There was a little meme the other day about tears....tears are just memories that leak down your cheek.
It was sweet.
And I thought of it this morning as my eyes began to leak.
Because I was cutting onions! But oh the memory that came back. I think I was pregnant with Alex. Mom, Dad, Hubs and I took a road trip to Lexington, KY to pick up a dresser that was my grandparents. It was destined for Goodwill, and I wasn't going to have that. So - off we went.
Others were there - my aunt and uncle, some cousins - and I was in charge of making something for dinner that had to do with cutting onions.
This is about the time where cooking shows on cable TV really took off. And as a nesting, pregnant lady, I watched a lot of them.
Ina Garten, you have my heart.
Anyway - I got to chopping onions. My uncle, one to offer thoughts and advice, came to share a tidbit he had seen on TV. Alas, it was the same tip I already knew, so I was on the case. And I remember thinking it was fun to know something already.
Probably rude of me to think that. I didn't say anything to him but "yes, thank you!"
But every time I cut an onion, I think of that moment and laugh.
...Back again.
I asked it not to - but it returned.
And we hit the morning running with Bub's IEP meeting with his teacher and SpEd team to come up with the next iteration of ways to support our sweet boy as he preps for Middle School.
Say whaaaaa?
Middle School.
He's got acne at times, he's smelly at times. He eats me out of house and home.
But he's still my tender-hearted, sweet faced boy. The kid who owns the title of making me a mom.
For the first time in 10 years, he joined in our IEP meeting. He is interested in knowing why we're talking about him and what his benchmarks are. I commend him for being grown up about the situation. We felt that if he knew the why behind the reason he gets pulled out occasionally, he might be more apt to doing the work we're all asking of him. It's a hope at least. And he's willing to try.
I'll take it.
Sweet Bubba of mine.
I won't be able to type it out with as much gusto as my daughter delivered it....
....but she found a small stash of wrapped presents in the basement.
To her credit, they aren't hidden, and they are wrapped and labeled. If she ran across them, I wouldn't mind and I wonder what she might do.
This morning, she came in to the room for a morning snuggle. Still a blessed, loved occurrence even if she's almost 10. We chat about things while she wakes up and often think about big things. Today's topic: do you want one large (expensive) Christmas gift that will cover your birthday and Christmas...because you're getting to that age where that's totally fine. Or, do you want to skip that- save up your own money and end up getting a few more things under the tree or by your cake.
You could see the wheels turning.
She still waffles about volume vs value. And this is totally expected. It's hard at that age.
Which is why I have been insanely careful to be purposeful about gifts, numbers, value, etc. All good learning lessons developed over time.
She couldn't make up her mind.
Which is probably half the reason I had some presents already wrapped. Just because you're going to get one big thing if you go that route doesn't mean that you won't get a few extra smaller things - and you've got loads of family who still want to help you check things off your list.
But when you can't see things, it's hard when you're 9.
Alas, on her own, about an hour after we chatted - she found the small pile. Just four each per kid - jammies, socks, hair ties, etc. Nothing glamorous, but still fun. Except one larger box. That's really heavy. It's a ginormous blow up llama to play on at Grandma's lake. It's 5 feet tall and the box weighs a good 4lbs.
Up she comes.... I SEE PRESENTS!!! AND THERE'S A BIG ONE.
AND.
IT'S.
FOR.
MEEEEEE!
Loud and proud. I just laughed. I shrugged and said "we'll see!"
Trust me when I say we are going to get to the reason for the season, God's faithfulness through this crappy pandemic, giving to others, being grateful for what we have, etc.
I've got a long list of bubblegum mindset skills to work on in the next 30ish days.
But today - when you find you're still getting a big, heavy box and your heart is full of joy. Go ahead and do the fist pump touchdown dance of joy.
Knock yourself out, kid.
Nothing. Zip, zilch, zero...N.A.D.A.
And for the planner in me, that drives me nuts.
However, as Monty Python is always reminding me (always look on the bright side of life...sing with me now..) - I can find some sunshine in all the lemons of 2020.
Postal Service says Christmas packages might take longer this year? Plan ahead? Amazon shipping delays? Plan ahead?
THIS IS MY JAM!
So - I've spent the last week or so sorting out wish lists, snagging deals - and today, I wrapped some presents. Not all of them - but some. As next week Friday, we put the tree up - and I am a little giddy to torment my children for a full month by already having something for both of them under the tree.
And I'll get my two boxes off to their destinations. By using my eBay and PayPal account to pack, weigh and address at home - and then drop off at my local grocery story because they take packages, too.
Boom!
And I'll support some more small businesses this week for stocking stuffers...and and and.
Look at me, 2020 - I'm planning.
Take that!
It wasn't the early morning - it was the middle of the night. Because those people who get up at 4:30am for a good run or spin class - you are inspiration, but you are not my people.
At 4:30am, I consider that the middle of my sleep and I should not be awake.
But there I was, staring out the window at the glow from the lamppost in the neighbor's backyard. It's a little warm glow that allows me to see the trees sway. Generally, it's nice to see. But not in the middle of the night. My brain would not shut off.
It's probably the prednisone I'm on. For the third time. For the hives that have returned. For the third time.
Only to clue me in that I have another cold sore forming. Which is insult to injury - but catching it at 4:30am is better than at 7am, so I fumbled out of bed, got the meds, got back in bed and still couldn't sleep.
Gee, I wonder why.
But I mused on doing something nice yesterday. I sent a message to the staff at school thanking them for working on kindness with their students. That (for the most part) I see it on the playground when I arrive - and I'm never without a day where a student hasn't done something kind for someone else in my presence.
(It counteracts the snarky stuff I get from stressed out teachers - which I completely understand - but which I am growing tired of to be sure)
And somehow musing on something nice blocked out whatever it was that kept my brain spinning. And then somehow, the alarm at 7am went off.
It's a new day.
*********
Why have I stopped writing?
I wrote for years, archiving the growth of my family and marching our way through each month. Two years, I got up to 300+ post each.
That's an insane amount of words and thoughts and feelings.
The bottom dropped about about 2 years ago. Something happened, my feelings got hurt and I packed away the proverbial typewriter.
I stopped doing yoga, too. Book club changed, kids grew older, jobs changed, I was needed differently. I gained back the weight I lost before I went to Italy. Friend groups changed. Parents got older. Life got harder.
Covid came and cemented the fact that my fingers had no longer found the outlet they wanted on the keyboard.
We're 8 months into this now. The stress is high. The constant change is ever-present. Nothing is consistent, there are no plans. Everything is fluid. There is no rhythm to the day or week or month. There can't be. Because when the health department comes on TV, you know things are going to change. Again.
And I still didn't write.
I wrote a lot in my head. I also yelled a lot at the mirror. Or the dog.
Yea, we got a dog. Another post for another day.
And last night, as my friend WK and I chatted while she walked, she told me about a short article about the benefits of therapy, journaling and meditation.
It was there that I did realize that the removal of my words from the paper, stopping therapy and yoga (or any lame attempt I had at exercise) - all came about the same time and their absence has had an impact.
A big one.
Sure, I'm fine. I'm healthy, so are the kids and Hubs. We have a house and food and heat and water. Way too many electronics and things and stuff. We are in no way, shape or form in any jeopardy. In fact, we had a pretty good run in spite of Covid.
But the stress is insanely high. The frustrations with the dog in the kitchen and me threatening to serve her up for dinner aren't exactly her fault for being underfoot. They are the long, built-up frustrations of a global pandemic...and self-doubt...and frustration...and all the unknown reasons I lost my voice for a while.
Once I finished the article from WK, I started writing in my head. I heard Confucius say that the line we all know too well - the journey beginning with a single step.
I probably need to find my voice again to clear the sobwebs in my head.
I just wrote sobwebs. I meant cobwebs. But the word seems glaringly apropos.
This might be another attempt that I don't follow through on. But that's ok. I got up, I got the computer out and I tried.
I'm honked off. Grouchy, frustrated, angry, sad and dejected.
I'm also aware this is temporary and not who I like to be.
