I will tomorrow if I have time. But there was a big thing supposed to happen this weekend and I found out last night sometime after midnight that it wasn’t happening. All that angst for nothing!

I tell you — family of origin stuff? A person needs a therapist on speed dial to get through the hard parts. Unfortunately I haven’t seen my therapist in (thinking thinking …) six or seven years. But when things are hard I still have to ask myself, “What would Barbara tell me????” She’s my go-to imaginary girl.

My therapist was my mom’s therapist first so by the time I got there she already knew our whole family history — and a convoluted history it is. Then I saw her again when I was resolving our infertility. I carry her with her in a little pocket of transference in my heart. Barbara reminded me of my mother. Other people who remind me of my mother: Becca and Julia. Also my old co-worker Jamie. Why? Because they’re bossy and confident, as is my mother. None of ‘em are that much older than I am but they are older and this is part of it, too.

Another person who reminds me of my mother: Carol Burnett. I have no idea if she’s bossy but her coloring is very similar as is her figure and she has a big mouth. My mom is LOUD. (That’s where I get it.)

On the long ride to the airport, the long wait at the airport and the long ride home, Noah and I talked about all the family stuff swirling around my (and so his) head. As you all know, I’m all about being honest with my kids about relationship stuff so he asked questions about the family of origin issues and I answered as honest as I could, without blaming. I’m not mad at my dad anymore but I will always be heartbroken. There’s just no fixing things that happened a long time ago and we all have to live with the consequences. It makes me think a lot about primal wounds and reunions gone bad and all the heartache that comes through adoption, too. Noah and I talked about some of that as well because he had some questions.

So this week when the coast is clear, I’m hoping to get down some of my feelings about my own family stuff and how this gives me insight into Madison’s family stuff (although I rush to add that I’m not saying she’ll experience her situation the way I’ve experienced mine). It’s given me a lot to think about.

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I was thinking today about how Pennie and I have some similar stuff in our families of origin. And I was thinking about how both of us want to protect Madison from having the same sorrow and struggles that we have had but instead in some ways we’re perpetuating patterns.

I remember reading somewhere that the children of holocaust survivors remember their parents’ memories even if their parents kept the concentration camp stories from them. The children have nightmares that are eerily similar to what their parents experienced.

I think about this as the child of an abuse survivor and I think about this when I look at my kids. Sometimes I think that the best we can do is inch forward every generation. Maybe the most we can do is give our kids just a little bit more of a fighting chance.

This isn’t to be all doom and gloom. I think part of our collective problem is that we think there’s a finish line, a place where we can stop and simply smell the roses. But the truth is, life is a series of challenges and of questions and of grief and of joy. It’s ever-changing, ever-moving; it’s always something.

I’m feeling low-down saggy and rag-tag-baggy and blue today. But I know next week will be better. (Some weekend stuff to get through — it’ll all make sense when I get to post it.)

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But around here Thursday means go-go-go. Thursday is the day that makes me love my freelance lifestye. Thursday is the day where Brett is thrilled not to have a “real” job. Thursday is park day and evening with friends day and the day my kids hang with the community that’s known them almost as long as we have.

Ahh, Thursdays!!!

But Thursdays are also stressful because there’s work to do first and snacks to pack and a dinner to plan on the run. And it makes for a late night, which can make Fridays a bit of a bear but is it worth it? Yes, indeed it is.

I had a rant to write but a good night’s sleep and Thursday put me in too good a mood to really get down and crank on the world. Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up less happy but for today? THURSDAY! And off we go!

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It’s not my carpal tunnel stuff — it’s my wrenched neck stuff. I need to go upstairs and stretch but the boys (Noah has a friend over) are playing hideous video games and the noise might drive me insane. So instead I’m downloading neo soul music and trying to be mellow.

For the first time in two weeks I got my inbox below 50 (it’s currently at 21). My rule is to keep my gmail inbox to one page at all times. At least that’s the goal and some days I’m more succesful at it than others. This summer I’ve made it my mission to unsubscribe from 1 point 6 zillion lists and newsletters that I somehow subscribed to and am sick of deleting.

I’ve been feeling low-grade anxious/fidgety all week and today my coping mechanisms didn’t seem to be working all that well. I think I need a hobby. I mean, besides downloading music. And no, I’m not going to take up knitting. God forbid I should do anything requiring small motor skills especially with this carpal tunnel thing. Plus I hate small, poky, fussy things that require me to pay attention to details. Ugh. No. Although I admire you small motor people, I have no desire to join you.

I don’t know why it is but complaining on my blog has cheered me up some. My hands are still numb but at least I’m less grouchy about it.

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Madison plays with things weirdly. She takes things apart and uses them upside down. She uses half of something and leaves the other half alone. She takes dry things into water and finds ways to use water things on dry land. She unstrings necklaces. She uses hats as baby carriers. She puts a puzzle together once then uses the pieces as money for another game.

This is a far cry from Noah. With Noah we used to have to hide the boxes his toys came in because he’d take one look at the kid playing on the front and tell us that this was the only way to play it. The boat had to hook up to the car because, see? That’s how the picture did it. But Madison is always willing to find a brand new way to make her play fun.

I love this creativity in her. At least now I do. I had to practice not correcting her or bugging her to let me show her the “right” way to do something. I worried about missing pieces and the way her toys get put away in a system that only makes sense to her. But see, I believe that toys are all about playing, right? So who am I to say how she should play? If she’d rather use her puzzle pieces as coins when she goes “shopping” then what do I care if she’s not putting them away in the box and instead sticking them in her cash register? Isn’t that where puzzle pieces ought to go if they’re being used as coins?

The only place I set limits is that books are books. We don’t draw in them or use them as building blocks or rip out the pages. Fortunately Madison has never had to be told this past her babyhood because she has as much respect for her books as I do. But everything else is fair game. This means that she makes some of her things — like a particular doll now sporting ballpoint pen decoration — prettier with stickers and markers. It means that her memory card game became crackers that she served to me for tea.

Letting go of my kids’ play has been a lesson I’ve had to learn more than once. From Noah’s first gun to our dismantled preschool games courtesy of Madison, I’ve had to remind myself that play is children’s work and that my kids deserve the same respect for their work that I want for my own.

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