Vision

Sometimes things fall into place through absolutely no fault of your own. Because your vision was rather dim and murky with a vague label of "survival" haphazardly pasted on top. And the greater vision is deeper, harder and more nuanced and beautiful than anything conceived in a mere human brain.

But suddenly, labels, which so often are touted as stifling and limiting, open doors to knowledge. And that knowledge delivers some freedom from guilt and worry. Hope creeps in and maybe a smidgen of extra patience piggybacks in with it.

A connection, two years deep that bring a guaranteed smile to her little face every week, suddenly expands beyond music and brings the soul-deep relief connection one feels when they hear "Oh, me too!"

Our support network has expanded in ways that feel bigger than mere numbers.

The days are busy, so, so busy, can I say busy 50 more times just to emphasize how busy it all feels? But, not in the head down, push through it and try to remember to breathe way.

The sun has been streaming through my extremely dirty windows and I have actually noticed. And today, the surf broke on the sand and the weather pushed 70 degrees (in January!) and we all smiled and laughed and yelled with delight.

Normal

Dismantling means that eventually you have to rebuild.

But in order to rebuild you have to have a plan.

And to have a plan you have to know your terms.

Which means you have to mull over your definitions and decide which ones work, which ones aren't quite accurate, and which ones are downright wrong.

I'm kicking "normal" to the curb.

Normal isn't.

There's no such thing.

It's actually just whatever I happen to be comfortable with at the moment.

And that's not necessarily completely informed or thought out. Or maybe it is but then two years from now I have new information and experiences and "normal" has changed.

Normal hems in and boxes up.

Normal makes me live with "shoulds" and makes me feel guilty when I don't live up to that arbitrary line.

And, why am I striving for "normal" when I would never use that word to describe who I am?

Crazy. Busy, Creative. Quiet. Thoughtful. Intelligent. Balancing on the edge of a full on breakdown...

Normal isn't even in the running.

So, I'm really working on banishing that word from my vocabulary in favor of a million other more accurate descriptions.

Because the nuances in my life give it color and meaning that is far more than normal.

Don't Drown

I have been systematically dismantling the safe structures around me; the visible and unseen.

Once I said "I want to be comfortable, but not too comfortable. I think we should actively look to disrupt our lives."  Then I took my words literally... 

As I'm wont to do, I tend to mull things over and over. Carefully thinking through all of the possibilities (whether this is in building a story or restructuring my life...it's all the same). Then, one day, I jump. Into the deep end. Then I try to find my way to the surface while also trying to remember to keep a look out for the undersea beauty. Oh, and not drown.

So, if I ever am quiet and still, don't be fooled. It's mass chaos inside my head.

Where to go...

Friend

There are good friends.

There are friends who are there through thick and thin.

There are friends who adopt you as family.

And I am so thankful for each and every variety.

Friendship is such a gift.

Sometimes friends just sit in support...

Sudden

 

GIF credit to MorgainePendragon on Tumblr

(If you're not a Buffy fan we should have a serious discussion about your life choices...  However, that's not the point of this particular post.)

During my last year of high school I cried myself to sleep every night during the month of March. I was leaving home for college that coming September and mourned in anticipation. And then I mourned again when I actually got there, for all of the same reasons and for all new ones too.

We try to prepare ourselves. Visualize the scenarios, plan the course of action, and imagine what it will feel like and how we will react.

We know the facts, we know the steps, we know what’s coming and still, with all of the preparation, there is the moment.

Toe up to the line we could see coming, the one drawn with “someday” in mind.

Pause in the breath between then and now.

Step over the edge.

And it’s an entirely different world.

World Cup Connections

It was just another normal day at work where I ride down the hill on the tram to spend 20 to 30 minutes waiting at the research pharmacy to pick up medication for a patient. This time, however, Germany was playing Portugal and the score was already ridiculous - 3-0 Germany. I checked the score, since I had nothing else to do, and was shocked to see that Germany had scored again. My surprised intake of breath caught the attention of the man also waiting and playing with his phone.

Now, normally I would have exchanged a polite smile and returned to my private bubble. I'm not that great with small talk and I work under the all encompassing HIPPA regulations; it's just easier to politely keep to yourself.

"Germany just scored again." I blurted out instead and his eyebrows rose in surprise.
"You're watching the World Cup?" I don't really look like a soccer/futbol fan I guess.

And then we started chatting like old friends with different accents, comparing notes on teams and commiserating on our countries', Mexico and the USA, poor chances for making it past the first round. I told him that we're watching all the games on Univision and working on our Spanish and he directed me to the Univision app so that I could watch the games on my phone (which is what he'd been doing).

It was a connection that wouldn't have been made except for the world-wide excitement about The Cup.

I've thought of him while cheering Mexico on in each of their games (even though a win over the Netherlands would have completely broken my bracket!) and wondered if he remembered me when the US played each of their heart attack inducing games.

I don't think the game can save the world. But, oh does it open doors for some human interaction. And the bridging of different worlds, that is a small step in the right direction.

Solitary

This girl loves her solitary moments.

I completely understand, even when I'm trying to provide "socialization" for her - because that's an important skill too.

 

 

Basically, we like to be solitary together.

Which is a lovely sentiment.

Lenten Journey

I've been thinking about Lent.

Yes, it's June and I'm still in March. But that's the way of things, time marches on but the brain takes longer to work through things.

It's a journey

I've always liked the idea of Lent, the time of contemplation, deprivation, and the possibility of inspiration. It's the opportunity to lose a tiny bit of self during the everydayness of life.

But Lent is also possible because we know the end result. The miracle, the resurrection, the new life is in the back of your mind as you work through another day. Haven't we all comforted ourselves with the final 10-day countdown until it all can go back to normal? We make it through the mourning, the black day, the empty day, the questions and unknowns because we know that there is an end, right around the corner.

I thought I was going to have the perfect Lenten inspirational post, how after 40 days the path was clear, the way straight, the end in sight. But instead, the waiting continues. There's no clear destination, no straight answers, no questions wrapped up and tied with a perfectly wrapped bow.

Which, of course, is what the first "Lenten Journey" was like. The disciples had no idea what the end would be, there were no answers to their life upending questions. They didn't know it would be "just" 3 days before their waiting would end. They didn't know that the end of waiting was just the beginning of a new normal that they could have never anticipated and would scramble to acclimate to.

We're still waiting. Still wondering. Still living with hope and fear messily mixed together in a gradually congealing new normal we don't yet recognize. It is frustrating, it is scary, it is faith at work, no matter how small each step may be.

Fragile

Fragility is scary. That risk of shattering into pieces so tiny they can never be fit back together. Shards that pierce your heart, your soul. Fragments that burrow in deep, cutting apart millimeter by excruciating millimeter.

Better to be tough and protected. Practical and sturdy. I'll trade my bone china for dishwasher safe, microwave safe, ovenproof crockery.

But it's a lie, this safety. It crumbles around you. Hearts shatter, souls explode. There is no protection from life. There is just the delicate balance of living with risk, with fear...with possibility.

The risk of being broken on the floor, bleeding out from soul deep wounds, is also the risk of discovering the true essence of yourself; the strength, wisdom, sheer grit and unanticipated beauty that comes from rebuilding, as unfair and unwanted as the reconstruction may be.

There is beauty in the rough edges, the cracks and seams, the missing gaps where pieces were lost and never found.

Because, there are gaps and lost parts - crevices that are never filled or covered over. But maybe it's the cracks where the gust of thankfulness rushes through.

Maybe it's the gap where the whirlwind of wonder forms.

Maybe it's the vibration in the fracture that makes us recognize and sing with the exquisite pleasure of each beautifully fragile moment of time that we're given.

My First

My mom is sick. Look both ways at the cross walk and get hit by a truck anyway sick.

I’m scared. Scared to think, scared to feel, scared not to.

My mother is my First.

My first sound was her heartbeat.

My first movement was the sway of her walk.

My first touch was the warmth of her body.

My first.

There is a connection that can’t be severed by time, distance, or independence. A cellular connection, a oneness with the feelings of the other.  It is beyond empathy, beyond thought, beyond explanation.

It is the bond of joint ownership of kidneys and blood. It is the anxiety of separation and the relief of being in the same room together. It is the timing of my breath with hers, the deep inhale listening for rattles, the exhale when nothing is heard.

My brain is rational, digesting facts and figures with keen interest and pleasure. My heart is emotion, big wave after small wave crashing in a tumble of fear and hope. But my cells just know.

She is my only.

A Good Morning

Soul Food

Things that are nourishing me right now:

• Lattes
• Giant bear hugs from Sweetpea. She has quite a grip whether it's around my knees or my neck.
• My running group. Getting up at 5:30 to run is pure torture, especially in the cold. But, having a group of women to run with and who gracefully bear with my sporadic availability is worth it every single time I can be there. Plus, it's an extra boost of energy which is greatly needed right now (goes right along with the caffeine)
• Free, worry-free, generously available childcare from my mom and dad.
• "Removing myself from any form of reality" books.
• Random and numerous facts The Princess shares with me.
• Two small children sleeping together in the top bunk because the little one is anxious and lonely in her new big bottom bunk.
• Retail shifts that involve me organizing for 5 hours straight. (You want the wall of clearance items completely revamped? Yay!)
• A lot of chocolate (good thing for the running!)

Things that are sucking the life right out of me:

• Continued lack of employment for Steve.
• Sweetpea asking if I'm going to be there when she wakes up because so often I'm not.
• Any type of sickness that threatens the delicate balance I've got going on right now.

The length of lists is at a good ratio at least.

Nuance

As a stay at home mom it's sometimes hard to live with the day in, day out monotony of the never-ending chores, nose wiping, question answering, meal making and laundry. Sometimes you get bogged down in the, what feels like, drudgery.

But, I've been out of the monotony for 2 months now. And, when you're not in the monotony you also miss the little nuances, the tiny changes in speech, the quirk of the brow when a little one suddenly understands that they can make a joke, the new facts they know, the change in the color of their hair.

I miss knowing the nuances.

Sweetpea

This girl is the vibrant color in our life every single day.

 

Practice

The other night, after a rousing game of chase, tickling and "who can scream the loudest in glee " with Daddy, the girls went to bed and spent the next hour trying to settle down. There is a weird correlation: The closer you are to quiet bedtime the more likely it is that a frenzied game of something crazy will ensue.

With lots of hugs, kisses and admonishments to be quiet they finally settled into bed. I went in a little while later to say my own goodnights (In my calm, soothing mom spirit that is guaranteed to cause eyelids to droop and sweet smiles hover on lips. Ha!)

After a hug The Princess said to me "Mommy, I don't like Daddy."

Now, there was much evidence to the contrary, starting with fact that she'd just begged him to tickle her to the point of vomiting and protested loudly when all games were declared to be at an end. And my instinctive response was to immediately tell her she was wrong and educate her as to why.

But I saw the gleam in her eyes. The question, the anticipation, and the WONDERING of what my response would be. Those words were rolling experimentally along her tongue. Because, to a 6 year old this is highly inflammatory statement. To the Dad in question it's rather inflammatory as well. But the response she thought she'd get wasn't what she needed and, more importantly, it wasn't the one I needed to give.

"That's okay. You don't have to like Daddy but he will always love you." Her head cocked with this surprise bit of information.

"Daddy and I love you. Sometimes you might be mad at us and sometimes you'll have lots of fun with us, sometimes we'll all be happy and sometimes we'll all be sad but we will always love you no matter what."

We're both practicing this parent/child thing. She's practicing the ability to be herself, to say what she feels, to be honest with the good and the bad. We're practicing how to create the space to let her do that. How to build the safety in so that when she says it at six or screams she hates us at sixteen she knows that the love is still there.

Plus this is a good way to start building a thick skin.

Framing

So... October. Yeah, how did that happen?

 
I've been thinking a lot about framing. How we frame the world, our lives. How it's something we learn, something we practice, something we choose to do.

It's a struggle sometimes, to frame the world with hope.

But, I don't think that framing the world in a positive way is naïve, silly, or a waste of time. It's a struggle between the world we're presented and the belief that there is more going on than what is in sight.

And now, with kids, my frame is even more important. Because, as each day begins I'm teaching them how to view themselves and the world and how they navigate in it.

The frame isn't gilded with gold, it isn't ornate and it doesn't surround rose-colored glass. It's worn, sanded, excoriated and polished with cracks and dents. It's a frame that highlights the good, is realistic about the bad, and knows that the struggles are what give strength, character and empathy.

Heart Beat

I wanted to be a heart surgeon when I was growing up. I wanted to understand, fix, and heal. I knew the arteries, atriums, ventricles and valves. I knew muscle, fascia, and fat. I don't recall ever thinking much about the beat, that's what a heart is supposed to do.

Then, I lay on an exam table waiting to hear a heartbeat for the very first time. And never did.

I was greeted with silence again many, many months later. Different office, different doctor, same vacuum of nothing.

Hope is a tricky thing; effervescent even when you're trying to tamp it down. Years later, when I finally heard a heartbeat it was miraculous and there was nothing to do but cry over that tiny fragile connection to a dream come true.

Each visit for my two babies included that moment where time stops, breathing ceases, and the tendrils of fear start to curl up around heavy limbs until, like magic, the steady sound of blood whooshing through vessels whispered into the room and blew the threat of panic away.

I remember my sadness at the final appointment, knowing that it was the last time I'd hear that secret sound that echoed promise with each little swish. My babies knew my heartbeat but I knew theirs too.

Last week I had to take Sweetpea to see the pediatric cardiologist (she's fine.) She solemnly climbed up onto the bed, the warm gel and wand were applied and suddenly, miraculously, I was listening to that secret sound again. I was so focused on my little girl that I hadn't even considered what they were actually going to do and, when that steady whooshing filled the room I was stunned with the familiar sense of relief and miracle. A promise I hadn't ever expected to hear again that hadn't lost one iota of its meaning and power.

Time

Two girls, two birthdays.

The time, it doesn't correlate to the passage of seconds, minutes and hours.

Decadence and Austerity

This summer has been a strange combination of decadence and austerity. We’ve had many changes in the last couple of months and additional ones looming in the near future. Summer has been filled with the luxury of wide open days and the pressure of hours ticking by.

We’re in the midst of joblessness for Steve. A lesson in frugality and the word “no” and a gift of time that holds more worth than could ever translate into dollars. 

We have spent days and days and days together as a family, a sort of extended vacation that has so disoriented me that I rarely have any idea what day it actually is. They all seem like languorous Saturdays. We’ve gotten on each other’s nerves, laughed over the silly, pleaded for small ones to “just go to sleep already!”, and skipped naptimes in favor of outdoor adventures. And we’ve come to the happy discovery that long swaths of time spent together aren’t a chore or something to dread.

And, of course, there are the inevitable challenges that come from a reduced income. They are expected and real and issues that so many people deal with every single day, I hesitate to say much lest it sound disconnected.  

I do miss Target, though. 

It’s a good reminder that there are the basics, there are the basic luxuries, and there is the gift of abundance that should be used wisely. 

And a reminder is often a good thing.

Emotions into Words

I don't talk much about my writing. It seems presumptuous that anyone would have any real interest or connection with the stories floating around in my head. But I keep writing them because the characters keep talking to me, they keep working through life questions, and they're living out lives that don't look like anything close to mine, so that's fun.

Lines to pitch to an agent. 90 minutes of adrenaline.

I attended the Pacific Northwest Writers Association Literary Conference this weekend (which explains the #pnwa label I used on twitter all weekend in case you were wondering). It was super fun and ridiculously exhausting. Which, I think, is what happens to 95% of writers when they attend a writing conference. (That other 5% is the anomaly of the extroverted writer... I watch them from my semi-sheltered seat against the window.)

Yes, there's sun in Seattle. It's a secret, don't tell!

It's a relief to be with other people who have this innate drive to tell stories. I heard it said this way "We translate feelings." That's it. We're all gathered and talking about the feelings we immerse ourselves in and try to create each time we work on putting words to paper (screen).

Practice words, trying to figure out how to encapsulate a story.

Everything I write is an exercise in capturing a feeling. Those feelings are universal, regardless of age, sex, and life experiences. So, even if my particular packaging isn't up everyone's alley I keep reminding myself that the feeling is true, the emotion is relatable and important, the identification of those highs and lows is a good thing.

Caffeine or Chocolate...got to keep the energy up.

I was a finalist in the Romance category of PNWA Literary Contest this year. A complete shock. I didn't win but the weekend of positive encouragement from people doing the same thing as me day to day, year to year was another form of winning.

How fun to be in the company of the finalists and winners!