New Beginning

Every year, our church holds a meeting for the 12 year-old girls entering the "young women" youth program.  They call it "New Beginnings" and it celebrates that these girls are commencing to enter an entire new phase of their lives.  When they leave the program at 18 years of age, they will truly be "young women." The leaders and other girls will help them along the way and they enthusiastically talk about the exciting things they will learn.

This post isn't about that.

BUT . . . it is about a new beginning.  And reasons to celebrate.  I see with a changed med regiment just how chronically grumpy, negative and tired I had become.  You know how you sometimes don't realize that your ears were ringing until it stops?  Yeah, it's like that.

I find myself held up by friends who have etched themselves deep into my heart.  Friends who drag me out of the house, kicking and screaming, and prove to me that I really CAN take part in the "real world."  And, dare I say. . . . even like it!  (But please don't tell them I said so.)  They love me, help me, comfort me, enjoy me, understand me (sometimes) and accept me.

I feel alert, light-hearted and free!  I refuse to think ahead that this will eventually cycle back around, just as the sun doesn't stay in the sky forever.  But I will savor it for as long as I can until the darkness falls.  I wonder who I will be when this phase of my life ceases - but I don't dwell.  For now, I will gaze at the sunrise and allow hope and excitement to lead the way.

Superhero

My firstborn is a superhero.  See?

She is every bit as intelligent, confident, funny and carefree as I hoped she'd be.  Even more so, actually!  I want to be like my daughter when I grow up.  Is that weird?

We've heard back from the colleges she applied to, and she was accepted by all of them!  So . . . now what?  I wish I was the kind who truly understood what I needed to do to ensure my daughter's future . . but I'm not.  And I never will be.  I feel panicked and overwhelmed and want to run and hide and I fear these opportunities will pass right by.  It will kill.me.dead if I manage to screw up her chances for a secure future.  She has worked incredibly hard these past three years . . . isn't it now my turn to get the scholarships and financial aid in order?

I feel awful at times that she has to be my experimental prototype.  I might (MIGHT) have half a clue by the time the youngest gets to college age.  But I make no promises.  I feel frozen . . . just about everybody I meet pours out buckets of very useful information on what I should do.  NONE of it assimilates.  By the time I return home, I sit at the computer and think, "what am I supposed to be doing, again????  I AM supposed to be doing something, right?"  And then the laundry list mentally unrolls and I, again . . . run and hide.

I barely graduated high school.  If I hadn't been ahead of the game before my senior year, I wouldn't have graduated at all.  Thanks to the "higher" diploma, I was able to eke my way across the stage.  A lot of circumstance - not much pomp.  So I have no experience to fall back on.  And there's SO MUCH we need to do to make sure she'll actually be able to ATTEND one of these colleges which has so readily accepted her.  And then there's so much to PREPARE for, and so much to DO and so much to BUY and so much to . . . 

::breathes into paper bag::

I'm going to bed.

Meds

We interrupt this life to bring you . . . . a med adjustment.  I apologise in advance for anything I say or do in the next thirty days.

At my doctor appointment today, the conversation went something like this:

Doc:  How are you doing on your current antidepressant?

Me:  Well . . . I get out of bed every morning.

Doc:  (Looking a little concerned) There's more to life than getting out of bed, you know!

Me:  True . . . but I'm not jumping off bridges!  So I think the med is working brilliantly!

Doc:  (Stares)

Doc:  Let's up your dosage a little . . . . 

I also asked about a sleep med because I have this nasty habit of, you know . . . not sleeping.  Hardly at all.  Ever.  He glanced at my chart and lo and behold, there's a med that apparently helps ALLLL of my issues. Like . . all of them.  Except maybe the whole "if you touch me, I keell you" one.  Or that my boobs hang low and they wobble to and fro.  Everything but that.  Yes.

I took my first dose a few hours ago, and I have to say:

Holy woooow, man.  I was a vortex of irritation when I got home tonight and now I feel like nothing could bother me.  Nothing.  Not even the excessive use of ellipses and repeating repeating words that just.won't.stop oozing onto this page. (I didn't see those side effects listed - must look more into this.)  See, it was like this:

ME BEFORE:

ME AFTER:

Feel the love, man.  If you have anything to tell me, NOW would be the time.

Bring it awwwwwn.  I am now going to trudge off to bed and maybe make a few flower wreaths along the way.

Derailed

You know how it is.  Everything is going along just peachy keen and all of the sudden you slip right off the tracks.  Not a crash, exactly, but all of your progress comes to a screeching halt and you wonder where in the world you will find the motivation to right yourself and chug away as well as you did previously.

This is where I find myself this week.  Derailed by everything from painful memories and haywire hormones to a husband out of commission.  Then there is the problem of one simple derailment causing further derailments in every other aspect of my life.  Each of those cars IS connected, after all.  So this week, I pretty much wanted to hide away from the world.

But thanks to a brilliant family and stubborn friends who refused to let me cave, I think I'm finally starting to roll out of the station again.

Today was a good day - much purging and organizing in our dungeon basement: Step one of "The Great Room Shuffle of 2012."

And tomorrow promises fun with friends and family at a house I don't have to clean!  What more could I want?

Hey You

I heard you today.  Your voice ran through my mind as if my brain was teleconnected to the spirit world.  A lazy phone conversation that meandered throughout the entire day.

We commented on how gorgeous the weather was - what a relief after the oppressive, humid heat to have such a brilliant breeze in the clear, sunny air.  I told you about how quickly the day lilies had sprung up - overnight, it seemed.  And how amazing it was to see butterflies fluttering drunkenly from one to the other this morning as I walked right up to them.  

We called them "flutterbyes" as always.  

I told you how excited Chase was that the day lilies were "owanch" - his favourite colour - and that he gingerly picked one.  

I thought it was for me, and prepared to gush over it ... but he couldn't bring himself to give it away and clutched it to himself possessively.  You thought that was really funny and teased me by saying that I was lagging and that I'd better get going on training him like I'd trained my other two.

We talked about our families and how quickly our kids were growing.  We talked about our plans for the summer.  We lamented our complete lack of dinner ideas.  We oohed and ahhed over the various merchandise at the store.  You tried to talk me out of diving in and going nuts with a complete room makeover for Chase.  "What happened to the 'cling to the baby decor just a little bit longer' business?" you reminded me.  But items were on SALE!  How could I pass that up?  You of course understood the call of the sale.  You agreed with my colour choices.  And you talked sense into me when I tried to go over the top.  You guided me to more sale items and pointed out when simpler items would do.

When I returned home, you chided me as I impatiently tore into everything and threw it all together in my excitement.  How could I NOT iron the curtains?  Forcryingoutloud, I needed to IRON THE CURTAINS!  And the bed ruffle!  And wash the sheets, first!  You were scandalized.  You did manage to talk me into making the beds to the best of my ability.  You were very happy with how it all turned out - wrinkles notwithstanding.  

And it pained me, remembering your plans for a nice bedding and curtain set for your littlest that never came to fruition.

Then we cried, realizing that Chase was no longer a baby - and when I suddenly realized that YOU were the one who had bought him the first bedding set, I was despondent.  You told me to pull myself together.  Chase was so happy and excited that it was well worth the change.

You harped on me (you still are) to install that top rail and the ladder on the bunk bed set.  We need to find the bolts!  Can't find them anywhere.  But they'll show up, and as soon as they do . . we'll finish the bed.  I promise.

I shared with you the new meatless meatball recipe that I found in a new cookbook sent to me by a friend.  It was a big hit - even with picky eater Scout.  It's definitely going to be added to my list of "regulars."  We compared meatball recipes.  You teased me about eating "meatless meatballs."  "What's the point?"  And then we snickered and got sidetracked with a discussion using the word "meatballs" in a rather irreverent manner.

I told you how Chase refused to get underneath the covers and insisted on lying on top - using one of his small blankies as his "main" blanket.  You thought that was cute.  But then you worried that he'd get cold during the night.

I also told you about the new game a friend of mine showed me. "Quirkle" it's called.  I picked one up today and we tried it out tonight.  It is SO fun!!!  It would have been perfect for when we got together.

It would have been.

Pajama Days

This was yesterday:

And this was today:

Oh what a difference a day can make, for one of these things is not like unto the other.

Yesterday was a day to hide.  From church.  From family.  From life.  From my daughter's tremendously tempting and impressively large stash of sugary sweet manna in the top drawer on the right.  From myself.  These are Pajama Days.  If I shower, I quickly crawl into yet another pair of pajamas.  Bring on those sexy "flaid plannels."  Wearing pajamas all day is a cry out to the world, "I'm NOT out of bed!  Not REEEEALLLY . . it doesn't count, you see!"  Wearing pajamas all day means that at any given moment, I might dive back in and bury my head under the covers, hoping beyond hope that nothing creepy will brush up against body parts carelessly left exposed to the Moogyban.  The wearing of pajamas instantly puts me out of the running for errands, visits, appointments or any manner of uneasy interaction with humankind outside of the glorious comfort of my own rambly walls.  (Or bed!)

The problem is that I can't seem to snap back into "world participation" once the sun breaks through the clouds and resumes bestowing its sunshiny goodness upon the earth.  "I CAN'T!" I'll cry, while people around me scratch their heads, trying to figure out whether to berate, negate or wait.  

I'm not sure what to tell them.  I don't know, myself.  If I did, I might be heading up PTA committees, volunteering for band booster bake sales, putting my time in for neighborhood cleanups or any number of worthwhile, NORMAL activities that exhausts me to even consider.

And so instead, I'll take one step at a time.  I might get dressed.  I might slowly ease onto my back deck.  And I might play a fun little game with my fun little guy.

He doesn't seem to mind that I'll never be a PTA President or a Den Mother or one of "Those Mothers."  You know the ones I'm talking about.  All he seems to care about is that I'm HIS mother - senseless quirks and all.  And as long as I keep the candy supply coming, he's just fine with that.

Rain

What better sign of spring than rain?



>








After days of rompin' stompin' gorgeous weather, it rained today.  Rather profusely.  Chase wasn't impressed.












Today also happened to be a "Write Love On Her Arms" day.  If you haven't heard before, this is their mission statement: 


To Write Love on Her Arms is a non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide.  TWLOHA exists to encourage, inform, inspire and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.


If you haven't read their vision, I strongly encourage you to do so here.


As somebody who has struggled rather mightily with depression for twenty years, this organization and awareness obviously means a great deal to me.  


When you have depression, the rain never ends.  No matter how vivid the view for everybody else - even their rain seems brighter - you're surrounded by a cloud of hazy hurt.  Always.  It can feel like this.






And so we wrote love on our arms.


















We hope that our lives can make a difference to those around us.  And that somebody, somewhere, who needs to know . . . knows that we love them.  

Spontaneous Springtime BBQ

FINALLY, after a week of freakishly hot weather, we were given a TRUE spring day. No more of this silly 90 degree summertime tease. Today was sunny, yet brisk - not too hot and not too cold. It was a good day to be outside.

So we invited Goldilocks over and decided to host a spontaneous family BBQ. Firstborn would like to point out that while she dutifully chopped fruits and veggies for the fire pit, I whined and held myself together with . . . okay, maybe I didn't hold myself together very well at all. The problem is that my closest family member is no longer here for these family get-togethers. So I avoided the real issue of just how in the world I'm going to survive future holidays and family gatherings without my best friend from birth by finding completely inconsequential issues to fall apart over - such as the apparent complete lack of batteries in the entire house suitable for my camera. Meanwhile, the rest of the family sat me in the corner, patiently patted my head, and jumped right in with the preparations for grilled goodness. Firstborn even managed to scrounge up some power for my clicker along the way.

My family rawks.

I'm not sure if it was the tangy scent of woodsmoke - or perhaps the sizzling grilled pineapple - maybe the bubbles and the dancing and the shrieks of boys' exuberance . . . but somewhere along the way, I forgot to mope and whine.

And remembered to laugh.

Notes to self:

• Only the truest of love is shown when a vegetarian cooks up a steaming stick of MEAT for the carnivorous males in her family.

• No matter how hard you try to talk a brand new 3yo into wearing shoes . . . it just isn't going to happen if he's got a mind against it. He's tasted warm, barefoot weather so those vile, restrictive shoes are a thing of the past. It doesn't matter how bright red and frozen his piggies turn in the brisk, bipolar weather of the east. It doesn't matter how adorable everybody finds his brand new way-too-easily removed Crocs. It doesn't matter that starving children in India would do ANYthing for such foot coverings (tell me I didn't just say that . . . even in my mind) he will NOT wear the danged shoes. Don't even fight the fight anymore. Let it go.

Maybe even join him!

(My true friends, BTW, will not pay attention to the horrendously filthy floor. 

 I blame . . . dragons.)