TwinMosaic

Oh, the Memories

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 23:46:00 +0000

I was watching Arthur tonight (don’t look at me that way) with my kids and it was an episode about when Arthur and the Gang decided to all dare each other to skip school. They were in 3rd grade in this episode I think (don’t look at me that way). As the episode went on, my inner mother voice kicked into overdrive as I started thinking about what I would do if one of my own kids ever tried something like that at that young age.

But then just as I was getting all worked up (as if they had already done it), I remembered one sunny fall afternoon when I was in 2nd grade. The catholic school I was going to at the time had very lax rules about allowing kids off school grounds while playing kickball. My best friend at that time, Mandy, and I always went off the playground down to where the street was. It was the perfect hiding spot because not only was it downhill a bit from the playground, but the fence was thickly covered with ivy so you couldn’t see through to our hiding spot.

One day as we were waiting for the perfect chance to make a run for the ball, Mandy looked at me and said “Do you want to run away with me?” I chuckled at first, and then I realized that she was serious and my chuckle turned into one of discomfort. She was my best friend. If she was going to run away, I couldn’t possibly let her do it by herself. So after a few moments of indecision I said as nonchalantly as I could, “Sure.” And off we went.

We spent the majority of the rest of the day walking to downtown Denver. Which in and of itself is not all that extraordinary except that I was 7 at the time and the distance from our school to downtown was easily over 10 miles. But the sheer thrill of what we were doing was enough to keep us going for those many miles. When we finally made it to downtown, we realized how very, very hungry we were and being 7 years old, how we had absolutely no money to speak of (except for the dime I kept in my shoe for emergency phone calls).

So we went into a White Spot (remember those? I have very fond childhood memories of them because of my dad, but that’s a whole other post), hoping that perhaps someone would take pity on us. But while I was in the bathroom, Mandy took it upon herself to liberate a couple of tables of their tip money. Just another level of danger to our afternoon.

So we hot-footed it over to McDonald’s and loaded up on fries and water. Then we cruised the 16th Street Mall, which at the time was a skateboarder haven, and walked all over downtown to all the places we had heard of and never been. I was still having a grand time when Mandy turned to me and said, “I’m ready to go home.” Honestly, I was a little disappointed. I was ready to keep this up at least until it got dark (which admittedly was only a couple of hours away). But we went to the nearest pay phone and she called her dad who came to pick us up at our chosen destination.

When her dad took us back to the school we were greeted by several police officers. Very mean, very angry police officers. Who took us back into the principal’s office giggling and let us out 30 minutes later crying for our mommies.

I remember my dad being out of town at the time and when my mom and I got home, she called him immediately to let him know I was found and ok. I was expecting yet another tongue lashing from him, but instead all he did was laugh. My mom was sobbing near uncontrollably and my dad was giggling. It was the strangest thing. I probably should have reminded him of that giggle fit when he almost disowned me 9 years later for taking off with my new driver’s license and driving for 2 days straight to Georgia.

But that’s another post.

Hopeless Romantic

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Sat, 20 Sep 2008 01:24:00 +0000

So I’ve come to discover that a lot of little girls spend a lot of time fantasizing about their weddings throughout their years growing up. This is actually a fairly recent discovery for me. And shocking at that. I had never really thought about weddings until my best friend got married while I was still in college. I was thrown into a total tailspin by all the stuff that goes along with weddings. I truly had no clue about all the schmutz that goes into “the happiest day of a woman’s life.”

What I spent my daydreams on was fantasizing about love. The things that the love of my life would say and do. I even spent hours making “Someone who would…” lists. You know, “Someone who would dance in the rain with me.” “Someone who would surprise me.” “Someone who would catch fireflies with me.”

I never focused on what we would do or what this person would look like and certainly not the details of a wedding. I focused on how it would feel. How it would feel to be adored. How it would feel to just totally give myself over to another human being for safekeeping. How it would be that no matter what day of the week it was, there would always be someone happy to have me come home.

The details never really mattered all that much to me. Because at the very core of who I am, lies a hopeless, unabashed romantic. Even when cynicism drips from every word out of my mouth there is a part of me that it literally screaming for someone or something to prove me wrong.

This integral romanticism has come to be one of my biggest attributes as well as one of my biggest downfalls. While it instills in me this never-failing hope which keeps me going even when I’m at or near bottom, it also opens me up to all kinds of hurt. Because I don’t close myself off to people. I have a hard time establishing boundaries. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I will do just about anything for someone I love. But I’ve learned the hard way that hard core romantics like me are few and far between these days. So I wind up getting my heart broken. And I cry. A lot. But then that eternal fountain of hope rises again and I pick myself back up and go back to the dreaming and wishing.

And at the end of the day, I guess I’m grateful for my romantic nature. Because heaven knows that in today’s world, an endless supply of hope is hard to find. So I’ll hold onto it. Even if it makes me a silly girl. I prefer the fairytales and maybe, just maybe, if I believe in them long enough, one will come true.

What's there to be written

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 19:53:00 +0000

Have you ever given something to someone and then wished more than anything you could have it back? Because even though you gave it from the heart and it was honest you just feel like such an idiot.

Because it was honest and because it was from the heart should be enough to make such a gesture ok, but you just want it back to try to preserve some semblance of dignity. Because you thought that the not giving was worse than what the giving could ever feel like, but you were wrong because you just want to go crawl in a hole now.

When that thing was given the recipient was thankful and appeared to appreciate the gravity of the gift. But then they just disappeared. Because they don’t have room for you in their lives. Because you thought they were here to bring that one thing that has been missing for so long back to you, but instead just showed up to remind you of what was and then leave again. And during that moment of reverie, you trusted those feelings and decided to take a risk and be honest and act from the heart. But instead of feeling fulfilled and empowered by that risk, you instead feel embarrassed and mistaken. And you wish more than anything that you could be mean and angry, because that would at least be rational. Instead however, all you feel is empty.

But there I go babbling on again about nothing in particular. Just typing out the silliness in my head, knowing that it doesn’t make any sense but writing it anyway, because it’s there to be written.

That's what a 6'7" wingspan will get you!

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Sun, 17 Aug 2008 04:56:00 +0000

Michael Phelps is made of awesome!!!

I just had to say it.

Ruminations

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Sat, 09 Aug 2008 04:21:00 +0000

Here are a few little ditties that have floated up through the dark, sticky morass that is my brain right now...

The wind brushes the shingles of civilization and the water grows louder. And she takes a breath as if a life once foregone flickers back into flame. A first and last breath as old life dies and new life takes hold.

A decisive moment as she brushes the fingers of old love tracing scars left before her time made soft around the edges by wisdom and imagination.

There is great beauty beneath this madness she whispers to the breeze tracing the bars surrounding her soul.

And there is pain as her face blanches with the realization that her knight in shining armor is not only not coming, but never existed.

Ripping herself out of reverie she gazed upon the pale dawn and sees in it no more new futures. Only the burning clarity of another day demanding to be walked through.

I keep seeing these incorporated somehow into pieces of art. But I am so not an artist, so I'm not sure how to make that happen. But it sounds cool doesn't it?

Balancing Deja Vu

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 16:03:00 +0000

I scoffed at things like MySpace and Facebook for quite a while. I thought it was something for my single friends, but certainly not something for me – married with two kids. But then one of my old friends from college sent me an invite for it right when I had a bunch of time of my hands so I started playing with it. And now I check it several times a day and have reconnected with most of my high school class and many friends from college that I had fallen out of touch with.

While it’s fun to compare pictures of our kids and catch up, it’s also brought a strange sense of déjà vu. It’s taken me to long buried memories and old forgotten feelings. It’s fun and sad and weird all at once. I am so different now than I was then.

I’m happier, more stable now. But I’m also so much tamer. I was adventurous and daring and often, shocking in my audacity. I’m domesticated now. Which is mostly ok. I adore my children and I’ve found a level of contentment and peace being a mother that I had always dreamed of but couldn’t realize. But I miss the drive to be different. And I miss the escapades that come floating back to me as I reminisce with these people who were once such intimate parts of my life.

My life is in a crazy state of upheaval right now. There is a distinct possibility that we will be filing for bankruptcy before year’s end. I still have no idea what is happening with my son as his headaches continue and the emotional outbursts plague us all. I take each day as it comes and try to stay as present with myself and my family as I possibly can. But I find myself stuck in a memory slideshow in my brain as I cling to some of the emotions I had then and the people who inspired them.

One friend in particular inspired a feeling of absolute trust and safety and I find myself thinking about him every day. Wishing for that feeling again and trying to figure out how to re-create within myself and for my children. Another always made me feel absolutely adored and ravishingly beautiful. Which is not something I’ve felt since my wedding day just about. I miss the confidence being looked at like that inspires.

It’s interesting to compare the reflection in the mirror of who I am now with who I was then. And I guess the real trick is to superimpose the me of now with the me of then and with any luck, I’ll get a glimpse of balance, which would be such a lovely change of pace.

A Rant for the Sake of Nostalgia

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 15:11:00 +0000

Summer time with the kids usually means that I might as well live under a rock when it comes to news and current events. So you can imagine my surprise when I was watching the MLB All Star Home Run Derby last night to learn that they were going to TEAR DOWN Yankee Stadium!!

Shock is an understatement. I was so upset I wanted to cry and throw things all at once. How could anyone possibly think that was a good idea?

I mean there is no love lost between me and the Yanks. I’m a Red Sox fan in honor of Brian, so the assumption that there exists a grave dislike between me and the Yankees is a good one. But Yankee Stadium is hallowed ground and exists outside of any team rivalry, ego or Steinbrenner. Almost all of baseball’s greatest moments have happened in Yankee Stadium, or had some connection with it. It is the pinnacle of baseball history.

And that is what makes me so angry. The absolute disregard of that history, which is in and of itself a grand reflection of our own American history. Discovering a place of hope during war. The people finding a forum where they could put down their racist tendencies and acknowledge greatness in a man regardless of color. Or, last night, a man overcoming three years of heroin addiction to come to the Homerun Derby and hit 28 homeruns in the first round.

Baseball is the great American pastime because it allows us to celebrate and hope and cheer as if time has stood still. Walking into a baseball game gives you permission to make each at bat, each play and each out your number one priority regardless of what the stock market or the politicians are doing.

Ultimately, I can get as mad as I want, but it’s going to happen. They are going to tear it down. So I guess in the end, it’s really the inevitability of it all that makes me so sad. That we can devote a season and an All Star game to remembering the history this stadium has seen and tell ourselves that it’s enough. That because we remembered it all for a few months, that gives us permission to do away with it and build something new and shiny in its place.

I guess I just want to hold onto the comfort that comes in knowing that a place exists that bore witness to so many of America’s best and most hopeful moments. Because I think we all could use a little inspiration right about now.

The Thrill of Discovery

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 15:50:00 +0000

I just finished reading The DaVinci Code by Dan Brown. Finally. It only took me several years to pick it up. And holy cow am I glad that I did! I spent the first quarter of the book just reading a few chapters at a time before slipping into sleep. But then a couple of days ago, I had the chance to read for a solid 90 minutes or so and it was over. I was completely, totally and utterly sucked in and the chance of return was nil. It’s a good thing that my husband was home because I went AWOL into this book and didn’t come up for air until after midnight.

Every time I pick up one of these books – the kind that suck you in and become an obsession – I’m reminded of why I love these escapist stories. Of course I admire the years of research that go into writing such an amazing tale and the author’s craft of writing is also a thrill. But ultimately what sucks me in the most is the fleeting chance to pretend I’m someone else for 400 pages. Whether that be a brilliant symbologist in search of the Holy Grail, an artist with an amazing ability to paint an alternate reality, Christ’s bodyguard or so many others it’s the chance to live through another character’s eyes, to walk in someone else’s shoes.

Ten years ago my path was laid out before me, ripe for the taking. I was going to be a constitutional scholar after getting a PhD in Political Philosophy and a JD in Constitutional Law. I had great dreams of bringing the glory of the constitution back, renewing its relevance to everyday life. I had dreams of being an expert in something that mattered. Not realizing that has haunted me for years now. Falling by accident into an 8-year long career of nonprofit fundraising and grant writing made me an expert in that field and has been alternately rewarding and failure-ridden.

But there is still a part of me that longs to be an expert in something that is valued and thought of highly. Perhaps that is my ulterior motive for writing. Because, especially while writing on a blog, there is no counterpoint. I get to be the one and only expert on whatever topic I’m babbling on about at any given time.

I think mostly though what really reels me in is the adventure of it all. Not that I’m hungering to be chased by the police or assassins, but the thrill of discovery through thought and detection totally gets my blood pumping. I’m such a research nerd at heart. That’s why grant writing was so attractive to me, it’s just writing research papers that you get paid for.

The other side of the coin however, and it’s the same question I asked of all my academic friends wondering when I was going to go back to my passions after I was the first of them to have children – why isn’t being a mom worthy enough to satisfy that need? Isn’t being an expert in my children more worthwhile in the long run than pulling down a paycheck I only sort of care about?

After all, everyday truly is an adventure full of my thrill at their discoveries.

Everything I've learned, I learned while hopelessly crazy

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 15:19:00 +0000

I seem to be having an onslaught of epiphanies as of late. Some of them come as welcome awakenings and some are hard to swallow, but regardless I thought I’d write them down before they get lost in the morass that is my brain as of late.

1. My egoic attachment is to people not things (see New Earth by Tolle). This is one point that I’ve always had a hard time with integrating into my Buddhist upbringing. The whole idea that suffering originates in attachment to the material. But I’ve always just translated that into stuff, i.e. cars, clothes, jewelry etc. But I’ve not ever really had that sort of attachment to stuff, I always tried as I saw my friends getting attached to things and thought it was the right thing to do, but it never really took. But people? That’s a whole other story. I get completely attached to people and that attachment always brings me pain. Mostly I think because once I let myself get attached to someone, that person becomes a part of my heart for always. Regardless of what happens with our friendship or overall relationship, I will always hold that person dear, unable to let them go.

2. Apparently I have abandonment issues and because of those issues, I’ve essentially been waiting for my husband to leave me for the last 10 years. This has stopped me from letting him completely into my life and heart and soul, which makes me so completely sad I can’t quite express it.

3. I haven’t the faintest idea how to be kind and compassionate towards myself. And this lack of knowledge and ability is what makes it so hard for me when people in my life do things like blowing off my birthday or not staying in touch. Because I don’t know how to be nice to myself, I look to the people in my life to make up for that in whatever way possible. So when my birthday goes by without notice it just compounds my feeling that I don’t really deserve to have it acknowledged in the first place.

4. If I keep asking for the same thing long enough, I will eventually find a way to realize it in my life. For years I’ve been saying that all I really wanted to do was stay home with the kids and write. And because of my son’s health issues, here I am this summer, staying home with the kids and trying to write. The biggest realization here is that even though we may be facing bankruptcy before year’s end, my life is truly a string of choices. I chose to put our financial health first over the last few years and have been working for the entirety of my kids’ lives and we have all suffered for that choice in one way or another, but we’ve been relatively financially stable. Now I am making a choice to put myself and my family first in front of money and my children are thriving and I actually don’t dread waking up in the morning. So the pendulum is swinging back and forth from one extreme to another, hopefully my next step will be to be able to recognize balance enough to swing reasonably close to it.

5. Throughout all of the adversity and successes in my life, I’ve tried to learn something from every experience. The knowledge (or lack thereof) that I’ve gleaned from each experience is what I try so very hard to pass on to others in my life. My passion for knowledge and the passing along of that knowledge can be off-putting and I think can make people feel judged or feel that I think they are weak for doing things differently or for not taking my advice. But in reality, the sheer act of passing on what I’ve learned is enough for me. The opportunity to share my compassion, intelligence, experience and passion with others is enough to fulfill me entirely. Ultimately I think my aim in life is to gather knowledge and share it through compassion. That is what makes me truly feel alive.

In the end, I think all of this just allows me to recognize that when I allow myself to be utterly and authentically true to who I am, without self-censorship; I am closest to living the life I dream. Now if I could just figure out how to not let the daily grind addle my brain into forgetting all of this, I might actually accomplish something.

And more with the next...

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 19:19:00 +0000

The CT results were totally normal. YEA!!

But because his emotional stuff is getting worse by the day and now he's started having pain and some loss of muscle control in his leg, the doc recommended an EEG followed by a consult with a pediatric neurologist.

The EEG is scheduled for two weeks from now. The consult is the next week after that.

So here I am, still not knowing much other than something is wrong with my boy because he's just not him. He has amazing moments where he's there, beautiful and perfect and so totally him. And just as quickly, he can be gone into anger or tears. An example? He smacked his sister for following him around. He hasn't intentionally hit someone for more than a year now.

So here I am. Worried. Trying not to think about it. Tired of talking about it. Wishing that there was something I could do for all of us to lessen the anxiety and increase the distraction. Wishing that I didn't feel quite so isolated, but at the same time knowing that is mostly of my own doing.

And at the same time, I am counting down the days until my two children go visit my parents for five days. Because I haven't had a break of more than an hour or two for almost 10 months. Because the past 6 months have been some of the hardest of my life and I just don't know how much longer I can do this daily grind. Not like I have a choice. And I don't really want one, because even if I had one, I wouldn't opt out of this life and everything that goes with it. I just need a break.

Anyway...just thought I'd update and get some of this out of my head stream of consciousness style. I'll be back soon, hopefully with something a bit more upbeat and fancy.

Now I know what's next

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Fri, 30 May 2008 14:59:00 +0000

My son had a CT scan yesterday. He started having migraines a couple of months ago out of nowhere. Some are so bad they make him throw up. And then all of his coping skills (even 4 ½ year olds have at least a modicum of coping skills) went totally out the window and his emotions just went off the charts all the time. So the pediatrician thought it was a good idea for him to have a CT to rule out anything scary.

And I wasn’t even all that freaked out. Because you know, things like my son having a brain tumor don’t happen to me. I live in this safe little mind-world where bad things don’t happen to me and they certainly don’t happen to my children. Although admittedly, this year has been a bit of challenge to that made up belief system what with the quarter incident and the pneumonia and now the migraines.

But still, I’ve been very proud of myself for not really freaking out that much. But this week has been really hard. His emotional stuff is getting worse and yesterday we were out to lunch at one of his favorite places (just one of the bribery cards I had to pull out in order for him to lay still for the CT) and he just collapsed and started crying saying his leg hurt and he couldn’t move it. All of a sudden. Without anything actually happening to his leg. And when I got him calm enough to tell me what happened he said, “Nothing happened; it just felt like someone took my muscle away.”

So now? Now I’m freaking right the fuck out. There it is. I’m totally freaking out. Because that happening is almost verbatim what our pediatrician said was a key neurological symptom. And most likely I’m going to have to wait through the weekend to hear back on the CT results.

In an effort to try to curb the freaking out, I’m trying to keep us busy. And I’m writing. Because writing always keeps me sane, even when I’m clearly not. But I’m having a really hard time reaching out to anyone. Because I can’t stand one more person telling me that he’s fine and I shouldn’t worry. Because I can’t stand feeling like a hypochondriac (even if it is only self-imposed). And because I’m just not quite ready to let anyone in to this space of absolute fear.

Because I’m the one who is always strong and can get through anything. At least that’s how it looks on the outside. But I know, as do all of those people who have known me for more than 5 years, that the only reason I get through stuff is because of the people in my life reminding me of my own inherent strength and bringing me back to it. Because my first instinct is to crawl into a little ball with a stiff drink and cry.

That’s where I want to go right now. But instead I have to figure out what to do with my children for the next week until they go to my parents’ house for a week. And I get to stuff all of my fear down deep so that my children can’t see it and can’t feel it. And I get to “put on a brave face” and play the waiting game until I find out what’s next.

And quite honestly I don’t know what I’m hoping for more. A clean CT scan or one with something on it that we can fix. Because if it’s clean, we still don’t know why he’s going through all of this stuff. And I hate not knowing.

So yeah…now I know what’s next. And I told you I didn’t want to know.

I don't want to know what's next...

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 16:59:00 +0000

My daughter put an airplane propeller up her nose.

Where it got stuck and was, as expected, painful.

So we went back to the doctor. Where in one gigantic sneeze, it came out.

Oy vay.

Crisis of Faith

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 04:14:00 +0000

I think I’m having a crisis of faith. At least that is as close as I can come to describing it. I don’t really have any faith. Faith has always been something that’s eluded me. I’ve grilled friends, professors and ministers into the ground trying to get some sort of empirical understanding of faith and I just can’t wrap my brain around it.

There are moments that I’ve glimpsed it I think. Moments of absolute peace where I just know that everything will work out or that everything is just as it should be. But they are fleeting at best and I’ve never been able to figure out how to translate those moments into everyday life.

My life currently is very quickly spiraling out of control. I’ve spent more time in the doctor’s office with my daughter the past three months than I have the entirety of her life. We are in a real financial crisis that is not going to be solved without some really pain and hardship. I am at a crossroads professionally and I’m trying to figure out which way to go. I’ve come to a place socially where I have the friends who have been with me for over half of my life that know and love me regardless of situation or environment and I have new friends who I am still trying to get to know, but am having a really hard time building history with.

And I don’t know what to do.

That’s the crux of it all. I don’t know what to do. I can’t research this. I can’t talk this through. I can’t make a plan and follow it. There are no clear answers and for the life of me I cannot see a path that makes any sense.

And right now, I wish more than anything, that I could find some faith. Some deep and unrelenting knowledge that I am indeed being taken care of. And that I am a good person doing the best she can to do right by her family and by herself. I need that unquestionable knowledge that faith brings. Because right now, I don’t believe any of that. I won’t go into the self-berating things that I think I know right now because I’m trying to not give that inherent negativity any credence.

But it’s hard.

This is hard.

And I don’t know what to do.

Introspective Thievery

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 17:25:00 +0000

I had barely turned the corner when I could see the flags whipping in the wind. I was still several blocks away when I saw the bright yellow triangle signs of the Patriot Guard setting up a red, white and blue perimeter around the temple.

My breath had started to come faster the moment I saw the flags, but now as I was getting ready to turn into the alley to get to the parking lot, I was starting to panic. The tears came suddenly and violently and I knew that I would not be able to stay for the funeral.

I felt awful and relieved all at once. I felt like I should just suck it up and this wasn’t about me, so I needed to be there to support her as her highly decorated husband was brought into their place of worship in a box. But I also felt like I had figured out how to let myself off the hook. I was not grieving for her husband. I was grieving for my friend who had been killed the same way going on three years ago.

And despite my best efforts, I could not get my grief to fit into this particular situation or box. It was unwieldy and uncertain. Like a horse that has been cooped up for days. The first few steps out of the stall are awkward and tentative. Testing the earth beneath making sure everything still works. But then there is a tensing of the muscles and a relaxation into expectation as his speed explodes from within.

I’m trying to steal a moment of introspection in the midst of all. A moment to help sort out the mish-mash of craziness and emotion and sadness that is my being right now. But introspection and soccer games and 2 year olds and grocery shopping just don’t mix.

So I’m holding on. By the skin of my teeth. Trying to find solace in the daily routine, but mostly feeling suffocated by it. Trying to just be and feel without being consumed. Trying to stay connected to my world and the responsibilities within it. But mostly just wanting to run away to a place where laundry doesn’t matter and insurance companies actually pay the doctor bills, where I actually want my children to crawl all over me and where things make sense and parents don’t die because of a modern day crusade.

Spring Fever

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 22:17:00 +0000

I should be working right now. I’m on a deadline and I have tons of work to do, but my brain is all wishy washy and crazy. So instead of working, I’m going to thrill you with plans for what we’re going to do with our back yard this summer.

Our house is on a pretty big lot, almost a quarter of an acre. That’s one of the reasons why we bought this house. We loved the space and the huge back yard. But for the past 6 years that we’ve lived here, it’s essentially just been the dog’s domain. Not really family friendly except for the area we carved out for our garden. The rest is just sort of a vast sea of mostly growing grass and the paths the dogs have created as they trace their daily circuits.

But this year, since the kids are getting older, we’ve decided to finally tackle the back yard and make it a place we all want to hang out. The one hurdle we probably won’t find a way around this year (or maybe ever) is that the stairs leading down into the yard from the deck are really steep and a bit treacherous. I don’t even like to walk down them, let alone me send the kids down them by themselves. But we’ll just have to figure out a way around that. Let me know if you have any ideas…

So the first thing we’re going to do is create an area of the yard dedicated just to the kids and the myriad assortment of outdoor play stuff we’ve accumulated. I think we’ve decided to carve out the section of yard right at the bottom of the yard for this purpose. We’ll block it out with railroad ties and then mulch it all in. We may even be able to get free mulch through the city’s xeroscape program. The only other thing we’ll do is add a trampoline to the mix and that should give the kids a really fun place to be.

We have two large and completely unattractive meters in our back yard that I think we’ve decided to finally camouflage with some sort of flowering bush or shrub. I need to do more research on that piece as I’m not entirely sure which ones we’ll pick. But in the 10 or so feet in between the meters and the play area, we’re going to create a little patio seating area so that we can all hang out down in the yard while the kids play. I think we’ll put some pavers down in a fun pattern and then put some comfy deck furniture and an umbrella down there. My husband also wants to add an outdoor fireplace or chiminea to that area, but the jury is still out on that.

The other pieces will be just doing an overall brightening and livening up to the yard in general. We’re going to put four hanging flower boxes on the deck, fix the lattice work on the deck to disguise the beams, put more rock under the deck to create more of a storage area under there instead of the mud pit it is now, plant a tree or two (my vote is for fruit trees or a couple of maples) and some more flowers around the edges.

Pretty simple plan all in all. Nothing too fancy or over the top. Just enough to make it an outdoor living space and fun for the kids so that we have more options for entertaining and play time. Plus it will add some nice resale value to the property when the market finally turns around and we can sell this place.

I’m excited about it. Of course, I’m more excited at the thought of it just being done than I am the thought of the actual work to get it there. But the work will do us all good too. Work out the cabin fever we’ve all got in spades and give the kids projects to focus on.

We’ll have a yard warming party when we’re done. I’ll post pictures.

Putting off Monday

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 05:26:00 +0000

I’m sitting here avoiding sleep. Because if I go to sleep, then when I wake up it will be Monday morning and I will have to face this week with no job. And I’m just not ready to do that yet. More accurately, I’m not ready to face the ramifications of that yet.

The friend that I was doing contract work for took me out to dinner on Friday night and told me that while I was amazing and doing a wonderful job, they just really needed someone with more flexibility. The flexibility that comes from not having any children. The flexibility that comes from not having little dictators rule your life when you have no childcare and no means with which to obtain childcare.

And while I am angry, I am not angry with her. From a business perspective, I completely understand her point. And she’s right. But I am angry at the situation. Because there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. And that is not a position that I am very good at. The position to accept defeat and move on. And I’m particularly tired of feeling it and being forced to accept it time and time again.

I’m just so tired of the constant struggle. And of course some of that struggle is because of bad financial choices that we’ve made and some of it is completely out of my hands. But it’s still a struggle and I’m still tired and I still don’t have any answers.

Because logic dictates that I just find a “real” job to get us caught up and back on track financially. But it’s completely illogical to get a job just to pay for daycare.

The part that sucks the most I think is that I know exactly what I want to do, but I have no idea how to make money at it and I have no idea where to even start to learn. I just want to write. That’s what I’ve always wanted to do. But I’ve always talked myself out of it or allowed others to do the same in favor of something more practical. Because let’s face it, I know I have a voice and quite a lot to say with that voice, but who really knows if anyone will find any of it even remotely interesting or worthy of publication.

So here I am, avoiding sleep so I can put off Monday for a while longer, hoping that some grand idea will come to me as I sit here and I can wake in the morning and present it to my husband so neither of us has to worry about the fact that we have $400 in our savings account and have more debt than we ever intended. Because I finally have it figured out and we’ll finally figure out how to relax and enjoy our lives instead of always struggling. And we’ll look back at these past few years and tell our children when they are struggling how everyone struggles and its part of life and it just makes you stronger. And I’ll actually be able to believe it.

Thar be Dragons There

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 16:01:00 +0000

Inside of me, there is a deep and dark fear that I will lose my children. To sickness or accident or to my own carelessness or to someone else’s. I guess maybe for most moms that fear is not quite so deep. But for me I’ve held it deep and far away because I cannot handle the idea of it actually happening. The thought of it makes me want to curl up in a ball and disappear. I’ve always said that whatever the situation, I would figure out how to get through it and go on living life to the best of my ability. But I am not at all confident that I could just move on and get through losing a child. That’s why I’ve so vigilantly kept it buried deep where it couldn’t get at me.

But it surged to the surface this past Friday. My daughter got a quarter stuck in her esophagus. And a pediatric surgeon had to remove it via a surgical procedure. During which I was not allowed to stay in there with my screaming, choking baby girl. During which one of the nurses started screaming “Oh shit! Oh shit, she’s not breathing!” During which I alternately felt like I wanted to sit down in the hall outside the procedure room and give up and feeling like I could claw my way through the heavy wood door to get to her, to save her where this incompetent and insolent surgeon could not.

About 3 minutes after that declaration, they opened the door and handed her to me. Completely traumatized, covered in tears and snot and terror and I held her so tightly I was sure I would damage. While said arrogant surgeon made jokes about saving the quarter for our baby book to my husband. I wanted to thank him for saving our girl and then I wanted to punch him right in the nose so that he could remember for just a minute that he was actually human too.

I took her back to her room and nursed her immediately and she fell asleep almost as quickly. I just stared at her for about an hour until they discharged us. That night it took me forever to fall asleep because all I could hear when I closed my eyes was the “She’s not breathing!” part. So I retreated into a weepy chick flick and a fantasy book with the hope that I could just forget it since she was fine and healthy once again, sleeping soundly in her crib.

But I can’t quite get rid of it. Even now, 4 days later. It’s still with me and part of me is glad for it, because I don’t want to forget how fragile we all are and how vigilant I have to be as a mother. But part of me wants to bury that fear down deep again. Because it has a crippling effect, this fear. And I can’t live my life crippled in this way.

At the same time, this experience has really shown me how utterly and completely burnt out I am. I am just so very tired of everything. I’m tired of being a mom. I’m tired of working. I’m tired of taking care of the house. I’m tired of giving my all everyday and giving so much of myself to everyone I love and care about. I’m just tired. But I wouldn’t choose to live my life any other way. I just need a break. Some time to re-group and re-energize. And I don’t know how to do that. And it’s becoming clear that the hour here at the gym or the two hours there with friends for dinner is only serving to stave off the madness. That is what it feels like just under my surface. Utter and complete madness. Like I am going to scream at any time. Without warning and then it will be clear just how utterly crazy I’ve gone.

I’m taking all the action I can possibly muster in my life right now. I’m making changes to several integral parts of my life so that they become supportive and nurturing instead of energy sucking. I’m committing to regaining my physical healthy and feeling comfortable in my own skin again. I’m focusing on each task as it comes; when I am working, I am really working. When I am with my kids, I am really with my kids. But the madness is still there and getting louder all the time.

This brush with fear caused me to stop and take myself out of all my good intentions and changes for a day or two. And I’m realizing that the changes and the effort I’m making to lessen the madness have only served to bring my attention to how deeply the madness goes. How much work I have to do.

Maybe this kind of madness in endemic to being a mother. Perhaps the fear and the madness are tied to each other somehow. That motherhood ties them together as a coping mechanism of sorts. They keep each other in check so that we can actually have some semblance of functionality on a day to day basis. But if one rises then the other follows suit and we’re done for. That’s what I feel like right now. Done for. Like there is no end to the madness and there never will be and I better set to just sucking it up and getting over it.

Because the other option is to deal with it. And that is uncharted territory. Thar be dragons there. And I’m not feeling equipped to deal with dragons presently. Perhaps I’ll just stick to making it through the day first.

Juno

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 05:39:00 +0000

I just went to go see the movie Juno with a couple of girlfriends and now I’m feeling all wistful and weepy and weird. First of all, it’s ohmygod good and you should totally believe all the hype and go see it right now. Drop everything and go see it right now. I’m not kidding.

Second, it’s got me all flip floppy inside. Part of it could be my overall mental state these days which is going back and forth between totally determined and totally defeated. Part of it could be a serious lack of exposure to any kind of culture as of late and thus tonight’s exposure has caused some dust to be blown off of my intellect thus confusing the everyday, run haggard by life part of me. Part of it could be that I’m pretty flip floppy most days and I’m just really paying attention to it right now.

There’s one line when she says, “I don’t know what kind of girl I am.” And she’s 16, so of course she doesn’t really know who she is. But I’m 31 and still trying to figure out what kind of girl I am. I mean I started off in Catholic school with uniforms that so severely androgonized the entire student body you couldn’t always tell where the boys stopped and the girls began. Then moved into middle school when the big bangs were so in and discovered punk. Then high school brought me the epiphany of goth and granola and college encouraged me to find a mix of everything to suit any given day. But nowhere in any of that did I really figure out how to be a girl.

I mean I know how to flaunt my assets with the best of them. I know how to obsess about looks and weight. I know how to worship chocolate and dream about cute boys. But what kind of girl am I? I bought my first real tube of lipstick just about 10 days ago. I started caring what my brows looked like about 6 months ago. I started looking at the women who I’ve surrounded myself with and wondering how they do that. How do they always have pretty hair and makeup? How do they look put together when they are chasing a half naked screaming toddler through the park? Do they know what kind of girl they are? Or are they figuring it out as they go just like me?

I think the real problem is that I don’t even really know what kind of girl I want to be. I know what kind of model I want to show my children. I know what I want to teach my son – absolute respect under all circumstances. I know what I want my daughter to see as the most important feminine traits – absolute strength through nurturing. But what does that mean for my everyday life?

I think I’ve learned to focus on the tangible aspects of being a girl because those are the easiest things to see and change. Waxing your brows, dying your hair, getting a new pair of shoes are all things that I can wrap my head around. Defining my own femininity is just something that escapes me for some reason. Always has. I’ve never known how to just be a girl. I know it must sound strange. But I just don’t get it. Maybe it’s another element of my rebellion. Like there’s a subconscious part of me that sees being a girl as being strapped in by rules and expectations. So by not embracing being a girl, I’m somehow rebelling against those rules and expectations. But like a lot of my rebellion, it hasn’t gotten me anywhere profound. It’s just got me all flip floppy.

I know, I know. Modern women make up their own rules and be who they want to be. But I’m not at all sure I want to be a modern woman. I just want my children to be proud of me, my husband to adore me and my friends to respect me. Well, and being a smoking hot MILF wouldn’t hurt either.

It's Bragging Time!

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Mon, 31 Dec 2007 17:23:00 +0000

Last week, everything just sort of fell into place. It was Christmas, which is the holiday I wait all year for. My parents were here and my children ADORE them. I got to have a day date with my husband. I won my fantasy football league’s superbowl my rookie year. And I got totally spoiled by my family for Christmas.

I love Christmas. I love everything that goes along with it. I love buying presents for the people I love. I love buying my children presents most of all. I love the cooking and the baking. I love picking out a perfect tree and then decorating it as a family. I love the anticipation of Christmas Eve and playing Santa. I love opening presents on Christmas morning and seeing the kids’ faces when they see what Santa brought. I love baking my Grandmother’s cinnamon rolls every year for Christmas breakfast.

The kids loved everything they got this year, and they got spoiled rotten as usual. My parents and husband loved everything I got them. And I got all sorts of fun new toys. My darling hubby got me a Nintendo DS (mostly because I love the brain teaser puzzle games they have, but also because it’s just really fun). My mom got me an iPod Touch, which just blew me away, and she had said darling hubby load it with all of my favorite music and pictures. My in-laws gave us money, which is always welcome and most needed right about now. It was just a really surprising and wonderful day for gifts.

As cheesy as it sounds, I just kept thinking the whole day that all I had to do was live the best life I could and it would all eventually come back to me. And it wasn’t even about the tangible gifts. It was more about the fact that the people who gave them to me did so because they knew that I would genuinely love them. That they would make me laugh and give me moments of fun when the days fell into drudgery. It was just such a thoughtful Christmas and it was amazing. And to top it all off, I absolutely and completely nailed my Grandmother’s cinnamon rolls! I’ve been working with a pinch of this, pinch of that recipe for three years trying to piece them together and I finally nailed them!

It’s been such a wonderful experience for me to be able to see my parents through my children’s eyes. Because the vision is so similar to how I used to see them when I was young. And I miss that vision. The ability to see your parents as kin to superheroes, able to answer any question and conquer any boo-boo. Because it’s been too easy as of late to look at them through the jaded, in need of some therapy eyes that I’ve developed. My parents are good people. And they tried really hard to raise me well and with love. Most of the time they succeeded, but time has allowed those times when they allowed their humanness to creep in and sully that well to grow and be lit from behind so that I can see them all too well. And it is such a gift to get a bit of that child vision back when playing on the floor or being shown new things is enough for hero status.

My parents also gave my husband and me a day date!! And it was awesome to sit in a restaurant during the day and actually be able to read the entire menu instead of ordering the first thing that looked like it might taste good. And to be able to have a real conversation instead of stilted sentences punctuated with “Don’t eat the crayons!” or “No you may not dump that glass of water out to water the plants!” And to be able to see a movie! I miss movies. It was lovely and gave us a chance to reconnect, even if for but a few hours.

And I freaking won my fantasy football league’s Superbowl!!! I still can’t believe it. I totally came back from certain 5th place and won the whole thing. As a rookie. It was just so much fun to get back into football that way and with that level of passion. My dad raised me on football and I used to really love sitting with him while he explained the game to me. So it was a chance to get some of that feeling back and it gave me something to focus on that had absolutely nothing to do with my children! And I was good at it and that was a gift in and of itself these days when I find myself feeling not so very good at very much.

It was just really a wonderful week. It was a week to brag about.

Wanting What I Can Handle

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Mon, 17 Dec 2007 05:11:00 +0000

As you know, I’m an only child. So I’ve been a bit of a wanter most of my life. When I was pretty young, I was totally altruistic and only asked for what I needed. It wasn’t until later, until I entered school really, that I really got into wanting things. That was when I realized that the things I wanted said a lot about me and who I am.

As I’ve grown up, those definitive things have ebbed and flowed between the dreams and fantasies and material things. Everything from habitually wishing on the first star every night to thinking about what I was going to wish for when I blew out my birthday candles, from making the annual Santa wish list to carefully dividing that wish list into needs and wants.

When I was four, I asked my parents for a big brother for Christmas. When I was 12 and my parents were temporarily separated, I made a huge wish list and at the top was that my mom move back in, which she did on Christmas day. When I was about to turn 16 and wishing against all hope for a car. When I was 20 and getting ready to spend 6 months in Germany, wishing that I had the strength to handle it all. When I was 23 and had just had an abortion and was begging for forgiveness. When I was 25 and a week away from my wedding and wishing that we had eloped. When I was 29 and a good friend was killed in Iraq and I was, again, begging for it to not be true.

And now, my wish list seems to grow longer by the day. Everything from the 42” Sony Bravia HDTV that I’ve been drooling over for months now, to a new car that would get better gas mileage and give me the room I need day to day, to financial stability, to more time with my family, to having the ability to move more into town to cut down on our daily commutes, to having another baby, to getting new carpet in our house. The list just seems to grow on its own these days.

But I was thinking this morning as I was lying in bed enjoying a rare few minutes of quiet before I got up and joined the Sunday morning family fray, that I wonder if I could handle everything I want. I was thinking particularly about the wanting another baby part. That’s been at the forefront of my mind lately, has been actually since my daughter was about 2 months old. Yes, I know I’m crazy. Moving on.

When I was a teenager desperately wishing on that star to find my one true love, I look back at that girl I was and there was no way that I could have handled my one true love at that time. I was a mess. I probably would have taken one look at him and run away screaming. Or I would have ignored him completely, not able to recognize him for what he was.

When I was a complete mess after having an abortion just out of college and wishing with my whole being to take back that decision, I wonder if I could have handled being a mother at that time in my life. When I thought I had my entire future not only mapped out, but figured out.

When I was laying on our kitchen floor sobbing after hearing that Brian had been killed in Iraq, begging for it to not be true, I wonder if I would still have the same compassion for the men and women in the military that I do now after having known him and lost him.

Everything I ask for, wish for, are things that I think will make my life easier, more comfortable, more interesting, just more. And I wonder if the real lesson that I’m supposed to be learning is that I am given everything not only for a reason, but when I can handle it and stand to learn the most from it. Even if it hurts and even if it’s hard.

Maybe it’s not about getting what I wish for. Maybe it’s about getting what I can handle.

And more with the wanting...

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Tue, 04 Dec 2007 01:16:00 +0000

Holy crap have I had a bad day.

My son got sick Thanksgiving week and just as he got better, my daughter got sick and then since I’ve taught them such good sharing skills, they gave it to me. Can I just tell you that there is very little that is worse than being a mother and sick at the same time? Especially when one of your children is sick too and your husband has no time left to take off to help you out so that you can dissolve into the bacterial puddle into which you desperately want to collapse.

I essentially lost 10 days of work between the kids getting sick and me being sick. And when one is only about 8 weeks into a new job, missing 10 days doesn’t make anyone happy. I am now so totally behind that I’ve forgotten half of the stuff I needed to get done. And my employers are irritated that I had to check out on them as well, and rightfully so. And I feel like a schmuck and a failure and like I am not even remotely equipped to be a success at anything right now.

Part of it I’m sure is that I’m feeling sorry for myself, there are so many who have it so much worse than I do. I just felt so completely overwhelmed by my own lack of success and feelings of failure that I just lost it. I locked myself in my bedroom, away from the children and away from everything else. Except for one fabulous, amazing (and of course very pretty) girlfriend that called me back at the exact right moment. She let me cry and told me as many times as she could fit in between my blubbering that I am in fact not a failure and am in fact a wonderful person and mother. It‘s just hard right now. But it’s doable. I can do this.

And she’s right. I can do this. I’m just really tired of doing this. I want financial stability. I want to wake up in the morning and be excited about my day instead of waking up with thinly veiled dread because I either don’t know what I’m going to do with the kids to keep them entertained or because I’m going to feel like a failure at whatever given work task is at hand. I want to enjoy my children instead of feeling like they are just in the way. I want to spend time with my husband. I want to spend fun, quality time with my family. I want to love my work again. I want to go to grad school. I want to write. I want to feel like a good mother again. I want to feel adored and beautiful again.

I just want. And here we are back to the wanting. Aren’t you glad that I’m writing again? So much has changed evidently…oh, yeah, that’s sarcasm. That’s me gearing up for some major change in my life. Because it’s time. Because it’s become painfully obvious that significant change is warranted. It’s time for me to re-evaluate my priorities and then live those priorities.

It’s time for me to feel like an expert again instead of a novice. It’s time for me to be who I am again. I miss me. I know my husband misses me and I’m sure my kids miss me as well.

This whiny, failure feeling, pity party throwing drama queen is not me.

I’m ready to click my heels and have some magic spell take me back to who I am. But the tricky part is that I also know that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Now I just have to figure out what the hell I’m doing here.

Totally Normal

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Wed, 17 Oct 2007 22:16:00 +0000

Got the MRI results and my brain is totally normal, at least structurally...yea!!! No brain tumor for me!

Thought I'd share this amazing sunset picture from our family vacation as a way to celebrate. It sure was pretty...

I'm ready to go back there now! And my kids and I did get our parrots and sugar cane memories and then some...

The Wants

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Mon, 15 Oct 2007 17:07:00 +0000

I’ve got the wants lately. I want a new washer and dryer. I want a new, pretty, flat screen TV. I want new clothes. I want a new car. I want a new computer. I just want at the moment. But at the same time I am so utterly and completely tired of being a consumer.

My husband's and my son’s birthdays are the day after one another so I just got a good dose of present buying. And it seems like everyday I’m just in total consumer mode. Whether it’s eating lunch out everyday because it’s easier than trying to pack a lunch. Or eating dinner out more than we should. Or getting one of the kids a treat because they had a really good day or to celebrate some achievement. It just feels like my days are tailored around what money I’m going to spend.

And it’s not like we have a great deal of money to spend at the moment. None in fact. I’m ramping up in a new job and it’s going a bit more slowly than I thought it would so I have very limited money coming in. Geoff is talking about getting a second job to help pay down some of our debt, which we desperately need to do, but I feel like an awful failure that he would need to get a SECOND job after he spends all day working so hard already.

I think that my wanting right now is trying to fill some hole that is in me (and no, it’s not in my head). Whether that be missing the day-to-day routine of a steady job or missing alone time or missing date time with my husband or missing dedicated time to spend with my kids or missing having the time and energy to cook every night. I mean the list is endless of the things I miss right now.

I look at my life right now and I don’t quite know what to make of it. Not that it’s all bad or totally out of control. It’s just really outside of my comfort zone. Which can be good, you know challenge my boundaries and push me to grow and such. But this is just odd. Not bad. Not good. Just odd. In any given moment I feel lost, totally grounded, lonely and surrounded by loved ones all at once. I feel totally chaotic and random, but also like I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I suppose I should gain some solace from that fact, but it is currently only serving to increase the oddity.

I never thought I would be working for a real estate investment company doing bookkeeping and project management. I never thought I would be in financial trouble at this stage of my life. I never thought I would have days where I literally have no idea what to do with my children. I never thought I would have trouble connecting with my friends. I never thought I would be here.

But here I am. So I am just trying to get my bearings on a day-to-day basis. And part of my bearings right now is that I’m totally lusting after a new washer and dryer, a totally adorable 3-button sweater coat and a very pretty 42” Sony Bravia.

Good thing Christmas is coming…

Holes in my Head

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Fri, 12 Oct 2007 04:15:00 +0000

For as long as I can remember, I’ve gotten headaches. I remember being a little kid and telling my mom that I had a “headick.” She never believed me because “kids don’t get headaches.” But I did. As I got older they turned into migraines. I never really thought much about them. Just hoped that they didn’t get in the way of important or fun stuff in my day to day life.

They’ve continued to get worse and more frequent as the stress of life increased. I had kids, started my own business, changed jobs, changed careers. I just chalked it up to stress mostly. But over the past few weeks, the headaches have changed. Now I get shooting pain that makes my vision go blurry. And the room starts spinning if I’m walking and look down. And I keep seeing things out of the corner of my eyes that aren’t really there. So all that along with the fact that I’ve woken up and gone to sleep with a headache for almost 2 weeks finally got me in to see my doctor.

I went in expecting him to say that it’s all stress and to go get a massage. Which he said, but he also recommended that I have an MRI. Which shocked me a bit. I mean, really? An MRI is really necessary? It’s just headaches.

Over the last couple of days of thinking though, I’ve developed two distinct theories about what they are going to find when they do the MRI (and you will notice also distinctly crazy). The first is that they are going to look at my brain and see nothing. They are going to see a perfectly normal female human brain, tell me I’m crazy and shove me out the door. Or they are going to see nothing (here’s where the real crazy comes in), like seriously, nothing. What if the super cool, high tech image pops up on their screens and they see holes. Holes that were carved out by fear and lack of self confidence and crazy. Maybe there’s nothing where there was once the ability to cure cancer or write the next great American novel. Maybe there’s nothing where there should be the intelligence to be the perfect mom or friend or wife. Or maybe there’s just nothing because nothing was ever there.

Now I know, rationally, that MRI’s actually only look at the brain itself. The blood and the structure of it. Not the emotions or aptitude or abilities. But what if? What if they look at my brain and go, well that explains why she’s 31 with no real career or direction. Why she’s crazy.

Or maybe they’ll find a brain tumor or some wires crossed and that will explain the crazy and the headaches. Bonus.

Or maybe, and more realistically, they’ll find that I’m a perfectly normal, woman with migraines. They will write me a prescription for some kind of heavy duty medication and send me home with a smile and a “see that wasn’t so bad” pat on the back.

And I will have to find another reason why I’m crazy. But at least I’ll know I don’t have holes where my potential should be.

It's a Fat Girl's Name

noreply@blogger.com (mosaica) — Fri, 31 Aug 2007 14:59:00 +0000

“What kind of name is Clair?”
“It’s a family name.”
“It’s a fat girl’s name.” - The Breakfast Club

I think my name might be a fat girl’s name too. I was thin my entire life. Then I met my husband and gained some comfort weight. Not a lot, just enough to be a bit cushy. Then we moved and I quit smoking. And I gained more weight. Then I found myself miserable and with no friends and no professional life to speak of and I gained more weight. Then we had our son and I gained yet more. Then we had our daughter and well, more was gained. And then I found an amazing group of really supportive women and was well on my way to losing quite a bit of weight and then my life exploded, again, and it all came back and then some.

This subject is acutely painful for me to write about. I have internalized and emotionalized my weight and looks to the degree that it actually makes me scooch around in my seat uncomfortably. I cannot, will not, say how much I weigh or my size out loud. To anyone. Ever.

My entire life, I was almost always the thin and pretty one in whatever group of friends I was hanging out in. I at least blended in with all the other thin and pretty girls. Now I stand out as the “fluffy” woman who constantly makes fun of herself as an attempt to overcompensate for how uncomfortable I am in my own skin. This is not me. Not even necessarily how I look, but how I look at myself. I mean I’ve never been what you would call nice to myself, but now, there is some true self loathing going on. I look in the mirror every morning and cringe. Every time I eat something, even if it’s something really good for me, and think I should just stop eating entirely.

I’m starting to worry myself. I play it all off nonchalantly most of the time. But when I get honest with myself about it, this is not healthy. In any way shape or form. I haven’t been to my yearly exam yet because I don’t want to get on the scale and have my doc look at me like I’m a walking time bomb Twinkie. I’ve thought about cancelling my cardiologist appointment so that I don’t have to have him look at me with genuine concern. So I don’t have to explain. So I don’t have to have them pity me or judge me.

So I don’t have to pity or judge myself mostly I think. Because I do that every minute of every day it seems. I don’t need to set myself up for a special judgment session by going to see a doctor.

My sorority (yes I was in a sorority) turns 100 years old this year and they are having a big shindig at my college to celebrate and I so badly want to go. I’ve not been back to my school for 7 years, I would love to see old professors and see all the friends who are going to be there and who still live around there. But I probably won’t go because of how I feel that I look. The last time any of these people saw me, I was thin, confident and successful. Now I’m large and anything but confident and successful. Going to see them all and pretending like nothing has changed not only sounds painful to me, but rather impossible. And that makes me sadder than I can tell you. I never thought that I would feel so badly about myself that I would miss an opportunity to see people who are important to me.

I have to do something about this. I cannot hope to find balance and happiness in the rest of my life if I don’t change how I look at myself. I have to learn how to be nicer to myself.

So writing all of this is a big step in and of itself. I’ve never written or spoken about this topic from an objective, honest perspective. And it’s taken me a week to work up to it. So here I am laying it on the line. I don’t have any answers or any goals to speak of. I just wanted to get it out there. Take that first step towards being able to take action. To make this different. To start feeling different. To learn how to be nice to myself. To perhaps start to see myself as others see me already.