Sometimes...

Sometimes you just get tired of making nice for everyone. 

Sometimes you get quiet, and that makes some people uncomfortable. 

Sometimes you speak up, and that also makes some people uncomfortable. 

Sometimes you spend so much time being 'nice' that other people forget that perhaps you have feelings as well. 

Sometimes you can give so much of yourself away, that there is nothing left of you. 

And when you are no longer there to give, those people often disappear or move on to something, or someone, else. 

Sometimes you may lose people in your life because you make them uncomfortable. 

Sometimes you think if you accept people where they are and forgive their shit, that you will be treated in kind. 

Sometimes this is true. 

Sometimes it's not. 

Sometimes you can turn yourself inside out to be everything to everyone else, and then feel shocked that no one seems to care or notice. 

Sometimes you can have a dark night of the soul, and really have to go it alone, as uncomfortable as that truth might be. 

Sometimes you can feel judged by the 'happy people', and sometimes you wonder if they realize you also judge them, as careless and selfish.

Sometimes people don't care about your shit, because they are so wrapped up in their own. 

And sometimes, ALL of that is just fine. 

Because sometimes, it just has to be about you for a while. 

And often, when people have gotten used to having you there for their every need, they will get angry when you stop. 

But usually, they will casually dismiss you as crazy or troubled, rather than take a look at their own unjust or unkind behaviors, and just move along to the next person or distraction. 

Because some people are just takers. 

And some people have no interest in growth, spirit, or fairness. 

Which sounds pessimistic, but it's not. 

It's realistic. 

Many people are unkind. Selfish. Inconsiderate. Careless. And superficial. 

And that's ok. 

Because any of us, can only take care of our selves. And the kind of people that we choose to be. 

And sometimes, the best way to do that, is to stop caring so much for others. 

And sometimes that's ok. 

Good things.

Here's something- 

You can be so involved in a good thing that it becomes a bad thing. 

You can be so close to a situation that you can no longer see it clearly. 

You can be so stuck in what you thought things were, or should be, that you don't realize what they really actually are. 

So... hmmm...

Where does that leave us?

Wiser, maybe? 

Yes, I think so. 

Chalk up another one to 'life lessons' I guess...

Take the time to stop and smell the roses. 

See the forest for the trees, and whatnot. 

Step back and take a moment to enjoy the view. 

Savor life. Drink it in. 

Breathe... 

Cliche? Yes. Certainly is. 

But cliches are born of truths. 

Very simple, basic truths. 

And very simple, is often, very true. 

Radical acceptance of what truly is, without wishing, wanting, or needing, to bend, shape, mold, perfect, or change it, is a very good thing. 

Sounds like I've watched too much Martha Stewart today. But really...

keep it simple sweetie. ;) 

Now, i'm going to eat chocolate chip cookies with my girls, and watch Martha Stewart whip up a perfect coq au vin- without even wishing I could do it! 

Being...

Here's something I've been chewing on for a while...

I've been really unhappy. (Shocking, I know- given my chipper and upbeat attitude of late, my general positive outlook on life, and my overall love of people in general) *ha

I'm actually amazed, given my recent personal reflection, that I still have any friends or family willing to speak to me at all. 

I mean, I don't even like me any more. I'm negative and uptight, and cranky, moody, bitchy, impatient, defensive, suspicious, accusing, and I'm sure lots of other not pleasant things too...

On one hand, I want to give myself a break, and realize just how hard it is to be sick, and getting sicker, over a long period of time. To lose hope, and become a cynical asshole who loses the ability to find joy in anything any more, or feel truly in the moment without fear or worry. 

To even begin to believe that nobody truly cares what happens to me, and at times to think perhaps everyone's lives would be better if i would just get on with it and drop dead already. 

I'm sorry, I know that's uncomfortable. But, it is what it is. And it is how I've felt. At least at times. 

I've rolled out of bed, and pulled up my bootstraps, and put on my game face, more times than I can count in the last year or so. I've repeatedly ignored my body, my heart, and my soul, in the cries for rest, recovery, and release. 

I've just continued to do what had to be done, putting one foot in front of the other, and getting from one side of the day to the other, and crashing again feeling drained, depleted, and like life has become utter drudgery. 

This... Is not living. 

But, we do what we do. We do what we can. And we do what we have to. To get through. To keep going. To move past. We just do. 

Until... We don't. Until we can't. 

And I can't. I can't keep doing... This. 

This... Is not living. 

I give everything I have, and much of what I don't, to what I think are the right things to do. 

For my kids, their education, their social lives, their entertainment and enrichment. 

For my husband, his business, his needs, our relationship. 

For my home, decorating, cleaning, planning, organizing. 

For our health, our meals, researching, preparing, learning, trying new diets. 

So much goes into a family. 

So much of it comes from the mother. 

I once wrote a post about what a mother was not... 

Here is what I've come to learn about what a mother is: 

A mother is the glue. 

She is the sticky goop that holds everything else together. 

Perhaps in neat and orderly rows that line up in perfect military fashion. Perhaps in the most wild and crazy haphazardly type mess you could imagine. Like marshmallow fluff melted and being mixed into cereal bars.

A mother is the root. 

She is the place from which the heart of a family grows. She is the source of the bringing forth of vital nutrients and life giving vitality, from the earth, from underground, from below the surface of what is visible to the usual point of view. She digs in and finds energy from some place deeper, dark, unseen. 

A mother is the voice. 

She is that quiet voice that says, everything is going to be ok. She is the nagging voice that reprimands you when you really know better. 

A mother is many things in relation to what she means to her family. More than I have the time or focus to reflect on here. 

But aside from all of this, the one thing I have been forced to recognize recently, despite thinking I already knew this, despite having heard it come from my own mouth on a multitude of occasions... 

A mother, is a person. 

She is a human being. 

I feel the need to say that again.

She is a human. Being. 

I have lost touch with my own humanity. In this silent march of strength and duty, to keep on doing what I am supposed to be doing- I forgot about the being. 

I forgot how to just be... human. 

Flawed, imperfect, ridiculous, and all the rest. Only I'm still all of those things. I'm so much more flawed by my constant pursuit of perfection. I'm so much more imperfect in my quest to meet some imaginary self imposed standards, for what? For me, for everyone else around me. My complete rejection of all that is as not enough- well that is truly ridiculous, at it's highest. 

I don't have a neat little bow to wrap up this post. I haven't worked my way to the end of it yet, and I don't really think I need to. I don't need an answer, a solution, a finish... 

Life is not like that. 

It's messy, it's confusing, and it's ongoing... 

And that's okay. 

Roots... and wings... run deep.

My maternal grandmother... Vernie Almedea Mercy Kinchen Hughes- brave, strong, independent, adventurous, willful, progressive. Proud member of the WACs Women's air traffic controllers in World War II, proudly served and traveled all over the US, fan of the theatre, the Dodgers, the Rockettes, and Macy's Thanksgiving day parade, all fondnesses from her time in New York, postcard collector,  play bill and ticket stub saver, New Years Eve Manhattan party goer, free-spirited and engaged to at least 2-3 men before meeting 'the one' -my grandfather, who upon seeing walk into the diner told her co-workers, 'I'm gonna marry that sergeant' despite being engaged to someone else at the time. So a dear john letter, five kids, 18 grand kids, and many years later, here I am- recognizing the roots of my wild and willful ways, seeing the source of this mysterious gypsy blood of mine- having only really ever known her as Maw-Maw Vernie- moo-moo wearing, church going, child raising, god loving, family building, pancake flipping, popcorn ball making, chicken calling, stray cat feeding, kind and patient, big and squishy grandma... Widowed 40+yrs, never having even entertained the thought of seeing another man- bc she had a husband, and was always married to him, and him alone.  

This explains so much- the source of my roots, as well as my wings. 

Woman.

A cool and sunny October afternoon, having salmon sashimi and a lemonade, enjoying an old Nina Simone? jazzy, yet sad, rendition of blue skies... 

Smiling at me... 

Nothing but blue skies

Across from me, sits a lovely, Middle Aged, maybe 45? I'm nearly 40, she's at least a decade older. She must be...  Is it the streaks of fine gray in her thick dark hair, hardened, dry, brittle, reminiscent of it's once voluptuous youth, an intricately laced coral shell replica of what was once alive and vibrant, rich and soft and flowing... She seems European, her light colored knee length a-line skirt, black ribbed turtleneck sweater, black Opaque stockings peaking out, only an inch or two, nearly met by a clean and pricey looking pair of knee high grey suede flat-soled boots. Smart, stylish, comfortable, unassuming yet elegant... Is it that? Her quirky, unkempt, yet perfectly effortless appearance, that reads to me as aloofly European? foreign somehow? 

Or is it the somewhat melancholy look in her eyes, the distant longing- nothing of bitterness, only experience, both good and bad... Pleasure and pain. Light and dark. All without a hint of judgement or denial, delusion or grandiosity. Only casual acceptance. A surrender to what is, what once was, and the inevitable what may be still. 

Her eyes are dark and round, and tell secret tales of many passionate moments long past, moments of loving, anger, fury, fueled by only something as fierce and foolish as youth, and the unbounded energy still unbridled, unbalanced by age and wisdom. 

She stares blankly, yet deeply through the window, for what seems an eternity. 

I am entranced. 

Perhaps sensing the depth of contemplation in the prying eyes of this stranger sitting across from her, she shifts her eyes intently, unflinchingly, directly to me. Embarrassed, I shift my gaze quickly over her shoulder. 

Directly behind her is a typical all American woman. Strikingly beautiful, tall and thin and statuesque, strong and somewhat intimidating in both dress and demeanor. I noticed her strut by me moments before with a confident, poised, purposeful gait, knowing, seemingly at all times, exactly where she is going, filling all the space of her own embodiment as well as the space around her with an air of untouchable, admirable, infallible competence. But now, sitting alone, eating her overpriced sandwich, eyes cast downward into whatever business plagues her via iphone... She is changed. Bitter, angry, hardened. Weak...?

She walks away, her too large sharply square bag hung tightly over her rolled-back shoulders,  Filled no doubt with files and a laptop and other varieties of very important things. She stomps through the cafe in her sleek, expensive black slacks, perfect creases front and back, long pointy black heels, sensibly high, without any suggestion of frivolity, only just high enough to stand just a bit more above the rest of the world, to gain  a slightly wider edge than provided by her already nearly six foot frame. Creamy white cardigan with scalloped edging suggests a desire to be feminine, but somehow, despite her still luxurious, perfectly coifed, clearly pampered mid-aged skin, hair, and nails, she misses that mark. She veers astray, wanting of the timeless, goddess-like femininity of the French woman, or at least she is French in my mind... 

Something so sublimely feminine in her complete and utter destruction and surrender. Her letting go of self in order to let self truly come through to surface. The exasperated wild and weary look of her, precisely countered by her peaceful self control and deeply rooted comfort in her own aging skin... The charm of her melancholy, the exquisite beauty of her sadness. She IS woman, and the other only posing as such. Building her facade, unconvincingly play acting in society's high heels and lipstick, over dressed and under equipped, like a child in her mothers things... 

Wanting to be, striving to be, is not the same thing, not even close, to being. Woman. 

Today's lessons...

JJ 

Playing jump start all day...

Me- Did you learn anything? 

Well I learned one thing

Sometimes even when you cross your fingers, it doesn't really work... 

(Sometimes wishing for something just isn't enough, you have to keep trying)

Making blanket nest with dog...

Me- Can you lay me a golden egg? 

You want me to lay a gold egg? 

Me- Yes

I don't think I can do that... 

Contemplation... But I think I can probably do a pink polka dot one.

(The faith of a child is a beautiful thing, never give up hope)

Sitting next to me, sitting next to S, in the same bed...

Can you ask daddy to text trinity to find out where she is? 

She was in the same house, just not the same room. 

I had my phone in my hand.

(Sometimes you just need to make sure everyone gets involved in your process)

T 

Crying on the stairs, having just finished reading the Warriors series...

...losing someone we care about is always hard, and our capacity to care for others is always incredible... They don't have to be human, or actually even exist anywhere other than in a story, our hearts, or our minds. 

For me-

Every moment, of every day, someone, somewhere, is in crippling, writhing, life altering, pain- for every moment that you are not, count your blessings, including the obstacles. 

Please don't tread on my cheeseburger, he's my only friend in the whole wide world. 

http://youtu.be/CRBULShizec 

Crazy Balance

When things feel crazy all around, I try to look within. 

I don't take responsibility for the actions or choices of others (not any more at least- its taken me a lot of years and practice to learn where my load ends and how to stop carrying other peoples baggage around) but I do try to do a little reflection to ask myself what the lessons might be for me.

The onslaught of crazy lately has been off the charts. 

Violent, demanding, rude, pushy, inconsiderate, selfish, imposing, untrustworthy, angry, and aggressive. 

All of these terms could be used to describe the people (or their actions) who have recently intersected my life (and infiltrated my quest for peace and calm and regaining my health). 

I have to ask why? I have to ask myself- what does this mean? What am I supposed to be learning here? 

I'm coming closer to knowing the answer for certain. And i feel like it's some unseemly combination of self love and respect, coupled with unconditional and universal love and compassion. 

Now that I say it that way, it doesn't seem so impossible at all. I can see how this plays together. 

Having personal boundaries, self love, and wanting to be respected- these things do not have to be at odds with having unconditional love and compassion for others. 

It is possible to stand my ground, and still understand yours. It is possible to respect my own boundaries, and respect yours too. It is possible to show love to me, as well as to others. 

There can be a balance. 

The trick will be to learn to balance. 

I'm a libra. I can do it. 

Big Sis: Are you ready for me to close the closet door? Little Sis: Let's have a staring contest first. ...five minutes (and lots of giggles) later... Big Sis: I'm not having a staring contest with a stuffed animal! ...fivemoreminutes... Giggles galore and some major silly talk. This reminds me of being a kid, sleeping over at my grandmas house with all our girl cousins, on a pallet on the floor, staying up late and saying silly stuff to make each other laugh, giggling all night (until Mamaw yelled at us from her bedroom- then we'd get really quite, and then all crack up laughing again) It was all fun and games until she threatened to get her slipper... #oldschool #sleepysillies #giggling #childhoodmemories #thegoodoledays #happytimes #homeagain

LPS obsessed!

Even my feet are fair game for petshop play! Everything exists for the sole purpose of being used in LPS world...

At least as far as my girls are concerned;
How about your kids? Do they have that single obsession with a certain toy that seems to go on forever and become all consuming?