Would you still come play in my sandbox if I moved over here?
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
and look at me all of a sudden I'm all technologically challenged. I decided to mess around with my blog tonight, make it all cool and hip, and like a mother-effer, because I'm turning forty I'm all like "Duhhhhh, where's the on button? Where's the off button? Why are there so many windows open? Stop clicking so fast! What's a favicom? Whaaaaaa this is hard!"
Bear (wait is it bare like a bare bum or bear like a growly animal? Why has this not come up in my life until now?) with me, site is under construction.
I am hoping that I did manage to stop the spammy robots from commenting on my blog, because I'm sure the spammy robots were shooting lasers at YOU preventing YOU from leaving real, legit comments....right?
Tuesday, November 06, 2012
Pretty things keep floating through my head but I can’t seem to pin one thing down to talk about. Distracting and not always helpful, I’m grateful for those pretty, whispy thoughts that come and go. One minute I can be thinking about a dipping a pussy willow in turquoise paint to see what it would look like, and the next minute picturing myself playing bass guitar on stage, in front of thousands. I wish my brain had a slide show function to capture all of these things.
Last week there was a dark blip, a day of knots in the stomach and a lost appetite. I accept this day every year, try and nurture myself through it and am grateful that this darkness only visits for a day a year now.
The month of November was when my post-partum really kicked into high gear 10 years ago. I dreaded waking up and equally dreaded night time because of anxiety induced insomnia. Nights were horribly lonely, with nothing to distract me from thinking the unthinkable. The days were painfully long, it took everything in me to get through the day. Eating was near impossible and small chores were like mountains in my path. I would try and hide from my bright, curious, energetic daughter what agony I was in, so often on the verge of tears, fearing my state was ruining her. I was so caught up in the mess of post-partum, refusing offers of help, suffering alone. The bright point of my day was seeing Jo’s car lights beaming through the dining room window when he came home from work – never early enough for me.
What used to be my worst time of day, late afternoon and early evening, is now my best time of day. Surrounded by energetic chatter, lively fighting, moans over whatever meal I am planning on torturing them with, games of Blokus, cards, homework tears and then homework triumph. There is a perpetual cold-getting-colder tea on the counter every afternoon that I just never get around to drinking because I am bustling baby. When Jo gets home from work, it is not a sense of relief I feel, just a sense of completion. Everyone is home.
I am so grateful that those dark days are in the past and that I have what I have.