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Tuesday, November 3, 2015


I had a productive writing workday until 3 p.m., when I had to get Punch for the doctor, but here I am again, dragging my heels about blogging. I can't go into all of the issues with Punchy--her story is her story--but suffice it to say that I as the Mom figure in this house am caught between a rock and a hard place. This small girl has her birth mom in her life and The Powers That Be feel it's vital that she see Mom monthly for an overnight.

This creates a dichotomy for a young child and makes things very difficult around here. Defiance. Logistics. Anxiety. Stress. Divided loyalties. Divided love. The considerable contrast between us as mother figures. The behavioral bump we hit when Punch returns here. Also, the relief. That little heart and brain has to work pretty hard.

Did you see the "Steve Jobs" movie yet? That brilliant man was still grappling with being given up for adoption and then being returned, when he was a month old, because it didn't work out. 

We carry all of this with us, as my Sis said. I was not adopted, or raised by court-appointed legal guardians, so truly, I can't understand Punchmeister's predicament. I had a mother who beamed when I opened my Madame Alexander doll on Christmas morning, who walked me to kindergarten, who made dinner every night. She wasn't perfect, but she was there. I try to empathize, I try and try, but after a while it feels so heavy. We have started with a new therapist for Punchy and I am hopeful that we can find building blocks for a happy balance/happy home. 


I went to 8 a.m. yoga & meditation today and I think the quiet meditation stirs up feelings that I process after class. Such as:
  • Mother load. My heart was physically heavy with sadness when I drove by the creperie on Park Street--a dark-haired teen boy hunched over his phone while his mother looked on helplessly, unable to reach him. I have known her pain, her sense of sitting there with nothing to offer. Then, near the orthodontist's office, where two blonde beauties walked ahead, their overweight mom lagged behind, no doubt worried about the steep bills. I've walked in her worn shoes, too. And at the Japanese restaurant, when Punchy & I were seated next to a 20ish daughter and her mom--that was the best scenario. I tried not to eavesdrop but the tables were close.The mom was listening, really listening, and the daughter was sharing her feelings. This is an honest rapport I hope to emulate. [Fig and I have it to a slim degree.]
  • Capability.  I felt can-do at my keyboard. I honed sentences, distilled descriptions, researched facts and stitched together colorful images and quotes. Felt proud.
  • Shame. Maybe it was ill-advised to go to the bakery so Punch could choose her Baptism cake for Saturday--we had just been at the dr's office for 1.5 hours. Punch was rude and insulting, said she didn't like the bake shop [in front of the owner], etc. etc. The shame part is, why is my girl acting like this? Why am I a bad mother with a spoiled girl? 
  • Fear. There is much I cannot control in my life--especially the life of my young adult child. And my response to that is to jump 10 spaces ahead on the board to fear, paralyzing fear. It's a chair with open arms, always ready to take me in. But I would rather stand on my own two feet and face life's journey as it comes. Face it squarely and bravely. Be flexible and open.
Good night to you.

  1. The yoga class. [Thank you, teacher Julie Harris.]
  2. Had green tea with dinner.
  3. Lots of ice water.
  4. About to take bath.


  1. Alice, you are juggling so much and you have such a good heart. Peace. Love, Lin