Monday Delights

America,

My husband has recently become a bit of a social butterfly. If you know him, you might be saying to yourself what-what!? and I would be saying it right along with you. Take for example this evening. We went out for a ride. Quite frankly, this weekend has been one heck of a crazy carbohydrate consumption event (ovulation nation sucks America... and my uterus--let's not get literal about things America, and roll with "uterus"--demands carbs!) so I needed to ride so that fluffaluffagus will not morph in to orcaluffugus (these are real terms here...).

On "our" ride, Chief stops and befriends some random fellow. "We" proceeded to ride for four miles all by "our"selves, while chatty mc-chatterson had a grand old time. And you know what, America? I loved it! Chief needs to be able to talk to dudes. There's a lot about his job, his leadership stuff, his experiences, that try-as-I-might I just don't fully understand. It's the exact same reasoning for why I need my ladies. As supportive as Chief is, he's not an XX and he just doesn't get some of the components that extra X lays down on my life (if you're behind, America, "XX" are the female chromosomes).

I don't mind riding by myself. The kids made friends, while Chief made friends, and I rode off carb-ville. It was a win-win-win!

In completely unrelated news: I am sick of ingrown hairs today. If you do not suffer from operation sasquatch nation, America, then I envy you. The lengths that I go through to tame the fur on these legs is outrageous! It urks me to NO END when I shave my legs and I look down to see fourteen thousand buried hairs! WUH! They always seem to become illuminated in my mind, as if my brain as labeled them with a hot pink highlighter, and now I'm certain they are all ANYONE can see when they look at my legs. I'm pretty sure the whole world is saying "Did you see her ingrown hairs? Has she heard of tweezers!?" (you have to read this is a stereotypical valley girl voice, or as one of the characters from "Clueless"). I will leave you, so that I may tame the wild beast. Sometimes I'm jealous of the XY... he doesn't have to shave his legs! HA! :)

Molehills

America,

How often do we walk these silent sufferings, and no one knows? How frequently do we navigate endeavors or hurts and no one knows? Sometimes there are scenarios where there is little to say, and nothing to do, but the hurt is big. SO big.

I like to make molehills out of mountains. I like to convince myself that big deals really aren't.

I'm climbing and climbing and I'm mentally wearing out of this incline is little. It's almost over. My muscles are aching and sore and I've got little left in my reserves, if anything at all.

I don't want to talk about it. I want to be able to discuss the emotions, and the lessons learned, while processing in silence. This is my "molehill" and I want to rock it to its core.

It's not that I have anything to prove to anyone, America. It's not that I need you to believe that everything is perfect or lovely or blah blah blah. To be honest, I am much too complicated to waste time on that kind of nonsense. I'm vastly imperfect, and I'm married to a vastly imperfect person. I'm okay with that. I'm even more okay with you being completely aware of it. I am comfortable with being both perfect and deeply damaged. I'm also okay with you not grasping that concept or thinking it makes even the slightest bit of sense.

Don't mind me while I'm over here with my molehills.

Cutting ties

America, ain't nobody got time fo dat. Okay, okay... I'm a total white girl and I am way too old to be saying that. I get it... but I kind of don't care. That sentence is funny, and life is too short to be worried about whether or not other people think I should act like. So I'll say it! HA!

In the past year, a lot has changed in me. I mean, a lot! My focus has shifted and morphed. I've started taking real stock in where my time and focus are. I'm less and less interested in wasting them. I'm more and more focused on the people around me.

Take, for example, television. We are "entertained", generally, by watching people do things (on tv, movies, internet videos, etc) that we are not doing ourselves! I started to be really struck by that. We see pictures of our friends' adventures or we watch shows about awesome DIYers, while we sit on our tushes thinking about how cool it is. Why don't we go out and actually do it?

I've decided to stop watching the world do things, and start actually do it myself. The strange consequence of that is that I'm less interested in the internet. I want to have an actual conversation. I want to connect in a real person way. I want to go out and live, not watch people live enviously! I want to experience things, and push myself. I want to live a life fulfilled, not numbed away.

To be frank, America, I am exhausted by the end of the day. I wake up with a completely different outlook. I've deleted all social media from my phone, which has drastically changed my relationship with both avenues (social media and my phone). Gone are the days of staring away at the cell. Gone are the moments of wondering about the latest gossip on facebook. Yes, I want to know about what's happening with the people I love, but I'm working on new ways to build and foster relationships. Quite sincerely, I want more than the internet is dishing out.

Side note: for the love of humanity this is not a bashing or hating of facebook/twitter/instagram/social-anything. I am not opposed to these sites or convicting them of wickedness. If you use them, and are capable of doing so and still living awesome lives--like many, many, many of the wonderful people in my life--then you rock the casbah and are way cooler than me. I was not able to do this in my life. I changed for myself. Please do not feel that what works for me, must be for you too. I recognize that I am uniquely me and you are uniquely you and it's okay if we do things differently. This is merely me sharing what I've learned and understood in myself recently. It also might change. I'm okay with that too. Just sayin'. :) End side note.

America, I hope that you will examine your own life and see what isn't working and then let it go. I hope you will seek out and foster things that bring you joy and good health. I hope your day will be filled with laughter and love.

The Fellowship

Here it is. The beginning of the end of this endeavor. In some ways, I feel like Frodo... too exhausted to continue, unwilling to let go of this new something that has come as a result of this experience. I feel...

I wish I had words. I wish I was an artist or a musician so that I could paint or play what I can't define because there's too much of it. Too much big and confusing and contradictory stuff to every be able to make sense of it. Yet, my passion for words results in my attempt to do so anyway. In some part, for you America, but mostly because I want to remember for me.

My struggle this past year has been deeply private and personal. Outside of my very inner, inner circle, few have known about what I have navigated. I think there's a lot of beauty in that. There are phases in our life that need to be privately navigated... quietly experienced, and processed. There are undefinable hurts, even for this word loving gal.

I am so immensely excited to be unified again. And so utterly terrified of it too. The journey of last year changed so many things in me, and that makes what is ahead of me look so different, unpredictable, and scary.

I've learned I'm so much more fragile that I ever realized. I've also learned I'm so much more strong too. I've realized so much about my value that I've forgotten or ignored for so many years I can't even describe it. I've found new passions, that were born out of immense embarrassment and challenge, but I genuinely  love  them. I have actually fallen fantastically in this beautiful fascinating love phase for my children. To explain (I have always loved, loved, loved them), I have fallen in love with their fascination for things. I've been able to wake up from the haze of illness and disorders, into how they learn, how they challenge, how they grow. America, I wish I could share with you the absolute beauty in that. I wish I could make you see how much being a Mom has given me such joy. I wish I could show you the tears that pour joyfully out of my eyes at the very thought of them. Most of all, I want them to see it. I want them to understand it and know it deeply in their whole bodies, hearts and minds: they are the most valuable of all values to me. They are worth more than rubies, more than diamonds, more than my "youthful" body, my sleep, my anything. They are priceless and I adore them. Flaws and all. They're a blast to love. Even on the "bad" days.

I've changed. I'm not who I was. I'm still uncomfortable saying "no" but I'm now willing to do it. I've learned to stop trying to please everyone, but to also sift out the people in my life just around for the ride, or the side line tickets to the freak show. I've grown in my deep and immense love for my inner circle of support. These people have shed tears with me in ways you couldn't believe this past year. They've had mercy, when I had none, they've shown love, when I've felt so lost. They've literally been the porch lights for me to follow out of darkness. They are, together, my Samwise Gamgee. This journey would have fallen apart if it wasn't for them carrying me through.

How does one begin to define the feelings? Where do the words begin? I'm not really sure. But I can tell you that this adventure finishes in a matter of hours. Then a new one will begin.

I hope it's a comedy, America. I really like those. :)

Riding

It's been nearly five weeks since I've had a decent ride on my bicycle, with one short day in there as an exception. I was on a medication that kept me off for two weeks (no sun). When I finally finished that, I went for one ride and wrecked my bike and broke my elbow. That was almost three weeks ago. Today, I threw caution to the wind and I got on my bike. I needed it.

To be honest, it was really freaking tough. It's amazing how much strength and endurance one can lose in five weeks. I struggled through a two mile ride. By struggled I mean, I really, really struggled! If I'm being fair here, it was also over a hundred degrees outside, so... let's all smile and nod and say that must have been what was causing the challenge! HA!

I needed to go, as I wrote before. I need the movement of my body pushing against the earth. I need the quieting of all of my thoughts and I need to push myself to the point of exhaustion. I need to feel the wind on my skin and see my body push itself up one.more.hill. I need to conquer myself and my desire to quit. I need to be where I was.

Riding has given me freedom, clarity, comfort. It vents my disappointments, and shows me that I'm stronger than I believed myself capable of being. Even on the days where I struggle through two miles.

Vacuums

America,

Living life as The Face of Boe must be quite challenging for our beloved Newfie. He does some pretty hilarious and strange things, which illuminate his distinct personality in our home.

Recently, he's developed a love and devotion for our vacuum. No, you didn't read that wrong, America, my dog loves my vacuum.

It began with a curiosity about the device that makes so much noise. One day, while I was vacuuming my baseboards with the hose attachment, he decided it was time to check it out. He came over and began watching me, evaluating what I was doing and why. This lasted for about three minutes. Then he moved closer and started sniffing the hose.

I don't get worked up over things that Boe does, generally. We want him to have a curiosity and interest in people and experiences (obviously within the realm of safety!). If we foster an attitude of fear, then he'll behave as a frightened dog behaves. No thanks.

He sniffed at the hose, so I held it up so he could sniff it better. He didn't seem to understand what all the fuss was about. I showed him how it felt, by putting the vacuum on his fur, so he could feel the suction.

America, at this moment, I wish I had a video camera on his face. His entire face lit up like a Christmas morning expression of joy and happiness. He started moving his body along the suction of the vacuum. America, Boe became convinced that the vacuum is a massage/brush device created for his pleasure.

You know what I now deal with, every time I get out the vacuum? An enormous Newfoundland who, quite pushily, wants to be vacuumed! Every. single. time.

To be fair, I love this! Newfie's shed like a son of a motherless goat. One time, I was scratching his chest, and about a cup of fur fell off of his body in thirty seconds or less, on to my arm. The fact that I have a hairy dog who wants me to vacuum him, helps me to cut down on the insane amount of sasquatch that develops all over my house, every single day (I sweep my kitchen and dining room every night, and every night there is at least a gallon ziploc bag worth of fur in those two small rooms). If I can vacuum it out of him, there is less to fall on the ground!

This has become a bit of a ritual with us. The vacuum comes out, and the dog comes around.

I hope that you have a dog who brings you such delight and laughter as The Face of Boe does!

On another note: today we celebrate the bravery of a small group of people who stood up for freedom, at great risk to their lives and financial security, and said "no" to one of the most powerful people in the world. Their bravery and sacrifice, began a tradition of standing up for justice and what is good. It is my hope, America, that you will honor this tradition of goodness in your lives, today and always. It is my prayer that America will never lose courageous people willing to sacrifice it all, for the benefit of others. Happy Birthday America!

Bullet Holes

Every once in a while, you pop up on my radar. You come waltzing in to my brain with your trickery, and your unfulfilled promises and your silent treatment. Sometimes it's a passing glance in the mirror, or a person who shares your name.

The topic of you often times renders me silent, a grief so big and so vast that I don't really know how to define it, so I sit still. I've spent a lifetime processing you. I've been infected with your virus and I know I'll never be the same. 

In many ways I wish I could hate you. I wish I could define you by your failures and your great disappointments and ball it all up in a soccer ball of rage and then kick it around every once in a while for good measure. But the simple matter of it all is that I just feel so sad for what you've walked away from, what you've abandoned, too sad to be angry anymore.

I'm one hell of a human being. You've really missed out. All of my successes? You don't have a damn bit of handiwork in that. All of my accomplishments? Nope. The lessons I've learned throughout my life, and the tears that I've shed over loves and friends and life... none of them have you as the good guy. And you had a million trillion opportunities and chances to make that different. You could have, you should have, you didn't.

You've missed out on how utterly freaking hilarious I am, and how I work hard to see the positives, a polar opposite to your misery and unending fear and unhappiness. I've stared down the barrel of a plethora of guns that shook me to my core, and never once were you a piece of the equation of support or encouragement of safety. You've missed out on my happiest moments, and the most challenging hurdles being overcome, and you never had an idea that they were even happening. What a shame...

I built up a thousand walls of protection, and then I sat on top of it all and saw how utterly lonely it would make me. So I began the tedious work of chiseling it away piece by piece, and letting the fresh air in. It was agonizing, and overwhelming and exhausting. I spent years sobbing, and grieving. I stopped trying to understand and define everything. I dove in to the pain and rode its wave to shore, and when I got there... when I got there you were nowhere around. You were not a part of what kept me standing. You were one of the sharks in the water trying to knock me off. What a shame...

I didn't go without, as a result of you. I wasn't starved for support and affection. Your infection didn't remove the outside forces from their healing words. Yet, every once in a while, I catch a glimpse of you in my mirror and I feel so sad that you choose not to be a good guy in my story. You pop up in my head and I feel such a heavy sadness about that decision of yours. I've gotten to the point where I'm not even sure if there are any tears left to cry over it. What a shame...