A CURE FOR WHAT WAS AILING ME

I took both kids and my mom to Eugene (2 hours south) for the day Saturday. We visited my SIL and nephew. My brother and STM were both on vacations, so it was just the women and children this time.


The boys played basketball and the girls ate lunch.

The boys hopped on one foot and the girls ate ice cream.

The boys ate popsicles and the girls drank tea.

The boys wrestled and the girls ate blueberry muffins.

The boys played with stickers and the girls got stickered.

The boys showed us how old they are and the girls watched.

The boys laughed and the girls did too.

BOWING OUT

Had a really intense nightmare last night. I was driving one of my cousins around in a car with no brakes. If that weren't bad enough, I got us hopelessly lost. "I'm lost, I'm lost, I'M LOST!" I screamed, actually talking in my sleep and waking myself up to the sound of my own panicky voice.

Right before I woke up my cousin said, "Then just bow out."

I think that's good advice.

I'll see you when I bow back in.

love.

AND THE WINNER IS...

Thank you for all the great T-shirt ideas! After exhaustive research, we chose "Love Wins." for the simple fact that love wins. Plus, the hunky guy comes with, or at least that's what we're telling ourselves. We went with the long-sleeved version making it more year-round, because love wins year round, don't you know.

To order yours and join the fun, click here.

TIE ME TO THE END OF A KITE

"Oh, tie me to the end of a kite
So I can go on, I can go on with my life
Every time the wind blows stronger,
I will feel my spirit rise
I just want to go away from here"

From "Kite Song" by Rosie Thomas


I just want to go away from here.

And apparently, I'm not even being very subtle.

Yesterday I bought new running shoes and I came home, showed them to STM. "See? Aren't they great? I'm thinking of doing another marathon! I wasn't thinking of doing a marathon, I was just thinking about fitness, but the guy that sold me the shoes asked if I was going to do the Portland Marathon, and I told him that no, summer was hard to train with the kids home, the heat, the conflicting vacation schedules, etc., and he said..."

STM cut me off. "I know where this is going."

"You do?" I asked, because really, I wasn't sure where "this" was going.

"Yes. You are dying to get on an airplane. You want out of here. Now you're thinking of distant marathons so you can have a reason to leave town."

Totally busted, so I did what all mature people do who are well invested in a 20+ year relationship, I lied. "That's not true! I'm just telling you what the guy at the RUNNING store said."

But he knows and I know, that I just want to go away from here.

It's been a long summer.

The next person that says, "I can't believe how fast the summer went," is going down.

You've been warned.




* Photo from www.gifttrap.com

TRANSFERENCE

If you want a concrete example of how much your life has changed, moved forward and on, just get a new address book. Mine was literally falling apart at the seams, and I am unwilling to go all electronic, so I bought a bright and shiny new one. It's green and blue and holds the promise of spring.

Over the course of several days I looked over the addresses in the old book and decided which ones would move with me to the new one. Lots of scraps of paper were stuffed in and around the old book, Post-It notes, too. Again I carefully evaluated which of those were part of the me going forward, versus the old me I was actively choosing to leave behind.

I was struck by all the name changes; some due to divorce, some due to actually changing a name, and a life, from past to future.

And the deaths. No longer Doug and Kelly, just Doug. No longer Ike and Verneice, just Verneice. No longer, no longer, no longer.

The additions brought great joy: fellow bloggers, special needs moms, spiritual seekers, new friends.

I am done now. My new address book holds about the same number of names the old one held, but the difference is the names that are in there now are all my people. My kin. My tribe.


* Photo from www.uploadmypix.co.uk

PILLOW TALK

Been hating my pillow(s) for awhile. Say, oh, about 10 years. Yesterday Rojo and I went to "Little Target" to check the mg. of sodium on 12 items, and I decided that was the day I would splurge on a new pillow.

And here's the big news: I did not buy the one for $5.99. Nor the one for $7.99. Not even the one for $19.99. No. I bought the MOST EXPENSIVE ONE THEY HAD IN THE WHOLE FLIPPIN' STORE, $39.99. High quality down with 100% cotton covering.

Heaven.

Slept like the dead last night and I swear to hell, my head has never rested more comfortably.

About 2:00 AM I woke up with what I thought at the time was something SO profound, I made myself switch on the light, searched around for paper and wrote it down. Then I rolled back over on my delicious pillow and slept four more blissful hours.

This morning I woke to see what brilliance I'd written down: Destroy with nothing all the feathers God has plucked.

Today I think it just has a lot to do with my down pillow and not a lot to do with anything else.

T-SHIRT EVANGELISM

In September, Kathleen and I are celebrating our 10th anniversary of being daily walking buddies/confidantes/soul sisters. We decided we needed something to commemorate this occasion. We already have, and often wear on the same day by "accident," our love. (runs true to size) T-shirts.

For her birthday I gave her two more cool, if I do say so myself, T-shirts, one on gratefulness (runs big) that says:" In daily life we must see that it is not happiness that makes us grateful, but gratefulness that makes us happy," and another that says: Power to the Peaceful. (runs small) See? What did I tell you? Cool!

So, I'm turning to you, dear readers, do you know of a must-have T-shirt? Please either comment below or e-mail me at: carriewilsonlink@comcast.net

Thank you!

ADMISSION

My little shadow is not granting me computer time.

Or sleeping time.

Or eating time.

Or any personal time whatsoever.

I was moving through this morning with quite an attitude of "this sucks."

Until.

Until he looked over at me, gave me a shot of both dimples and said, "Mom, I need to admit something to you. I need to admit that I love you."

I'm better now.

CLEARING THE HURDLE

Ever since Rojo got his braces on last Thursday, and stated he would "chew in two years," we've begun the soft sell, which has worked for us in the past. We pick a date in the future and tell him that's the day he'll do __________. So it was that we've been saying, "Tuesday is the day you will chew again. Your teeth won't hurt, you'll be ready on Tuesday."

Usually STM has the morning duty and I have the evening duty, but as soon as Rojo woke up Tuesday he came to get me and wanted me to go downstairs with him while he chewed.

I agreed.

STM put a whole plate of tiny bites of garlic toast in front of him and he threw up a lot of roadblocks, "My body isn't awake yet," "I'm not ready to eat yet," "I'm not hungry." Finally STM gently asked, "Are you going to chew today?" And he BURST into tears and said, "I'm scared to chew." I finally got him to down a couple of Danimals and we called it "breakfast." Then we moved as unit into the living room.

I looked at Rojo and said, "So, think of something fun for us to do today, we have the whole day together, just us." Mr. Helpful (who, btw, just gained a week of his life back) said, "How about the zoo?"

I came back with the ol' standby, "It's going to be too hot for the zoo."

Mr. Helpful said, "Not if you go early!" Then Mr. Helpful checked on-line and found that YEA! The zoo opened an extra hour early in the summer, and YEA! We could leave right away and beat the heat!

Yea.

Rojo and I parked near the entrance, paid our exorbitant fees and I did a little self talk. "Self? It's okay that you just paid $24 to walk in the door and haven't even paid for the train yet. It's okay that you will likely see 2-3 animals and spend most of your time at the vending machines and/or drinking fountains. This is a rich experience for Rojo, that does not need the presence of actual live animals to enhance it."

I'd like to say the self talk worked, and to some degree it did, but every time we neared another animal and he veered me away, there was a moment of OMHOG. True confession.

At one point he was happily engaged at the vending machine and I needed to pee. The restrooms were right there, so I said, "Stand right here, don't move an inch, I'll be right back. Oh, and sing, so I know you're still there."

I ducked inside and could easily hear him from the other side of the wall, "Glory to the God-est! Glorrrrrrrry to the God-est! Glory to the GOOOOOOOD-est!" I think that was the moment I stopped cursing the day STM was born.

We eventually finished at the vending machines and bought two tickets to take the 35 minute train ride around the zoo. We boarded the train, he made all kinds of "All aboard" and "honk, honk," sounds and was happy as a 65-pound clam.

When we got off the train I could tell he was both hungry and needed to pee, neither of which he was willing to do at the zoo, so we left. In the car coming home he said, "Mom, my teeth should be in a good mood when we get home today."

"Does that mean you're ready to chew?"

"Honest to hell," he said.

When we got home, he chewed.

Honest to hell.

Worth. Every. Penny.

If you just can't get enough of my mommy guilt over Rojo's braces, then join me at Hopeful Parents.

Thanks!

"And while we spoke of many things, fools and kings, this he said to me: 'The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return.'"

Eden Ahbez, 1908-1995


At this very moment I am typing while my overly tired, highly emotional and couldn't-be-cuter thirteen-year-old son is two feet away watching some show on TV designed for preschoolers.

I feel loved, and so does he.

Now.

All summer I've had a vacation planned, my idea of a vacation, anyway. A trip to Sisters ALL ALONE. A whole week of just me, myself and I. Solitude. Silence. Serenity. My "you've almost made it through the summer" reward.

I've had a canvas tote bag sitting on the floor of my closet for two weeks. Every time I thought of something else cool to do on my vacation, it went in the tote: I Ching coins and book, Do-It-Yourself Tarot, a book on following the way of Mary, a step-by-step pilgrimage, if you will. I was going to wake up in the high desert air after a uninterrupted 10-hour a night sleep, throw on a bathrobe to cover the chill from sleeping with the windows wide open all night, and turn on the coffee. Then I would sit on my meditation cushion and do one woo woo thing after another, after carefully recording my deep and prophetic dreams from the previous night.

Rojo had been hip to the plan for weeks, even doing a big, "YES!" when I told him Woohoo was going to the lake with a friend for a week, and I was going to Sisters, and it would just be the three generations of men at home: he, Daddy and Elmo.

Saturday he was fine, then suddenly burst into tears, "I am sad you are leaving." He's never articulated his feelings so clearly and directly. That seemed to pass, so I continued loading the car and eventually left, arriving late afternoon in Sisters.

Sunday morning I rose with the birds, was deep into my woo woo, basking in the fact there were six more days of this stretched before me, and getting excited to go for a walk, then coming back to do some real writing, after months of pretty much B.S.

The phone rang. STM. "We have a problem here. Your little boy misses his mom. He hasn't eaten anything since you left. He won't stop crying. I think you need to come home."

I threw everything back into the canvas tote, quickly made the bed, tossed food into an ice chest and hit the road.

So it is that Rojo and I now have a week together that will be one thing, while I'd planned on another. It will not be a week of solitude, silence and serenity.

Instead, it will be a week of solidarity.

"And if it is a care you would cast off, that care has been chosen by you rather than imposed upon you.

And if it is a fear you would dispel, the seat of that fear is in your heart and not in the hand of the feared."

From THE PROPHET, Kahlil Gibran

YES

Yes, I just went on a walk.

Yes, I happened to be wearing my favorite long-sleeved T-shirt.

Yes, it happens to be lavender.

Yes, it also happens to be from 1983.

Yes, I only went to the college in question for 1 semester.

Yes, I didn't even like the college, but I liked the T-shirt.

Yes, it does say "Ancient Greece never partied like this!"

Yes, I am 46 years old now.

Yes, it is time to let the T-shirt go.

Yes, I am going to miss it.

BRACING MYSELF

Rojo got braces yesterday.

Yes. It's true.

What's also true is that by Monday I may have lost my mind, confidence in all the reasons behind getting the braces, and resolve to see this thing through.

Yesterday he went on a hunger (and fluid) strike and I saw the very real possibility this whole thing would end with a trip to ER. We did, however, manage to get him to drink some water around 6:00 PM, but the boy did not consume one single calorie from 6:00 AM yesterday to 4:00 AM today, when he woke up and was craving tuna fish.

My sainted husband got up with him, mixed up two cans of tuna with mayonnaise, liberally sprinkled the garlic salt and got him to eat both, drink a ton of water, and got him back into bed where he slept like an angel until 7:00.

Because he was able to put the mayonnaise-y tuna in his mouth and just swallow, he still has not chewed, and announced "I'll chew in two years when my braces come off."

It would be just like him to give up chewing for 2 years.

What the hell was I thinking?

I know what I was thinking. I was thinking I want him to have a beautiful smile. I want one part of him to not scream "special needs." I want one part of his adolescence to be typical. If he can't act like everyone else, can he at least look like them?

HERE AGAIN

First it was Rojo's desire to return to the Children's Museum, then he started asking me to help him count slug bugs again. Each time we put one foot out the door he'd start in. "Mom, we are going to count slug bugs. We are going to find 18 slug bugs. We are going to look until we find 18 slug bugs, and then we can come home."

Well, ask and ye shall receive.

Damned if we don't go out into the world and find the exact number of slug bugs he's after. They come out of flippin' nowhere. Seriously. It's comical. Just yesterday we drove less than five miles and saw 12, and better yet, five of them were red, the preferred color.

Still needing to get six more in, I went in search of a big parking lot. It was a lovely day and we were exceedingly bored, so I parked and we got out. As is his habit (from years of screaming at him to do just this), he freezes by his side of the car and waits for me to come over and take his hand before stepping one foot away.

And so it was that we walked hand-in-hand throughout the parking lot on a just-right summer day, killing time, looking for (red) slug bugs.

Happy.

But then he said, "Mom? Can we find a blue two?"

Blue twos were something I thought we'd packed away and would not be bringing back.

But.

I.

Was.

Wrong.



* Photo from www.classictoys.com

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BFF

Dear Kathleen,

Thank you for a thousand things: for being my sounding board, my voice of reason, my calm in many storms.

Thank you for loving my husband and children as much, and at times more, than I do.

Thank you for getting me off my butt and on the streets where under our feet pavement is pounded and the world's problems neatly solved.

Thank you for spending one morning a week, for six years running, with Rojo.

Thank you for reminding me every April that he has seasonal allergies, and that's why he gets weird.

Thank you for reassuring me when I come up against marital hot spots that we've been there before, and we'll be there again. And more importantly, that we'll move through and be okay.

Thank you for showing me what's beautiful, right and good about organized religion.

Thank you for accepting my one foot in and one foot out approach.

Thank you for being a living, breathing example of grace.

Thank you for normalizing my life, my racing mind, me.

Thank you for being my cliche, the wind beneath my wings, as well as what grounds me.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

love.

THE ART OF BEING A CHILD

Out of the blue Rojo had been asking to be taken to The Children's Museum, a WONDERFUL place designed for the preschool set. He often got dragged to the original location when Woohoo was much younger, it was one of her favorite places. We even had her 5th birthday party there (see photo above). Don't remember him ever loving it though, most of my memories involve trying to keep him in his back pack and handing snacks, pacifiers and bottles backwards, in a feeble attempt to keep him happy enough for Woohoo to finish doing her thing.

I think once when I was trading day care with another mom who had a kid in Woohoo's kindergarten class, so we could each volunteer in the room, I took both Rojo and my friend's little boy to the new, bigger and better, location. They were three. Ten years ago.

So, classic Rojo, he pulls out a 10-year memory I have no knowledge of him having, and wants to expand on it.

"Mom, I want to go to that place with the grocery store. I want to go to that place with the cash registers. I want to go and guess how much the food is. I want to make the sound beep when the food goes on it. I want to be the doctor. I want to be the ambulance driver..."

"The Children's Museum?" I asked, finally seeing the picture he was drawing for me.

Not answering, he kept up with all his big plans. "And Jenn will take me, and we will bring Brandon and Sam, and we will play with the cash registers and the grocery store and the ambulance..."

Well, The Wonder That is Jenn would do that, she totally would do that, but I knew Brandon and Sam were far too old for The Children's Museum and that plan would not work.

So I begged Woohoo.

And she, being caught in a moment of feeling magnanimous, agreed.

So that's how on Thursday I walked into The Children's Museum with my 13 and 15-year-old, and was asked politely by the woman at the desk, "Have you been here before?"

I decided it wasn't worth the long answer, so I just said, "Yes, we're here for old times' sake."

Oh, we got the looks. We got the "This is for little kids looks." The "Don't let your big kid wreck this for my little kid," look. It's okay. I remember being the mom of the little kid. I remember the protectiveness. I remember the fear. I remember the self-centeredness.

One little girl in particular couldn't stop staring. Finally she walked up to me after watching Woohoo carefully return all the plastic apples and potatoes back to their place in the "grocery store" after Rojo had rung them up.

"Is she someone's babysitter?" the little girl asked.

"Yes." I said, staring her down.

Wooohoo heard the exchange and challenged me. "I'm not getting into it with a three-year-old," I said.

And besides, Woohoo was someone's babysitter. Mine.

We ignored 90% of the museum in favor of returning over and over to the medical and grocery store sections. When he was sated we went to the snack bar and he got Nacho Cheese Doritos and water. Bliss upon bliss.

Holding my hand and skipping (literally - who knew the kid could skip?) in the parking lot as we wandered around looking for our car, he said, "Whew! I'm tired! I had a busy day! I was a grocery person! I was a cooking person! I was an ambulance driver! I was a doctor!"

"Yes, you WERE!" I overly enthused, trying to make up for my discomfort.

But inside I was thinking, Best of all, you were a child.

SMACK: Part 2 of 3 in which I am in the company of parents with their infants and toddlers

Was just minding my business pushing my grocery cart through Safeway last week, when I noticed a little girl, maybe two-years-old, moving all over the aisle in front of me, so I stopped. I could see she was lost in her own activity and did not see me, so I backed way up and to let her decide where she was going to end up, before I advanced.

I turned and looked behind me, considering going back the way I came, but that half of the aisle was even more congested, so I just stood there.

Her father held her infant brother over his shoulder and spoke kindly to her the whole time I was watching. "Honey, move over this way." "Honey, watch out, there's a cart coming through." "Honey, scoot over," etc.

She would hear none of it. Literally.

Then, out of nowhere she just turned in my direction and RAN straight into my cart. SMACK. I could see her distorted face from my end. She started screaming.

I felt terrible. I apologized to the father who was very understanding, and appropriately so, more concerned with making the toddler feel better, than me.

As I progressed through the store and finished my shopping, I could hear her continue to wail. What could I have done differently? I thought.

I still don't know, but I do know this: we both got a good lesson in listening to the warning signs.

I REMEMBER THOSE DAYS

Took both kids to the dentist yesterday, they had piggy back appointments, so one went in and then 20 minutes later the next went in, one came back and 20 minutes later the other came back. That gave me 20 free minutes in between in which to devour an old article on Jon and Kate's struggles in People magazine, which I always sheepishly love reading, but am too cheap to actually buy.

I'd finished the Jon & Kate article and was reading about Sarah Jessica Parker's twin girls when the receptionist called me up to schedule the kids' next appointments. I had left the magazine open and in my seat. When I returned to my seat a mother with a toddler and an infant was reading MY magazine! I was pissed! WHO DOES THAT?

The baby started crying so she stood up, baby on one hip swaying back and forth, offering crayons to the toddler 1 foot away, reading MY magazine.

The toddler kept Mommy-ing her, and she ignored him in favor of reading MY magazine. Finally the toddler said, "Mommy, what are you doing?

She said, "Trying to finish the same article I was reading yesterday when we were here."

So you see, it really was her magazine. She needed it far more than I did.

LOSING THE STORY

Went to have my astrology read by a local (and good) astrologer yesterday. Think of her as my "second opinion." Robert Wilkinson that I recently mentioned, did a reading for me via phone nine months ago, and it kind of freaked me out. I haven't so much as checked the papers for my daily horoscope since. Cold turkey, I just stopped looking, listening. Denial.

Yesterday I walked in and the astrologer warmly greeted me, we sat down, she looked through me and said, "Well, I see why you contacted me. You're in a struggle. You've lost your story."

She went on to explain that for the first, and thank God the last time, in my life, Mercury and the Sun in my chart are so close together that the Sun is eclipsing Mercury. I can't see it. Mercury is the story teller. She tells you where you're going and how you're going to get there. I've historically always known where I'm going and how I'm going to get there. And I've done it. Directly.

I asked her if the fact that I'm 46, middle aged, has anything to do with the timing, but she assured me that this placement could have happened at any point in my life, and I just got "lucky" that Mercury is hiding at the exact same time I'm going through my second adolescence, my second identity crisis, my second coming of age.

From the moment she looked through me and continuing even now, I have had tears in my eyes. It's unsettling to have someone see you. It's weird to be that exposed. It's beautiful.

So, the bad news is I've lost my story.

The good news is, I've lost my story.

And the new one will emerge when it's good and ready.

And it will be unsettling.

And weird.

And beautiful.




* Photo from www.asiaa.sinica.edu.tw

TOP TEN THINGS I LOVE MORE THAN BOTH OF MY CHILDREN. COMBINED.

10. Properly functioning Internet connection
9. People who remember to capitalize Internet
8. Problems with Internet connection that resolve themselves before I'm forced to contact my ISP
7. Toys R Us that has the Scooby Doo stuffed dog we've been looking for all over town
5. Ice cream trucks that come at 6:30 and don't forget
4. MapQuest that takes all the crying and swearing out of my driving experiences
3. Back-to-school supplies at Target
2. August, because it's no longer July
1. My new Love Bottle (I've got the cutest one, third from the left)



* Photo from www.treehugger.com

THIS LOVELY LIFE

A couple of years ago now I had my astrology read by Robert Wilkinson, a man I've yet to meet, but who has done two readings for me, both of which I blogged (and blogged and blogged) about. Anywho. Before we started the first reading we did the whole get to know you routine, and I said I was a writer, a special needs mother, yadda yadda yadda. He said, "You need to know my friend Vicki Forman. You'll find a link to her blog on my blog." Which I did.

Vicki is another person that has deeply affected me, but whom I've never met. We read each others blogs and occasionally e-mail, but we don't "know" each other. The thing is, and I don't have to tell you this, you read someone's blog long enough, and you do know them. You know them.

Then you read their memoir.

I'd been following the progress of Vicki's book, via her blog, for nearly two years. I took interest as she detailed the editing process. I marveled at how she was able to continue to write about the excruciating time after her extremely premature twins were born, while balancing the high needs of her special needs son, Evan. I related to her stories of Evan's older sister, Josie, her "typical."

Then last July I was flying home from New York and logged onto my computer at JFK. There was an e-mail saying Vicki's son Evan had died, six days shy of his 8th birthday.

The blogosphere rallied around her and great things were done in honor of her son, but that's never enough. The woman had lost her son. I blogged about that, too. Putting myself in her position was impossible, and I couldn't allow myself to even try.

Vicki has been interviewed extensively, and you can find examples here and here. I wanted to ask her three questions that weren't answered in her previous interviews, and were the most important to me, namely: guilt, spirituality and moving on.

Friends, I bring to you Vicki Forman:

C: Throughout the book, you mention the various spiritual practices that helped guide you through Ellie’s death and Evan’s complicated hospital course. What were those practices and what, if any, kind of spiritual practice do you still maintain?

V: After the twins were born, I discovered a copy of “When Things Fall Apart” by Pema Chodron on my shelf. I think someone had given it to me before, but I had not had a reason to read pick it up. Now I did, and I quickly found myself lost in its pages, finding a consolation from Chodron’s work that very little else was able to provide. I read about fear, and lovingkindness and samsara and discovered a guide to being in the moment unlike any other. Truthfully, there was no other way to survive those days and months other than being in the moment. I had no notion of the future, and no way to undo the tragic past.

Along with reading the book, I had more desperate outlets, those I might call spiritual but really I was just seeking answers wherever I could find them: I lit candles, wrote pages and pages of intentions in my journal, visited hospital chapels and practiced guided meditations.

These days, my most significant practice, and the one that provides a continuum from those days until now is a weekly yoga class I attend religiously. That class, the teacher and fellow students have been a fundamental part of my being able to mend and move forward.

C: As some readers know, your son died a year ago, after you had finished the book. Can you tell us where you are now, a year after Evan's death and how it feels to have that anniversary so closely is timed with the release of your book?

V: When I first learned the publication date of the book would occur a day before the anniversary of my son’s death, I knew it would take every ounce of strength to be ready for the book’s appearance. I’ve spent this past year getting ready and yet I’m not sure anyone can be ready for such a concatenation of events. I am joyful for the book, and still profoundly heartbroken about my son. I try to find the balance as best I can, mostly by remembering to honor my son, his life and the lessons he taught.

C: I'd like to know more about your relationship, guilt and resolution of that guilt around your daughter and your husband. Many of us feel our special needs children take all our energy, and there is very little left for other family members. Can you say more about how you achieved a balance between Evan’s care and the love and attention you gave your daughter and husband?

V: I suppose the short answer is: I made very little time for myself. Honestly, like any parent, special needs mothers (and fathers) figure out how to expand our hearts and our days to give those around us what they need, when they need it, sometimes to the detriment of our own health and happiness. I know my daughter probably felt my son got more attention on a daily basis when he was alive, but I always tried to carve out a time and place for my daughter when I could. My husband and I also realized rather quickly that we’d have to pay careful attention to one another or else grow apart. I won’t say I succeeded every day, but I tried to give myself credit for doing the best I could.

That being said, I did feel guilty when my son was in the hospital about how divided my attentions were between my son and daughter, and how I was absolutely more vigilant towards my son than my daughter at the time. I don’t think there was any other way for me to be, considering which situation was more acute.

Now, the challenge is how to balance the attention I pay towards my daughter, my husband, and back towards my own life. After years of service towards my son, I have felt very lost some days about my own life and identity. I’m giving myself time to figure it out, because after all, what else do we have but time?

For a great review of THIS LOVELY LIFE, click here.

To order your copy, click here.

PART OF ME, PART OF ME, PART OF ME, SAY IT WITH ME, PART OF ME

The intense dreams continue. Had one last night that seemed to go on for hours. Long story short, some man had a 2x4 and was destroying my house, I yelled (to God knows who), "CALL 911!" Next thing you knew I was out on the curb holding a toddler girl, my daughter, and waiting for the authorities to come pick her up and take her away - I couldn't handle her anymore. She'd been bad, and she needed to be sent away.

Some motor home came to get her and I spent a long time getting the lay of the land, because after all, I'm a good mother, and I don't just send my "bad" toddler girl off with just anyone! The motor home had a few other kids and some elderly people - all the family members that got too tough to handle at home. The man running the show at first wore a tattered suit, then later I noticed he'd changed into a rubber Halloween costume.

And still I considered leaving my little girl with this man.

But I didn't.

At the end of the dream I reconsidered and took my little girl back home.

Can't talk now - gotta make an appointment with the nearest shrink.

DANCING AROUND THE FIRE

Was hashing through some of my darkest stuff with a trusted friend, as she'd recently gone through what I was struggling with. She said "I can dance around the fire now." The issue hasn't gone away, nothing was "resolved" - at least not formally, but her reaction/response to it had changed. The person that had at one time, as she put it, "turned her knobs," had ceased to have the power to do so. NOT BECAUSE THAT PERSON STOPPED TRYING, EITHER.

I asked her what the trick was, she said, "You're the screen, they're the projector. What you DO is you walk away from being the screen. You walk into your own light, you leave their shadow behind."

Have you ever heard anything more brilliant? I mean, SERIOUSLY?

Seriously.



* Photo from www.thisfabtrek.com