Turning to food

When times get really tough, I sink inside myself and panic. I worry until I'm physically ill, I think and think and write and pray and sleep. There are not enough hours in the day for all the thoughts I'm trying to process, but I accomplish absolutely nothing.

Sometimes there just aren't enough rocks. 

I always think if I just think it through some more, I'll find the answer. If I just keep processing it and looking at all the angles, I'll know what to do and how to do it. Once I was asked a question that stopped me in my tracks. A woman asked me, "Are you a pros and cons kind of person or a follow your heart kind of person?" I always thought I was a pros and cons person... I always go through the pros/cons in my mind, but in reality I don't end up acting on my conclusions. I go with my heart, which has consistently lied to me over my twenty-seven years on this planet. Despite knowing exactly which direction I should go, I can't seem to take the first step, so I just throw rocks for a while, sink down to the ground to cry, and then run from the issue again. 

Just like Jenny. 

When there's no where to run, I turn to food. Greasy, unhealthy, fattening food that tastes forgiving on its way across my tongue. It has no choice but to comfort me, and sometimes it's the only thing I will turn to when I need relief. "Self-defeating behaviors" is pretty much my middle name.

save me; jem

Save me save me save me wooh

I've gotta stop my mind
Working overtime
It's driving me insane
It will not let me live
Always so negative
It's become my enemy

Save me ah ah save me ah ah
Save me ah wooh
Save me ah ah save me ah ah
Save me ah wooh

Why would I think such things
Crazy thoughts have quick wings
Gaining momentum fast
One minute I am fine
The next I've lost my mind
To a fake fantasy

And none of these 
Thoughts are real
So why is it that I feel
So cut up and so bad
I need to take control
Coz my mind is on a roll
And it isn't listening to me

Save me ah ah save me ah ah
Save me ah wooh
(thinking and thinking)
Save me ah ah save me ah ah
Save me ah wooh
(thinking and thinking)

Mirror mirror on the wall
Who's the dumbest of them all
Insecurities keep growing
Wasted energies are flowing
Anger, pain and sadness beckon
Panic sets in in a second
Be aware it's just your mind
And you can stop it anytime

Save me ah ah save me ah ah
Save me ah wooh
(thinking and thinking)
Save me ah ah save me ah ah
Save me ah wooh
(thinking and thinking)

Ok so here we go
If it works I'll let you know
One two three I say stop

Walk the line

If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn't brood.  I'd type a little faster.  ~Isaac Asimov

I'm not going to say it's impossible, but it's nearly impossible to be a writer (blogger especially, as our words aren't hidden in a drawer or file somewhere) while looking over your shoulder. Constantly wondering if you've said too much, wondering where the lines are between over-exposure and good writing is the death of written word. Is this why many famous writers were single/divorced/estranged from their spouses? Is it impossible to be brutally honest about what you know, what you believe, what you wish and dream and need, and sustain personal relationships in your life? @TheBeardedIris (one of my favorite bloggers) just wrote about this particular issue in her post, I have an announcement to make. I know I am not alone in my struggle with the writing/living balance, but I have to say that I don't think anyone truly knows what the right answer is. 

"The artist cannot hold back; it is impossible, because writing, or any other discipline of art, involves participation in suffering, in the ills and occasional stabbing joys that come from being part of the human drama."Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water

About a month ago I started writing my story. I've always told myself I would write about teenage pregnancy/motherhood, about Husband, about how/where we began. It is an incredibly complicated story, but the longer I live the more of it I forget. I don't want to lose those details, and I believe there's an aspect of our story that is interesting to people who don't even know us. Hell, if people will watch that 16 and Pregnant show, why wouldn't they be interested in the drama that has been my life for the last ten years? 

I started posting to a new blog. With each installment, people I respect in the blogging community were asking for more. These women &  men who write on a level I only dream of writing were asking me to write MORE. I've never been so flattered. For this, I want to say thank you so, so much. From the bottom of my heart where my deepest emotions live, thank you. 

Unfortunately Husband isn't entirely comfortable with me putting so much of our personal history out there for anyone to read. I understand his point of view, although my heart breaks for the loss of Truth & Fiction. If he isn't behind me on the decision to share our story, I can't in good conscience put it out there. 

But I can't stop writing it. I won't stop writing my story. I will put it all down in words if it kills me (and some days it feels like it might kill me - writing our story is painful sometimes). Maybe some day it will see the light of day.

Dorothy Allison from the New York Times Book Review, Sunday, June 28, 1994: "Everything Iknow, everything I put in my fiction, will hurt someone somewhere as surely as it will comfort and enlighten someone else. What then is my responsibility? What am I to restrain? What am I to fear and alter-my own nakedness or the grief of the reader? I want my stories to be so good they are unforgettable; to make my ideas live and my own terrors real for people I will never meet. It is a completely amoral writer's lust. If we begin to agree that some ideas are too dangerous, too bad to invite inside our heads, then we stop the storyteller completely. We silence everyone who would tell us something that might be painful in our vulnerable moments."

Because it was so great

This is a re-post from my private family blog (Just-A-Detour), originally posted July 7, 2009.

Harmy Harm: the Ramen Noodle House of Dreams

Today has been a very interesting day.

Around 3 am Asher woke up with a nightmare. I ran in, comforted him, ran to the bathroom, then stumbled back into bed. When he woke up for the day it was around 7 am, again crying. I am almost always greeted with a smile at my bedside by Asher in the mornings, so when he stays in his bed and cries I know there's a problem.

"What's wrong, Asher?"

"My want to go there!!!!!" Wail.

"Go where Sweetheart?"

"My want to go there with all the ramen noodles!" Wail.

"Where do you want to go?" (Useless, I know, but what on Earth...?)

"My want to go to the house with all the ramen noodles!" Angry face.

So, I move on. Apparently he had that dream that we all know too well, the one where everything was going perfectly until we had to wake up and return to the dreaded real world. We had the same two little girls, Kamryn and KayDee coming over again, so we got baths and had breakfast. The girls came over and after a very wild morning, my sister Natalie came with her kids to go to the park with us. There's a small park just down the road from my apartment, and the kids had a blast. We each had 4 kids with us, so altogether we took 8 kids to the park. (Ratio: not good.)

The park was a success, and I even got all 4 kids down for naps immediately afterward with no tears or complaints involved. Amazing! KayDee and Kamryn got picked up around 3:00, so I even got to squeeze a nap in today. Then Asher woke up from his nap...

"I want to go to the Harmy-Harm!" Wail.

"The what?"

"The Harmy-Harm house! It looks like flowers."

"I don't know where that is, son."

"Daddy knows! He will take us with all the ramen noodles to the Harmy-Harm house after he gets home."

Oh. Well, then. Husband, I hope you know where the Harmy-Harm is... and you better not forget all the ramen noodles. (Or are the ramen noodles already there?)

Dual purpose

Some days I get frustrated that I don't have as much time to clean the house or help my kids with their homework as I did when I was a stay-at-home mom. Ok, honestly it's most days. I hate using a bunch of energy at work, just to come home and no energy left for my family.

About once a week, though, I look forward to a day at work. Because to be perfectly honest with you, it's really hard to be home all the time. After a week or two without a break you start to feel like you might die if you have to wake up to the same small apartment and the same kids and the same expectations ONE MORE TIME. It's exhausting, it's infuriating to care for an environment with everything you have, only to find everyone has trashed it again.

It's kind of nice to have another purpose. I complain a lot about having an insignificant job where (most) people treat me like an insignificant person and get paid minimum wage, but really it's kind of a welcome change after eight years of SaHM-hood.

It's hard to do both jobs, quite honestly I had no idea how hard. But tomorrow morning I get to wake up, curl my hair all pretty, and spend hours just scanning items in the store with good friends. No matter what I have to deal with, it doesn't carry the pressure of "what if I break my child?" What's the worst that can happen at work? Someone doesn't like the way I did something, they tell me they didn't like it, and we deal with the problem. That's worst-case scenario. No kids demanding or whining at me, no one to feed but myself. They're at home waiting for me when I get there, and there won't be enough time left in the day to do everything I need to do, but today I am feeling grateful for the change of pace it brings.

Tomorrow I will get to MISS my kids for a few hours. Tomorrow I get to hear "Yay! Mommy's home!" 

In which I try new things

Curly hair: nothing else has ever curled my hair successfully!

Before new curling rod

After

Making french fries:

Cut/peel potatoes

Fry in oil

Coffee filter for grease catch

Happy kid, no need for McDonald's!

German pancakes: our family's very, very favorite food!

Only 4 ingredients, mix in blender, bake! So good.

Still just human

picture

Look, I'm outspoken. I know this, you know this. People who work with me know this best of all.

{OK, maybe Husband knows this best of all... co-workers a close second.}

I say what I think, even if it isn't what I mean.
But I don't say it unless I truly believe it's what I mean.
You know what I'm trying to say, everyone says things they don't quite mean sometimes. And it's not that we are meaning to lie... sometimes we are just confused about what we are really thinking/feeling and come to a different conclusion after we've thought about it a bit.

Except I do this almost every time I speak. I need an "undo" button for nearly each and every statement I make.

The point you're supposed to take away from all this is that I will be real with you. I will be too real. I will tell you if you're being a bratty bossy-pants or if you're showing too much cleavage (unfortunately I said both these things to people today). I'll probably regret it later, as normal people tend to feel offended over such statements and I don't like to make people feel bad, but you can trust that I'm not keeping you in the dark. What you see is what you get with me, take it or leave it.

{Many people choose to leave it.}

Sometimes the thing I said to you isn't even important, but it feels important to you. Sometimes it was just a fleeting thought I had (that I failed to contain) but it sticks with you for a long time. Sometimes I am just thoughtlessly letting things tumble out of my mouth.

For these times, I am sorry for those I have hurt.

For those other times, when I'm saying what everyone was thinking but couldn't bear to say? Well, you're welcome.

Take me or leave me

Stars

It's probably cliche but I never look up at the stars anymore. After 5 hours in the fitting room standing on blistered feet tonight I ran to the grocery store to get a few basics, and on one of my trips inside the house with them a flashing light caught my eye. I looked up and realized there were hundreds of stars that were visible, and they probably are every night, I just never look up.

When I was a little girl my sister Jennifer would take me out on the front lawn with a blanket and hold me while we stared up at the stars together. Ten years older than me, she was really more of a parent than a sister, and that time together is one of those big things from my childhood that makes me ache with nostalgia. I cherished every moment of it, and it was especially cool because I could stay up a little bit late. ;) As the youngest sister in a family of six kids, the time my sister spent with me was beyond crucial in my feeling OK with the world.

I'm getting off topic. The fact is that the stars are still up there... the beauty still sits outside my front door every night and I've just quit looking up.

Goal this year: be more like a child. Look up in wonder. Cuddle on a blanket in the grass. Remember the good times and transfer those times to my sons.

And go see my sister.

Seven years

Picture credit

Woke up to this poem, written by Husband.

At First they were something: They were truly something

Miles and miles shined for They

Music made and played for TheyStep        LightlyPerfect slips awayIts sovereignty belongs to no one.

Just what I needed

Today was spent coloring Easter eggs with nieces, nephews, sons, brother and sisters. It was exactly what I needed.

So many people requested to hear more of my story after reading my last post, I've started writing it down. It has already been incredibly therapeutic, even though no one is reading it yet. Some things are just better held close... for now.  

Yesterday evening, as the day drew close to bedtime, I noticed Joshua attempting to cuddle with Asher on the couch. I almost got out my camera to take a picture, but I didn't want to interrupt such a rare moment between them. Just as I was blissfully sighing to myself, Asher shoved Josh and yelled, "Quit it!" Josh said, "I wasn't doing anything," and scooted back out of Asher's "bubble". I looked around, saw that I was once again wasting time on Twitter chatting with people I don't even know, and decided something. Josh loves to be close to people! Why am I sitting here, when my nine-year-old son hasn't yet withdrawn from me? He's going to stop wanting to cuddle with his family, and I will have missed it! Just because he's the oldest doesn't mean he doesn't need me to hold him. 

He's much too big to sit on my lap (comfortably), so I climbed in my bed and invited him to lay with me. He said, "Yay!" and jumped on the bed. I can't even describe to you how quickly he snuggled into the space between my arm and my chest. We talked and laughed, and I asked him if he ever thinks of things that he wants to talk about but doesn't ask me. He said yes. I told him each night from now on we would find some time to lay down and talk a little. It was like I'd lifted weight off him, just by suggesting that we spend that time together. After much conversation and many giggles, he said, "I will never forget this day. I have lots of memories, and now this is one of them." 

Heart: Melt.

Excuse me while I go cuddle with my boy.

Death by Fairytale

Lying in bed this evening, I broke the silence with, "I just want the life I planned, not some bullshit Plan B."

"The life you planned isn't real," he simply said. He said it like there was no solution to search for, no change to be made. It just is. Not real. Never was. Could never have been.

Am I the only one living in a state of hysteria over reality vs. fairytale? I already know the answer to that question. I'm far from the only one feeling this disappointment with life.

Just for fun I looked up the word "shock" at thesaurus.com. I'm a nerd like that. Following the obvious list of synonyms it stated:

Antonym: expectation. 

That's exactly what I'm here to write about. The exact opposite of my expectation, which is my life. And don't get me wrong, I wasn't one of those girls who thought the best thing I could get out of life was Cinderella's Prince Charming. Not even close. My desire was to be successful, to not waste time with children or husbands or homemaking. I grew up dreaming of exotic locations and respect in the workplace.

Until I met Joshua. The moment I met my son I realized I wanted a home, a family, a loving place for him to learn to be a man. Suddenly I wanted to stay home with my little boy and teach him everything I could possibly teach. I would never leave his side, and as I searched his big brown eyes for answers, I found them. I was to be his mother. I was to keep him fragile and strong, meek and proud. The whole reason for my living was to be his guide, his friend, his protector.

Then there was Steve. He was gorgeous and strong, sweet and caring, fun and hilarious, talented and charming. Steve took my tiny son in his strong arms and promised him the world. He was the one I needed to accomplish my dream, and once I knew that, there would be no turning back. When we went out together, people would say, "Oh, what a cute baby! He looks just like his daddy!" Steve was not his father, but he glowed and gave a genuine "Thank you" anyway. He was proud of my son.

The day I married Steve I didn't hear a word of the vows. I didn't see a single face in the audience. I remember my father's face just before he walked me down the aisle, and after that there was nothing but Steve's face, Steve's hand in mine, and the vision of our life together spreading out before us. It was not going to be perfect, and I knew that. I have never had delusions of a perfect marriage; one doesn't exist. But it was going to be ours, and my son would not know life without a complete, loving family.

Then came Asher, a new face to gaze into and dream of possibilities and teaching and loving.

What happened after that is a very long, complicated story that bores most of you by now. It's old news to my lifelong friends and family, and to newcomers it would certainly be long-winded and confusing. But here we are, about to celebrate our seven year wedding anniversary, in shock.

Lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling with only "The life you planned isn't real" to fill the silence.

When did I let the fairytale consume me, the fiercely independent spirit? And how did the fairytale go SO far off course along the way?

I don't believe in fairytales. But surely an expectation or two should come true?

Getting healthy one step at a time

The truth is, I'm only two and a half years away from thirty. My body doesn't bounce back like it used to. Also, I don't try as hard as I used to.

I'm frequently told I am "too serious for my age". I've always been told that, but quite frankly, it's true. I am 27-going-on-forty. Except without all the "wisdom" of 40 years on this planet. Inside I feel old. 

If I were a movie character living my life, I would be a 40-year-old. (Three kids, bills & shut-off notices, marital trouble, foreclosure, working too much and enjoying too little.) My soul is old, and the part of me that wants to go bouncing down the sidewalk with a high ponytail and teensy little workout shorts is just plain TIRED. I am TIRED, DAMNIT! The emotional strain of each day is enough to drive me to drink. (Luckily I don't love alcohol, because I could have easily made a wonderful alcoholic. I definitely have the addictive personality for it.)

We're getting off-topic. 

The fact is that I am no longer a healthy person because I'm old and tired and unmotivated. I was once, and I was so proud of it. Not because I was skinny but because I was HEALTHY. And I miss it so much. 

Instead of proclaiming some 30-day get-into-awesome-pre-baby-shape plan, I am just going to share with you a few tips that I'm trying (if they work, that is), and one step at a time I will improve my overall health. 

This week I am trying these recipes: 

Refrigerator Oatmeal (which I found on Pinterest)

& 

Green Smoothie (also Pinterest)

The goal is to start out the day healthier than cereal and coffee. And I've been walking. 

Gotta start somewhere, right? Baby steps.