It is finally here, maybe to stay. Cooler temps, low humidity. Clear skies and bright sunshine illuminate the beautiful autumn hues that dance on the boughs of each tree limb.

School routines. Christopher Columbus. Changing wardrobe wears to thicker, more lucious fabrics. Knitting in wool. Flu shots. And new ideas about new learning, new adventures, and new seasons.

For school.

For cozy reading.

For warmth.

Here is to a Happy Fall day!

This is a photo of what happens to Pie Pie when he has experienced his share of a “face paced world.”  

As I grow older, and as the seasons come and go, I swear I can feel the earth turning more swiftly. It was a very bland afternoon sitting in my junior high school English class when I first felt time start to shift. I remember looking at the clock and the hands had jumped. The bell rang and class was over. It’s was like those blinks of sleep you get as a mother of an infant. First the head lays on the soft pillow and your eyes close. Just for a moment. In the next instant your eyes fly wide open and the clock’s numbers must by lying to you. How can that instant have spanned two and a half hours?

iPhones, iPads, on Demand, Twitter and Facebook posts all point to the accelerator. Instant updates. Instant information. Instant connections. Instant gratification. I try not to give into the instant all around us. Instant coffee. Instant pudding. But it all seems like a slippery slope.

Recently the iPhone got me. I was very happy with my five-year-old flip phone. But with a 12 hour commute each week, and limited time in front of a computer that plugs into a wall, I needed a way to keep up. (Wow, that sounds depressing.) E-mailing about our pre-school co-op, resolving dental issues (which is another post all to itself), keeping in touch with friends and family, and starting a business all keep me tied to the phone and the Internet. These techno fingers long for the slow smoothness of soft yarns and bamboo knitting needles. My tired eyes long for the slow tracing, pinning and stitching of a sewing project well deserved.

For now, I think a prayer and rememberance is taking me through this. Just remembering to slow-down a bit is the first step, and perhaps is the biggest.

These days I have a new overlay of complexity in my life. It started like a small weed, poking its tepid green shoots from the soil. “You might have to get a dental procedure done. Let’s check that x-ray.”

Then the weed began to grow. Slowly but with conviction. Twisting it’s way toward the sky that weed sends out new buds that transform into sturdy leaves. Roots descending take hold of the best nature has to offer. “It looks like that rather large cavity is in the baby tooth. Since you’ll probably lose that tooth at some point, it looks like you might need to have that pulled now and an implant put in.”

Then that weed starts to flower and grow seeds to extend its life and legacy. Those seeds will dry and one day blow into the wind planting hundreds of plants. Horrifying miraculous multiplication. “Since you are nursing your baby, please check with your doctor as to what anesthetic you’ll be able to take.” Extreme complexity takes hold.

Calls to the OB, the pediatrician, another one to the dentist, to the lactation consultant, and to our insurance and finally spit out a single answer. “Use lidocaine.” “You don’t need to pump and save milk before hand.” “You don’t need to pump and dump afterward.” “You don’t need to pay $35 for this initial lactation consult and then more money later when the doctors ask more questions.” “You don’t need to add a breast pump to the cost of this procedure.” “And no, your insurance doesn’t cover a cent of this multi thousand dollar surgery and restoration.”

I found out that I needed this implant last Friday. I am no lay-down and take the pain kind of person. I am a get up and run like heck the other way to avoid anything that might possibly induce pain kind of person. (Don’t ask how I managed to give birth to three singletons.)

The other night I dreamed that I was at a medical conference and an older dentist was showing the results of this procedure on a three foot tall silicon tooth and gum sculpture. It was black and horrid with gleaming silver sutures and a titanium post that screwed down into the jaw bone below. I think I will remember that dream image for the rest of my life.

I’ve cried. I’ve had sympathy pains. I’ve lost sleep. I’ve had nightmares. I’ve felt my adrenaline course up and down my body. I’ve prayed too many “Hail Mary’s” to count. Okay, I am a little freaked out this procedure.

The final phone call to our pediatrician that gave me the green light also gave me a little bolster of confidence. The nurse on the other end said that her sister, who is phobic of all things medical, got through this same procedure without any mental trauma. With a glimmer of home, I thought, maybe I could do that too.

Sometimes God pushes me to the limit. I was getting to the end of my rope come the ninth phone call. I was worrying about my current milk supply because of being stressed out. I was worrying about early weaning because Pie Pie has never had a bottle. I am still worried about the pain, the emotional trauma, and the recovery. But I know that God was with me through this process. And I know that He will be with me as I continue down this path. It is His way of saying I know you. I love you for who you are. I am teaching you because you mean so much to me. I just wish sometimes it didn’t have to be so difficult and sometimes scary.

I just need a little space to vent. I don’t usually do this in writing, simply because I like doing other relaxing measures rather than moving my fingers at lighting speed over the keyboard. But I just need a little room here.

*Driving 15 hours this first week of school to drop off small peoples at their respective schools and pick them up again has me going out of my mind.

*Learning the ins and outs of co-op volunteering at a new school has me going out of my mind.

*Trying to keep enough protein and not too many sugary snacks in the fridge to keep up my energy has me going out of my mind. (And it has me baking chicken breasts at all different hours of the day. I feel like a chipmunk preparing food for winter.)

*Remembering dinner time is nearing at 4:15 PM when I am in the car, in traffic, headed home with three tired kids in the car, and wondering which take out menu to grab has me going out of my mind.

*Putting together Little Miss’ first pre-school parent education talk, which is a panel talk no less, has me going out of my mind, and tied to e-mail, the phone, the answering machine, and writing messages at 11 PM at night to potential speakers who are on vacation.

*Figuring out how to manage to get a second vehicle into our lives has me going out of my mind.

*Calculating how many extra hours I need to add to my commute to accommodate the Presidential motorcade has me going out of my mind. (I thought I didn’t have to worry anymore about the President of the United States messing up my commute when I moved out of the District.)

*As the air turns cooler and the leaves are striking out in amber and rust, having itchy knitting fingers and no time to knit, has me go out of my mind (while enjoying the early foliage.)

*Packing lunches that Mini Mister might actually eat is making me go out of my mind. (People at school must think he is a fruit-avore because that is virtually all I pack for him.)

*Seeing my sewing machine on the side table patiently waiting to be used again has me going out of my mind.

*And I must be going out of my mind because I just volunteered to help out with Mini Mister’s lunch hour two Tuesdays a month. And I need to get a TB screening and a volunteer training on Monday before I start in the classroom Tuesday.

What was I thinking?

I made it through the first week. I didn’t make dinner a single night. The laundry I usually put away on Tuesday is sitting in the washer, wet, and it was Friday.

Let go. Breath deep. Vent a little. Nourish the body with healthy foods and plenty of water. Pray…a lot. (I am not doing this alone.) Thank my husband for his support. Remember that the kids are so very important and shouldn’t ever be lost in the shuffle. And savour the small accomplishments.

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

Head on over to Soulemama to see other special moments!

So much water. So much rain here in northern Virginia. No school because of the rain! Flooding everywhere. Feeling blessed to be warm (or cool rather) and dry inside our home. Feeling grateful for a calm, relaxed morning in pajamas. Feeling thankful that Little Miss got her rain boots in the mail just in time to jump in some “muddy puddles.” (We are big fans of Peppa Pig here.)

Feeling somber rememberance and praying for all those touched by the tragedies of September 11th 10 years ago. May you have a safe blessed weekend.