We told Zoe she was getting an extra-long Christmas vacation because she’d been doing such a good job at school. What else are you supposed to say to your three-year-old when she’s been suspended from school for a month because of having too many potty accidents?

This explanation was my mom’s idea. She was thinking more clearly than I was during the panicky and maddening hours after I was called into the principal’s office and told my daughter “had had enough chances” to master her tiny bladder and that removing her from school for several weeks was the only solution.

This happened on a Monday morning after I had dropped Zoe off in her classroom. The previous Friday the principal had escorted us out of the building, while promising she would continue to work with us to help Zoe reduce accidents in the classroom. That week I had agreed (against my better judgment but hoping to placate the principal) to come into the classroom whenever Zoe had an accident. The principal said my doing that would demonstrate my and my husband’s commitment to working with the school on this issue. I complied with her request and of course Zoe was completely confused and the classroom totally disrupted both times when I arrived. Of course Zoe wanted to go home, so I took her home rather than cause a scene that would further interfere with her classmates’ activities and the teacher’s ability to teach. I worried that Zoe would think she was either being punished or rewarded because of the accidents.

Throughout this saga we’ve done our best to shield Zoe from the school system’s opinion that something is wrong with her because she has accidents. I’m sure she’s overheard me talking about it on occasion, but she seems to be ok. She’s perceptive, though, and knows there’s been anxiety around the subject. At a friend’s house over Christmas she had an accident. While we were in the bathroom afterward so she could change clothes, she said “You’re not mad at me, are you? You know I’m trying as hard as I can, right?” My heart was breaking. Of course I know she’s trying as hard as she can. Perhaps I didn’t at first, but now I do.

What’s ironic is that my husband and I were so determined to get her into one of our county’s popular public Montessori schools and we spent much of the spring and summer strategizing and worrying about whether or not she’d get in. While we loved the small cooperative preschool she attended before, we were looking for more consistency. At two she attended preschool two mornings per week, a home-based day care two days per week, and was with her grandparents or at home the rest of the time. We thought she could benefit from more stability and that she would thrive in the Montessori setting, which encourages independent thinking and responsibility. We knew it was hard to get a spot in one of these programs, especially since two-thirds of the slots are reserved for children from low-income families, which we are not. At the same time, we couldn’t afford a private Montessori program, which can easily run upward of $10,000 per year.

During the summer we heard that a spot had opened up at one of the schools, and we were thrilled. In August, in preparation for starting school and going on vacation, we took Zoe out of day care. We had started potty training her in June, later than we had originally planned because she had eyelid surgery just after her third birthday in April and we were advised to wait eight to 12 weeks before attempting potty training because the surgery was already stressful enough.

By July she was doing great, using the toilet independently and having infrequent accidents. Although we had heard that stress can cause regression in potty training, it’s hard to remember that something as seemingly simple as changing a child’s routine can cause stress. Taking her out of day care, going on vacation, and then a death in the family (accompanied by our attending the funeral and her staying with another family member) resulted in a lot of accidents. Then in September, she started school.

During the first week of school, which was 8:30am to 3pm in a classroom with three-, four-, and five-year-olds and no rest time, Zoe had a lot of accidents. It was a big change. Academically and socially she was having a blast, but her body had a hard time keeping up. Every day when I picked her up, the teacher announced, across the room in front of Zoe and everyone else, how many accidents Zoe had. She suggested that something was wrong and instructed us to take Zoe to the pediatrician immediately. We did.

The pediatrician said Zoe was normal. She said even after potty training, kids have accidents, especially in new and stressful situations. We talked about how increased patience and decreased anxiety on our part might help her relax and improve. I struggled to get my anxiety under control in the face of the teacher’s exclamations about Zoe’s accidents. I asked the teacher to please tell me something good or interesting Zoe had done that day when I first walked in instead of focusing exclusively on bladder control.

Two weeks into school, we got a call that a spot had opened up at another school. My husband and I struggled with the decision to cause yet more disruption and possibly more potty setbacks. But we went to visit the school to make an informed decision. The new school was beautiful, with a classroom twice the size and filled with light. The new teacher seemed very easygoing. The program was housed in a sought-after elementary school with a special focus that we would be guaranteed placement in if Zoe went to preschool there. We decided to make the switch. We told the teacher about the accidents and she assured us that she’d help Zoe and it would be fine.

Even with the switch, Zoe’s number of accidents dramatically decreased. Rather than daily, she didn’t make it to the potty on time one to three times per week. During this time we were still working diligently at home to encourage her to stay dry. We employed every possible reward system. We sang and read books in the bathroom. We read to Zoe many books about kids using the potty and watched many videos. We bought a watch that you program to alarm at various intervals to remind kids to go. Zoe could go five or six days at a time without an accident. We saw improvement and were proud.

Then, suddenly, on the Monday before Thanksgiving, we got a letter from the principal saying that the school system’s policy stated that children who had more than three accidents in a week or one accident three weeks in a row were not potty trained and could be removed for a week or more until they were potty trained. What?

This was the first we’d heard of this policy, which we were later told was an “internal guideline,” but which was not available to the public or given to parents when children apply or enroll in the program. We scheduled a conference call with the principal and teacher to understand what was going on. The principal mentioned repeatedly during the conversation that she could remove Zoe from the program because of the number of accidents Zoe had had.

We talked to an assistant superintendent, who assured us that no one wanted to remove Zoe from school. We talked to someone in the early childhood office, which oversees the county’s preschool programs, who reiterated the policy the principal had outlined. We didn’t see how this was possible, but it was still happening to us.

In the meantime, we loved our daughter even more fiercely. She is a creative, charming, bright, and affectionate little girl. Just because her bladder control hasn’t yet been perfected does not mean that she deserved to be kicked out of a school where she was otherwise thriving, making great friends and learning a lot about herself and the world every day.

We took Zoe to the urology clinic at Children’s National Medical Center to ensure that there was no actual medical problem contributing to the accidents. The urologist said she is shocked by the number of parents who bring in their children every September for similar reasons. Their kids’ schools say they have to stop having accidents and, surprise, they can’t make their kids do it! The urologist said approximately 20% of five-year-olds have frequent accidents, years after they’ve been potty trained. The pediatrician and urologist agreed it was developmentally inappropriate to remove a child from school because of accidents.

We felt like the facts were on our side, but it didn’t matter.

Zoe stayed home for a month. We had a lovely time. We took trips, made cookies, spent a lot of time at the library, and played  with Zoe’s large collection of tiny people and food items. Thankfully my parents live nearby and are happy to spend time with Zoe because I had to meet some deadlines for my business, which effectively shut down for the month. I wondered what would have happened if one of the kids in Zoe’s class whose parents work low-wage jobs had been made to stay home. Would one of those parents have had to quit his or her job?

As Christmas vacation came to an end, we started to get nervous. What would happen when Zoe returned to school? We had received acknowledgements of our letter to the school system from the superintendent and school board, but no further action. My husband’s calls to the superintendent went unreturned.

In January Zoe went back to school. Days one and two were accident-free. Day three she had an accident at naptime, which is completely out of her control. I’m sure most of the kids in the class still wear pull-ups to bed. Day four she had four accidents. I have no idea why, except maybe the stress of worrying about having accidents. She hadn’t had four accidents in a day in months. I asked her whether the teacher had said anything to her and she said the teacher’s aide had dealt with her all day, and had gotten upset at her every time it happened. I’m sure the more she worried about it the more she wasn’t able to handle it. She was so worried I would get mad. I asked her if she wanted to stay home the next day and she was jubilant.

That night and the next day I worked feverishly to find preschools with mid-year openings. As it happened, the lovely co-op preschool where she used to go had a spot in the three-year-old class. We took it. We told Zoe we wanted to find a preschool where they didn’t get mad at her for having accidents because we knew she was doing the best she could. She accepted that. We visited the school so she could see her new classroom and meet the teacher (whose daughter was in her two-year-old class, so Zoe was already comfortable with her). She immediately started playing and said “I’m fine here, Mommy, you can go out now.”

Everyone at the co-op has been delighted to welcome us back. The community is supportive and nurturing and understanding of early childhood biological development. Every preschool director, teacher, and parent I’ve talked to about this has been shocked by what happened and how we were treated. So were we.

Zoe has a vast library for a three-year-old, or really for any child if you want to count volumes. Mostly thanks to Fuzzy (her grandmother) and the Treasure Trove (the consignment shop where Fuzzy volunteers). And we go to the library at least once a week and bring home a giant bag stuffed full of books, cds, and dvds. So we read a lot, but there are definitely a few books and authors who stand out.

Mo Willems, author of (among others) Time to Pee, Time to Say Please, and the great Knuffle Bunny trilogy: Knuffle Bunny, Knuffle Bunny Too, and Knuffle Bunny Free. Willems is funny and clever and charming and all of us enjoy his books.

Vera B. Williams, author of many books about a girl named Rosa, her family, and their big chair, as described in A Chair for My Mother. We have read all of these books many times. They are long-ish compared to many of Zoe’s books but her attention never wavers. The illustrations are beautiful watercolor paintings. I often cry when reading these books.

Kevin Henkes, author of many books about a mouse named Lily, her brother Julian, and various other mouse and animal characters who share struggles, fears, and passions with some children I know.

Zoe and I highly recommend these writers and illustrators. Hope you’ll enjoy them too.

At several points during the day yesterday I had shuddering flashbacks to new year’s eves of my adolescence, remembering curfew negotiations, awkward parties, and excruciating maneuvers to try to kiss someone at midnight in meaningful yet non-threatening ways. With every surfacing memory I felt a wave of gratitude that I’m no longer 16 and I’m married to a wonderful man who I don’t need an excuse to kiss.

Since then, new year’s eve celebrations have ebbed and flowed in their potential and potency. For a few years when I was single I celebrated with cooking and slumber parties with a group of good friends. Then I had a couple years of festive evenings with my husband. Then our daughter was born and our friends had kids and that was more or less the end of that. 🙂 Yes, I realize there are babysitters, but we’re not big drinking and partying people, and all the new year’s eve activities seem centered on that and expensive, so we’ve just stayed in and watched movies and played games and consumed junk food while Zoe slept upstairs.

Then last night we went to see the Garden of Lights display at Brookside Gardens in Wheaton, Maryland. The display of lights is dazzling and we went last year at Christmastime. We had planned to go earlier this season but didn’t, which was fortuitous. We decided yesterday that taking Zoe to see the lights would be a nice new year’s eve treat after a day of just sitting around the house (not to say that playing at home isn’t also a treat for Zoe, because she is as happy doing that as anything). Maybe it was also a treat for us after a day of sitting around the house.

We got there around 7pm and discovered that many other families had had the same great idea, but the park is spacious enough to accommodate many bundled-up children and blanketed strollers. We walked down the paths and oohed and aahed at the lights that created thunderstorms, flocks of flying geese, the frog whose throat lit up, splashing dolphins, and hundreds of intricately shaped flowers. We discovered the greenhouse and the model trains inside barreling down tracks through old-fashioned Montgomery County scenes. And when we went inside the visitors center to warm up, we found a party goingon. There was face painting, craft making, and puzzles for kids; hot cocoa and cider for everyone; and a man who looked like a linebacker playing the harp and guzzling diet soda from a two-liter bottle between songs. We all had a lovely time. Zoe had a chocolate chip ice cream cone painted on her cheek and she decorated a paper crown to signify her status of queen of the realm in 2011. And she got to stay up until 10pm when we got home. What a day for a three-year-old! And her parents. Happy New Year!

(in no particular order)

1. Fantastic clients that are doing outstanding work, including the Foster and Adoptive Parent Advocacy Center, the Black Philanthropic Alliance, PBS Teachers, the Nonprofit Roundtable of Greater Washington, and the Hispanic Committee of Virginia. It’s a privilege to contribute to their efforts.

2. The community at Journeyoga, especially my main teacher Sabrina. And Sarah Lynn, the owner, for creating the studio and the opportunity to learn there. While I haven’t been as relaxed and serene as I would like to have been this past year, I am convinced that without yoga I wouldn’t have survived at all.

3. My friendly neighborhood acupuncturist Allison Kitchen with dcmindbody. I have long been afraid of needles and the idea of acupuncture totally freaked me out. But when you’re desperate, you’ll try anything, right? Many people recommended acupuncture to me this year for fertility issues, and I decided that I might as well try. So far Allison’s treatments have focused on calming me down so I could deal with day-to-day life well enough to even think about trying to get pregnant again. And that works for me.

4. Parenting Playgroups–their teachers and founder Rene Hackney. Zoe is at winter camp there even as I write, providing me with a much-needed break and providing Zoe with new friends to make, toys to play with, songs to sing, stories to hear, dances to dance, and a generally wonderful place to be. She attended summer camp there as well, and Randy and I have taken several of the insightful parenting workshops too.

5. Libraries. In particular the Mary Riley Stiles Library in Falls Church where I work while Zoe is at camp, the Arlington County public library system and its online catalog which allows you to reserve books from home, and the Fairfax County public library system which issues special library cards for kids. If you live in Arlington you are entitled to a library card in both Falls Church and Fairfax, thus wildly expanding your reading and browsing opportunities.

More gratitude to come…

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. 

First listen to this:
“I Think I’m Pregnant”
to the tune of “I Think I Love You”
(As recorded by the Partridge Family)
We’ve been trying for just over a year now
to get pregnant with a brother or sister 
for our daughter who is three
I just may go insane during those terrible two weeks
between ovulation and when my period is due
Wondering if I’m pregnant
Oh if I’m pregnant I sure should not be drinking
I have to watch my diet and cut back on caffeine
if I am pregnant
This morning I woke up with this feeling
it may have well been nausea, but it may be something else
I also think everything around me smells bad, another sign of pregnancy, but then again maybe I’m nuts
I think I’m pregnant
I think I’m pregnant but it could be something else
like food poisoning or gas
Sure I’m tired all the time but really that could be
because I have a small child and a business of my own
Oh am I pregnant?
I don’t know if it’s really true
I don’t know how to deal with it
I got so much to think about
I think I’m pregnant but the tests so far are negative
although I read that only 16% percent are accurate 
on the first day of the missed period
So they really don’t mean anything…

And no, I’m not pregnant. For sure. 

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



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