The Dollhouse

Our House

My mom and I began working on this tiny house when I was about 8 years old. But we had left it just shy of complete and it had sat untouched ever since. As we were packing up our art room it became very clear what we needed to do.

So, Mom and I got to work and lots of glue and sandpaper and one funny trip to the dollhouse store (they have tiny Playg!rl magazines!) later, we finished it up just in time to gift to my niece.

Granted, she’s still a little young and the front door now needs new hinges. :) But it was fun watching her eyes light up and I love passing along something we worked so hard on.

More dollhouse photos here.

I also discovered something about myself – and it applies to all areas of my life: I enjoy things much more when they aren’t for me. I enjoyed growing my veggies last year, but loved giving them away even more than eating them. I’m learning to enjoy cooking and when I can keep my focus on giving my husband and son nourishing foods as a gift of love it becomes much easier. And for nearly two decades I put off finishing this dollhouse until I had another person to keep in mind while I worked.

I just hope she continues to love it as much as I loved watching her with it. Something to always remember me by.

And something to remember her uncle by as well…

Someone forgot to flush it down

Maiden Voyage: Success

Death Valley - More Badwater

Let me revel in the moment of perfection awhile longer before I force myself back into reality. (Reality being a cluttered, unfinished house and a To Do list 2 pages long; perfection being two magical days on the road.)

It really was perfect. And it only took me a couple hours to stop holding my breath and realize it’s greatness. We made it past our previous break-down spot and to Death Valley without any issues, found a sparsely populated campground and were surprised by how easily we settled into a “routine”. It was really as if we’d be doing it for ages. It felt so good. We only wished to come home so that we could finish packing and get back out!

It was also good to get a feel for things. When evaluating the learning curve and adjustments we need to make, one thing dominates: privacy. It’s been a frequent question and we tend to answer it with our standard “What’s privacy?” There simply is no privacy at home. We’re together all the time, we sleep in the same room and other than averting our eyes when changing or using the bathroom, privacy just doesn’t exist. So, when I say privacy is an adjustment we need to make, I don’t mean in the common sense.

What I do mean is the “illusion of seclusion”. (Hey, I’m a poet and you didn’t know it. I can make a rhyme anytime.)

Being that Zeb is slow to wake up and not a morning person, listening to us make coffee and tea first thing in the AM just plain sucked. For all of us. It turned him into a crank for a good 20 minutes and had me taking so many deep breaths I nearly hyperventilated. He simply didn’t have a space of his own to wake up slowly. He also requested privacy in the bathroom (surprising coming from the boy who won’t let me pee in peace).

All this adds another task to my ever-growing list – hang an adjustable, removable curtain to give us a secluded (if not quiet) place to feel alone. I have an idea as to how I’ll do this but no clue as to when I’ll accomplish it. Some other things to consider: a way to protect pans to make cooking on the rocket stove feasible; more shelves and “spots” for things like glasses or a book light; finding kid-friendly and -populated areas.

There is so much more to say but to be honest with you, I’m too exhausted right now to think straight. The RV will be starting its veggie oil conversion soon, my kitchen is devoid of food and my mounting To Do list is arguing with the unbending will of Father Time. So, please ignore this sub-par post and excuse me while I shuffle off to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a long month.

[You can read Justin's highlights here and see more photos here.]

Our Ideas for Highly-Sensitive Transitioning

Zeb

Moving, traveling or any other major changes and transitions are hard enough for kids, but for a highly-sensitive child, they really start to feel impossible. In my last post I explained our biggest part of helping him transition – the emotional aspect. But there are others things we’re trying to do to help him, as well. If you’ve read either The Highly Sensitive Person or The Highly Sensitive Child and my thoughts on it, you’ll have a better understanding of where we’re coming from.

Our main concerns are unfamiliarity, overstimulation and nearly constant transitioning during travel, all of which are skills he’s still learning.

Packing and Sorting

We have pretty limited space in a 22 ft RV. But since Zeb forms deep attachments to things that he loves, there are serious accommodations we’re making for him.

He’s surprisingly willing to let go of a lot of things. But there are some things he really wants to take: Yu-Gi-Oh cards, a few Ren Fair items, his bike and most importantly (and space-consuming) his LEGO collection. If you’ve seen what was once called his bedroom you’d understand the challenge; it’s so full of Lego creations and layouts that it’s referred to as The Lego Studio. (No joke. He will correct you if you call it a bedroom. He takes his passions seriously.)

First, and most obviously, while packing up the house we’re saving his room for last. No cleaning, no sorting, no packing, no moving of his things until the last possible moment. While the rest of the house is in various states of disarray, he continues to have a steady, quiet place to center himself and escape the stimulation. (More on this in a minute.) Several days before it’s time to tackle his room, we’ll give him a heads up so he can have plenty of time to prepare himself for it.

We’ve allotted the two bench seats in the dining area of the RV as his own to be used as “toy boxes”. They will undoubtedly be filled with as many Legos as possible. There will also be a few totes above the cab for anything else he’d like to take. Justin and I are condensing our own things as much as possible and finding creative places to store things, so that Zeb can take as many of his familiar things as possible.

Familiarity is the key here. We want him to have resources that give him time to center himself on the road, especially as he can’t do that very well in unfamiliar and overstimulating surroundings. We’re hoping being surrounded by his favorite things will smooth the transition. (If necessary, we’ll find space in the trailer we’ll be towing for anything we can’t fit in the RV.)

His comfort during all of this is just as, if not more, important as ours.

Keeping It Together

Saying he doesn’t handle overstimulation well would be an understatement. It’s a challenge for me with a lifetime of highly-sensitive practice. What I don’t want him to become reliant on is shutting down. It’s coping, not avoiding, that are lasting skills.

But there is only so much a 10 year old can handle, so it’s still our job to maintain some semblance of a routine. Um, yeah. Not easy right now. But crucial to his well-being. So we still gather for dinner. We carve out time for movie nights. We read together before bed. We force ourselves to meet with friends, have dinner with family, play games.

We listen to music during the hectic days. We clean the kitchen daily. We clean the house weekly. We keep plenty of snacks and simple lunches around so that he can help himself whenever he wants something.

Part of his coping mechanism needs a bit of avoidance and I have to remind myself that during these extenuating circumstances avoidance isn’t just normal, it’s necessary. He spends a large amount of his day in his room, playing computer games and Legos and talking on the phone with friends. He even locks his door as a way to ensure fewer abrupt intrusions into his “safe zone”. When he’s not in his room, he’s playing video games or watching Netflix in the living room. It’s constant. It’s sometimes annoying. But I’m reminding myself that it is not only temporary, it’s necessary to his ability to handle everything right now. (He’s also trying to enjoy the things we won’t have in the RV – like rentals or Wii games…or privacy. Just another way he’s transitioning from one place to another.)

Transitioning On The Road

This is something I’ve thought a lot about. It will take a lot of experimenting to find ways to avoid overstimulation, maintain some amount of privacy and respect boundaries in such a small space. And considering how many places we want to visit and things we want to experience on the road, the constant transitioning will certainly be trying.

One serious plus to traveling in the RV is that no matter how our outside environment changes, we’ll always have the same comfortable place to retreat to. Not long ago, I spoke to a self-proclaimed “mild agoraphobic”  who traveled in an RV full-time; she said she had no problem traveling because she was essentially always home! We’re hoping Zeb will find similar comfort during the constant change of scenery.

Here are some ideas I’ve had and that we’ll try implementing:

  • Fewer timelines: I already know it’s going to be a challenge for Justin and I to remember to slow down. But having Zeb be our main guiding force as to how long we stay or how quickly we move on will help. If he’s overwhelmed or overstimulated, we’ll settle in for a bit. If he’s uncomfortable where we are, we’ll head out.
  • Finding peaceful places: We hope to avoid the energy of busy campsites and RV parks as much as possible. We want to find quiet, beautiful places to stay or boondock. Places with views or trails will likely be important so that anytime one of us needs privacy, we have options for hiking or just sitting outside.
  • Headphones: With three laptops, numerous computer games, a passion for YouTube and a small space, I’m going to be encouraging headphones quite a lot to help keep things less stimulating (quiet) for everyone. :)
  • Staying connected: Keeping him in touch with family and friends is a must. We plan to shift to one cell phone with unlimited minutes (or a “family circle”), and we’ll have mobile internet, as well as Skype. We’ll also be visiting many, many family and friends around the country.
  • Familiar places: Not only will our RV be filled with familiar and comforting things, we’re also attempting to create familiarity wherever we go. We’ll have a membership to nationwide children’s museums, on the rare occasion we eat out it will likely be a national chain with an environment and menu he is familiar with, and we plan to stop to visit family we’ve stayed with, as well as places we’ve seen before. Apart from farmer’s markets, we’re also hoping to find Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods as often as possible so that we can find familiar foods.
  • Giving him the reigns: We all feel best when things don’t feel completely out of our control. As much as possible, and as much as he desires, we’ll have him decide things like which road to take, which city to explore, what to have for dinner, where to stay, etc. I want him to feel like an active, important part of this adventure, not a bystander being dragged behind our crazy ideas. As we look for a new community, his input will likewise be essential.

For those wondering about my own sensitivities and the moving/traveling, the easy explanation is that I enjoy change more than most people and I’m also much more adept at knowing what I need and taking plenty of “time outs” away from everything to regroup when necessary. Also a few of the suggestions above are just as much for my benefit as Zeb’s (headphones, peaceful environments…not to mention helping him will really help us all). How I’ll actually do on the road, however, is anyone’s guess.

Note: All of this was written before we left for Death Valley on Sunday. We just got back this afternoon from a two day trip and as soon as I’ve cleaned up, I’ll blog about how our ideals stacked up to actuality, what we need to work on and a whole lot of other thoughts on our first *successful* Maiden Voyage.

Read more: Highly Sensitive Transitioning: Before The Move

Highly-Sensitive Transitioning: Before The Move

Zeb making lists of our dreams
Zeb, making a list of our dreams: places and people we want to see
and things we want to do on the road.

When we first started discussing the decision to travel full-time and eventually settle outside of Vegas, we included Zeb. How could we not? He’s one-third of our family and his experience will be as life-changing as ours.

So, we sat down. We talked over our situation and our choices as best we could without overwhelming him or stressing out an easily-stressed soul. We told him every pro and con of full-time RVing we could think of, we gave him a timeline for being on the road but were honest that it could change, we discussed the potential challenges. And we asked what he thought.

He was hesitant, for sure. Thoughtful and questioning. But after some time, and a promise we’d make room for his Legos, he told us it would work for him.

And then he was excited…for about a week. That’s when his real transitioning began.

Zeb is an emotional, highly-sensitive child. He creates strong attachments to animals, friends and family, as well as things that hold special significance. For years he kept his school reports and certificates on his walls because it reminded him of *something* good from those difficult years. So it’s really no wonder that this transition – away from loved ones, best friends, his hometown, all that he knows, even his pets – would hit him hard.

All at once he was torn between sadness and anger. This isn’t to say he wasn’t simultaneously excited. But he realized how much he would miss his friends and family. He worried that he’d be bored. Truthfully, I think he was a bit afraid of such a Huge Unknown. In his ten years, he’s experienced some pretty difficult stuff and it’s left him leaning heavily toward the hesitant side of life. Now here we were, and he was feeling as if the security we’ve built for ourselves was being stripped away. It’s a big world out there and it’s already proven to sometimes be scary.

This went on for awhile. Some days  – many days – I didn’t handle it well. Truthfully, my own excitement was building and I was feeling resentful for his raining over my parade. I didn’t want to be pulled into the emotional upset and away from the budding joy. Internally, I didn’t think I had the energy to handle it.

On those days I tried to rationalize with him, remind him how much fun we’d have, how many more friends we’ll see and make, how many things we’ll have the opportunity to do. I took lots of deep breaths and left the room countless times. It’s not that I didn’t understand him. It’s that I was too wrapped up in my own expectations to react to his needs.

He doesn’t need to be rationalized with or reminded that he had once agreed. He needs to mourn what we are leaving behind, so that he can be prepared to move ahead.

Zeb has always needed a slow transition. He’s slow to get out of bed, slow to stop one thing and start another. We work with this by giving him plenty of notice before we leave, before we eat, before company comes.

And this anger and sadness was the beginning phase of a very big transition. All he needed from me was a place to vent, some validation over what will surely suck and some patience. So I finally stopped rationalizing or talking him out of his emotions. I stopped trying to fix it. (Wait. I thought I learned this one already?)

I allowed myself to be his emotional punching bag.

He needed a safe place to let it all out. And with lots of deep breaths and quiet reminders to myself to keep my mouth shut, I became that place. Sometimes he yelled, other times he cried. Sometimes he questioned and voiced concern. Some days he talked excitedly and made plans. At one point he blamed us for ruining his life and called us names, hating us with conviction. And that’s about when I was suddenly able to see past my own expectations and look with compassion on my son who was grieving a loss in advance.

And as soon as I managed to stay present and compassionate during his storm, it passed. In a matter of an hour he went from total meltdown to cuddling in our arms. In the end he gave us a look that resembled a Thank You, a hug that said I Love You Too and he was off to conquer the day without the heavy emotional load dragging him down.

I’m not about to assume we’ve seen the end. He’s not that kind of kid. And he still has his moments of fear amid the moments of excitement, although they aren’t as explosive now. But if I can remember to breath and not take it personally, I know we’ll get through them, too.

There is plenty more to say on the subject of transitioning/moving/traveling with a highly-sensitive child. You could probably consider this Part One.

An Inner Memorial


our prayers, originally uploaded by fubuki.

Life…and death…have sent me a reminder.

I sat at my kitchen counter as I waited for my macaroni casserole to finish in the oven, determined to finish The Omnivore’s Dilemma which was due back today. Justin came in, wrapping his arms around me in silence. I finished my paragraph, and asked if something was wrong as I looked up.

Something was wrong. My husband had tears streaming down his face. He told me he just got off the phone. A friend of his had shot and killed himself yesterday, leaving behind a wife he had recently separated from and his two small children.

I held my husband while he tried to wrap his mind around the pain this man must have been so deeply absorbed in. And as I tried to send my love to both my grieving husband and this man’s family, I silently admonished myself: My husband had come to me in quiet tears and I had to finish my paragraph before even looking up.

You think you know a lesson. It’s been impressed upon you countless times. And yet, in the every day minutes of life it is so easily lost.

It takes only a moment for our worlds to change. It takes a mere second for a trigger to be pulled and every wrong-spoken word up to that point to seem inconsequential, meaningless or unnecessary. It takes one fateful phone call to remind us that the true meaning of life lies within the actions of a single breath.

I don’t pretend to know what the experience was imparting on the father and husband in my arms, not to mention the grieve of the closest loved ones left behind. But the only thing Justin could utter was the humor and fun this man had brought to his life. He had made work worth going to on the days when no one wanted to get out of bed. His laughter left a legacy.

Earlier this morning, I had read a comment addressed to me about Zeb’s education or potential lack there of. And the words came swimming back to me as a reminder as I pressed my forehead to my husband’s and wiped away his tears. How can we wrap ourselves up in the things that will not matter in the end? Surely we can find a way to grow and learn and experience in this life without forgetting why it is we want to live in the first place? We chase those dreams for the hope of finding what we already have within our immediate reach – joy and happiness and peace.

We, our family, lives for love. We want to live in a way to never again hear about a person’s death and become overcome with regret over the last words uttered or the memories never made. (Please Gd, let it not be forgotten again.)

Let me repeat myself, if for no one else but myself: At the end of our lives, when the phone calls are being made from one person to the next, nothing else will matter but the memories that come swarming back into the hearts of the people we called friends, were lucky enough to call family.

Life…and death…have sent me a reminder. Gentler this time, but just as powerful. And I’m feeling impressed upon to pass it along to you.

In memory of Justin’s friend, Dave and his wife and most especially his babies: Put away your deadline or your goal. Set aside your pride or your impatience. Put down your book…and walk up to someone in your life right now with nothing more than unconditional love. Hold them. Tell them what they mean to you.

Give them something pure to remember you by.

Nothing else matters.