Getting out of Bed

As the title hints, this post is about getting out of bed.

Rather, it is about not wanting to get out of bed.

This morning anxiety and depression hit me harder than any other morning thus far. It may have to do with an unpleasant task I have ahead of me this morning that my mind has blown all out of proportion.  It may have to do with Son #2 being awake shortly before 0600 and raring to get out of bed and get on with his day. 

Who really knows why? I just know that my tummy is turning, my brain is on hyperalert, and my body is ultra tense.

But guess what?!

I got out of bed anyway.  And all I want to do is crawl right back under the covers where it is safe and, well, safe.  

Varying Shades of Grey

Definitely not to be confused with the popular book series that had the words "grey" and "shades" in it, I'm referring to depression and its ups and downs.  Lately my ups have been so low that they are still in the grey.

Picture a grey cloud descending upon your world, just yours.  Somedays the sun shines and you can almost see its rays.  Other days the cloud is dark and gloomy.  But most days it is just grey.  Then, when meds start to work and depression starts to lift, the sun actually does shine through.

Its easy for those who have never suffered to say "its all in your head."  "just get over it!"  "What are you depressed about?"

There really is no rhyme or reason to depression, it just appears whenever it is presented with an opportunity.

Anyhow, my world is grey now, pretty darn grey.  And on a good day, its a little less grey.  Thus, the varying shades of grey.

Everything in my world is demanding my attention and I just am completely overwhelmed with it all.  So not like me to be quite this low, I am becoming concerned with the bleakness of my mind. 

ANXIETY

Anxiety is like a little gremlin, and not the cute kind, that comes in and worms its way into your body and festers and lingers, and then attacks when you are at your lowest.  That's how I see it anyway.

After struggling through one bout of depression just a few months ago, I was sure I had a free ticket for the rest of the year.  No more depression, just free sailing, free happiness, free whatever.  I was not prepared for the second bout that followed only four weeks after starting to feel better from the first.

When I finally could admit that I was depressed, it was already well into the downswing of my mood and morale, and anxiety, seeing a tiny little loophole, charged in!  At first I didn't recognize what was happening to me; it'd been 20 some years since I last felt anxiety in all its intensity.

What did it feel like for me?  Physically, it is a kick in the stomach kind of feeling that doesn't leave.  I was spending a fair bit of time dealing with IBS (irritable bowel syndrome) issues as that is where my anxiety seems to gather physically.  Mentally, I could not focus on anything for more than a  minute or two; its like the worst case of ADD ever!

At night, when trying to settle for sleep, I could not settle, I'd lie down and then get up within minutes.  Walk around the house a bit.  Sit down in the living room, and then go back to bed.  Actually, it was more like pacing.  Very restless pacing.  This went on for three to four nights, during which I may have gotten enough sleep to total a full night's sleep.  Needless to say, I felt hideous!  Even my daytime napping eluded me.

It was after several nights of this fractured sleep that I had to go back to work, as I'd already missed three out of my last five shifts and used up all my sick time.  A shift on rehab is a slower pace, but it was there that I made a med error; by far not my first, but the first one that I did not notice I had made and write up myself.  That is by far a worse feeling than writing yourself up, in my opinion.  Any nurses agree or disagree with me on that?  Needless to say, it feels hideous!

Against my better judgement, but following the advice I would have given to a coworker or friend, I asked for and received a prescription for a sleeping pill and have been sleeping like baby ever since and am feeling heaps and heaps better.  There was the balance between having a complete mental breakdown (which I was very very close to) and getting some sleep so I could go on with the business of living.  I chose to ask for the sleeping pill, knowing that it was a short term aid and that I would very quickly have to stop using it as soon as I found my feet again.

And that is where I am today, on my feet and half off the sleeping pills.  Anxiety still visits me as often as I let it; I've named it Bertha (my sister and I used to use that name as a joke for things we didn't like).  Bertha is unwelcome in my home and in my head, and I've taken to swearing at her when she tries to visit.  It was at the advice of a friend that I named the anxiety that was haunting me, and its been a wonderful idea.  It reminds me that Bertha is not real and that I am in control and not the anxiety.

"FAMILY SICK"

It's a rare occasion that I am woken by my alarm on my phone; I only set it as a backup on days that I have to work at 0745. This morning has been no exception as I've been awake since 0300, pondering whether or not to make a "family sick" call to work in order to allow Son #2 to be sick at home. The decision I've reached is a sort of compromise; I'll bring him to the sitter, let her know he's still under the weather and to call me if necessary.

My Mama instincts and heart know that I should be spending the day at home with him. The financial and more common sense part of me says that it's best, financially speaking, if I go to work.

As a single-grandparent, this is an ongoing challenge for me. Trying to balance financial responsibilities with family. Having a sick day does not simply mean a smaller pay cheque and "doing with less" on the next payday. It is a matter of our survival. There is no other income in this household; I'm not just a supplementary income. I AM the income earner, the ONLY income earner.

Fortunately, we have an amazing childcare provider. She will take care of him and love him in a way that is second only to me. If he needs holding and loving, she will make the time to do so. If this were not so, I would most definitely be staying home with him, money be damned.

Even knowing he is in good hands will not ease the desire to be with him when he's ill. I will think about him every minute until its the end of my shift and wonder how he's feeling.

The Right Thing

It's been a relatively routine and quiet day at my house. Got home from work at 0815 and went straight to bed and slept till 1330.

Out of the house by 1400 and at the sitter by 1415. Son #2 gave me the best greeting ever! I closed the house door behind me and heard his voice, "mom? Mommy?!" and he came hurtling up the stairs and launched himself at me. He cuddled up to me as I sat on the floor, looking a bit smug as if he was thinking, "I've got my mommy. She's my mommy and you can't have her!"

He needed no coaxing this time to get his outside gear on and was out the door before I was done chatting with his sitter.

If ever I need confirmation that I did the right thing by "adopting" him, or if ever I need to be reminded that I am a worthwhile person, I need only think back on incidents like this.

"Don't Come Back Until..."

Perhaps those were not the exact words the dentist spoke to me just over a week ago, but mighty darn close. There is more work to be done in my mouth, but he would like to defer all further treatment until I have seen a specialist for my ongoing (and severe) left jaw pain. Fair enough.

Here's the kicker; I'm also supposed to start seeing a counsellor who would theoretically help with the stress that I am apparently dealing with. But I don't feel stressed. I'm fully aware that there are issues in my life that should be causing me copious amounts of stress and anxiety.

Who has time to sit down with a counsellor an hour or two a week? Not I. I barely have time to pick my nose, never mind have an hour long conversation about life. Normally I love to talk about myself and what is going on in my world, so it surprises me that I am shying away from this opportunity.

Perhaps there are truths inside me that I am afraid of discovering.

There is a lot going on in my world; neither good nor bad. To put a "good" or "bad" label on an event or series of events is to determine positivity or negativity in advance. I choose not to do this as I believe that there is a learning opportunity in every moment of our lives. If we label something as "bad" we are closing the door to any potential learning or growth.

There is no single concern in my world that is causing enough stress for my dentist to believe I need counseling. It is an accumulation of life circumstances.

I'm not saying I don't agree with him; I do agree with him. Whatever stress I'm having is leading me to have horrendous physical symptoms in my jaw. It's as if the internal pain, the stress that I'm not feeling, must find a way to make itself felt.

HELL

Not sure if I mentioned this yesterday, but I've got a Staples paper box full of journals and poetry spanning from my late teens till last year.  If I'd ever decide to write a "lifebook," this is where I'd get a lot of my material from.

Depression has always figured prominently in my life and here is something I wrote somewhere between 1993 and 1999. I sure wish I'd had the foresight to put dates on ALL of my writing!

All the way to hell and back,

That's my daily trip.

Each and every day

I catch a glimpse

Of hell on earth.

As I travel my world

Of grey and black

Flames scorch my feet.

Someday soon

I'll jump right in.

It welcomes me

With open arms,

Nothing's worse

Than hell on earth.

That was written after my sister died; her death triggered a period of deep darkness for me, and subsequently, a period of great growth.  It was through this dark period that I began to accept that my childhood was not a perfect childhood as I'd previously thought.  

Here is another, written in the same period as the above piece.  Like I said, a very dark period.

A private hell

Reserved for me alone.
I live here in this hell

In solitude.

No one grasps the depths 

Of insanity

That plague this lonely life

That is my hell.

I love a lone in this hell.

No company

To share my misery and pain.

I'm all alone.

This hell is so familiar.

I've lived here long,

Longer than a decent person should

Ever live in hell.

Hell evidently figured prominently in my psyche at that time! Definitely a result of my childhood religious influences.

LIFEBOOK

It all started when she mentioned hitchhiking.  The memories came flooding back in a deluge of unpleasantness and clarity. I remembered sounds, smell, touch, and feelings.

And you know how I love to share what's on my mind.  Here goes:

Sixteen was a turbulent time in my life, but then so were fifteen and seventeen, so perhaps I shouldn't single out the age of 16.  Who am I kidding?  Everything from 14-19 was turbulent.  That I even lived through those years is a miracle in itself.  And I don't mean a religiously inspired miracle, its simply a miracle.

I was considered a 'rebellious' child and the 'black sheep.' My family repeatedly verbalized that I was an embarrassment to them with my actions. 

Spending time in town with my friends on the weekends was the best part of my life at that point so I made every effort to get myself there at every possible opportunity.  Sometimes that involved walked the 2.5 miles to the highway and then hitchhiking the remaining 7 miles to town.  Inevitably I also needed to get home, but at some point my family stopped being willing to pick me up in town in the late hours of the evening or the early hours of the morning.  

I'd never had any trouble while hitchhiking to town; it was generally still daylight out and I felt safe. If I was ever in any danger, my intuition never let me know.  I doubt I would have listened anyway as it really didn't matter to me what happened; I hated myself.  After all, I was an embarrassment to my family and I could do very little to please them.  

Regardless, one evening after midnight, I wanted to go home.  No one was willing to drive me all the way to my home, and no one from home was coming to get me.  So I hitchhiked.  It didn't take long to get picked up and then subsequently sexually assaulted.  In my mind it was my fault and I deserved it.  On some perverse level, I was glad for the attention and "affection."

As the sun rose the next morning I made my way to a payphone on Main Street, and subsequently went to a friend's home.  From there I called home to let them know I was okay.  I did not tell them what had happened.  It never occurred to me to tell them, it would likely have embarrassed them. No one said, "I'm so glad you are safe! Let me come get you."  

What I was told was, "Mom has had a nervous breakdown and it is all your fault." 

The speaker of those words had  no idea (and still does not know) that I had been sexually assaulted the night before.

Oh who am I kidding!!  It was not a sexual assault, it was rape.  Plain and simple.  There, I said it. 

There are plenty of similar stories from those tumultuous years and I consider it a miracle to have survived relatively intact.  I've also concluded that since I survived and am still alive, there is a purpose for my life and there is a reason for me to have survived. It is this knowledge, that I survived when the odds were stacked against me, that has kept me from suicide in the past when depression has been the most painful. 

The reason I am sharing this with you is, after telling this story earlier today, the listener asked if I had ever considered writing a 'lifebook.'  "I doubt anyone would read it," I said. 

"If you could save one girl from suicide, it would be worth writing," she said.

One of my life goals is to speak out openly and publicly about depression in order to lessen the stigma associated with it.  If my story can help ONE person,  it will be worth it all. 

Day Three

When you work 12 hour shifts, the third day can sometimes be a bit dicey. A lot of people can breeze through more than three days, but for most, three is the absolute limit. For others, two is the limit of what their mind and body can take.

I'm not quite at the full 12 hour shift yet, but I will be next week.  Currently I'm doing 10 hour shifts, a graduated step between 8 and 12 hours.  But I'm doing three consecutive shifts. I've been off work for 15 months with a herniated disc and the road to recovery has been riddled with complications and setbacks, so for me to get to this point is utterly fantabulous!! (Yes, I made that word up.)

Here's how it works at our house when I'm on three in a row:

• get up anytime between 0400 and 0600
• coffee
• get ready (includes waking child, dressing child, packing lunch, etc etc etc)
• visalus shake
• leave the house
• drive 15 minutes to sitter
• unpack child
• drive 15 minutes back to town to work
• go hard for the entirety of the shift (sometimes longer)
• drive 15 minutes to retrieve over-tired child
• retrieve child
• drive 15 minutes with overtired child who is alternately crying from exhaustion or falling asleep
• unpack the car
• enter house and feed child
• bathe child (or not)
• cajole child into staying in his own bed long enough to fall asleep
• collapse into my bed with every intention of brushing my teeth in a few minutes
• wake up at 0100 with a very full bladder
• pee
• get into pyjamas
• back to bed
• wake between 0400 and 0600

Repeat twice more.

Note: I have not included the possibilities that child may wake at 0430 and refuse to sleep anymore, exacerbating his tiredness at pick up time and interrupting my quiet and peaceful morning.

Nor have I included the little bloopers that make up a normal day. Spilling a portion of the shake on the passenger's seat, forgetting swipe card at home and being unable to enter the hospital, stopping to fix irritating windshield wipers, and so on.

By the end of three days, mind and body are ready to enter a coma state.

Have I mentioned lately that I love nursing?

AFRAID TO START

What am I afraid to start?

I'm afraid to start keeping a daily journal as a from of self examination. It scares me as I am sure I will start writing and not be able to write all that I need to write. There are so many things racing around in my head that they are all crowding the exit and waiting to get out and onto paper, or keyboard. Either option is available to me; I just haven't got a preference at this point.

Everyone's life is chaotic in some way. Sometimes only for a little while, but others have lives that are permanently chaotic.  I want to examine this for myself and get to know myself a little better and see what really makes me tick.

I'm also afraid that if I begin to examine myself via a daily journal, I may not always like some of the things I discover. There are choices that have to be made, and it scares me to think that I may have to give up things that I worked so hard to attain.

But, I feel compelled to do this, to reach deep within myself and look around at who I am, where I came from, where I am, and where I am going.

There are so many sections and sub-sections and sub-sub-sections in me that I honestly do not know where to start. Like I said earlier, I'm afraid to start this self-examination process; afraid that once the deluge begins, there will be no end.

Organized Chaos

At this very moment I am lying flat on my back on my loveseat with my feet up on the armrest; one of my most comfortable positions since I injured my back. Kevin woke me up by crawling into my bed at 0630. Dry! He was dry!!

Given my early start, I've been up and going hard for almost two hours, which really is nothing unusual for me.  I've officially started packing for our upcoming move; both exciting and intimidating. 

I've got lists and lists and lists and more lists of the things that I need to get done, and a list of items that we will be moving with us back to Winnipeg.  Life's demands don't just stop when you are packing, everyday items still need to be taken care of, ie. dishes, cooking, laundry, etc.

So far I've packed a clear plastic bin of cotton fabric, mostly sheets and pillowcases, for use in future rugs.  I have accumulated quite a bit in the past months and will continue to accept donations, but will not be making any trips to the thrift store or to garage sales in search of fabric until I have used up a substantial portion of what I have left. 

My oldest son's wedding is in just more than 48 hours and this is currently occupying the largest portion of my time and focus at this point.  Although, most everything is done, except for the appointments for hair and makeup, etc.  Arrangements for childcare are made, all clothing and accessories are purchased except for Kevin's clothing. And that I've put Jennifer in charge of doing, as she works in a shopping mall. 

Life never slows down to a crawl at our house, there is always more to do than there are hours in the day. I know it could be a lot busier and am confident that it will get more complicated when we are moved into the city. Kevin is eligible for nursery school this fall, and is already on a waiting list at a "school of choice" for Kindergarten 2013-2014. The school in question has a daycare program onsite, which is ideal. It is a school in a upper middle-class neighborhood and it is where my son's fiance spent her first nine years of education. Speaking of nine years, it is a Kindergarten to Grade 9 facility, which means only switching school for high school, and then he would be going to the same school that my two older children graduated from.

I'm aware that nursery school (or pre-school) is not mandatory, but was kind of hoping that he could get into one, but that would make my work schedule and child care arrangements so much more difficult to keep track of.  I'd love to be able to afford a nanny, not a live-in, but one who lived close by enough that she could be at my house or her house for the duration of my work day, which is usually 12 hours.

Sigh.  Time for another cup of coffee....

20 YEAR PLAN

Somewhere, not sure exactly where or when, I read or heard about making a 20 year plan for your life, and being goal oriented, thought this was an idea that I may follow up on in the future. I think that may have been a year ago.  Life hasn't been extremely kind the past year but its taught me some valuable lessons.  And here I am, telling you about the 20 year plan that I've been working on this morning.  (I wasn't kidding when I posted on Facebook that I was "lying on the deck, planning my life.")

Like everyone else, my life is split into categories which are not always easy to discern.  I've narrowed mine down to seven for the purpose of this plan.  Financial.  Figure.  Domestic.  Employment.  Business.  Family. Travel. Not necessarily listed in order of their priority, this is a generalized list.  The financial category needs to explanation, nor does employment, family, or travel.  Figure refers to my goal of someday competing in a figure competition, which I've been toying with since 2003, and almost realized that goal in 2007, which is when I was injured and spent 11 months off of work and out of commission.  Domestic refers to my home and its physical condition, ie neat, organized, welcoming, economical, etc.  Business refers to "The Motivated Hooker," my non-nurse source of income.

For those of you who are not yet aware, I am a bit of a nerd when it comes to spreadsheets, charts, graphs, etc.  Needless to say, my 20 year plan is now on a large sheet of paper and hand-made into a chart or spreadsheet.  And color coded.  So far the chart includes a plan to get competition ready for a figure competition, a snowball planto get me out of debt, the approximate months of when I think we should move back to Winnipeg and when I should return to HSC.  For easy reference, I also included my age, and my children's ages, and Kevin's grade in the future years.  This kind of helps keep it in context  and gives me a point of reference.  He will graduate in 2026, so I've got that long to come up with money for his post-secondary education.  And its a rather large amount!

My car is going to hit 250K in June of 2014, and I'm aiming to be able to replace it at that point.  Told you I was a nerd! 

Garage Sales and Bitches

What?!

What kind of title is that for a blog post anyway?

Hmmm, the way I understand it, is that blogs are for writers to express their freedom.  And I intend to take advantage of that freedom.  

That, and I just love the way those two words sound together.

People are odd.  Everyone is odd, yes I know that, but some people really stand out with their “oddness” and cause you to take a second look or take a second listen, or whatever.

So this lady comes to my garage sale this afternoon, during a lull.  She’s hold two brand spanking new pairs of flip flops in her hand.  Ones that I bought last summer because I just HAD to have new flip flops, but never used them. 

She peers into my box of $5 Tupperware items, picks up an item, and says “oh. Look. Its cracked already.” I took it from her and looked carefully and said, “No its not cracked.” She put it back in the box and hmphed.  And then was starting to walk away and said, “Oh, and I took these from the box,” gesturing out to the shoe and purse box on the driveway.

“$2 for both pairs.”

“Oh, but I took them from the ‘free’ box.”

“Ummmm, no they weren’t in the free box; that’s the box beside it.”

“Then I don’t want them.”

And she was gone in a huff.

My Garbage Adventure

Clearly my blog follows no predetermined subject from day to day, or week to week, or even month to month.  I generally just blog about what’s on my mind, and occasionally I will create a spin off on a popular topic and so I’ve really got three blogs.  However, it’s been almost two years since I’ve blogged on the other two.  That reminds me that perhaps I should, because lots has happened since and lots is happening on both those topics.  “"Down Fifty at 43" was to be a journal of my weight loss, but now the blog title would have to be changed to “Down 60 at 44.”  And the other blog is about "A Nurse and Her Money."

My life has so many different areas and “compartments;” some of which overlap and some of which are distinctly separate from the others.  And when I get to the point where I feel like life isn’t busy or challenging enough, I don’t hesitate to add another dimension.  Obviously a bit of sarcasm there; my life is busy and challenging all the time.  I do, however, keep learning new things, and therefore add to the “compartments” in my life.

My latest thing is an attempt to cut back on the amount of waste my household produces, and I’m not referring to human waste; I’m referring to garbage, the stuff that ends up at the dump.  Anything that cannot be reused, recycled or composted is considered garbage.  I’m not sure where or why this became an issue for me, but I suspect it had something to do with having a few stinky garbage bags in my garage due to a missed garbage day.  One thing led to another while browsing the web and I came across a blog titled "Zero Waste."   Oh, wait, that’s not true!  I was waiting at my doctor’s office and read a magazine article about the woman that writes the blog and then looked up the blog.  She, her husband, and their two children produced only a quart jar of landfill garbage in one year! 

That really intrigued me, and put a bit of a challenge in my mind to see how much we could reduce our garbage output.

Yesterday was garbage day here; I put out two big blue bags of recycling and two grocery store bags of garbage.  Keep in mind that Kevin is still wearing pull-ups for night and that makes up a large portion of our garbage.  He has stated, after his fourth birthday on Friday, that he is a “big boy” and I shall not “buy any more pull-ups” for him.  I wish that were the case!

As for compost material, my sister-in-law’s garden will be a very happy place this coming summer, as I am keeping anything compostable and then bringing it over to her place once every two weeks. 

Now you might be wondering how I have gone about reducing my garbage output…My first step was simply to become conscious of what I was throwing away.  As soon as I became conscious of how much packaging of products I was throwing in the garbage, I began to make changes in the right direction.  Instead of keeping a large garbage can in the kitchen, I now keep a small one by the back door.  Instead of having a small recycling bin in the garage, I have a recycling bag in my big garbage can in the kitchen.  This makes it easier to toss recyclables in their place rather than be lazy and toss it in the garbage.  And, at the same time, I think before throwing anything in the garbage because I have to put forth more effort to get to the garbage can.  Really, it’s just a mind game, but its made a tremendous difference.  As well, I keep a medium size pail on my kitchen counter for compost materials.  Since we eat a lot of fruit and drink a lot of coffee, there is never a shortage of compost material for Luanna’s garden.

More secrets to come in the near future;  athough, I wouldn’t really call them secrets, they are commonly available on the internet.  

The Enlightenment of Me

Sometimes, out of the wild blue yonder, a realization strikes you, and changes your perspective on things.

Obviously, since that's my opening line, that's what happened to me today.

And, again obviously, I'm going to share that with you, because I know you all wait with bated breath to hear the minute details of my engaging life.

Actually, its not my life that's so engaging, its Kevin's.  He's my entertainment, my sunshine.  Hell, he's pretty much my whole world.  How could he not be?  He's so damn cute and, well, entertaining. 

As much as he is my world, its easy to get caught up in the details of the day, and the tick of the clock.  So when we went out for a walk at 5 pm, I had been thinking we would arrive home at 6 and have plenty of time to make a decent meal, have bathtime, and read a few books, and get ready for a conference call at 9. 

Kevin had other ideas.  As we left Bethesda Hospital, he asked to see the water fountain on the grounds.  Then he asked if we could sit there for a bit.  Okay, I thought we'd sit for maybe a minute or two.  He discovered "corn cobs" and proceeded to collect every one within a one mile radius, carefully placing them on a bench.  For those of you who are ignorant to how Kevin's language works, "corn cobs" are really pine cones. 

At first I was kind of impatient and just wanted to get going.  You know, put him in the stroller and walk the 1.8 km to home as fast as I possibly could.  Then I realized how truly he was living in the moment and was enjoying himself as if there was nothing else in the world to think about.  He has no worries, no time constraints, no other thought but than what he was doing right at that very moment, and that was collecting all the corncobs within a one mile radius, which he was doing with the utmost pleasure. 

When we did start towards home, and I use that phrase loosely because we were meandering more than we were really walking, Kevin was walking and not sitting.  Now, Kevin is 4, he does not have the same sense of urgency that I do when walking.  We walked slowly, and looked at everything. EMS went by us, red, and we discussed EMS and what they do and why they take people to the hospital.  EMS are, in my opinion, fabulous at their job, so I simply explained that they need to take people to the hospital because the hospital has more equipment and medicine for sick people. 

There were so many things we saw on the way home, and talked about that I can't even begin to mention them all.  Days and evenings with Kevin are the best of times, and its rare that I count the hours till bedtime.  Even when I do, its usually due to me being in a bad mood, not because he is unmanageable or unruly. 

So there you have it.  My enlightenment for the day is mostly that I need to slow down to Kevin's pace and see all the wonderful things that he sees. 

He is my "why."

KEVIN IS FOUR

Kevin is four years old as of yesterday.  Where oh where has the time gone?  It seems he was a newborn just yesterday and today we had cake and ice-cream with his great-grandmother, Auntie Luanna, Uncle Chris, Auntie Maria, and Jenny (his birth mother). 

He wanted seven candles when I asked him how many I should put onto his cake. Seven?  Seven it was. 

Yesterday we went together to Superstore to pick out the cake mix, frosting, ice cream, and the decorations for the top of the cake.  It was delightful to let him choose a confetti cake mix, chocolate frosting, and stars for the cake.  For ice cream he chose Rainbow, which we all agreed today had very little flavor variety in its colors. 

We mixed and baked the cake after supper yesterday and thoroughly enjoyed it.  He cracked and opened two eggs with only a few pieces of shell falling into the batter.

The point here is that he had most of the control over decision making in his 4th birthday.  No one ridiculed his choices, no one suggested he should choose differently. This is one of the areas in life where he can flex his decision-making muscles with confidence.

Catharticism

On occasion I feel an overwhelming urge to write, but am unable to focus on a specific topic.  Regardless, it is imperative that I heed that urge in order to free the thoughts free-floating through my head.

Sounds odd, perhaps; that’s how my brain works.  Writing has proven effective time after time in sorting out the issue du jour.  The thoughts line up and spew onto the page in some sort of order and things begin to make sense. When bouncing around in my head these same random thoughts only cause trouble.

There are so many things on my mind tonight; where to begin? And should I share my thoughts and concerns with you?  My concerns tonight are not of the negative or the positive variety, they are merely things that I think about periodically and sporadically, when the house is quiet and dark and I’m alone.  Its not a case of being alone too much or too much time on my hands; these are the most introspective moments of my life, and growth, if not already in evidence, always follows these moments.

My life is no longer my own; I feel “owned” by my employer and by those currently paying my compensatory wages.  My freedom to seek employment at a facility of my choice is no longer a freedom; it is the choice of my employer, until I am deemed completely rehabbed and employable once again.  Had I not been injured, I would have found employment elsewhere and relocated my household.  As it is now, I have no concept of how long it might take till I am ‘free’ to leave.  This is not necessarily a positive thing, in my opinion, but I have learned to let things work them selves out in their own time.  Reasons that I cannot see today may make themselves clear tomorrow.  However, my impatient nature is struggling mightily with this.

This morning I deposited a toddler at the sitter and this afternoon I picked up a toddler-become-a-boy.  Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I suddenly noticed that he’s growing up and leaving toddler-hood behind.  But that can’t be!  It was only yesterday he morphed from infant to toddler.  And the day before that he was newborn.  What’s next? I imagine he’ll be graduating from high school tomorrow.  Humorous?  Yes.  Sad? Yes.  So many emotions course through a mother’s heart as they hurtle through their child’s life.  The days go by too slowly, but the years are racing by at the speed of sound. 

My confidence suffered a major assault in the past years and I allowed it to happen; I may even have made it possible by not listening to my heart at the first sign of trouble.  And when my identity was at its most fragile stage I added insult to injury by setting myself up for even more assaults on my integrity and capabilities.  Recently, the confidence that I formerly had in myself and my strengths and abilities has begun to return, and it is restoring me to a much stronger state than previously.  Adversity does truly strengthen us, but causes a fair bit of discomfort while doing so. 

Those are but a few examples of what topics my mind brings to my attention on any given day.  Having shared them with you, I can now put my finger on my thoughts; they are no longer free floating.

PURGING -- ROUND TWO

 Getting rid of as many clothes as I did a few days ago, you’d think that was the end of it.  But, oh no, I had a second go-round with the leftover clothes, and whittled away the pile by perhaps another third.  Things I’ve never worn, things that don’t fit properly, things that are uncomfortable, colors I can’t stand, and so on.  All gone.  Well, not quite gone; most are waiting for inclusion in a new rug while a few are waiting for a ride to the thrift store.

This weekend I tackled a long overdue project and that was to clean the cupboard under the bathroom sink.  It was quite cluttered and full, now its much emptier and well organized.  A few cosmetics went in the trash.  There is a maximum time that you should be keeping cosmetics before they need to be thrown away.  Since I haven’t purchased any in the past year, I’m guessing ALL of mine should have gone to the landfill.  I kept back the minimum that I need to keep until my great Arbonne shopping spree in May!

Going through boxes and bins in the basement has been on my list of projects since moving in.  This weekend I went through two boxes.  Granted, they were both extremely small boxes (think shoe box size), but everything has been allocated to a new home.  Jen’s stack of papers from school has been recycled, kept for a bit longer, or tossed completely.  I’ll revisit the “keepers” in a week or two, and I’m sure I’ll be able to get rid of even more.  Why did I do Jen’s and not Chris’s?  Very simply put, Jen’s papers were easily accessible, Chris’s weren’t. I’ll get to his when I open the right box downstairs.

Ugh, why are we so attached to our belongings?  Is it really necessary to keep so many things?  I'm sensing that I'm really on a mission here, to rid myself of anything that isn't necessary.  

Stay tuned .  . .

Isolated

Perhaps my sense of isolation today is of my own doing, but knowing that does nothing to ease the feeling. It simply adds guilt to isolation, not a great combination.

Normally I love being alone at home with Kevy, but today is not one of those days.

Acknowledging isolation, I came up with four possible reasons or causes that I would be feeling that way.

First, I'm broker than broke and that pretty much forces me to stay home. Just knowing that I can't afford to do anything makes it much worse. I'd be fine if I was choosing to stay home, but this is out of necessity.

Second, I really really really miss my adult children. It's not even possible to exaggerate that statement! Living in the same neighborhood as them, we could walk over or invite them over for dinner.

Third, when I was working I spent all day with people and was quite happy to spend time at home without others around. That was my time to "regroup" and prepare for the next set of days on. Being off work, I am lacking the company of co-workers; not necessarily missing it, but lacking the interaction with others.

Fourth, when the isolation hit me the hardest this afternoon, I simply wanted to get out of the house to go for a walk. But, Kevy had not napped and did not want to go outside. Being already tired and grumpy myself, I chose to not force the issue and we stayed in the house.

It goes without saying that single parents (or single grandparents) could potentially experience stronger feelings of isolation. Not having a partner, someone who is a support, someone who knows me, intensifies the feeling of being alone.

It's a rare day that I feel isolation as intensely today, so don't think this is my normal state; it's not.

Purging

No, not the "binge and purge" type of purging! I'm referring to purging as it pertains to belongings; clothing, books, etc.

Two and a half years ago, while preparing to move from city to country (I consider living in Steinbach living in the country. Long story.), I went through every item in my townhouse, one by one. I tossed dumpsters of stuff and drove to the donation door at the thrift shop at least a dozen times. We'd been living there for eleven years, so there was a lot of stuff to wade through.

It was a sense of relief each time I got rid of something. It could be anything, an old t-shirt, old letters, or anything. To part with old belongings, I was hanging onto the past and was unable to embrace the future.

Now, I can understand that I purged just prior to a move. After all, isn't that the best time to do it? So then why am I on a purging rampage the past few days? I'm parting with items that I so diligently packed up to move here. Mostly I'm posting them on Kijiji, but I haven't stopped there.

My closet got a good purge this afternoon while Kevy napped. What did I get rid of? Seven hoodies, my favorite article of clothing, are now awaiting a buyer on Kijiji. Six t-shirts and tank-tops are nicely folded and will be crocheted into rugs. A javex-ruined pair of pants will also become part of a rug, as will my beloved Adidas track pants. I thought my world would end when I put them in the back of my closet six months ago. But, when tearing through the closet today, I realized I had forgotten all about them!

Once the stained or torn items were weeded out, I went through the rest and tried on every single article of clothing. Every article. Shirts that were too short will always be too short regardless of my weight. Shirts and pants that fit but were a bit snug are being put away in a box for another six months. If I haven't lost enough weight to wear them comfortably by then, they will also become part of my rugs.

It's amazing what a sense of lightness and relief I feel when there is less "stuff" around me. Clutter in my space makes it difficult for me to think. Far from being cluttered, my home is still a lot fuller than after moving in.

I'll do a bit more tomorrow,