I know... but, I got to thinking today, about all the things in life, in the world, that can chip away at a person. All the things that make us less, that can take away pieces of ourselves. I started wondering where all those pieces go, when they're chipped away. When grief or pain or fear take your sense of what should be.
I was picturing this, all the places and people we meet along the way, trying to put pieces back together, trying to reclaim... something... and it occurred to me that putting together is just the other side of falling apart. The people we meet, that we are drawn to, they complete our sense of self. Or, at least, the worthwhile ones do. The ones that are truly for us, in the same way we are for them--- hopefully, anyway. If we all could be so lucky, I think the world would be a good place most of the time. And what are places but the people that inhabit them?
The image I had in my head was our bodies/souls as this sort of velcro surface that has everything that's ever happened to us just stuck there. Sometimes we manage to scrape it off, but not without price. It usually takes skin with it, takes something literal of us with it. Eventually, hopefully, experience teaches us how to not let everything stick. It helps us to pick and choose what we're going hold close to us, what we let go of. With any luck, it helps us to find those pieces that we find ourselves missing. Pieces that were once a basic matter of what went on in our brains and souls.
Feeling introspective today I guess. Huh.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Cole: "Why does it smell like avocados and celery in here?" (said in the car, on the way to school, while sucking on a ricola cough drop.)
I did not know how to answer that. If anyone else has any ideas, let me know. Cole hates it when I can't answer his questions, which, no matter how bizarre, he always expects me to know the answer to. Because.
Anyway, in other news, we are getting the house ready to sell. Maybe. Probably. Heaven willing. According to realtor #1, we'll be able to sell it at a reasonably acceptable price, if the buyer is dumb enough not to get an independent appraisal. Hmm.... This is what I want to know. How in the underworld beneath, does one buy a house, improve its condition, pay its bills on time, and otherwise be an honest and financially stable owner, only to have it decrease in value in a measly three years, to the point that you are now 20 grand in the hole to the bank, an amount you've easily already paid out to said bank through interest alone?
I was never very strong in math, but those numbers just don't add up to me. Seems like, either way you go, someone else is trying to make money off you. But, I guess that's the way of it, huh? Sigh.... Seems all very fatalistic. We'll see if opinions match up as we do some comparison shopping. Yes! Comparison shopping! Hurray for learning!
I did not know how to answer that. If anyone else has any ideas, let me know. Cole hates it when I can't answer his questions, which, no matter how bizarre, he always expects me to know the answer to. Because.
Anyway, in other news, we are getting the house ready to sell. Maybe. Probably. Heaven willing. According to realtor #1, we'll be able to sell it at a reasonably acceptable price, if the buyer is dumb enough not to get an independent appraisal. Hmm.... This is what I want to know. How in the underworld beneath, does one buy a house, improve its condition, pay its bills on time, and otherwise be an honest and financially stable owner, only to have it decrease in value in a measly three years, to the point that you are now 20 grand in the hole to the bank, an amount you've easily already paid out to said bank through interest alone?
I was never very strong in math, but those numbers just don't add up to me. Seems like, either way you go, someone else is trying to make money off you. But, I guess that's the way of it, huh? Sigh.... Seems all very fatalistic. We'll see if opinions match up as we do some comparison shopping. Yes! Comparison shopping! Hurray for learning!
Thursday, February 9, 2012
You belong to me!
My oldest turns nine years old this Saturday. Yep. Nine years old. I can hardly gather my brain around that one. Remembering his beginnings into this world is rift with good feelings for me, and some very well-earned sighs of relief at not having to go through some of that transition ever again--- and I'm not just talking about the strictly labor type of transition either--- although--- really? Is there some kind of biological need for labor to be so excruciatingly painful and long? I promise I would have loved him anyway, without the pain to bond me. But then, I guess some things are just so, just because (to which my son Cole would say, "That is not a good answer." To which, I agree.)
So-- My son, my first, had his first night of life sleeping in a hospital bassinet in the same hospital where his father had been born some 24 years prior. I was a month from turning 21, which I was pretty proud about, that I was indeed a grown up mother, and not a teen one. Yeah for me! We were living in a three hundred square foot apartment out in the boonies of a small college town, where both of us were attending school. The clearest thing I remember about that afternoon Adam was born was that, after pushing for a hazy two hours, everyone in the room starting getting more and more adamant about me pushing the darn thing out. I remember thinking--- "yeah, I'll get right on that---" in the end (which in real time meant probably no less that a couple minutes after everyone went frantic on me), Adam was delivered by forceps. He had the cord around his neck (nuchal cord in medical speak, as I had learned in nursing school a few months previous), and he had been in distress for several minutes. He was born dusky, but pinked right up, and has been a fighter ever since.
Adam was named for my brother, my parent's second child, who passed after a six day battle. Throughout my life, I have always felt close to this brother that I have never met. Sometimes, when I entertain the idea that angels might actually exist, I like to think that he has been mine, in a way. I felt an immediate bond to Adam. Its intensity surprised and delighted me at the time. I had been told that Adam would be my baby girl, so I had prepared myself to meet my Mallory Joanne (the name, by the way, is not up for grabs--- I might be done, but there are things that are sacred, even though they don't always make sense to outside parties), and then I was face to face, skin to skin, with this other soul--- who was definitely not Mallory Jo or even any masculine equivalent of any/all Mallory. I was scared to look at him, scared to be the mother to someone I had misnamed and didn't know. And then I did look at him--- I couldn't help it---- and that's when it happened. I knew who my baby was. This was Adam, and he had always been my Adam, on some level anyway. I know it sounds cooky or even a little weird, but for me, this was a defining, spiritual moment in my life. I knew what I was supposed to be and do with my life. I was Adam's mommy, and even though I've grown to find balance in that role, it is still the role that I feel the most honored to have.
Happy Birthday my sweet nine year old!
So-- My son, my first, had his first night of life sleeping in a hospital bassinet in the same hospital where his father had been born some 24 years prior. I was a month from turning 21, which I was pretty proud about, that I was indeed a grown up mother, and not a teen one. Yeah for me! We were living in a three hundred square foot apartment out in the boonies of a small college town, where both of us were attending school. The clearest thing I remember about that afternoon Adam was born was that, after pushing for a hazy two hours, everyone in the room starting getting more and more adamant about me pushing the darn thing out. I remember thinking--- "yeah, I'll get right on that---" in the end (which in real time meant probably no less that a couple minutes after everyone went frantic on me), Adam was delivered by forceps. He had the cord around his neck (nuchal cord in medical speak, as I had learned in nursing school a few months previous), and he had been in distress for several minutes. He was born dusky, but pinked right up, and has been a fighter ever since.
Adam was named for my brother, my parent's second child, who passed after a six day battle. Throughout my life, I have always felt close to this brother that I have never met. Sometimes, when I entertain the idea that angels might actually exist, I like to think that he has been mine, in a way. I felt an immediate bond to Adam. Its intensity surprised and delighted me at the time. I had been told that Adam would be my baby girl, so I had prepared myself to meet my Mallory Joanne (the name, by the way, is not up for grabs--- I might be done, but there are things that are sacred, even though they don't always make sense to outside parties), and then I was face to face, skin to skin, with this other soul--- who was definitely not Mallory Jo or even any masculine equivalent of any/all Mallory. I was scared to look at him, scared to be the mother to someone I had misnamed and didn't know. And then I did look at him--- I couldn't help it---- and that's when it happened. I knew who my baby was. This was Adam, and he had always been my Adam, on some level anyway. I know it sounds cooky or even a little weird, but for me, this was a defining, spiritual moment in my life. I knew what I was supposed to be and do with my life. I was Adam's mommy, and even though I've grown to find balance in that role, it is still the role that I feel the most honored to have.
Happy Birthday my sweet nine year old!
Monday, February 6, 2012
It's sad, how this whole experience here online, with this blog, has been so neglected by me, isn't it? I think so. In my defense, I think my brain is on strike. Has gone on strike. And I don't know if negotiations will be successful. Scabs might be our only defense at this point, poor as that substitute is.
Or, it might just be that trying to put my head on paper is just one thing too many with all the plates I've been juggling. Every day it seems, I get all my piles together, throw them around in some sense that I'm actually getting things done, only to have dropped all of them by the end of the day, where they lie, chipped but not broken, til I wake up and do it all over in the morning.
And doesn't that description just make you want to shine sun out your..... I'll stop there. I think I'm giving the wrong impression of grouchy crap-ness, but it's really quite the opposite around here. This past month has been... uh, interesting? But, do-able. I'm feeling healthy, I'm getting my sleep, usually all at the right times of the 24 hour cycle, we're all fed and warm and things are relatively uncomplicated around here. We're getting into a mode of operation with Adam, and his 'struggles', Ben is starting to talk more and more, Andrew and Cole are doing well with school, and I've even had time lately to pay attention to them--- Yeah! Pats on the back all around!
It's just: it never rains unless it pours, you know? We're planning a big life change this summer, in that, we're moving to Portland, hopefully for the long term. Lots of reasons, none of which are particularly easy to explain, just that we want to, and that we both have felt the need for this choice for a long time now. It's just that now, all our ducks are stacking in their rows, and we're just ready to not wait anymore. I met with a realtor for a walk through today--- hopefully, she will turn into MY realtor, but we'll see what she gets back to me, in regards to numbers and what she can do for us. And while we're on the subject, should anyone out there be in need of a cute home in a good quiet neighborhood that is close to school and hospital, not to mention shopping and bus line, with a full 5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, lots of storage space, a fenced backyard with a detached double garage.... Let me know! It's a keeper! Just... uh, not for us :)
The bathroom is freshly painted, just for you!
Or, it might just be that trying to put my head on paper is just one thing too many with all the plates I've been juggling. Every day it seems, I get all my piles together, throw them around in some sense that I'm actually getting things done, only to have dropped all of them by the end of the day, where they lie, chipped but not broken, til I wake up and do it all over in the morning.
And doesn't that description just make you want to shine sun out your..... I'll stop there. I think I'm giving the wrong impression of grouchy crap-ness, but it's really quite the opposite around here. This past month has been... uh, interesting? But, do-able. I'm feeling healthy, I'm getting my sleep, usually all at the right times of the 24 hour cycle, we're all fed and warm and things are relatively uncomplicated around here. We're getting into a mode of operation with Adam, and his 'struggles', Ben is starting to talk more and more, Andrew and Cole are doing well with school, and I've even had time lately to pay attention to them--- Yeah! Pats on the back all around!
It's just: it never rains unless it pours, you know? We're planning a big life change this summer, in that, we're moving to Portland, hopefully for the long term. Lots of reasons, none of which are particularly easy to explain, just that we want to, and that we both have felt the need for this choice for a long time now. It's just that now, all our ducks are stacking in their rows, and we're just ready to not wait anymore. I met with a realtor for a walk through today--- hopefully, she will turn into MY realtor, but we'll see what she gets back to me, in regards to numbers and what she can do for us. And while we're on the subject, should anyone out there be in need of a cute home in a good quiet neighborhood that is close to school and hospital, not to mention shopping and bus line, with a full 5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, lots of storage space, a fenced backyard with a detached double garage.... Let me know! It's a keeper! Just... uh, not for us :)
The bathroom is freshly painted, just for you!
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