Nov 17

On Forgiveness

Something happened several weeks ago that I’ve had to sit with all this time before I could share it. I’m still not sure I can share it without sounding too sunshiny or glossy or superficial, but I’m ready to try.

I had a really hard week. I grieved everything that’s happened over the last long while. I lay alone and cried sobbing in my pillow. Everything was very sad in my heart. Even as I was sad, I wasn’t defeated, but I was definitely grieving all the life paths that weren’t going to be taken. It was a long week of blowing my nose into dirty laundry and wearing my glasses because my contacts were failing what with all the constant tears.

I stayed with it, I knew I was moving along something I needed to do, I knew it sucked. I also knew I had these people who were little points of light who were available to hold my hand when I reached out to them.

As I’m writing – I just got a text from a friend – “Just read your last couple blog posts. I hope you feel as blessed as you are to have people you trust in your life.”

Well if that doesn’t just sum up that last paragraph I wrote quite nicely.

After my rough week, I started working on the house and getting things taken care of that had been let go so I could work on what was inside. As my house got in better shape, so did I. I was okay.

I was hanging out with Alex, and my mind wandered to the Dude and the Tatskank. Dunno about you, but my mind will, on occasion, take me to really ugly places I wish I could wash it’s mouth out with soap because of. Nasty, porny images tried to work their way in.

And I realized I didn’t care.

Not the angry “I don’t give a fuck”, not the pitiful, “I can’t think about it.” A true, “I don’t care. This has no power over me.”

Realizing that. Realizing how far from forgiveness to forgetting I was – how very far on the other side of that pain I was – I felt light, I felt glowy, I felt wonderful.

I was so freaking excited. Like watching my team win the World Series Bowl Cup from the center of the action. Like seeing a goal number on a scale, fitting into skinny jeans, making a perfect drink kind of excited.

I went to bed all jazzed up on how great it felt to be great inside. I thought and thought about it and had the thought, “Go be happy Dude.”

And holy crap, I meant it. I really meant it. Go be happy Dude, because I have a big ball of wonderful coming to me now that I have let go of all this yuck you gave me. Go be happy Dude, because, why not? Life’s too short, carpe diem, choose joy, go get ya some.

That realization of being beyond the pain, the anger, the forgiveness, the moving on, the caring, the angst, and on into the actual selfless stage of “hey, go be happy, I am.” was just so WOW that I will never  quite find the words to describe it for as huge as it was in my heart. That glow. That happy.

That FREEDOM.

The next day? I woke up with my arms wide open for whatever awesome the universe was sending my way.

I ran into the Dude and the Tatskank not once, but TWICE that day.

Each time, I sent them off with a “Go be happy” from my heart. That I actually meant. Yes there was a twinge of sadness one time in the midst of that, but I can handle that, it was only fair. He was important to me for a very long time, it’s okay to be very occasionally, slightly sad.

But I’m also very occasionally, slightly sad, that I threw out all my Sassy magazines from high school.

And I’d rather have the magazines than him.

By the end of that day, I was NEEDED. *I* was needed. Chosen. And I had it to give because I’d let go of yet another pile of emotion I didn’t realize I was carrying. I let it go and made room for something better.

I never expected to feel this okay with things. Living in the same town. Circulating with the same people.

Tonight I, again, was in the mix of people who were, historically, more “his” than “mine”. But tonight? They were mine.

I own my world and my experience. My experience helps me understand where other people are with their own world. I see things so much differently than I did 6 months ago… a year ago… ever.

I’m still stubbornly not grateful for some of the things that have happened to me – but I am here today, stronger, better, more joyful, and totally ready to catch the ball of wonderful that is coming my way. I will appreciate it so much more, and I won’t squander the chance to add to my joy.

Bring it.

And the magazines. That would be cool too.

 

 

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Nov 14

Christmas Tree with Yarn and Stitch Markers

Today I started with this

I sprayed it with adhesive and started wrapping it with random balls of green yarn and got this

I used a little red yarn and tied stitch markers to it

and vi-ola! The Christmas tree is DONE!

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Nov 08

This isn’t our grandmas’ world

More than a decade ago, I set out to write a book. I had a concept – “Becoming Good Women” – it was based on the idea that my grandmothers were these very good women, and how would my generation grow to be good women as well?

I was *just* wise enough to realize that my fresh out of college self wouldn’t really have a clue for a long time how the whole “becoming” thing would unfold.

I had a notebook and one day my friend saw the notebook and decided to read it. She walked into my apartment and threw it at me. Yelling. “I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T FUCKING WRITE I WILL LOCK YOU IN A ROOM UNTIL YOU DO!!!!!” (Those weren’t her exact words, but she can’t remember shit, so I can take creative license with her words. You get the gist.)

My grandmas had different lives. Different challenges. So I’m not saying that their paths were easy (oh no, not easy), but there was a simplicity to their choices …. one marriage … one man … one home for decades at a time … one job … one small town … one church …

A decade out from writing that first page in that notebook, I look at the choices we have made – between my closest friends I can think of marriages, divorces, broken engagements, lots of sex, even more sex toys, foreclosures, multiple states, abortions, no arrests . . . oh wait . . . no . . . there was an arrest in Mexico . . . so scratch that “no arrests” thing, HPV, DOA, DMV, Zima, funerals, hospitals, children, weed, quitting smoking, adoption, therapy, weddings, quitting smoking, hangovers . . .

I’m quite sure our grandmas know very little of our experiences, and my head spins to think of them having any personal experience with most of this.

I remember at the first wedding of the group, the flamboyantly gay wedding coordinator said, “Oh you think ya’ll are open now? Just wait another twenty years and see how open you are!” (He said this just after two of us had a picture taken with our little pinkies twined together . . . a sign of solidarity poking fun at … uh …. someone’s … uh … little pinky. little bent pinky. Anyway.)

Next summer will mark the 20th year since these best friends began entering my life. It’s taken a while to find all the kindred spirits . . . sometimes it’s taken me longer than I like to admit to realize the person in front of me was, indeed, kindred. We’ve had conversations that opened with, “So I had a fart gone wrong . . . ” we’ve questioned some sanity (“Why did you take the Nutella home? What were thinking? reply “I was thinkin’ I was gonna EAT IT!”) . . . we’ve cried and we’ve smoked and we’ve prayed and we’ve loved. Which, three of those last four I know my grandmas did, too.

My grandmas had friendships that spanned decades – people born in the same town and buried in the same cemetery 90 years later. My friends and I are getting ready to start our third decade together – and with all the choices we have available to us I am suddenly still and awed and realizing how very, very lucky we are to still be choosing each other all these years later.

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Posted in Choose Joy Every Time, Kaiser Mommy

Nov 05

This Week

I know how much I have changed and grown because I am still at peace at the end of this very long week.

It was a week filled with meetings and paperwork, needy students and swirled with the struggles of others.

My best friend’s family is dissolving an adoption, stepping back to look at the needs of five people and what is best for everyone. Trying to do it with love and sanity. Stuck in the in between from decision to action. One foot in, one foot waiting to step. Supporting the best I can on the other end of the phone line.

Another friend, who held my head in her lap as I cried for love gone . . . gone, is separated from her husband. I long to be able to hold her the way she held me, to at last repay the gift she gave to me some decade ago. Supporting the best I can from the other end of a text message.

A six year old girl – learning more than I ever wanted to about things she has seen – and fearing that she is so scarred and unhealed that the hair standing up on the back of my neck was there for good reason. Wondering what I will learn next. Supporting the best I can, gathering the troops to get her some help.

Getting hit by a student today, handling that situation the best I could, with utter calm. Until it was over. Then closing the door to my office and letting the tears fall. Supporting myself by reaching out when I was scared and accepting the words when they came back to me. (We who see thestrals stick together, I suppose.)

Driving away from work today, making the transition for work week to weekend, professional hat to mommy hat – I realized how strong I was. No thoughts of badness. No “poor me”. No “What a bad week.” Very much “Bad things happened this week.” Not taking them personally. Not thinking the universe was gunning for me. Simply, “Bad things happened this week.”

When Alex said he wanted ice cream for dinner, I said, you know what, let’s do it. Let’s have a treat. Let’s do it because we can, tomorrow we can eat some fruit, tonight lets celebrate us. Cuz we’re the best we have.

I ate my ice cream with my son, on the couch, watching Phinneas and Ferb in Spanish, with a healthy heaping side of joy.

 

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Oct 31

I see Thestrals

In the opening of Harry Potter 5 (Order of the Phoenix) – Harry sees Thestrals for the first time. They are what pull the carriages from the train to the castle of Hogwarts. Neither Ron nor Hermione can see the strange horse-like animals. Luna appears and explains that only those who have been close to a death can see the Thestrals. Which is why Harry and Luna can see them, but Ron and Hermione can not.

After my dad died, I felt like I should have a shirt with a blazing, “I SEE THESTRALS” across it. I felt so different, so altered, so raw from having him ripped from my life. To look at me, I was the same – maybe a blanker look or a redder eye, but a stranger on the street would have no idea how much I had changed in those hours. I felt like there should be some kind of marking so people would know to treat me with gentleness, because I was fragile as a frozen bubble.

Since then, me and mine have greeted several others into our parent-loss fold. We greet them with with open arms and tears and whatever else strikes us when we give the original greeting on twitter, a blog, facebook, or sometimes, even face to face. We hope we don’t insult anyone with our #ddc hashtags (dead dad’s club) It’s just that we understand you laugh at yourself or cry your eyes out. If we cry, we just might not stop.

My friend lost his grandpa last week. His grandpa who was the father of his heart. The man who he identified so closely with, loved so dearly. That man was gone and all he could do was send brief texts and cope the best he could while being the point man to make sure all the details were taken care of – the ashes to ashes practicalities.

I put on my heels and my church dress and made the solo drive to be there. I held my breath and walked into a new building full of people I’d never met. These are the things that terrify me – but if he could do this, so could I. I stood and waited for him to make his way near enough to me to see I was there. I hugged him, I met his grandma. She commented on how cold my hands were – I didn’t explain it was my fear of being around new people that had me so cold, I just enjoyed a grandma holding my hands in hers - I borrowed his grandma for that moment since mine have both gone on.

He showed me photos, he told me a story that only he and I would appreciate for all its flavors and feelings. No one else would have understood why we stood for a moment at the front of that chapel, swallowing hard. Acknowledging our mutual Thestral, if you will.

He looked at me – “I’m doing all right.” I looked back at him. So much I wanted to say. I hadn’t gone because I thought he couldn’t do it on his own, I didn’t care because I thought he needed me to, I had no doubts that this man was going to take care of every detail and every person who had a need he could handle. It wasn’t the time to smirk or joke or throw out a welcome to the club comment.

I looked at him and blinked. I took a breath. Instead of all that, I said, “I know you are. I’ve met you.”

We stepped away and he went back into the crowd. I tried to blend with the wall and assigned myself the job of watching his grandma – regarding her carefully, making sure she wasn’t alone. I thought of my Dad and all the services he watched like this. I thought of the chapel in my grandparents’ funeral home. I felt so useless – there was nothing for me to do but stand by and think about Thestrals and wish like everything he wasn’t seeing them too.

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Oct 24

Love Will Come To You

Beautiful gift of a perfect Fall day, combined with a successful day at work, my Alex in a great mood and this song that reminds me of my best times of life.

The sound quality on this Indigo Girls cover isn’t the greatest, but I think these girls do a beautiful job with the song.

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Posted in Choose Joy Every Time

Oct 18

Cold and Gone

I wrote this about my ancestor a while ago, but it’s been coming to mind lately so I figured I’d share it again.

I’m alive only because people died. Well loved mothers and fathers, wives and husbands. Dead. In the ground. Cold and gone. So that I may be warm and alive and writing to you.

I am the 21st child in my family. Yes, you read that correctly – Twenty. First. I have 20 siblings – some who were cold and gone long before I was born. I have a sister just about old enough to be my grandmother.

I hope you want to know about me first – before we get to the cold and gone people. I am nine years old – I will be ten in just two months. I hate sewing, I hate cooking – especially the feeling of cold, raw meat against my hands, I hate cleaning. I like school and my books. I like to walk on the paths under the trees. My favorite flowers are lilacs. My family has raised me to be Methodist, but I’m not sure that I am. Sometimes I believe I see God winking at me in the sun reflecting off the lake behind our house.

I’m an okay looking child. In the summer my cheeks are usually bright red because I get hot too easily. My hair frizzes around my forehead like a fuzzy little halo. I love fresh, new and pretty dresses. Not that I have ever owned a brand new dress. I’m the 21st remember? Someday I will work hard and earn some money and buy my own pretty dress. One that no one else has worn, that doesn’t have a faint ring of sweat under the arm that is worn down thinner than the rest of the fabric. Someday.

Oh. I forgot to tell you. My name is Kate. I forget things like that sometimes. Manners and whatever. So, Hello. My name is Kate.

My Da’ is Scottish. He was 68 years old when I was born. He’s almost 79 now. An old man – older than most men in the town. He was married for the first time before my mom was even born. Well almost. I shouldn’t exaggerate. His wife Mattie had 10 children before her parts gave up and died, taking her with them. That’s what I heard said once when no one knew I was around to listen.

My Ma’m was 15 when she married “her Bobby”. So when I say I have sisters who could be my grandmas, I’m not telling a story. It’s true. Or could be true. Ma’m had four children and then “her Bobby” died. Seven weeks later she had her fifth child. Thirty-five days after that she married my Da’.

She was twenty-six. He was fifty-five. Without Mattie and Bobby cold and gone, they never would have gotten married and I never would have been here to tell you about it all.

I’d like to stay and tell you more. But I have to go. I think they must be done putting Ma’m in her best dress. The new one she’d just finished last week. Out of fresh new fabric with nothing worn out of it. Ma’m in her new best dress is going into a box to go in the ground to be cold and gone like the others. She made me warm and alive, but now all I feel is cold and gone myself.

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Oct 09

Singin’ My Song

A group of Kindergarteners singing along to this video made my Friday and I wanted to share it with you.

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Oct 05

Thanks (?), Ira Glass

Picture quote of the week from facebook is by some dude named Ira Glass who does some stuff with NPR and some thing called, “This American Life”.

I have not yet decided if this quote sets me free or makes me want to put my head in the oven. Which as it’s an electric oven would probably just burn the fuck out of me and not put me out of my misery.

It explains a lot. It explains why everything in my life is so gottdamned hard right now. Everything is new and comes with a learning curve as steep as the first hill of a roller coaster ride.

All of my floundering at work – explained.

The need to scream it out – explained.

Wide eyed at being the head of household – explained.

Not measuring up to my own expectations of being Alex’s mommy – explained.

I’m a beginner at pretty much everything I’m doing these days. I’m living in the gap. I’ve never lived in the gap before. I’ve been AWESOME or I’ve moved on. The idea of being “not that good” for a COUPLE OF YEARS. Seriously? Wow and OMG. See also *facepalm* and *headdesk*.

That couple of years sounds like it could be pretty optimistic. What if . . . I mean what if . . . I never get past disappointed? Yuck-o.

I’m knitting a sweater right now. I’ve redone it once already. I’d like to rip it out and do it again, but I’m forcing myself to move on through and be done with it. Like that deadline thing – okay, finish one project – move to the next.

Have I mentioned I suck at project completion?

Then there’s anything that resembles romance. I think we can all agree that my last relationship that involved the words “my” and “boyfriend” and sharing house keys ended in total disaster. How scared am I to risk my heart?

Here’s where my train of thought actually leads. I’m not gloomy about this. I am ponderous. (That’s ponderous man . . . truly ponderous . . . ) Things don’t feel coincidental in my life right now. Everything from my horoscope to my therapist telling me to focus on what is most important and then this quote from some guy I’ve never heard of.

Ultimately that quote, to me, is all about focus – focus on what is most important, so I can do the work, so I can get past the beginner stage, so I can get past the disappointment stage, so I can get to where my life is as good as my ambitions.

I’m actually left with optimism. I gotta do the best I can with what I know right now. Focus on now so that future can build itself. Let out the mighty YAWP and do this thing.

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Posted in Choose Joy Every Time, Getting my act together

Oct 03

Me ‘n’ My Act Together

Today was a good day.

On very little sleep.

After waking and having to adjust my attitude.

With caffeine and cute shoes.

And some nasty breakfast pizza. Fine, it wasn’t nasty, it was pleasurable in a totally guilty kind of way. Like all convenience store food.

I worked solid today. Purposefully. I didn’t get to do everything I planned, but when something went awry, no big, I moved on to the next thing. I was shocked to look up and see the clock at 245. As usual, I have no clue what I did today in the blur of one student after another, gears switching all around. I know I wrote down what I did. I know I even got some plans made for future days. I know my classroom isn’t any messier than it was when I walked in.

Even if my desk is still a disaster. Whoo-ee.

I mean WOW.

Alex is puny. He SLEPT at school today. Woke up, cried, went to the nurse, Daddy got the call and brought him home early.

After hanging my living room curtains. Dear Scout, Thank you. So much.

I went to the grocery store alone. Finally rich enough to shop at Aldi again (Dude’s ya gotta actually have CASH to shop there.)

I came home. I MADE DINNER. It had a meat and a fruit in it.

I put beef in the crockpot so I would have food for tomorrow. I am laying in bed and I can smell it back here. Is it bad to want beef for breakfast? If it’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.

I made a phone call. I calmly left a message regarding some money *ahem* owed to me. I actually got a return call with desired results. Pack a coat on Thursday – Hell is scheduled to freeze completely over at 345pm. Till then it’s just a little nippy.

I repriced some destash yarn in my etsy shop – want some yarn? Say yes. Please.

I’ve eaten a yummy yummy Xanax so I can make up for the sleep I didn’t get last night.

I’m not blowing sunshine from places where sun don’t shine. I had some rough moments today. I have some things to deal with tomorrow. Today has been a good day. I CHOSE for it to be a good day. Same goes for tomorrow.

Selfishly and slightly sane,

Love Dawn

ps You smell like pine and your face is like sunshine.

 

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Posted in Choose Joy Every Time, Getting my act together

Oct 02

A Month of Selfish

I’ve long had the idea that if I took a section of time and REALLY looked at myself and REALLY worked toward taking care of myself in a focused effort to get my act together – and everyone else was doing the same thing with their ownselves – and THEN WE all reached out to one other person and helped THEM . . . and so on and so forth . . . That things just might actually improve.

As it is now, I run around trying to take care of other people, leaving my own stuff unattended. I focus on people (sometimes) who aren’t helping me in the slightest. I get distracted by the bright shiny and neglect what is most important to me.

This month is going to be different. While the rest of world is barfing up pink and saving the tatas, I am going to be selfishly saving my sanity. I am spending this month focused on what needs to happen next. Focusing on this present day. Not looking at the past and moping about what hasn’t worked out. Not worrying about the future and all the things I cannot control. Not getting lost in daydreams about how I want things to be. Truthfully, the dreaming of what I want is only hurting me, planning a future with factors I can’t control is just defeating. Better plan is to focus on now and see what I can mojo in this moment.

I’ve met my breaking point with work and found my way to focus and help, with the help of a long phone call and the friend who understood me best in that struggle. What I learned from that is it’s okay to let other’s carry me when I struggle. It’s actually okay to admit I’m in a struggle in the first place.

This is my selfish month. I’m not ignoring or neglecting anyone else, but I will be interested to see who picks up the phone, who writes the emails, who checks in on me, while I’m focusing on this life right here right now.

It’s been a weekend of cleaning and head clearing. I have some ties I need to wrap up that are holding me tethered to what isn’t working. Nothing like scrubbing a floor for a few hours to help me focus on the words I need to write.

If you need me, I’m ovah heah gettin’ my headspace together. If I am who you need, I’m still right here for you. Please don’t forget about me. Please love me when I’m back around in your world. Please forgive me for taking my selfish time.

 

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Sep 28

Next

Every time in the last few weeks that something has happened not according to MY plan, I’ve been told by SOMEONE to use it as an opportunity to figure out what is most important to me.

I mean, I have a pretty good idea of what I hold most dear, but this is even more specific to me, what do I want to create in me, in my little world. Like the “at the end of my life what will matter most” kind of perspective.

Tonight I was thinking about that while Alex was splashing the day away in the bathtub.

He’s most important. At the end of my life I want him to look back at HIS life and know he was loved.

I look back on my life and the things I appreciate most are my grandma and her regular (see: seven, noon, and six like clockwork) meals at the table, homes that are more or less clean and tidy, and never having to fish out the least dirty pair of pants to wear to work.

So I have my focus – Alex needs a home, Alex needs meals, Alex needs clean clothes. Mommy gets to reap the benefits of a clean home, good meals and clean clothes. Alex also needs played like a puppy. Which the more I do that, the more I will benefit in lower numbers on the scale.

For October, these are the 4 ways I am focusing on getting my act together. There is so much more that needs to come, but these are my starts.

Let there be clean floors and let them begin with me. :)

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Posted in Getting my act together

Sep 22

A Little Rocked

I sat for just a moment in my car today before I went in to get Alex.

I was thinking about a Kindergarten boy, so small he has a booster seat on the bus, I found out today his mom just might be dying. It’s her heart. She has good days and bad days, but she HAS days.

I felt my own heart sway and shudder for him . . . for her . . . for the fact that I know these things

Most of my students are “those kids”. The ones you, deep down in places you don’t talk about at a Scentsy party, are glad aren’t yours.

Collectively my students have

  • speech problems
  • trach tubes
  • g tubes
  • hands so non functional that even with multiple surgeries those hands still look . . . I will be kind and say “unpleasant”
  • a history of sexual abuse
  • head lice
  • facial growths
  • speech so unintelligible their own parents can’t understand
  • IQs below the average range (85 to 115 with 100 being average)
  • IQs below 70. Which yes. Makes them “the R word”
  • bad teeth
  • more bad teeth
  • clothes too small
  • no bath time
  • pull ups
  • free lunches
  • been shaken as babies
  • step parents
  • no parents

soap box

I’m not here to preach. I’m totally human. Those hands I mentioned? Oh they freak me right the fuck out. Fair or not, they just do. I won’t judge anyone for what they might fear or what they might think, to themselves, about MY students. Think what you want, but treat my students with some integrity or prepare to deal with ME.

/soapbox

Those little punks LIGHT UP when they see me coming for them. That helps me cope with what I know about them. Their files confess to me like I am a priest.

Today I learned that in my tiny tiny district, we have 30 students identified who are categorized as homeless. THIRTY. out of less than 650. THAT WE KNOW OF. and come on, we know there are more.

My heart. My tenderheart is swayed, and I have to figure out how to cope with that, because this is a marathon. It is September and I have so many months to go, I have to figure out how to go balls to the wall for 8 hours at work, shake it off, and come home to be healthy for myself and so many things to Alex.

My job as a person just got so much larger in this tiny place. So if I’m quiet for a while, it’s because I am over here thinking. I am finding my quiet so I can find a new center, because wow, I am needed and more than ever, my act has to get together so I stay up to this challenge and because I know these things, I can’t look away.

 

 

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Posted in Focus, Getting my act together

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