Alert, Alert

This is the 24th blog post I've ever written. Other than my three sprouts, and the gem of a man I landed for a husband, this may be my greatest accomplishment to date. What? There are bloggers out there with hundreds, even thousands of posts of their own? Yes, but they are not Me.

Imagine your brain. I know, kinda gross...go with me...I'm going somewhere with this, promise. Now imagine those new, freakish little toys they market to parents who refuse to buy a real rodent (who, me?)...you know the ones....Zhu Zhu pets. Man, those things really freak me out. Not quite as much as the fake "real" cat my neighbor got for her daughter though. The thing would just look at you or make a mew when you entered the room and all of a sudden it was Bride of Chucky all over again.

Incidentally, I am currently sitting on our deck, it's 7:08 AM and I just did my first "cup the hot cup of coffee in the cold brisk fall air" thing. Yes, it felt just as good for me as itdoes for that chick on the Folger's commercials. There was no Irish step dancing though. There will never be any step dancing. I'm sorry if you thought there might be.

So back to Zhu Zhu, now that I've illustrated, in a most ironic, unknowing sort of way, the state in which my mind constantly resides. Sometimes I think of it as one step away from an institution....other times, rarely, a gift. One thing I've recently stopped doing (ok, about 5 minutes ago when I thought of this) is referring to it as something I've been "stricken" with, my "plight". That's mainly because my therapist back in OH, who I adore, would tell me it's probably a good idea. And she's pretty much right there after God. It goes: God, my therapist, coffee. Wait...no....maybe God, my therapist, the color kelly green? Anyway.

I refuse to label the way I think, even though I have many times in the past and I'm sure in this blog. I'm sick and tired, quite frankly, of the way It is viewed, distorted, abused. When a psychotherapist diagnoses someone with it these days, they may as well be saying, "sure, no problem, I'll write you the freakin Adderall....hey, I've got another patient in five minutes....oh no! no problem! you totally passed the (five question, yes-or-no answer) test....got all the classic symptoms....k! call me for that refill! you know you've got (insert any small type of project requiring the smallest mental fortitude here) coming up".

I write in run-on sentences, fragments of thought, and parentheses. I rest my case. Not that you were arguing it, if you're still reading.

My father, who I completely respect and value, has always complimented me on my gift of writing. Secretly I think it kind of bugs him to death to read my stuff like this. Though I think I've yet to meet a man so easily unruffled, I'm pretty sure he'd much prefer for me to wrap things up in a more tidy, readable fashion. He just looks out for me. Maybe if I could do that - learn how to tame this Zhu Zhu pet-riddled brain with some better punctuation, complete metaphors, etc. - maybe I could even write a book. For now though, this blog is my release, my escape into (or maybe escape from?) Me world.

I think tomorrow (or later today, or in a week or a year) I will start chronicling my search for my biological mother. That should be interesting.

Babies, Fiction and French Food.

This morning, my husband and I were milling about in the kitchen - he brewing his Irish Breakfast tea, me trying to get my brain percolating. I was just surprised we'd beaten the 3 sprouts out of bed (oh, how horrible does THAT sound? but you know what I mean. That is, until I heard the cooing of The Littlest, through the monitor. I had a thought. "Hey, Nick. Wouldn't it be great if, like, when we heard her through the monitor she was always belting out an aria or something?"...."Yeah! aaah-aaaaah-aah-haaa!"...(especially amusing, the sound of a grown man attempting to simulate what a little girl baby would sound like, doing operatics). (me again) - "Yeah, and then every time we tried to catch her in the act, rush up there, she'd just look at us like we were crazy." We're both giggling sleepily at this point...I continue..."but there'd always be clues, right, that we'd never get. Like she'd have the sheet music under the crib mattress or something...". Just call her Stewie's G-rated half-sister.



This is what we do.



So today I began "Anne of Green Gables" again - just twenty pages or so, but quite enough to fall in love with L.M. Montgomery all over again. It was a sad day in my (elementary-aged) life when I finished her last book and knew there would be nothing new to discover from this author, because she was gone.



The plot is SO fanciful, ya know? Clumsy yet emotionally undamaged orphan (is there such a thing?) melts the heart of legalistic, type A, take-no-prisoners Marilla Cuthbert, thus finding her place in the world.



I was quite delighted with this Prince Edward Island world of Anne's as a ten year-old, however. While my appetite was much more satiated by descriptions of orchard and furrowed brows and kittens in the woods than by, say, a journal of my own real-life experiences at the time, things have changed. And somewhere along the way I think I decided that I was too good for fiction. That Real Life, with it's jagged edges and pretty imperfections, was much more worthy of my attention than Silly Stories someone just made up in their mind. Truth is, I think maybe, that I'd be terrible at writing fiction myself.



So in moments I've stolen away for myself, peaceful hours painstakingly squeezed from days filled with diapers and bottles and sippy cups and dinners, I've turned my attention to food memoirs, true accounts of substance abuse, books on psychological disorders. And I've been enthralled, mesmerized to the point of losing hours of precious sleep just to get to the bottom of things.

I think it just might be getting to me.

I'm going to give good old ragged Anne a go again. I think I deserve it. Besides, I'm sick of salivating over French recipes, each of which would quite possibly take a couple weeks of my grocery budget at Whole Foods to prepare.

(I promise, though, if I ever make money off of this very-much-for-fun writing gig, I'll make a delicious buttery duck confit that will be out of this world. And I'll totally write about it).

thoughts on what's after THIS.

So there's this fear I have....dates back to my early(er) years. You'd probly have to ask my dad at which age, specifically, he had to begin the ritual of praying the devil out of my bedroom...shielding me from those spiteful little demons who twisted my tiny mind with fear.
I still grapple with, wrestle against this terror and it's bottomless and inexorable in it's pursuit of me and I suppose the irony is that its very subject is infinite as well: eternity.

So you know, while Jimmy down the street didn't really dig big snakes, and Janie across the block was stressing over an impending math test, here's scrawny, shivering little Me, in sleepy suburban Columbus, cowering under the covers, breathless at my lot in life....or rather, my lot after it.

Afterlife. It's an insane concept that we teeny humans have tried mightily to bottle up with special sermons dedicated to the topic, sacred reincarnated cows, with men marrying multiple wives in order to obtain a more rewarding afterlife. If you ask me, their reward has mostly been fulfilled here on this globe. But just if you ask me, I guess.

I had this vision tonight. This is not a normal occurence for me. Well, I suppose it is, but normally my nighttime daydreams are heavy with pain and suffering and fear, anxiety over the family I read about in the paper, the one where the dad committed suicide after taking the lives of his two boys, or the very popular (in blog-world) little boy with a heart defect, or just the general certainty I carry with me that something awful will happen to my little ones the minute I drift off.

This place felt uncannily light, satisfyingly open. I was walking along a road, and I was not walking alone. Matching my slow gait was a dark-skinned woman - beautiful, soft-spoken yet articulate with deep kind eyes. She had the kind of eyes that made you think of that Aaliyah song - Age Ain't Nothin But A Number (right?). Anyway.

I suppose a birds-eye view would have shown my new friend and I flanked by an endless calm sea and a towering stone wall on the other side of the road. The wall did not frighten me (normally I would have been afraid of it) and somehow I knew it had a story or two to tell.

She held my hand and I sensed I needed it for the journey, so I left my palm in hers.

In low tones she began to explain to me how this wall - this fortress, almost - came to be.

An entire family had sacrificed their lives for one small group of stones that ran along the base. We stopped at intervals, and when I pointed out gaps, her tears were a keen explanation of the tiny lives that never stood the chance to get their part of the wall built. And the tears dried and the eyes shined as she spoke of the valor of men and women who'd been chiseled, scraped and torn, molded and not folded under the pressure to bury their stones in wealth and certificates of worldly acclaim...those stones she pressed gently, thoughtfully, lovingly.

Almost placid remained her demeanor as we matched stride for slow stride, and it was with no concern at all that I came to realize I hadn't a clue as to where we'd begun this journey or when we'd finish with it.

Her hand was strong and I sensed she knew me, my uncertainty I always felt in that Other Land, and she asked me if I needed a break, a rest from the teaching, the telling at times of acts so horrifying they'd normally infest my heart with their evil for days.

All this heart felt, in this place, was a love and light and a peace that I could not understand because it was nothing I could ever have come up with on my own. Telling, that.

I conveyed as much and it took only a glance at her well-worn sandals that she'd stay this pilgrimage, though the details all seemed familiar to her already. Most importantly, I was convinced that I'd not be left and I'd continue to walk in love and peace, learning of what had only ever really mattered.




So what do you make of THAT? As I told my husband, usually when I write, it's only of what I know, b/c it's the only thing I've ever learned of writing, that if you write about your own experience it's going to be worth a little more than anything else you'll come up with.

I asked him what he thought heaven was like. Do our loved ones who've passed on (in his case, his father) see us? Feel emotion towards us? He's a philosopher, so his response was probably quite wise and not altogether understood by me, little old mom of three whose days are consumed by play-doh and diapers. But the gist of it is this: that those already there have always been there, just as we have, and our finite minds cannot grasp the concept while we're limited to this human skin.

I guess all I know at the end of it is this: I hope heaven is like a big love-fest in Hawaii, and that I can feel that grace of that place here, even for a little bit.

Cutting the fat out.

Got this term from my old partner in crime, Molly. Such an apropos statement to summarize the plot brewing in my head as of late.



I think (I hope, I desperately hope) that I'm on the verge of something super. I mean, really, really monumental. I'll explain:



Had a terribly gracious friend send her cleaning lady to my house the other day as a sort of combo birthday/anniversary gift. I use the term "house" loosely - I suppose if one refers to an apt. containing two small children, all of their worldly possessions including a multitude of plastic gadgets, clothes and furniture, one kitchen about the size and shape of a cucumber, and two not-too-terribly organized (read: incredibly disorganized) adults as a house, then yes, that would be what we are renting. Yes, my heart goes out to myself often these days. A little too often, it would seem, since at the present moment I am sitting here penning a missive to you about the piles lying about my house instead of getting off of my rear and getting rid of, say, just one.



So, in a very providential twist of loveliness, I had forgotten that aforementioned cleaning lady Genius On Kneepads was scheduled to be attending my house this past Monday afternoon. Monday was set to be a busy day for me, as all Mondays for the rest of the world are, and my main two objectives for the day were a dentist appt. for the toddler (infant in tow) and cleaning my entire townhouse top to bottom so as not to let New Babysitter in on our very messy, somewhat dirty little secret - that in my home, rarely are the dishes done, rarely is the table swiped clean, and never is the laundry complete, folded and put away. I mean never. Which sort of gives me a little segue into the main theme of this post, thus allowing me to avoid another digression. Yay!

So, as I haven't asked permission to use her name, I'll call my Fairy Cleanmother "N". "N" is amazing. I have to say I was a more than a little apprehensive about this experience, and did (insert sheepish grin) tear about my house in the hour before her arrival throwing clothes, shoes, Barbies and Play-Doh into baskets and behind closed doors. Even then I knew there was no hiding it. Oprah, here I come. I'm a hoarder. And I mean the worst kind. No, I don't have paths through my home (at least not yet) walled with clothes and trinkets, but I am that girl who, when offered something, says "yes" before the person has a chance to detail what exactly they're passing on. Bad news, people. And I mean it's embarrassing! I'd take a picture of my basement just to prove it to you - and if anyone needs a good laugh and you're, say, my best childhood friend or a member of my family, let me know and I'll take that picture. But otherwise - uh-uh. It's a scary sight. Games piled on wedding memorabilia alongside sporting equipment toppling over Christmas decorations and topped with say, an art project from the third grade. And it doesn't even have to be a particularly good one. All I have to do is see the date and I am loathe to part with it.

Well, "N" and I really got down to it on Monday, and man, I would have paid for the pep talk alone. And what I came away from our realization that we are both enslaved to this "keep it, might use it, don't touch it for five years....but NEVER throw away" mentality is this: it's time to pare down. Get back to the basics. Regroup. Clean up. Clean out. Throw out. (don't throw up).

The staccato statements make it sound so simple, no? I know it won't be. But I think I might be finally ready. What I seek most of all is the freedom that I hope will come from being rid of all of these belongings which I could argue even literally weigh me down. Hold me back. Keep me homebound. Cramp our style.

So while lamps and tables and old swimsuits and forgotten pictures lie in sweet repose down there....I muse. Little do they know, life's about to change for most of them. I've got a lofty goal - five boxes. That's all I want left. I'm not limiting myself on size, unless anyone suggests otherwise. I'm open for those, by the way - suggestions. This is not my forte - I mean the word organizing really gives me a cramp in the side. My own father has seen me in tears many times in the middle of a room with my belongings/homework/packing strewn about me, beyond frustrated because I don't know where to start and how it will ever end.

More importantly, a good friend of mine has of late been teaching me about how to do this on a more personal level. So introspection has ensued and it's been good. Cutting that fat out could do me a whole lot of good, and could only in turn be beneficial to those around me.

Gearin' up for a change....it's about time sister....

it's not easy outsmarting a three year old.

Exhibit A: a couple of months back on that splendiferous, sunny, sugar-laden holiday also known as Easter, our little family had taken a trip to visit extended family. On the way home after a busy, busy day of hunting eggs, one sprinkle-encrusted toddler piped up from the back seat, "Mom, can I have some gum?". Mind you, this was following 7 mini chocolate eggs, 3 lollipops, 2 peeps and one very ooey gooey Cadbury Delight (c'mon, life's no fun w/o exaggeration!!). Suffice it to say the kid may as well have eaten her weight in sugar, more than exceeding her quota for a week.

And as any mother who wants to keep her sanity along with a bedtime before 10 PM replied, I said, "No, honey, you've had quite alot of sugar and treats for the day."

After hearing nothing but silence from the backseat, I turned to my husband (w/ a half-smug look on my face for winning that battle so....quickly and painlessly) and proceeded to discuss some inside joke we'd shared earlier in the morning.

(k- remember that painless part).

And so Nick and I giggled together, and rested back on our haunches, exhausted but satisfied after yet another 2 family holiday, silently congratulating ourselves on keeping both children from hurting anyone else or themselves and not throwing up on anyone else or, themselves.

It was only after a few more exit signs that the little voice from the backseat piped up again, "Hey Mom?". "Yes, my dear?". "Does candy have sugar?". Naively chuckling to myself at her ever-burgeoning level of intelligence, I reply, "Yes, Ella, candy most certainly does have sugar." "Oh."

And husband and wife exchange knowing, amused glances in the front seat and the drive home continues.

A couple of minutes later....

"Mom?". "Yes, babe, what's up?". "Does gum have sugar?". (ok I'm not kidding you - this conversation has been going on now intermittently for a good 7 1/2 min. at this point. Quite long enough for my ADD-raddled mind to have forgotten how it began). "No, well, not alot at least." "Oh, then can I have some gum?". "No, Ella, I told you earlier! No gum, no more treats, no more candy for the rest of the night!".

(and here she pulls out the big guns...)

"But you said that gum doesn't have sugar!!!".

Deductive reasoning? Not cool, dude. Not cool at all.

Exhibit B: On the way home from an end of the year potluck celebration at preschool. Female toddler trying desperately to avoid nap-time. Pulls out a double whammy, "Mom, can I watch some TV after you make lunch?". The whammy is two-fold, and I will explain how. #1: watching TV will postpone any trips upstairs to bed. #2: there is no lunch to be made, because we just ATE lunch at the potluck. This she knows. But this she continues to pretend NOT to know. I will expound. "Ella, we just had lunch, silly!". "But, but, but, I didn't have lunch! I just, I just, I just jus jus jus had DINNER." Oh man! Blocked again. Toddlers all over the world in an alternate universe are applauding that one. You've really got her this time. How is she going to use logic to argue with the illogical? Good job, brave pre-schooler. You may just have outwitted her this time. You are well on your way to eating popsicles for every meal and covering every surface in the house with crayon in reckless abandon!

I digress.

"No, Ella, we just had lunch. Dinner-time is later." "NO! (whining) But, but butbutbutbut I CHANGED it!" Wha? Oh, you did, did you. You took upon yourself powers that belong not even to our own president, most likely, and altered the names and times of two everyday meals. Uh-huh. "No, punkin, we just had lunch" (wearily, now). Note to self: repeating logic in an even-measured tone to a toddler will get you nowhere. I repeat, nowhere. Even if that mom at the playground - you know, the one with the perfect blond bob, J-Crew boat shoes and striped layers, whose child wouldn't be caught dead in anything BUT baby Gap, you know the one - even if that mother looks to be in control as she's repeating to Cadence that, "Cadence, honey, it's time to go now, we need to return the books to the library before it closes.", well, she's not. Because behind the perfectly Burt's Bees glossed tightly wound up smile hiding clenched whitened teeth, she wants to pull every strand of perfectly straightened hair out just as much as you do. Trust me.

We'll digress alot on our journey together.

In a moment of truly desperate brilliant clarity that is only bestowed on mothers of especially challenging intelligent children such as mine, it came to me like a rare perfect Ohio spring day - unexpected, undeserved but well-utilized nonetheless. "Well, honey, see, we just ate, right? And since it is the time of day when we usually have lunch, and we ate, that's how we know it was lunch. DINNER-time is not until this evening, after Daddy gets home."

And while minions millions of toddlers all over the world blinked back disappointed tears, realizing that their hero had not come after all, a hushed sigh fell over the vehicle.

"Oh." she replied softly.

Pulling into my parking spot, I pumped an imaginary fist into the air, knowing I had earned my own double whammy. Keeping a toddler fit at bay thus prolonging baby brother's nap-time? I think my work is done here.

just the latest and greatest....

Ella and I made some fantastic chocolate cupcakes the other day (recipe compliments of my friend Mary). This is actually an original recipe straight from her kitchen - she's quite the patient and creative one. I've decided that the golden ticket(s) for perfectly rich, decadent, moist chocolate cupcakes are the sour cream and bold coffee that perk up the recipe (no pun intended - really). Anyway, all that to say that this moment was captured while one very sweet-toothed toddler was most likely contemplating just how much homemade chocolate frosting she could fit into her cheeks in one bite.

Ahem.

And on another day, in another part of the house, with the other tyke, I had an impromptu photo shoot (a habit as of late) when said younger tyke decided to take half as long of a snooze as the sweet-toothed one. I mean really, what to do with that adorable face but take pictures of it?? Please.

Lastly, and a bit random....I have to say I've been a bit overwhelmed (in a positive way) by the kindness, generosity, and patience of my friends and acquaintances from small group/church in the past week. What I now begrudgingly refer to as the "Debbie Downer Doldrums" attacked in full force on Mother's Day and made for an unpleasant beginning to that week, which sort of carried on into the next....until I found myself in a bit of a teary mess on the phone with a girlfriend who I've known a relatively short while....but I do believe she was providentially prompted to take that phone call, and to listen in her sweet, caring, quiet way, and to pick me up with a gentle pep talk so that I DID make the play date with the kids, thus letting a bit of sunshine into their day and mine. When you really think about it, she was my sunshine...for her and for the sympathetic ears at our small group, I am so grateful, and I know Nick is as well.

Take that, Debbie Downer. Geesh.

-A Changing Woman

Blogger's Block

How's that for some apropos alliteration?

I really wasn't quite sure how long it had been since the last time I'd posted until just now when I checked the date. Not quite a week? Feels longer.

And I'd love to go into oh such great detail about the Latest Happenings 'round here, but have been advised against it, by my very sage mother. Knowing me, this reticence to share intensely personal details of my life will last for only a requisite short while, but, maybe every minute counts. Succinctly put: Big, Big Revelations to come concerning my past. Let's hope that along the journey, my load is lighter than it has felt, well, since forever. I hate being cryptic.

So enough of that, and on to my latest foray into some sort of natural therapy with which to calm the nerves and re-direct the negativity. Spring has...yes....("we" *read: I* don't do cliches) and in light of this, and aided by my very impulsive, compulsive nature, I've taken to the furled, tangled, monstrous mess of God knows what in between healthy hosta plants flowerbeds in front of our townhouse. I've no idea what I'm doing. None. For once, I don't care much, either. Normally when I begin a task such as this, I've done my online research, I've picked my co-worker's brains, I've read the glossary, etc. This time, nada. Just a little spade shovel (see, not even sure if that's what it's called), some cheapo rain boots from Walmart, the aforementioned monstrosity, and a few sweet pink geranium plants from Mom. It started with the geraniums....

....then....two hours later....and half the bed cleared....I fell into mine, exhausted and (dare I say it?) happy.

That half-cleared flower bed called my name all morning too, in between orders for triple tall half-caf lattes and orange mango banana vivannos. By the time I was on my third espresso macchiato of the morning, I'd already planned my trip to Marc's and was pleasantly surprised to receive a text from my darling husband who had just so happened to plan a Daddy and Co. picnic over lunchtime...leaving me free to rush over and buy some flowers after a lovely dentistry appt. Just l-o-v-e-l-y.

I've only started small (?). About a tray and a half, along with six vegetable plants. No biggie. We'll see what happens. More joyous root-pulling ensued this afternoon, and it was fantastic cloudy hazy weather for it. I mean seriously, what could be more fulfilling than carefully poking and prodding, digging around and gently following the dratted thing until you've got it out where it began? It's almost - ALMOST - as good as pinning down that exact verbiage which denotes the very unique, extremely specific emotion you're experiencing so that you can capture your reader and hold him in the experience with you. *sigh*

Lest I've lost you with lofty allusions to onomatopeia and imagery as they relate to weeding - meet my new friend.

We passed briefly while working around each other this afternoon. He was amenable enough, and I promised to do my very best at not disturbing his environment. See, I know nothing about gardening. For all I know, he plans on snacking on my every last viola. Again, we shall see.

My other (much better, bit cuter, more verbal) little friend helped by watering the gnome. Very important, gnome-watering. How else is he going to grow? I ask you. I shall have to pick up some small flowering plant to nestle in his little bucket for her....or, just let her live in her perfect imaginary little world where gnome-watering is crucial and necessary to said gnome's existence. I'm kind of leaning towards the latter.

And when did I start capitalizing things again? Well that's an interesting little step in a different direction. Feels less cobwebby. I think I might just like it. I think I might just keep it.

Incidentally - something else I'll keep, and store in the forefront of this mangled, tangled brain of mine....the very warm and pleasant, kelly-green appearing and smoky espresso smelling thoughts of those Great Starbucks Customers who matter more than they know, with their genuine appreciation of my work.....I'd name you all and your drink, but I know not every red-blooded American is as prone to airing their dirty chai laundry as I am.

Aren't hostas gorgeous?

-A Changed Woman

starting to realize that if i had a dollar...

...for every time my mom comes over and cleans something in my house to make herself me feel better i'd definitely be able to buy a few pairs of these for my children.

how cute are they?? babylegs.com. but the site's kinda screwy and i always have trouble w/ most of the links....so i don't know if i'd be able to order them anyway if i decided to splurge.

twelve bucks so SO worth it for this particular brand of pudgy fashion though. puh-leeze.

speaking of my mom - i was alerted today of an oversight on my part in one of my previous posts which included a picture of my mom's my Aunt Thea's meatloaf. my apologies! the person who originally shared that recipe definitely deserves the credit as it is bar-none the best meatloaf i've ever had. so, an apologetic shout-out to my mom's sister/best friend in Chicago for her sleuthing skills in finding the best ever meatloaf recipe. :)

and a last apology for this post being so meatLESS. it's late, and i have to grind coffee and get a starbucks in working order at the ungodly hour of 5:30 AM.

i will leave you with a crappy astute observation my 3 1/2 year old made today. it went a little something like this:

"hey mom, your tummy's getting bigger!".

no, no baby coming (are you kidding??). just too much moosetracks, not enough treadmill, and the false notion that maybe i am still pregnant so i have a license to eat and drink whatever the heck i want.

-A Procrastinating Woman

feeling grateful.

my mama dropped off some peace and her prowess in my kitchen yet again this afternoon....attacked my fridge with her very own brand of uniquely efficient vengeance...*sigh*. simple pleasures.

speaking of....

....i had some fun with my birthday camera. subject compliments of my husband :).

life as i knew it yesterday.

man. holy crap. yesterday was a bad one, to put it mildly.

so have you ever wondered what a full-blown panic attack feels like? well, i'll tell you.

ever been tied to railroad tracks only to realize a train is speeding towards you, with no signs of stopping?

or...

ridden on an especially turbulent flight?

here's a good one...

how about when you were in third grade and cheated on that test. 'member when the teacher's aide knocked on the door of your classroom, shot you a sorrowful look, then handed Mrs. McCracken a note? and the way your palms (and entire body, for that matter) went from sweating to freezing to sweating again in the span of about 3.4 seconds? 'member the interminable trek to the principal's office and the inexorable feeling of impending doom that weighed down your little self as you trudged slowly but surely toward the man who held your very fate in his hands?

it's sorta like that, only about 5 million times worse.

oh, and add to that the very certainty that at any moment, you will not only become unconscious, but never wake up.

pretty dreadful.

i'm not sure yet why this is the soundtrack of my life right now, but one thing is clear - someone's out to get me, and they're not nice - oh, far from it. see, as sure as i am about the existence of God and that he is made of Love and Forgiveness and Honesty and Passion and Grace, i also subscribe to the somewhat unpopular belief that the devil is alive and real and not a whimsical scarlet creature who makes random appearances on the shoulder of sitcom characters for comedic purposes only.

i can't give any other explanation for why such an experience would exist - one which is capable of utterly convincing a human being that they will surely pass into another world if they allow themselves to, well, pass out.

i'm sure there are many other opinions and you're entitled to any one of them. i can certainly attest to the fact that panic attacks are not only psychological but also very physiological experiences and have been widely studied, verified, etc. scientifically speaking. yeah, i get that. i also get that these days, for some reason, there's a dude out there (in here) who is hell-bent on taking me down, blurring my focus, sealing my lens with the black cap of hopelessness....

and it's rough going when you can't see very well. forget the bruises from knocking around in the dark....it's really more the frustration of not being able to find that sliver of light, that long vertical crack that gives you a goal to move for, gives you the motivation, the mobility necessary to get yourself out of that room full of, well, crap.

you've seen glimpses into my other days (and if you haven't, feel free to scroll down). it's not like this 24/7. thank God, quite literally. and it is therapeutic (for me, if not for you - sorry!) to account for the journey in this way...i am thankful for that, for the ability and willingness i've been graced with to put my experiences into words on a screen, therefore minimally exorcising them from my head.

so i feel a little lighter, now. and two little bundles wake up from dozing soon, which is a source of great HOPE and love and joy for me. so i suppose i am To Be Continued. very likely, knowing my oppositional nature, my next offering for you will contain some sort of photo involving crossed eyes, pudgy toes or the beauty of kelly green grass after rain. let's hope...

saturday antics (girls only)

here's how our weekend is shaping up so far....




-An Unabashedly Childlike Woman

the youngest two of "and co."

A picture...

is worth....

....all the ridiculous dancing, hand gestures, and idiotic facial expressions it took to get there.

-A Chagrined (did I mean to say Changed?) Woman

moms are so great because....

***** disclaimer: this is about to get pretty sappy. turn away now if you abhor all things cheesy. you've officially been warned. *****

moms are so great because....

- whenever they come over to baby-sit, they somehow find 12 minutes or so to wash all of your dishes. even when some of them look like this:

-if you ever (not that i ever would) happen to make a teensy, tiny, complaint involving your husband and the un-taken-out trash, they don't hold it against you. or him. forever at least.

-when you call them over at 3 AM for an emergency trip to the hospital (read: false labor) only to return a couple of hours later with half an ambien, they don't complain even though they may not even get back to sleep at all for the night.

-when you are going through The Worst Situation in your life, they don't fix it. they let God.

-they let you pay them back for a loan at the ridiculous rate of $5 a month.

-they teach your kid hymns like "trust and obey" and "holy, holy, holy". even if you hated singing them as a kid....and now have them repeated daily by your toddler....in a few octaves above the highest octave known to man.

-they are safe.

-they are patient.

-they discourage your gossiping.

-they make the best meatloaf ever and give you the recipe.

-they didn't give up on you even when your words to them were far less than kind.

-they didn't give up on you even when you failed miserably at college, thus wasting a sizable chunk of their money.

-they didn't give up on you.

-while puttering around the house cleaning things, or whipping up a batch of brownies, or waking up at 5 AM every day for quiet time w/ God, or not letting you get away with saying that a-word, or arguing behind closed doors, or spending SO MUCH TIME not getting divorced....they taught you a few little things about how to be a mom to your own children.

-Changed Woman

orange for stellan

so.......this baby whose heart i can't get off of my brain....i've got the whole family in on praying for him. i think i'm so touched partly b/c he is just about the same age as our baby r. and, well, i've just got this weird sympathy for strangers thing going on.

either way.

today was stellan's risky surgery - a heart ablation on an infant. i just found out about an hour ago that he made it through (whew!) but not sure on other details just yet.

to catch up on stellan's story: http://www.mycharmingkids.net/

p.s. why the orange theme? his "mckmama" asked that anyone praying for/thinking of stellan today e-mail her pictures of themselves incorporating orange. i think maybe just 'cuz stellan looks good in it ;-).

-Changed Woman

two for the price of one

i just could not resist sharing this bit before my ADD-riddled mind loses it somewhere, forever, in the abyss of, well, every wayward runaway tangent of thought that couldn't possibly hang out for just one more second in my already crowded brain.

*sigh*!

so, parent-teacher conferences were this past week for miss e's pre-school. parent-teacher conferences. hee hee. i'm a parent. and i get to go. and i'm not the one getting all the "could use improvement" or "enormous potential but needs to focus better"s. ah. i knew i'd be on the other side one day.

at this point it's really mostly fun and games (isn't that what being 3 1/2 is all about?) but miss e's teachers definitely do take their roles seriously and i give them credit not only for their commitment to {keep these kids alive} i mean manage to teach life and social skills and rudimentary academic studies to a small army of tasmanian devils but to do it all while ACTING LIKE THEY ARE HAVING FUN. wow. that's an accomplishment. personally, what i give them kudos for (and miss e's two lovely lady teachers in particular, miss b and miss t) is the one on one attention e gets while she is there, as evidenced in a handwritten note i was given during my aforementioned conference. i will likely end the post with it, as i think it just so adequately and somewhat concisely encompasses the whimsical nature freedom of speech can take on when related between two toddlers, in a playhouse.

child: "you need plates for the food."
e: "yeah, for the party."
child: "OK. here's some hot dogs."
e: "here's Scooby Doo. he's wonderful."
child: "yeah, we already have a cat."

Say wha?

-Changed Woman

A little light-hearted fare after yesterday's Five Course Meal

oh, you know i could not resist the proverbial infant tub shot, could i??

at least he's semi-decent.

hope you're all having a relaxing evening. mine will most likely involve Chocolate in some fashion, catching up on american idol and the office, and washing baby bottles. husband's will include assimilating a long-coveted star wars lego set.

*sigh*

spring cleaning?

sometimes i wonder why i feel things so much.

like when i was spanked as a toddler at a church picnic and sobbed and wailed and (obviously) never forgot it-

or how angry i was that one time on vacation when a nearby diner was rude to my waiter that i felt compelled to point out to said diner that, in fact, they WERE quite rude and really should not have done that. before you go feeling bad for the waiter for really ruining his chances of a tip, i left a twenty on the table when we left, just in case, and also just 'cause i felt bad for him-

also the catch, ache, as if there's an actual fault line that is splitting in the middle of my heart, when my husband's kindness and true love is actually admitted, for an illuminating second, into my Guarded Self. it's an actual physical experience, and i don't remember ever not experiencing it, although i do know that it originated from pain. (sometimes i think that word should almost be under the category of onomotapeia. can't explain it. i just do.).

here's a quote that i've loved for years, might explain it more eloquently and succinctly.

"The hearts of small children are delicate organs. A cruel beginning in this world can twist them into curious shapes. The heart of a hurt child can shrink so that forever afterward it is hard and pitted as the seed of a peach. Or, again, the heart of such a child may fester and swell until it is misery to carry within the body, easily chafed and hurt by the most ordinary things."

-- Carson Smith McCullers

this week i began a journey into the life of Ashley Rhodes-Courter, a fellow adoptee, through the chapters of her book, "Three Little Words".

**can i interject myself? well, i am. and i am interjecting to give a warning: what you are about to read may not be all smiles and cookies and friends and whimsical anecdotes. 'cause well, that's not all my life is about, and it's not all that i experience, or have experienced. just to clarify. we may be digging a little deeper today. ok!**

so anyway this book has hit me hard and i suppose the most obvious reason for that is my common denominator with Ashley of adoption. since this wet, heavy, wool blanket (read: depression) entered my life almost half a year ago, i've taken it upon myself to wipe some very secure (and comfortable, i might add) cobwebs from the corners and corridors in my brain and, well, try to breathe through it. breathe through what? you're confused. many people my age (27, almost 28, oh well) have no trouble - moreover, delight in conjuring up their most memorable moments from childhood. My husband's fondest is of trying to drown his little baby brother with a can of 7-up. (the writer in me wanted to list a few of the cliche stories parents tell over and over but n's own original is so good i think it stands well on its own). ha. see but i am someone who has a few childhood stories to relate which are far from "cliche" and hang out more in the Sordid, Inappropriate, Jail-Worthy category.

**interjection #2: i know i could just go buy a $5 Hello Kitty diary at Wal-mart to get this stuff out. i'm aware. but i type much more quickly than i write by hand, and plus, i may be getting to something a bit more sunshine-y or at the very least "cloudy with a slight chance of rain". which is much better, than, say, a tornado, which happens to be my third greatest fear in life.

so to quickly synopsize the first five years of my life: drunk/high mom. drunk/high dad. brawls in and out of trailer. children's services saves the day (or, as some, myself included, might interpret it - Jesus) and shuttles my blond pigtails and saucer-sized brown eyes over to the set of foster parents who (unbeknownst to all three of us at the time) would eventually be my forever family, plus one brother who was born soon after my adoption at the age of five. does that about cover it? well, i kinda was hoping so, for quite awhile....sorta missed the irony when i began repeating my mother's mistakes after hitting the big 21....then miss e., babe #1 came along, and i sobered up almost in an instant. focusing on raising her while working full-time was a great time-spender and i happily busied every last little wrinkle in my head with details, friends, baby, boyfriend turned husband, quitting smoking, cooking/baking, social networking, working out, coffee-making, UNTIL baby #2 - mr. r. - came along and

i

crashed.

(that whole depression thing)

that was five months ago. so here i am today. like i said, cobweb dusting - which, as my mother can tell you, i'm terrible at even in the literal sense.

i had a conversation yesterday with the very dear, down to earth, just plain cool mom of the teenage baby-sitter who watches Rory for me some mornings (incidentally, said teenager is just as cool and i consider her a friend and feel lucky to know her). i had stopped in with hot coffee from the 'bux and was talking to Miss K about this book, this "Three Little Words" book that she had lent me, and telling her how i had been affected by it (read: bawled for an hour straight the night before at 10:30 PM), and her mom happened in on our conversation, and i'm SO glad she did because i truly believe that her next words were meant for me.

she said, "you know, awhile back i struggled with something, and i've found it's so interesting; almost imperative to go back to your childhood to get to where it all started and figure it out," (she paused then, being the outwardly seemingly naturally optimistic - and not annoyingly so - lady that she is, and not wanting to suggest we go muddling around in mucky memories forever) "but what i've found, that's really cool that you can do, is kind of get yourself back to that place, and get Jesus to meet you there, and help heal the broken parts, and" (well, she said more, but personally for me i'm not even CLOSE to the "moving on" part so my subconscious just sort of said, 'thank you, that's more than enough for now, we'll work on that 'til next session'.

but i can't shake the thought - the possibility - the exquisite notion that i - or any of us, because i do know that i'm far from the only one - could hold out a grown-up hand, mine a bit more wrinkled and dry for the wear of espresso machines and hand-washing dishes, and watch the lines fade, the fingers transform back to kool-aid stained pudgy members, and ask my daddy between heaving sobs for a band-aid.

so - a heavenly band-aid. that's my new mission. might be more apropos on my heart rather than my hand. i've embraced this song this week that speaks volumes to where i'm at these days. maybe where you're at too? ya might not be there today, but you could be next week, or next year, or in five. might wanna bookmark it.

(i'd even suggest that you start the song, then minimize the screen or even turn away from the computer to fully capture the beauty and simplicity of the melody and lyrics)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e_4g8_e16dc&feature=PlayList&p=B96A76E5288AF79E&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=46

-Changed Woman

Who loves Rory? I do! I do!

Daddy LOVES Rory.

Mommy likes to think she loves him the MOST.

But the other day it became clear who the kid's biggest fan is.....

*sigh*

-A Changed Woman

the news from my kitchen.

so, it's been how long? a week? normally at this point i would have given up this whole project, thinking it a waste since i've not been completely conscientious at keeping up with my posting, but, in an effort to turn over a new leaf, i shall write, tonight.

perhaps it is time to share some pictures from my kitchen. my favorite confectionary accomplishment as of late has been the chocolate sandwich recipe i referenced the other day. i hurriedly whipped up a batch for a picnic with some fellow mama friends and i apologize to them because that first attempt was not up to my perfectionist standards. i overbaked them. *grrr*. well, i had never made chocolate cookies before....kinda tough to tell when they're done considering that whole "lightly browned" factor sorta goes out the window. second time around, i was a bit more cautious, and consequently much more happy with the end result. wanna try 'em yourself? they're beyond easy.

step one: mix 2 boxes of devil's food cake mix, 2/3 cup vegetable oil, and four eggs. roll into 1 inch balls.

step two: bake at 350 degrees for 8-10 min. 9 min. 27 seconds if you've got a very old, pretty crappy gas stove.

step three: combine one softened 8 oz. pkg. of cream cheese and one softened stick of butter. mix in 1 tsp. vanilla and 3-4 cups confectioner's sugar, adding slowly until desired filling consistency is reached. the original recipe only calls for whatever food coloring you prefer, but of course i had to add my own touch: fresh blended strawberries. the end result was a sort of chocolate covered creamy strawberry chocolately chocolate cookie. did i mention the chocolate?

picture quality leaves a little to be desired, but you get the idea.

i'm fresh out of anything else entertaining tonight. stop by later on in the week and maybe something a little more scintillating than cookies will have shown up. :)

-A Changed Woman

So A Couple Of Things

first off: i was re-reading my post from the other day and felt a bit sheepish about it. i think i may have the corner on run-on sentences, which can be kind of confusing for my readers. i'd like to think that someday i will find a medication for ADD that works for me....and when that long-awaited day arrives, my posts may be more user-friendly. 'til then...you'll just have to bear with the sporadic, intermittent references to things that seem to be related to NOTHING i'm writing about, but are like exponential tangents that have found their way out of this crazy, 5,000 mph brain of mine. lucky me. lucky you.

and lucky me for many other reasons, not the least of which being my very dear, sweet, generous friend Amy who not only cared for my Lil Punkin so i could be available at the good ol' mom and pop coffee shop 'round the corner (read: billion dollar chain Starbucks) but transformed my kitchen from something resembling the aftermath of Katrina to *sigh* something livable. live-able? no, livable! not sure on that one...any takers? anyway. i suppose in light of this less terrifyingly cluttered and altogether crusty corner of my house, i should be starting on the Chocolate sandwich cookie recipe i snagged from my mom the other day. mmmm....Chocolate....yes, Chocolate does get its very own capital letter because, well, Chocolate just deserves it. you MUST agree. Chocolate and i have a very special relationship. Chocolate and i go WAY back....don't even know when we began an item, really....just kind of fell into it, i suppose. unfortunately, i had to take a brief (read: interminable) hiatus from any Chocolate-related activities b/c Lil Punkin's tummy couldn't handle it while i was nursing. my husband can attest that those were dark days. i think the entire family is most likely better for Chocolate's re-entry into my life. but, i digress. back to the recipe. suffice it to say: i'll post pics of the sandwich cookies when they get themselves made. the pictures will most likely be taken in the 5 seconds between the cookies being sandwiched and being inhaled by my family and packaged to spread 'round the neighborhood and taken to the coffee shop.

*sigh* - that's enough for today, except to report that my delightful, british humor-loving, dry-witted, bit younger, former co-worker neighbor just got home, probly from class. he'll probly be real happy to learn that i've taken to posting his comings and leavings if he ever reads this. hey d -if you ARE reading this - sandwich cookies coming your way shortly.

keep it a great monday.