Today I get to sit around with my kids watching language videos and talking to one another. We like comparing the counting systems. My kids can count to ten in English, Spanish, French, Hindi, and ASL. We are working on getting to twenty. We can do it English and Hindi so far.

I like how the colors are remarkably similar from language to language. That is feeling neat in my brain.

I have a husband who doesn’t get upset with me for crying and crying and crying. He asks me if I want to talk. If I say no he just strokes my hair. I feel very blessed. Lots of people get mad at me for crying. I feel grateful that I am no longer punished for crying.

I haven’t had a suicidal movie playing in my head today.

I screwed up therapy last night. I didn’t have an appointment. I’m supposed to be there tonight instead. I may call. I don’t know. I’m glad I didn’t drive last night. I sobbed as I walked from the therapy office to bart. Then I distracted myself on the train with reading Howard Stern’s autobiography.

I think that Howard Stern is a racist piece of shit but he is one of the fucking funniest writers I have ever read in my life. I was practically rolling up and down the aisle of the train it was so funny. Which was a great break after all the crying I’ll tell you.

Today we go to the county fair after a while. We’ll be there later in the afternoon. It is $1 ride day and you can get in free if you bring food to donate to the food drive. It’s the day to go.

Last night I was thinking about how one of the things that probably is common amongst people who are highly resilient (which is distinct from being a survivor) is the ability to decide that what is happening to you personally is unimportant in the scheme of your priorities so you just ignore your own experience.

It takes blind faith in the flow of the universe to decide that my momentary experience is  less important than the future self I am working towards.

I have to believe that things will get better. I have to believe that this moment is not forever. I have to believe that what I feel right now is just what I am feeling right now and it means very little to what I will feel in twenty years.

I’m thirty-one years old. Twenty years ago I was eleven. When I was eleven I was a complete and total basket case. I cut constantly. I loathed myself. I spent my time alone and didn’t have friends. That was in the transition from Apple Valley to Los Gatos again. That was during the period of time when my mom couldn’t have a job because she had to be available to drive me back and forth to school because large groups of kids waited to beat the shit out of me if I stepped out of my house or class room unescorted.

My life is different. No one is waiting outside my house to hurt me any more. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to realize that my life is real. I spend nearly twenty-four hours with people who like me so much that for me to stop touching them is a rude brush off. They sometimes say, “Hey! Come back here!” Some day we will individuate. Probably not before puberty. Right around puberty? During the tween years?

Sure as hell ain’t happening during the “preschool” years. We are enmeshed and not terribly individuated. Only we talk a lot about how everyone has different preferences. Everyone gets their own kind of fork and drink and proportion of kinds of food because everyone has different needs.

My kids believe that their body is important and must be taken care of and mommy doesn’t always know the right answer–I need input. They tell me, “I feel like I need carbs right now. I feel like I need protein–I’ve definitely had enough sugar for today.” They don’t have to like anything just because I like it.

So in some ways we are already very much individuated. In some ways my children are freakishly individuated for their ages.

I tell them, “I want to take good care of you but I cannot read your mind. Will you please tell me what you need so that I can give you what you need? I really want to make sure your needs are met.”

I also say, “That’s not a need; that’s a want.” You can’t have everything you want. No one can. That’s a losing battle. It wouldn’t be good for you if you tried.

I have the unimaginable privilege of being allowed to sit around with my wonderful kids all day and learn languages and garden and talk to them about biology and history and math without ever needing to get out some stupid worksheet.

I hate worksheets so much. (It’s ok that other people like them. I just don’t.)

I have plenty of food and then some. I have a wonderful garden. I have security and freedom. I have the right to divorce my husband and get a wife. That’s a blessing I didn’t have yesterday. (Err, not that I plan to do so Noah. I like you lots.) It’s nice to feel like my government says that more parts of me are ok today that weren’t yesterday.

I’m not dead yet. Tommy and my father are. That has to be blessing enough for the day.