Happy Mother's Day

THIS IS WATER - By David Foster Wallace from The Glossary on Vimeo.

And with the dawn...

It's a bright, sunny day. Cold, but sunny. I am not usually a fan of this kind of day. For some reason, bright sun brings on headaches for me. But not today.

There is just a hint of spring in the cold, cold air. The sounds of birds singing again, the daffodil buds barely peeking through the dirt, the squirrels playing their games of tag again in the yard. Just enough spring to lift my heart.

I spent the weekend sobbing, singing the "Poor me, poor me" song. But I'm over it. I still don't think I'm strong enough to visit my favorite eastside haunts yet--I know I'll get weepy without my constant companion. But today's dawn brings a hopeful promise of good things to come, and I'm gonna go with it. I have so much. I am so lucky. And grateful.

Grateful for the Grief

I'm so selfish. I can't believe that in the midst of good news, I am so sad. Parenting is filled with these dichotomies. No one tells you that. But even if someone had told me, and I had actually listened, until you live it, you can't understand it. And I certainly wouldn't change the track of my life, even if I knew that I'd have less grief if I'd never had my girls.
This is an exciting time for her. This is the beginning of the next part of her life. This is SUCH an amazing opportunity. Yet I sit here and sob. It doesn't mean I'm not thrilled for her, that I'm not excited for her, that I'm not so, so very proud of her. But I'm selfishly sad for me. For us. Because, despite a rock-solid foundation, things will change. Dramatically. And if you've followed this blog at all, you know that I'm not good with change. I retreat. I obsess. I grieve. 
So that's where I'm at. I don't want things to be different, because I WANT this chapter to begin for her. But I want it to stop hurting. I want to stop feeling so lonely already. I want to be a grown-up about it. And right now, I can't. I'm too raw. I know we will all survive and thrive. I know this. But right now, I'm sad. I'm grateful, but I'm sad. 
And now, to lighten the mood, Alison, here is the song I was trying to remember for you:  

Marching On

Forgive the title pun--yes, it's already March, and I've been absent for awhile. 
Life has offered a variety of positive and negative experiences in the past 2 months, and I'm grateful for all of them. No matter how much I whine, I know I'm still one lucky chick. I still get to wake up every day. I still get to laugh and cry every day. I still get to feel overwhelmed and satisfied. I am still here. I am lucky.

Thanks for the thoughts, hugs, messages, smiles you've sent my way. I'm lucky to know you. I am marching forward, held up by supportive friends, loving family, and the knowledge that I am one lucky chick.  

Fingers crossed

2012. I'm so lucky. I had loads of time with my girls, loads of good food, loads of junk food, loads of cat snuggles, loads of good experiences with my students. 
I'm so lucky.
2013. I'm hopeful. I'm anxious. I'm grateful already for whatever comes. 
January holds a rather large mountain to climb, but I'll be positive enough, strong enough, and resilient enough for all of us. We'll climb together. We love each other. That's what will help us get to the other side, where we'll slide down, screaming, crying, and laughing all the way.

I'm so lucky. We've got each other.

photo credit

It's Okay

I'm trying so hard to breathe. Since the end of November, I've noticed that I have to concentrate specifically on taking in a full breath. 
It's tricky, this whole "tension" thing. You go about your daily routine, seemingly unscathed by circumstances out of your control. But then you notice that you're not fully breathing, not fully focusing, not fully participating.
I've got to do a better job of staying alert for the creeping signs of tension. I've got to let go of what I'm holding inside. If I crumble for a little while, the world will go on spinning. My issues won't go away, but they also won't eat me alive as long as I breathe. In. Out. Repeat.

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

'Tis the season. The season of waiting. The season of anticipation. Every day feels like an intake of breath. 
When does the release happen? Is it when the shopping is done? When the gifts are wrapped and tree decorated? When family gathers to celebrate? Or does it happen the day after, vacuuming the wrapping paper shreds, washing the dirtied dishes, putting the furniture back in place? 
I am a person who feels the post-holiday crash pretty deeply. In the evenings between Christmas day and New Year's Eve, I lean toward wallowing in sappy movies, sappy music, sitting in darkness lit only by tree lights. I take my year apart mentally, analyzing every misstep, listing the changes I will make to move forward. It's not so much a release as a letdown. It's as if there's nothing to look forward to, only things to regret. And that's bullshit. 
I'm learning (ssss--lll--ooo--www--lll--yyy) to keep myself in anticipation. Because there's ALWAYS something coming. I don't mean in the "Oh-I've-got-a-thousand-things-to-get-done!" way. I mean in the "What's-around-this-corner?" way. I'm learning to look forward with curiosity, with eagerness, with openness, instead of with dread, with anxiety, with a feeling of impending doom. 
I am not good with change. I worry. I fret. I dread. I know I won't completely be free of those weights, but I'm determined to look ahead with excitement. I am not patient, but I'm determined to find the joy in the waiting. 
I will inhale and open my eyes.

 


Clip art: http://www.stpaulschestnuthill.org/wp-content/uploads/Advent-Wreath-011.jpg