let it snow

Sitting at the old wooden table on Christmas Eve on the edge of weeping. Scanning around the table to see all of my kids. All of my kids. From the oldest to the youngest, a rare treat for me. I felt like I was sitting behind a two way mirror, watching them interact. I was in it, but away from it all the same. They were sparring as siblings do, in a good natured way, but knowing which buttons to push. My youngest was having a meal that consisted mostly of mashed potatoes, not one to indulge in variety. My husband and oldest enjoying everything on the table. My youngest daughter, giddy as usual with sibling love. My oldest daughter, cautiously letting herself relax and enjoy the moment. The light above the table shown down on all of them. Illuminated all the best qualities they have, the things that make me love them down to my core. It was, perhaps, my most cherished Christmas. It made me melancholy, blissfully happy, and serene all the same. Family is fabulous.

happy birthday

My son turned nineteen today. Proud of him. An incredible young man. Smart, sarcastic, and sweet. A terrific blend of teen and adult. He is my firstborn. I remember holding him in my arms in that sterile hospital room all by ourselves. Looking into his little face and gently talking to him. He looked at me like I was his world. Little did he know, he was in fact my world. My life revolved around every coo, every movement of his sweet baby face. I had never felt so absorbed into someone else's being. A little spirit, new to life, smelling like spun sugar and glowing from within. Babies are incredible. Watching them grow into young adults is magical. I could not ask for more than what he is. Stunningly brilliant, tenderly compassionate, genuinely funny. Lucky me.

ouch

I've been thinking a lot about chronic pain. It's been a real trip dealing with it the past 2+ years. I rally between being a whiner and a stoic. I prefer shutting up about it, but whether I like it or not, it's insidious. I'd like to say it's taught me patience, but in reality, it has increased my impatience with myself. I make my body do what it complains about, but I pay. I pay with pain. I pay with frustration. Frustration that I can't do more. I think the best lesson that came out of my accident was increased understanding. You can see when someone's in pain. Not always from a limp or a cane. It's in their eyes. Pain comes in all sorts of threads...physical and emotional. It's exhausting and on some days, overwhelming. In the best of times, chronic pain is tolerable because it's routine. I'm used to it, for better or worse. It's not going anywhere. It's like the stages of grief, you come to accept it. You are grieving for the old you. I don't think that's necessarily a good thing, but we all cope in our own ways, and for me that makes life more normal.

comfort

Aromas are memories. Something drew me to the orange spice tea at the market yesterday. I could smell familiarity. Just brewed my first cup and was absolutely overwhelmed by the journey it took me on. I was instantly thrown back to my 20s. That's the smell of youth. I didn't realize it until just a few minutes ago when I breathed in that first warm sip. It's the tea of my girlhood. When I was young and liberal and fresh with hopes, I drank that tea. I wrote poetry late into the night and pondered my immediate future while savoring that brew. I read Kurt Vonnegut and worked on macrame. It was my drink of choice, long forgotten. I couldn't remember it until this very moment when it flooded into my nose and fogged up my brain. A simple smell was a lovely gift. Certain aromas conjure up specific memories for all of us. One of my favorites is the smell of a swampy pond. When I was in college, I worked at Baskin-Robbins (no surprise). Late at night, I'd pack a quart on my moped and mosey along home, about a 20 minute ride on rural roads. Every night I'd pass a swampy place. It smelled of wet grass, stagnant pond water, and fresh night air. It was heavenly. Made me feel peaceful. To this day it is my favorite smell. It's fragrant and genuine. It's quiet and earthy. It's cinnamon, puppies, and baby powder. It's the stuff that makes memories that last for a lifetime.

joy

There's my boy standing on the corner in his new sneakers and a button down shirt. Tears welled up in my eyes before I could park my car, his brother and sisters excited to see him while bouncing in the backseat. That funny bit of an awkward moment when they all looked at one another after months apart. I about jumped out of my skin. Could not get around my car fast enough to hug my beautiful boy. Yes, of course, I blubbered while the kids popped around me like pinballs. I'd been anticipating this day for weeks and when it came, it was everything I'd expected. My youngest daughter was giddy on her sibling high. She was giggly and wiggly and happy. My youngest son was smiling, happy to have his brother back. He's been surrounded by estrogen for weeks. Girl t.v. shows, girl games, and girly conversation. Testosterone was finally near. He and his brother and sister got on the X-Box, playing videogames and shooting bad guys. Great fun when you're ten years old. His older sister was quietly content. She has missed her big brother, their high school conversations and having someone in your household that understands what you're going through. I watched her watch him. She misses him terribly. They all do. We barreled into the car and headed off to the beach for reaquaintance and a walk along the pier. Seaweed fights and ocean foam, giddy emotions flitting through the salt air. We people-watched and I watched my kids. I watched them laugh and meld back into a unit. That easy casualness that comes from family, from love. I could not get enough of it. It felt like an elixir to me. It grounded me again. My chicks in the nest while it rested in my hands. It's the new reality, but I'm grateful for it.

blend it

Art is a blessing. In my life it's one of my salvations. It frees me into a place where nothing bothers my mind. Pick up a pencil, a sheet of white paper, and it all comes out. Good and bad, wild and crazy, soothing and senseless. I can live my life in the confines of what people expect of me, follow the rules, and behave. But art lets me scream. It releases me mind and spirit. Art is a great release of energy and emotion. Without it I'm not sure who I'd be. Connection is so important to keeping us grounded and setting us free. Loving something so much that it's never a chore. Art is at the top of my list of things that I can honestly say keep me feeling like myself. It keeps me real. I am so grateful to have the opportunities to express myself without constriction. Art is there for the taking. No one has to like what I do, it flows without care. It comes out how it wishes and isn't that what art is? Expression without borders. Let it go.

through the years

Tomorrow marks sixteen years of marriage with a great man. Honestly, I'm not just spouting off. I never, in my younger years, thought I'd find that fairytale guy. As of late, I read so many women's magazines with articles about "No such thing as Prince Charming", "You can't find your soulmate", blah blah blah. Hooey! Found him. God yes, none of us are perfection personified, but each of us is perfect for someone else. Here are some of the qualities I admire in a man, and therefore in my man....
Loyalty to a fault. My husband stands up for me no matter what. And I'm not exaggerating. No matter what. If I'm wrong, he'll still fight for me because I am his wife. I love that.
Sense of humor. He is one of the funniest, most sarcastic people I know. The kids and I can quote his many sayings, like "there's a butt for every seat". One of my favorite things to do is sit back and watch him tell funny stories to his friends. Yes I've heard most of them many, many times; but there is no one who can weave a tale like my husband.
Strength. Mentally and physically. I dig it. It's manly.
Perserverance. Never, ever, ever gives up. On people and on himself. He is a powderkeg of determination. The pitbull of men.
Kindness. Something I see a lot and one of the first things that drew me in his direction (other than that cleft chin, great eyes, and a magnetic smile). He goes out of his way to help people. He is a natural volunteer. It makes him happy when he can help. I love that. My dad was my role model for what a man should be, and my husband has my dad's giving heart. Lucky, lucky me.
I could ramble on until your eyes roll back in your head, but fact is, it's been a terrific sixteen years. We are still raising our kids and watching them grow into fantastic adults. We deal with life's peaks and valleys, but we deal with them together. That is the beauty of a good marriage, love sprinkled with commitment. I'm happy I found it.

blessings

One of the reasons I like to volunteer is purely selfish. It makes me feel good to see good people doing good things. I am surrounded by bad news. Internet news, t.v. news, talk radio news, and those who just like to complain. I find it exhausting. When I go to any kind of volunteer event, I am struck by how tough it is to wallow in any kind of pity party. Most everyone in attendance is there to help. When you help, you're outside yourself. Your feelings become secondary. You put your energy into making whatever it is work. I find it life affirming to watch people give of themselves. Helping really does benefit the giver. We like to think it's pure selflessness to give. While there is a hope that one gives from their heart, so much is given back. It's like nourishment to me. It's the only thing I do that is good for me. It heals me every single day.
Today my kids and I picked up trash at a local site. Over 100 people volunteered their Saturday to help clean up a really big mess made by other people who simply didn't care. It was wonderful to see that area go from garbage to gorgeous in about four hours. But the best part were the participants. Not one ego among them. Just a bunch of people from all walks of life, young and old, picking up junk. We all felt good. It was satisfying to be there. It's the right thing to do. And really, can we all just sit around harboring bad news when there is so much good news to be made? I can't do it. Bad wears me out. Good brings me back.

day to day

This is a weird reality I'm in right now. Vivid dream images pervade my nights, courtesy of Ambien and a high dose of stressful living. Dreams where while you're in them, you feel clarity. When you wake up, you're a bit disappointed that it was only a mirage. My waking life has been like a comic strip, but less funny. Panels of events, one after the other, a way of compartmentalizing things. A way of coping with the current discord of my existence. Each day is a struggle to make it to the next without losing my piece of mind. Where did my normal life go? The one whose only worry was what to cook for dinner that night? I'll tell you where it went. Somewhere in the middle of the night, it jumped a train to parts unknown. I didn't ask it to leave, it just did. This is the new normal which begs the question, is there a normal? Not really. Life is constantly fluctuating. There are times that are more tolerable than others, and maybe that is what we'd like to be the norm. More often than not, life is using us as a punching bag, we either bounce back or fight the impact. Some days I choose to fight, some I just jump on for the ride and take my bruises as they come. Each day I manage to find a gem of good tidings from a friendly hello or a pick-me-up project that I can dump my thoughts into. Reality is a helix of mind-bending emotion, a twisting test of optimism on a daily basis. The nice thing is we simply have to get up in the morning to see what it brings.

canine angst

My dog and I have a love/hate relationship. Mostly, I love him. We have spent most of the summer together, doing three mile walks at the lake. He trots along beside me on his weary days, runs ahead when he's feeling frisky. Like me, he sometimes wakes up exhausted already and wants little to do with a trek by the water. On one of his final walks this vacation, he was so hot that he walked directly into the lake, laid down on his stomach and rolled onto his side. When he quickly realized that his ear was filling with water, he ditched that idea.
Now work has begun. I no longer have my mornings free. Neither my dog or I are enthralled with missing our morning walks. We are both crankier. I'm not sleeping well, he's not happy. He has turned his frustration into anti-housebreaking sneak attacks and excessive barking. I have turned my frustration into bouts of eating and starving with no rhyme or reason. Insomnia is ruling the night and my dog is losing his mind. Very soon we will both be forced by impending girth and depression into rerouting our schedule. We will find a happy medium. We will return to a level PH. Something we both can live with that won't drive us to intolerance. We love each other, so we will find a way to work things out.

sustainable hope

For the past two or three weeks I have had horribly depressing dreams. Lack of control and devastating events lurk in my brain nightly. It is wearing me out. I know enough about the subconscious mind to realize it's a way of dealing with my stresses on the inside when I don't want to cope with them on the outside. I'm usually pretty good at staying focused on the positive, but I am coming to grips with the reality that this is beginning to be a struggle for me on the worst of days. If I look back through my adult life, I can watch these struggles come and go, but lately it's become a little overwhelming at times. Here's how I cope. I stuff it. I bake. I bake. I bake some more. Not good. Anyhow, it is what it is. Trying to turn my frustrations in other directions. Painting, writing, walking the dog. Good, positive, healthy things. Sometimes these things win, often they lose. But, it's the process and I think the more I do them, the easier they will come.
But back to dreaming. Last night was the creme de la creme of depressing dreams. I know where it came from. Loss. Feeling a lot of it lately. The beginning of empty nest, new job which meant leaving my old one, which lead to the loss of my comfort zone, loss of self, loss loss loss...ick. Tired of loss. I know it's just a phase and life will get better. It's changing. The new reality is stepping in with a clunk and it's time to let it in. Let it in or it will stomp you flat. Remember that self, it WILL stomp you flat. Focus. Focus. There are so many good people out there. I will seek them out and remember why I love life, trust God, and keep some naivete. The best part of living.

midlife mellow

Hot flash hiatus. I am rarely bored. But today was one of those days where I lacked motivation to do much of anything interesting. While I was pondering my extremely slow day, I realized that I've had virtually no hot flashes this summer vacation. Maybe one. One very mild one. This is from a woman who gets them pretty much daily for the past year or so. What, pray tell, do I owe this bonanza to? Process of elimination leads me to one thing, less multitasking.
But I live for multitasking. My whole adult life has been one big string of multitasking. Summer has meant no work, fewer obligations, less volunteering. Yes, I'm still driving my kids around to their various summer activities and going on my daily grocery store trips, but life has slowed down considerably. And you know what? For the first time in years, I've really enjoyed it. I like getting up on a warm morning, taking a long leisurely walk with my dog at the lake, heading off for a cold soda, and coming back home to enjoy my day. I must be getting older. There's a lot to be said for being busy, but I don't feel like saying anything right now. I'm just reveling in the peace and hot flashless days of summer.

reality check

Ok. So there I was a couple hours ago, scooping M&M cookie dough onto cookie sheets when my daughter's friend asked me "Why DO you bake so much?" She said it with sincerity, and it went through my chest like a dagger. My daughter stopped and looked at me. She mumbled a few words because she knows this is one of those subjects I'm hypersensitive about. She said "obsession?", I said, "yes". She said, "addiction?", I said "yes". She never assumed I just enjoy baking, because who would when you bake the same thing over and over again. It's not like I'm testing recipes or working at a bakery. I'm spooning the same dough over and over again. It's a problem. She asked me if I eat the cookies. I said, "not really. I just eat the dough." Again, ugh. Will it stop me? No. Should it? Yes. Life is like that sometimes.

Baking up a batch of cope

I've decided to screw the idea of baking less. I'm sure it has a lot to do with my current funk related to my son moving out, but in the spirit of addiction, I am riding with it. I had a good solid run of one week without baking. I was proud of myself for a split second when I realized I could do it if I wanted to. Then I got out the mixer and baked up a batch of coping. Briefly felt like a failure, then didn't care again. I've come to realize the failure part stays. No matter what. Baking won't help, eating won't help. Life is like that. We all have our vices. But vices don't really do anything in the long run for your sanity. They are extremely temporary fixes for perceived weaknesses. The perceived part is the killer. I can beat myself up 'til I'm black and blue in the brain, but no one, and I mean, no one can convince me I am okay. From what I can tell, most of us struggle with personal frustrations. Whenever I meet someone who I think may "have it all together", something always changes that. I can see it in people's eyes. The words may sound rational, but the face gives it away. Everyone struggles. Some more than others. But the calm comes in knowing none of us are even remotely perfect, maybe to someone else if you are lucky, but never to ourselves. And sometimes that has to be good enough. We have to let it be.

cruel summer

Six days into my summer vacation and so far it's been an adventure. Not like a "I went to Hawaii and hiked a volcano" adventure or "I bungee jumped" adventure. More of a rollercoaster adventure. High highs and low lows. An emotional exhausting up and down ride into the hellish places I hate to go and the kind of change I don't cope with well. As I've said before, my son moved out. He's in San Diego. Beautiful, sunny San Diego. One of the truest grins I've ever seen on his face since his teenage years is when he held up his new key and smiled. The second grin was when we'd dumped all his boxes into his new room and he walked me to my car. That was the grin of adulthood, the grin of joy, the grin of new adventure. That made me happy. He was happy and I really, really loved that.

After I got into my car, he started to walk away, and I could feel that weird burning sensation in my face, that pre-hysteria that was brewing. I started up my car and turned the corner toward the freeway. Then it happened. Whole, deep, gut wrenching sobs came out of me. I tried to squelch them so I could focus on my driving. I was embarrassed that someone might look into my car window and see me losing it. But, none of that rationalizing could help the situation. I had to let it run it's course and as I turned onto the freeway, I began to hyperventilate. Some of us have had those cries, the ones that seem to take over your whole body, the uncontrollable, soul starved aches that just keep coming. I've had a few in my lifetime and so I just let it roll. After a few minutes I caught my breath and made a conscious decision to stuff it down until later. I was on my way to a friend's house, hurrying to get there so her drama could become mine. So I would be able to absorb myself into her life and not think about my own. It worked. I've pushed it into a safe place, it'll harbor there until I feel like I have a safe place to deal with it. Until then, I'll eat my way around it.

ton of bricks

My son is moving out in two days. He hasn't packed yet and shows no inclination to do so. I am beside myself. Went to see "Toy Story 3" today. The boy in it is 17 now and about to leave for college. He packs up his toys and the story ensues. Absolutely heartbreaking. Spent most of the movie crying my eyes out, chunky tears sliding down my cheeks, trying to keep it together. Could see my youngest son glancing over at me periodically, knowing I was a basket case. An absolutely wonderful movie that wore me out. When it ended and the credits were rolling, I couldn't move. I could feel the sadness from my teenage son sitting two seats over. I knew it had grabbed him and held on. This was his life, this was my life. Today was the first day I have let myself feel absolutely miserable about this whole thing. The denial has left the building, I am in this heart and soul. And I am squeezed dry.

Deal with it

My son is graduating tomorrow. Next week he is moving away. I will cry like a baby. Probably for a very long time. As with the majority of moms I know, our lives revolve around our kids. That's the way it is and the way it should be. Never had much respect for those moms that lament about how they gave, gave, gave with nothing in return, only to "find themselves" in middle age, dump their husbands and take up pottery. Motherhood is a choice and I happily made it. But the whole empty nest thing is rearing its ugly head.

Because motherhood is all encompassing, when the time comes for one of them to leave, it's a little like being hit in the head with a stone. Yes I am proud of the young man he has become, yes I trust his judgement (as much as one can trust an 18 year old's judgement) and yes it's time for him to go out and learn to live his life. But I don't have to like it. I can whine, I can cry, and I can fuss. But what it really boils down to is my purpose in life is being forced to change. With little subtlety my children are going to leave home and I am going to have to adjust to this new way of being. I have seen this coming for awhile now. My most obvious sign was in January, when because I no longer have toddlers to take care of, I adopted a little dog. The first sign of impending loneliness, the chihuahua.

I guess that means that my son will still need me but with a twist. I'm still mom, but I have no control . My son is on his own. His autonomy will drive him. It's time for him to test his mettle. I can only sit back and watch, hoping that he will find his purpose while I search for my own. In the meantime, I'll pester him with instant messages on Facebook and leave long babbling messages on his voicemail. Poor kid.

capital punishment

I bake....alot. Just about daily I take a trip to my local market to purchase the supplies I need to whip up a batch of Toll House Cookies. I buy my generic brown sugar, shortening, and whatever chocolate chips are the cheapest that day. In my town there are two supermarkets. I tend to split my trips back and forth to avoid looking like some crazy market stalker. I'm sure nobody cares or notices, but in my brain, life is like that. It's exhausting to worry that much about everything, but trooper that I am, I persevere.
But back to baking. Yes, baking is fun. Yes, baking is delicious. But, no, I do not truly bake for those reasons. I bake because it is my way of dealing with the world. Baking soothes the savage beast. It takes me to my safe place. And it is killing me.
I could probably trace my obsessiveness with baking to a specific event, but over the years I have learned that most of us use something to soothe our pain. I have become more understanding of addiction and coping mechanisms. My KitchenAide is my pacifier, the thing I look to when times are tough. I have had that mixer for 14 years now. If I had to grab one inanimate object in a fire, it wouldn't be photo albums or jewelry, it would be that cranky old mixer who has served me through good times and bad.
As the years roll on and I watch my addiction flourish, I am feeling the effects of all those pounds of flour and sugar that have passed my lips. No longer do I really enjoy the creaminess of the dough and the sweetness of the chocolate. I need it, I crave it. It comforted me for so long, but it's time for a new vice. It no longer fills the void. What that is, I have no idea. But with luck I will find it. Sooner than later.