of western Brisbane (think New Canaan, CT).  As the motorbikes sped past the rusty steel next door and the forklift came out of the steel shed he just stood and looked.

"Welcome to the Northside, mate,"  I said.

I didn't tell the neighbours that the fence wasn't good enough.  (FOR CRYING OUT LOUD - BARBED EFFIN WIRE!!!!!)  I told them we had a young 16 H Thoroughbred coming and we just wanted to take extra precautions by installing electric wire.  (A good two feet INSIDE the fence that is a death trap waiting to happen.)

The neighbour then told me she could get the price for the solar battery we wanted at the place she worked. 

And then went out the next day and bought it for herself.

The worst part is that I didn't get it.  I had asked her if we wanted to repair the fence together.  It is HER fence and her property on BOTH sides.  She said no and then told me HER horses weren't messing with the fence.

When our horse came and DID start leaning on it (before we electrified it) she just started coming over to tell us how he was destroying her fence.  The one we had asked her to help us fix up.

And then she talked about HER solar battery and her fence.

Maybe I shouldn't be talking about low IQs, because it has taken me three weeks to figure out she was trying to make me jealous that she had what I needed.

I still find it almost impossible to believe that an adult - who OWNS the fence and property we were trying improve TOGETHER - would be that childish and stupid.

That plus the fence she put in isn't hooked up correctly. 

The electric circuit isn't closed. 

She basically put up a row of chicken wire and attached a battery to one end.

I guess I AM the idiot because I have spent the last three weeks looking out the window wondering what the heck she was doing back there.

I honestly just wasnt dumb enough to figure it out.

Why is there a battery hooked to some wire at ankle height in the horse paddock/ rusty steel storage area/ muddy motorcross track/mosquitoe pond?

It only occurred to me last night - after MUCH deliberation and brain twisting - that she IS dumb enough to think that it is working.

And getting meaner and meaner when I don't ask about it. 

Listen, mate.  I finally get what you are trying to do.  And I'm already over it.  Thank you for finally making it clear to me that it IS you and not me, that I don't have to bother wasting my time trying to be nice to you and that there are some people - possibly even most people - who don't grow up and who really are just that mean.  And ignorant.

Thank you for making me see that Christ told me to love myself first when he told me to love my neighbour.

While I am at it:  I don't need (but DO have) forty years of horse experience, a Bachelor's degree in Neurobiology and Behaviour and a Veterinary Degree to tell you  that you don't have to hit a horse with a whip just because it won't stand still, a good rider does not DOMINATE but DIALOGUE with her horse and it is NOT okay to kill puppies just because you are ignorant enough not to spay your dog and then leave her outside. 

Phew.  I am so tired of being culturally sensitive.  Trailer trash is trailer trash no matter what country it is in or how much money it makes.

Furthermore: It is not my problem if my pursuit of excellence makes you uncomfortable with your mediocrity.

Good on ya mate for noticing!

And you know that "book learning" you keep telling yourself you don't need?

The first page of the booklet that comes with your solar battery has a big picture on it telling you why electricity needs to run in a closed circuit.






Monday, August 25, 2014

Technophobe Rant

Computers still make me so mad.

Doesn't anyone else see what I do:  that these tools that were supposed to make our lives easier have instead taken to dominating our time?

Mostly I think they are a big waste of time and I don't bother with them.

But every now and then someone convinces me that I am missing something and so I try it - for the kids.

Mindcraft?  Biggest time suck I have ever seen.  1980s technology.  Concept that is just a lame computerised version of Legos.  My kids can get brainwashed into it just like any other.  But it's a worldwide phenomenon and now my kids can say they do it just like everyone else.

I would prefer they come discover the Glass House Mountains with me.  Hammer apart some sandstone to see what's inside.  Build a Lego version of the mountain.  Tell me what they've thought about that day.

Granted, I have met a couple of autistic boys who create a comfortable world for themselves on Minecraft.  And who then use it as a means of communicating with other kids.  Cool.

But let's all stop pretending our kids are brilliant for being able to use this program.  I mean: it IS meant to be user friendly, isn't it?!

Last week we watched a kids gaming news show.  Apparently someone has created an exact replica of Mount Everest on Mindcraft.  The hope is that someday the entire planet will be realistically rebuilt on Mindcraft.

Really?

They can't get these people to work on solving the current Ebola crisis or TB or AIDS or world hunger or cancer or poverty or the Mid East?  Never mind the last one:  I finally looked it up online.  They have been fighting for over 4,000 years.  Christ couldn't solve it.  Mohammed couldn't solve it.  Where the heck is that saviour the Jews keep waiting for?  Heads up:  NOW would be a good time.  If you don't get blown up before you finish childhood. 

But those issues would require moving out of your parents' house and working on something other than computer games.  (Look:  Temple Grandin said it first and SHE's autistic.  So don't come down on me!)

Same with two year olds figuring out our IPhones.  Once again: icons you don't need to read to follow.  Instant gratification.  Our newest gadgets are MADE for a two-year old mentality.  Which is good since that is what I see all around me everyday.

But, of course, I HAD to try Reading Eggs.  Go ahead: it's so great for getting your kids to read.  Forgetting that my other four kids had learned to read WITHOUT Reading Eggs, I decided to give it a go with Ian. 

Ten years ago I made the same mistake with Baby Einstein.  The video shows moving images and objects designed to stimulate your baby's brain.  Like going outside or playing with blocks or coloring or SPEAKING wouldn't do the same thing?  Was this just a ploy to get people to feel good about sticking their kids in front of a TV screen instead of paying attention to them?

Ian has taught himself the letters and letter sounds over the past year while I was busy worrying about Ryan's schoolwork.  He DID use some technology: those abc toys that you press that then tell you the letter.  But then he walked around the house - or outdoors - and found letters and told me about them. 

And we read books. 

Books.  Remember those?

Today he wanted to learn about the clock - really, he asked - and I taped some numbers in a circle on the floor and he stood inside them and whirled around telling the time with his sword as a pointer.

I AM showing off a bit.  NONE of my other kids had this interest in letters and numbers before they were three.

But I'm finding that SPEAKING to him and LISTENING to him works a lot better than throwing him in front of a computer program. 

Like he really needs to get hooked on facebook.  Talk about a time suck.  Last week I had a dance mom get mad at me because I hadn't checked facebook that day to find out about the new performance she had booked in. 

"Is Andrew to able to perform at the Mango Hill gig?" she asked.

Not knowing which gig that was - and having quite a few Mango Hill gigs with RYAN's dance troupe as well - I asked her which one she meant.

"The one at Mango Hill,"  she replied. 

I had that one coming.  I am TRYING - and lately failing - not to be judging common IQs.

"What date it is?" I persisted.

"Oh, I don't know.  Uh.  Sept 3, I think?"

Note: SHE was the one who had put up the notice that afternoon!

"What time?"

"Oh.  I don't know.  It's on a Wednesday.  We all live nearby anyway.  It shouldn't be a problem.  Let me know if he can come."

Deep breath.  Not only does EVERYONE in the world NOT live in North Lakes or Mango Hill, (think USA military base without the soldiers in combat gear checking under your car for explosives at the entrances) but it apparently would come as a huge shock to some people living there that most of us wouldn't WANT to!  Plus, Andrew still has soccer on Wednesdays from 5 -6 and while HE has mastered the juggling act quite well, I am getting a bit old for it.  And have four other children to juggle in addition to Andrew.


I politely declined the invite.  Honestly, if you can't tell me person to person while I am standing right in front of you, then I am not wasting my time going to facebook to get the information.

Don't you dare text message me while I am still in the room either!

Maybe I AM retro, old-fashioned, German, Steiner, hippy homeschooler, anti progress.

My kids play board games and dress up as knights and superheroes.  They write books for fun and color home-made birthday cards.

As for Reading Eggs?  I am pleased to report that Ian doesn't get the concept at all.  The egg makes a big splat and a fart noise if you press the wrong letter.

"Heh.  Heh.  Heh.  Reading eggs farts, Mom,"  he tells me, as he intentionally presses the incorrect answers as often as he can.

It certainly does my little wonder boy.  Let's put on your spider man outfit and superman cape and go out and see what magical powers you can imagine for yourself this morning.

Without the help of a preprogrammed computer game.




Saturday, August 9, 2014

Hanging the Laundry To Hang the Laundry

Better things to do than dishes!


On the other hand, I have this laundry thing down pat.

I LIKE doing the laundry.  You take the filth out of the room, throw it into a machine that hums and thrums for an hour and a half, letting you know that you are getting the job done without really being there at all.  THIS I am present for!

I have the kids trained to throw their stuff into the machine.  Damon too.  Most of the time.  Once it is full, the machine sings prettily as I punch in the cycle.  I even use the "conserve water" cycle so I can feel really good about myself.

And, when the machine is done - and again sings sweetily at me - I go out to hang the laundry on the line in the clear Australian sunshine.  Depending on the load - whether it is full of socks or full of one of Damon's work outfits - it takes me twenty to thirty minutes to hang the laundry.

I have a system.

I love my system.

I make order out of the chaos.  Socks and undies here.  To hide from the neighbours.  Sports stuff here.  Mine there.  Ian.  Ryan's riding gear.  School uniforms go on hangers in the shade.  The twins stuff gets hung together and sorted later.

I think of the Americans who waste so much energy on driers.  And on the Germans who have to hang their laundry in their basements for four days before it dries.  I feel really really lucky to be in Australia hanging out my laundry in the sun. 

Australians also have a very American approach to ironing.  Heads up Europe:  you can mostly get away without it.  Put the shirts on hangers on the line.  Spray with lavendar.  Heck, I don't even do that.  Only cowboys iron their jeans in the USA.  So far no one in my gym has noticed that my sports gear is wrinkly. (Hmmm.  Maybe if I lost more weight?!)

The only thing that used to get me down about the laundry is the inside out socks I used to waste time turning rightside out.  All I could think about while I was doing it was that if the boys (and Damon) could be just that little bit more respectful of my time and do it themselve then I wouldn't be stuck doing it for everyone all at once.  It made me so mad.  Like I have all this time to waste on turning out their flippin' socks.  Like they couldn't respect me and love me enough to do this for me.  Heck, for themselves.

About nine months ago I got fed up with it all.  I figured I would teach them a lesson.  Let them work it out for themselves.  If they left it inside out, then so would I.  I happily handed back socks that were inside out or worse - where one was and one wasn't.  Whatever.  Let them learn.  If they want their socks nice, then they can learn to do it for themselves.

And you know what?

No one noticed.

No one noticed.

Not one male person in my house - and there are five of them - noticed or cared that their socks were inside it when they put them on.  And here I was getting myself all worked up about it.

They didn't learn a lesson; I did.

I no longer worry about their socks or a lot of other things - like how the beds are made - because you know what?  They don't.  If it doesn't matter to them, then why was I killing myself doing it for them?!

No one noticed.

I was righting socks for no one but myself.

Once I freed myself from that obligation, it's amazing what followed.

No more single socks waiting for a partner; turns out the boys also don't care if they are wearing two different socks in a pair.

They also don't care if they are wearing underwear or not.

Or if what they are wearing is truly clean or not.

And so - within reason - why should I?

It is truly liberating to hand control of their own lives over to the men.  It cuts down on the workload tremendously.

I sometimes wonder if we could solve all the wars in the world by just letting the men manage things on their own.  Once they ran out of socks they would find it hard to invade.

I still need to be heavily medicated - St. John's Wort DOES help - to clean the dishes.  (Ick, yuck, all that grease and food.)

But I would really miss hanging the laundry.

Friday, August 8, 2014

Washing The Dishes

Zen Master Ian

Over twenty-five years ago I browsed the campus bookshop at Cornell University and picked up a few books - on my parents' tab - that weren't in my curriculum. 

I still have most of them with me today.  Maybe I should have added them to my curriculum when I had the chance but back then I was conquering the world and only mildly interested in all this hippy shit as more of a lifestyle statement than an actual path to personal change.  What was there to change?  I was eighteen and perfect!

I have yet to understand most of them to this day.  The Vedas?  Upanishads?  Uh huh.  Good thing I ran into that Indian man (from New Jersey!) in the Atlanta Airport that day five years ago and had to spend eight hours in line with him during the snowstorm.  He directed me to a better version of the Bhagavath Gita and so at least I have a running start with that one.

What was a little white girl doing buying Indian spiritual books in Ithaca, New York twenty-five years ago when she was supposed to be studying chemistry?

And why did it take another twenty years for the universe to strand her at the airport with just the right guy to point her in the right direction?

The other book I think of most is "The Miracle of Mindfulness: An Introduction to the Practise of Meditation" by Thich Nhat Hanh.

I have only made it through the first eight pages in twenty-five years, but those pages stick with me.

Once I have mastered the simple principles outlined in them, I aim to go on to Chapter Two.

On page one Allen learns how to make all time his time by no longer dividing into time for work and time for family and time for bills and time for groceries.  He makes his time with his child count as his time.  And time spent with his wife count as his time.  So that he now has unlimited time for himself.

I get it. 

In theory.

And every now and then I even manage to make it work for me.

I think of eating the tangerine, described on page five, all the time.  Jim gets so excited talking and talking about the future that he has no idea that he has peeled and eaten a tangerine at the same time. 

It is about mindfulness and being one with the present moment and what is right in front of you.

I do try.

But this one about the dishes I really can't get my mind around at all.

"If while washing the dishes, we think only of the cup of tea that awaits us, thus hurrying to get the dishes out of the way as if they were a nuisance, then we are not 'washing the dishes to wash the dishes.'  What's more, we are not alive during the time we are washing the dishes.  In fact we are completely incapable of realising the miracle of life while standing at the sink.  If we can't wash the dishes, the chances are we won't be able to drink our tea either.  While drinking the cup of tea, we will only be thinking of other things, barely aware of the cup in our hands.  Thus we are sucked away into the future - and we are incapable of actually living one minute of life."

On one hand, this is what I am doing all the time while maniacally driving the kids around and planning their schedules and figuring out how to get two soccer matches and a dance rehearsal into one Saturday.  Before 11;00 am.  And setting up Ryan with a horse and the opportunities for a future in the equine industry.  Andrew with a possible soccer career.  Because the engineering just seems cut out for no good - why are they learning about roads and bridges?  To help the mining industry?  What about sustainable fuels and renewable energy sources?  Someone has to make batteries smaller and more practical to use.  They did it with silicon chips.  Oh - and dance, if the soccer doesn't work out. 

Ian and I go to the library and to gym time and music time to give him the best foundation to build upon for his future.

The future.  I am bound to the calendar and to the future, and am unable to live in the present.  I get that.

It's the part about the dishes that bothers me.

I don't want to be alive to do the dishes.

I agree wholeheartedly that "we are completely incapable of realising the miracle of life while standing at the sink."  Or in the kitchen at all for that matter.

I feel that I am only alive to be doing the dishes.

And I feel that there are better things I could be doing - with the kids, with my husband, for the world, for myself - than the dishes.

I get the whole living in the present thing, I really do, but I still don't see the part about obligation to the effin' dishes.

Maybe I'm not humble enough.

Maybe I have to go back and reread Chapter One. 

Problem is:  I have to go and wash the bloody dishes!




Thursday, August 7, 2014

Running Through An Airport Naked

Awww!  How bad could THIS get?!


Why is it that I think about the fact that I am having recurring dreams of being lost in airports - and of being on a crashing airplane - more than about what happens to me in my waking life?

The crashing airplane thing two nights ago was no worry, really.  I had one crash a few years back and the dream just ended and it was all grey and my dreaming mind thought: oh, that didn't hurt at all and I am in control of my dream after all and so what that I died in this one, let's see if I can get a better one going. 

Same thing with the out of control cars and the nudity.  Really.  If you just ACT like you have clothes on in your dream, no one else in your dream notices you are naked.  It's YOUR dream.  It's also why you can dance like a moron and look like a professional or breath underwater or fly.  If the car is really out of control, let it crash and start over. 

The breathing underwater thing I mastered as a kid.  You just have to focus and relax.  (Shame I haven't figured it out in the real world, yet!)

Flying took some more time.  It's a matter of getting enough height and not letting the earth drag you down.  (Look.  I SEE the parallels!  I just can't apply them, yet!)

So what about the two possums I missed crossing the road on the way to dance class a few nights ago?  Wow is that sentence full of  - dangling participles is it? 

To clarify, I didn't miss the possums.  I saw them both.  I just didn't hit them with my car.  The possums weren't on the way to dance class, I was.  Although, why did the possums cross the road?

And what does it all mean?

Did I make it clear that the possums weren't a dream?  No?  I think I had better stop with the possums.

The best - and clearest - message I got from the universe came through the post this afternoon. 

The Brisbane School of Long Distance Education sent back Ryan's artwork from last semester.  Including the giant face mask made of recycled cardboard which we told them we never really needed to see again, thank you very much, feel free to save Australian taxpayers the postage. 

My universe has a sense of humour.  I spend three hours weeding out my facebook account of unwanted clutter.  And it sends me trash.  Marked "fragile."

Maybe I can use it the next time I am running late through an airport naked.

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

The Great Purge Begins: Defragging My Facebook

Seemed like a great picture for having too much too handle!


So. I didn't have the courage to "unfriend" many people yet.  Only a handful.  People who have really made decisions in life that I can't abide by.

Most I just stopped "following."  Because I don't need to see their family photo albums or hear about what they watched on television or where they went for dinner or know what they are doing at the shopping centre on a Sunday. 

And this isn't because I don't care; it's because I don't have time to be personally involved in the lives of over 200 people living in every continent on earth except Antartica.  People I have met in my previous life as an expat, people I went to school with lifetimes ago, people I only knew for a few short years or people that just seemed really nice at the time.

Some of them I can't even be sure how I know anymore.  Who are they and how did they end up my friends?  I checked the country to be sure.  Ahah, Germany, must be English Group. 

It turned out I didn't have a lot of people on there I actively disliked.  Although there was one I just realised must have unfriended ME months ago.  Problem solved.

Most are just really kind or interesting people or people with similar skills or hobbies and interests.  Or kids with Asperger's.  Or kids the same age.

I had to keep all the family members, of course!!!

I unfollowed anyone who I was only keeping on there just in case they might help me in some way in the future, that were a good connection to have.  That is not a reason to keep tabs on someone.

And I unfollowed anyone I kept on there only to keep tabs on them, to compare, to see how their lives are going, to make sure my life is okay.

I strongly suspect this is why most people are on Facebook to begin with.

I unfollowed anyone who gave me that "not-so-good" feeling, people I was never REALLY friends with but we ran in the same social circles, people I was close to once and who then turned mean, people that I never really liked that much to begin with but felt I had to friend because they asked me to.

I unfollowed a lot of really really nice and great and interesting people too, people I just don't have the time to follow up with and whose content is just bogging me down.

I kept people with mutual interests - my old writers' groups, my new dance troupe - and true friends who are truly interested in the same things that I am.

If you read my blog, or have told me how fantastic I am recently, I kept you too! 

And already my content has changed to reflect my interests - world interests and social concerns  - rather than being a barrage of unwanted information on daily activities and suburban trip-trap.

I made that last word up.  I don't know what I mean.

All I know is that I didn't care about most of the shit that was up there before - even if it was posted by people I really liked - and now I am learning about Rita's view on the atrocities between Israel and Palestine and what Margarets thinks about representations of the Romani people.  (Or that Sharon likes my pretty dress.  That's really important too!  I need people who care about ME as well as the state of the world.)

By clearing out the clutter, I have made room for the people who post things I am actually interested in. 

I am hoping that defragging my facebook is just a small part of finding myself again, of remembering what I am really interested in and what really matters to me.  And who.  Yes, Mat, for reminding me of what's really important. 

It's part of not trying to please everyone else, of learning that not everyone needs to be my buddy, that I need to focus my energies in order for them to be effective.

Although commenting on my blog or how great I look in my dance costume really works too. 




Tuesday, August 5, 2014

I CAN'T Quit!


I meant to write about saying 'no' and about all the activities I am going to quit.  Like no more P and C (PTA) meetings.  I learn a lot but it's another two nights a month out late.  And no fundraising for either school.  I don't like to raise money, I hate fun run sponsors and chocolate drives and sausage sizzles and trivia nights and discos with a bunch of crazy sugared up kids.  I hate feeling like I have to participate for the good of the school and the good of the kids. 

What the fuck?  I am happy to pull them out and home school any time.
I am so tired of having to force myself to go out into the scheduled routine of suburban school life every afternoon. 

But then I couldn't get this picture loaded.  Which wasted an hour I wanted to write.  Also interrupted by finding a boat for Ian to play with so that he could pretend to be a dolphin swimming next to it.

Yes, he told me this.

This is after getting Damon and three boys off to school and before 8:00 am. 

Carol texts me at 8:15 that her son isn't going to school so that Andrew - who is supposed to meet her son and get a ride to dance with Carol - should just come find her on his own.  (She is at the primary school next to their high school.)

Andrew is already at school.  He HAS a mobile but he forgets to use it.

Which means the afternoon I had planned going to an Eco-Mums meeting (and- oh shit - I forgot to remind Aidan and Matthew to come find me in the meeting room after school) might turn into an afternoon trying to figure out where Andrew is.

He has hip-hop class from 4-4:45, soccer practise from 5 - 6, and another dance practise for a flash mob his crew has been asked to perform in from 5:30 - 7:30.  The flash mob takes place next Wednesday at 7:30 pm.  In Brisbane. 

Channel 10 will be filming four other flash mobs they are doing to promote the Redcliffe Festival.  Twice on Thursday nights and twice on Sunday mornings.  In the next two weeks.  All this to raise money for the trip they are taking to Melbourne in the beginning of October to compete in International Finals.  We also have a sausage sizzle, disco, and trivia night.  This month. 

For today, I have already worked out that he can't be everywhere at once and that - more importantly - I am literally making myself sick driving from Narangba to Kurwongbah to Murrumba Downs to North Lakes and then back to Murrumba and then back to North Lakes and home to Narangba.

Hence Carol helping me get him from Murrumba to North Lakes.  If he finds her.

Which allows me to get the twins back from Kurwongbah to Narangba and then rest a bit before heading back to North Lakes for Andrew.

And he can skip soccer practise and just stay and dance for 3 1/2 hours.  4:45 - 5:30 break dance.  It's almost the end of the soccer season anyway.  Thank God.

Except that God - and a good bit of talent - has made his team the number one team in the league and so they are off to finals as well.  Two more Saturday games sometime in late August, early September.   Two hours away.  Each.

They should probably practise too.  Which means Wednesdays run between North Lakes (where he dances) and Murrumba Downs (where he plays soccer) continues.  It's only 8 minutes between The Space in North Lakes and John Oxley Field in Murrumba Downs.  He changes from knee pads and dance gear to shin guards and kleats in the car. 

And then we have awards night.  Twice.  Once for the twins and once for Andrew.

Ryan dances too.    She is also dancing at the Redcliffe Festival.    And her new horse comes this morning.  Although she is happy not to compete with him at the moment.  Shit.  That's a float (trailer) to buy and more already full weekends down the drain. 

Matthew wants to play the piano.  Although school trumpet lessons have kept him and Aidan happy for now.  Plus they are free.

All three boys want to take gymnastics.  And the twins still need swimming lessons.  Next term.

They all want play dates with their friends. 

Sure guys, if you can find a friggin' date free.  STOP finding new friends!

Ian and I have Music Time on Mondays and Story Hour and Kangaroo Bop.  I like Music Time - it's in a private home - but am beginning to question why he has to go to all these other "social" activities.  Because that is what modern society - and I - have decided is right?

Who cares if he plays with kids his own age?  He prefers older kids.  Kids who can verbalise and show him new things like soccer and dance.  Not kids who can't speak yet and just come over and hit him on the head.

That's social?!

Shit.  He has all the pre reading skills of a four year old in kindergarten.  Why send him to kindergarten?  To learn social skills from a pack of brats who haven't been taught to properly behave?  So he can conform to what traditional education says is right?  So that he can succeed and achieve and become something great?  He already IS great!

He goes to the crèche at my gym on Tuesdays so I can do yoga.  But I am so mad at myself that I also thought it was good to prepare him for school. 

I missed yoga yesterday.  Can't you tell?

I can't breathe.  My throat hurts.  I just want to....

God, I want to dance.  Or play with my magic rocks.  Listen to classical music.  Read "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho again.  Write.  Do yoga.  Sit under a tree.  In silence.  Walk along the beach.

Except the horse is coming this morning.

And I have kids to hunt down this afternoon.

What is it that's important, God?  What is my true Personal Legend?  (Paolo Coelho.)

It's not that I mind all the shuttling back in forth.  It's that I have nothing left for myself.

Is all this opportunity that's on offer for the kids just blocking our true destiny?  Or is it that, as the goal comes into sight, the obstacles to achieve it become harder?

Shit, Paulo.  I can't give up now.

But I CAN quit those committee meetings and those extraneous little social obligations that are only in my mind.

I CAN quit trying to be everything.

And focus on playing with my dolphin instead of trying to train him to perform for others the way his mother does.