I’m a rug

Yes. A rug.

A nice one though.

However, a bit rough around the edges.

Most have walked around me because somewhere hidden within the soft pile, were barbs.

But, I have groomed myself, and begged people to walk on me.

And walk on me, they have.

My pile is quite smooshed these days.

And I’m becoming a bit threadbare.

But, I’m still a rug.

I have higher aspirations, and with the help of my husband, one day I will become a chair.

A throne.

Not the porcelain type found in the potty room, but an elegant chair—bedecked with blue sapphires, and peridot gems (Seattle Seahawk colors).

The most comfortable throne that will beckon all to sit upon.

To remind me what an ass feels like for being a rug. :D

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This Moment of Life

Lately, I have been letting the thought of being in the moment, stew and simmer.

Beautiful intention, unless a person is experiencing a true episode of clinical depression.

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I’m still thinking about this oh-so-important-moment, and I will keep thinking about this moment…but you know what? All I can do is be the best person I can be—at this moment. That is the only choice I can make–to love and be me–right now.

Twenty-five years ago today, I became a new mom.

A son.

Thirty years separate us, which is nothing.

One person separates us, which is everything.

It is not he.

It is not me.

All I can do—is be.

Wait.

Stew.

Simmer.

Hope.

Hang in there.

Love.

 

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It’s 3:30 am — What World Problem Are You Solving?

Even though I’ve boycotted the news, every now and then, I will check CNN to see what I have been missing in the world. I only have to do it for a moment because they repeat the same nonsense over and over, and analyze the story to pieces.

This morning, I received my morning laugh-out-loud when CNN was airing an interview with  – oh crap – I can’t remember the title the man holds, but he was like our Secretary of State? So, I suppose he was the Russian equivalent? Sorry, didn’t hang around long enough, or perform further research. Anyway, satellite photos have shown Russian troops moving into the Ukraine. The man said that the photos were from a video game, and that Russia is innocent of these allegations. Seriously?

sigh

Yesterday, I was touched by a story another blogger posted about a little boy suffering from cancer. Stage 4 of an ugly name assigned to his particular cancer. He is 6-years-old, and has been fighting through surgeries, bone marrow transplants, and chemotherapy for 3 years. The little boy has the most beautiful smile, and kind people are helping him fulfill his bucket list. Tears usually come to my eyes when I read something like this. Yesterday, I cried. No sobbing or wailing, but I cried for the little boy—I wanted to help.

Then I thought about all the other little children fighting cancer. The child without a Facebook page or a viral story on the internet. The families struggling to pay the medical bills and facing the fear of losing their child, as no parent should ever have to fear.

The pain I experienced when I had surgery to remove my tumor – well, nodule – was pretty painful, even for a person with a high tolerance to pain. Because my cancer was found in the early stages, I was fortunate to avoid the joy of chemotherapy or radiation, and every day I count my blessings for that. That kind of therapy brings adults to their knees, I can only imagine what it must do to a child.

Even though I have mostly slept in a medicated induced stupor for years, I wake up every morning around 3:30 am. I worry about a friend, my kids, other people’s kids, the turmoil in other countries, our public education system….well, you get the point. I try to understand why I can’t understand my moods, and why my brain can’t just function as everybody else is fortunate enough to experience.

When I wake up at 3:30 am, I think too much, and have mini brainstorming sessions to solve all the problems. Ha! Seriously? Yeah, 3:30 am brain-fog produces all kinds of grandiose problem solving strategies. Eventually, I fall back asleep, and can’t remember a one of the solutions.

Wouldn’t it be nice if cancer could be wiped out with a laser beam in a video game? Wouldn’t it be nice if sufferers of any kind of disease could wake up tomorrow, and find that their lives have simply been a video game, and they aren’t really ill?

No serious offense intended, but maybe we should ask the Russians?

 

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Things You Didn’t Know You Needed Thursdays

I have found quite a few old fart things that have made me chuckle, such as a bib to catch crumbs–I have hair for that. Oh! Did you know that you can purchase one of those clip thingys that the dentists use in order to clip a paper towel around your neck? Cool huh?

Anyway, I thought better of posting such items to poke fun of. I may actually have to use them in the very near future. My kids may decide to pay me back for all the plots I’ve hatched against their shenanigans, which resulted in embarrassment.

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Since I’m picking on my nocturnal boys this week, I thought this would be appropriate.

This little device was the brilliant idea of someone who had their dream dashed because it never came to fruition.

It has a light that will flash when the paper runs out. I think it included other sorts of technical gadgetry, but I didn’t linger long enough to read about them.

Unfortunately, the product  can’t be bought.

all rights reserved on this photo. :D

all rights reserved on this photo. :D

 

Who needs an electrical reminder that the paper has run out on the roll….

….when you have this?

 

Happy Thursday!

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Purchasing Gaffes

Every now and then, I purchase something and later regret my choice.

Usually it’s just one more skein of yarn, or a bunch of supplies to make a craft project. In fact, I have some hard plastic, and a tool to cut the plastic. I purchased these items years ago, and for the life of me, I can’t remember what project I had intended to use them.

However, I had a brilliant idea that I needed one of those 10x magnifying mirrors with lights around it. I wanted to get one of a huge diameter–you know, so I could see all of my face at one time. Because I couldn’t find one, I had to settle for a smaller diameter, but with the same magnification.

I only wanted it to make sure that when I went to the dentist, and they pointed their beacon of blinding light on my face, there wouldn’t be any wild hairs, or the beginnings of the return of the uni-brow. OR that they will highlight the one stray chin hair that nobody seems to tell me about. I think my family has a bet on how long it will take me to notice. ;)

Ugh.

If you are considering purchasing one of these mirrors, take my word for it…it’s best to stay blind and ignorant.

And…if you are sending your son off to college with a nice set of white towels and washcloths, re-think that one too. Just as I knew they would, the towels came back gray. Why I didn’t trust my gut on that one, I will never know…I learned with the first returned kid, but sent the second off with white towels as well. I suppose I’m a slow learner.

Just buy them gray to start with. At least you will continue to stay in the dark about how they ignored all the clothes washing instructions you so lovingly shared with them.

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He Keeps Touching Me and All That Gibberish

I have a pretty white flag. I keep it in pristine condition . Folded just so, and stored in a place I actually won’t forget where it is.

It’s not used often, perhaps a handful of times–or less. You see, I would rather die trying, than give up before I’ve exhausted every last option. In my opinion, there is always something I haven’t tried–always one more option.

Many moons ago, I learned a great bit of Mommery. That’s what I’ve decided to call it. It’s that delicate balance of trying to please every child at dinner, while ensuring that they have at least one or two healthy options, and all kinds of happiness prevailed. I used all kinds of Mommery to get them to eat things, but I would never call it healthy—that would be a guaranteed upturned nose, and a few eews. Instead, I made shapes out of their food, hid ingredients in items they never guessed were there, and dinner was fun–um yeah, that’s what I’m sticking with–fun.

Entertainment was another skill of Mommery. How does one please two boys who are 5 years apart, and one little girl who believes boys, and all that they are, are smelly and dirty? She more than likely worded her description in her unique way—such as—they have an awful stench and they’re nasty.

Fishing challenged Mommery, The Little Missy would dangle a pole over the edge every now and then, which would create a temporary truce. However, we quit fishing as a family due to my anxiety over one of them falling in the water, and my husband found the joy of fishing sucked right out of him. One can only bait so many hooks in a minute, while trying to un-snag another’s line. Oh–and there is the one who couldn’t sit still, and the complaints over the life vests.

Visits to the library required tons of Mommery–one of them would gather her monstrous stack of books in a matter of minutes, one would fidget around and complain because libraries are boring–and he had to be quiet, and the third child could spend the entire day, leaving with some CD’s and several books. To this day, as much as a couple of us love books, we won’t go to a bookstore or the library with our oldest son if we have plans for the rest of the day.

Board games had to be appropriate for a wide range of ages, keeping all engaged. Yep, Mommery.

Small hikes were minimally pleasant, and trips to the park weren’t all that bad. Swimming was usually a mutually acceptable activity, and the weirdest of all weird things—going to museums, where they were forced to be quiet (my rules), fascinated each and every one of them. Go figure.

The predicament I’m now facing is of my own doing, and I’m quite aware that it must end.

I bend over backwards in order to make everyone around me happy and comfortable, but it has finally reached a point that I don’t even know who I am, or what I want.

I have created adult varmints I don’t recognize. The Vampire in the Basement, and The Bat Upstairs. Oh. My. How can two boys raised by the same parents be so far apart? Not just in years, but in their choices of everything–down to the choice of restaurants they will, or will not enter—agreement can be reached on the same cuisine, but each with their own preferred restaurant—no compromise to be made. The only thing they have in common is that they like to stay up all night and sleep all day.

Freakin’ eye roll.

Each day I attempt to draw upon my Mommery skills to use against my adult children, but Mommery doesn’t work after they reach a certain age. I must find new forms of trickery, being that they have been out on their own, and boomeranged back…they’re onto Mommery.

My strategy? Is to make this an unpleasant environment in which to live. To say what I’m really thinking instead of smiling and moving along. Not my circus, not my monkeys–remember? Maybe it’s time to be the ringmaster.

When I start to think of running away, disappearing, floating off, taking a vacation from my mind….I’m asking for trouble, and lately I’ve been charting my route, and choosing the type of craft I will be using for my escape. (just so you know, I’m not depressed–just stinkin’ frustrated)

The flag will be staying in it’s designated place for now, but I have to come up with some new Mommery which is age appropriate. Gah! Who knew that a mom must continue to resort to trickery to keep peace among the masses?

and for the record, my kids are my love, my heart, my everything. Two -thirds of them are bugging the crap out of me at the moment, because they have learned more things they can’t agree upon, and I’m done with pleasing everyone

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I’m moving through some changes, I’ll never be the same

Okay, I have to admit, I’m getting lazy with the titles to my blog posts. I know that I’m breaking the ‘rules’ if I want to direct traffic to my blog by using ho-hum titles, but I’m seriously here to release my thoughts. If someone wants to follow along, and they can glean anything from my ramblings, that makes me feel good. (This title came from lyrics of a song, by the band YES. The title of the song? You guessed it–Changes)

The last couple of weeks has been the Battle of the Change in my Head.

While I used to have to change things all the time in order to keep one step ahead of depression, it’s no longer possible. I have other people in my life–it isn’t just my life to screw up by constantly picking up and relocating on a whim.

I read somewhere that there are triggers that create depression. Other than the obvious losses or major life changes, I have had a hard time wrapping my head around this theory. If there are triggers, then I should be able to recognize them and talk my way through them. Sometimes, depression just happens to me, and I can’t pinpoint a reason.

For me, anxiety has blatant triggers, and I understand most of mine. If I don’t deal with them—eventually, it leads to depression.

So…as odd as it sounds, the fear of anxiety creates anxiety. It’s the fear of the fear, and I fear change.

But change happens continually. Today is different from yesterday.

Fortunately, my thoughts today, are completely different than yesterday’s.

Prior to motherhood, I had a routine. Actually, prior to marriage I had a routine. I usually did the same things on a set schedule. I never deviated. Add a human or four to the schedule and there was no longer a possibility of maintaining a set-in-stone schedule.

No doubt, someone will get sick at the last moment—sometimes an animal, sometimes a kid. The husband’s job schedule creates change at times. Oh, and there was always the change that was created at 9 pm the night before something was needed for school the next day.

It may be a change to another’s life, but somehow, it affects me and my acceptance of it.

We all know that change always happens—constantly.

If I were to be totally negative, I would say I can’t handle change. It seriously sends me whirling. It not only affects my thoughts, but I have a physical reaction as well. I feel sick.

BUT, one can’t avoid change. We can’t run from it, we can’t hide from it, we can’t ignore it, we can’t control it.

The need to control it, is what I fight against.

So…

This is what I’m asking myself. I’m going to place the following questions and reminders on sticky notes, and hang them everywhere…..

What is changing?

Can I do anything about it?

Do I need to do anything?

The reminders that will accompany the questions–

Not my circus, not my monkeys.

The only thing I can control during change, is how I accept it, and my reaction to the change.

Yep, I find the mind an amazing – um, I’m going to say tool – my thoughts have to maneuver through a maze of dead ends–which are defeating–but, when I find a solution to what holds me back, it’s simply beautiful.

Okay, I’m off to use my tool, and make those sticky notes. Bahahaha! I’m such a tool :D

I hope you find some beauty, answers, or laughter today.

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This Song Has No Title, Just Words and a Tune

Working through chaos in my mind, not much to say….thought I would share part of the beauty, humor, and chaos of my life.

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While waiting in the car for my husband to retrieve his packaged dead deer meat, I was left to keep myself occupied. Too bad the water was turned off, that hose on the little boy cracked me up.

 

6K2A1065Mavrick…ever so helpful.

That would be my handbag he has turned into his nap space. Oh, and he is a bit bigger than my handbag (if you can believe that), and his hind quarters didn’t quite fit.

 

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The local flavor of the south. Let’s just say that this man’s shop was extremely politically incorrect.

 

 

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Yes, it feels as if I’m being watched–all the time.

 

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Our soon to be legal home in the middle of farmland.

 

 

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Part of the paint debacle on the floor of my car.

 

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My photography club had a weekly theme of shooting photos From the Kitchen. Meh, my kitchen is boring, so I used some of my oldest son’s treasures.

I did not enter the weekly theme. :)

 

 

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Dog humiliation, always makes me smile.

 

 

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And my last…this one almost saddens me because it took a while to get an in focus shot. Due to the side effects of my medications, apparently, I have to always use a tripod.

 

 

 

***and by the way, I have been poaching song titles, and lyrics from Elton John for my titles. :D

I know, not very interesting, but it’s all I’ve got.

 

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I’ve Seen That Movie Too

At the age of 5 – or there about – we are so excited to go to the big kid school, and everything is possible.

The age of 16, we can drive a car. Woo Hoo!

At 18 we can vote, and fight for our country.

At 21 we can do everything else which has been denied us–except rent a car, and claim independent status on the FAFSA.

Some of us were bullied, the class clown, the beautiful-spunky cheerleader, the captain of the football team, the geek/nerd/genius, shy….

Life evolves, and we become who we are–due to the environment we are raised, the influence of our peers, the parenting style of our moms and dads, current day influences–such as the invention of stinkin’ social media, and how we interpret all that influence in our minds.

We develop dreams of what we could be as adults—the possibilities are endless.

If we believe in ourselves and our capabilities.

Changes I hadn’t counted on being a challenge were plentiful.

Becoming a wife. Whew! Big change from the single life, isn’t it?

A mother. Oh, what was I thinking? How can I be a mother? …and all the beliefs about how much I could screw up a child.

A stay-at-home mother, dependent on another person to provide for me.

Adjusting to the kind-of-empty nest. Maybe it’s best described as, my kids didn’t need me like they used to. I had to redefine my life once again.

Do I get a job? A paying job? Let me tell you, it’s very defeating to hear the words, “your skills are too old”, from an interviewer. Never mind all the volunteer work that kept my skills current.

I accepted all those changes, and if I were to be totally honest with myself, I did an awesome job….no buts to be made, because the buts are nonsense.

I grew up with exposure to physical and mental diseases in my immediate family. The experiences shaped my personality.

I had a sense of guilt watching my brother and sister poke themselves with a needle everyday. I can remember my sister crying, needle poised over her thigh–not wanting to stick herself one more time. She couldn’t be like a regular teenager, and eat as she wished, due to Type 1 Diabetes–same lifestyle for my brother.

More guilt watching my youngest sister struggle with the effects of Multiple Sclerosis for over 30 years. Yet she continues to find joy, and lives her life.

Out of the four kids in my family, why was I okay?

I’m not. I received the mental illness curse that runs throughout my mom’s side of the family.

I woke up with tears of defeat this morning. Then a thought passed through my mind-fog  – aha! it isn’t the stigma which makes mental illness so hard for some to discuss, it’s the acceptance of the disease being a part of our lives. At least this is true for me–perhaps I’m not the only one?

For three years, I have been fighting anxiety over my health. Every little pain or odd feeling triggers thoughts that I must have a tumor–cancer will return. I have finally learned to stop living in 6-month increments. Today, the information I have is all I know, until I have new information. When, and if, I have to fight cancer again, I will be ready. That fear mastered–for the most part. What can I say? I’m not perfect :D

When I was told that I had cancer, I totally denied it. Apparently, not well because it caused a paralyzing fear that I would live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.

Same thing happened when my psychiatrist told me I had bipolar 2. It was easier to accept that I had major depression, but another thing when it came to his diagnosis. Denial is one of my good companions, and it is the acceptance of this diagnosis which will help me manage life.

I have learned all I can about lung cancer. Now I have to learn all I can about bipolar 2. Maybe there isn’t a cure, but there are management strategies. Strategies I’m more than capable, and willing to carry out.

Denial has been holding me back.

I will live with happiness and joy in spite of that little crap head trying to beat me down. After all, I’m more determined and hard headed than mental illness–as long as I accept my diagnosis and follow my doctor’s advice.

At 55, I’m looking forward to another 55 years of peace and joy.

 

 

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Oh! I Needed a Title! — MIA

Because doctors aren’t always correct, we were blessed with a little boy. A smart, observant, and noisy little guy.

We thought we were lucky, and must add to our family. Half believing the doctors–because many, many years of telling me that I may not be able to have children, or that it would be rather difficult–we followed up by proving the doctors wrong again. This time with a daughter. A smart, strong-willed, clumsy little gal.

My husband and I are both from larger families. I suppose they would be considered large today, but in our day, our families were considered medium sized. We decided a family was more than two kids and two parents. I wanted 6 kids, but my anxiety and age warned me that 3 was a good number.5f334-kids

Omgarsh! What was I thinking? What a nightmare…having 3 more teens to manage while inching my toes toward the edge of the golden years. Yikes!

But, almost three years after our daughter was born, we were blessed with another. A smart, active, chatterbox little guy.

Mothers and DaughtersIt’s my daughter I miss.

Duh…our sons aren’t letting us miss them. :/

Don’t get me wrong—I love the boys with all my heart, just as I do our daughter.

Seventeen years passed–poof—she was off to explore her dreams. Sometimes, I wish I had reined in her strong will, but like me, it’s a part of our personalities–same with the clumsiness.

Magna Cum LaudeShe never came back for summer breaks, she stayed in school through the summers, graduating early from college–magna cum laude.

Unfortunately, many of my visits with her coincided with family funerals, and major family illnesses.

I have been missing her lately. She is back in school taking an accelerated course for a second Bachelor’s degree in another field from her original one.

She moved to another state to enter this program, which only accepted 16 from hundreds of applicants. Unfortunately, Georgia was not the state.552105_10200464037940797_466205459_n

She is now 23. Six years now–not moving so fast any more.

Parents—cherish each and every hissy fit, defiant stomp of the feet, snotty nose, kissing the boo-boo, hug, and every I love you. They grow so fast.

I miss you Little Missy.

I’m saving my quarters for a trip to your time zone…

Love and hugs to you!

<3

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