with these hands

There is something beautiful about working with your hands...

and creating something out of nothing...

Moving Up in the Dojo

KIHOP... NECK CHOP... KNIFE HAND... BLOCK... KICK... DOUBLE PUNCH...
AND THEN... BREAK BOARD... SPARE... THROW COMBINATIONS...
... "I'LL GIVE YOU PASS!"... GREEN BELT, BLUE TIP EARNED.
CONGRATULATIONS CHI, MOMMY'S SO PROUD.

NINE

She loves art: painting, drawing, cartooning.
She cringes at pink, but humors me when it comes to matching for the family portrait.
She desperately wonders why she doesn't know her two sisters - why they speak another language that is as foreign as their personalities are to her.
She laughs and her eyes squeeze shut, her brows bunch and her mouth spreads wide in smile.
She makes pronouncements, merely smaller mentions of her talks with God that often become reality.
She understands far more than her 3650 days seem capable of.
She cares deeply for everyone, often sacrificing her own wants to appease someone else's.
She believes fiercely in Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, and in her Mom's ability to conjure up each or dismiss them should her behavior merit it.
She loves her Daddy despite the distance and time that separates them.
She devotes herself to faith, believing in the parables, the fortunes, the revelations all.
She hopes for easier times, greater financial security, and stressless homecomings.
She accepts everyone regardless of their faults or shortcomings.
She adapts to changes however frequent.
She craves purple and finds it pretty.
She rocks it out and belts her tunes.
She plays hard.
She smiles pretty.
She knows much.
She is NINE.

It's our anniversary, Chi

My baby girl is NINE. There's now no denying that she is really a preteen -- growing up (and into herself) before my eyes.

I think every mom views this change in a series of spurts, but in the cob webs of recollection, it's remembered as a "blink of an eye" transformation. My baby isn't one...

She's her own person now. She functions within her own carefully guarded world independently and I am but a bystander gawking at her life. Is this what it means to live vicariously throught a child? I selfishly celebrate her triumphs, and there have been many this past year.

Ever desiring to be an artist, Chi has located her long since discarded sketchbooks. When thrown a curveball at school [and I admit that I don't follow baseball, so this metaphor...] she held her bat at ready and hit a homerun. "I have to apply for art club this year," she told me. And she presented a quickly sketched 'application portfolio' self portrait. Though discouraged when I bluntly told her she needed a stronger effort on her piece, she turned out a masterpiece. We actually worked side by side using a photo of her as a model for the portrait. And, as I'd already known, she realized she was a sight artist. She's pursued her art with more fervour now than ever before. She's one of only twenty selected for the now-exclusive art club.

She also managed to earn herself a brick at our elementary school - - making the legacy of us permanent (because my own mark with stylizing the mascot in a yearbook cover contest has long since faded). And though she has struggled with the intensified expectations and work load of fourth grade study, she is an A-B Honor Roll Student. My one regret here is that her teacher fears me (she actually told me this!) as the evil demanding mother who e-mailed her that "a C is average and she will not be." Yes, I set the standards high, and Chi has met them.

In Tae Kwon Do - a sport she has firmly disliked since month three of our 24-month contract - she is ready to test for her blue tip. She's already a green belt and was only expected to make it to blue by the time our contract expires in July. I'm impressed, because the rigor and demand of her Master is beyond that the average adult would tolerate and she accepts his heavily-accented torment with a strength I envy.

Frankly, I think my baby girl is amazing. She continues to thrive in every situation. She is a charming young lady with a sensitive heart and an empathy towards others that I find rare. If ever I wonder what God's plan is, I know He's got a good one. How else would He have matched me to her just when I needed her most? You see, she is my strength and my comfort.

It's our anniversary as a family - - her ninth birthday and my celebration of the greatest gift given to me.

Chi: Warrior Princess

In 2008, she decided that faeries were cool - - Autumn faeries, that is. So we spent way too much on a set of wings, a glimmering crown, and a flowing skirt. She quickly tired of correcting candy givers of what she was,and was terribly cold in the thin garment (despite being shielded by a totally clashing turtle neck and sweat pants).

Halloween 2009 was the year of the foiled fairy tale. She was Little Red Riding Hood, but she was toothed and dangerous. Clenching down on would-be wolves with her vampire teeth, she was no innocent little lass on the way to Oma's house.

By 2010, Chi had decided that the Renaissance women had it right: flowing gowns with rich layers of fabrics in satin and lace were ideal for cold nights. She selected a Juliet gown and was a beautiful royal for the occassion.

This year, however, Chi is no sweet princess. With her spunk, her effervescent personality, and her newfound confidence, she needed a costume that made her strength known.

An impetuous trip to the local dollar store turned up treasures just perfect for our purpose. A breast plate, metal gloves, and a hatchet conjured instant visions of a warrior. We bought the supplies right then. Add a leather-esque skirting (made by Oma because though Mommy can cut, she cannot sew) and an actress, and you've got Chi: Warrior Princess

We didn't finish the costume in time for a full photo shoot like last year, but we found a neighbor's unkempt bush to be a good make shift background for Chi's World's Next Top Model session. We quickly tossled her hair and completed the look with black boots and leggings.

She channeled her fierce and posed. And she told me later, as we selected her favorite images from our shoot, that she "needs" someone to chase after her begging for an autograph for her to feel she's reached the zenith of her life. Now I don't think she's decided to be an actress or a model, but maybe the spotlight is calling her to that career.

Shared with Sweet Shot Tuesday!

Mama's {sweet} 4th Grade Diva

Sweet Shot Tuesday:
[caption id="attachment_1281" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Texture Tuesday's theme is LOVE... and do I ever love this little lass. (Edited with two layers of KK's 'Fall In')"][/caption]

She told me today that she's single:
her relationship fell victim to wandering eyes and cheating heart.
She's not upset.
Young attraction - but not love.
It lasted ages in elementary romance realms.
She insists it was his cute, round face that made him appealing.
The girl he was caught flirting with?
Not interested.
And she, apparently, is not the lying type.
So boyfriend (who is still dreamy) was dropped like a call.
Unphased, baby girl is moving forward.
She's only in Fourth Grade, afterall.
No need to be tied down.
[And hey, Mama's a single gal, too.
So it can't be all bad.]
Her focus? On school. On her art. On herself.
As it should be.
There'll be plenty of other boys vyying for attention.
And she, my diva, will be wise enough to choose well.
She's too valuable a treasure, too great a prize.
There are years of life ahead.
This break up is just one experience to toss into the folder,
and file away.

Also shared with Communal Global.

Scavenger Hunt Sunday: Remember

Bokeh

With all the rain we've had lately, there is no shortage of fungus among us...

Statues

I was thinking I'd play with this theme a bit - - show a stationary person looking quite "statuesque." But on a trip to Alexandria recently, I saw this head dressed Indian statue standing in front of a smoke shop. Something about it was equally offensive and intriguing. The stoic Native American depicted in a stereotypical style meant to be a carved work of art was posted in the doorway in what I'd hardly deem good taste. And yet...

Flying High


Process of Elimination:Exploring with Camera
Chi, like her Oma, has a thing for hats... so no one was surprised when she stole one of Oma's to wear on a walk today. She's at that age - - that in between youth and young adult stage when her personality is firming and her privacy is paramount. She's developed her own style. She sneaks away consumed in her intimate, personal thoughts. And while she adores the closeness of family, she cherishes her freedom to be alone.

These days I'm torn about writing about her. She's old enough to tell me what cannot be shared and young enough to feel sharp pangs of jealousy when the focus shifts too far away from her. It's easy to write about Ya. And Chi? Well, I'm starting to think she has a right to tell her own story.

Remember: Paper Heart Camera prompt
Today is the anniversary of Nine Eleven. Ten years ago I was sitting in Ike's car. My weekend bag was thrown on the back seat and I was excited to live it up in Lake Tahoe at a science conference. At 22 years old, I believed in the absolute safety of US soil. No one could touch us - - and I had a long family history of servicemen who'd vowed to protect us at all cost.

When the announcer interrupted the song I was happily bouncing to as I belted out off key lyrics and lamented the terrible California drivers, I thought we'd fallen victim to some War of the Worlds radio hoax. I wracked my brain to recall what buildings they were talking about. The Twin Towers - those two silver slivers that touched the sky - were burning. Something had struck them. A bomb? No, a plane. Make that two planes. They were crumbling. Collapsing upon themselves and sending up great billowing clouds of debris. A fog covered the City That Never Sleeps. And people were in panic. I couldn't allow myself to believe what I'd heard. I mumbled incoherently. I insisted I'd go teach my class and head out to cover the conference as planned.

Ike dropped me off at Burger King and wished me a good weekend. I walked into the building where people seemed to operate in a surreal sort of trance. Time had stopped. Though people were placing orders, as did I, no one was talking. There was none of the usual cacophony of public eateries. Every television was on, and from the five or so sets we - the patrons - watched in horror the replay of the Tower's demise. Strangers though we were, we sat huddled in arbitrary groupings oblivious of socioeconomics, heritage, and age. Tears. Uncontrollable sobs. Hugs from anonymous neighbors.

On the T.V., the images appeared in flickers, an endless slideshow. Or was it live footage? My mind fought to process. The Pentagon. Burning. Firemen. People. Smoke. Falling. Jumping. Blue skies now gray. Police. A ticker tape of close captioning.

I have to call my parents. I have to call my family in New York. Who works in the city? Are my parents, brother safe so close to DC? Is San Francisco a target? I dialed numbers on my cell. Dial tone. Beep. Beep. Beep. Busy. Please wait while the subscriber you called is located... I dialed again. The phone line dead. No service...

I remember praying. I remember fear. I remember wonder. I remember innocence. I remember sorrow. I remember strength. I remember brotherhood. I remember unity. I remember vows. I remember healing.

We will never forget.

All in stitches

Casualty of War?

I wish I could say we got to see one amazing sparring match and that Chi was the victor... but this injury wasn't the result of a match. Nope, class hadn't even started when Chi collided with another student. He has a golf-ball sized bump on his forehead, and Chi? Well, she cut her eye just below the brow.

I was outside the building when it happened (again, class had not started). I walked in to see my baby covered - yes, covered - in blood. Her eye was swollen, she was crying, and her whole body quivered in shock. It took forever for someone to get ice. The bleeding would not stop. It took everything in my being to avoid freaking out. I admit that I might have freaked out in my head and subsequently gone into a state of shock. Master was convinced we'd be okay without stitches, but I sought advice from Oma who insisted we go to emergency.

We ended up, instead, at Urgent Care (a subsidiary of the hospital system), and the very nice doctor insisted we consider the cosmetic damage to my daughter's face should we let nature heal her without assistance. Dr. J determined sutures were the optimum fix, but Chi determined no needle would touch her face. He obliged her fears by trying to close up the gaping slit with medical tape. It didn't look at all effective. I determined (on his almost adamant suggestion) that stitches were the only viable option to restore my baby's face to pre-accident conditions. Chi protested.

I think my mind is blocking out the ensuing battle. Chi was told to lay on the hospital bed. She did, but then proceeded to loose grip with sanity. Her body writhed on the table, her head thrashed from side to side, and she began to shake as tears streamed from her eyes. I think she might have screamed... more than once. She began a verbal tirade that was painful to hear. She was in absolute panic.

Dr. J proceeded to administer the numbing shot around Chi's eye calmly countering her shouts with his soothing voice. "I won't lie," he said. "This will sting. There's no way to get around it. But, you wont feel anything after it." Despite the anesthetic completely eliminating all feeling for Chi, she still insisted that she was in searing pain. The soft towelette used to absorb the ooze (that made me queasy enough to need to lean on the gurney for support) caused Chi to thrust her torso up as she tried in vain to flee. "No needles. No! I've changed my mind. Just let me have the scar. No needles!" she screamed.

At this point, my mom tried to escape from the lobby. She heard Chi through the thin walls. Feeling helpless, she could not bear to be in the vicinity. Unfortunately, the hour was drawing late as Chi struggled against the doctor, and the receptionist had locked Oma inside.

Dr. J was patient long after I, too, had decided to forgo the stitches. Clearly Chi was not going to allow him to touch her and I could not bear him trying to get a needle anywhere near her delicate eye while she was convulsing and thrashing uncontrollably. He persevered, however, and the nurse held her kicking legs while I stroked her face and leaned against her arms. I demanded she close her eyes and chanted "Close your eyes. Relax. Calm down, Chi." Over and over.

Chi began her own chant. "Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts." And just as I thought she'd calmed enough for a safe process, she thrashed one last time and hollered, "I have no happy thoughts!"

At this point, I can only assume mental exhaustion set in. She settled her body then and mumbled at random: "I'm going to college... I'm getting a scholarship... All A's... A red car... I'm going to be an artist..."

I inquired, "What kind of car, Chi?" The nurse added, "I have a red car."

She continued to rattle off her life list and anything else that popped into her head as she tried to self-soothe her fears away.

Despite my churning stomach, I forced myself to watch as he threaded the curved needle, punctured her skin and weaved the three black stitches near her brow. The scissor like tool he used to knot each suture clicked as he worked. The minutes ticked away slowly. Then, finally, he inspected his handy work as he wiped her brow. He nodded his head. "You were smart to get the sutures," he said to Chi and she opened her eyes.

"Did he start yet?" she asked nonchalantly as though we'd simply been standing around staring at her. "I didn't feel anything. All I hear is clicking."

The nurse chuckled (silently, so as not to make fun of Chi, but her shoulders shook and the bright smile told of her amusement.

And as Chi climbed down from the bed, Dr. J said in an aside, "You'll want to come back in five to seven days to have them removed, Mom."

It felt like a terrible phone call from the "Ring:"

SEVEN DAYS... dial tone....

Leading me...

 

I thought I'd shared this series before... perhaps I did, as memory fades quick these days. 

You're not one to enjoy my many requests for "modeling services."  I chock it up to eight long years of being my beautiful muse - the object of my camera's affection and my very best creation. 

You see your outfit?  I complained (or, more likely, yelled) about the long sleeves - and hood - of your shirt and the heavy denim of your jeans.  We were, afterall, in a North Carolina heat wave despite it only being Memorial Day in May and not yet summer.  I tell you, they have crazy hot days in the south!  I digress.
 

You elected to wear the outfit despite my complaining because it was your assertion of independence.  So what if you sweated heavily and were uncomfortable?  You were being you exactly as you'd determined to be.  I like your independence.  Your spunk.  Don't mistake my grumbling for disapproval. 

Mothers have to guide, but they cannot - should not - control.  Just like the train tracks lead locomotives to their next destination, you are leading me on this motherhood path.  I am forever greatful of your efforts as the first child.  I know firsthand that that is a burden.  It is no easy task to train a person into being a decent parent.  You do it well. I only hope you consider me a good student...

"MOMMY GONE TOO BIG"

That's what he said to Oma on Wednesday about my first extended absence since Chi was born in 2002.  Yes, it's been that long since I've planned, arranged, and followed through with a trip of any kind that would pull me away from my children.

And it was hard.  Hard to be away and enjoy the surreal experience that was Furious Flower #3. Hard to be selfish for an entire week and focus on myself and my art.  Hard to think about the possibility that my kids didn't really need me as much as I pretend they do.  Hard.

When you're the 24-7 parent like I am, relinquishing control over your babies is just not something lightly done.  Sure, I can leave them for a few hours while I take a class or report to some child-not-allowed meeting or something, but I've tried really hard to be there at every goodnight and every good morning - - even if they're not awake when I get home to say it.

But, we survived the week.  I didn't call everyday.  And no one answered the phone the few times I did call.  Chi phoned me at some point to give me the report that all was well. (Ya doing well without nightnights, she's enjoying the week at Oma's work).  I got a few check in text messages, and sobbed when I saw the one informing me that Ya whispered "Mommy gone too big."  Yes, I'm a sap.

When I surprised Chi with my homecoming (despite assuring her I'd be home Saturday), she jumped into my arms.  This was no small feat considering she is nearly my height.  She then rushed me to the computer lab, switched on YouTube (Bruno Mars: Just the way you are) and proceeded to seranade me with the song she'd obviously been practicing for awhile.  I, of course, cried my eyes out.

So often they remind me that I'm not worthy of such awesome children.  How'd I get to be so lucky?

Yadon - who was out walking the dogs when I arrived - came home shortly after.  He was asleep when Oma walked him in.  And when he woke up, I was certain I'd have an awesome hug and a smiling face.  Instead, he punched me.  Several times.  Welcome home, Mommy.

I.H.F.: Vivid and Bright

A bright smile. A bright child. A bright future.

Colorful gloves. Vibrant love.

Purple tough. Black rough.

Yellow shy.

Teal appeal.

She's the real deal.

Spirit shines.

Glad she's mine.



Hunting Photos

Long exposure

Apparently, my exposure was a bit too long to completely freeze this little guy sharply.  Maybe next time I'll shutter-click faster.

Shapes




The shape of success is a diamond... it's affixed to an oval... and it sits atop the heads of our graduates.  I've got graduation on my mind.  This year, Class of 2011, included my "kids" from the years I had four 9th grade and one 10th grade class followed by one 9th and four 10th.  Basically, this meant that many of them had a double dose of me. When you have them as newbies, they tend to sever their attachments in their upperclass years.  And yet this class, these students, were especially special.   I've never had so many hugs and gotten so many smiles - little thank yous that encourage me to keep going, keep teaching, keep pushing my students to present their very best.  Bravo, my kids, well done! And now, make me even prouder.

Green

I went on a bug and plant safari mission this morning alongside the busy four lane road near my parents' home.  Mom and my kids walked ahead of me in search of elusive wild berries she'd seen on a dog walk some days prior.  And as I was concentrating solely on the greenery growing free a few feet from the sidewalk, the distance between my favorite trio and I quickly expanded.  I crouched close to the ground with my Macro lens ready to aim and fire off a dozen shots at the first interesting thing my eyes caught sight of. There was little danger of mortal injury or heartache (though bug bites and poisonous plants might cause a little discomfort), and yet my pulse raced and I had to react quick to even the slightest varients in the landscape to get my target. 


Anyway, this plant didn't require quick reflexes or skill.  I just happened to be looking for something with intrigue, and there it was.


Nearby, and all smiles, was this half inch jumper. He didn't find me a threat and stayed atop his leaf the entire time I composed and clicked around him.

Fruit
I guess I should've followed my gut and ventured to the farmer's market in search of fruit... then I'd have gotten a great shot of watermelon, apples, or strawberries.  I see the vibrant colors in my head.


Maybe next week.

Childhood Memory


Remember those gloves with the fingers cut out?  So cool, so hype, so rad.  I suppose they're back.  Chi separated her two tone winter gloves and is rocking a style of the too hype Eighties. And she looks good doing it.  Now, if I look at photos of me in similar style, I wonder how I ever thought I was fly. Biker shorts, tube socks, high tops, fluffed backward bangs, and color-blocked shirts (of the late 80s and early 90s) - it was totally in when I was Chi's age.  Fashion sure does run a circular path!

All Star

It's been one of those "in a blur" kind of years.

For much of the first semester of school, we were busy Monday-Friday until night fall with sports and my second teaching gig.  There was little time to open backpacks and check homework.  Our en route to wherever conversations became my tiny parenting a school-goer effort.  My e-mails to her teacher were how I showed I was "being involved" (so much for keeping active in the PTA). And when all was considered, I felt I was failing to be a part of something so profoundly important to my child's future success.

Thank God for her. 

In spite of my many short comings in the parenting experiment (practice?), she thrives.  She's one of those amazing kids that just does what she's expected to do academically.  Now, I've never seen her volunteer to do homework, but she's quick to pick up a book to read and she obviously is an expert at using her time in class wisely (now that her desk is backwards - at my suggestion - so she can't fiddle with the interesting little tiny trinketts she adores). 

And it's been engrained in her head that she is brilliant.  I create genius, you know?  At least I'll tell her that, because it means that she is determined to display said genius and is accutely conscious of her grades.   She also knows her mama is poor and a well-meaning, forward-thinking counselor at her school implemented a "Kindergarten to College" program during which someone said straight "A"s get you a college scholarship and Chi is terrified that anything less would mean she won't go.

And get those straight "A"s is exactly what she did.  Her's is a school that awards excellence.  So, in a crowded room of ultra proud parents and extended families, a ceremony was held to honor the cummulative  Honor Roll students for 2010-2011.  And Chi was presented as a "Walk of All Stars" recipient.  She's now a permanent fixture in the school's history.

To say I'm proud of her is an understatement.  This is her achievement, and her's alone.  I want to scream it from the roof tops, brag to anyone who will listen. She did it. She's amazing.  She's mine.

And I absolutely am blessed to be part of her life.