The Joyful Journey of the Busty Manatee

The Rug Was Pulled Out Again, Tonight

2012-02-22T22:59:00.000-05:00

Decisions, Decisions.

So many conflicting emotions.

Give Me Some Velvet and a Gold Tambourine, Dammit.

2012-02-14T23:50:00.000-05:00

The Glass Mostly Empty

2012-02-14T23:37:00.000-05:00

I asked for a glass of water for Valentine's Day.

Seriously, that's all.

No card, though I got him one.
No decor, though I got up early to put up a few cute signs.
No food, though I took them both out.
No entertainment. Instead we slumped around stores as he bought clothes for an upcoming trip. I got a few too, as an afterthought.

Frankly, I didn't care much.

I'm pretty numb from starting the new job and wrestling massively with the emotions that come with that, while still trying to performs feats of supermomdom.

But as I poured my exhausted body into a hot bath, he walked in. I asked him if he might mind getting me a glass of water. Consider it my Valentine's gift.

Forty minutes later, I get out. No water.

I'm disappointed. I'm thirsty in more ways than one.
But not all that surprised. After all, I chalk it up to another casualty of ADHD.
I give him the benefit of the doubt. He has been obsessed with applications lately, speaking of very little else, his anxiety like a high pitched note echoing around the perimeters of our day. Maybe he got busy working on another...

I totter out in my pjs, still the little girl hoping to find someone to take care of her, if only a little. To some day find those strong arms that will wrap around me and tell me everything is going to be okay. Sometimes I pray so hard for it that I almost think I can will that person into life. I don't even care if the words are true. They could whisper sweet lies, as long as they were good enough that I could believe them.

But that person isn't here. I have to tell myself that, to talk with God and trust him. Make do with the person who is here, in the living room.

He's playing Wii.

And I walk alone in my desert.

So, I get my own water.
Again.

And he gets defensive. He's the victim, of course.

It's just one glass.

One eternal glass.

Cry Count

2012-02-14T17:24:00.000-05:00

Yesterday- 5
Today- Zero. At least so far.

Sunny day. Time with my boy. Freedom at the moment.

I just have to get acquainted with the taste of vanilla again,
change the metal of my cage,
practice the old songs.

Sometimes You Choose the Wrong One for the Right Reasons

2012-02-13T23:09:00.000-05:00

There's a lesson here.
Actually, there are many.
Aren't there always?

In My Arms

2012-02-06T15:47:00.000-05:00

I'm cheating today- just a song.
I love the lyrics and it captures many types of love.

27

2012-01-31T12:40:00.000-05:00

Last year, I posted 27 blog entries. I wrote a few more than that, but decided they didn't need to live anywhere public.

Today is the last day of January, and this is my 27th blog entry for 2012.

My intention this month was to just try to produce, to DO something, anything. Too many days are passing where I can't point to anything tangible that I've accomplished, beyond clean dishes or laundry. This month was about just putting it out there, without over-thinking, or editing myself too much. To simply hit "post" even it I didn't have anything earth-shattering to share, to not worry about the judgements of others. It was about capturing some of the small moments that get lost all too easily.

I didn't have a number in mind when I started, nor any real goal other than "DO!" Last week I happened to see the number of posts of last year and I decided I wanted to meet or exceed that number for this year. Such a small, silly goal, but when you are in the middle of a windstorm or uncertainty about your life and career, it can help to grab on to the tiniest branch, some small goal to achieve.

Right now the optimism of two weeks ago has waned. I had two great interviews... and then nothing. No calls. It's like I can't get past a second date, even when I thought that they liked me. I've applied to more jobs since then, and even have a second interview today (for a job that I'm conflicted on, honestly), but I feel dejected. Even more insulting is that two of the resumes that I sent out last month to jobs that I am, without any type of doubt, qualified for; that were two national nonprofits that I have deep ties to, totally dissed me. Colleagues back in Florida called and emailed the local branches to recommend me. I thought- as did the nice people who went to that trouble for me- that I would at least get a foot in the door, an interview.

No.
Nothing.
One place never responded to the two follow-up calls and emails.

Did I mentioned that I have raised over $20,000 for one of the nonprofits? As a volunteer?

If I were unqualified, I would understand.
If they had an internal candidate, and sent a "thanks, but no thanks" email, I would be sad, but still understand.
But to be so unprofessional, so disrespectful to their other councils, to not even acknowledge my contacts...

Well, I won't be raising money for them again in any way.

It is very, very difficult to break into the cliques here.
It appears you either have to be:
Texan (preferably born in the state, but it looks like they will grant you clemency after about 5-10 years, if you are married to a native).
Rich.
Or, have friends or family who are rich Texans.

Stop my own company? Find a new career track? Start back at the bottom? Move?

Let's see what the next 27 days holds.

When Food is Love In Tallahassee

2012-01-31T12:16:00.001-05:00

I'm missing some of my old haunts today, so I decided it was time to pay tribute to three of my favorite places to grab tasty happiness in Tallahassee. If you find yourself in the Florida capital, do yourself a favor and go to one of these places (or all three, in the name of supporting locally owned business!)

Big Easy Snowballs

Friendly family business with an adorable shop and great customer service...
Oh, and did I mention...
SNOWBALLS OF EPIC HAPPINESS!

Don't tell me that you don't know what a snowball is. Seriously??? I'll wait here while you Google it. Back now? Okay then, go get yourself one now.

Lucy And Leo's

Another adorable tiny shop, this time full of cupcakes (and shared space with Textures, a great place to stock up on awesome local art and handmade goodness).

It's hard to go wrong with a cupcake, but my favorite is a fresh Red Velvet, topped with Cream Cheese. In the name of research, I have tried many other cupcake shops during my travels, and this Red Velvet still reigns supreme. The Happy Hour flavors are also fun. But as much as I love the cupcakes, I *ADORE* the canned ham that they take around as a food truck. My love for vintage trailers is legendary and the first time they brought their restored Shasta out to display in the parking lot, I was first in line to see it. I was afraid that they might pull a restraining order against me, keeping me from that hunk of metal lovin'.

And finally,

Angelette's

Angelette's Cajun Cooking will fool you. You will drive up to the strip mall where it is located, and think perhaps that you are lost. But then you will most likely see a group of people outside, waiting to get in to get a hit of some awesome Cajun food.

I was one of the firsts to find this place after they opened and one taste of the Shrimp and Grits is all it took to make me a regular. The owner, Marlo, will chat with you if the place isn't slammed... which honestly, isn't often now that the secret it out. I hope they eventually get a bigger place, but for now it's classy and simple, with great artistic interpretations of fleur de lis on the walls.

I joyfully introduce as many people as possible here, and thus far I have taken about 20 different people who are now also addicted. My favorite dish, besides the shrimp and grits, is the Eggs A'la Dwayne.

LittleMan and his best friend enjoy the beignets... Or rather, the beignet sugar...

I've Come to Suck Your Blood

2012-01-31T11:40:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, I was having a particularly grumpy/sad day. LM made this for me and slid it under the door. It just makes me smile :)

Finding Family Fun

2012-01-30T10:33:00.000-05:00

As much as we love the weekend, we often squander it away, and then feel grumpy about that waste. Money is tighter than ever, but we had exhausted many of the free things that we like to do and we were restless on Saturday. So I pulled out one of those coupon magazines that come in the mail quarterly. Inside was a coupon for IT'z, which is a big family fun zone.

Generally, this is the type of place I avoid at all costs. They reek of wasted money, violence, and ill-behaved monsters (and their children). In fact, when we have passed it before on the interstate (usually while driving to the DFW airport) I make it quite clear that it would be a great father/son activity. You know, to do without me, while I am off getting pampered by a legion of beautiful Greek men who feed me grapes.

Alas, grapes are out of season.

After performing a variety of computations worthy of that guy from A Beautiful Mind, I finally came to the best use of coupons so we could get some serious bang for our buck.

So off we went. First stop was the AYCE Buffet, full of pizza, pasta, salad and dessert. You must purchase the buffet to get into the facility. The food was edible, and child-friendly. I compare it to a CiCi's pizza place- nothing I would choose at free will, but it gets the job done. This place also had baked potatoes and one of their pastas was pretty good, so I consider that a win.

We went on a Saturday night, so it was busy, but we got the boys an "unlimited activities" game card (that buy one, get one free coupon definitely made that possible!) so we were off to get in line.

First for the bumper cars...

(yeah, I am totally getting in on the bumper cars when we go back on a less crowded day. As it was, I didn't want to make the poor kids wait any longer.)

Then it was on to the race track, in which my guys got a really slow car. There was a lot of waiting all around.

And then there was the mini-bowling, which we did for a long, long time. It was a great combo of bowling and bocce ball.

We did tons of videos games and ended five- yes, five hours later- at the laser tag. This was the first time we have all done this, and it was a blast.

It was not a cheap evening, but we made sure to eek out every last dime's worth :)

We'll be back!

I'm Sorry to Inform You...

2012-01-30T09:32:00.000-05:00

I am not a site for exploring manatee sex.

I have no pictures of manatee penises.

My apologies.

(This is what I get for looking at my stats page. The traffic sources are truly frightening).

And Now I Present... The First Report of Kindergarten!

2012-01-30T09:23:00.000-05:00

LittleMan had to do a "report" for his kindergarten class. Basically, they had to pick a sea animal and do three facts and an illustration. Here are some things we learned:

Facts About the Leafy Sea Dragon

(this picture is from the Wikipedia page about the animal. The Internet never ceases to amaze me).

Habitat: The leafy sea dragon lives off the Western and Southern coasts of Australia.

Leafy Sea Dragons grow to about 14 to 18 inches.

They are related to the seahorse.

The leafy sea dragons have no teeth, and they eat very tiny shrimp-like creatures. They also have no stomach, so they have to eat constantly so they don’t starve.

Their eyes can look in different directions at the same time.

The leafy sea dragon picks a partner and stays with them their whole life.

I'll admit- even I learned a lot in this project. Since most of his class wanted to do their reports about seahorses, I tried to get LM to think beyond the most common animals. We played on Google and found some cool stuff.

Now go find yourself something weird and new to learn a tiny bit about today!

To Be That Mom

2012-01-27T10:52:00.001-05:00

I always bought lunch as a kid. I remember a lot about standing in the lunch lines, and the various meals that I loved and hated.

I don't remember ever much having a packed lunch, except for field trips.

But I do remember what other kids brought in their packed lunches (and how bitter I was when the skinny popular girl had Little Debbies every day with her lunch and I wondered why she could eat that and didn't get fat, while I did. And how sad it makes me to realize I was thinking that in the second grade.)

Never mind all that. Back to the topic.

I've been packing lunch for LittleMan in his Marvel Superheroes Lunch Bag since the beginning of school. He has bought a school lunch a handful of times, but doesn't seem to care for it and I am always unimpressed with his reports back of what he did buy. And I've stay fairly organized in this endeavor, with a special cabinet, refrigerator drawer, and freezer section dedicated to the special treats I buy or make ahead for his lunch. Sometimes I even get hyper organized, and pre-package a bunch of bulk items.

The main goal, of course, is to make sure he has healthy food that he likes eating.

But a close second to that goal is a deeper, more insidious one...

I've always wanted to be the kind of mother who puts loving and encouraging notes in a lunchbox.

And so, I am.

These are just from the last three days, but they represent a lot to me.

I could make a bunch of neat notes with cool pictures and cut them out and have them waiting to pack with lunch. In an hour or two, I could knock out enough cute notes to last the rest of the school year.

Efficient, yes, but it defies my point. The note isn't about perfection. Or efficiency. It isn't about being frame-worthy. It gets wet and crumpled in the box, and then later in LM's pocket, where he likes to pull it out a lot to look at it.

These are just little snippets, either from books that we like to read together or things that we say. They are not treaties on the nature of love. I don't need to write a novella.

Little notes written on the paper from a cute set my sisters gave me for Christmas. A little picture of the Eiffel Tower in the corner, which LM loves to tell people that his mommy and daddy have visited. And hopefully we can someday take him and have a family picnic beneath.

The notes.
They are quick, impulsive, messy, private, and important, just like our family.
They are now.
And someday, they will be later. The past.

Please Stop Clawing at My Eye

2012-01-26T15:29:00.002-05:00

I should have known it would be a weird day.

It started this morning, when I was trying to get LM out the door on time and he couldn't find his shoes. Since I harp every night about putting them in the same place... and they often don't get there... I raised my voice a tad this morning.

Which resulted in LM's tears. Argh. We'd had such a good run of peaceful, happy mornings.

I rushed home, got my Interview-A-Saurus outfit on, and off I went to an interview.

As soon as I was done, I ran home to change shoes and off to school. As I got out of my car, two tiny dogs came running up to me, barking furiously. They didn't attack, but their eyes looked like they were channeling hell hounds.

I should have headed the warning.

When I walked into the school library- where I volunteer weekly- the librarian is on her way out. She's sick and leaving. I am left with a woman that I have worked with before- I don't know her name, but she can be frustrating to work with because she'll interrupt me in the middle of doing my job in order to "show me" what I am already doing. She also has a very intense language barrier. I believe she is originally from China, and her English is very difficult to understand. I try to take the cultural difference into account when she does a number of rude things, and just try to smile and be kind.

Today, however, she was the sub for the librarian. And it was painful to watch.

To further add fun, it was my son's class in the library. One of his little friends- we'll call her Taz- has what appears to be a severe case of ADHD. For the past seven months, I often see her get in trouble, get sent to the hall, constantly redirected, etc. Earlier this week, she slapped my son in order to get his attention on the playground, because she wanted him to do her bidding. I try to redirect her and entertain her every week to keep her out of trouble, but it's a struggle.

Today it was impossible.

It was like someone had laced her lunch with Red Bull.

Generally, I feel sorry for these kinds of kids. Their little bodies betray them and make learning and behaving more difficult than it is for the average bear cub.

After all the gentle redirecting I could muster for the first 25 minutes of class, I noticed her throwing her headband on the floor next to her chair. It was a cute band with a little crystal flower on it- guaranteed to get crushed by all the mini-rhino children who were lumbering about.

"Taz," I tell her gently, "your headband is on the floor. Pick it up before it gets broken."

I turn to help a child tie his shoe, I redirect another leaking snot, and try to redirect the girl who goes to the nurses office weekly by pretending to be very interested in her coloring.

Headband still on the floor, all pink and ready to break.

Mind you, I am only a parent volunteer (but, as my old boss will tell you, I *used* to be a teacher. So I do take some pride in knowing the deal.)

"Taz," I say again, "Please pick up your headband before it gets broken."

I give her a minute to respond. She bounces around her chair, a challenge in her eyes. I move closer, while also fielding a request about where to put a certain book and commenting on more crayon creations.

"Hey Taz," I say, bending down to be at her face height, "if I have to tell you again to pick that up, I'm going to get it myself and take it to the office."

That just made her gleeful.

The response I get:
"I don't want to pick it up, mamamahshhshghahahhaahah!"

So, I walk over to the headband and pick it up. She thinks this is a fun game now, so she starts slamming against me, trying to claw the band out of my hand. This game is clearly less fun for me, and I have to push her arms down repeatedly to keep from losing an eye.

I walk over to the circulation desk, put the band down, and tell her she can have it back when the classroom teacher comes to pick up the class.

This doesn't bode well.

She.
Freaks.
Out.

Now, my son had previously mentioned that his little friend often cries a lot when she gets in trouble, and I'd seen it happen before. Not like this, though.

She goes wild, flailing at me and at the desk, trying to get to the headband. It was like a horror movie. I kept using my calm teacher voice, but it was as effective as spitting on a fire.

Have I mentioned I am a volunteer? That I work for free? That I have other things that I could do for free?

Then she sits in the middle of the floor, sobbing, wailing. Luckily, it's a big place. I explain what's happening to the sub, and also to the high school student who comes in weekly to help too. The same student who had come to me 20 minutes earlier, also having problems with a rude and hyper Taz.

The other kids were at different stations around the room. There were a few comments, but it appeared that they had seen this scene before.

Finally the teacher comes, and I pull her in to explain the issue. She nods wearily- after all, this isn't her first time in the rodeo either. Taz is bouncing off kids in line at this point, then sits back down to have a good ole' meltdown. The teacher has a few words with her, then takes the class down the hall.

I give Taz a few minutes to sit there, letting her- I hope- self-calm.
And I try again, because I am a glutton for punishment.

"Taz, honey," I say, "I think that you can make some good choices now and join your class and make the rest of the day a good one."

I tried many similar statements, channeling a combo of Mr. Rodgers and Bob Ross.

Alas, there were no happy trees.

She finally leaves for class. Or maybe to get a chain saw. I'm not certain.

At this point, the next class is there. This is usually when I leave, but I agree to stay for a few minutes to help check everyone in.

Which turns into what my military friends refer to as a "Charlie Foxtrot."

Taz had messed with the circulation computer when I left her to calm down.

Lovely.

Thus ensuing many hijinks and *headdesking*.

I've mentioned that I don't get paid for this, right?

When I finally leave, I stop in the teacher's lounge to get my reward- my cold can of Coke.

Except, a Diet Coke came out instead.

I didn't notice that until I got in the car, however. I was heartbroken.

I live for the one can of Coke a week.

As I type this, an SUV pulls up to the house. A women wants to talk to the owners of the house (we'll renting) that appears to be in foreclosure.

Is it a full moon?

I only have 15 minutes before walking back to school to pick up my boy. I should probably eat something, because I feel that low blood sugar-stabby sensation coming on.

Have I mentioned...I'm really looking forward to getting a job.

Pimp My Breakfast

2012-01-24T12:48:00.002-05:00

My approach to cooking has been, at times, described as "adventurous," "creative," and also, "Good Lord, what Fresh Hell is this??" Despite my best efforts in building a rockin' recipe collection on Pinterest and through magazines and cookbooks, I still find that I do best when modifying existing products to bend to my warped mind.

A few weeks ago, I took a pack of muffin mix and decided to add some Benefiber to the mix to up the healthy factor. Then I got all excited- mostly, because I don't get out much- and decided to add some of the ground flax seed that I had in the fridge. When these little muffin monsters were done, I let them cool and then popped them in the freezer in a giant zip-lock bag.

Well, my LittleMan went crazy for them, and I felt like an evil genius for tricking him into eating some healthy vittles. So yesterday, I went back to make an even ~~more evil~~, ur, I mean more healthy muffin batch.

Here's what I did:

I took two packs of the Martha White Whole Grains muffin mix. They were $1.00 each this week and each pack makes about six muffins. I know, I know- I could easily make muffins from scratch for much cheaper.

But this is about BIG PIMPIN' a normal mix, so back off.

Anyway, this mix only requires milk, so it's super easy. I put the two mixes in a bowl, then added the following:

Benefiber
Ground Flax Seeds
Cinnamon
Dried Cranberries
Sliced Almonds

Now, this is the part where you would ask logical questions, such as "How much of each item did you add?" But I scorn these conventions. "I'm a REBEL! You can't fence me in!", I say (quietly, and mostly to myself).

Really, I mostly eyeball it. I'd say it was about a tablespoon of each of the first three ingredients, and two tablespoons of the last two. But don't play by my rules! Live a little!

I added the two cups of milk required by the mix, and then added two tablespoons of Greek yogurt, to moisten it up a bit more. And because Greek yogurt is so touted for it's health benefits, and I was secretly hoping it would lure Greek Gods to my house to sample my muffins (I have no idea why you are blushing/ giggling/ gagging at that comment. I simply like to share my baked goods, you evil pervert.)

Here are the results:

Yeah, I know they aren't that cute, but that's mostly because my oven is possessed by the Dark Lord and burns everything.

But they are tasty, and oh so fiber-licious. And when I stumble around the kitchen in the morning, I can just pop one of these puppies into the microwave for 20 seconds and my bleary-eyed baby can start his day off with a healthy serving of love. Since neither of us much like to eat in the morning, it's just enough to fill the tummy.

Stay tuned as I next explore the origins of the universe.

Oh What A Beautiful Morning...

2012-01-23T10:23:00.000-05:00

He nibbled his banana, and I poured myself some coffee.

No frantic hurry this morning as I put on some comfy clothes over my PJs and we got into the car.

With the sunshine streaking the morning sky, we took the short drive to school.

I sang him the song that my dad sang to me to get me up during those school years long ago.

We sang my hubby's morning song.

We sang a bit of "My Favorite Things" and then some made-up songs about having a good day.

And as I watched his backpack bounce as he ran into school, I felt a surge of gratitude so overwhelming that I knew I would never be able to capture it in words.

Oh how the years go by...

And That's What I Have to Draw About That...

2012-01-22T11:54:00.001-05:00

While coloring with LittleMan last week, I decided to express my feelings over a recent social interaction. Not high art, but certainly captured the moment :}

B*Rex Versus The Manatee. Sometimes I try too hard to see the best in people.

Friday, Sunny Friday

2012-01-22T11:50:00.001-05:00

Are You Ready, World?

2012-01-20T14:23:00.000-05:00

Second interview today, at 9:00 am.

It's been a long time since I needed to both be somewhere at that time, and be dressed nicely with my hair all did and makeup that doesn't look applied in a train bathroom.

But I got my LittleMan up, and fed, and dressed and did the same for myself (all sans coffee. I really need to hit the grocery store).

School dropoff, and I was on the road by 8, which is good because even though it's about 10 minutes as the bid flies, it takes 45 minutes as the cars crawl.

I wore the jacket that I bought for my second interview at my last college job- which I started seven years ago, almost to the day. I got a compliment on the jacket, so I think it was the right move.

This was a group interview with other members of the staff. And I felt the last tiny slivers of indifference fall away. I want this job. Not for the job itself, necessarily. I mean, I can do it. Do it well. And learn and grow in the position, so that's nice. But more so, I like the people. They are nice, and intelligent, and for the first time I could see myself possibly wanting to make friends, to settle here.

I actually don't even know what it pays. But there would be benefits that would let me sleep a bit more soundly at night.

It went well, so now I wait.

I had a check in the mail when I got home, a rebate from my mortgage escrow account. And at lunch, this was my fortune:

Well, let's hope so.

Let's hope I am too.

Lustful Thoughts

2012-01-19T19:39:00.000-05:00

Cooking dinner,
her thoughts drift to how smooth it was.
How silky the texture.
How hot it got,
but how it managed to clean up so quickly
no matter the mess.
True, it was pretty new.
Only two months to experience the novelty.
But already, it performed so much better than anything she'd ever had.

She stopped.
Embarrassed by the lust.
My God,
life had come to this.
She never imaged at 18 that being an adult
would be so...
like this.
And that she would catch herself so grateful for
a new
skillet.

Lessons for the Morning

2012-01-19T11:08:00.000-05:00

Busty manatees should not attempt to work out on a trampoline without serious chest reinforcements.

Let this be a warning to all potential rebounding manatees.

Illogical

2012-01-17T18:57:00.000-05:00

Semi-erotic dream about Star Trek?

Check

Let me just say, that will certainly start your day in a very confusing way.

Alone in Your Crowd

2012-01-12T21:53:00.000-05:00

I'll start with a disclaimer- I've had a bad night. So this post is not rainbows and puppies. And I have to be okay with that. It's okay to have dark moments, to not deny the lows.

It's stupid dark moments like this that I wonder if I'll ever be happy again.
Or I wonder if I've ever been happy.

It's stupid and melodramatic. Of course I've been happy.

This too shall pass.

And frankly, this is the only outlet I have for sadness.

But it may be time for me to do something radical to get me out of this slump. Perhaps take up mindful meditation.

Tonight I drove an hour in nasty rush hour traffic to join hubby and his fellow interns and director & her son. He was already on his second $8.50 margarita when I got there and the next two hours were torture- continuous inside jokes which amused them to no end, and made me feel so alone. I spent a lot of time looking as if I was really, really interested in the game of Angry Birds that my son was playing on hubby's phone. I tried to join in, to crack a joke... but it was just miserable.

Here's the thing- I've had my share of feeling like an outsider. Sometimes I even welcome it. But in the last ten years it has gotten a lot easier to get outside of myself and integrate into a crowd. With my fundraising jobs, I can usually turn "on" my extroverted self.

But tonight it just made me want to cry- the "partner" of mine that I've been with for so long often becomes a stranger to me. I know that I am at a low right now on my self confidence- I mean, I look like hell, I have no friends, and no job, and no sense of achievement in really anything at this point. That cup will be filled again- it's an ebb & flow. But in the meantime, it's hard to feel this way and then be around hubby and his much younger colleagues (who, by the way, wear size 1 jeans with stilettos heels and have pet names for him. Ugg.).

As I fight the sadness, soon anger comes to join in. I'm just so tired of giving up my life for this man. First it was Cincy, where I had an amazing job that I loved, a career that was really in a great place, and awesome friends that we hung out with. It was so hard to leave, and the landing in Florida was rough. I had to start all over and things were not promising at first. But after seven years of building a life there- and new friends, and family, and a flexible job- I had to say goodbye again. Each time, he has had a safety net- he has a built in community that he joins. Not so with me. And damn it, I have really, really tried here. I wanted to be happy, to have our family belong. Joining online groups. Mom groups. Volunteering. Going to church.

But I am more alone than ever.

And I think about going home.

Except, I don't really know where that is anymore. I miss friends and family in Cincy, but I don't want to live there again and my closest friends have mostly left that area anyway.

And I'm not sure Florida is home anymore either. I still have a house there. I still have contacts- heck, I got two unsolicited job offers while we were in the truck moving to Texas. And some family, and some friends. Of course, some scars too, but that's where that mindful meditation has to come in.

On a good day, I feel like home is wherever my husband and son are. On a day like today, it's just wherever I am with my son.

And hubby's looking at post-docs now, in the schooling that never seems to end. Looking all around the country. He makes a show like my opinion matters for something, but ultimately he applies to the places he likes and I have to go along for the ride. Of course, if I found something here that I liked & that paid well, he could find opportunities here. But the timeline is running thin- I am giving myself until February 1st to find a "real job." After that, I am simply going to find anything that pays me. In a way, I feel like it might be God's way of telling me not to settle here, to move'along little doggie.

Blessings

2012-01-10T22:30:00.001-05:00

The first time I heard this song, it was like it was plucked right from the heavens for my heart.

It Says Something About Me...

2012-01-10T22:08:00.000-05:00

That this has been on my fridge for years, nestled comfortably between the inspirational quotes and calendars.

And it still makes me laugh.

The Sunday

2012-01-09T11:45:00.000-05:00

Make it smell pretty, make it look nice.
The End is Near.
I watch through the veil of the new life in front of me,
taunted by wisps of strawberry blonde.
I decide I want to spend December 21, 2012 with family.
Face the world with faith and not fear, but still have a back-up plan.
I dip the bread, swallow the blood.
Then spend too much time in the steel cage.
Frantic whipping to fill the hunger.
Off again to the cage.
Muted wall, caffeinated air.
A table of only three, but still two hours of big words.
Exploring ideas.
Finding common ground.
Feeling vaguely human again.
Pondering the nature of evil. Of intention.
Home again, jiggity jog, but the boys are asleep.
So I engage in maternal allegations.
Dare the Aldi, a parallel universe.
But I emerge with a trampoline.
Playful food.
Digitally explore the Alamo, to learn. To remember.
Gratitude is the sound of cleaning.
Kisses too late in the night.

Oh The Places You'll Go...

2012-01-09T11:33:00.000-05:00

I just thought we all needed this reminder today.

Ode to Black Leather

2012-01-08T23:25:00.000-05:00

It does not matter that 372 women at church this morning were wearing them.

They have sensible heels, not stilettos.

I got them on sale at Kolhs, perhaps even using a coupon.

No.

It doesn't matter.

When I slip them on, and feel the black leather mold itself around my thick calves, I am transported. I'm not going to book club. Oh no.

I am Mistress Manatee, Domesticated Dominatrix.

In A Nod to the Soul Development I Still Need to Tackle...

2012-01-07T12:29:00.000-05:00

When I think about winning the lottery, I first think of all of the wonderful things I could do for the people I love.

Then I think of all the nice surprises that I could give to people I like or who have only played smaller roles in my life, i.e. "Ten years ago, I saw you do something nice. Here's $1000."

Then I think of some of the selfish fun to have, like travel and start foundations and frivolous things.

And then, the troll in the back of my skull wakes up and reminds me how fun it would be to have money so I could just opt out.

Dealing with a jerk face? No thanks, I'm going to go swim in Caribbean instead.
Play along with social games? Nope, sorry, I'm busy funding micro-loans for women in South America.

And this post? This post is a quick reminder to me that I don't have to win the lottery for any of the scenarios, at least to some extent.

Hey There, Sexy Teeth!

2012-01-06T16:29:00.000-05:00

Tooth satisfaction. I haz it.

When I was 16, and I had my first boyfriend, he gave me a colorful certificate for being "#1 Brusher."

He's now also a drag queen. This is in no way pertinent to the story, neither cause nor effect are implied, but I like to spice it up now and then some.

Anyway, I enjoy a high level of dental satisfaction. I brush like a fiend, and while I don't floss as much as I should, I have one of those tarter removing sticks and have great fun with it.

I use cheap brushes (they are now soft bristles, since my eager brushing has started to cause some gum recession. Damn, the recession is hitting EVERYWHERE!) and whatever toothpaste is on sale. I don't go to the dentist near as much as I should, due to the whole lack of insurance and money.

But I can hold my head up high in the dentist office. I don't have to slink out of it like a guilty fool, which is different from most medical visits (being built like a manatee and all).

Since we are sans insurance, I bought a Groupon- exams, cleaning, exam and whitening kit for $36! Whooohoo. I used it today and I could tell the dentist was disappointed that I wouldn't be giving him something to up-charge. In fact, he said he was jealous of my teeth.

It's the small victories. If only I could get people to call me back from all those resumes I sent out. I would show off my strong, hearty stock with these chompers. It may be hard to work into the conversation how smooth & clean my teeth feel.

Maybe I could just send my dental x-rays with my cover letters.

(These are not my teeth. But I found a way to tie back in the whole drag queen thing. You're welcome.)

Third Personal Truth of 2012 (also known as five minute, bare-all therapy)

2012-01-05T09:39:00.000-05:00

Love is scary.

As I child, I sought it constantly, devouring pages of romance novels, developing crush after crush, peering into the faces of strangers, taking any little scrap that was thrown at me.

At five, my first grandmother died. What I remember most of the funeral is my grandfather sitting in a chair, wailing and inconsolable.

My parents had it, but then lost it. Horrid fighting, bitterness, divorce replaced it. Sometimes, especially as I entered my preteen years, it seemed they lost it for me too. After a big, many weeks-long fight with my mom, I moved into my dad's house, and she was so angry at me that we passed on the street during a festival and she wouldn't even acknowledge me.

It was at this time, the summer between middle school and high school, that I finally realized one of the most powerful sources of love in my life- my grandmother, Rosemary. Frail after years of fighting cancer, she was still the most potent source of unconditional love I had. But it seemed that as soon as I finally "got it," she was gone. She was buried on the same day that my new half-sister was born, and I continue to mourn her 21 years later. And I mourn that I was so dense and absorbed in childhood to really appreciate her love while I had it here on earth.

I watched love continue to be found, to be swapped, to be squandered and abused, to be tossed about like currency, debated, to be created, to be lost.

I think a lot about if we "find love" or if we "make it." That answer, I believe, defines a lot about us.

Eighteen years ago, with a friend I've had since the 5th grade, I seemed to find the beginning of love. We played with the thought our senior year of high school, alternatively celebrating the wonder of it and then beating it like a pinata. We fought, and bickered, and kissed, and philosophized, and bucked the world, then started all over again. And in the 18 years since, we've been children and adults. We've grown and regressed. We've parted and come back together. We've fought for our love and almost destroyed it. We've celebrated our love, we've clung to it, we've thrown it away. We've questioned it, walked away from it, built it and been burnt by it. We've had to accept some truths, to settle, to be honest and to lie. To search and to be found.

And we're still doing those things.

The power of love is scary to me. It often seems that when I acknowledge it, when I stand in awe of it's immense presence, that it leaves. it changes. it morphs.

It's still worth it, the work of love. But it's scary.

And the most absolute terror is of my most sweeping, life-changing love with our son. He is the embodiment of our love, flesh and blood proof of our love. But so much more than that. And the swell of my love for him is overwhelming, breathtaking, and still stunning in it's magnitude. The thought of not having that love can reduce me to a quivering mess.

Love is scary. But then, so is the alternative.

Second Personal Truth of 2012

2012-01-04T09:31:00.000-05:00

I want it all.

I love staying up till all hours reading. I love having the day to myself.
But I miss working. I miss having a purpose outside of myself.

I like having a small, manageable family. I love that we can take little trips. I love that my son is a cool little man and that I am over the days of changing diapers.

And then I see a picture of someone with a new baby and it always surprises me how it rips me to the core, makes me almost breathless with longing.

That's my truth for today- I have come to accept that I will always have disparate, sometimes contradictory longings (so many more than I am willing to list here).

And it's okay.

First Personal Truth for 2012

2012-01-03T12:48:00.003-05:00

Less Think, More Do!

It's time to turn all that thinking, that philosophy, that plotting, that gray matter into tangible results.

Less Think, More Do

Go Do.

A Quiet Feliz Navidad

2011-12-25T15:38:00.001-05:00

What a week… a month… a year…

Christmas Musicals for the hubby.
Class parties for the LM.
Decorating.
Interviews.
Cleaning.
Family visits.
The first children's choir performance in the mini-chapel:

And then, the Christmas Eve Children’s performance (my little shepherd was distracted by his flock):

It’s Christmas Day and this is the first year of my life that I haven’t celebrated Christmas with any extended family. Last night was hard, but today has been nice. We rolled out of bed late- luckily our son is just as much of a night owl as we are. I made Texas buttermilk biscuits & gravy, and then we listened to Christmas music while opening and playing with presents.

I crafted some Skyline Chili pie for the hubby, some cranberry jello salad, and cream cheese butter mint cookies to carry us through the day. While simple, all have been tasty and a mix of the old and new. Our gifts were nice, but simple and useful. I am sticking to my guns about too much surplus in my life and while I still have materialist desires and attractions (“ohhh, shiny!”) I find it easier and easier to say no.

Last month, LM was very suspicious of Santa and peppered me with questions that I mostly evaded. I’ve always had conflicting feelings about Santa- I honor the spirit, but I’m not a fan of perpetuating the myths associated with the man in red. We haven’t much pushed the issue through the year and haven’t built it up too much. We do leave cookies and a note and a few associated theatrics. But with my doubting son this year, there was no letter to Santa and no real build up.

That is- until yesterday, Christmas Eve. We pulled up the NORAD tracker to see where Santa had delivered presents. Suddenly we had a month of catch up to do! We emailed Santa and got a quick reply (gotta love technology!) and left him snacks & reindeer treats, along with a letter.

And boy did Santa deliver:

He left his crumbs and a nice note and a really fun present- Perry-okee, a rather elaborate karaoke system tied in with the show. I like that we shop together and honor the process of gifts for each other (I want my son to be bother generous and grateful), while also getting a special gift from Santa. And I must admit, I’m really glad he came and that the magic happened.

My dad, stepmom, and sisters came to visit this last week, staying five days before flying home on Friday. With the time difference, my lingering sinus infection and the fact that they are morning people and we are not, we got a late start every morning and I felt like a rather weak hostess. But we had a pretty relaxed time, eating our way through the week. We did a few touristy things, which were as unimpressive to them as it had been to us the first time. They discovered the pain & redeness of Texas traffic, which I negotiated in a rented GMC Arcadia, aka “The Bus.” We didn’t get to bond as much as I would have liked and I wasn’t able to deliver on the kind of gifts I would have liked to give, but I am glad they came. Next time, though, I want family to visit after Christmas to negate that awful empty feeling when they leave.

I’ve tried to reach out to so many groups and individuals since moving here, but nothing has seemed to “take” yet in terms of building meaningful friendships. I feel the absence of this most right now. While our little family is sweet and manageable, I really long sometimes to fill the house with friends and the chaos of children playing. I want my son to know those types of holidays and celebrations, and I miss it myself. I’m going to once again put some effort into opening up my tiny world this year.

But who knows what next year will bring? There’s a lot up in the air as we navigate the future. I am starting over from square one with the job search, after coming in #2 in the epic three-month process I just completed. And that’s okay- when I prayed, it was that I would have peace with whatever decision was reached. And I truly do (although I could use that $85 for the taxi cost back, lol). There are some good potentials on the horizon and tomorrow I will dedicate myself to some intense cover-letter crafting. I am only going to accept a job that I think I can build a future here in FW, so that I can be fair to both parties involved. If nothing materializes in the next month, I will take it as a sign to move into a more temporary job that leaves open for new adventures after internship.

We have more celebrations to look forward to- we may meet my mom half-way over MLK weekend to have our own Christmas. And there’s still new years- I think a quick, cheap trip to San Antonio to see the lights might be in order.

So just a quick Christmas note to remind me- and someday, LM- of the quiet magic of our lives. The days pass so quickly and there are more memories to capture.

I'm Bedazzling & Junk

2011-11-08T13:06:00.002-05:00

I'm making stuff.
Really making stuff.

I've always been a bit crafty, a bit mad scientist. But usually I have a ton of paint, fabric and strange odds and ends that sit around impatiently waiting to be used in some glorious creation.

But I've been on Pinterest a lot lately and find myself with, *gasp*, free time (not working does allow for that). I'll add some of my food endeavors here in future posts, simply because I'm proud of what I've learned and how I've snuck some efficiency into my life.

But in an effort to start blogging- and stop thinking about it, I'll do a quick post of one of my projects this morning- making my own shaving cream.

Now, I'm a shave-aholic. I do it everyday, more for special occasions. I wear a lot of dresses and not many pairs of pantyhose, so it's an important part of not being mistaken for the Chupracabra. But more than that, I just loved how it feels.
And I love to indulge in shave gel. But at 1-2 cans a month, and around $2 per can, it irritates my frugal sensibilities. It's not that much money, but it's frustrating to get a can that doesn't spray right and have all sorts of wasted product. And I don't like the Dollar Store variety, so what to do?

Well, make it, of course.

People make their own products for different reasons. Some for frugality, some for control over ingredients, some for earth sustainability. I would say that all three factor into my current at home science experiments (oh yes, there are more. Many more).

But it's time I let you in on a little secret.

When I was little, we would go to my maternal grandparents house many times per week. I would often disappear into the bathroom for huge chunks of time, baffling my parents. Did I need more fiber in my diet? Did I find a wormhole into another dimension? Was I perusing the Playboy magazines that were under the National Geographic and Reader's Digest? Um, well, there was a bit if that, actually.

But mostly I was...

Performing a cooking show in the large bathroom mirror while imitating Julia Child.

Well, truth be told, I was more imitating the Swedish Chef imitating Julia Child.

Kinda like this:

Yes, welcome to my darkness.

I would carefully lay out a complex assortment of tissue on the counter, and then proceed to add my "ingredients." Lotions, Shower-to-Shower powder, a little glob of Noxzema, some lipstick... truly, nothing was safe. All narrated as I spoke into the ~~camera~~ big giant mirror, and usually carefully stirred with a Q-tip.

I was many things as a child. Lacking imagination I was not.

Imagine my disappointment when I had a burnt-out chemistry teacher in high school and found that I would not pursue a destiny of mixing crap for fun and profit.

But this episode of True Confessions has a point... (rustles around, looking for point).

Oh, yes. So, I made my own shave cream today. It's not all gloriously gel-like, but I may experiment that with some ideas about that. In the meantime, behold my creations:

I've been all over the interwebs (teehee) looking at recipes and suggestions. This is just my first, experimental batch, so keep that in mind if you want to use it. I will post updates on how it works and other recipes that I try.

DIY Shave Cream

1 Cup Shampoo
1 Cup Conditioner
7 Tablespoons of Body/ Hand Lotion
5 Tablespoons of Coconut Oil

Mix all together and let sit to thicken. I bought cheap sauce bottles from the kitchen section of a big box store (.99) and this recipe filled both with just a little room at the top to allow for shaking before use. I like these bottles because I think that they will allow for easy portion control and application.

I used cheap Suave products and lotion that my mom had left at my house. I think that a thicker hand cream would be nicer next time, along with experimenting with essential oils and some gel-ish thickening agents. Many other recipes used baby oil or olive oil- I had coconut oil because I've been reading about some of the great properties it is supposed to have. This is my first time using it, so we'll see.

It's nice to know that I would be putting those metal bottles in the garbage anymore and that I made something inexpensive and useful. And I am sticking it to the man!

Legacy

2011-11-07T11:12:00.000-05:00

The other big theme of my life is the nature of love.

Last week, my son and I tackled the question, "Why are we here?" He brought it up as we were driving to church Wednesday night. We discussed a lot of different philosophies and ways that people have answered this question throughout the ages. I emphasized our ability and responsibility to learn, to grow, to explore and honor truth. We talked about God and creation and gnawed on ideas.

But that is only part of my answer.

I forgot to talk about love.

The concept of a million faces and dimensions,

the subject of philosophers and poets,

the bane of the bitter and brokenhearted.

The Alpha and Omega, the beginning and end.

I am joined by a million in my chorus, but it has just recently dawned on me how vital this exploration is to the core of who I am. It's one of my sacred truths, a defining element to who I am.

To wrestle the angels, to look under the boulders...

We read books, watch movies, write, and enter into the messy tangle of humanity searching to understand and experience love in all of it's many incarnations.

Indelible.

Indefinable.

Essential.

The grandest, and yet infused in our very atoms.

And in this dawning of awareness, in this embracing of truth, I find an old friend who has been here the whole time, waiting for me to acknowledge what is and what shall be.

There is a greatest purpose growing in me, a parting of the curtain to a great light.

"If we ever leave a legacy, it's that we loved each other well."

I Always Wondered...

2011-11-07T11:06:00.000-05:00

...what "stay at home" mothers did all day if their kids are in school.

And yet, I have plenty to do. It's rather amazing. And I haven't even been here to capture some of the highs and lows.

It's warmish again here in Texas, for the moment, and it's overcast and spitting rain at the moment. I need to clean and prep lunches and dinners for the week. I'm composing a thank-you letter for an interview. It's the third I've had for a nonprofit, and if I progress to the next level there will be at least two more. I haven't applied for many jobs and I am holding off in hopes that this job will be "The One." The pay & benefits would be an amazing blessing- it would change many aspects of our lives. It will be a big job, hard work, lots of responsibility, lots of hours. But important, and potentially life altering in mission and scope. I am cautiously optimistic, but it can be scary to care so much again. So I feel very zen at this point about it all. I feel like God has a plan and I'm doing my part- so I feel good about just letting it unfold. I am not going to push my will on this and I will trust that either outcome is the way it should be. This does not release me from the prep and follow-up that must be done, it just frees me to know that the work is not in vain, regardless of the results.

There are two concurrent themes of my life that I am working on right now. The first is based on the book I just read- The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin. I saw it posted on a MeetUp group I had joined online and it prompted me to buy it and join a book club that met yesterday.

It was interesting to try on my brain again. It's been rather dormant. As has my socialization skills. It's nice to see neither is broken, just rusty. I'll keep greasing the wheels and explore my truths at the same time.

Anyway, back to the book- I enjoyed it. It was simple, but there were many places that I found immediate applications to my own life. I am committed to continuing my growth in this area and will share more as it develops.

One of the quotes that resounds with me from the book is:

The days are long, but the years are short.

As a parent, I found this especially striking and it rang the truth bell deep inside of me.

Just Remember

2011-10-24T13:06:00.000-04:00

I was putting the laundry in the dryer this morning and had to smile when I grabbed the dryer sheets. While I usually get generic, I found a good deal on some Snuggle last week.

My grandmother loved the Snuggle bear commercials.

She's been gone for over 21 years, and yet my brain still holds on to that fact.

I still miss her. I still wish she were here.
I wish she had been at my wedding, and had met my son.
She never knew me as an adult, and I often wonder if I would be the same if she had.
Would I make her proud?

And even as I typed these words, this song came into my head:

This Minute

2011-10-16T16:58:00.000-04:00

Yikes- I totally skipped posting in September. I started a few posts and thought about more... but never published. I have so much to say about so many different things that I end up staying quiet. And I have been very quiet lately. There were some days lately where I didn't speak from 8am until 3pm. Solitude and silence are allowing me to explore.

So just a quick update as the dappled fall sunlight streams into my side windows. Life is good. I feel the hand of God on our lives. I'm not sure what direction we are going, but I'm trying to be still and learn. I have a lot more to say about that, but that's for an even quieter time.

We started the day with church and will end it again today with church. This amount of church is new to me. Spirituality is not new. Faith is not new. But the active dedicated of a large amount of time to the rigors of religion is, and there has been a bit of reckoning with that. Reckoning is good. Reaching into myself to pull out what is inside, and examining it, is an important aspect to by journey.

Spent some quality time at the pumpkin patch and exploring some rural areas today. We are home for about an hour and I might sneak out to the pool or hammock for a quick nap after I eat some great leftovers.

There have certainly been some rough stops and some things that have caused great fear. Yet, that is truly life. We buck up, we survive. And in the meantime we enjoy the whole crazy dance.

So nothing too deep today, but just a moment in time.

Off to have more.

Musical Notes

2011-08-29T10:23:00.001-04:00

This song has haunted me all week- I have to get it "off my chest" so to speak.

Owning All My Truths

2011-08-24T20:04:00.001-04:00

When I was 11 and my parents divorced, I learned the hard way that you lose friends when you show your true self, with all your flaws and brokenness. When you are sad and unsure and insecure and depressed and questioning the world. Kids don’t like to see that chaos. And neither, sometimes, do adults.

Oh sure, you say, that’s not how “true friends” are.
Not adults.
Sometimes, however, they are.

And I certainly say that now with a more accepting and forgiving heart than I had at 11 while watching friends blow me off as I struggled with my collapsing world. We all have our own journeys and sometimes we can’t walk fully with another the way they might need us to. I’ve been let down and I’ve let down others that I truly cared about. And as I have navigated the waters of being codependent, I’ve worked with boundaries and not feeling responsible for taking on- perhaps even feeding on- the need to be needed, to be the knight to sweep in and try to “save” everyone. I’ve let relationships fall away that I didn’t feel were mutually healthy and I’ve patched together a few that I know are a bit feeble, but that I’m not ready to give up on.

I do have close friends that I’ve let in, that I let myself be totally honest with and with whom I trust and relax enough to show myself in all my multifaceted glory- the good, the bad, the ugly, the stream of profanities. And I am still the kind of gal that wears a bit too much of my heart on my sleeve and speaks out a bit too freely. I’ve gotten better over the years- being a fundraiser will teach you that. Or maybe it’s worse. That’s an interesting debate. Is learning how to function in society, to conform to expectations a sign of maturity or simply defeat? I could argue it both ways, but then I am someone who dwells often in the multiple shades of gray. Not unsure, just comfortable knowing that truth and knowledge are fluid and subjective.

On Facebook I have a lot of friends who like to read my happy or snarky comments and observations. It makes me happy to make them happy. It’s a varied group of folks, from professional contacts and long-ago elementary friends with just the merest sliver of connection, to the closest of friends and family. I can be silly and explore my flair for the absurd and dramatic in 420 characters. There are hints of my life, hints of my ups and down, but they are like glimpses into a viewfinder. As well they should be. As protective as I can sometimes be, I am also quite guilty of the “overshare.”

But I promised myself that this blog would be for me. For my true self. My honest expressions. To please no one. To only try to explain and explore my own psyche and not play with and hide behind silly words. To be a place of seeing who I am. A place that I can change my mind and remake myself without having to defend it to anyone. And someday a place that I can share with LittleMan so that he can know a version of me that he wouldn’t otherwise.

Today was hard and I am writing here to explore why that was. It was the third day of school for LM. The routine is already set and is successful and comfortable. After I dropped him off I felt overwhelmingly lonely. Since I love my quiet introverted time, the feeling still surprises me. I know that it rationally makes sense- I have been uprooted again, to a place without friends or family. I don’t have a job or colleagues yet and I am also unsure of exactly the path I want to take. I know that these things will change with time. But once again, I am not going to shove down my current feelings. I am not going to try to wipe them away without feeling them fully. I get so sick of our society wanting that. “Get Well” as soon as you are sick; “Smile” as soon as you are sad. Let’s allow ourselves to examine the dark even as we walk towards the light.

So I’m not going to fake it, even as I know that the feelings are fleeting and soon will pass.
“The night can revel in utter darkness for it knows the dawn is near.”

As I drove to Starbucks this morning, I chewed on the lonely.
Examined it.
Tasted it.
In many ways it felt almost like the heartbreak of a break-up. I found myself thinking, “Aw, this was the special place we went to last week.” And “LittleMan would love this car wash.” And as songs came on the radio, I felt that familiar strain of it being “Our Song.” Songs that we like to sign to together. Songs that reminded me of him.

How strange, I thought, that these feelings feel so close to that of a break up. But instead of quashing the thought, I explored with it.

I carried this child in my body. Grew him. Nurtured him. Accepted him as the gift that he is and daily he acts as my proof of God’s love. I love him more deeply, more completely than any emotion I’ve ever know. I did not get to spend as much time I would have liked as he has grown. I had to work, to support us all. I don’t get that time back. And now this huge milestone reminds me of it. And reminds me that this is (maybe, could be, probably) my only chance for these moments.
My only child.

I feel deeply. I examine the world intensely. And here, at least, I will not paste a sticker on it and pretend to be otherwise.

I am proud and excited for my son. I am happy that I made the first day so great that he keeps saying that he wishes every day was the first day. I am excited to get to participate in his class and school. In fact, this job search that I am going to reluctantly embark on will be different from any I’ve ever taken. I am not looking for a specific job this time. I am looking to maintain my most important job of being Mother and filling the rest of the space with whatever else I will be.

Perhaps that too is a part of this feeling of regeneration. Facing the fact that I have no more excuses to hold me back from seizing a bit more life. No one ever said that the phoenix didn’t experience grief as it burned to ash.

And here we are

2011-08-22T13:01:00.002-04:00

I'm in an apartment clubhouse, comfortable in air conditioning while listening to the piped in country music while glancing at the HGTV on mute. The area is empty, save for a few folks who will wander through from time to time.

It's still so surreal. I am in Texas. I live here.

What a strange few weeks. We took our time getting here, staying in Louisiana and then just over the Texas line in a town that you miss if you blink. Once we hit Fort Worth, we went straight to the school to register and then on to a cheap hotel gotten with Hotwire. Those five night in a cheap hotel seemed like they would last forever... and like that, it was over. Just another memory of too much Disney channel and swimming and putting together strange microwave meals on paper plates. Then the hubby was off to work and it was just me and the Little Man (LM). We moved into our next phase, which is the apartment we will be in for two weeks. It's been fun, actually. It's quite, a nice upscale community. We are on the second floor and it's a nice setup with thoughtful touches. I could see living here quite peacefully. We have blowup mattress and camp chairs and nice big closets, including a laundry right in the hallway. It's simple & easy and I find myself wanting to continue the kind of life were it's easy to keep things clean because you only have one pan. Okay, maybe I would add a few things, but even now I find myself chasing the boys to keep things clean and organized.

Besides feeling a sense of safety and settle, the best part has been the pool. It's a great resort-style pool with dual waterfalls and it glows green at night as we swim, usually alone. I can't believe how little the resident seem to use the pool, but I enjoy it. On our first evening here, we came to the pool and there were two women with three small children between them. They appeared to be speaking an African-based language & we all smiled at each other. At one point we were swimming on the side of the pool, watching LM show off. I had seen one of the little girls jump in the pool and since the mothers didn't seem to react, I figured she was a good swimmer. After a minute or two the other little girl was trying to get the attention of the mom that I was standing near and she seemed started- it appears the previous jumper couldn't swim. And couldn't stand. But everyone was strangely calm. "So," I asked, "she can't swim?" I jumped over to where the little girl was still under the water and pulled her up. She was coughing and crying and threw up water on me as I handed her to her mom. It was very surreal- everyone seemed very detached and unemotional, as if watching their child almost drown was a common thing, but it certainly rattled me.

The past week was filled with errands and school shopping. It was nice just hanging out with my little guy. The highlight was signing up for a library card. We went to "Meet the Teacher" night last Thursday. Yesterday we tried our second church. It was United Methodist and huge. I liked it- people were friendly, they blessed the Kindergartners and I thought that had a good vibe and evidence of living their faith. It's a possible contender for the future.

And then, blink, the weekend was over just like that. This morning I got up just before 6am, and let me tell you- that hasn't happened in a long, long time. I made the requested breakfast for the first day, which was pancakes with a chocolate chip smile and bacon. With only one bathroom, it was a bit of a juggle with the hubby getting ready too, but soon he was off and it was just us. It was a positive morning and I kept my wits about me because of obsessive planning and prep the night before. It was funny to get ready. I can't even remember the last time I used a hairdryer- working from home for over a year meant that I usually didn't need to. Life has been so carefree and casual for so long- I suppose it will be good to invest a bit more into convention again.

After LM was settled in his classroom- and I had taken enough pics and lingered a little longer than needed- I moved along to the cafeteria for the "Kindergarten Coffee." I say with a few other parents from our class and shared friendly chatter while getting info about sports and churches and the like. I signed up for room mother, and PTA, and a few other posts, and then met another mother at Starbucks for coffee. It was pleasant and nice to get to know here, but I definitely needed this time to come back and just be by myself. Life's just been happening and I needed some space to reflect.

So what's next? Well, it appears we will be able to move into our house early next week. So getting that set up and unpacked & settled will take some serious time & energy. I have promised myself that I would work out and swim daily since I no longer have the excuse of no time. And it's time to begin looking for a job- a search that I think will take a while. I certainly need the money, but I want so much more. Fulfilling work. Benefits. Flexibility. Could be tricky, but I have some plans. But that's another post.

I have been joined in the room by a woman will a really stinky lunch, so I think that's my cue to leave.

The Many Goodbyes

2011-08-05T13:15:00.004-04:00

I don't have time to write.
I have too many words, too many stories, too many emotions to capture them "write" now.
I should be packing.

And yet, I must write.
The Goodbyes are pulling at me, demanding acknowledgment, if only for a moment.

Three significant ones today.
First, saying goodbye to little man for a play-date. His last chance to see his best friend before we move. The other mother wanted to pick him up. I wanted to drop him off. In the end, hubby had to meet her in a parking lot. They are going to another house to swim- a house I do not know well. I have never let him ride with anyone but family. It is pure hell to not be able to locate him immediately and terrifies me. This was my goodbye to control, and I don't like it one bit.

Today I said goodbye to my job, my boss. We met at Starbucks and I handed over my phone, my corporate card, and more paperwork. I didn't want to say goodbye to my boss and our great relationship. To my freedom. To my paycheck. To a portion of my identity and some certainty.

While we were there, drinking our coffee and laughing about work stories, I see her. At first she walks by and I only see her from behind, noting that she is both beautiful and way too skinny and frail looking. Outside, she turned and started to settle at a table and I realize it's K. I written about her before and the goodbye has been coming. I popped out to say hi- she was on the phone and it was an awkward 30 seconds. She then walked off as I came inside. And that goodbye was so terribly final, because I know that she is slowly killing herself and I can't stop it. Someone who once was almost family. Who shared holiday meals at my home. Now a stranger. I watch again helplessly as drugs steal another person from my heart.

Leaving here isn't the same as leaving home seven years ago, but I am still having trouble saying the proper goodbyes. The house isn't rented or for sale yet. So much will be left behind, and we will come back later to wrap up the goodbyes. We just weren't ready.

The truck is out front and we have three days to load it. We will soon be on the road to unknown paths. I'm not afraid, I just need a little more time to walk both paths.

I'm not ready.
And since this has been a part of our story for the last few months, it just seems so right to include here:

It's time to regenerate, to reinvent myself once more. So, off to it now then, eh?

Nobody knowns the miles I've seen...

2011-07-03T01:25:00.002-04:00

In the last month, we have taken two weeks of roads trips... a total of over 4,000 miles. That's a lot in 30 days. First was a trip to Cincinnati to see my baby sister graduate from high school. It was bittersweet. I have a picture of my own high school graduation and I am holding Miss M, who was just a baby. Nothing marks the passage of time so much. I was lovely that I got to spent a lot of time with her while there, and Little Man got to experience the Farm and my family. I wish we could do it more. I dream of building a little stone cottage there where I could take Little Man and spend the summer. Maybe some day...

It was the first time being there since my step-grandmother died and I had a few times that I had to really process & deal with emotions around that and the true end of every grandparent I have had. I have been coming to the Farm since I was 11, which was when my father started dating my future step-mother. The Farm, spread out on 150 acres in rolling Northern Kentucky, has been a place of discovery & refuge since then. And honestly, it's the closest thing I have to "home" right now, as I deal with the transition of moving to Texas.

And that's where our second road trip was- Dallas/ Fort Worth, where we will be moving in about 30 days. We spent each night in a different hotel and explored the area by car. I certainly shouldn't be bored and it will be interesting to live in a big city again. I'm not a huge fan of the prairie and will miss the lush green of North Florida. But unlike 2004, I feel better leaving. My job is coming to a more natural end and now social media will allow me to stay in touch with friends. That is a lifeline that I didn't have before and I think it will help.

It's been intense spending so much time shut into cars... and working at home with a husband who had been here too. It's frankly WAY too much together time, especially at a time when I am feeling a bit resentful about many of the dynamics in our relationship. And by "bit," I mean it's all I can do most days. I'm not going to hash it out here. And it will pass. Or maybe it won't. But only time will tell.

most nights have been spent on the laptop, exploring areas, reading up on schools and looking for properties to rent. All with Doctor Who playing in the background. Netflix is a wonderful & horrible thing.

While my immediate boss has known for some time that I would be leaving, I am giving my official notice on Tuesday. Frankly, I am still conflicted. It's hard for me to believe that this move is really going to happen. I keep feeling like it won't and I didn't want to decide about my job until the last minute. The truth is that I would be very happy staying here with Little Man for the year. But financially it would be harder to swing. Or at least that's what I tell myself- it actually might be easier, frankly. The real reason is that I know how hard it would be for Little Man to be apart from his daddy. So off we go and I can only hope to seize new opportunities and relationships from it.

And this is all setting up the next post, which is why I am on the laptop in the middle of the night. back in a moment.

By Special Request...

2011-06-16T10:49:00.002-04:00

Here you go, B. A new post so that we can all stop looking at the one below from the Bitter Manatee.

Since life is a bit insane at the moment, I don't have time to write much. But I was listening to country music this morning and I really like the chorus to a Rodney Atkins song, Going Through Hell:

Well you know those times
When you feel like there's a sign there on your back
Says I don't mind if ya kick me
Seems like everybody has
Things go from bad to worse
You'd think they can't get worse than that
And then they do

You step off the straight and narrow
And you don't know where you are
Use the needle of your compass
To sew up your broken heart
Ask directions from a genie
In a bottle of Jim Beam
And she lies to you
That's when you learn the truth

If you're going through hell
Keep on going, don't slow down
If you're scared, don't show it
You might get out
Before the devil even knows you're there

Well I been deep down in that darkness
I been down to my last match
Felt a hundred different demons
Breathing fire down my back
And I knew that if I stumbled
I'd fall right into the trap that they were laying, yeah

But the good news
Is there's angels everywhere out on the street
Holding out a hand to pull you back up on your feet
The one's that you've been dragging for so long
You're on your knees
You might as well be praying
Guess what I'm saying

If your going through hell
Keep on going, don't slow down
If you're scared don't show it
You might get out
Before the devil even knows you're there

Yeah, If you're going through hell
Keep on moving, face that fire
Walk right through it
You might get out
Before the devil even knows you're there

If you're going through hell
Keep on going, don't slow down
If you're scared don't show it
You might get out
Before the devil even knows you're there

Yeah, If you're going through hell
Keep on moving, face that fire
Walk right through it
You might get out
Before the devil even knows you're there
Yeah, you might get out
Before the devil even knows you're there.

I won't say that I'm going through hell right now, but I've certainly had my times. I like the chorus theme- keep moving, face the fire, walk through it, believe that there is another side to it. It's worked in my life and I am certainly in the "one foot in front of the other" place right now. Like my Ingrid song below- "All we ca do is keep breathing." Like many, I can get caught up in wanting to do things "right" and that can be paralyzing. Sometimes just a reminder to keep moving- and not analyzing each step, and spend too much time on the plan- is important to me.

I just popped in the Hare Krishna CD that I bought on the street in Venice last summer. We were walking, gazing in shop windows and suddenly a joyful parade appeared out of nowhere led by shining monks clad in bright orange robes with ecstatic smiles on their face, singing and dancing and chanting and playing the drums. Frankly, I think that people from any religion should be open to moments in which we glimpse God and this was one of those moments. There was a pure joy and love that radiated such warmth and truth. Just a moment of revelation and the parade danced past. But they were selling CDs to support their cause, so I bought one. I often do this when traveling- it's one of the best ways to capture the energy of a place and time.

In five minutes, I've managed to cover country music & Hare Krishas- yeah, that seems about right for me. I've released you from the ravages of having to ponder male organs. Or maybe made it worse. Alas, back to work for me.

The Penis

2011-05-16T11:54:00.005-04:00

I have discovered the secret of...

The Penis.

Long suspected as a tool for reproduction or pleasure, it instead has a far more insidious purpose....

It is the source of a presumed superiority of all things. Ever.

In a strange twist of fate, this post is inspired today by all men except my husband, who has an exemplary tool in question for the first two purposes, but is not a pompous blowhard as indicated by the last purpose. This is good for both of us.

All the rest of you, however, better watch it...

That is all :)

Just a week in the life

2011-05-06T21:22:00.002-04:00

So, nothing earth-shattering this week. I have been working like mad trying to get ready for an event next week and feeling both the weight of responsibility while also helplessness from not having the information and tools that I need. In the scope of life, this will be but a blink, but it's stressful at the moment because I just want it to go well.

And that leads me again to the realization- am I going to spend my life working this hard for other people or am I going to be brave enough to invest this energy for myself, my destiny?

One picture that I wish I had today was of little man. He's been off school this week and has spent most of the time running with hubby as I worked. Today hubby had a short meeting and LM was home with me while I worked. At one point I has a really long phone conversation with one of my board members/bosses. I look up and there's LM, who has donned a headset and a whip. It looked like he was a customer service agent for cowboys or trying to wrangle a bunch of backup dancers for Brittney Spears. He'll be glad someday that I didn't have my camera on me.

I have a blaring headache at the moment, so I tend to be hyper sensitive to sound. And light. And breathing. Even so, before I hit the bed, I feel the need to capture the fact that hubby had certainly put forth effort this week and I have put forth a lot of effort in thank him. I realize this is not worthy of an engraved paver stone or anything, but since I am quick to capture the rough times, I thought I was try to remember some of the quietly good ones.

There's a bed with my name on it and a weekend full of work, so it's time to turn off Netflix (after years with public television, I have finally started watching Doctor Who. You don't have to call me a Time Lord, but at least now I am starting to get some of the references). And since LM wanted to play "Cupcake Wars" the only day on the playground, we figured it was time to butch up the viewing options. Slightly.

Sydney

2011-05-01T14:15:00.006-04:00

Sometimes I think that I have let go of the dream of you, made peace with the path that seems to lead in another direction, while all the while knowing that there is something more coming. But I'm truly walking two paths.

Last week, during the crowded Easter service, we talked about hope. How relationships and lives both end when someone has lost it. How the presence of it infuses life and meaning in to even the most mundane. I internalized much of the message for the pertinence in my life right now.

Flowers are so poignant because their beauty begins in hope. The faith that a simple seed will have the power to grow, that the elements will be right for life.

Today you spoke to me without words. You let me know that you were still there, waiting and watching. You dared me to believe and then pushed beyond coincidence to show yourself. In the smallest flicker of the candle of hope, you are there.

So I wait with Hope.

Sometimes Perspective is Handed to You on a Shield

2011-04-26T17:14:00.003-04:00

So, I wrote my little emo heart out last night, so when I woke up I felt great. Down three pounds- just water, but still good. Healthy, strong, happy. Great morning, relaxed & joyful with my little family. Great work calls in the morning for some significant donations. The happy jig was jigging. Looking forward to a movie tonight with friends and feeling very drama free.

No sooner had I posted a happy status on facebook than a phone call came that threw my day into a bit of a bad afterschool special. A desperate voice of a family member on the other line who was too far away to do anything. A flurry of frantic phone calls to follow. A story of a hospital, a phone that wasn't being answered, and the fear of suicide from someone I care about. Minutes later I was in the car going to a place I didn't know, searching from the barest of hints. And then at a strange apartment, pounding on the door and then the back window while preparing to call the police and starting to fear the worst.

Thankfully, it wasn't the worst but it also wasn't good. It's not the first time I have worried about finding someone dead, but it still isn't a feeling that I have built an immunity to. And I have taken the reigns and tried to steer the boat back into the right direction, while also fulfilling my own responsibilities. I have a brief reprieve right now, but I know it's not for long.

I wonder how many lives I must watch be destroyed by drugs. It's weird to be immune, but to watch it destroy so many around me. It's a poison that I can only control by never letting it into myself... and yet I cannot save those around me.

Second, the dismal shape of drug and mental health care in this country is just pathetic. This is the not the first time I have spent hours on the phone looking for help for someone.

Third, I often say that I wonder when I will feel like "an adult." Today was one of those days that I do, most definitely, feel like an adult. And all my belly aching below seems so silly, so insignificant. My life is such an amazing blessing. And while I am tired and worn from today, I also still feel strong. I am not drowning in the drama and I'm not depleted. Sometimes it takes fighting in another person's war to see that you are not weak.

It's scary for me to acknowledge God's blessings- it seems when I do that something tragic happens. But as I see the soldiers push forward, I raise my sword and accept that I can help, but I cannot save.

On a Musical Note

2011-04-25T22:58:00.003-04:00

I have just been loving Ingrid for awhile on Pandora and it's time to save her for posterity.

First, this one:

And also this:

And Now I Blather

2011-04-25T20:42:00.001-04:00

In October and November, I was really working daily on my health. I was walking a lot more and tracking my food. I was doing yoga weekly and attending OA meetings. But still I wasn't losing weight. Then the holidays hit... and I began doing less and less. By the time March rolled around, I was ready to recommit. I was going to focus on getting off 30 pounds by the time June rolled around. And it's the end of April... and I've gained 18 pounds. Seriously?? The thing that kills me is that I can eat a totally normal day and still gain three pounds overnight. If I were hanging at buffets or a Girl Scout cookie factory, I would accept it. But this just seems so unfair.

So, spring is literally "busting out" all over and I'm not thrilled. The bout of sickness in February and March really seemed to do me in and I'm just really feeling the effects of the extra, sudden weight. Plus I'm just pissed- I know many people have trouble keeping weight off, but really- to gain 18 pounds when I am trying to lose. Ugh!

We spent a lot of time this weekend at my mom's house, which is a small ranch. She has four dogs- three are big and one is decidedly furry. I can usually only stand about three hours before my sinuses rebel. We spent a big chunk of time Saturday and Sunday there and the combination about killed me. By the time we left Sunday evening, I was so inflamed and congested that I felt as if I had the flu. I had a fever and was having a hard time breathing (which makes me a tad cranky). We got home and I took Benadryl, which knocked me. That might have worked okay, except I mean it literally took me out of the game before I had time to get ready for bed. Plus I had tons of work to do, so when I woke up around midnight, I was not pleased. I tossed and turned until about 5:30, at which point I got up and started fighting the work demons in my head. But I still have allergy hangover and the current weather isn't helping. I have felt very inflamed and unhealthy and it's time to get on the ball.

So, this morning I went for a walk around a pond close to my house. It was harder- just a few weeks off really makes a difference. And I was bummed to find that it wasn't two miles, like I thought, but rather 1.5 mile. While not perfect, I have tried to eat better today. Besides a few sips of coffee, I haven't had caffeine. And I ended the day with a yin yoga class and a healthy dinner of salmon, rice, and green beans (with amino acids and tons of garlic). Yep- I'm trying to bring down my inflammation levels. I find if I focus on treating specific health issues- instead of just the omnipresent jaba-the-hut- weightiness that I do better. It's more like a science experiment.

I googled "Jabba the Hut in Drag" but it just made me mad.
So we are going with the cat version.

So now I am just chilling with some green tea (courtesy of the husband, who I have to give props to, for he did bring me a little heating pad and the tea upon request.)

I was thinking again today about my many different- and disparate- dimensions today. I definately have a strong streak of hippie-alternative yearning (yeah- that's the best wordsmithing I can come up with right now, as I am listening to the neighbor roaring up and down on the four wheeler outside my house while my monkey boy & man-child jabber on and sing Mexican Christmas songs. Yes, really). Anyway, where was I? Oh yes.

One of my earliest memories was of doing yoga in the living room with my dad. My mom worked third shift and we would sit on the carpet in the front room of the ranch, listening to Cat Steven and doing yoga in- yes- the actual light of the moon. This remains a sacred memory for me and I can remember the smooth cover of the"Tea for the Tillerman" record. Listening to Cat Stevens, John Denver, James Taylor and Fleetwood Mac still takes me back and can literally lower my blood pressure.

This being the late 70s, my dad also had left over vitamin supplements and self-hypnosis tapes from some entrepreneurial venture, and I listened to those growing up. We also have some Native American ancestry and that colored my world view, so that when I was old enough to make my own decisions about religion I ended up with both a Christian worldview and a strong interest in the concepts of Hindu and Buddism, with special focus on karma and the balance of yin and yang. In fact, I wear a tiny yin yang in my right ear and it serves to remind me to recognize the sacred balance of energy. I don't see this as an either/or endeavor- I believe in a God mighty enough to reach his many peoples through many messages of truth.

I used to love to have conversations with people about the universe and all it's mysteries. I didn't mind being the freak- I just thought everyone else was kinda conventional. I gave a presentation in eighth grade about reflexology and did astrological projections with my step-grandmother. I experienced mind mapping and reflexology tanks and all sorts of things that people deem madness. I wasn't searching for some deeper truth that I didn't feel that I had. Instead it was just... interesting. I like exploring. In fact, I would say that it my strongest characteristic. I want to explore the psyche, the inner-space, the dimensions of people's believes, their histories, the journeys, their possibilities, the interactions between us.

More than ten years ago, I conceived of a nonprofit utopia that I wanted to start. I called it Sanctuary. And I researched. I dreamed. I explored. I wrote. I created a business plan. I toured possible locations.

And slowly, steadily, over the last ten years I have let my dreams seep out of me, one drop at a time. I have become more and more conventional. I haven't lost who I am... I've just let is sink deeper inside of me and in front of it I have placed the vestiges of the roles that I have played as a fundraiser, a wife and a mother. But most of all- a provider. For I have had to be the provider for the last eight years as my husband works on his own dream of a doctorate in clinical psychology.

And I still struggle with it. Did I do this to myself or let it be done to me? Was I too weak to fight for my dreams? Too scared to chase them? To sacrifice all to achieve them? Did I let the fact that my family didn't see the beauty of my dream discourage me? I remember walking into pre-marital counseling with the preacher of the church we had joined. When we started talking about the future, I was already frustrated and emotional about not feeling supported to pursue my own dreams and being dismissed because hubby "didn't even know what they were." And that was right long years ago.

It's strange how so many others knew my dreams in all their techno-colored detail. Last year I reconnected with a friend who I had worked with in 2001. We were both trainers, but she was exceptionally talented in cake decorating. So I encouraged her. I helped her design a portfolio and pushed her to interview. It was awesome to me to be a part of helping someone make their own dreams come true and when one of her cakes was published in a bridal magazine, I was as proud as a parent. When we reconnected, she wrote me a touching letter thanking me for helping and encouraging her then. And then she wrote about how she hoped that my dream of Sanctuary would come true.That stopped me in my tracks. Ten years had passed and I was no closer. Ten.Whole.Years. Not only that, she remembered. She knew. She cared. She believed.

It's always funny how I start one subject and end somewhere different here. And I can't help but feel that I am painting a picture for myself, a sort of psychological color by number of truth that I can only see when I'm done. And yet, it's all perfectly interrelated. My health. My beliefs. My sacrifices and my balancing of identities. What I have tucked away in order to make others happy. This is my place to pour it out, even if it doesn't make people smile or laugh.

So what will I write in another 10 years?

Musical Moments

2011-04-14T17:10:00.001-04:00

Life is busy, busy, busy and I seem to be behind in the race right now. Although, that may no be a bad thing. Being late to one's funeral, for example, is a good thing.

So no time to write. But loving these two songs lately, just for their spunky originality.

and a lady that I just ADORE....

I envision myself banging along to a big bass drum to this. The artist describes it as a bluesy gospel disco- that's epically wonderful for me.

What If It's Not Fair?

2011-04-05T20:30:00.002-04:00

(I started this last month and felt the need to come back and finish the thought, at least a bit).

I came home tonight after my son's first t-ball game, fairly happy and content in the moment. I was prepared for most of the emotions, but I teared up a bit with a little boy from the other team got struck out on his first try. They are only five years old- I'm not ready for them to be competitive monsters, nor will I be. We just root and cheer all the little souls.

But that's not what I have to write about right now. Nor is the topic the rather overwhelming tides of change flowing my way and my intense scurry to keep up with work, with life, with family, with home repair & sale... these area all things I'll need to get out eventually, but for right now I just keep paddling.

What's on my heart is the battle between faith and reality, between our desires and our despair. I have many unpublished posts that are simply too raw to share. One of them is about my unborn baby girl- the child I have wanted so desperately for so long. I simply don't have the emotional fortitude to capture that story right now, but suffice to say that it's been six years since I bought my first little girl dress, four years since I bought a locket with her name, three years since my son starting asking for a baby sister, and more than a year since my actions & prayers have been focused on her. Actively "trying" they call it. The journey of hope & pain since then is for another time and I just can't go into it yet. So many pregnant right now as my blood betrays me again. Because this is actually not about me and my baby envy, but rather someone else.

I began working with K in 2002, just a few months before I left the job. I didn't get to know her too well, but liked her and got to attend her wedding. Fast forward many years and we reconnected on Facebook. And I started reading her blog and see that we had in common than I had known. I enjoyed pictures of her wiener dog and especially loved seeing her skills at quilting & knitting. So much so, in fact, that I remember showing my mom a picture of a bird quilt that K made. I had hoped, actually, that I could order one from her for a nursery if I should ever get the other baby that I wanted so much.

But more than anything, what made me come back and read was K's humanity and her struggle with infertility. It has been more than six difficult years for her and her loving husband. Grueling and expensive IVF treatments. Rollercoaster emotions and heartbreaking losses. I found myself thinking of her and praying for her to get her baby. And though we haven't spoken in almost a decade and are not close, I cried for her pain when she shared her loss and her despair. And when I've suffered my own loss- when the pain of seeing other pregnant women seemed too much- I could empathize with her own tales of baby envy. And like so many, I started to wonder at God's plan. Why would He allow to many babies to be born unwanted and unloved when these two people were so ready to give their lives to a child?

This summer, I fulfilled a 20-year dream of going to Chartres Cathedral in France. Though I am not Catholic, I am familiar with many of the church's traditions and find some comfort in the rituals. As I stepped up to the small alter of Mary that is dedicated to mother and child, I immediately felt that I must light a candle for my own daughter's soul and for K. I've never done that before, but I made my tithe and carefully selected the two candles. I lit my candle with complete & utter gratitude for my son and I prayed to God that if it not His will that I should have another child to please give that child to K. To be honest, the prayer came up spontaneously and caught me by surprise. Was I really telling God that I would be okay if he didn't give me my heart's desire? It seems silly as I write it now, as if I were doing the prayer bartering that can be so common. But that wasn't it. I wasn't trying to make deals. At that instant, I was subverting my own will for that of a stranger. I can say without shame that this doesn't much happen for me. It's in my heart a lot for my family & those I love dearly, but the intensity in which I wanted God to grant this woman a child was stunning. And as I carefully wrapped my own candle and left K's at the alter, I felt sure that it would come to pass.

But it hasn't- not for either of us. And today I read her blog with tears in my eyes. The last IVF treatment that they will ever do produced a pregnancy... for three days. And now she has the misery of losing a child again.

And it's not fair.

It's just not. And that's what I've been thinking on a lot lately. When I lost my brand new job last year- a job I was so thrilled and excited about, that I thought would literally change my life, I was just so stunned. I was only there a week. Co-workers who didn't even know me lied about me and I was fired. Just like that. It wasn't fair. And frankly, while I have seen the best and the worst of humanity in my 35 years, I was still stunned. I knew God had a plan, but to this day I still harbor the confusion in my heart, the frustration that things are not just and that bad guys sometimes win.

I wear a small symbol in my right earlobe- it's a tiny yin-yang. I keep it there to remind me. In Taoist and ancient Chinese understanding, the outer circle represents everything that can be. The black & white shapes withing the circles represent the interactions of two energies, called yin (black) and yang (white). This interaction is the basis for all. Life is not completely black or white, it says. Things are not simply good or bad, and one force cannot exist without the other. We must live in balance and harmony of the two forces.

Like many, I have adapted this belief into my own life and I have surely Westernized it along the way. This simple image reminds me to seek balance in my life; to honor the actions in our world that we so quickly label good and bad; to seek the pattern beyond our initial understanding. Alas, I am not a monk and I live in the secular world, but there is great wisdom behind this concept that I try to honor.

Last summer, when the wounds were still new, I was telling a stranger the story of my job loss and I got to the end and said, "I'm working on healing, but it has definitely shaken my concept that the world is a just and fair place." I was awarded with a crude, loud, angry laugh and the stranger sneered as she said, "You think life is fair??? Do you still believe in Santa Claus too??"

I was taken aback and none too warm towards the bitter lady. But it was one of those pivotal moments when I was reminded that we have choices on how we chose to navigate life, how we set a course in our heart and mind. To think about "fair" and the thoughts and actions that guide us. Is life fair? Is there balance? Fate or free will? Guided journey or empty wandering?

So many souls have pondered these things for many lifetimes, leaving tombs and words to us on their thoughts. I have so much more to say about it. For now, though, it's time for me to take a few breathes and go love my son. And help make a world where he is free to believe in good. In truth. In fair. Not to keep him from dark, but that so the flame inside of him is strong enough to keep burning when it descends.

Let The Music Play

2011-02-24T12:51:00.001-05:00

You know what? For now I have two more songs that capture where I am in life.

Okay- I think I've said what I need.

This is me not being a drama queen

2011-02-24T12:18:00.000-05:00

So, all sorts of major life things are happening. Today, I said goodbye to a family member. Hopefully for only a few years, but it's a scary proposition where he's going and I can't escape the worry that each goodbye will be the last one. But I know that there are other people that this impacts just as much, so I stay stoic and try to project strength. But driving away, it hit me hard.
I'm going to need to cry sometime. Right now I have work to do, so I'm pushing it back. Maybe tonight I can find a quiet place and let it go.

Tomorrow, by 10 am, I am going to find out more information that will impact the future of my family. No, I'm not pregnant, thought I were that were it. It will, however, impact the chances of having another child. So, in all, this is an emotional 24 hours. I think I am dealing remarkably well. Staying busy helps, and I have plenty of work to do, so back to that I go. But the tension is right below the surface, like waiting for the gunshot to start a race. This song keeps playing in my mind- probably because I try to incorporate it too much into my life. But since this is the Muppet version, I love it even more because of the levity that it adds. Perfect for my life :)

Sadly, I was just reminded that emotionally, there's a reason for this need. I got the words, "I'm a little emotional right now," barely out of my mouth and a certain man just turned and ran away dramatically. Leaving me alone. Again. Emotional need met fail. *sigh*

Moving Right Along

2011-02-13T11:28:00.001-05:00

So, enough with the angsty stuff for now. I've got plenty more, but it's simply too sunny outside right now to do the gloom tango. My body has been doing odd things lately, and not in a "Wow, look, I can do the splits while hanging upside down" way. So, I'm soon to gather some good old fashioned vitamin D and try to soak up some good health.

Before I do, let's look at the some of the inside pics of the cool little place we found in Jacksonville that I detailed a few weeks ago.

Oh yes, this is the plate on which the gods eat their meals.
The Tom Selleck collectible plate.
I really, really wanted to purchase it and hide it in homes of friends and families.
Tom in the shower? Tom on your pillow? Tom in the freezer? Tom in your underwear drawer? Yes, yes, yes and YES!
But... no.
It commanded a price too high for me to pay.
The epic joy it promises will not be mine.
And yet, it compels you to behold the 'stache.

BEHOLD IT!

Done beholding? Good. Now it's time to go to the dark place in your soul...

*play doom music*
Welcome to the Doll Hospital, my pretties...
Come closer and see my headless wonders.
Random limbs? Of course, dear, help yourself.

Oh, I see you are eying my elusive Colonel Sanders Silver Peg-Leg Model.
As you can see from the picture, he is a little busy at the moment
grabbing a little action from the fuller-figured headless baby
(*note, no posing was utilized for this picture.
I just noticed Pervy Sanders copping a feel.
Dirty ole' chicken man.)

Seriously, I loved this place. The people were nice as could be and I sincerely love junking around in a big old barn. Oh, and how I loved those little cottages.
With so much to buy, I ended up with a few cute embroidered things, an adorable baby baptism dress, a stack of vintage magazines from when we were born, a really awesome gypsy lamp, and a comic book and strand of parade beads sweetly given to my little man. All for around $20. I *LOVEEEEEE* this place.

Here's the gypsy lamp that I need to find the perfect place for:
It's hard to see it's coolness in the pic, but it's solid metal and full of awesomeness. I bought in from "Ali Mama's." It was one of the little cottages that was filled to the brim with every kind of bauble you could imagine. This jem was hanging and I'm not sure she wanted to part with it. But I promised to love it as much as she did and to bring it back if I wanted to part with it. Ali Mama reminded me of my paternal grandmother, who I only got to know for the first six years of my life. She also ran in the flea market world and it's interesting how little nuggets from my childhood seem to pop up in those ways.

So, thanks for joining me on this little tour. And, uh, if you happen to stop by and read this, leave me a message, will ya? I know of only two certified readers, so if there are more of you lurking, let me know so I don't write about you ;)

Where is the Balance?

2011-02-09T18:18:00.000-05:00

Where is the place where you will do anything for the person you love and where you realize that it comes at too high a price? That what you are sacrificing may not even lead to the happiness you with for that person? When your anger and pain transform you into someone who is no longer able to give.

Something was broken three years ago. You can cover the break, try to make it heal. You can pretend it's not there and even hobble along. But it's there. And it never healed. And under what others see as smooth skin, you know the festering truth.

Please Go Away So That I Can Try to Miss You

2011-01-23T14:39:00.000-05:00

My two weeks as a single mom seemed to fly by. It was easy to overlook the difficulties, since I knew I only have to endure for 14 days. We actually had a blast and I took a few lessons from it.

First, once again I am reminded that I am essentially a "lone wolf." Now, that surprises some who think I am outgoing & often gregarious in nature. I can be, sure, and I take great satisfaction from learning about people and exploring the psyche. And anyone who has me on Facebook probably recognizes that I love to make people laugh. But I need my quiet time, my down time, my hours of reflection and solitude. I had both more and less of that with hubby gone. I didn't have a chance to share little man duties- I was always on. However, I did have more quiet time overall.

On that note, I recognize that successful single moms have the gift of raising their child on their own terms. They must also build a layered support system. There wasn't a chance to go to yoga or run out to the store. And when I had to drive long distances for work, I worried what would happen if I were to get in an accident.

I got the chance to hang out twice with other moms while the kids played. And that's twice more than I usually get to. That gets to the heart of a big yearning that I have... to cultivate more "family friends." The kind of friends that you hang out with for picnics and beach escapes and camping trips and SuperBowl. I dearly treasure the friends I have in my life and all the different roles that we play for each other, but it would be such a relief to throw hubby to a pack of men in front of a TV, throw the kids in a room to run wild, and just hang with my gals while knowing that everyone is getting their social needs met. The responsibility of having to be the social director around here gets to me sometimes, and leaves me wanting.

We drove to JAX last weekend to pick up the weary traveling hubby. It was a smooth drive with blessedly sunny weather and a litany of "are we there yet" from the little man, along with strange impromptu games that I created as a distraction. It helps that I genuinely enjoy my little man's company and at age five, he continues to amuse me with his observations on the world.

Husband secured, we sought food and shelter and ended up in a slightly aged Marriott with an indoor pool and hot tub. This is a nice tradition in our little family: the hotel vacation. It doesn't matter where we are, just give us a night or two with a soft bed, cable TV and a pool and we are quite happy. We tried to cap the night off with a visit to the newly opened Pollo Tropical in JAX. We don't have this particular fast food place in our hometown, so I look forward to visits to other Florida cities to get my fix of the "Floribean" cuisine. Apparently, so does everyone else in the state, as there was a series of stanchions, a red carpet, and an insane wait to get into the place at 8:30pm. This is in a part of town with about 5,000 other options, by the way. So I gave up my dream of grilled chicken, sassy sauces and yucca and we ended up at Bono's bbq, where we had banana pudding that truly rocked my world.

Sunday presented us with another beautiful, if chilly day, and we checked out and headed back to battle for a place at Pollo Tropical. This time we were successful and I gleefully feasted- little man reflects my pleasure:

After that, we stopped at a car lot, which ended up sucking away our collective life force. See, hubby has been driving the first car I ever purchased on my own- a 2000 Ford ZX2. It was such a fun car for so long- little, black, sporty, with a sunroof and two-toned leather seats. It wasn't anyone's dream car but mine and I had fun with it for a good many years. However, it started to cause problems around 2005 and I soon handed it over to hubby for his short daily school commute while I drove the new family friendly- and boring base model- Honda. Fast forward- and I do mean fast- another five years and the little car is painfully showing her age and wear. Smoking, breaking down, flaking paint, torn leather, missing side mirrors and big gashes in the side- let's just say she wasn't as loved and cherished in the last five years of her life (hum, that's sometimes how I feel- might be a pattern.)

*** I stop here for a moment and reflect on why I don't write more. We have a little house. I started this when I threw the boys out for a quick trip to Target. They are back, pounding on things and blowing on a didgeridoo. No, I'm not kidding. Oh how I need a quiet place to call my own!***

So, where was I? Oh yes, lamenting that I have spent the last six weeks looking for a new car. Edmund's, Consumer Reports... I've spent serious time with them all. Safe, economical, reliable, highly rated, in my budget... I want it all. And, I want it to be fun. I want something I will be proud to drive. Something that makes me smile as I slide behind the wheel. And for my particular tastes, I want a black car with a sunroof. If I'm writing a check every month, can I not enjoy it?

My specific tastes have led to various, unsatisfactory tangos with car salesmen, but no new car yet. Will I be able to find true love within my budget? The verdict is out on that one.

In the meantime, we finally escaped the dealership and turn a few turns to buy gas for our thirsty tank. It was a strange part of town, but I was fascinated with the colorful little cottages that I spied across from the station. An "antiques" sign was a beacon of glorious things to come. Here's a sneak peak of the outside...

We'll delve inside for the fun discoveries the next time I get a few minutes of quiet. For now, I have monkeys to train.

The Healing Power of Pie Crust

2011-01-07T21:30:00.000-05:00

It's five days into hubby's travel adventure. So far I'm swinging single motherhood just fine, but I can easily see how much life would need to adjust & evolve if this was a longer term proposition.

I've had a lot of my mind lately and I'm happy just to ramble aimlessly here. I think it will be good just to throw it all out and make sense of it later.

Right now it's 9:30 at night. It's Friday and little man is still up- not a surprise, since we tend to be night owls. And I'm letting him watch a little Netflix. While I constantly campaign to cut back on television & movie consumption, I think we both need some chill time right now.

I picked him up from school today and we headed off to test drive a used Altima. It's to the point that I just don't feel safe with my men in the car that they are currently driving- 11 years old, missing side mirrors and smoking profusely. Definitely not on any Safety Ratings lists. I should know- I've been doing so much car research that my head is about to explode.

When we were about half way to the car lot, the salesman called to inform me that the car I had planned to drive was going through the Nissan certification process. My headache was starting to assert itself, so we stopped to get some Advil and a bite for LM. Then we hit Publix and wow- it was busy and full of very rude people. By the time I rang up over $100 in groceries and fought my way home, I was not full of happy unicorn kisses.

Luckily, the caffeine and advil have kicked in some and I made a tasty quiche. Truly, I would be hard pressed to find something that could not be baked inside of a pie crust that didn't make the world just a little bit brighter.

I'm looking forward to the weekend- we have some fun social things planned and it will be nice to be out of the house. Working from home is such a blessing, but it's been so quiet this week with the sudden exodus of my noisy men (big & small) that I've honestly felt depression creeping around me, looking for a place to park permanently. Despite walking two mornings, I have not been making healthy choices and have fallen prey to some pretty heady emotional eating. Going be to tackle that issue this next week as I get stronger and a little less fearful.

I got my notice to renew my driver's license and it was a shock. It's the first time I've ever had to do it- it's the first time I've been in one place long enough. I had a few moments of sadness because I remember getting it in 2004 and looking forward to moving away "no later than 2010." I wonder how my life would have been if we had- if I left last summer, never to have made the vital error of getting (and losing) the "dream job" in the spring. It sure would have saved a lot of pain. However, I can't help but feel that the limbo and the path since are part of a much grander plan.

It's so odd to be peering at 35. Ten years ago, I thought I was really going places professionally. Eight years ago it was even more intense and I was in my happiest professional stride. I felt like I had hit so many of my goals. I bought a house. I was ahead of the curve. Since then I've hit a mudslide. I've been blessed with one child, but yearn for another whose soul I feel so tangibly in my life. I haven't achieved the things I hoped for academically, putting my goals on hold until hubby finished his doctorate. And the years have flown by. Now I feel suddenly older, but unsettled by unmet goals. Not unhappy, just unsettled. It's like I was in a sprinting contest and then suddenly fell in a ditch and had to watch everyone run by as my leg heals (yeah, I still have the headache, so I just don't have graceful writing in me right now).

It's been over a year since I returned "home" to visit my family in Kentucky. In that time, my step-grandmother has died. And last week, so did one of my step-aunts. It bothers me that I haven't gone back for their services. I am at a loss on how to send my love and support.

It also bothers me that it's been so long since I've seen my sisters. Other than a few posts on Facebook, we are just not in each others lives and that makes me sad. I want LM to have a big, loud, happy family- if not in our home with lots of siblings, than at least through extended family. And yet I feel like we are on opposite ice floes, floating farther and farther away from each other.

I'm listening to Tracy Chapman tonight- one of my traits that can drive others nuts is my ability to listen to a song over and over again. This one is on repeat tonight. So beautiful.

Alright, so in my constant journey to be more honest and raw, I'm just going to hit "publish" now. No editing, no polishing my words to make my message less offensive or more clear. This is but a moment in a beautifully imperfect life.

Playing the Numbers

2011-01-02T12:35:00.000-05:00

I have so many fragments started, important things that I want to say and say just so. And yet, I can't seem to find the time to finish them, so they stay in rough draft limbo.

Today, I am just going to capture a few thoughts on my mind- short and undeveloped- about a few numbers that are rolling around in my noggin.

It seems like once September hit, that 2010 was over before I knew it. The holidays caught me less prepared than normal and I'm still wrapping my mind around this 2011 idea.

I have lived in my current home for more than six years now and that is the longest I have lived in one house since I was nine years old. I certainly have enough accumulated here to make it look as if we have been here for decades. My parents divorced when I was 11 and I spent a lot of weekends living out of a giant Gap bag- and I think that has something to do with how I feel now. And how is that? Both comfortable and afraid of the looming possibility of change and also restless sometimes, as if I am waiting for the rest of my life to begin. This is truly the home where we became a family and each wall holds a thousand memories of our time together.

I'm starting to accept that I am the vessel of many contradictions and that's OK- the synergy somehow keeps me in a state of balance. At least, on a good day.

The other number I'm peering at is 1995. My husband is about to leave on a two week, five-city interview circuit to try to get an intern position in order to finish his doctorate. We haven't been apart for two weeks since 1995. Even when we lived more than two hours apart, we always saw each other on the weekends. I'm excited for him and excited for me- let's see if I can make some of the changes that I always think I would make if I lived alone. Let's see if I can handle being a single mom, even knowing it's only for two weeks. Let's see if I can be brave and sleep soundly. It will be hard, but it will be good for both of us to reawaken some of the emotional muscles that we can let atrophy as we faced the world as a couple. Although I laugh as I type that, because even now we are getting ready to leave to buy more last minutes essentials for the trip.

My front door is open to the rain- it's the second day of the year and the rain has been nonstop. We need it and despite the havoc it plays on my sinuses, I always appreciate a cleansing rain. Little man is lying on the porch swing, thumb in mouth and blankie securely grasped as he hums a little tune.

And so we are here.

Quietly peering at 2011 and the change that she will be bringing.

Another Day in Paradise

2010-12-14T20:26:00.000-05:00

Dear Little Man,

It's time for me to run out a buy a few things for work and I fear I will be up half the night getting things done. I've been working a lot this week and not getting home until the night is black and the air frigid. And tomorrow, I will get up at the break of dawn and do it again. But I just needed to tell you a few things. I have started so many posts for this blog and never get back to them because they get too long and personal. So I will keep this short and simple, but it's a record, a shot in time of who I hope we both can become.

Today, as I was driving to work, I saw a number of homeless individuals. Some I have seen many times before and they seem... well, almost like this is their profession. And it's possible that it is. There will come a time in your life when you learn that things are not always what they seem and that some people will take advantage of your heart. I will hate to see you learning that lesson, but it's also important and will hopefully help you define your own morals and how you can help people.

However, there was a man today that I hadn't seen before. He was far off the road and was not asking for anything. In fact, he didn't seem to want any help. His clothes were tattered and his beard was long and white. He had a shopping cart loaded with his possessions and he appeared to be looking for things to recycle. I passed him right before getting on the interstate and thought about him for the next 50 miles. His name, his life, his story. How he came to live in this way... if he was happy...safe...warm. If he loved someone and if someone out there loved him too. How little it takes to put people into that situation.

When I was 8, I thought I could save the world. I remember looking at my closet doors in the warm glow of my nightlight and think about going to Africa. I was simply going to build everyone houses and make them food and solve everyone's problems.

When I was 11, I was in the front seat of Papa's little blue S-10 truck. The back was loaded with tools- my brother and I were tagging along as he had to go fix something. We traveled down Rt. 48, a road we traversed often. We saw a grungy man walking along the side of the road and I guess I snapped. I cried until we stopped at a gas station and I was allowed to buy him some food. We turned around and drove by the man, slowing down enough to pull over and give him the bag and some kind words. Papa was tolerant, my brother was befuddled and irritated at my emotional outburst. But I felt that I did something good in the world. As we pulled away, we saw a cop car pull over to the man. I remember feeling so deflated- we were just trying to do something nice, and I felt like I got him in trouble.

At 18, I was going to be a psychologist. I was going to work in the United Nations. Or be a nurse. Or a teacher. But no matter what, I was going to help people.

The first song I taught myself on the piano was Phil Collin's "Another Day in Paradise." The haunting notes at the beginning and the lyrics touched something raw inside of me and I played it for years. I listened to a different version of it tonight:

This weekend, we are going to sit down and listen to this song. We are going to talk about being homeless and needing help. We are going to brainstorm things that we can do to make this a better world. And then we are going to do it.

We can't save the world, but we can do something important and good. You are my gift from God and I don't want either of us to ever forget that we have His love in us to share.

Is There a Baby In Your Tummy?

2010-12-07T09:49:00.000-05:00

So much to write about and so little time. But I did want to take a moment for a quick service announcement for people to understand the manatees in your life.

This morning I dropped off my little man at preschool. I usually do it every Tuesday and Thursday and then take a brisk 1.5 mile walk around the adjacent business park. I've only been doing this for about six weeks. I am hoping to increase my health and decrease my waistline. I'm concerned with the way I carry my weight- despite that fact I have to much and always have, the way I carry it in my belly is shown to be correlated to higher risks of all sorts of nasty things I don't want, like heart attack, stroke and diabetes. I also want to increase my energy and general health levels.

I eat too much. There is just no way around it. Compounded with the fact that I have been obese since the age of four, I have also played havoc with my metabolism with a variety ill-fated ideas and diet attempts. But, again, the truth must lie in the simple fact that I eat too much and don't burn enough.

But here is my big secret and the one that people get angry about: I don't hate myself.

I'm not filled with self-loathing, nor do I pine for that "someday" when I will be thin so that I can start living. I am living and I have a happy life. Not perfect. And some days, not so happy. But my happiness does not depend on my size. It can't. If that were true, I would have wasted 34 precious, wonderful years.

That doesn't mean I will stop trying. I am going to try to eat less. I am try to stop eating to fulfill emotional needs instead of nutritional needs. I am going to keep increasing my physical activity. I find great peace in my morning walks, yoga and Nia. I can't wait until it gets warm enough to swim again. And there are a lot of other physical things that I want to add to my repertoire.

And trust me- I have certainly tried to apply self-loathing at different times and spent a lot of time with it as a youth. Most recently I have tried Overeaters Anonymous groups. And while there are some aspects of it that I think I can grow & learn from, the part that I don't like is the loathing. There are stories of people who were very, very unhappy when fat. People who hid from life, not wanting to go out, not having healthy relationships. And as I would listen, I would try to relate. I felt that it I couldn't relate that I wasn't trying hard enough or wasn't being honest with myself. Clearly I am fat, so I must be much more unhappy than I realize. Listening to folks talk about how happy they are now- I must be missing out. But the last group that I was at, I had a surge of emotion... and it was because I was feeling that being in that room was keeping me from enjoying a beautiful Saturday morning with my family. And I felt that I was missing *that*.

But here's the thing- we are have different, personal journeys. I will go back to OA and I will continue to read the literature and look to grow my serenity, courage and wisdom. And I'm going to continue to work on my nutritional and physical activity. But it's not because I think my life will begin when & if I am thin... but rather, because I love my life and my son and I want to be around for both as long as possible.

So, back to what started this post. On this frigid Florida morning, I finally lured my son out of his warm covers. My husband, who had to leave especially early for the end of semester catch up, left little man a sweet note in his room that made us both smile. The sun was streaming in the window as we got ready, happy and singing. Our little old geriatric wiener dog, Abby, stuck her snout out from under the baby blanket next to LM's bed and sent us into giggles. I had warm, clean laundry and I was just very happy with life. I put my hair in a ponytail and threw on my walking clothes- no makeup to cover the weird skin issues I've had lately- I'd be sweating off any attempts at it and was already looking forward to the shower I allowed myself after I got my heart rate up. A little coffee and sudefed to help with the cold I refuse to acknowledge and we were off to school.

Once there, a little classmate looks up and ask, "Do you have a baby in your tummy?" Now- this is not the first (or second, or even third) time that a wide-eyed child has asked me that. And honestly, I wish the answer was yes (that's a whole different post). But I said, "Nope!" with a smile. A little girl sitting next to him said, "Well, why is your belly, uh, ummm" and uses her hands to indicate roundness. My reply? "Well, sweetie, I guess I just eat too much food." One of Little Man's teacher- a young one, still a student- looked a little mortified and said, "OH! Kids are just too honest," or something to that effect. I didn't leave feeling sorry for myself- but I did feel bad that she was so uncomfortable.

I related the story to my husband on the phone as I drove away and he remarked that I still sounded in a good mood. Here's the thing- kids are innocent and curious. If that had been a malicious 45-year-old man in a bar, I may have felt differently. But not because he would point out something I didn't know (um, yeah, I may have noticed my size. It didn't just sneak up overnight) but because he would be initially trying to be mean and I hate that. I hate it anywhere I see it.

So that's it- PSA over. Plenty of work and sunlight await me... I hope the same for you.

Making This American

2010-11-18T09:26:00.000-05:00

Originally Created on Veteran's Day 2010:

I grew up an overly earnest child in the 80s and in my small town we said the pledge of allegiance every morning in the public school. And while I could clown around and question authority at other times during the day, in the morning I made sure my spine was straight, my hand firmly on my heart. My words were clear, as some of my classmates would mumble. My body turned, my eyes fastened on the flag. There were certain things you could mess with in life, but not the pledge. I was always astounded at the children- and yes, sometimes adults- who didn’t stand quickly, who didn’t pledge sincerely. For me it was a part of being American. I didn’t understand yet what that might mean, but I knew that the pledge was solemn and meant something so profound that I wouldn’t dare risk the wrath of whatever higher power was watching my action and judging my intent.

Soon enough, I was donning my brown Girl Scout jumper every week to meet after school at a local church. So many silly memories of the time come rushing back- of crafts and songs and camping and navigating the social landmines of being a girl- but what I remember most is the flag at the front of the room and ending each meeting grasping the small sweaty hand of the girl next to you while singing Taps.

Day is done, gone the sun, From the lake, from the hills, from the sky; All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.

And I knew in my young heart that God was nigh. He was close and He cared and He was watching and He knew that I believed in Him.

And that uniform, dotted with badges sewn on by my mother, would be put back on with incredible care so that I could march in the parades that would wind through our main street and end at Rose Hill Cemetery. At the gravestones, small flags and plastic flowers would be carefully placed and we would end the ceremony among them with a lone trumpet playing Taps. The sound of that in my memory still brings me to tears. Day is done, gone the sun….

In a few simple years, I would live next to that cemetery in an old house and I could look out the tiny triangle window in my closet and see the cemetery at night. It became my sacred playground, where I would ride my bike and gaze at the gravestones. The ones of babies who never got a chance at life. The ancient stones with dates whose etchings were beginning to become indistinct. Countless hours spent on a bench next to the memorial with a small fish pond. I would wonder about the lives that came before these stones. And I came to recognize the surnames engraved so carefully. They were relatives of my classmates, my neighbors.

And soon, they bore the names of those that I loved dearly.

First, it was my grandfather, “Poppy”. A man who spent his life working at General Electric and when I stayed with my grandparents he would bring White Castles when he came home from second shift. He would also fill old tin coffee tins with his spare change and those became the funds that would eventually send me to college. My grandparents moved closer to us and I was able to walk to their new suburban tract house when we all lived “behind Van Luenens,” which remains a geographical designation, despite the long absence of that particular store. This was the home where my grandfather would grow tomatoes and zucchini and roses. The place we would celebrate holidays. And then it was the place where my grandfather recovered from his stroke and learned to function with the use of just one hand. It was the place I would go so that I could trim my grandpa’s nails, since he couldn’t anymore. And with his good hand, he would still put up Christmas lights, still pull out the one dollar bills that he would use to pay me for each “A” on my report card. He would gather my grandmother, myself and my baby brother and drive his small red, modified car to Norma’s Restaurant, where he would proudly show off his grandkids to the other old timers while my grandmother ordered peanut butter pie.

But the memory that is most vivid to me today is that of my grandfather using his good hand to turn the pages of the scrapbook that held the images of his time of service in WWII. The brittle pages held pictures of a handsome young man posing by seductive female forms drawn on the noses of airplanes. Of that same man brandishing a machete, and later mocking the image of Adolph Hitler. And then we would come to the page with the folded white silk of the Japanese flag that was spotted with blood. A souvenir of something so intangible that I still refuse to put words together to try to describe it. We never talked of the war outside of the times that we looked at the scrapbook. And before I could blink, his name was carved on a stone in Rose Hill, a small American Flag placed in his honor on Veteran’s Day.

And then it was my grandmother. My “Mom-mom.” A woman whose love was so profound in my life that I still have a hard time controlling my tears even twenty years after her death. It still pains me that she left this world when I was still too immature to really know her. In my lifetime, she was frail and small. She battled lung cancer and uncomfortable wigs my whole life. She was the giver of treats and unconditional love. The maker of zucchini bread and memories. I have countless writings dedicated to her memory and her role in my life. But most outstanding is the picture I have of her in her youth, looking glamorous and standing on a building in New York City, when she served as Sergeant in the Women’s Army Corps. We never spoke of it and I wish we did. I don’t know what her life was like, what she did, what she saw. I have that picture- and the etchings on her gravestone- to remind me that there was much more to her story.

My other grandfather fought in the Korean War. He was emotional, cantankerous- especially as we debated politics- and I think, at times, befuddled how someone like me could have popped up in his family tree. I don’t know of all of the ways that war affected him and his story went to rest with him. But I do know- quite clearly- that he took great pride in the idea that his family continued to grow and that with each new birth, his story continues. I have incredible gratitude that before he passed I was able to introduce him to my newborn son

Today, on this Veteran’s Day, I think of the many lives that I have only glimpsed in on. Of the volunteer who proudly showed me the photos of her newly enlisted son. Later, she shared his wedding photos and then that of his pregnant wife. And then, right after I had moved hundreds of miles away, his obituary. His memorial. A picture of the child he did not get to see born. There are other stories still too new and too sore to tell, some that I do not own but that have clenched my heart all the same.

At times I have lost faith in the human race. My belief in fairness and compassion have been tested and shaken. I no longer have the blind, unquestioning zeal of childhood to neglect the bumps of reality that crop up when considering the world. I can hardly stomach politics. But my patriotism is soaked in sincere love and woven into my fiber of my story. And again I thank those who protect and those who make it worth protecting.

Overcoming Panic with Lamb Riding

2010-07-21T21:46:00.000-04:00

The countdown is on! We leave tomorrow at 5:55 and I am electrified with terror. I'm at the computer, putting together final agendas and double-checking everything, so I'm quiet... but screaming inside. Little man is coloring pictures for us. I worked out earlier and that took the edge off my nerves... until Hubby started changing things up on me. And then the email came from Delta to check in and since then my blood pressure has been racing. I can't decide if I should buy travel insurance and I'm in a silent tizzy, my shoulders tight. I'm coiled like a snake and ready to... what? What am I ready for? Technically, my bags are packed and ready. My body, my heart is not.

* I have to take a minute to laugh. This is the JOYFUL journey blog, after all, and you begin with a healthy dose of anxiety. I am happy to be taking this trip and incredibly thankful. I just have to record it all. Maybe I was this scared before and forgot it. This documentation might help next time. Yeah. That's the ticket!*

Okay, back to my kvetching. My house is a hot mess (in every sense) but it's okay. Yes, my dear friend and mother will be in here, presumably trying on my clothes, jumping on my bed and digging through my closets to find skeletons... but I've foiled them with my extremely messy house. They won't be able to find a thing! I could stay up all night cleaning, but with my cold, PMS and aforementioned anxiety I think it would be a mistake. Sure, the house would gleam. But I would probably be on the lam for some type of crime of passion. So, truly, I'm helping society by not cleaning. Yes, it's true. I expect to earn my sainthood anytime for these contributions to the betterment of the world :)

As I typed the last sentence, I had a moment of doubt. I'm sure it's "on the lam" but suddenly I have an image of me riding a lamb. And that mental image is funny. I feel a crazy cackle coming on. Imagine it a bit like this, will ya?

So, whilst on Google Images to find this, I found out that there is a lamb riding academy. Yes, truly. This is not a fact that I have ever possessed before, so I applaud the use of the internet to advance my knowledge. And, I have the site that this lovely picture was found open in another tab and it's complete with baaaaaaiiinnnnnnggg sounds effects. Which is blending nicely with my current Pandora channel, French cafe. You've really never heard "When I Fall In Love" until you heard it with sheep bleating.

So, I started this post in a panic and ended up quite amused. That was cheap therapy there, my friends.

It's time to dig up that lovely white jacket now... I'm sure that qualifies as a "personal carry-on item" doesn't it?

When Doves Cry

2010-07-21T13:48:00.000-04:00

Who are the girls in a juvenile detention facility?
One girl was filled with rage, striking out at the world. It was because she was watching her big brother get lost in drugs and felt helpless to save him and angry that no one seemed to care.
Many of the girls were runaways… from people who had hurt them, ignored them, hit them, violated them, taken advantage of them. Some raised their siblings and yes, some of them had their own children.
All of them shared the common bond that somewhere along the way they were let down by the people who were supposed to love and protect them.
My first visit to the DOVE Juvenile Detention Facility was both better and worse than I thought. It was clear that there was a committed and caring staff that put all of their resources together to make a safe and nurturing place for these girls. The cafeteria was painted in a beautiful yellow and tables were covered in bright, cheerful tablecloths. The library was a wonderful room with books and movies and a large television. There were pictures and artwork everywhere testifying to bonds that these girls have formed with their caregivers. One picture in the main hallway stopped me in my tracks. It was a young teen hugging a little girl, with the concrete glistening below and behind them. You couldn’t see either face, as they were buried in each other. But the pain and longing was so clear in their stances. It was taken on a family visitation day and the two sisters clung to each other.
There was ample evidence of all the normal things that you would see with any girl between the age of 15-18, but there were plenty of locked doors and stark reminders that would remind you that this was not an ordinary place. Somehow these girls went too far down the wrong path and were required to “do their time.” The hope, though, is that they would find new, brighter paths, self-confidence and caring adults who will lead them to better lives than the ones that had been laid out before them.
There are a lot of people fighting for their futures, but the reality is painful. As I was leaving one office, a co-worker brought in a card to be signed. One of the past residents of DOVE was getting a sympathy card from the staff, full of loving messages. Her brother had been murdered. I wondered how many other cards this girl would receive… how many people who notice the life that had ended and the girl who was so affected from it?
This is where I want to spend more time, which will be hard since it is a two-hour drive from my home. I want to know the girls and their stories. I want to find more mentors for them and open them up to new possibilities in the world. I want to bring them the yarn so that they can continue to make the beautiful blankets that they donate to vets in wheelchairs. I want to get sheets and pillowcases and blankets for all the girls who have the cold, stark beds.
Some of these girls have never played before. They’ve never had a chance to simply be a child. And because that was robbed from them, they found other ways to try to survive in this world. But how do you give someone a childhood? How do you go back and help them reinvent themselves and be open to love and kindness when it was so alien to their existence?
I don’t have the answers. I am learning about the models, the psychology and all the reality. In the meantime, I shall look for the resources. The soft blankets, the kind mentor, all the things- large and small- that will help them to imagine a world where people care.

As Souls March By...

2010-07-21T13:38:00.001-04:00

This is a re-post about the my impressions of the lives that I will come to know through my new job. I wrote it two weeks ago and it is part of a series. As I visit these facilities, I want to share the things that I am seeing and learning.

It’s the end of my second week on the job. Yesterday I drove over an hour and set up shop at one of the juvenile detention facilities where we serve boys with Boys & Girls Club programming. In between a series of meetings, I was alone in the clubhouse on campus. The boys were still attending classes, so it was quiet and through the windows I could enjoy the sunlight streaming in as I typed up policies and ideas. The campus is remote and on a large expanse of what appears to have once been rolling farmland. Periodically, I would see the boys marching by in a straight line, led or followed by a counselor, all matching in their facility-issued uniforms. The boys are mostly in the middle of their teen years and every shape and size and skin color glistens in the sunlight as they cast shadows upon concrete block walls.
I don’t yet know these boys. I don’t know their stories or their names or the reasons that they ended up here. I don’t know their hopes or dreams, what keeps them up at night, what monsters hide under their beds, what demons they must escape. I remember being this age and being scared of boys, their grungy faces and sometimes explosive emotions remote and jagged, even as I experience my own explosion of teen emotions. And later in my life I taught boys this age and they remained a riddle. Education and psychology allowed me to understand and predict their actions, but I still felt as if I were observing an alien species.

But it’s only a few minutes later that I am truly distracted. It’s a new group walking by and at the tail of the line is a very small boy who is practically swallowed up by his uniform and in shoes that are clearly too big. I’m sitting with my boss, a caring man who has dedicated his whole professional career to the club.
The air in my throat catches and he tells me that the little boy is nine. He’s so small, though, that he looks more like six or seven. Not so many inches taller than my own little boy. My little boy who is the center of my universe and the joy of my every day. My little boy who can confound and confuse me and wear me out with his energy and daring, but who also owns my heart more completely than I do.
Why is this little boy here? What did he do? Is there a mother out there grieving, wondering how she went wrong? What is a simple bad decision or a series of actions knitted together so tightly by fate that this little boy was caught in a fabric too enormous to find a fold to peak out of?
I can’t stop thinking of his face and even now my heart is clenched into a fist of resolve. I think of my own life, with advantages and pain and the bright beacons of good souls that helped to guide me when I was lost. My mind wanders to those I have loved and how some of them were lost and found… and some were lost forever, leaving only memories of regret.
We are not alone in this journey and when we lose our children to dangerous paths, we lose part of a beautiful future. I can’t say that I spent a lot of time thinking about children who are in the detention system before now and I know that many people may wonder why they should care about kids they don’t know. If it’s not their child who is lost, they pat themselves on the back for the marvelous job that they have done as a parent. And yet, we are all bound together with lives that continue to astound me with complex serendipity.
All it took for me was one little lost soul marching by to really get it. He needs more caring adults in his life. He needs opportunities to learn and to be successful in new and different ways. He needs the support system of the Club once he is released. He must be shown the myriad of paths that he can choose and feel confident about those who are before, beside and behind him.

Traveling with my heart outside my body

2010-07-18T11:07:00.000-04:00

It's a pretty standard morning here in the Manatee household... the smells waft by from a questionably nutritious breakfast and Little Man wanders from room to room, bouncing between us like a pin-ball machine. Sunday mornings are for chilling and slow starts, although we have managed to cook and clean the tiniest bit and gave the geriatric wiener dog a bath (I can take no credit for that, unless my constructive encouragement-aka, nagging- can be counted). I listen to hubby soak in his bath down the hall and Little Man has rediscovered his toy laptop with a variety of annoying electronic songs. I don't mind because I love it when he plays with any toy instead of requesting the television that I dislike so much. Every few minutes, one of us will punctuate the air with the chorus from "double rainbow," the strangely addictive viral video on YouTube at the moment.

I live for these mornings, when we are safe together with no agenda but to simply be together. We'll go swimming at the community pool in another hour, provided Florida doesn't pull one of her bait & switch weather routines that she likes so much in the summer.

So, in the midst of this peaceful happiness, why is it that I feel close to bursting out in tears and having a panic attack? In fact, I feel bad even taking the time to type these words, like a giant clock is ticking and I have mere moments that I must spend as wisely as possible.

At the end of this week, the hubby and I go on an amazing journey to Europe. It's my first time, a culmination of over 20 years of longing. He has not been for almost that long after a lone stay as a summer exchange student in France. But he had a chance to present at a conference in Italy and that meant that most of his travel expenses would be covered from a grad-school travel account. After all the ups and downs in this roller-coaster of life lately, we decided not to surrender this chance.
So, for 10 days we will wander though Paris, Chartres, Padua and Venice.

It is surreal to me that this is actually happening. I've always been a brave and willing traveler and Little Man has known his share of hotel rooms and road trips. He's standing next to me right now, practicing writing on the little erasable marker boards that I mounted at his height next to my new home office. In between my words, I stop and help him spell and copy my to-do list (oh, and here comes another chorus of Double Rainbow).

We knew that taking Little to Europe would be too much. Beyond the money, I knew he couldn't tolerate the endless walking and the cobblestones and cathedrals will simply not hold as much wonder to his young mind. I was also scared to navigate an alien world with him in tow- how do I struggle to communicate and keep an eye on pickpockets with him? So instead he is staying with my mother. It's an arrangement that we are grateful for and I am sure that they will both enjoy... but it's also heart wrenching. Each of us has taken a few business trips since his birth and it was hard even then. I would imagine horrible accidents befalling one of us and it would be stop my heart for a few beats. But even then, there was comfort in knowing that he always had at least one parent with him should the worst ever happen.

((In the last few minutes, I have maintained a number of conversations, make some juice, and partaken in some wiener dog drama. I fear that this blogging concept alone will require me to construct some type of Unibomber-esque dwelling to hide away in. But I digress.))

So, now I prepare to travel for the first time without my heart, simultaneously living a dream and a nightmare at the same time. The paradox of parenthood continues to astound me. My carry-on mocks me, since it can never hold the most important element of my life. But we will go, we will learn. We will come back smarter, more adventurous parents and will forge a path that we will take him on when we return.

But my heart will be here and already I look forward to my return.

Oh no... I have a blog!

2010-07-17T19:11:00.000-04:00

Oh gentle sea cow, large and misunderstood... you and I are woven from the same threads of creation and just as often mistaken for mermaids.

And so I present to you, curious reader, my adventures- large & small- as a journey through the currents of live.

In the most broad titles, I am...
A mother, a daughter, a sister, a wife, a friend and maybe even an arch-nemesis.

I'm a writer who doesn't write enough. Some of my writings are either dark, disturbing poetic ramblings so intense that they freak Emo kids out or so infused with blinding joy that I look at them later and ponder the legalities of hormone fluctuations.

But it's time to practice making sense in words on a more regular basis than is required by my paid chores. To silence the nagging perfectionist and simply write- even if the words aren't sculpted. It was one of the great artists- Michelangelo or De Vinci- who is credited with a quote about not being an artist, but rather chipping away at the marble and finding the image inside. That's my intention with these words- do chip away at the armor of my life and see what is revealed.

I also want to capture a record for myself and my little man, to make a digital time capsule of our lives together. The four and a half years since he was born have sped by in a blur of pictures and it's time to slow it down a little bit and create a record of who we are at these precise moments.

At the same time, I continue to learn, explore and morph into the being that I am supposed to become and I want to document this path and perhaps meet some kindred souls along the way.

I suppose that the best I can promise is inconsistency. Some days I'll pour forth introspection, followed by rants and observations about the bizarre. Some days will be pictures of the beautiful things in the world and hopefully many, many days of laughter and quirky celebrations of not fitting inside the places for square pegs.

So let's join hands and wander the open fields of our minds together.