back to school

(Moriah's first day of "school;" posing at home before starting daycare the day after Labor Day)

In the last three weeks, Team Winchell has returned to school. Jason's begun his second year of teaching in the math department of a nearby high school. Orilus has moved to the top of the junior high (grade 8) and become a Junior Varsity starter in soccer (and an amazing defenseman). (True confessions: he's finally good enough that I actually enjoy watching him play). Jackson has moved from the upper elementary school and joined his brother at the junior high (grade 7), a transition he handled very well. He seems MUCH happier with his school life this year, and he's playing JV soccer this season, too, though not as frequently as his brother.

It's also been a big fall for Moriah and me. I applied for, was offered, and accepted a full-time professorship at a community college about 10 minutes from my front door. I'm an English professor now, teaching 5 writing courses (Composition I & II), which means a LOT of paper reading and grading. I'm enjoying the job very much; the faculty there are amazing, and brilliant, and happy, and a ton of fun. Of course, this has meant that Moriah and I are not home together every day any more; she's started attending a family-run daycare here in our town. As you can imagine, she LOVES it. She has friends now, and structure, and a lot to DO...painting, and outdoor play, and circle time, and singing. As much as I miss her (I really do), I am happy for this transition in her life and readily acknowledge that as she was growing older, she was needing some folks specially-trained (and really in love with) early childhood development. That doesn't describe me; I've done well keeping my wits about me after 2 years of staying at home. My schedule has more flexibility than a high school schedule; I have an office (so fun!) but besides a few office hours a week, I'm not required to be on campus other than for teaching or other faculty meetings/committees. So far, I'm pretty much there M-F from 8-2. But in the bigger picture, when I think about the number of days I actually work a year (even less than the 180 of a high school teacher), it's not a bad gig...it means I'm home with Moriah 1/2 of the year, really. Very cool.


Moriah is definitely in the terrible twos. She's got a strong will and a fiery independence (hm, I wonder from which parent she got THAT from...a double dose of strong will for sure!). Since she's not saying any words, this can be frustrating, because she dissolves into yelling or tears, forgetting completely to use her sign to ask for what she needs or wants. She does, however, understand the logic of the "time out," and sits until she is ready to apologize (she signs "sorry" and then gives hugs). In some ways, this is SO typical of a two-year-old, I know. In other ways, it's not; moms with typical kids don't worry as much about health and mental capacity as I do, I don't think. For me, I find I really have to fight the worry that she is growing into a behavioral disorder or other special need. So many of the kids with DS I know have an additional diagnosis (ADD, ADHD, oppositional, autism, and so on)...definitely bucking the "kids with Down syndrome are always so happy" stereotype. In addition, Moriah seems very "behind" her friends with DS. I'm realizing that she is not progressing as many of the other kids with DS are, and that this has been the case for some time. This brings up another fear--that of her being "really" disabled the rest of her life. I think, like most parents with a kid with a disability, I harbor a sort of "my-kid-will-be-one-of-the-smart-ones-with-DS" hope, a sort of talisman to keep the fear of a truly challenged (read: challenging) child at bay. These last 2 weeks I find I'm dealing with those 2 fears--the fear of additional diagnosis, the fear that she is really not "high" on the spectrum for kids with DS--and trying hard to come to terms with the sadness. Trying, as strange as it may sound, to accept Moriah again for who she is, and to let who she is today be just that--today.

Even through the sadness, I am overwhelmingly grateful. Yesterday, for example, I felt that my heart would burst from gratitude. We are healthy. Moriah is fighting a cold, all by herself (no antibiotics in over a month!). Her eye surgery in August was a success, and her eyes are not nearly as crossed any more, her recovery smooth. Orilus is healthy--watching his long legs stride across a soccer field the other day, I got tears in my eyes. Jackson is making so much progress in so many ways, and is about to turn 14, and is a gift of a brother with the kind and gentle ways he loves his little sister.

Mostly, I find, I fight the fears with gratitude for what IS. Today, a quiet Sunday. A girl asleep in her crib. Orilus on his X-box, playing "with" (via the virtual world) his friends. Jackson and Jason running an errand. We have navigated another "new start" to life, and we are here to tell about it, and enjoy it. We open our arms and welcome this new fall season, and we give God thanks.

on positionality

I was asked last week to begin blogging again by someone I had forgotten was even a reader of this very blog. I'm really humbled to think that our family's story and my own ponderings are in any way useful to anyone else. Mostly, they are useful to me for keeping time, and keeping in touch with friends and family who are far away, and who cannot be here in the busyness of our life. However, since I've returned to personal journaling so arduously this summer, while also writing 2 chapters of a dissertation, blog writing has not been a priority. But it's important for some of you, I know, and for us, it's so lovely to look back, and see this online journal with photos and all. So, dear reader who asked, I really will try to blog more faithfully this year. Once a month, maybe. I will try.

We have had an extraordinary summer. Jason will tell you it has been a long summer--he overestimated the amount of projects (in the yard and the house) he could accomplish while caring full-time for a two-year-old. The boys will tell you they were busy--we successfully scheduled them for many experiences that kept them from annoying us each day with their summer whining. They've done summer camp (a week away in Maine), basketball camp, church camp (at which they were volunteers), YMCA camp (at which they were in leadership training), deep sea fishing, and whale watching. Moriah doesn't keep track of seasons yet, so she'd just say that the summer was full of birthday parties--we ended up having THREE here at the house (pretty funny, since I fundamentally don't believe it necessary to give parties to kids so young), and specialist appointments, and a LOT of getting taller. She's nearly walking now, actually--taking 5-10 steps at a time on her own, moving between furniture in a foreshadowing of what is to come.

So maybe I'm the one who would most describe the summer as extraordinary. It has not been an easy summer. But I will remember this summer as one of the most spiritually rich summers of my life. Besides the busyness--teaching a graduate course, a 3-week doctoral class, a 5-day writing-in-hibernation retreat during which I wrote chapter 2 of my dissertation--I have been exploring a number of themes related to my spiritual growth. This exploration has led me to some fascinating books and to trying some fascinating things--picture me doing yoga on my own next to the West Bridgewater River at 9:00 am on a Saturday morning, for example--and I have uncovered a lot of really rich and new ways of understanding faith, and God, and Jesus, and life. I'm really grateful for these experiences of God in my life after such a long, dry, difficult 2 years since Moriah's birth.

I couldn't possibly catch you up in one blog post on all of my musings, but I will discuss here my latest contemplation: positionality. As in, posture. As in, the way we approach God, and life, and our experiences. As in, what pose do YOU usually assume?

So in yoga practice, there are a lot of poses, as you probably know. I've begun practiciting yoga for a lot of reasons this summer, most practically because I continue to suffer for nearly a year with everyday searing pain in my right hip (I like to joke that this is what happens to a person who wrestles with God for two years, but it's really not all that funny). Also because I'm interested in Christian mysticism and meditation, and since Christianity is historically an Eastern religion, I think there may be some truths within yoga practice, and meditative practice, that might be useful to me. Turns out this has been true, and also, that yoga has in fact helped my hip, though I'm still in daily pain. But I digress.

So in yoga you assume a pose, right? For example, downward dog. Or child's pose. Or mountain pose. Or triangle. Or cobra. And so on. Hold that thought...

So (and I promise this will all come together if you can bear with me) a couple weeks ago we returned to Joni & Friends Family Retreat--a 5-day retreat in NH with other families with kids with special needs. I did a lot of body-watching that week. For example, the young man stuck in his wheelchair. The boy's head that gets tilted to the side and the volunteer who lovingly would bring it back to center. The mother who told me she had a good night; she only had to wake up 4 times to resposition her teenage son in his bed. People bent in prayer. Hands raised in praise. Clapping. Fingers that wiped away tears. Moms feeding children who could not feed themselves. Diapers being changed, even on children old enough to go to high school.

It occurred to me that one of the beautiful things about Retreat is the opportunity to assume a new position, to strike a new pose, as it were. I experienced this as I lifted a nine-year-old boy with disabilities out of the pool, marveling at the weight and responsibility and privilege of cradling his body. The opportunity for tired moms and dads to take a break, to lie down, to eat a dinner uninterrupted, to cry freely, to praise, to give thanks, to complain, to question. Volunteers who normally move about freely, learning to slow, and care, and give time, and move closer, and touch, and help, and assist, and value. Children who can float in water, or put their wheelchairs on top of a device on the gym floor that moves them about as if they are floating on air, or disabled bodies who are made comfortable in a kayak.

These are new positions--physical, but also, if you are following, me, spiritual.

So here's where it comes together. As in yoga, life offers us opportunities to assume a position. Some of us are very used to child's pose--we crumple to the floor, form a protective ball, and make ourselves as small as possible. Some of us naturally assume warrior pose--taking up as much space as we can, trying to look strong and ready. I've begun to think about the life-poses I ordinarily assume (and why I take them up), and to challenge myself to try new poses. When I respond in anger, for example, I feel the shame of that still, but also, I wonder, why do I respond that way? do I usually respond that way? what can that posture teach me about myself, and about God, and about my relationships?

So I've tried a few new yoga poses this summer--I'm a big fan now of wheel pose, and camel. It's funny, what yoga has taught me. When we assume new poses, new postures, new positions, there is fear all around. We think we cannot possibly do it, even as our arms and legs hold us there, and we do. I find if I fall out of a pose, it's usually not because I wasn't strong enough, but because I let the fear of falling (or failing) make me fall.

So, too, it may be that the call of Christ to us is...follow me into a new pose. Assume a new position towards life. Look up. Open your hands. Stand tall. Lie down. Rest. I'm trying for this fall to define some of the new spiritual positions I want to take (openness, for example), and to find physical representations of them to do throughout my day (open my hands, stop holding my breath). I want these reminders that the old ways of being and moving through my life are just ways, and that I can change them, and assume a position that is more God-glorifying than before.

Here's hoping that this fall brings us all plenty of opportunities to practice new movements of God's grace and love.