Personal Haiku written by me for you. $4.00 per Haiku. Proceeds go towards dance classes, etc. for Emma.

I am offering my writing services to you in a whimsical way to help with the cost of dance lessons for Emma or any activity that might be good for her. I am not asking for charity of any sort. I will provide you with a haiku written by me, topic of your choice. Hand-signed. $4.00 per haiku. I will need your email address and mailing address please. I will email you an invoice via PayPal. Please email me at acgorsline@yahoo.com or shoot me a Personal Message on Facebook.

Once Emma wasn't a pretender, not that i could see. But i wasn't looking hard enough...

So, the kids and I were in the car this evening. Noah had his notepad and pen and was taking Emma's order-- they were at a restaurant, you see. Emma said, "My name is Faith. F-a-i-t-h. McCarra. M-c-C-a-r-r-a. It's my birthday. I'm 32. When you bring out my cake, please put pink icing on it." My heart stopped. 32!!!! What?! I said, "Lord! Where has the time gone? How'd I get so old??" I was teasing of course. But really, yes, I did think, 'Where does it go? time? please slow down.' I thought how one day we will be celebrating her thirty-second birthday. It makes me panic.

Then another thought followed the panic. One that calmed me --I breathed again. It wasn't so long ago when Emma wasn't a pretender. Has it really been almost 7 years since I got her that wooden toy kitchen? The one she ignored. Except for the plates because they were circular. Circles were her obsession when she was 3. She stacked the plates and hoarded anything else circular, ring-shaped. I had a friend (sometimes these friends don't stick around too long when they see the differences between your child and theirs) whose daughter would make a beeline for the kitchen and "cook" us food and "wash" the dishes. Emma hummed. and stacked. and removed her clothes. In those days, I would get sad. but defensive. and tried to brush off the discontinued friendships as best I could.

Now I know better. I KNOW Emma was learning in HER way. not the way the professionals and the books told me she should be learning. those shapes were important to her. she self-soothed by rocking and humming (still does) so she could bear the noise of this other little busy child around her. her clothes were restrictive, a prison binding her aching skin. oh, I know. I've never liked clothes myself. sometimes I want to scream because of how they feel on me. I know.

I have Emma's milestones in my head. The day she brought a doll out and insisted we make a place for it at the supper table. She was almost 5. We had a party that night! My face was awash with tears all evening. I laughed and cried simultaneously. ...the day Emma said, "You are sad, Mommy. When we get home I will dance like a monkey for you." She had never (seemed) to be aware of my tears before. I know now that she has always been aware of my emotions, since day one. But this was the first time she verbalized something like that to me. ... The day (this year) she said, " I felt hurt today. ________ was mean to me. I'm so sad. I don't want to go to school." She's never told me before when someone has hurt her feelings or mistreated her. It made me sad to hear that, but it was a welcome shock too to know that she could put that into words for me so maybe I could help her.

I notice all things. I celebrate all the small and gi-normous victories.

her "engine" derailed

got a note in Emma's backpack today. It was a rough day. She was a distraction to the class in the afternoon. There was yet again another two-hour delay today. Then a convocation in the afternoon. The afternoon bus ride was about fifteen minutes longer today too. She had her afternoon snack, and I let her know she could take an hour to recoup before we started homework. She didn't do well with the after school kids I care for... in their personal space, inappropriate laughter, loud vocalizations, yelling. She picked up her DS and began to take pics and edit them. This always soothes her when she's over-stimulated. I had to use this to my advantage when prompting her to start the homework. Math! Gah! Even I dread Math. ... but she is actually quite good at it is the thing. ...anyway, I suggested she take pics of her math homework while she was working on it. Great! She did. And a close-up of my boob(covered by by sweater, of course), a close- up of me making a funny face, a few pics of "her" kitten Judy. Then she put the DS down and zipped right through the 16 problems in 25 minutes. **it depend on the day-- sometimes 16- 20 problems can take us an hour and a half with several breaks.** ... I am getting off point. Or maybe not really. ... the evenin was calm and quiet from there on out. UNTIL bedtime. The high- pitched screaming resumed. The laughing and jumping and rocking. And she can't stand when Noah and I look at her when she's in this state. She says we scare her. We have monster faces staring at her. And she giggles uncontrollably and shrieks nervously. THEN THE TEARS COME. We have been camped out in the living room for a few nights because of the frigid temperatures. I have rooms closed off. An electric heater going. The thermostat turned down so low it barely makes a difference. Three weeks of winter break, extended. A week back at school but with two-hour delays. More delays this week. Not getting outside much. Bein unable to sleep in her own room. Oh, and her dad being back in town and adjusting to that. I do believe I can understand her frequent meltdowns here -- I've been on sensory overload myself lately!
I sang every sweet lullaby I know tonight. They sang along. I ran out of songs so I Googled them. Didn't care at all if I was singing them to the right tune or in the right key. I just sang until she stopped yelling and Noah stopped crying because she was being too loud and why didn't he have a cat on him Why Give him a cat Now.

seeing things in the snow piles

all that snow started to melt. and got pushed aside into giant, nasty piles of eyesores. and right out there, out my front window. there I saw it: the dirty horse in mid-gallop, in the muck. he's still there, frozen. but melting. no one has walked by and kicked it. no diesel truck has smooshed it down. it hasn't been cremated, laid to rest in the soggy ground.

hope, i whisper it.

depression is a bitch. i'll tell you that.

it is all my fault. all of it.

i'm being hard on myself, I know. but what is else there? I divorced. I got a job. I worked for 3 years. 3 very difficult years, until I had used up all resources (my family and friends) as babysitters. until I had listened to Emma screaming and crying for the ??what?? time because I had left her with someone who didn't understand her. who yelled at her. after i paid a sitter, i was left with so little money. I had to quit. I've been trying to stay at home. to work here. doing childcare. doing ANYTHING. I keep hoping. --
what is that HOPE quote?

-- "Hope is the most precious treasure to a person."--

I keep TRYING. I don't know how to make any more money here at home. GAWD, I am trying. I have applied to every part-time job I know. but there have been no replies. I don't know many employers who need someone there during school hours only. and it has to be during those hours. I am not leaving Emma with anyone ever again.

I am drowning.
I can't keep up.

it's too cold to run (for me.) so I get on that elliptical. and I work so hard. and I cry. cry. cry. and yell. so quietly I do.

i'm tired of crying. and don't misunderstand me please. I am no victim. ...
I just feel so "thought" out. all my ideas have trickled out. and i'm not sure I am believed in. I need to keep believing in myself.
there is no "throwing in the towel" for me. I have two children. and I just keep trying. but I am grasping. slipping. when I try to pull myself up, there is nothing there to grab onto.

hope. hope. hope.

I whisper it.
I scream it (in my head.)

emmy's often mornings

i would venture to say that the majority of us have trouble getting up in the morning. especially on a Monday, after a 4 day weekend. right?

but for Emma, it's a whole other story some mornings. like this morning. it's something that has happened probably since preschool age. some mornings when I go to get Emma up, it is like her brain just isn't "ON" yet. and it is quite visibly not "ON." her stare is vacant. her back is arched. her stemming hands and arms are moving so quickly. she can't control them. doesn't even know what they are doing. she twitches. her breathing is sucky gulps. I have to coax and soothe. Ease her up. guide her shaking arms into sleeves. lift her stiff, arched body. she doesn't talk on these mornings. the words aren't there yet. there are times when I will have to put her on the toilet. not this morning. but this morning was a morning where I had to show her the egg on her plate, hold my hand over hers on the fork. ...

... and then, BAM! the switch is flipped. it is almost like I can HEAR the gears come to life in her head. she speaks. she moves. the arching subsides. she becomes animated Emma, the one we all know.

those are our many mornings. just how it goes.

it is AMAZING to me: this process. how her brain turns "ON." I've thought of videoing her on these mornings, but I can't do it. this is just her. it is just us. just how it goes.

we go with the flow here. everything is one thing at a time. we have time. time is all we have. time is our blessing.

these mornings make me think of how fortunate we really are. some kids like Emma don't have that BAM! moment. not like that. their days are like that all day, every day. that isn't to say that Emma's days are just a piece of cake --because they are not always.

I appreciate my life. my children's lives. I cry a lot. the beauty in all things ordinary is what gets me. tugs at me. and my heart fills with love.

it isn't thirty years ago. that's for sure.

what happened to the good ol' days when farmers waved as they passed, and when they didn't try to run you off the road? I have been alive for 37 years -- has it all changed that much? even here, in the country, in the heart of America? I remember being a little girl-- mom and my brother and myself would pass a farmer in his truck, or tractor, or combine... there would be an exchange of smiles and waves. if his vehicle was large, he would pull over and give us some room to get by. fast forward 30 years later, and my daughter and I have a massive combine coming right at us on a narrow road. I can't get over because it is all ditch on my side. I watch as the combine passes one driveway, two driveways. and his speed never decreases. I am wondering IS HE REALLY GOING TO RUN RIGHT INTO US?? at the last minute he swerves over on his side. he is young. I probably have 15 years on him. didn't his daddy or papaw teach him right? the rules of the road? respect? politeness? this isn't an isolated incident. it happens weekly, if not every other day, on these country roads. these days, I notice many of the younger farm generation, "own" the road. hog it. are reckless. there is no waving. no smiles. in this fast-paced electronic, technologic world, there is not much awareness of our surroundings. of our actions and how they affect others. ... now from time to time, there is that courteous farmer (sometimes older, sometimes young), who is not reckless, who smiles, who knows that getting there faster isn't always better. or safer, for sure. and I breathe a little easier. and don't shout profanities in the car, into the air.
I have the upmost respect for ALL farmers and their families. I COME from a farm family. I get it. but let's please slow down and not give me a heart attack. thanks.