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While many friends of mine who have young daughters have experienced princess invasion and the seeming possession of their daughters by princess mania, I am not worried. It is possible this behavior is yet to reveal itself in Zoe, but I don’t think so. For Christmas Zoe received a Disney princess castle, a Disney princess kitchen, and Cinderella figurines (none of this from us). She plays camping in the castle. She cooks food for us in the kitchen (ignoring the burner that says “help Snow White make breakfast for the dwarves” — Randy told her sometimes the dwarves make breakfast for Snow White too). She creates scenes where Cinderella gets married, but she’s marrying a Tyrannosaurus Rex named Tommy. The other Cinderella (not sure why two came in the package, both wearing fancy dresses) is the officiant at the wedding. Then Cinderella who’s getting married and Tommy T Rex have a baby, who is a bunny. And Cinderella reminds Tommy T Rex repeatedly to listen for the baby crying and to give the baby bunny a bottle or blanket. So there may be some domestic tranquility (or not, since the baby is always crying) but no stereotypical gender roles are being enforced. Princesses are nice, but no more exciting than dinosaurs. So far so good.

Our family’s Christmas epistle is finally in the mail. Once again we have fulfilled the requirement of encapsulating a year in 500 words or so each. We know the reputation of Christmas letters and yet we persist, believing ours rises above the fray with wit and insight. As has been the case since we’ve had six adult contributors, it’s late. I figure people will have more time after Christmas to read it at their leisure. Or not.

As Christmas cards to us have arrived each day, mostly photos of cute children and sometimes their cute parents, I have felt a bit of envy that all they had to do was find a good picture and upload it to a website. But we have a proud tradition, says my dad. And our family doesn’t have that many traditions, so I suppose this is one worth preserving.

This Christmas is the first I can remember where we are neither traveling nor receiving out-of-town guests. Sure, we’re cooking, but it all feels surprisingly easy. It is a blessing that my sister and brother-in-law now live in our zip code, so it’s easy enough for them to show up. And my parents are 11 miles away. I can’t help thinking about the 30-some years of Christmases in High Point, North Carolina, where my mom grew up. I miss my Nana and Papa and Aunt Millie. I miss the love feast at Wesley Memorial United Methodist Church, complete with a delicious bun, hot tea, and a candlelit Silent Night. I guess what I really miss is being a kid, and being the one expectantly wondering what Santa will bring instead of the one playing Santa. Of course I am thrilled to create wonder and excitement for Zoe. I look forward to her joy. But my joy is too tempered by the weight of adulthood, especially lately. I am sincerely hoping to cast some of that off this Christmas. Maybe I should spend more time in the princess castle that arrived in the mail the other day. Who can be unhappy in a princess castle? Unless you’re imprisoned in one, I guess.

What people never talk about is the two weeks between ovulation and when your period is expected to come. When you are trying to conceive, this is pregnancy purgatory, but it is nearly hell. Especially when your period is five days late for no particular reason. Especially when the hormones your body produces during those two weeks produce many pregnancy-like symptoms, making you, despite your better judgment, hopeful. 


During this most recent episode of pregnancy purgatory, I composed this song in my head. To the tune of the Partridge Family’s “I Think I Love You” (as sung by David Cassidy) which my friend Benji inexplicably owned a 45 of when we were in high school. 

Last week Zoe started school. No, she’s not in kindergarten, but this might as well have been kindergarten for the complexity, the exhaustion, and the stress it entailed. Sure, she loved school, but it was pretty rough for me. And not so great for the carpet in her classroom.

Today we enrolled her in a different school, which she will start on Monday. We are prepared for setbacks but optimistic that the adjustment will not be quite as steep since we’ve already adjusted in principal, and this will just be a new context.

Some background:

Last spring we applied to all four Montessori programs housed in Arlington Public Schools‘ elementary schools to which we were eligible, according to where we live. APS includes Montessori classes in most elementary schools. We love the Montessori model and thought that having that kind of education in a public school setting would be ideal. We were notified that we were on various places on the waiting lists at every school. We were #1 at our fourth-choice school. In June, we learned that we got a spot there. We were glad to get a spot, and took it.

Zoe started there last week and it was fine. Her teacher was a long-time veteran of the school and of Montessori and I had heard many many parents rave about her and how their children thrived under her watch. The school is half a mile away and a pleasant walk. I met some other parents who were extremely friendly and welcoming.

And yet, it was really tough. Perhaps it was just because going to school all day with big kids is that much different than going to two-day a week co-op preschool and two-day a week in-home day care. Zoe was completely beat by the end of the day. The first day we walked home. The second she insisted I carry her as she laid across my shoulder completely limp. The third day I wised up and brought the stroller.

Perhaps it was tougher for me than for Zoe. But there was definitely enough anxiety to go round. We each manifest our anxiety in our own particular ways. Zoe’s seemed to be by peeing in her pants several times a day. This did not go over well with the teacher. Sure, I could understand why dealing with this behavior was unpleasant for the teacher, but I hoped that in her many years of working with little kids, she had seen it all before and could roll with the punches. And she was, I suppose, but not without mentioning to me every day when I picked Zoe up, out loud and in front of the whole class, what had happened that day in terms of Zoe’s underwear. This, to put it mildly, frustrated me.

I am well aware of Zoe’s struggles with potty training and we have bought many many packages of 4T underpants from Target this summer because at any given moment there are 20 pairs in the hamper and 20 pairs in the wash. We have talked frequently with and seen the pediatrician about it and I have talked with a developmental psychologist about it. I have also talked with dozens of parents about it. We have concluded that the potty training has regressed because of all the change and stresses in Zoe’s life in the past several weeks, and that she will get it eventually. Even my pediatrician said her own kid took six months and had a big regression in there. The point is, we’re working on it. We’re doing everything we can possibly do as parents to facilitate an accident-free lifestyle for our child, but ultimately it’s up to her and her brain and her bladder to get this done.

So the effect of the teacher’s comments was I dreaded picking Zoe up from school (even though I was excited to see Zoe) because I was afraid of what the teacher would say. I did email the teacher and request that she say something interesting or positive about Zoe’s day instead of just offering the potty report, and to her credit, the next day she told me Zoe was really good at a counting game they had played. So it really wasn’t terrible, but it was tense. At least for me. Zoe seemed to be having fun, which I was thrilled by. So by the end of the second week I was feeling like we were settling in, and we were going to make the best of it.

Then yesterday I got a call from the principal of another school we had applied to. Surprise! They had a spot. This sent me into a mild frenzy. We were just trying to get used to this school. Zoe had made a friend. I was walking two miles a day. But there were enough less than perfect things about the school that we thought we might as well learn more about option #2.

This morning we visited option #2. It’s an 8-minute drive from our house. The school building was renovated 8 years ago, so it’s beautiful. There are sculptures and a garden out front. A giant banner on the front of the school advertised they had made Adequate Yearly Progress according to No Child Left Behind (which the other school had not). The principal gave us a tour and we observed both Montessori classrooms. The room where we were offered a spot was easily twice as big as Zoe’s current classroom. The teacher was friendly and easy to talk to. The materials in the room were mostly identical to those in Zoe’s current classroom because they’re Montessori, but there were nice touches like fish in a tank, a colorful rug, and photos of the students on the walls that made the room inviting. And the dealmaker is that the elementary part of the school is Spanish immersion and by being in the Montessori program there, Zoe will be guaranteed a spot in the immersion program, giving her a head start toward becoming bilingual and biliterate. The principal, herself bilingual, explained to us all the details of the immersion program and what the results are for kids who go through the program. As we talked, I kept thinking of how Zoe always asks me to read Spanish books to her at the library, and how she asked me to teach her Hebrew after we heard a Hebrew lullaby, and how she wants to know how to count in Chinese. The principal said that kids who excel in their native languages tend to excel in foreign language learning as well. Suddenly it seemed like this was a great fit for Zoe.

So we went home, talked about it, and signed her up. The teacher called moments later to invite us to bring Zoe over this afternoon to meet her and see the classroom. When we picked Zoe up from her old school, we told her we had a surprise. When we announced she’d be starting a new school, her eyes lit up. I guess she has enough positive associations about school at this point that the particular school doesn’t matter so much. Of course who knows what she’ll do on Monday, but we spent an hour and a half this afternoon exploring her new classroom, the rest of the school, and the playground, and she was delighted. And three other new kids are starting Monday with Zoe, so she won’t be the only new kid. She made a new best friend on the second day of her old school, so I am confident she’ll make friends here too. And I’m signing up to join the PTA and signing Randy up to play in the parent/teacher soccer game. We’re starting fresh, and I have a really good feeling about this one.

I kept a journal during my silent retreat last weekend at Holy Cross Abbey. Here’s what I wrote.


Sunday, July 25
7:29am


Morning at last. I woke up a lot during the night, again. Very intense dreams. In one I was arguing with my mom, who was telling me to get a real job. I said I loved having my own business. She said, “no, you must hate it because you’re always in a bad mood” and I was very offended.


In another one I was going back to work at BoardSource. I had a large, oddly shaped office that had a long table as its only furniture, besides chairs. I had brought many boxes of stuff to unpack although I thought it was going to be a part-time job. One of the boxes contained several pairs of rain and snow boots. Rick Moyers came to see me, as did some other BoardSource people, including Judy O’Connor, who is dead. Some people from high school including Mark Meadows and Trucle, and the comedian Wyatt Cenac, were all sitting around my office, oblivious to me.


I am relieved to be going home today.


8:45am


Dressed, packed, finished with breakfast. My next stop is the outlets. Every silent retreatant goes shoe shopping after a retreat, right? I will read for a little while because I’m really into this book, then hit the road.


I am a very social person. This is just too long without a good conversation.


Post script


My conclusion about the retreat was that I really enjoyed about 24 hours of having time to myself to read, rest, and walk. It was a relief not to have to take care of anyone or anything besides myself. I didn’t have to answer phones or email or do work or clean up potty training accidents or any of the junk of daily life. I didn’t have to sit in traffic. I didn’t even have to think of what to eat. So all that was lovely. But I am, at heart, a genuine extrovert and it was challenging not to be able to talk with anyone at the retreat center. In one sense it was liberating not to have to talk to them, but I wanted to. 


The retreat center itself is well-run and a nice place to stay. I would recommend it to anyone who wishes to have that kind of experience. I think if I were to do something like this again, I would look for an yoga-based retreat center or something like that. I did a little yoga in my room, but I would have enjoyed some more physical outlets. I did love taking the walks, but the weather made it impossible to do that until nighttime. 


And the ridiculous thing is that very shortly after I returned home Sunday, the stress of regular life came bounding back at me with a vengeance. A monster thunderstorm knocked out our power and we were scrambling to gather everything we needed for a sleepover and camp and work the next day so we could spend the night at my parents’ house. Then on Monday after client meetings and a barrage of phone calls, I had an early miscarriage. After my eight-week miscarriage last fall and abundant research and a much deeper understanding of my own body, I now realize this is my second early miscarriage. The first one, last summer, I didn’t even tell anyone besides Randy about because I didn’t understand it and thought I was just crazy. So I made an appointment with a fertility specialist and spent this morning filling out 15 pages about my medical history. 


Saturday I plan to get a manicure and pedicure. Not quite the same thing as a silent retreat, but I’ll take what I can get.

I kept a journal during my silent retreat last weekend at Holy Cross Abbey. Here’s what I wrote.


Saturday, July 24 (continued)
11am


After spending an hour reading under a tree, in the breeze, which was lovely, I decided to walk up to the monastery store. It is hot. The road is not shaded. I am sweaty.


Turns out the shop is operated by the monk with a cold, who was blowing his nose during compline last night.


The store sticks a vast number of books about God, which I am not interested in reading at this moment in my life. Also lots of preserves, jellies, and candy made by monks and nuns. And a couple random books like the collected works of Flannery O’Connor.


Back to the retreat house. It is seemingly empty. I wonder where everyone is. I saw a handful of retreatants going in and out of the kitchen this morning but mostly people have disappeared.


Outside smells often like manure, which nauseates me. When I went to the kitchen for ice water I thought I smelled beans, which also nauseated me.


I hope lunch is not soup. I could never be a monastic because I am not that fond of soup.


4pm


Just woke up from a long, luxurious nap. I slept much more soundly than last night. I dreamed that I was here but it was different. I suddenly discovered a big playground filled with tons of noisy children. I realized I had brought Zoe with me and wasn’t sure why or where she was. I was at the playground and was surprised to see a bunch of my friends, including Silvia, Sara, Diane, and Alexis. Alexis was visibly pregnant and wearing a lavender shirt. I wanted to tell them that I thought I was pregnant, or maybe I actually did. I realized I needed to find Zoe so I rode a very old bicycle around the playground. I scooted it between equipment and some kids buying snowcones at a cart. There were a lot of sticks on the ground so I had to stop riding and carry the bike. I walked it up the steps of what was supposed to be the retreat center but what looked like an elementary school. Inside I found Zoe running up and down the halls and wondered how on earth I had brought her there.


Lunch, thankfully, was not soup or beans. It was beefaroni, broccoli, and corn. Not particularly flavorful, but fine. I wondered who or what the beans I had smelled were for. Daniel (the caretaker) told us the monks eat mostly vegetarian, plus fish on Sundays. He said previously that he’s only been here three months and during that time ambulances have been called to the retreat house three times. He talks a lot about the monks and encouraged us to write them letters, presumably if we knew them. I’m not sure how exactly we would know them. He seems to revere them. I wonder if he was once a would-be monk or maybe revering monks is just the thing to do.


He read to us last night at dinner and today at lunch from a book on spiritual disciplines, on the topic of celebration as a spiritual discipline. It’s must easier to worry than to celebrate joy and life, which is apparently why it’s a discipline you have to work at and practice. Apparently Jesus told people to be free of care and not worry so much.


As always, I wondered why I am so attached to my anxiety. Part of me wonders who I would be without it.


I was the only non-Catholic in the room at lunchtime. I wonder if there are Unitarian retreat centers, or whether it matter. Perhaps the only difference would be reading material that I find more appealing. But I brought books.


6:05pm


I went to Vespers. Heat outside was overpowering. I felt like Vespers was largely indistinguishable from Compline. I acknowledge I was distracted because I felt nauseous and itchy. An elderly monk wheeled himself in with his walker to concelebrate the service. He slept through most of it, his head bobbing up and down as the other monks chanted. Perhaps I will skip Compline tonight and just take a walk at 8.


I’ve been here for just over 24 hours not and I feel ready to go home. Maybe I’ll leave after breakfast.


7:08pm


I think one of my favorite things here is cleaning up after dinner with everyone. 


The reading at dinner was more about celebration. This time, how to practice it. He talked about noise and laughter and joking and singing and dancing. The author also wrote (and Daniel read aloud) “there is also a kind of dancing that promotes sin and evil, but that’s another matter entirely.” I laughed. The monk-in-training at my table laughed too.


After cleanup one of the women whispered something to another woman and they laughed and hugged. I started to get lonely.


8:47pm


Walked two more miles. Saw one person, plenty of cows, beautiful butterflies. The cows were loud. Wonder what they were talking about.


9:32pm


I really miss Randy and Zoe

I kept a journal during my silent retreat last weekend at Holy Cross Abbey. Here’s what I wrote.


Saturday, July 24

Last night I walked 2 1/2 miles. It’s been a long time since I did that. Especially in virtual solitude. Encountered one other walker and one truck the whole time. I kept thinking “this is the countryside” and wishing I could show Zoe, who’s been asking constantly about the countryside and what wild animals roam through it at night. Lots of cows grazing, including some splashing and drinking in a stream just a few feet from the road. Butterflies, bugs, dead bugs. Sun setting. Moon rising.

When I came back to the retreat house I went into the kitchen for a glass of water. Another retreatant was there looking for ice to fill her McDonald’s cup (a forbidden item according to the instructions in our rooms). She and I spoke briefly about the ice. I offered her some water when I was pouring mine and she said she had drinks in her room. More contraband! Also a nun listening to headphones was in the kitchen making herself a PBJ. I wondered what she was listening to but of course I couldn’t ask.

The caretaker of the retreat house reminds me of a short Henry Winkler, if Henry Winkler were playing the role of caretaker of a retreat house at a monastery.

I didn’t sleep well. I woke up a lot. Maybe because I had contemplated waking up for the 3:30 vigils service but didn’t commit to going. It sounds like it would be cool but I think my sleep is more pressing.

I did attend the 7:30 compline service last night, which was new to me. The monks chanted. One of them blew his nose repeatedly. At the end one of the monks used something like a wand or scepter to sprinkle what I assumed to be holy water on all of the monks, then on all of us. That was a first. I don’t think any drops actually reached me, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

Last night when I was walking back to my room, I saw the young monk-in-training (I had overheard him telling the nuns that he’s in his third year at seminary) changed form robes into shorts and a t-shirt. I guess when you’re still in training there aren’t strict rules about wearing your monk outfit.

The downside to the silence is I have a lot of questions that remain unanswered and I don’t get to know anyone’s stories.

I think the best thing so far is I don’t have to do anything. For anyone. I’m only accountable to myself. When was the last time that was the case? Ever?

I kept a journal during my silent retreat last weekend at Holy Cross Abbey. Here’s what I wrote.


July 23, 2010

5:30pm

Why on earth am I here? After the tour of the retreat guest house I feel like crying. I wonder why I didn’t go visit Melissa in Charlottesville instead. This seems like a really strange place for me to be. I have no idea what I will do with my time for the next 40some hours. I was surprised to learn there are rooms for talking. I’m not sure how I feel about having an out. Although really, who would I talk to? On the check-in sheet most people seem to be priests or nuns. Again, how did I end up here?

I stopped in Purcellville at the Giant to pee and bought Wheat Thins and clementines. Being possibly pregnant, I wanted to be prepared. When I arrived, I felt like I was smuggling in contraband.

There’s a tv and dvd player here, in one of the rooms down the hall where you’re allowed to talk. Why? Who goes on a silent retreat and watches dvds? I’m hoping for a storm to watch instead.

The first liturgical service of the day is at 3:30am. Flashlights are provided if you want to walk the quarter mile to the chapel. I can’t imagine getting up that early. But at least it would be cooler out. It’s expected to be 101 tomorrow, at least at home.

There are no keys for the doors here. You can lock from the inside but have to trust no one will go into your room while you’re out.

People probably do not have sex here.

I asked about spiritual direction from a monk, as advertised on the website, and learned that the monk who had done that here died last month. He was 91. People had been coming back for 30 years to talk with him. Bad timing on my part. No spiritual direction for me this weekend.

There is a gift shop here. The monks make fruit cake. They probably don’t sell t-shirts. [Here I sketched a picture of a person wearing a shirt that says I SURVIVED A SILENT RETREAT AT HOLY CROSS ABBEY.]

Maybe the reason I’m here is to sleep.

This is the second in my series of interviews of local business owners for the Columbia Pike Revitalization Organization.

Based on an interview I conducted with Dr. Fred Jones, owner of Arlington Animal Hospital, this piece is the first in a series of profiles I’m writing of Columbia Pike business owners for the Columbia Pike Revitalization Organization. This kind of piece was really what I had in mind when I started the blog, but I digressed. Stay tuned for profiles of yoga studio owner and optometrist.