Laughing Through the Flames Together

Parenting is a lot of things. It’s an honor, it’s a blessing, it’s a privilege and it’s also a job. Parenthood can either be the most joyous time of your life or a living hell from which there is no escape. Honestly, even though we are encouraged and expected to “cherish every moment” the hard truth is that parenting is often both. Parenthood is the hardest job anyone will ever have...except for maybe that guy that gets his heart ripped out by Mola Ram and is lowered down into the firey pit on Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. They aren’t without their similarities, anyway: High pressure. Sacrifice. Rip your heart out. In a cage descending into fire. Very hot. It burns!  

Okay, it’s not all that bad but it helps at times to keep things as light as possible and to not take it too seriously...even though you need to because you are single-handedly making choices that are in part forming your beloved children’s personalities that they will then be at the mercy of forever...and even though they will go forth with these personalities into the world either to make it or break it. Kiiind of totally a huge deal. But don’t worry. No pressure. “Kali maa shakti de!!” 

What could be harder than parenting? Single-parenting, obviously, would take about a thousand cakes on that one. But actually sometimes, albeit to a much lesser degree, it can also be co-parenting. Parenting is hard in general to wrap your will around but meeting another person on the same page who has their own preconceived notions of what parenting is or should be and staying on the same page when it comes to your beliefs on raising children and consistently standing by said beliefs in the face of distraction and frustration…two different heads of the same snarling beast and they both chew your face off. My husband and I can agree that this is often really shitty. Call a spade a spade. We both can also agree, however, that it is the best thing to ever happen to us so where do we meet in the middle of this? That’s the million dollar question. That’s also where the continual relationship work resides. It’s no laughing matter...except for when it is. 

This past weekend my husband and I were jokingly talking about our day, and he had an errand to run. I had the baby on the boob and the other two were being their loud and annoying selves because yes, kids are often loud and annoying no matter how many times you post their pictures on social media decreeing them your angels and your everything. I said, “You guys should go with your father,” giving him an eye and a Cheshire Cat beam. We knew I was mostly joking. His face visibly sunk in an exaggeration of protest because everyone knows it takes twice as long to do any errand with kids in tow, and he said, in a wailing womanly voice: “You haate me!” We laughed. Humor is often your saving grace. It’s also wonderful when our daughter chalks up everything that goes over her head to “adult comedy” as she calls it. We’re not entirely proud but this is where we find ourselves. Parents make jokes because you either laugh or you’ll cry. 

Later that day, after earlier having discussed how his truck has gotten him over 100,000 miles, he said how he had to go out to work on it for awhile. I teasingly accuse him: 

“You know, you’re truck hasn’t needed anything big but you SURE do work on it a lot? What are you sabotaging shit just to get out there and get away from us? ‘OOoh NOOOOoOOO my BRAKE line broke, I better get out there and FIX that today for sure!!’ Is that how it is? ...’Cause that’s what I’d be doing.”

Again, we laughed. Humor through parenthood is like saying that the knife wound in your side kinda looks like a face. It’s simultaneously both denial and complete and total acceptance. We started doing impressions of him taking out his brake lines and other truck parts because they really did go out recently and it does seem he is perpetually working on his truck during his brief time at home. It’s seemingly never ending; duties and projects drag on into a balmy eternity. Everything moves like chilled molasses because there is never enough time in a weekend. It’s funny because the poor guy is actually out there as I write this working on it again. This weekend it’s universal joints. Lucky bastard. It’s funny because it’s not funny. At least we have humor. 

I think if you can laugh together you have a lot to work with. If you can’t make each other laugh, then it’s going to be a hard road for you because it can get a tad rocky and you’re going to feel every bump and stone. If you’re laughing you kinda just roll over the top of some of them and it doesn’t seem like such a bumpy ride even if your shocks are shot. Who you have as a co-pilot traveling with you as your partner in crime on the road of parenthood matters a lot. It helps if you get along with your celly. Your partner ultimately helps to determine how bumpy the ride will be and even when you have a good one the struggle is still real. Parenthood is where relationships go to train for the UFC; it will either make your marriage stronger or take it down blow by blow. 

That poor bastard in the basket on Indiana Jones didn't survive the destructive flames in the pit. He evaporated. Kali needed her sacrifice. It all seems so gruesome. We can just say he represents your egoic parts that need to surrender to the sacrifice. In Hinduism, Kali is the goddess of death and destruction. In her earlier depictions she is often a crone with red eyes, holding weapons and severed heads, with black skin and protruding tongue, a real bad bitch. Westerners generally view her as evil because of her form and requirements of destruction and human sacrifice. But in her complexity, she is a dualistic goddess, in her later Kali Ma form she is also a symbol of Mother Nature, nurturing and benevolent. Kali is like the transformative power of tough love, your darkness transmuted. When we are breaking apart from circumstance and heading into darkness that is Kali, but when we are fitting the pieces back together and finding our light, that is also Mother Kali. From my understanding, that is. Maybe you can see where I’m heading with this metaphor. 

Dealing with the stresses of parenthood together exposes you to each other’s deepest wounds. If there is anything ugly in your core kids will pull that dark shit right out of you and cover it in glitter and boogers before shoving it directly and repeatedly into your frame of view. “Look! LOOK! Do you see this?!” Kids are Mola Ram invoking the power of Kali to tear into your chest and hold your still-beating heart in front of your face before sacrificing your ego in a pit of flames. In short: kids’ll fuck you up. You need a strong resolve to survive the destruction of the goddess Kali. It requires a tight connection, a sturdy bond to hold your relationship together in the fire as the flesh of your old selves is seared away in sacrifice. Parenthood is some serious shit. It burns a good bit but as with much of life, it helps to laugh. 

Joe VS. The Driveway

Today we had a bit of Joe Vs. The Driveway. My husband and I are lucky in that in MOST cases, it's usually only one of us that freaks out about a situation, and the other can still freak out, but to a lesser degree and try to help the other remain calm...or tell them what an idiot they are being. Regardless of the chosen roles or tactics, one of us is usually calm-ish...and one feels irate. This musing has to do with getting stuck part way up the driveway, 3/4 of the way, to be exact...and THAT is a metaphor!

My husband was driving, and I was in the passenger seat. If this was a dream, I would say that is a significant note. I don't know about in real life. (No, really---I don't know about it.) During this particular incident, I was actually the calm one, which I love, because it honestly doesn't happen as often. I usually am the one dealing with the unstable mood or explosions of emotion, and will occasionally need to calm my husband down here and there when he does the same. So, needless to say, I feel awesome when I'm on the other end...like I'm a god damn Zen master or some shit. I revel in it...just a tad...because it's a good lesson. And, as synchronicity would allow, it usually has something to do with what I am personally working on in my inner world at the time. (Go figure!) And explaining or teaching, seeing something from the other seat, as it were, is one of the best ways to LEARN what it is you are teaching. So not only because I don't feel like the idiot, but because I get a chance to SEE how I should be reacting all of the time. I get a chance to see my reactions mirrored...and see how futile they are. How self-sabotaging, how pointless. Preach it, sister! Preach it! It's amusing to me, although, it is a humble sermon, because I am too often in the driver seat...literally. I am the one stuck in the driveway and not the one just watching the drama unfold. Sometimes you lose sight of that.

So my husband was getting angry as we were going up the driveway and backing down again and again trying to get past where we were. Meanwhile, the snow was just continuing to come down, not making it any better. But we had full bellies, we were in our own driveway and we were together. This is what I told my husband. No big deal. We'll get 'er! We were 3/4 of the way up the driveway...and a day later I would realize how odd it was that our driveway is shaped exactly like the arc my therapist made with her hand when she was describing how I was doing progress wise, and we got stuck in the exact spot she stopped her hand in the air and declared that I was at...3/4 of the way...riiiiiiiiight near the top of the LAST little hump before you're home free...where you keep sliding off track! Hmm...interesting. Where you are tested with what you have learned thus far. You can't make it up smoothly without knowing what you've learned. Do I digress? 

In all actuality, I just had the car stuck in our driveway a week prior on my way back home from my friend's house one night. (It was a BAD winter for our driveway!) Luckily, I had a little wine in me, so the cold wasn't bad at all and it turned into a beautiful moonlit walk, as Sam Cooke serenaded me via Pandora the entire length of my trek. "Darling, you send me...Honest, you do, honest, you do..." It was actually rather enjoyable, as I sneaked up to my snow covered abode like it was a hidden cabin in the woods. Which takes me back to us being stuck in the driveway. It's no big deal...it is what you make it. I had decided to walk and listened to Sam Cooke! It was enjoyable. It could have been made into an ordeal. I could have become so pissed that I tried to kick my tire, slipped, and fell on my ass! I could have broken my coccyx! It COULD have happened. But I CHOSE to enjoy the moment. This is what I was thinking about when we became stuck after our outing for breakfast that morning.

In my husband's defense, though, he was the one in charge of unstucking the car both times, so I am sure that is why he wasn't enjoying the moment as much as I was. I didn't see much amusement in his eyes when I replied to one of his outbursts with, "I"m having a really good time!" and a large grin. Maybe now wasn't the time? But if not Now, when? Now is exactly when you need to have a good time! Even when you are stuck 3/4 of the way up your driveway...because you're almost home. No matter how much you keep sliding into that deep drift, no matter how long it takes you to pull yourself out...no matter how many times you have to back down the drive and get a head start back up...you're gonna make it home...even if you have to walk. That's a metaphor...and a good life lesson.

You're Invited OR Creating Corresponding Cards

One of the main parts of planning a wedding, which is basically just a glorified personal prom, is the invitations!  There are so many options nowadays.  This was one of the most exciting aspects of my wedding for me because I chose to design and make my own.  I even had a wedding "logo" that was on them along with the t-shirts I designed and printed for the wedding party to wear.  I was technically married in a t-shirt, but we also walked out of a chicken coop so it worked.  (I took some artistic licenses, I guess you could say, with our wedding theme.)  It was very personalized as were our invitations.  I used 100% recycled card stock and envelopes.  I got to experiment with different colors of vellum and natural jute twine.  I designed them all myself, included a quote from Tuesday's With Maury, and hand addressed every one. 

The card making was a memorable time; it was one stage of wedding preparation that I really enjoyed.  It took a lot of work, but was a lot of fun and very rewarding.  They looked awesome, if I do say so myself!  Other people liked them as well and I later had someone ask me to make their son's graduation announcements, which was a neat project to do as well.  My cousin is getting married this November and asked me to make her invitations for her.  I was very honored to be asked and excited because I learned while making mine that my love for stationery transcends my notebook collection.  I like to design and make my own cards! 

My cousin is having a fall wedding theme with leaves and such, fitting for the month it will take place.  Her colors are chocolate brown, red and a rust color.  I was so excited to work with these colors.  It's going to be gorgeous, that's my pallet!  I'm such an Autumn.  We met and decided over wine how they would look and ordered the supplies from www.paperandmore.com, which is where I also bought all of the paper and envelopes for my previous cards.  I talked her into using a wax seal on the outside of the inner envelope which we ordered also.  I was so excited to live vicariously through my cousin's personalized stamp!  I have always loved and wanted to use wax seals.  I was SO psyched! 

This weekend my cousin came up to help finalize and assemble the invitations.  It was a memorable occasion to say the least.  Friday night she arrived around nine.  I was still laying out the graphics and wording.  My mom kept Celie so I could safely get out my rotary cutter and mat.  I used to use this to cut fabric when I was in my Missie Susie seamstress stage.  I also used it to cut the paper for my wedding invitations and a ton of other stuff.  It's dangerous as hell and intimidating as shit, but is a vital tool for crafting and sewing.  I reacquainted myself with my tools and got to work.  We stayed up all night talking and catching up while I was printing all of the pages and cutting paper.  We stayed up until 4am and then I decided the rest could be done the next morning.  Saturday evening we were planning on having some other family over to my parents' house to help with the assembling.  Everything was decided, I just needed to finish printing.  Surely I could get that done easily tomorrow, right?

Saturday, of course we ran into problems as soon as I started printing.  First the printer jammed, then I ran out of ink, which I didn't have on hand.  Long story long, I got everything printed out and ready for the assembly party by around 9PM.  We took the supplies down to the crew, and after hours of taping, tying, stuffing, addressing and stamping we finally finished up around 3AM.  85+ invitations, DONE!  We then commenced with the celebratory drinking.  It was one hell of a night and morning!

The invitations turned out so damn nice.  I was actually REALLY proud of myself for this one.  I got to experiment with wax seals, and they turned out pretty good for my first time.  I am totally a stationery nerd, because even though it was nearing 2AM, I was sad when I finished sealing all of the inner envelopes. I LOVE PLAYING WITH MELTED WAX!  Yes...stationery is swell!

Rod Wives: When Saturday Sucks

Living as a Rod Wife can be hard enough, but what is even worse than seeing your man only two true days a week is when they work on Saturday.  Sure, overtime can be nice, but who cares about money when you are that lonely?  Oh, Mr. Scrooge?  Yeah, him, but for real?  We "pay" enough to live this way, I want my Saturday. We both sacrifice a lot to live the rod life, but it does allow me to spend this irreplaceable time with my child instead of in the work force, climbing a ladder or running with the rats.  I would rather do my work at home, but this life does come with sacrifices, as would the other one.  Everything comes with its price.

On this Saturday, for instance, my husband worked so he didn't get home until 6:30pm.  So right off the bat, Saturday feels like Friday, and obviously what should be Saturday morning is Sunday morning, soon turned Sunday evening and before the clock hands even seem to move it's Monday morning and he's leaving again.  That's barely enough time to get your laundry done, let alone feel like a family, do errands, and get some lovin's in.  At least on this Saturday, we had plans to fall into directly after he arrived which included dinner at a friend's, other children for entertainment (namely hers, meaning ours) and some wine!  So we were able to have an authentic Irish dinner and some grown up talk and beverages, while our midget enjoyed the company of some other shorties.  For a sucky Saturday it was pretty fun after all.  Most of the day was spent waiting for Joey to get home, which made it feel like Friday, but then it actually had the rewarding feeling Friday's used to have back when they included more friends, food, and fanfare, and less bawling, baths, and bedtimes.  It's nice to celebrate the return of your loved ones. Friday's were always a party; everyone was coming home.

Obviously things have changed with our week and weekend routines after having a child, but being a Rod Wife still sucks when you're both doing overtime.  Some men are gone for weeks on end, so I should be grateful we are only apart the amount that we are.  Money is nice, but not as nice as my husbands arms feel.  They can keep their money, I want our Saturday's.  It doesn't happen that often so it's important to look on the bright side of the situation when it occurs.  Absence has been known, for example, to make the heart grow fonder.  It's true.  It also makes the sex better.

Me To You,
Missie Sue

The Map to My Sweet Heart

My Valentine came home with a lovely heart shaped box of Russell Stover fine chocolates for me this week.  My initial reaction to candy is always "Great, you brought me five more pounds of ass fat! You hopeless romantic!"  I do, however, like it, of course, and find it is more worth my time and gluttony session if it comes in a cliche red heart shaped box.  I'm a sucker for staples, and symbols...and presentation, and, oh, hell, they're just fun!  The candy box heart is a good symbol and metaphorical gift.  It says, "Darlin', take my big, fully-loaded sweet heart!!  OH!  AND, here is a helpful map so as to avoid your least favorite parts and likewise find all the best pieces in me!!"

The idea of mapping out your heart makes much sense.  It almost seems like that should be an initial part of all new relationships.  Forget vows, celebrate the exchanging of your heart maps.  Think of how much heartache and time could be saved if it were that easy?  The truth is, I guess, that everyone HAS a heart map, per say, it just isn't laid out as simple as it is in the chocolate world.  A lot more gets lost in translation.  So we spend months, years, and decades getting to know our partners and find the best route to the different chambers of their heart.  Sometimes we devour what we find, sometimes we spit it out.  Sometimes we just put it back in there and hope whoever finds it next likes it better...and doesn't so much mind the bite marks and lip stick ring we left?

I wish I could be as helpful to my husband as a heart map is for chocolates.  I wish I could warn him beforehand which pieces have been all eaten up, which have been picked at, and which have been left for the next.  I could warn him about the maple nut butter, or the maple nut cream.  How many chocolate truffles are left?  Am I only nouget and coconut cream in there?  My heart map, like a trail of emotional bread crumbs I have left over my lifetime, is there.  Like everyone else's, it is continuously being drawn and presented over time.  It resides in cues and stories and reactions and gazes and habits and passions and words and embraces.  I'm no cartographer, but I do my best to maintain a legible heart map for my husband, because let's face it, man can easily become lost in the deep forest of woman, and likewise.  Understanding and finding your way is a team effort.  Joey does a pretty damn good job at finding his way through my heart, and doesn't seem to mind being left with my discarded fruit and nut clusters.

Do you give good directions?

Musing Through,
Missie Sue

Still...My Valentine

My Valentine

I loved you yesterday.
I'll love you tomorrow.
You held me through heartache.
You held me through sorrow.

I struggle, you lift me,
Above all my troubles.
I stumble, you grab me,
You lead when I wobble.

I missed you yesterday.
I'll miss you tomorrow.
I'll fight hard to keep you.
I'd beg, steal or borrow.

I'm balanced on tight ropes.
Try not to upset me.
I'm aiming for high hopes,
Lets see where that gets me.

Your hands tell the story,
Of a hard-working man.
one hell of a lover,
Who does all he can.

I believed in you yesterday.
I'll believe you tomorrow.
You guide me through darkness.
Wherever, I'll follow.

I break down, you listen.
The weight makes you strong.
You show me new insights,
Whenever I'm wrong.

We're team mates, we're partners.
We share all our strife.
We're friends and we're lovers,
Together for life.  

[February 9, 2011]

"The Phone Call" or "The Scariest Day of My Life!"

July 25, 2012 will go down as the scariest day of my life…SO far.  I am sure there will be many more, after all, I only JUST became a mother, but I suppose it was probably the scariest I have had to date, pushing into Second Place that time in Puerto Rico when before my eyes a killer hurricane-inspired wave almost knocked my husband and my father into the ocean to be beaten against the aggressively sharp rocks we were ignorantly standing out on the edge of.  In retrospect, had I not received “The Phone Call” from my husband himself, I would have spiraled into a frenzy that day that would have seriously changed the course of events, I’m sure. 

It was basically like any other Wednesday, home with a toddler, just trying to survive.  She was napping, it was around 2:30 and I received a call from my husband.  There was a heightened tone to his voice, but he was fairly calm, and even though it was serious, it was reassuring I could hear he was okay.  He said he was in an accident and a 30 foot rebar wall he was attaching into place had fallen with him on it and it had landed on him.  He said he was okay, but he was hurt pretty bad and that they were calling an ambulance for him.  I told him to let me know what was going on and call me as soon as was possible.  I then hung up the phone to sit and worry with vomit ready to spew out of my face. 

I felt nauseous.  I couldn’t believe it, or was in a state of shock or something?   I had heard his voice, I talked to him myself, he was okay, but there was still an incredibly possibility that he had internal bleeding from the fall, or had something broken that he was not aware of because of the adrenaline, or his head injuries were worse than he thought.  This is what rattled through my head while I sat and waited. 

I was in the middle of paying bills but I stopped.  I let Celie sleep and with my mind going I started text family and friends.  My friends Hilary and Dave came to sit with me and hang out while I waited.  Meanwhile, I had received a reassuring call from a man my husband works with.  After that, however, I got a call from the hospital and it was a stranger and they gave me the whole “are you Mrs. Hoover…” blab la shpeal.   My head dropped.  “Why is a stranger calling me?!!”  Finally the man on the other end of the line got out the information he meant to convey to me.  He was one of EMTs on the Life Flight and had a conversation with Joey; my husband had given him my name and number and asked him to call me and let me know he had arrived at the hospital.  Phew!  Good news, because if he is having conversations with people he must be pretty aware and not out of it, thus the head injury must be superficial (lack of better word). 

This was the last call I got, so then I was just waiting for them to run all their tests at the hospital.  I was waiting for the call to tell me that my husband didn’t have a serious head injury or internal bleeding.  Finally he called me from his cell phone and I got to talk to him.  He was obviously medicated at this point, given the sound of his voice.  He amazingly had no broken bones other than two of his transverse process, which they determined later was only one place.  After a CATscan and tons of X-rays they determined he was the luckiest man ever. 

Joey fell approximately thirty feet with a rebar wall weighing approximately 900 pounds.  He rode it down to the ground and at the end it almost whipped his body to the ground, he said.  It ended up on him; two workers had to lift it off.  His new hard hat that he had just purchased was thrown from his head.  SO THANKFUL that we had just paid 85 bucks for it!  The wall actually fell onto another rebar mat, also.  The size 6 bars that it was made out of were tied on approximate 6 inch centers.  Had they been farther apart, he could have had serious lacerations.  The mat also gave a little, as it sat just above the concrete below, so he didn’t land directly onto the concrete the surrounds them.  He also was tied off with a standard harness and not a retractable one, which would have pulled back and snapped him into the wall, possibly injuring him worse.  He said for a split second he thought about unhooking his harness and jumping from the wall, but then he saw the rebar dowels below and fearing probable impalement he decided to hang on and ride the wall down.  CRAZY!

My husband is now resting on our recliner chair, where he has also been sleeping for the past week because he can’t get into bed.  He is still in a bit of pain moving certain ways, but he is doing well and recovering quickly, although it is unclear how long it will be before he is cleared for work.  We are enjoying the time together while he is home.  It’s horrible he had to throw a wall on himself for a vacation, but hey, I’m grateful.  I’m grateful for my amazing man of steel!  He took a nasty hard fall/beating.  He says he feels like he got his ribs kicked in, but I have never been so grateful in my life that he didn’t end up impaled, paralyzed, broken, or dead.  There, I said it; he almost died.  I try to block out how terrifying his line of work is because if I focused on that every day I would be locked up.  But I still have worried about just such a thing in the back of my mind since we got together, only with a worse outcome. 

Worrying doesn’t help anything.  For a completely terrifying close call, everything seemed to go just right.  I got that call that I have ever been worrying about getting, but instead of a stranger on the end of the line it was my husband telling me about his accident.  I am grateful for that.  That is the only thing that saved me from being a complete emotional wreck during this entire ordeal; I heard his voice.  My husband was more concerned about us than he was about himself and knew that I would go insane if I heard about the accident so he called me before anyone else had the chance to.  I am grateful for that phone call and everything that I have.  I love my husband so much, I really don’t know what I would do if anything ever happened to him, but we got close this time, and INCREDIBLY lucky.  Grateful for life and all of my many blessings!  I will inhale deeply every fart that comes out of his wonderful ass!  I love you, Joey Bear.  You’re my peaches, I’m your pear.  <3

Alone Time: A Rant

I’m currently alone in our bedroom sitting on the bed with the lap top.  I was ready and willing to go into time out.  I think I need it.  I think I deserve it.  So I’m doing it – without guilt.  Or am I?  Maybe I just need a pep talk.  

My husband is off for the day on a Thursday.  He will more than likely have to go back to work tomorrow (Friday) approximately 3 hours away, but it is definitely worth it just to have him here for a day during the week when this happens.  He is out in the living room watching Celie while I am trying to do a few things and make a few phone calls in the bedroom.  I guess I need to do some writing and relaxing first.  This has been one of those weeks.  I guess like all of the other ones.  Monday comes crashing down on me after the weekend and I am left unsure of how to fall into the routine of being alone again.  This lifestyle certainly does do a number on your psyche and sometimes I wonder if someone such as myself is really capable of living this way, because I refuse to admit to myself how hard it actually is sometimes.  Every now and then I do talk about it, but I have learned to exist by suppressing the sense of terror that I actually do feel every time that man walks out the door.  He leaves me.  Over and over again, he leaves me and deep down, you never know if they will ever walk through the door again.  I don’t like to focus on this, obviously, but it is in my awareness, so I fill our conversations with a lot of “miss you’s” and “I love you’s” and try to not to argue on the phone while he is out of town because you really don't know if it will be the last time you talk to them, like they say. (I'm not completely unstable, it's just that my husband does a lot of traveling for work on top of his job being fairly dangerous.)   

Honestly, I think I do enough “bitching” at him anyway (note the quotations) while he is here, because I also fear that our entire time together, which is really only a little over two days a week, is used up trying to “work things out” and learning each other.  Note the quotations.  Fighting we will also do, obviously, no marriage is perfect, but mostly what we do I consider working things out, because at least that is my goal.  I’m not sure how my husband views my attempts at communication especially when I am rattling off at the mouth like a Banty hen or something.  I know that he understands I am trying to come to terms with him or something but he also understands that I am very messed up in this head of mine.  He is one of the only people that knows, that has seen, that has felt – how incredibly hard to understand and unpredictable I can be.  Despite my problems, I am thankful I have my husband because even through his inattentiveness he is a good listener and has seen me through a lot of things.  I also am the most honest and open with him than I am with any other human being in existence, and I even value honesty amongst people and friends, I just like my privacy too, but my husband sees me deal with myself nakedly all of the time...mostly.  He also isn't here a lot; there is a lot of me he misses.  I don’t want to paint myself out to be a psycho, that’s not it.  But would it really be a leap to say that I was mentally ill?  Probably not.  Any condition that is diagnosable lands you mentally ill, technically.  I have a lot of issues and emotional problems that are constantly coming to light and healing themselves while numerous others are simultaneously emerging out of the depths of my psyche.  I see myself on a journey of personal growth.  I don’t know how to explain it without me sounding like a complete nut job.  I’m not on and never have been on anti-depressants…maybe I should be.  I’m not in therapy and never have been…maybe I should be.  I have never had what I would consider a strong support system growing up and while I was labeled as “independent” I always felt it was just because I had no choice.  I had to learn or do these things somehow, and I found my resources very limited, let’s just put it that way, and I feel I was left to figure a lot of things out on my own.  Did I make myself independent?  I always felt like I was being shamed by this label.  I always felt like it was a bad thing.  Like my alone time.  I always felt like it was selfish and weird of me to require so much alone time.  But both of these are only because of the way I was socialized.  The problem, perhaps, with the situation, is my shame about them.  There should be no shame in me being able to take care of myself, and there should be no shame in me needing to take time for myself in order to do this.  

Which brings me back to sitting here on my bed on a Thursday.  I love my daughter dearly, but my mind just needs seclusion at times to function.  I need to work on a pointless, random project like this blog, or my Ode To My Little Hot Water Bottle.  I need these sidetracks.  I need this place in my head.  That’s how I de-stress, it’s my Zoloft, it’s my Xanex.  So how does one do this in order to maintain their sanity without jeopardizing their role as a mother?  The point is, I don’t want to have her away from me.  I want her by my side, in the house with me.  I want to be able to handle her and tend to myself at the same time.  I don’t want to have her watched.  It is nice to get breaks once in a while, but I do miss her when she is away because I am so accustomed to the attachment parenting lifestyle.  I just want a happy medium.  And how do I bring that about without looking like a crazy woman to my daughter?  I am not 'just a stay at home'.  I am a work at home.  I am a build your own business at home.  I am a give yourself therapy at home.  

It’s needless to say I have much to work out before I pass these things on to my daughter.  It’s a journey and I am honestly working on all of the pieces of me every day, but I think that I’m missing a few.  Some have fallen off the table, I’m maybe fumbling around looking for them but I’m not looking – because I’m embarrassed that I dropped them.  And who cares?? Who cares if I dropped some pieces and have to pick them up again??  Who cares if I’m not perfect?  I’ve had an epiphany, as it is the season, one of which was that someone can actually have multiple epiphanies in a lifetime, it’s just the change that is possible to come about with said epiphanies does not always accompany each and every epiphany.  We don’t change as often as we REALIZE that we need to change.  Because that is the easy part, realizing.  Changing – now that is the hard part.  And that takes time and work.  So between my head and my business and my baby, I think I have a lot more on my mind every day than just maintaining this household, which is hard enough when I do it mostly alone!

But I shouldn’t feel guilty about needing this time with myself to spew these words out onto these keys and turn them into something visible on this screen.  Something real that can be examined or dare I say, felt.  I shouldn’t feel guilty for wanting to get it out there.  I shouldn’t feel guilty that I can’t do everything without effort.  Epiphany. (Aha, the hidden point emerges!)  I feel guilty that I don’t come programmed and just knowing things or being able to do them.  Where did that come from?  Independence?  Expectation, rather.  I feel as though a lot was expected of me for some reason and that is something I need to get to the bottom of because that is why I feel so behind and such a great amount of pressure – for no reason.  This leads me to stress.  I am also, I think, one of the laziest people I know.  Now, maybe I am confusing laziness with depression, but I think that’s what my dad would call it.  I don’t think he believes in it.  He’s like Tom Cruise that way, I guess.  My dad is a very wise mind over matter kind of guy, which I commend, but he’s not really one to tending to the delicate need of the psyche or emotions.  And my mother was always full of them.  And I find myself filled with both of them and am just struggling to stay afloat sometimes I feel.  Sometimes I do feel like I’m sinking.  

I guess that’s why I need alone time.  Time to cry if I want, or write if I want, or play the guitar if I want, or create some other way artistically or pay bills or make phone calls or even clean if I – well, let’s face it, if I have to.  I just want some time to have the option to tend to me, because I think that is not emphasized enough to mothers.  I think we are made to feel guilty about taking the time for us when what are we really worth to our families if we aren’t tending to ourselves?  They don’t want a wound up ball of nerves; they want us at our best.  I take my alone time when I can get it.  I spent a large part of my childhood alone in my room - listening to the Beatles and reading and writing.  Playing with my Self. (the inner one, people!)  And it’s my Self I have been searching for all of these years.  My Authentic Self.  And she is out there somewhere, or in here somewhere, rather.  I will find her.  NaBloPoMo this month is themed on Beginnings.  I think that it’s really about time I had a renaissance of spirit, a reawakening.  I feel like over the years I have lost so much of the Great Spirit that was me – my Self.  But how do you lose yourself and find yourself all in one breath?  See.  This is why I need alone time.  

[To Be Continued…again and again and again…]

November Blog #17: "A Word Collage for the Crushed"

November 17, 2011 Prompt of the Day:  Make a list of everyone you've had a crush on, then choose one and describe him or her in detail.

[I suppose I ended up making a collage of sorts...and perhaps it's more figurative than detailed.  It is what it is.]

They’re warm and caring, but distantly drifting.

They’re busy yet empty; slowed but fast moving.

They’re soft and giving, yet hard and solid.

They’re unknowing, unaware, oblivious…pallid,

To the grave fact that all is not what it seems, 

To the haunting memory running through dreams.

They’re rough and prickly, steadied in ego. 

They’re the one that’s got a way to go.

They’re the one that broke me long ago.

They’re the one that fueled the complex fires.

They’re the ones whose actions prove they are liars. 

They’re the one whose heads are down most now. 

They’re the ones that know what I’m all about.

He’s street smart and savvy, but knavishly fun.

He’s a real knock down fella, a real son of a gun.

He’s seen miles and loose women, fought battles I’ve fought.

He pins down the lighthearted, for what they are not. 

Rough around the edges, sharper than a tack.

Got the weight of the world sittin’ on his back.

Shuffles as he walks; he nails the presentation. 

Takes the long road about every destination. 

He’s silently outspoken, too many words to give.

He’s humble yet fluffed by the years he has lived. 

He’s Butters from South Park meets Pig Pen from Peanuts. 

He’s ambitiously lazy, prefers candy to beer nuts. 

His edges are rough, but his background is rougher. 

He takes all I throw; I have found no man tougher. 

He’s patient and caring, he’s gentle and kind.

He knows when to get the hell out of my mind. 

The world’s full of crushes, and people that will creep in,

But I think this one’s special, so I think that I’ll keep him.  

November Blog #4: "I'm Not An Addict, Babe...Eeeh....That's a Lie!"

"When you are writing, do you prefer to use a pen or a computer?"

While the computer is a useful writer’s pal, especially in today’s day and age, there is nothing quite like pen on paper.  Like its predecessor the typewriter, the computer is the most practical way to do mass writing for web logs, novels, books, papers, etc.  I do most of my blogging/internet writing on the computer, of course, but when it comes to working on poetry or lyrics of any kind, I prefer my journals and tablets and papers, napkins, envelopes, and the like.  Something that allows you to slow down and be a bit more reflective.

If I am attempting to work on a story or something of that nature I usually prefer the computer; when I am inspired for a short burst the keyboard is a much faster means of getting it out right away.  I prefer journals and comfortable flowing pens for prose, poetry, or just random daily notes/musings or one sentence thoughts or reflections.  I have 2 main journals for writing such things in.    

Most of my writing during the majority of my life has actually been of the old fashioned pen and paper variety.   Actually, ever since I have been a pre teen I have had somewhat of an obsession or infatuation…fetish? …with stationary.  Pens…paper.  Journals…tablets…pencils.  I love it.  I probably have a handful of blank notebooks in the house at the moment.  My husband gets on me when we are in the store and I stop to peruse the stationary aisle.  The thing is, I am most times not interested in buying anything in particular.  I just want to browse.  I don’t know what it is.  Maybe how people window shop for clothes or can’t help but stop at the pet store window and look at the puppies?  Maybe I want something to cry out “take me home!” Who knows.  

I can’t help it; I love stationary.  I love fresh new pens, new markers, unsharpened pencils, mechanical pencil packs, Sharpies, highlighters, comfy grip medium pens, tablets, pads, sheets of paper, binders. I love journals, lovely journals covered in faux leather or canvas with the slim little silk of a book mark hanging daintily over her back!  Oh, the thinks you could write in all of those nice fresh lovely journals!  And look at that pack of new pens.  ….  What?  No.  I’m fine. 

My husband says I am a border-line hoarder, not only because of my stationary “problem”, but for my obsession with tubbies and totes, my desire to save “perfectly good boxes”, and my collecting of silver-backed wrappers for projects.  I have also, to his dismay, saved most of the baby food jars we have bought with the baby for a future project!  I’m not a hoarder, damn it!  Okay.  Alright, I can SEE where you might think it is a little bit of a problem, but trust me.  TRUST me.  I have it all under control!  I have plans.  I’m going to use all of this!  And what’s up with the boxes?? You just don’t know how to appreciate a PERFECTLY good cardboard box, man!  I mean, that thing is practically new, do you not understand the possibilities?  

Seriously, though, he knows I’m not a real hoarder, but I do have my “things” and he certainly knows them.  He does assist me in putting back all of my jars and tubbies into the nooks and crannies we have to offer for space in the shed , so my argument must be convincing enough anyway and I appreciate and love him for it.  ...But I can’t help it.  First of all, tubbies are just practical!  I mean, they hold stuff!   But, I do love stationary.  I have a pack of pens at least on deck usually, or always seem to buy packs to replace the ones I keep at my desk because they migrate.  I’m not sure where they go, I don’t know if they are like a faithful dog who wanders off into the woods to die when he’s gettin’ low?  If people take them accidentally with them?  I mean, I know I have about 30 of them right now in my purse probably, but still.  I keep buying them.  You would think I would end up with a lot more pen carcasses laying around here for the full packs I seem to buy?  I'm just a gatherer!  It's in my nature. My brain just knows that they're valuable!  It's like a bird making a nest!  "And now we add the pens!"   I want to stock pens!  I’m not sure where all the pens go, though...  ? It's a mystery. 

Anyway.  Yes.  Pen to paper.  I prefer pen to paper for “relaxed and reflective” writing.  I prefer computer for ranting because my fingers can do a better job at keeping up with my wandering mind on the keys than with a pen.  Although, if you saw my chicken scratch cursive scrawling, you’d probably think it was a close race.   

I personally like the Bic Atlantis.  It has been my pen of choice as of late.  I don’t like the fancy ball point type pens.  They’re nice and all but most run very easily if something is spilled on them.  It’s funny how people have favorite pens, but it is really just a tool, isn’t it?  To a writer, the pen is a tool just as the brush, the hammer, the chisel, the ax, the scalpel, the saw, or the knife.  Crafts(wo)men take pride in their tools.    

[ Got yourself a favorite pen? ]