Back Again

Alright, I’m back. I haven’t been writing, and I’m not going to apologize or make excuses for it. I needed a break from writing and from advertising my world and mess to the (teeny, tiny) masses of my readers I think. Life has just been piling it all thick as of late and I’m exhausted and sick and constantly on the verge of tears it seems. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, I can’t cry all the time right now because it just makes my head hurt worse than it already does from the hellish sinus infection that will not leave me alone until I am thoroughly battered and beaten.

I would like to just shut down and give up. I’d like to just retract and stop.

But I can’t. Because my children need me. Because my husband needs me. Because my Dad needs me. Because my friends need me.

So I’m going to force myself to keep tuning in. And to get back to writing every day. Even if it does go back to the 365 words a day of nonsensical, emotional babbling just to get it out of my head. Because I’ve got so much crap in my head right now I don’t even know where to start or what to do with it.

All I do know is if I don’t stay engaged, I will suffer and the people I love will suffer and that’s simply not acceptable. So hopefully I can figure out a way to simplify, so that I can tackle things one at a time in a way that makes sense. I know that I can’t stop the spinning and I certainly have no control over what the universe piles onto my plate, but maybe I can figure out a way to keep it from making me so dizzy.

I have no idea what that will look like, but I know I’m in need of some taking care of. I’ve been so focused on taking care of everyone around me that I’ve forgotten about me. And while taking care of the people I love is nourishing in and of itself, I need some recharge time.

Vacation Please

I think we all need a vacation. Seriously.

The Boy spiked a fever last night that persisted through the night. So my husband decided not to send him to school and to stay home himself to “help me with the kids.” What I think really happened is that my husband needed a day off and decided The Boy being sick was a good enough reason. Which is fine with me, it’s nice to just have a day with all four of us home and not having to have the crazy busy weekend routine. The Girl still went to school, although she wasn’t thrilled about toddling off to school while her brother and dada lay on the couch and watched cartoons.

I feel a little like I’m walking a razor’s edge. I mean I feel like I have been walking it for more than a year now so I’ve gotten pretty good at it, but that’s still where I am. I keep telling myself that walking along this thin line is just where I am right now and it’s ok. And it is, because it has to be. But if I let myself relax for even a moment I feel like my balance will go right out the window and I’ll fall to either side.

It would be such a relief to just be able to go away with my family and enjoy some time where we don’t have to worry about anything. We can put the cell phones down and walk away. We can look at our days from the perspective of what we want to do instead of what needs to be done. I would just really love to get away for a few days with my kiddos and my husband to reconnect and recharge with each other and ourselves.

I know that it won’t fix anything and won’t make anything different in the bigger scheme of things. But it would allow us to just be a family for a few days without all the baggage that has been added to our backs for the last 18 months.

We could all just really use a break, hopefully we’ll figure out how to take one.

4/19/10 - Parenting Hackles

I’ve read a couple of articles this week that have my parenting hackles way up.

One article is about raising daughters and how to handle the issues of body image. I think what has me so upset about it is the fact that the article does not even recognize that boys have extreme body image issues as well. And as a mother raising a son and a daughter I’ve got it from both sides. With both kids it’s a double whammy. Because I’ve got to figure out how to help them foster their own positive body image as well as how to support the people, regardless of gender, that they have in their lives. They both have to learn how to see people as they want to be seen – as the kind, compassionate, creative, intelligent, amazing people they are.

One article is about bullying. And this is an issue that is a tremendously loaded for me. I survived an abusive relationship while in high school and vowed to never again allow another human being treat me as anything less than what I felt I deserved. And that is also a very high priority for me to teach my children. Which is why this article pisses me off so much. Because essentially it’s saying that you should expect your child, regardless of age or gender, to be able to handle it themselves and that you should “praise them for suffering well.” If that fails to remedy the situation, then you could intercede on their behalf. I’m sorry, but are you frigging kidding me?!? There is no part of that that is acceptable to me. I will not accept my children facing bullies alone. And I sure as hell won’t accept teaching them to suffer well. I’m raising people, not martyrs here.

The root of both issues is self confidence. On every imaginable level. Honestly I don’t think I know anyone who has utter confidence on every level. So I’m setting a tall order for myself to be able to impart that to my children. But if I could just help them to see themselves as I do, I think we’ll be heading in the right direction.

The Things That Go Unwritten

Why is it that there’re so many things nobody writes or talks about? Especially in regards to life changing events. After I had The Boy I remember making a long list about all the things that none of the books or my friends told me about pregnancy, child birth and motherhood. The same thing with marriage. And now, I’m finding it holds true with watching someone you love die as well.

There’s so much written about the grieving process. About the fear and the sadness and the guilt and the other well documented emotions that are typically found camped out around death. There’s less written about the process of watching someone die. But it’s still there. The process of watching the body shut down and everything that goes with that. There’s even a little bit written about how hard it is to watch someone you love diminish, decline, disintegrate, deteriorate and every other “d” word having to do with the state that occurs when one’s body betrays them and starts shutting down from the inside out.

But so far, I’ve not found much written about the horrors of the mind that come along through all of these processes. And there is so much bandying about in my mind that I just cannot hold onto anymore.

I cannot hold onto the images that float, unbidden, into my mind of my dad slowly mummifying from the inside out because his organs are giving up. The horrifically detailed pictures I have of his liver and lungs and heart slowly petrifying and then turning to dust as he wonders how to control the pain.

I cannot hold onto the guilt of wondering when my part in all of this will be done. When do I get to stop taking care of my parents?

I cannot hold onto the idea that this is all my job. That I have to be everything to everyone every time. Can I put down something down without that person or activity thinking I no longer care?

These are the things that make me feel alone. But like my Dad’s not the first dad to die of cancer, I have to know that I’m not.

4/5/10 - Projection

From a purely selfish point of view, I am so ready to go home I could scream. Everywhere I look I am surrounded by sickness. My Dad is doing a bit better, but still nowhere near 100% and at this point, I’m not sure he’ll ever get back there. This thing with the meds and everything that came with it has really dented him in a very real and lasting way I think. And it’s brought home how fragile he is getting. The Girl is starting to feel better, but is still coughing something fierce. The Boy has started coughing. And my Mom has been dealing with this weird vertigo thing for the last several days as well. I’m feeling fine and that puts me squarely in care taker mode for everyone in the house. I’m happy to do it; I’m well equipped to do it. I’m just tired.

I miss my home and everything that comes with it. So selfishly, I’m ready to let everyone fend for themselves so I can go home and bury myself in my down comforter. Knowing how much my family needs me right now, I’m doing laundry and dishes and cooking my family’s favorite stuff.

And I am coming to terms with the fact that the kids and I don’t get to go anywhere at all this week either. With the added expense of my speeding ticket, we’re seriously strapped until my husband gets paid again next week. So the kids and I are homebound. Which is never a wonderful prospect for any of our sanity. I’m praying for good weather and for the insane amount of wind that showed up today, to dissipate throughout the week. I’m hoping that we can get through this week without much screaming and kicking. I’m hoping that we can all just settle in, relax and have a good week.

And then I re-read this post and think, “jiminy Christmas, could I be throwing myself any further into the future?” Yeah. Time to reel it back in and just be here today. Tired. Worried. Missing my life. Uncomfortable. Ready for some ease. And tired. Did I mention tired? Oh yeah, and brain dead.

The Price of Raw

When I started this blog a little over a year ago, I never really thought anyone would read it. Or at the very most I thought I’d have a few consistent readers, you know, people like my mom, maybe friends who I don’t get to see very often (and I was pretty much right). But that’s about it. I mean who wants to stick around for a 365-word-a-day snapshot of one woman’s life, regardless of how colorful her language is. I wasn’t doing it so that it would get read. I was doing it so that I could make myself write every day. It was just about the writing. It also turned out to be an incredible outlet for me during the hardest year of my life. A way to process an incredibly complicated and painful time of my life that simply could not be overlooked.

Probably the most consistent piece of feedback I’ve gotten on this blog is that it is raw. The emotions, the language, the situations. All of it is raw. And I’ve been called courageous and inspiring for being willing to air that rawness to the outside world. Now, I don’t know how courageous or inspirational I am, but I do know that raw was (is?) the only way for me to be. There’s just been too much to polish. Too much to try to hide or shirk or simplify.

For the most part, I’ve not let myself get too bogged down in worrying about what I put out there. Because as I said, I am not writing it because I need people to read it. So why should I give a shit what they think of it? And I don’t. Except for today I got dealt a sucker punch to the gut. Today I got handed down a sweeping judgment of myself, my life and my family. And it came in large part because of what I write here. Amidst the adrenaline fueled anger that I’ve been feeling all day, is also a deep sadness. Sadness that through everything I’ve written, expressed and learned over the last 15 months, that all they gleaned from it was a chance to judge.

Inspiration

I have a good friend here who is one of the most extraordinary women I know. She is the least afraid person I know. She decides what she wants and then she just flat makes it happen. She and her husband decided they wanted to live in an RV and take their two kids on the road. They’ve been talking about it for a while, but recently the just decided to make it happen. And the most incredible thing about it is that they did. They just made it happen. And I am in awe of their ability to do so.

My husband and I have been talking for years about the things we want to do, with and without the kids. But here we still are, in Colorado Springs, him working a job he’s very good at but does not love, me trying to figure out to be writer and struggling, and both of us trying to figure out how to juggle being the parents we want to be with “real” life. And I think what I love so much about L and her husband, is that for them, there is no “real” life. There is simply the life they create. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t, but regardless they consciously chose it and live so completely present in every single moment of that choice that it no longer matters if it works or not.

She has this amazing list on her new blog of 100 things she wants to do in her life. And I love it. Because it’s not all “climb Mt. Everest” or “go to cooking school” or other huge things. There are also things in there like, “get a facial” and “wear blue contacts” and have a pet turtle.” I just love it. And it’s incredibly inspiring. So I think I’ll get to work on my own 100 Things I want to do list. I’ve been so completely rooted in every day, which is a good thing, that I’ve forgotten a bit about letting myself dream, which is not a good thing. And I’ve lost some of my internal inspiration along the way. It’s time to get it back.

3/14/10 - Daylight Savings Time

I despise daylight savings time. Truly abhor it. It was easier to sort of ignore its existence when I was younger or even just before I had kids. Now however, it totally screws up everything. Does it make it a bit easier for the kids when it occurs on a weekend (does it always occur on a weekend?). But it seriously messes with me. Because weekends are when I get to sleep in. So I let myself stay up later. Especially when I’m totally sucked into a book and I just do not want to put it down, thinking I’ve got another hour or so to read before it’s just too late because I’m pregnant and always tired anyway. And then I remember that because of the time change, it’s actually already too late and I need to get my happy ass to bed. So yeah, I stayed up too late, way too late. In fact I fell asleep on the couch, awoke at 3am and after peeling my drool pasted cheek from the pages of said book, wondered why I wasn’t in my bed.

All of this with me thinking, well it is Saturday night. Even if I do stay up too late, I’ll be able to sleep in tomorrow and catch up. Except for frigging daylight savings time stole an hour from me. Forcing me to get up well before I was ready because it’s just not decent for a mother of two to still be in bed at 10am (especially when it’s actually 11am). The Boy looked at me like I was on crack when 7pm rolled around and I said it was time for bed because his internal clock ain’t no dummy and told him it was too early to go to sleep.

I mean, yes, we get more light in the afternoons. But I find it far more depressing to wake up when it’s still dark than I do to be eating dinner in the dark. I know that will change in a couple of months, but I’d rather just let time alone and have light when we have it than do this time tug-of-war every fall and spring. Seriously.

Strolling Along

Is there such a thing as writer’s fatigue? I’m not at all sure I knew what I was getting myself into when I started this project. I was pretty sure that writing short stories wouldn’t take much more effort than my daily 365 writing (and I’ve gotten exceedingly good at that). I just sort of figured that once I got a couple of stories written and built my self confidence that it would start to come pretty easily and whittling out the time to write these stories would just work itself out.

Yeah. I am pretty sure I was wrong. Because every week it’s a struggle. It’s primarily a struggle to simply find the time to sit down, focus and write the story that is unfolding in my head. But it is also a struggle to focus that story. I’m still having a bit of trouble with the whole “starting a novel” thing which causes me to second guess myself. And I’m still not brimming with the confidence I had hoped I might at least have an inkling of at this point in the project. I’m sure the three friends that I keep turning to for help when I get stuck dread seeing the green dot beside my name denoting my presence on line these days; finding themselves fervently hoping that I’d just figure it all out already.

The odd thing is that even though I wrestle with this every week, it’s a wrestling match that I actually enjoy. I love engaging my brain in a new way to see the world in a different way. Working to draw stories out of people that exist only in my dreams or imagination doing everyday things that suddenly seem interesting because of the people doing them. It’s fun and it’s sort of like taking my brain out for a walk in one of those new neighborhoods full of cookie cutter houses and winding roads that all lead back to each other. It’s pretty but I have no idea how the hell to find my way home.

So, I’m going to enjoy the scenery, leave a trail of breadcrumbs, learn some new wrestling moves and just keep writing.

2/8/10 - Tearful Reading

I discovered a few new websites today that had me in a variety of tears as I waded through their archives; everything from tears of recognition and sisterhood to raucous laughter and hell yeahs.

The first website is www.theshapeofamother.com and its entire existence is dedicated to providing a space for women to tell their bodies’ stories as they grow, birth, feed and continue to take care of the children we carry for the rest of our lives. It’s an extraordinarily beautiful site full of heartfelt stories from women coming to grips with and developing immense gratitude for their bodies as they change along the process it takes to become a mother. They celebrate stretch marks as mementos of our bodies’ ability to conform to the needs of the babies we have had in our bellies. They laugh good naturedly about the march of gravity across our boobs, bellies and asses. They jump for joy when weight goals are met and are at the ready with encouragement when they’re not. And they do it all with pictures. Unabashedly displaying all of these things that we hide from even our husbands and definitely from ourselves because of the sheer pride of being able to participate in this group of women exclaiming at the top of their lungs what miracles their bodies are capable of. It’s lovely.

The second is Shapely Prose (www.kateharding.net) and she is awesome. She’s hilarious, witty, amazingly honest and I adore her writing for all of these things and the fact that she just doesn’t take herself very seriously which I have a deep appreciation for as that’s a personality trait I’m trying hard to adopt as of late.

The last is www.mamamia.com.au and apparently she’s a pretty well known author and commentator but I’ve never heard of her. I found her through The Shape of a Mother’s Facebook page and while her site has a more journalistic feel to it, she’s still lovely, funny and honest. She write scathingly about the media’s obsession with body image in a way that makes me want to jump up and down and yell hallelujah!

It was a good day immersing myself in new to me writing.

Wall

Ok, so apparently I’ve lost my mind. Or hit a wall. Or something. Because it appears that my current options are either crying mess or harpy. Lovely. Exactly how I wanted to kick off my week! I just cannot seem to pull it together. I’m trying to just be, as uncomfortable as it may be, in the hopes that all of this will just work itself out and I can go back to my own version of functionality. Because bursting into tears every time someone asks how I am is just not acceptable. And neither is screaming at my children just because they happen to be breathing in my general vicinity. I’m being ridiculous.

People keep telling me that I need to refuel myself so that I can keep being strong. And while there is definitely part of me that would like to take that advice and would definitely like to go back to being strong, the me that is right now just laughs and throws dirty looks when I hear that advice. Because right now it feels like it would take years to refuel. That laying on a beach with no responsibilities, no expectations, no nothing for several months straight would do nothing but scratch the surface. And there is no part of me that feels strong right now. I feel like I could very well disintegrate on the spot. Like a stiff wind could just blow the pieces of me away like brittle leaves.

And I wish I could say that I was being dramatic. But that’s how I feel right now, brittle and hollow. And that just really sucks. Mostly because it came out of nowhere. I was doing so well! I mean, yes, I’ve had a couple of crabby days and a bunch of rollercoaster riding, but I never expected anything like this. To just be laid flat with grief and stress before my dad actually died. I don’t know what to do with this. But I’d like for it go away now. I’ll click my heels, wrinkle my nose, apparate, Calgon take me away, whatever it takes I’m more than willing to try. Just no more crying or yelling please.

Bad Day

I’m having a bad day. And here’s the mind fuck that has been chasing its tail through my bad day pity party: I should be above bad days. Or, more to the point, I should be able to rise above bad days. I should be able to just allow them to move past me without buying into their bullshit. I should just make my mind some soothing tea and let it rant and rave without actually giving it any unwarranted attention. I should be able to slough off bad days without a care. But apparently I can’t.

Because I’m crabby and I want to cry. My husband has half the day off and instead of enjoying the family time, I was actually resentful that he was home. My mom called to tell me she was in a car accident and my first thought was “what do you want me to do about it?” What the fuck is wrong with me?!

Here is what’s wrong with me today: my dad has started going downhill again and I’m not there to help or see any of it for myself. My cell phone is dead as dead gets and we have zero funds to get a new one. My car needs about $1,000 worth of work. My husband’s car needs about $1,000 worth of work. I desperately need a haircut. I have zero confidence in my ability to write anything more than simple journal entries and am considering aborting my 52 project. And we have zero wiggle room in our budget and none coming in the foreseeable future and that just flat makes me angry. And we’re out of brownies.

That’s about it. That’s what’s wrong with me. So pretty much nothing has changed. My dad is dying. We have no money. I’m struggling with how to actually be a writer. What the hell else is new? And yet today is a bad day. Because today I’m mired down in the muck of circumstance. Because for some reason, today, I let myself sink down into the swamp water of my mind.

And now I’m all slimy. So I guess I’ll go take a shower and just keep breathing.

Writing Muscle Memory

I’m almost done with the Stephen King On Writing book and I’m not even remotely ready for it to be done yet. It’s not very often that I’m sorry I read so fast. Even books that I adore, it’s ok that they end so quickly because I know I can always re-read them again whenever I want. But for some reason I’m just not ready for this one to be over yet. So I’m only reading before I go to bed at night. And only one chapter.

I think the best way I can describe this book is exhilarating. I just find it absolutely exhilarating for some reason. As if through some sort of paper based osmosis he’s imbued this book with his talent and enthusiasm and simply by reading it, I then get that energy level transferred to me. I’m never ready to sleep after reading my rationed chapter. I’m ready to write. Which is a pretty cool feeling – well not the not sleeping part, I’m so tired lately that my right eye has started twitching uncontrollably, it’s rather annoying.

I guess mostly his writing makes me feel like I can write. And that in and of itself is just a really freeing feeling. It just brings fully into focus the fact that I am the only one holding me back. Do I have a lot to learn about the craft? Absolutely. Do I desperately need a ton of practice? Without a doubt. But, and I know I’ve said this before but I think saying over and over is something akin to muscle memory at this point, it’s only my fear that’s held me back. Because the resources are out there, I just have to be willing and able to track them down. And then I need to just start writing. Playing with words, format, tone and tenor. I have to be willing and able to just write, without paying attention to rhyme and reason. Just character or mood or situation. Just because it’s there to be written.

So that’s my goal for this 3^rd upcoming week of writing on 52 –playing with the words that are already there. Unearthing the characters lurking below.

Baby on the Brain

Babies, babies everywhere!! It’s one of those things where I don’t know if I am just paying more attention because I’ve got babies on the brain or if they really are just everywhere right now. But I just had two friends have babies, another is due any day and three more are just out of their first trimesters. And dearest C and her husband are in the waiting process of adopting a baby. They are everywhere I tell you, everywhere!

And it is making me crazy. And even making me start to second guess myself a bit. I’m sure that the second guessing is coming primarily as a matter of self preservation. Because I’m thinking, well maybe we don’t really need to have another baby. We went out to dinner (a huge splurge) with some friends the other night after our court date and as I was sitting there, I realized that my children are big enough to go out to eat with friends and I no longer have to hover above them ready to avert any impending disaster. They could sit at one end of the table with their friends and eat dinner just as we were eating dinner with our friends at the other end of the table. The Boy astounds me daily with how big he is. The Girl is getting more and more self-sufficient every day. If we have another baby that will mean starting all over. In another year and a half The Girl will be in kindergarten and I will have my days back. Back to do with what I want. Whether that be diving head first into grad school, writing a novel or going to see a movie or watching bad day time TV. Another baby means that in a year and half I would have an infant and spend all of that free time sitting on the couch nursing. Or trying to write with a sleeping baby strapped to my chest or my back.

All of these reasons to be grateful that I’m not pregnant. And yet, at their core they are little more than a way to put off the crushing disappointment for one more month.

Writing Road Blocks

So apparently my problem is not that I don’t know how to write fiction. The problem is actually that I don’t know how to write short stories. I’ve been focusing so completely on finding inspiring characters and then letting those characters tell their own stories that I end up opening these gigantic cans of worms, or in dearest S’s words “Why do you keep starting novels?!?” Yeah. Point taken. And that is indeed my problem right now.

Since I’ve spent the last year keeping what writing I was doing to a mere 365 words per day, I was worried that I’d have a hard time coming up with enough to say. And that’s not been a problem either. Once I get going, the story just unfolds and unfolds. Until I sit back and think, hmmmm, I’m going to have to step in here and either figure out how to just end it or else I’m going to have to just go ahead and write a novel and post it in chapters. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, but I’d really like to get more comfortable with the whole process before I commit to such a thing.

S recommended that I Google “minute fiction” and/or “flash fiction.” The former are entire fiction stories in 300-500 words, the latter are fiction stories in 1000 words or less. I’m totally comfortable writing within word restraint, obviously, but I’m not entirely comfortable writing fiction within a word constraint, if that makes any sense. I’m struggling with cutting off a character’s voice before they’ve had their right say.

Maybe I could go ahead and write them out and then pick the most interesting piece of their story to polish and post?

I know I’m over thinking this. It’s doubt in my ability. Even though S tells me I’m doing good and should keep going (and if anyone was going to tell me to pack it in, it would be him, in the most caring way possible of course), I’m second-guessing myself to the point of writing paralysis.

I need to put my brain down and walk away. Just focus on the writing and the deadline. Which is fast approaching.

Foresight in Poetry

I was going to write about the fantastic movie we saw last night – Up in the Air. I was going to pull out all of my poetic abilities to share with you the gorgeous performances in this incredibly lovely, and multi-layered, movie. I was going to express my absolute surprise at how well Anna Kendrick held her own on the same screen with George Clooney and Vera Farmiga. Basically I was going to spend the length of today’s entry gushing about the movie in general, because I absolutely loved it and I think Jason Reitman is a genius.

But there’s really only so many ways you can say lovely, brilliant, gorgeous and wonderful. Yep, that about does it on that account.

So, what’s next then?

Well. I’m still not sleeping. Which has rendered me a bit out of whack. More than a bit actually. I’m having a hard time keeping up with the outside world it feels like. I was all impressed with myself for actually getting Christmas cards and my in-laws’ holiday box out the door on time. And then I come to find out that we don’t have my brother-in-law’s correct contact information and not only did my husband not ever get through to him to wish him a happy birthday the beginning of the month, but that they also never got our messages saying thank you in every imaginable way for the extraordinarily generous check they sent us for Christmas. Things like that, and feeling like every piece of clothing I own is perpetually covered with dog hair, make me feel all kinds of out of sorts. Which isn’t something to which I’m particularly accustomed.

I am also still finding myself weeping at every blessed thing I see. Which is highly irritating and I’m sure my husband has started wondering if I need to be dealt with in some way.

Essentially, after three days of quiet alone time, I’m still wound tighter than a drum it appears. Lovely. I wonder what it will take to relax already. Perhaps in ushering in the New Year tomorrow, the constant anxiety will be replaced by the good feeling of waiting for good things to happen.

Mix Anxiety with Guilt and...

I am feeling guilty. Because I desperately want to go home with my husband tomorrow for a few days until he was planning on coming back to my parents’ house on Thursday anyway. I would love to sit in my house and just enjoy the quiet. I would love to not have to do anything except catch up on my DVR’d TV shows from before I left and watch any and all of the copious movies we got/gave for Christmas. I would love to delve into my music wish list and spend some of the iTunes gift certificates I got. I would love to take some time to start researching and writing notes about the first story in the new blog I’m going to kick off on New Year’s Day. I would love to take three days and just be in a bit of solitude and utter quiet.

Here is the problem. I feel totally guilty wanting that right now. Ridiculously guilty. At this point where my one and only priority should be spending as much time as possible with my dad. At this point where I should be last on my priority list.

I have this sort of double-edged anxiety that sets in when I think about leaving, even for just a couple of days. Anxiety that my mom will call in the middle of the night and tell me my dad has died and I wasn’t there. Anxiety that if I don’t take some time for me, to refocus and decompress that I will very soon lose my footing here and start taking it out on my parents and children. I know the whole theory “if you don’t take care of yourself, you can’t take care of anyone else.” I know that. And I am even willing to concede that it’s true. But I also know that in situations such as these, where my role as mother and daughter far outweigh any role as individual, that little nugget of wisdom simply does not apply.

So I am struggling right now. Trying to figure out what is the right thing to do and hoping like hell that I am right, whichever way I choose.

Purpose

I’ve pretty much spent the entire last 18 months in constant drama and trauma. There have been tremendous amounts of upheaval, fear, anger, sorrow, frustration and discouragement. There have been countless days of feeling like I was walking through life in a coma of heightened emotion. Where it felt like I had reached my own personal threshold for feeling; as if there was no way I could possible feel anything else. I have fought and clawed my way back from insanity and apathy so many times I’ve lost count. And it feels like my very DNA has been irrevocably changed forever.

I have had to open myself in ways I didn’t even know were possible. I’ve had to confront and dismiss demons that have plagued me for more years than I’d like to admit. I’ve had to re-learn how to trust, both myself and others. I’ve had to redefine what joy and love and hope mean. It’s as if my very being has dilated.

So where does all of this spiritual pontificating leave me?

Raw. And with the ability to be utterly, profoundly present in every single moment. I never could have imagined that this combination would leave me with much but a teary short attention span. But instead it’s given me an intimate understanding of faith, which is an animal that I’ve been chasing for all my life. And once that level of faith had entered my being, any feeling of impermanence simply vanished. I always imagined being rooted in the moment would make me long for the big picture view, but I never dreamed that I’d get a picture in picture perspective.

And in the end I feel like I’m getting closer to my purpose. And it has nothing to do with any of my previously preconceived notions. It means having the audacity to be unabashedly me in every single moment. In all my different incarnations, wearing all my different hats, using all my best voices, strutting in my favorite shoes, laughing and crying with abandon and utterly embracing life as it arrives on my doorstep. Giving myself permission to simply love, without fear, because it’s what I’m the very best at doing.

Google-tastic

I had a totally irresponsible day of getting absolutely nothing done. I spent a good portion of the day chatting with my college roommate and driving back and forth to The Girl’s preschool. I should have dealt with the massive pile of dishes that’s been sitting on the counter for the last two days. I should have a done a number of things. Well, I guess I did go grocery shopping, which really needed to happen. So I guess that’s one productive thing I managed to do today. But other than that? I got nothing. So I was struggling to decide what to write about and decided to Google it. Yep. That’s right, I just typed in “What should I write about?” And here’s a sampling of what I got:

“The 10 Things You Gotta Know About Choosing a College and 10 Things You Gotta Know About College Application Essays.” Very interesting. I might actually read that one since I never even wrote college application essays. Grad school writing samples? Yes. College essays? Not so much. Them’s the benefits of knowing the Dean of Admissions.

“What kinds of things should I write about? .... Should I still write about what I love or what people want, or both…” Yeah. Been there, done that.

“The Top 25 things you should never write in your blog…” I’m not even going to read any further because I’m sure I’ve done every single one of this person’s 25 things and I’d rather not second guess 10 months of relatively solid writing.

“Write a new couch gag for the opening credits of The Simpsons; Tell me a knock knock joke; Describe yourself in five words” Ok, there’s no way that I could write a new couch gag for The Simpsons – I’m just not that clever and after 16 years on the air, I’m pretty sure that there isn’t anything they haven’t already done or at least thought of. I have two small kids so the only knock, knock jokes I know are really just goofy rambling to the general rhythm of “knock, knock! Who’s there?” And describe myself in five words? How about romantic, sarcastic, lovely, impossible and mother?

Proof of Power

Becoming a mother was a top to bottom change of state for me. Pretty much everything I thought was true changed the moment I got knocked up. Most of it for the better, some of it I lost myself to, and although the road back has been long I’m still not sure it wasn’t worth it.

Even on my most frustrated, at the end of my rope, want to duct tape the children’s mouths shut and put them in the closet days, being a mother resonates in a very deep part of my soul. Even when I’m not at all sure that my mothering techniques are up to snuff, I always have complete confidence in being a mother.

But one of the most tangible parts of becoming a mother for me has been getting comfortable in my own skin again. I have always been at war with my body image. Even when I was thin and healthy and gorgeous, I just couldn’t see myself very clearly. Since the stretch marks have marathoned across the length of my stomach and my hips (and feet) have widened and my boobs have gravitated towards my belly button in an attempt to commune with the depths that reside there, I’ve mostly just tried to ignore my body image. And my body. It serves its purpose well and I’m grateful for that, but I’d rather just pretend that I’m always wearing an invisibility cloak.

The journey undertaken this past year however has brought some much needed perspective when it comes to my appearance (thanks to the Mojo Boots for bringing me back my sass). And even though it makes me sick (in the best possible way) when all of my friends look as if they’ve never been pregnant 2.7 minutes after birthing their children, there is a part of me that has become deeply grateful for the fact that there is physical evidence of having my two babies.

I’d gladly trade my jeans for a new pair a few sizes smaller any day of the week, but I wouldn’t ever hand over the tangible corroboration of what my body is capable of. That’s empowerment that Mojo Boots just can’t touch.