the end of the year

so here we are at the end of the year, and I am thinking about what i have learned. I learned I need to create, in ways that feel creative to me, as I am doing the work, letting the work through me, it is not optional. it is nourishment. it is essential. I have learned that too much work is not the blessing it may appear to be, but can impact everything in ways that feel like suffocation. that right work in right amounts is delicious. i have learned that my body and mind are brave and that my panic was/is pain trying to express itself. be heard. be understood. be accepted. and pushing it down and away is impossible. pull up a chair and listen, katekate. That is what it needs. after panic I need rest. full rest. sleep or distraction. I need to refill. i have learned I am not good at that. I bullshit myself. I am excellent at that. time to trade a little of my excellence in bs into excellence in self care. unapologetic. simply necessary. i have learned that I need connection that is simple. and I need conversations that are complex. that I need beauty that is simple. and beauty that is beyond imagining. I need to make space(s) for myself and within myself to hold who I am growing into, so I don't take the shape of an old container like a pot bound plant. I define the shape by my growing. i have learned that loving others is what I am here to do. and that others includes me. i have learned that doing my best work means telling the truth, even silently to myself. i have learned that I can speak, and that the listening is not up to me. but that I can speak in ways that make it more likely to be heard. I have learned that my enthusiasm can be a deterrent. too much. and the best I can do is laugh and call it what it is, and know that it is a filter. if I am too much, then maybe the work is not the right work, or the person is not the right fit, or the time is not right. my enthusiasm is a gift. but so is my conscious awareness of others. let me bring both together more harmoniously in the new year. i have learned that my changing body does not mean I have to reject myself because I am no longer familiar. it is an invitation to renew my own familiarity with this place I call home. recognizing I am in a time of rapid and chaotic transition. my needs will change as fast as my topography and my chemistry, and i need to cultivate self compassion, curiosity and fluidity in adapting. I have learned that love can be deep and distant, can be simple and complicated. that I can love and be loved and not understand or be understood. and that understanding is simply not as necessary as acceptance. If I wish to be accepted as myself. i need to accept others as themselves too. it goes both ways. both. in and out. out and in. like breath. i have learned that my mosaic of friends and family create the reality of my support system. that no one can hold the whole of my needs and no one should. I have learned to be a better piece in the mosaic of others'. I cannot be everything to anyone else either. i have learned that i know shit about parenting and my history of abuse and codependence makes this so so hard as I dance the crazy impossible certain to fail dance of conflict avoidance... but am doing my best with a smart sensitive spirited sprite whose energy outpaces mine like an Australian sheep dog. i am learning the difference between reacting and responding. this, my friends, is slow painful learning. i have learned how much of my life is tethered by a self I tend to so rarely. the one who is me. not the roles, the duties, the actions, the work. but this kateness, this one. this one who sits and writes and words come out like salty water of tears of joy and relief, face turned upwards toward whatever is out there, that connects with all and the everything, including all that is in here.

7

Somehow through miracles bigger than I will ever understand, Della is 7 today. She is immense and beautiful. Smart and funny. Snarky and tender and spirited. She is magical and complicated. Sensitive.
She is not yet independent or resilient or patient or empathetic. She is an only child who wants and believes she needs full immersion intensity, attention, interaction, responsiveness. School is hard, structure is not hard but noise is, and chaos, and no space for quiet. She arrives home tired and hungry. And needing to be internal. So in she goes, but near by.  barks out needs: Toast!  More toast! while her screen saves her with magical worlds the way mine once did with the original Star Trek and no I am not kidding.

I have rarely known anyone so often and deeply disappointed and disapppointable. Or someone with as lovely and contagious a smile and laugh and true silliness.  She knows we are here,  but aches for us to be closer. No longer wants kisses, will negotiate for hugs.

parenting in the time of consent is curious.  Yes it is your body but we NEED to wash it.

and me, oh I am missing the snuggles. I am missing being the throw pillow that held her weight even if not her attention. And as I try to reconnect with my own independence. My own patience. My own resilience. I am strung deep and hard into empathy and anxiousness, my desire to avoid discomfort a true pathology that gets in the way of joy and experience.  And I am navigating like a new driver with a standard transmission, too many pedals, too abrupt a change causes a lurch or a stall or a fearfilled rolling backwards as I forget all I know, emergency brake, flashers, ignition, my ability to walk or sit still or wait or think. there is a perpetual immediacy that I feel in parenting, and am learning (SLOWLY) to create gaps.  longer and longer.  between a thing and a response while still being responsive.  I can say, let me think about that. I can say, hm. I'm not sure.

Parenting means parenting me too.  this weirdness of finding out all the areas I've glosssed over with make do skills.  la la la avoidance. la la la.   well hello there unfinished business, guess I will scooch over and make some more room for you at this big ole table of other things I need to address.    learning and learning and relearning. not always comfortable.  no, that's a lie.  not comfortable nearly ever.   I reposted something on FB today, a great quote posted by someone who posts great quotes. 

Robert Kaplan

“You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it.”
Benjamin Mee, We Bought a Zoo

 I cannot promise the same.  Something great may not come of it.  But as I am learning my tiny brave steps.  my tiny insane moments of courage.  I can say that they are their own tiny greatness.  Look, I can say, look. I am trying.  I am pushing beyond what I knew or know. I am thinking of things differently.  I am willing to try to change.   Panic still has fun with me. A recent Lyme diagnosis has not been resolved with doxy. I wonder as I move forward who I am and what will stay, what will go. and how I will adjust to what my body feels like whatever that turns out to be. the same way I wonder who I am and what will stay in the wake of so many years of struggling with panic. I know I am still here. but also ever evolving. ever changing.

Last night, I tucked a sleeping Della into bed after reading, and I felt teary.  A deep ache for time passed and passing.  the preciousness of it all. and the impossibility of the adage to treasure and remember every moment. Some moments suck and are not treasured. Many go unnoticed in the act of being and doing and folding and working. Almost none can be remembered for me.  I know I held that baby full time for nearly a year. And yet, my memory is nearly a dream. the curve of her cheek. her ear. Her eyebrows. the way her chin dimples. Now stretched into a strong 7 year old who cartwheels in the living room, dances, and cries every single time she needs a bath. That, at least, remains the same. A touchpoint that connects the beginning to the now.

 

unexpected tenderness

Ok-- so-- first, the hair loss. Ratios of my thyroid levels indicate something wacky between the whole Make T3! call to action by the TSH and the T3 levels themselves.  So, selenium as a facilitator and we shall see. I am not optimistic my hair will grow back, but that's what hats are for.

In the meantime, so much else has happened that it is hard to even get riled up about it.

I had my first mammogram call back, after my first mammogram in 4 years. I had a lump last year, followed by an ultrasound, followed by an all clear and the lump vanishing. But I had never had a call back on a mammogram before.

I'll start this by saying, I'm ok. The reading was ok- and I go back in 6 months. But here is what I wrote while I waited:

I'm in the waiting room at radiology. Waiting waiting for a call-back mammogram. I am thinking if all of the waiting rooms. All of the waiting. The fluorescent lights. The linoleum floor. The cold air and scratchy cotton. I am thinking about turning points, decision points, change of plan points. I am thinking about love and connection and feel an unexpectedly tender love for my body.

Now, I have not felt much tenderness toward my body, ever.
It has caused me untold grief with colitis, acne, the whitest skin on the planet, bruises, bulges, infertility, the birth saga with uncooperative cervix then c section... anxiety, hair loss, blah blah blah blah blah....
it has always been it. not me. it.
a separate container for my Self to ambulate in, to use the sensors with great gratitude, but also a separateness, often hostile, or annoying, or shameful.

Suddenly, in the harsh light of that waiting room, I cradled myself in my arms, truly whole maybe for the first time ever. A surprise integration. Suffused with love. And I have a feeling of wholeness that is different now. I'm getting to know it. But the love and tenderness and gratitude are profound.


And, in other breast related news, we weaned. Not in any way I would have wanted. In fact, I don't think I can even talk about it.
I bought a beautiful bra to celebrate the parts of this worth celebrating (there are plenty, I know).
I don't want anyone to say "About Damned Time!"-- just don't.
You can't say anything I have not already thought or heard or worried about.
Here we are, finally, totally not baby led, or toddler led, or pre-schooler-led. Good lord, left to her, we'd nurse until the cows come home, and since we have no cows, that is a long, long time.

Now we're moving on to addressing the sleep deprivation in all of us, and trying not to make things worse by trying to make them better. Not succeeding yet. Della, in fact, is asleep right this very moment having huffed off into the other room when my beloved mom touched some toy she wasn't supposed to. So Della stormed off, lay down, and conked out.  11am.
Life, love, the pursuit of sleep.
We are in the midst of it.

My art show!

In the Denver area?  Please come! And please let me know how you know me. I'll be there without Doug and Della, but with my awesome dad and dear friend Liz. (I AM SO EXCITED!!!)

https://www.facebook.com/events/574612582667607

like a window

grief opens grief like a window

like a can opener

stirs silt from the bottom

shakes loose parts newly or incompletely mended

rattles around, making noisy messes, reminding me acutely of things that hurt to remember.

As I think about the brilliance lost in Robin William's heartbreaking choice, I think too about the losses we all share, those who have loved someone who has made this nearly unthinkable decision. And while I am so very sad for Robin, that this felt like the only choice he had left, I am more sad for his family, those who loved him, all of us who felt somehow connected to his wry smile, his tenderness, his humanness.  It exposes our collective vulnerability somehow.

After losing a beloved to suicide, 11 years ago this past weekend, I have finally gained solace of a sort during hard work this past year... a hard won healing. Tender always, but a new sense of something like peace, I guess... a still point of understanding I did not have before-- before, suicide was simply unthinkable, unimaginable, and my loss, the world's loss of my beloved, was totally beyond my comprehension.

Now, after experiencing being taken down by anxiety into an underworld of desperation-- I understand things I did not understand before.

I sought help, took it, take it, seek it. And thanks to this intervention I have returned home to myself.

But I understand now, desperation, in a way I did not.

I understand just wanting to make the pain stop. And simply not being able to stand it. Feeling lost, taken over, alone.

And I wish for all who feel lost, to reach out, get help, allow help in. Please.

In this moment, I sit with this sadness, with the echos of my own loss, my own grief, and let it (as best I can) move in and through... knowing, after all this time, that it will move like water, downstream, if I allow it to pass through my knowing, my heart, my memories, and not try to hold on for the sake of having something to hold on to.

Anxiety, you may bite me.

Usually there is a rush, first. A whoosh as adrenaline bolts from the solar plexis gate and the race begins-- down arms, and legs, up along my jaw, into the top of my head, and neck, and into an emotional whatthefuckness of total hijacked badness.

under threat
in danger

in this land of no lions, the dangers the threats are ghosts. ghosts of old wounds, rubbed new by navigating grief.
ghosts are reminders of vulnerability, true vulnerability, true threat, true aloneness without resources, without backup, without the ability to keep anyone safe.
ghosts haunt with memories of insufficiency, of true inadequacy, faced with problems that I could not solve, were not solvable, about which I felt responsible even if I was not truly responsible, and ended in the ultimate failure of loss of a loved one.

this cocktail is a potent one,
the pin is pulled, the trigger, touchy, everything good feels temporary, and the anxiety, when it comes, feels like it will never leave.

I have so many tools at my disposal.  Yoga, breathing, nature, love. Meditation, mindfulness, awareness, curiosity.  I have art and friends and family and doctors. I am lucky beyond measure. And yet, with all of my tools, all of my resources, I am failing.  (don't worry, I KNOW better, but that is what it feels like).

beyond the triggery rushes, there is a low lying fog of it too-- potent in its own insidious ways: the fear of fear. a cloud-headed cool tingly feeling of waiting and sadness.
the grief of losing what felt like my own unconscious but oh now i know how sweet it was sovereignty
the grief of losing the innocence of life without this brand of Fear.
This is Anxiety plus Grief.

The timing and the emotional depth suggest the triggering may have started as I truly began to face the grief associated with Jeff's death after avoiding it for so long. But it is cleverly mixed with triggers embedded in things that every parent of a toddler faces. Often.

To get a handle on it at all, I asked for medication about a month ago.
I felt better knowing I had something to take, but I also felt more and more there is some sort of emotional scope creep where I was feeling fear more and more often. So, with my doctor's blessing I am doing an ativan boot camp-- medicating before physical responses as much as I can. This, I thought, would allow me to address the mental and emotional parts more directly without having to cope with the physical manifestations.
But in the 7 days since my plan was implemented, I have had two big triggers, two floods, two chunks of time washed away into the foreign and unpleasant land, and countless hours tinged or awash in fear of fear and grief about the fear.

today, the morning after the second trigger...I am so tired, bone tired. but also trying to revel in the good feelings that the lack of anxiety-in-this-moment means.
when it is not here, my ordinary, spectacularly ordinary life is so rich with good feelings, with openness with unclenched body.. but even with the relief, I am now on watch
and I hate that.

aware, alert for any change that may mean It's Coming Back.

constant vigilance.  vigilance does nothing but sap me. it does not keep it back. hold it at bay. make me more effective. it does not make me a better parent, a better person, a better artist (oh, maybe it will actually, who knows?), it does make me more compassionate to all who suffer from this bullshit.
but
man alive. I am just so tired.

this month marks one year of this dance.
and I toast it, with irony and  a quarter of an ativan.
I am working this, hard. and also trying my hand at allowing. at listening. at believing there are messages in this for me that are important.  I have a care team, I have Doug, I have my own stubborn tired self.
there are gifts in this, I am sure. and I say I am open to finding them. but in this moment, knowing there must be gifts is not the same as feeling it to be true.

rocked

today is my last day with a 2 year old.
how is that possible? truly... astonishing.

I was thinking back to before, as if it is a different lifetime. Standing at the fridge with the vials of liquid gold. Hoping for the best with each stinging injection, each stylized ritual.
There was a rhythm to it. The cycles, I mean.
And now, it is all downhill wild rush of in-the-moment-ness, yes with moments of foreshadowing and some of nostalgia.
Was she ever little? She is so big now.
Was I ever not this person? This one, this tired one with the biggest most filled and overflowing heart? This one, struggling and blessed, competent, incompetent, flailing, tender?
This one who is loving more and more and more and realizing, bone deep, that love has NOTHING to do with ease, and everything to do with mystery.

I hate when folks talk about marriage being work
and parenting being work
and work work work
hard hard hard
i thought, great, thanks for that. welcome! I wanted to hear, welcome to the best things ever!

and it is the best thing ever,
but to be honest, a lot of it is hard. hard hard. hard because there has never been a me doing this before, parenting this amazing child, learning these things in these moments.
i am humbled and awed and feel as if there is KNOWING that is just over there, that if I could just reach out and touch it, I could socket into a river of knowing, a river of ease, a river of being able to go with the flow of this without so much internal struggle and doubt.

it is the hardest most wonderful thing I have ever done, have ever had done to me, have ever taken part in doing.
there is no ease in this.
there are easy moments, moments that feel like silk, calm water under calm sky.
gentle.

but most of this truly is a mad rush.
a mad rush flying by in a twirly skirt wearing wings
or flashing impatience
or laughing hard enough to reach the very core of the earth and the heavens above.
my earth is being rocked, people. In every moment.

I am learning by the moment, learning how to be(more) centered in the storm, how to create safety, when to walk away, how to get down on my knees, hold my arms out, and welcome a sad being close, when no magic can happen but everything is magical that is happening...
I am learning to hold on and let go of ideas of plans of expectations of self judgement...
I am learning and relearning and relearning.
I am in need of a well to recharge and want quite desperately to build a tiny reserve so my patience does not end like a cliff dive onto rocks bristled with barnacles.
it runs out. just. like. that. and I suddenly hate the way my voice sounds, my chest feels, my face feels, my eyes, my mouth, as if I have been hijacked.
I am learning to get up, or go inwards. I am trying to learn to shut my mouth. Breathe.

but the thing I am learning most is how rarely I give my full attention.
and this may be the saddest thing.
the phone, email, internet, connection with things *out there*, pull at me all the time. I don't want to miss out, and in so doing I am missing out
on this
this miraculous now.

so my intention truly is to spend more time present. even if it is in one minute increments.
the space of 10 breaths.
focus, singularly, as singularly as possible on this amazing person.

I know this is about me me me and you want to know about Della Della Della and that will come, I promise.

Journeys: buddha and ammo boxes

Driving up route 145 north out of colebrook, you'd pass Dostie's furniture on the right.  A long low building sided in vertical boards of a medium blue. Tune up shops, trailers and homes fall away quickly as the road heads uphill faster than you can downshift. 

The drive takes you up one of the most beautiful winding drives in New Hampshire, up and up and up. Up through Stewartstown to Clarksville toward Pittsburg.

For the past half hour, before I lost signal, I'd been listening to NPR, coming in tiny aggravating bits, a TED show on storytelling. I hear enough that affirms what I know, how stories inform us, connect us, express our humanness... and even though the sporadic signal is long since gone, an npr-ish narrator remains.

Driving up route 145 out of colebrook...

but it is me,

I am driving,

and I am driving to the cemetery.

This story was supposed to begin like this:

3 ammo boxes, a buddha and some bells.

An empty bag from Dunkin Donuts.

An empty car seat.

A baggie of stale cheerios.

A small painting of a winter sky.

A well-past prime brown eyed susan.

I am in good company I guess, confused company. Bit and pieces that express my life in this instant. This journey today has been a long one, and it has been a long one, and it will be a long one. I realized a while back that grief is a long term partner. It is patient enough to wait out any amount of denial and diversion. It comes up, coughs politely into its hand, just often enough to not forget. Occasionally it moves a doorway so you slam into a wall that was not there the day before, but that, these many years later, just happens sometimes.

I am here with two boxes of Jeff's things. Things I could not throw away but cannot keep. Things that were personal, intimate. Things that were his. I've added some symbolic things too, a fountain pen, an abacus, 3 fly fishing flies (a wooly bugger, blue winged olive and a royal wulff). I've added a knot of keys from an old truck. 3 stones. And a note I wrote with a very shaky hand the night before.

The things are in two ammo boxes, a momentary act of brilliance on my part, waterproof,  compact, and speaking directly to Jeff's love of old military equipment, and utilitarian design. He used to have one in his truck for change and the notebook where he fastidiously recorded every gallon of gas purchased, every oil change, every mile driven.

The third box came with my ebay purchase, and I will give it to Peter, the Sexton, whose history in the armed forces has just been revealed to me.

The buddha is in place of a marker I cannot afford.

And the bells, I am not sure what they are for. Movement maybe, movement. Change. 

And the flower, if all goes well, will come up again and again and again, spreading its pot bound roots deep into the nearly impenetrable soil that has been loosened, in this moment, by 2 and a half hours of Peter's patient digging.

Peter is a farmer and an angel. He has dug a million holes. Fence posts and grave markers. The hole where we stand is just one of those million, but the angel in him says that this is the only one that matters, the only one that matters this way, today.

We put the boxes in the bottom and slowly fill the hole with handfuls of soil and rocks while we fill the air with conversation that stretches nearly as far as the sky.

We talk of town politics and god and vietnam, of guns and hospitals, of his wife, and love, and hope.

We talk of things we agree on and things about which we disagree, but I can see how he sees it, if I were standing in his shoes.

He raises heritage chickens and I am raising a spirited child, and his kids are long grown.

We place the buddha and the plant. He places the carefully cut sod.  I arrange rocks to hold the bells which do not meet with my hopes for either clear ringing movement or of heavy-bottomed groundedness. Oh well. There are a million things, I know, that are better in theory than in practice.

And then, my nose fully burned, and my hair blown wild by a wind that has kept up with our conversation, we make our way back up the hill. He finds and hands me a turkey feather. We talk about skunks and the divots they've left everywhere in the grass.

With a hug, we part, and I walk to my car, stinking of the stale beer I spilled from a can I picked up as trash when I first arrived...my eyes seeking sign of cousins of the bees that flew in fast, as soon as my doors opened, and would not get out until ignored fully, with all the doors open, while I moved boxes and buddha and bells to the site.

It has been an hour and a half. And it has been much longer than that. And I am still 4 hours from home.

The light has changed, and now the hillsides show more glorious color-- the air has cleared maybe, and the wind is no longer tossing every leaf upside down.

145 is more beautiful north to south and I creep along, happy that no one is behind me, as I look out over acres of mountain sides, flush with fall color, and the black spears of some sort of evergreen.

I drive home through rain in franconia, hard enough to look like dark coming on.

The down and down and toward home.

Just as it is truly dark, I get out of the car to throw out my donut bag,  and my legs are wobbly from the journey.

It feels like so much longer than  a day.

I look up at the windows of our apartment, the twinkle lights strung perfectly imperfectly across the glass. It is like coming back from the moon, I imagine, welcoming and strange. And I am both lighter and heavier than I was when I left.

Della at 2.75 going on 14

My wee teenager.

We are in the thick of it, rolling eyes, crossed arms, humphing. The impatience and impertinence.  

It would be more funny if I were less tired, more capable. Hey, I do realize this: this is about doing the best you can. Sometimes that is pretty good, sometimes it isn't, it's awkward and I spend my day uglyfaced, short tempered and unfun. But sometimes, sometimes it is pure magic.

She is immense, people, truly. Immensely herself. All of this will serve her well later in life.

She is immense, and she is encouraging me to become more than I ever imagined.

What an awkward gift that is.

No, I say, No. No a million ways, a million times.

I disappoint. I just do. It's built in. If you told me that I would do this, over and over, knowingly, I would have told you you were crazy, it is * SO UNKATE*.

But here I am.

And however unfun the moments, 

however awkward some of the gifts,

however tired my tired ass truly is (it is no longer dragging, dragging indicates motion, and motion indicates energy)

however much I fantasize about sleep or resilience or reserve or calmness in the face of it all

however much I fantasize about whatever it was I fantasized about when I still had braincells

this

this is so much MORE.

pure magic, with a side of snark.

falling, saving myself, great fits and starts

once I wrote that flying is just falling and saving yourself over and over again, and I thought i was pretty clever but, of course, a bazillion other clever people have seen it the same way

so here I am
falling, saving myself, falling, saving myself.

I realized that I was stressing myself out, being crazy busy, working as hard as I could, putting in the biggest effort possible-- more hours of daycare meant more time to work, more hours of daycare meant I needed to work more time... and clients come and go, projects come and go... and
finally, after working like that-- there came a moment when I realized if I cut back on everything, that really, the only thing that would be different is my stress level.
Financially we'd be no better or worse off, but my days would get unwound from the crazy insanity of go go go go go go that I've been running, to something maybe more manageable.

Then, in the middle of that, there is summer, and Doug being away, and serial Della sickness and barfinesses thanks to daycare that kept me/us from being able to go and see him, and finally
yes
stop.
rebuild.
slowly.

Along with this, a new client who is a great fit.
And, my own heartwork, developing it fits and starts, culminating in a workshop I gave yesterday on everyday mindfulness that 11 brave and wonderful women attended... I was absolutely where I was supposed to be, doing what I was supposed to be doing.
Right fit.

So, I am in a rebuilding and regrouping phase. Daycare is not an option for summer, and I need to just know that and plan for it if Doug is away.
Working like a crazy insane person to pay for daycare to come out even or behind is actually crazy and insane of the option for working like a slightly less crazy and insane person leaves me in the same position.

Lesson learned.
For now.
Because right now I am in the saving myself part of the program.

non weaning, yes, another update

after that shitstorm of emotion, that instantaneous shift that I was clearly not ready for...
well,

she's nursing again.

so.
what does it mean? it means I got a front-row preview of my actual process, and while it does suck, I will live.
tears don't kill us, thank god/goddess/all-that-is
but oh! there is grief
and gosh darn, how much I don't want to slog through that.... but I will, and I will live, even if it is astonishing in its complexity

but since i am in the habit of looking for hidden gifts, it also means I got a glimpse into what it might be like to sleep without the weight of my not-so-little-one slung across me, and, well, in some ways that will be nice. hello deep breath, I remember you.

it also means that I am aware of the fact of my own complexity, and at least I can practice (and practice and practice) self compassion...

thank you for your kind support while I struggle my way through this

good intentions and the unintended consequences of Yes

So, I had good intentions.
Before Della was born, before I knew who she was, I imagined creating a world for this new being that was full of yeses.
I imagined making the kind of space that would allow for free ranging (with supervision of course) but without the million navigational "nos" that I had seen others use.

Yes, a fantasy, a FANTASY created by me, kate, with no prior experience with kids.

So, I tried yeses.
As many yeses as I could.
I yessed whenever possible, and sometimes spend energy making a no situation into a yes situation just so I could stick to my oh-so-innocently-conceived party line.

Then, inevitably, the Nos came.
They had to, right?
and they were met with shock.
And defiance.
Really? No? What does that even mean? (I could hear her infant brain asking with stunned surprise).

I had one of these too during my teenage years. A clear memory of a No that came out of left field, the shock that came with it, and the hurt that felt as if I was not trusted.

(I know so much more now, I know that was not the case, sometimes limits are protective in other ways).

So here we are, navigating a sea of Nos that corresponds to 2 and a half, an unbelievably willful child with a clear vision of what she wants.

And I confess this:
I have, in the past 3 days, begun to use 5 chocolate bits as a once-a-day outright bribe. Nothing awful-- I say-- standing at the top of yet another well-intentioned slippery slope. Nothing bad--I say-- since I am just trying to get out for a walk, or wait a few hours before nursing (another post for another day on not weaning)...

And I am aware as I am doing this that the solution that feels the most harmonious right now, may simply screw me in the near future.

I did not realize how much of parenting is survival in the now, and regret in the soon.

first hair cut, penguins and imagination

First: penguins. No, not my most embarrassing but sincere penguins-in-flight issue of last year, no no... this one is
RANDOM PENGUINS
seriously, my friends, worth a look, often a laugh.

Second: Della's first haircut. I mean, not just the cut off the random tangle, but a real ok, pretend-I'm-Brave edward scissor-hands sort of topiary frenzy quick before she freaks out, here's some chocolate bits... resulting in a wad-o-hair that was, well, just shy of three bags full:

A pre-cut photo from NOVEMBER for comparison:

And immediately post-haircut from monday with headband

And without (a little too neat, methinks, but hey, it will grow wild again)

 

I do have a massive regret, two actually-- one, of course, is not taking an immediately-before-photo.
And second, that I did not take a photo (or have one taken) of her wildhair in silhouette before cutting it. It was MAGNIFICENT in every way except anything that had to do with practicality. And I swear, it was getting the kind of knotted that turns to dreads and we are not ready to go there.  Maybe later but not quite yet.  So now I feel compelled to let it grow back out so we can get that photo. Ahhh regret. You suck rocks.

I've been having trouble with finding products.  Some from Mixed Chicks sounded *so promising* but they were SO INTENSELY SMELLY I literally could not use them.  Not just fragranced but so highly fragranced, that really, just, no. I mean, no way. I did not even put them on her hair.

Now we are using a california baby detangle spray in "CALMING" (for momma) and it smells wonderful and not strongly of anything once on, but it not quite moisturizing enough.  Ok internet land, suggestions? any other wildhaired babies out there with fine curly insane manes?  Anything NOT SMELLY that works for moisture?

Della talks about her big blue car and her big blue house. She talks about "tomorrow". (We will go in my big blue car to my big blue house tomorrow to play with friends)

We play make believe as often as possible-- I ask her questions about her stories and totally enjoy every single moment of everything.

She is singing and making up words to songs we know, and oh, it is really funny. Mary had a big blue car, big blue car.... yeah. I am loving the imagination stuff more than I can articulate.

Sprogblogger recently had a post that included a list of books that her beloved Henry is devouring.
I love books. I love reading. Reading has saved my ass, fed my soul, transported me away and toward, educated me, opened my mind, fulfilled me, left me longing and breathless, made me laugh, taken me on journeys, fed me feasts, ohhhhhhhh reading.
I imagined this: every day I would read to Della and every night we would read before bed.
Reality: sometimes we read, sometimes we don't. Sometimes we binge and read and read and read, and then days pass without one book.
OH how that pains me, but it is our reality. It is her rhythm.
I read one whole chapter of wind in the willows out loud while she played on day. But that was exactly once.  Play, for Della, is INTERACTIVE. Yes indeed.
So that was anomalous.

The llama llama books are way too intense for my sensitive little one (we are working on emotional stuff other ways),  so although there is a great love of llamas, we don't read them at all.
YAY for everything from Sandra Boynton. And the little version of the alphabet book by Seuss. (Big A little a what begins with A)...
YAY for barefoot books (what's in the forest dark and deep?  and Riding my tractor...)
YAY for the other books (a visual dictionary that is totally annoying, carrot sticks with the world "carrots" underneath.. I WILL be sharpie-ing the word "Sticks")

So here's the truth. I hear stories about little ones loving books, loving being read to, loving reading or playing with books and I hear my inside voice saying "it's ok, it's just not happening yet.... "  and I hear my own longing in that. I feel my own longing because of my own relationship with books.  Seriously, I cannot imagine what I would have done (what I would do) without them.

And when, as a parent person you feel like you are missing out, or like your kid is missing out, there is a panic as if somehow we are running out of time... when in fact, we are just having a different experience.

We watch SO MANY VIDEOS it is embarassing. Why? because it is her downtime. It is when she shifts into the gear I assumed she would shift into with reading.
She imagines, and recounts, and tells *those* stories.  Talks about *those* characters.
She is so intensely kinetic, I am not surprised, really, that her stillness comes only when there is action to *watch*.  I imagine, too, that this may change as she develops her own internal movie-making capabilities, you know, the ones that get triggered by, say, hearing stories.  Say, maybe stories that are being made up, or even, you know, READ ALOUD.

so much less than I will

Dear people from my past,

I think, growing older, that one of the most rich and painful experiences is realizing, and re-realizing, just how clueless I was when I knew you.
I remember the bad flattop haircut I thought was cool or at least did not know wasn't. The leg warmers. I remember standing in a gay bar wondering if I was supposed to feel at home because I didn't. And wondering if because I didn't, if that meant something. I remember a million occasions where I was just doing my best, but my best was like driving with my eyes closed down a busy street, and I don't know just how many people I hit before I was done, how much chaos I caused, how much hurt, how much confusion.
I was often misleading and confusing because I did not know what I was doing, and I am sorry. I hated the way I felt so often, so defensive, so lost.

I had the unusual occasion to make amends with someone I hurt unintentionally but far more recently.

A spam bot stole my email, sent spam to my entire contact list, oy
folks from my very brief foray onto match.com included
anyone I had not deleted
which means most people I know or have known

and I realized suddenly with a horrible sinking feeling that I would be back on the radar for some folks who had tried to forget me
and oh yeah
I was right

but, it gave me the chance to say I'm sorry to someone I am truly sorry to. I meant it and mean it and it felt better having said it outright.

So this note, to all of you from my past, those I kissed and those I wanted to, those I confused, and those I ran toward or away or over... I am sorry from the person I was then to the person you were then, but I did not know what I was doing. I meant no harm. I was just trying to make my way, find my way, find myself.

20 years later, or 30, I find myself finding myself still. But now I know I will not find myself in someone else, or in a haircut or dive bar or team sport or bed
I am finding myself in the moments of meeting my own eyes in the mirror, and knowing that I know so much more now than I did,
and so much less than I will.

3:3, percussive reset

Well then,
now where were we?

Ahh yes, percussive restart.
Barforama
Yes, it got me too. I thought I would *die* and I wish I were exaggerating.  Worse than labor, and kidney stones. I felt well and truly poisoned, and very very close to passing out many times.  But. Done with that and expecting a rapid recovery. Della is much better, although still off her food, and Doug, who was last to get it and had a different version, is tired as can be but is ok.
Somehow, we are ok.
Tired tired tired with no stamina, but ok.

But The Dread was exhausting and draining and the experience was intense and frightening,
and now, it is over and I feel nearly giddy
and would dance a bit, you know, if I could imagine lifting my feet off the ground. I'll jiggle and weave a bit now, sitting. It feels safer.

On a very plus note, after a few months of increasing discomfort and panic, culminating in a trip to see a new counsellor for some EMDR once I identified my triggers as triggers...I took action.
I made some hard choices as the year wrapped up about how I can best and realistically deal with my financial situation and feel relieved. I realize there might actually be a balance between what my brain knows sometimes and what my heart needs, and this time I feel I found it.

I also did some creative collecting this weekend-- a few opportunities to gather some images as fodder for my paintings.

It was fabulously foggy, with snow, and wet bark, and mmmmmmmmmmm
texture of corn fields, and dried weeds.

yes, I know I am nutty, but this stuff actually feeds me.

And for once? I allowed myself to be fed, to take the time to notice, take it in, and actually grab a few snapshots so I can evoke some of the same mmmmm in the future.

So-- yes, barfing and decluttering and trying to find some balance, and choosing pretty carefully (in this moment) what to put back in.

I really missed my campfire gathering, but felt I made progress this weekend finding my way back to what I know.

Hard to realize just how easy it is to lose sight of things that work when things aren't working.

labyrinth/2

Yesterday I walked my first labyrinth.

Actually, that's not true. I walked my first half labyrinth.

It was much larger than I expected, and I walked more slowly than I expected, and there were more people in it than I expected, and I had *no idea* that the way "out" and the way "in" were the same path.
(I realize, philosophically, they are not the same, but literally, they are, and I had no idea what the etiquette was, who steps where to let which person pass?)

The labyrinth was laid out beautifully in black tape on an old wooden floor on the second storey of the town office building. There were candles up on the stage area, and soft music playing. Otherwise, it was silent except for the sound of people walking.

I had the hardest time stepping in. I got all choked up, and truly thought I would lose it right there.  What was that all about? Was it about the last year? The recent tragedies? The riffled up holiday emotions? The ailing beloved grandmother? The job uncertainty? The feeling of not quite having my footing?

Finally, I stepped in, and tried to allow myself to stay present and inward and true. I walked very slowly, really paying attention to how each foot felt as it contacted the floor. I was reminded of walking meditation, where as you step, you say, I am arriving, I am arriving, I am arriving, or, I am here, I am here.

I was totally in my own space when I realized I was face to face with someone in the process of coming out-- and we both dodged and weaved and finally made it past each other with awkward smiles. I was surprised at how hard it was to allow myself to step out of what felt like my path. I was afraid, maybe, of not knowing where to step back in.

At one point, I noticed a ladybug crossing the floor right in front of me, so I stopped and picked it up, and carried it for a while until it flew off my palm.

Slowly, I made my way to the center, meditated for a few minutes to the sounds of the creaking floorboards, and then, walked the first part of the pathway out. Once at the rim, and getting more and more aware of time passing, and my loved ones waiting for me at a nearby cafe, I respectfully stepped out, circled it once, and left.

To be honest, yes, it felt centering. It also felt *important*. I don't have a lot of rituals in my life, in fact, very very few.  And it felt sort of great to have a symbolic something to do, to take part in, something ephemeral.

It also felt like I was doing a bit of emotional decluttering. If only the stage of the project where you dump out the junk drawer to see what's been gathering in the back corners.

I've been working on decluttering a bit in more than one aspect of my life for a month or so, thanks to a great little book that my sister put me on to (read chapters 4-7 for the biggest ah has).

Decluttering, for me, does not and cannot mean achieving a steady state of serenity and order; it is much more kinetic, more of a tending, more of an ongoing process with big intention motivating it.  I know and have known I feel happier and more at peace in less cluttered, simpler, more beautiful spaces.  So this is about opening my space to feel better than it has until this recent flurry of decluttering began.

Anyway, it was how I marked the beginning of the year: stepping into the unknown, finding myself sad and relieved, on a path that often felt like it was going the wrong way, back and forth, not making progress that was visible, until there I was at the center, some place I'd never been before.

reiki and remembering

This past weekend I took a reiki class.  Reiki 1 and 2.

Like so many things, it seemed to come up into my awareness almost accidentally (I've know about it, and thought about it, and put it on my list of things to explore)-- and one day about 2 weeks ago, I had a moment, looked at my list, and looked up Reiki training, New Hampshire, fully expecting nothing.
And Voila.
A Master practitioner, living  TWO TOWNS OVER, holding training at her home June 2 and 3 and offering a discount for taking both levels and yes, there was room for me.

ok then.

I want to tell you that my sister was going to join me and there was GREAT JOY in my heart at the prospect, then she couldn't for a reason that she could not control so someday we will have a sister gathering, or getaway, or something, so my heart can feel fulfilled by that oh-so-tantalizing-Almost.

The training was intense in that it took somewhat singular focus for 8 hours two days running.  It was intense in that I was around 20 people I did not know in a room a bit small for the number and the variety.  It was intense in that I did not realize how much I was hoping for an epiphany, an ah ha, a moment of realization or connection that made the whole thing make sense in the context of my bigger picture..... but what I felt was calm, and the teacher was amazing, and the group diverse and interesting...

I learned a lot --I sort of witnessed myself interacting in a way I had not had too many opportunities to in the recent past... during breaks, I found myself answering questions more than asking, and that is the opposite of what I am used to.  Weird to field so many questions about myself, my baby...I would be talking to one person quietly then realize that a group had gathered to listen. I wonder what about my story needed to be told that way and what folks needed to hear? (one woman, 36, told me I gave her hope about having a family, and it was all I could do not to yell DO IT NOW!)

anyway, it was also a very interesting class, and certainly worthwhile... and I am now curious and open to the possibility that perhaps some ah has will sigh in in their own good time, most likely under my radar... helping me know things differently.

My belly was calmer after that day of hell last week, but in each hands-on session, it grumbled SO LOUDLY that all of my group could hear it even over the music.

I think what I think right now is this:  this is about remembering rather than learning, trusting/having faith rather than sensing.... and we'll just have to see how that works with my busy brain and desire to Feel Something Happening...

Pi day

First and foremost: thank you! thank you for understanding my vanity-rant, by bathing suit blues, my obsessive redirection (look over there!) when other things (summer!) are too uncomfortable to contemplate.

The truth is, the bathing suit thing sucks. So, some swim shorts are on order (the last suit was skirted and horrid).  If the shorts "work" I'll simply (ha)  find a top that works with the shorts. If not, well... I'll cope.

Della is still sick but better than she was (fever gone thank goodness). We had three nights in a row that were horrid (HORRID) with her waking every 3-9 minutes (I timed it) to flail, choke and cry.  Awful.

Enter realization that we had stopped the reflux medication when we started her last course of penicillin a few weeks back for the throat infection, so yeah, we are so sorry Della.  But this realization was not before two things happened: I had a terrifying dead baby dream that left me reeling, and Doug absolutely freaked himself out over the possibility that we might have black mold in our apartment (if you look it up, prepare to be terrorized by the awful litany of bad health things it can cause).

Samples have been collected and sent to labs, and all surface mold has been cleaned with renewed vigor. An air scrubber has been procured and deployed. Sunshiny beautiful weather means windows are open, air is moving through the apartment, life is better.

I'm sick but getting better. At least I am better now than last night. This morning I felt like crap, but the general trajectory is one of improvement.

Doug had a day of chills and feeling fevery yesterday, but believes it was just exhaustion. We slept apart last night to help us all gather some sleep (and Della had a half dose of Benadryl to help with her cough and congestion on the suggestion of the doc she saw yesterday). The benadryl was not the solve-all-things miracle I hoped for, but it sure did help the cough and snot.  A lot. So while there was her usual waking and flailing, there was no choking and gasping and crying. Hear hear. Let's hear it for improved sleep for all of us!

***
Ok-- the call goes out:  Co-sleepers, how and when did you transition? And how did you deal with your own separation anxiety?

a letter from my future self on valentines day

Dear self,

You may not know it right now, but you are doing important things. I know, it may feel like somehow you got on the wrong bus, or that you are being mistaken for someone else with different skills and different goals than the ones you imagine you have, but in reality, you are learning in every moment, learning things that will help you take yourself where you need to go.

You are learning that you will need to take yourself, that there is no express ride, no fairy godmother, no magic wormhole, no wood sprite, or fog-thick fantasy where you will wander in lost, and wander out found.

You are learning how to listen differently, to yourself and others. You are learning how to speak and when not to. You are learning to watch for bigger patterns and not just respond to minutiae.  You are learning flexibility and strength. You are learning how important it is to say no, and how freeing it can be to say yes, and how shitty it is when you say yes too soon, or no simply out of fear.  You are learning how to be new at something, how to suck at it, how to be open to not knowing.

You are learning to love in a wide open way that you have never experienced before. You are learning to trust, to lean into, to count on... you are learning that being scared about being interdependent does not mean you can pretend and not do it. You've already found yourself out, and realized in spite of fear, you're in it too. That although you've already learned, you already know you would probably survive, you cannot imagine going back to just you.

You are learning to listen to your body, to the signals that come quietly before the shouts, the jammed gears, the smoking clutch.  You are learning that you need to take a different kind of care, and that requires a different kind of time, and a different kind of time means a different kind of allowance... you need to make room for taking care.  It cannot be interstitial.  It has to be as important as it is.

You are learning a lot about what you don't like, and a lot about what you do.  You are learning to pay attention to energy shifts and balances, what brings energy, what saps it. You've already made a huge leap this year into awareness of the cost of self inflicted conflict. That each moment needs to have clarity of attention and that split attention is acutely and nearly instantaneously depleting.

You are learning about the skills you have that are independent of field. The ones that just are-- the katestuff that you may be able to reframe into a useful package to help feed your family and your self.

You are learning so many things that are laying groundwork. You may not know for what yet, and that is ok. You are learning, in fact, that not knowing is ok. That you can feel your way towards whatever is next, and have faith that somehow all the pieces you are collecting, all of the yeses and the Yeses and the YESes will amount to something tangible and satisfying and real.  That your gifts will be useful and helpful and of the kind of value you may not be able to imagine just now.

You are learning to imagine an energized life, one with confidence and quiet joy. You are learning to imagine how active a roll you will need to take in avoiding the leg traps of old behaviors that keep you small, keep you quiet, keep you wounded.

You are learning to stop and look, stop and think, stop and listen. Remembering things you knew, and then unknew.

You are learning, I know it feels you are learning too slowly, or in a way that feels circuitous and non-linear, but you are learning what it takes to feel good. And you are remembering, not always and not easily, but you are remembering pieces you've put aside or away.

A few years from now, your landscape will be different. It will be more gentle and less thorny. You will be able to see a little farther,  and have more faith when the fog comes in that it is simply time to reconnect, gather in, re-imagine and reaffirm.  You will be stronger than you think. You are now, but you can't quite know that.  You'll see though, and it will simply be true.

You will realize how much there is in every moment that can be used for bliss. You are realizing this, but you forget and re-remember. You will forget and re-remember a million million times.

But this I know, this you know: you were made for joy. You feel it in everything when you can. There is nothing quite like fireflies or snowflakes or the moon. There is nothing like chocolate or the right shoulder, or clean sheets or hot showers.  There is nothing like lying on the floor and feeling that sort of connected with whatever that earth energy is that holds us just strongly enough so we don't fall off.

You will learn to reconnect more easily.  Have faith that you will.
and I'll be waiting here to welcome you.  We'll have fun, I promise.

with love, and more appreciation that you can know for all that you are doing, and all that you are being and all that you are becoming. Without you there would be no me.

Namaste
your future self

nose, grindstone, chocolate, attachment, photos

Yes, well, right then. Where were we? Oh yes.
So here's the thing: I created a scenario where I now have 4 jobs, 4 bosses, and have found myself to be a wee bit flat out crazy. I get on here (computer that is), work in a frenzied sort of way, go get the little one, have our short but intense evenings, then do it again, until fridays where I am not on here much, the weekend too, then begin again.  I feel very unsettled, unconnected, disconnected, and fragmented. And I am not UNHAPPY but I am not feeling I am doing all that well either.  So incredibly happy/grateful to be employed (let's just see how gratitude can be a mixed blessing shall we?)

But grateful means it is hard to say no- because what if no one ever asks me to do work again?  WHAT THEN?  This is very much old katestuff, the stuff of who would want to date me? You? OK THEN! (not a great dating strategy)

So, I am sitting here in a self imposed time-out.
I've eaten about 300 chocolate chips to ward of dementors, and am trying to just figure out what to do. I figured out what to do in this moment:  write.  And then, when I am done, I am switching projects for the day, moving onto something else, and will return to what I am feeling thwarted by tomorrow.  I stopped, called my sister, talked, chocolated, pumped, thought some more, and then Felt My Way toward this interim solution.

I know, you probably are here to hear about Della.  She is wonderful- magnificent. Moody, funny, silly, smart as hell, delightful, and a miracle I keep discovering and I cannot believe my luck.
We are, however, not sleeping well. I am emotionally all tied up in knots about making any changes since I feel so attached to what we are doing/ trying to do, because this closeness matters to me so much. But like so many things, when I hang on to something with desperation, it usually blocks any possibility of anything else happening, even good things, or maybe, especially good things. So. Yeah. I witness. I imagine either I or the universe will know when it is time to make a change. Until then, shit sleep and witness.

We saw our amazing friend Susan Mullen this weekend on a night away to Maine. She took photos of us in the diner, and then outside in the near dark of twilight, and somehow found light inside of each of us.  Check out the amazing photos she posted on her blog.  Here's one:

Seriously, she is insanely talented.

Hey, if you're around this weekend, stop in over at www. thatplacewego.blogspot.com-- I am going to be doing a creative intention weekend, (holding the intention to do Something(s) creative) and would love companions on the journey.  Stop by, comment, have some tea.   This life is a bit like running back and forth along a teetertotter trying to balance.  Perpetual motion rather than stillness. I will be doing something heartwork-wise this weekend, I will.