Final Destination

Last night I was standing at the vanity in the bathroom washing my face, brushing my teeth, messing with my hair, etc. You know all the little things you can get involved with when trying to get to bed. I started inspecting the faint lines starting to creep in around my eyes. I generally feel good about my looks. I'd like to lose some weight and my hair is a bit short right now for me. These are minor complaints and can be changed with time and some effort. On the whole I'd say I'm aging nicely. I don't look my age and that is completely alright. I don't really know if this is how I expected to look at this age. 33 always seemed so far away, so distant. Now I'm there and I won't be here long. Man, time moves fast.

I was awake for some time after that. Lying in bed I thought of all the goals and ambitions I had so many years ago. I am not in any place that I thought I would be. I could never imagine the course my life would take. It's so strange the way things play out. I can only wonder what's ahead and sometimes I just laugh at the effort I put into planning. It's so futile. Life doesn't acknowledge my plans, it does what it pleases despite my schedules and wishes.

When I was a teenager being tortured in the local high school, making good grades and dreaming of the day I'd leave this one mule town, I planned on majoring in Psychology, getting my my masters, living on the west coast (Seattle, mmmm..... Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains) running a successful practice and writing a best selling book. According to my plans you would have been able to catch me being interviewed on Good Morning America and Oprah among other popular shows. Nothing big...........just a normal, quiet life.

Things change and so did my plans. I traded Psychology for English. I kept the Seattle and had even arranged to quarter with my cousin who works for the Dept. of Transportation there. He sent me catalogs and information on community colleges within a bike ride from his condo. The ultimate goal was the University of Washington, my dream school. Sounds good, right? It felt awesome, I was finally getting out of here. I guess Life didn't take notice, it waltzed right into the middle of my wonderful plans in the form of S.P.

In less than a year I was married. I was also in my second semester at the community college here in Mule Town. Early childhood education has weaseled it's way into the title slot of my major. Things were moving along. S.P. wanted to move back to his hometown so we made plans to do so that fall. I would take the semester off and transfer to a school in West Tn. for the spring semester. Two weeks before we moved I discovered myself to be with child. No school in the spring. As Syd neared her first birthday I requested enrollment packages and planned my return to the world of higher learning. I didn't quite make as I soon found out I was carrying our second child. Two years later I was working on the third and somehow S.P. had gone off to school and I was at home with the babies. Don't get me wrong I loved being home with my babies, that was something I had planned to do, just much later.

Things changed again and I found myself back in Muleville, alone, faced with raising my children pretty much alone. I won't go into the details of that first year. I've shared them before. It was a dark, dark time filled with sickness, death, and abandonment. I rose from those black ashes and new plans were formed. I started a new path. I finally made it to the university and have a new major, one I would have never imagined, Accounting. When Did suggested it to me several years ago I just laughed. I'm not a math major, I dreamed of Psychology or English, not math. I couldn't shake the thought. I decided to try it on and found it fits quite nicely. So here I am.

What's next? I'm not sure.Where will I end up? I hope I know. It's a roomy old farmhouse with lots of space for the imaginations of three busy children. Somewhere we can spread out and come together. A place where we can have a garden and grow flowers and have forts and secret hideouts. A place where we can snuggle up or hang a disco ball and dance. Outside you'll find a menagerie of animals, all beloved and named with creativity, meaning and lots of thought. Inside you'll find a home, the place where we live, our final destination.

Milestone?

Yesterday while doing some browsing online I encountered an ad for a nearby concert featuring The Wiggles. Wow, I hadn't thought about The Wiggles in years. It was kind of funny considering how much of my time in the past had been devoted to these guys. My kids, like any others, have had their favorite characters through the years, but none captured their hearts, all three of their hearts, quite like The Wiggles.

In our time, we had a Wiggly Party, a Wiggly Adventure, and a Wiggly Christmas. We had t-shirts and dolls and guitars. We had hours and hours of Fruit Salad, Yummy, Yummy and traveled everywhere in the Big Red Car. We danced with a dinosaur, a dog, and an octopus. After a year or two of that I was worn out. I can't say I was sad to see The Wiggles fall from the throne of my kids' hearts. I was wiggled out!

This morning I was in my room getting ready when I heard a strangely familiar tune coming from the living room. My boys were in there getting their shoes and belts on and finishing up whatever things little boys must do before leaving the house for the day. I walked over to my door and cracked it as to get a better listen. They were singing. Singing a Wiggles song. Actually they were parodying a Wiggles song. Strange that the elusive group should return to their thoughts as the same time as mine. Who knows, maybe they never left. Perhaps it's just not cool to like them anymore and this is the only way to show their devotion.

Personally, it brings to mind Latin class my senior year and hours spent rewriting the entire Pearl Jam discography with Farmie. "I'd rather be, I'd rather be with, I'd rather be with a Romula-a-an". Perhaps my boys have reached some special threshold of admiration and are showing it the only way they know, they way they've learned from their mother.

Saturdayor

When it's my Saturday to work it always throws off my day, completely. I can never seem to get anything done. I just want to lay on the couch and watch movies or play on the computer. The dreams I dream of housework rarely come to fruition and I go to bed wondering just what I did with those 9 or 10 hours since I got off work.

Today my sister is here and is demanding things be done. She started a deep clean of the laundry room and we are continuing in that vein as well as going through clothes that have long been outgrown and are taking up precious storage space. She is seeking items for an upcoming consignment sale so she has an agenda but I don't care. Things are getting done. Finally. It would be nice to start back to school with all those nagging little things checked off my to-do list.

I have a clear head when I have a clean house. The organization of my worldly possessions seems to directly affect the organization of my thoughts. I have been a bit jumbled up lately so I hope to find some relief.

Here's to mental well-being through housework.

A King-Sized Promise

The last couple of weeks have been well....weird actually. They've been full of the usual fun things school work, house work, work work and kid work. No surprises there. It didn't stop with the usual though. Just when things seem calm and normal I can bet it won't last. Events ensued that put me in a stupor of thought. You know the kind where you drive lost in a song, not really noticing anything until you arrive at your destination; where you stare at the screen unable to write or think; where you read the same page over and over and never know what it said. You know. My mind has been working overtime trying to get hold of these last two weeks and store them away. It needed to break it down in nice neat categories and file it away, restoring peace to my tired brain. Last night I had a lovely thought and with that the tranquility returned and I fell asleep.

Having said that, I will tell you what happened.

Two weeks ago S.P. showed up here, at my workplace. This is never a good thing. NEVER. He wanted to talk. This is a much WORSE thing. I could have never predicted the words that came out of his mouth. Especially considering his girlfriend sat in the car waiting on him. Remember that fact as you read the next sentence. He asked if he could come home. Yep. You read it correctly. I just stared at him, speechless, unable to answer, unwilling to betray myself with any emotion, thinking he must be joking. After five years I would have thought that I would have felt validated at the least. Nope, I was scared. Scared that I would have to take him back. That God would require it of me and frankly, I don't want him back. Not that showing up a my work, needing a shave, wearing dirty blue jeans and a waiting girlfriend in the car aren't enough to melt any girl's heart. Geeezzzz......

I'm sure you can see why this would be unsettling and maybe rage inducing. Add to that the display of mushy lovey dovey crap I was treated to when picking up the kids on Saturday. What the? How do you flip flop like that? She can be his baby all she wants, I'm my own person. I'll take my title any day.

I was pondering all of this last night as I lay in bed hoping sleep would sneak up on me. My thoughts drifted to my bed. My bed is very special to me. It's more than just a place to sleep, it's a symbol of something that I have fought hard for. It's a sign that I am important, that I matter. I know it's just a bed but it is the spoils of victory for me.

When I married S.P. twelve and a half years ago I took with me my bedroom furniture. For the entirety of our union we slept on my full size bed. It was the same full size bed that I'd had since I was about 13. The year after Syd was born when we got our first good sized tax return I begged for a bed. We needed it. I had already endured one pregnancy on that horrible mattress. He agreed. Then he bought a very expensive guitar. He promised the bed next year. I pouted but waited. Next year never came. There was always something more pressing. It was generally some expense he generated. First he went back to school, then he started partying, and then the DUI. I never got my bed.

Life continued. S.P. and I separated. He returned briefly only to descend again into the habits that injured our relationship in the first place. One afternoon I summoned all my strength and quietly asked him to leave. Not long after that I found a king size pillow top mattress set at a great price. I snapped it up. I had no need for a king size bed and it took up most of my room. However the first time I crawled in and lay right in the middle I felt like a queen. I stayed there for a long time. I thought about things, I cried. I began to heal. A bed did all of that for me. That bed is a symbol of a promise I made to myself. Not to settle. To believe in what I deserve and to have the courage to wait for it, even when I'm lonely or tired. Even when scruffy men show up at work to woo me. I've got my bed, I can wait.

Ain't No Cure For The Summertime Blues

I must confess I do not like summertime. Something about it always leaves me sad. It's kind of like Sunday nights for me. They are also a sad and empty time.

My summers have never been great. This particular summer I decided to add to my delight with not one but two classes. I needed to get them out of the way before heading to the university in the fall but I think I have made a mistake.

The last few years summer has been a time of decompression. It's always tinged with a bit of depression, but we relax a bit nonetheless. I don't have school. The kids don't have school. No homework. No projects. No deadlines. Just work and home, maybe some time at the park and the pool. There is nothing pressing or urgent. We just live.

This year the sad factor has been kicked up a notch by the added stress. I am in class until the week the kids go back to school. I will then have one month before my fall classes start. I feel like am perched on the edge of insanity. I don't know why I traded away my 2 months of thoughtless freedom. I want to scream!!!

I'm sure in 2 years when I'm done with school and the job won by my hard earned education allows for a rest from the constant struggle I will look back and say it was worth it. Today I'm just not so sure.

A Pain In The Butt

I know I've been absent. I know my last post was a bit of a cop out. I know I am unworthy of your readership. I know all of these things. For today I am choosing to ignore all that I know. I am instead going to relate a few things that we have been dealing with lately.

We've been very busy. very. busy. I graduate next Tuesday. I can't believe it's here already. It's only been four years working towards a two year degree. Oh well. I'm not quick but I try to be thorough. It's not the end, not nearly. I'm hoping the rest of the four year degree can be accomplished in another four years. I mean it's only twice the time it should take, right?

I finished up my school work just in time for the science fair with Sydney. Blah. Just what I wanted to do this week. We did have until Friday but since they are going on a field trip on Friday, it is now due Thursday. So now I have to stay up with my lovely daughter to finish putting it together tonight. Yay! Oh yeah, after church.

Onto the best thing, my son, who has had issues with bowel movements since as long as I can remember, is now on a prescribed laxative. He is on this for an indefinite amount of time. The script started out as just a 30 day kind of thing. His doctor just wanted to get him going regularly. He has actively held his b.m.s off and on for years. The doctor thought that the laxative would get him moving and get him used to the idea. Mission accomplished on both fronts.

However we had an interesting development last week. I was summoned to the bathroom by a frantic voice only to find that a "poop that won't come out and is red". My son has a internal hemorrhoid. Thank goodness it's not of the bleeding variety and it doesn't hurt and it disapears. Just a little freaky, just a little.

Apparently I am not the only one freaked out. The doctor looked a tad shocked and maybe a wee squeamish when I told him what the problem seemed to be today. As usual he was glancing at the chart on the way in and had no clue what he was walking in on. Poor thing. He's new, I'm older than he is. I guess he was expecting the garden variety snotty noses, fever, or diarrhea. He seemed a little unsure what to do and stuttered and stammered through the exam and routine questioning. He excused himself to fill in the charts and to collect himself. When he returned he was in control and had a plan. So we are on the laxative for an undefined period of time. I have been assured it is very gentle and non-habit forming. We are loading up the fiber. We are staying calm.

So you see, I have been having the most fun. Aren't you jealous?

I Could.....

I could tell you what I've been up to for these past many weeks. I could recount trips northward and visits with old friends and the meeting of new friends. I could tell you of sickness and sadness that has passed by my way in that time span. I could tell you of adventures in the south with sand and sun and, well, cheerleaders. I could impart excitement of upcoming accomplishments that include a cap (rather large, I must say) and a gown and the closing of one chapter in my advancing future and the fear that is flooding in as a new and greatly anticipated chapter opens. I could try to describe the feelings that are indescribable as I watch my baby mature and his anger subside. I could do all of those things, but I won't.

What I will do is share my favorite poem. While reading the blogs that I have been ever so faithfully reading despite my lack of blogging, I found the sharing of favorite poems via Ragged and Madretz. So here it is:

i am a little church by E. E. Cummings

i am a little church(no great cathedral)
far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities
-i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
i am not sorry when sun and rain make april

my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;
my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving
(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children
whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness

around me surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and glory and death and resurrection:
over my sleeping self float flaming symbols
of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains

i am a little church(far from the frantic
world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature
-i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry when silence becomes singing

winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Him Whose only now is forever:
standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence
(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)