“All I want is a break from myself.”

“On paper it all looks okay — modest professional success, a clean house, bills that are paid. But if you look close enough, you can see it in cancelled plans or plans that are never made. In pictures never taken because I look so sick. In days alternating between anxious energy and waves of fatigue. In the panic that flashes through my eyes when anything changes that might affect my routine.

Oh, the routine.

It’s all about the routine.”

If I Can Talk To CNN, I Can Talk To You About High-Functioning Mental Illness – Abby Has Issues

gratitude: splish, splash, ahhh…

There’ve been a few things in life that brought me sheer joy.  The kinds of things that drop me to my knees in gratitude, kissing the ground because…well, because why not, it’s something people in the throes of joy do.  Things that swept me off my feet in terms of my word, this is life changing and I will never forget this moment even if I live to be 105.

Finishing our bathroom remodel was one of those moments.

I know, I know…it’s not curing cancer or finding a solution to hunger, but it rocked my world.  There.  I said it.

I fully own that these are first world problems because hey, any indoor plumbing at all, can I get a hell yeah? But finding that moldy and rotting subfloor beneath our shower’s tile was beyond distressing.  There was the psychological factor of omg, how long has it been like this, and how long is it going to take to fix, and how am I gonna live anything resembling my real life while they do.  Then there was the physical trauma – how long had I been breathing crap into my lungs, the illnesses I lived with while they tore out and removed the bathroom materials, how my body reacted when I passed through that space to get something from my closet during demo and construction.

Compared to all that, sharing a bathroom with my 13-year-old son was relatively painless.  Although I don’t know if he’d say the same.

At any rate, after a number of blips and blunders (all of which were fixed by our second contractor, a group I shall forever refer to as The Saviors of Our Master Bath) the remodel was finally complete at the end of November.  Yep, you read that right.  September, October, November, plus those two weeks in August – three and a half months of insanity in our house.  It’s kind of a miracle we all made it to the other side.

But when we did…my word.  I stand in this room now and am blissfully, ridiculously, unbelievably happy.  It is my peaceful space, and I am ever so grateful for it.

sssshhh. just listen.

Sometimes we don’t want the answer or the advice.  You just need to be willing to listen.  Quietly.

“One day, lamenting the fact that my hands were in so much pain I could not finish coloring a page in my snazzy new adult coloring book, I was met with this unsolicited advice:

My hands hurt, too, but I just take my time and if it takes me a week to color a page then it takes me a week.  Remember, it’s not the destination, it’s the journey. 

Cool story, bro, but you’re going to have to take your candy coated zen master bullshit elsewhere because I’m telling you my hands hurt.  I’m telling you that these hands used to wedge clay and spend hours at the pottery wheel without so much as a cramp or an ache.  Now, there are days that I can’t open a pickle jar.”

I Need To Tell You – I’m Sick and So Are You

Boo…

sickSunday was no fun day.  Well, technically neither was most of Saturday night, but the chickens really came home to roost yesterday.

We had this whole complicated plan worked out for church where BrightSide would take Bear to early service & I’d bring T-man for the late one…all I know is by 3:30am I was on the couch, trash can by my side, with a Post It reading “Up sick overnight.  Someone tell dad.”

Sunday’s plans were shot.  So this is what I’ve got – just enough to say I’m sick, boo…time for another nap.

three rounds on vaccines, autism, and Jenny McCarthy

Let’s get this out of the way right up front:  I’m a big believer in herd immunity.  Really big.  Huge.  A shout it from the mountaintops, hire a skywriter, put it on Broadway kind of believer.

I guess you could say I’m a fan.

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mama panic – the struggle is real

Mornings have a certain flow.  Roll out of bed, grab a quick shower, throw on the clothes that (if I was smart) I laid out the night before.  If I’m really lucky I’ll manage to get through all of this without hearing that knock and plaintive, “Mom?” at the door.

A girl can dream.

But when one part goes awry, well…that’s when the train really goes off the rails.

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sex, abstinence, and the health class dilemma

Ah, the beauty of middle school.

Social drama and texting.  Girls and P.E. class.  Low man on the totem pole, switching classes, and brand new lunch options.

Plus graduation from a fifth grade puberty discussion to the health class that spans a range of topics including – wait for it – sex education.

Let the good times roll.

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why my shorts don’t fit and other adventures in medication

I’ve been working with my doctor for about a year now on my breathing.  To say it’s been a long, slow process would be a vast understatement.  Vast in a “the Grand Canyon is a pretty valley” sort of way.

But I’m hanging in there ‘cuz, you know, that whole pesky breathing thing.  It’s not like I can give it up for Lent.

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