Writing is Cathartic

 They say that writing is cathartic.

Who is this "they" - and are they right? I think they just want to be published or famous. But perhaps, they are correct. Getting out the words that bubble down deep inside seems to help make sense of all the noise.

All that noise in my head leads to stress - on my breathing, on my blood pressure, on my sanity.

Too much noise in my brain doesn't allow me to focus on the things I really need to right now. Like my husband, my children, that silly dog and the house. There is value in focusing fully on those people - and with all the noise in my head, all the stress I push down to work on those things - eventually, I need to complete that stress cycle and just get the stuff out.

But the problem is, I'm not sure how I am feeling - or moreover, how to put it into words.

How do I understand that people thought it was ok to storm the Capitol and do the heinous, vile things they did. In the name of patriotism and a misguided sense that our country was anti-democratic and socialist-leaning. I'm just trying how to figure out how to keep my anxious child from overwhelming himself, keep my husband firing on all cylinders as he takes on yet another role, albeit temporarily, keep the dog from chewing up things and my daughter from not falling apart if she can't get something to go her way.

And keep them informed, aware, doing better than I did or my parents before me...but yet keep them from having to process why a woman got shot for climbing through a Capitol window when she was never supposed to be there in the first place.

Oh, and deal with the neighbors who are railing so hard and so loud at the world right now - right at their bus stop. Which makes them quite uncomfortable.

I want to write - and get it out - and sound mildly educated and working towards a better country, county, town, neighborhood, street and home...

But I'm just not quite sure what to say.

The End

 The end is here - at least for 2020.

So many memes today about how the world seems to be ready to kick this year to the curb:

*Don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split ya

*Peace out, get out

and on and on.

They are hilarious and right on trend. I'm ready for the year to be done. I'm tired, weary, constantly under this overarching presence of fear, concern, worry, etc. Some days are great, some are not - and that's true in any year. But in the middle of a global pandemic where the sides of science and news and politics and emotions collide faster than I can keep up? Yea, that's where I chime in and agree with the adieu of the year.

I did make every attempt - twice - to focus my energy and spirits on things I was grateful for. Even when Hank died of this nasty virus. Even when I gave up trips and vacations...hugs and hand holding...when it took me to lows I didn't like experiencing. I tried to be grateful.

Perspective is good - like I have a warm home, plenty of food (or toilet paper!), access to funds and resources and high speed internet. 

But I also vocalized this year that just because I have perspective doesn't mean I am not allowed to be sad or bummed or depressed. I can honor that - and then hopefully put my big girl pants back on and keep moving.

(Great song: Move (Keep Walkin') by Toby Mac...

I know your heart been broke again
I know your prayers ain't been answered yet
I know you're feeling like you got nothing left
Well, lift your head, it ain't over yet, ain't over yet, so

Keep walkin', soldier keep movin' on)

So I keep moving. 

My word for 2021 is Forward. Keep moving forward. A heart rooted in forgiveness does not dwell in the past. Easier said than done, but perspective, gratitude and forward motion might make for a good way to greet a new year.

Many things went awry this year. Many things got cancelled or postponed or forgotten.

But love didn't - neither did kindness or compassion - certainly empathy and gratitude - those didn't go astray.

So when I watched the In Memoriam and said good-bye - I made sure to watch the triumphs that we still collectively shared.

And when the ball will drop - with nary a soul around on the ground - I'll still shout out Happy New Year and greet a new start.

Some Memories

There are just some memories that you can't take a picture of. Moments in time where you can't grab your phone or camera fast enough. And maybe they stay with you, and maybe they don't.

My husband is a little glum this morning. He feels the weight of Covid and 2020 differently and he is quiet in his own way.

One of the gifts I could give him is to allow him to sleep in and take care of the house until he felt like waking up. When he emerged with a smile, I played with the dog. Which made him grin, because he knows the dog and I have a love-hate relationship. 

And then I dog-piled on children, and we giggled and laughed and then decided to take our chaos to daddy. There was so much laughing and giggling and squealing even from the males in the family that I had a chuckle to myself. 

I laughed at a comic that my BFF sent me this morning of a mother quite literally shouting at her children "we will have a lovely Christmas memory, I will make you do it or I will ground you!" I actually didn't need to threaten anyone. It was natural and organic and crazy and chaotic and it brought smiles. Sometimes those best Christmas memories are the ones that don't require packages and bows. 

My Birthday Girl

 I am so happy to say that I no longer have children in the single digits. My youngest is now in the DDC - the double digit club.

A whole day, mid-pandemic, of celebrating the sweet little miss that drifted into my life one day before her scheduled arrival - because I had pleaded with God to allow her to be born before the December Twenties. He heard my cry then - as he does now - and every moment in between.

She's fun and feisty. She's strongly opinionated, likes to correct me if I'm wrong - or even thinking about being wrong. She's quick. Like super quick to come up with a reason for something, even if it might be a smidge off base.

She's also extremely compassionate, has big feelings and big tears. She feels all the big stuff -and the stuff that I think shouldn't matter.

She's a helper. Her teachers love her. She wants to please, and be right, and be first and be in front. She's a born leader.

It'll bite her in the butt from time to time, but I'm glad she's got it.

She's an extrovert, a snuggler, loves her stuffies, her dog and her brother. 

And I get to be her mom.

Here's to your next decade, sweet girl - can't wait to watch you grow.

It all worked out

I forgot to write about this earlier in the week. On December 1, I mailed out a big Christmas package to my friend in Atlanta. I never do this. I always have Amazon take care of it and have her do the wrapping. That way I can guarantee it gets there. And, I like free shipping.

OK, I should've led with that. I like free shipping first.

Regardless, I sent out the box to the tune of $18.75 two day priority to arrive by December 4. By December 11, the package was "in transit." This does me a bunch of no good. And then you begin to read story after story about how the USPS is completely backlogged.

And so as I wasted an hour of sleep worrying about this, I resolved on Monday to pray once that God would make it work out or, that the insurance will cover most of it. I let it go.

Funny then, as the text chime on my phone went off and I wondered- then looked - and I got delivery confirmation that it arrived yesterday, one day before I needed it to be there. Just as I hoped it would all work out to be. And today, I even got a phone call from the Marietta post office. In the middle of all this, some tired, worn out woman, still checked up on my package.

Of which to say this has nothing to do with what my post is about but has everything to do with how things work out.

About two weeks ago I happened to be at the right place at the right time. I was overhearing a conversation from the school counselor and the principal discussing how to add in one more family to the operation Christmas child, after the program wad already closed. Postulations and wondering, I quite literally interrupted their conversation and said "I'll take a family!"

And I was supposed to get one girl, a sixth grader at my son's school. Slam dunk. But as luck would have it, I continued to talk to the school counselor who is retiring tomorrow. It was one her final things to wrap up. She had to continued to push with the mother to find out there were two more children not on the list. Of course I said I would take them. And then I went for a cocktail conference call with my beloved Girl Scout ladies.

And yes, absolutely, they said they would take the other two kids. So just like that all three kids who are not supposed to make the list were squarely on it.

OK, so cute and quaint and lovely. And per usual, the story doesn't end there. 

The list arrived on Monday of their wishes. It was not gratuitous, it was not outlandish, it was mild and sweet. And it was heart wrenching because the five-year-old and a two-year-old had bedsheets on their wish list.

 My two friends easily took care of it, but needed to know what size sheets to purchase so I had to inquire with the school counselor again. Revision to email arrived not less than an hour later but now oddly enough, the list now included sheets for the mother and the 12-year-old girl.

Hmm. OK. We certainly can swing it, but it wasn't necessarily in my initial budget. I had already spent all the money on the presents for the girl.

But there's no way I'm going to let bedsheets not be unwrapped at Christmas. For the love of all that is holy, everyone deserves a pair of sheets.

And I went to Amazon and I added another two sets of sheets to my cart and let it be done. And then went to check my email, and found that an odd email had come from Walmart. Apparently they owed me a credit. It didn't make sense but I checked my credit card, and alas, there was an extra $70 refunded to my credit card.

Just like that, the sheets were paid for.

Say what?

Where millions of packages are going to arrive late. Mine arrived with 24 hours to spare. Sure, I planned ahead and mailed it on December 1. But still. My plea at 2 AM on a sleepless night did not go unanswered.

Where the budget has been spent, but leaning in and trusting that supporting this family was the right thing to do… Immediately it was rewarded with extra money that miraculously appeared.

This, by far, is my favorite thing to write about. When the story doesn't end where you think it does, or there's always some blessing or provision or learning lesson to be had. The unexpected kind. The kindness of my girlfriends, the perfect timing of a conversation I really was not meant to overhear. And 100 other little things that add up to the goodness of life. Even in the middle of the pandemic.

Hallelujah. It is well with my soul. 

What To Do

So what do you do when you feel like you've pretty much at the end of your rope?

What do you do when you are mentally and physically exhausted, When I can't seem to take another minute, want to kill the dog, run around like Kevin McAllister in Home Alone like a crazy person or simply find a blanket, crawl under, and not come out until next year?

Pray.

And really, it's not always been easy for me. It's supposed to be some grandiose prayer. Or so I think.  But I was reminded today as I offered some counsel to a sweet girl who needed it… That sometimes the most simplest prayers are the ones that gave the biggest impact.

Help. 

Thanks. 

Wow. 

I told her that sometimes just muttering the word over and over again is quite simply enough for God.

Last night when I couldn't take it anymore, and didn't even know how to find one thing to be grateful for, I turned out of my desk chair to see the sun and its final setting moments. I was muttering Help. And got Wow. 

Downright glorious. 

And wildly unexpected for the middle of December. It was there but I found my spot. And it was this morning that I could offer wise advice.

Wow. Help to be sure. And thanks. Indeed. 

My Pack Rat

My beloved husband, he might be a little bit of a packrat. Only occasionally, don't get me wrong. For the most part it's pretty cool stuff. Models he's created, paintings he's done, dreams and wishes of his youth. But it also contains four large Rubbermaid totes of Star Wars items.

So, when watching the Mandalorian and hollering out every ship or fighter or a trooper or what not… He then comments somewhere under his breath "I think I have one of those!"

His daughter then squeals with the light and forces him to pause the movie, go downstairs and find it.

This is Bobba Fett's ship, Slave 1. From 1981. 

And the smile of a vindicated husband who was happy he saved all his stuff.