Another Day

I had in mind to write this great blog about my political woes, but I can't today.  I can't because it's one of those days.  I feel like my body is heavy and melting.  My face has no smile and I am on the edge of something--I don't know what.  It takes everything in me to stop from falling into whatever is pulling me down.  Gravity seems to work more on me than others today.  

I'd rather be sleeping.  I'd rather be crying.  For both it takes all I've got to resist them.  The things that might normally seem small and insignificant are magnified hundreds of times today.  My mind gets bogged down with why I'm not beautiful and why my husband pays me little attention and why my child often seems detached from me and why we never seem to have enough money to just make it.  Normally, I'll rationalize those fears away and clear my mind onto more positive ponderings.  But today I'm just rolling around in them.  It's weakness, I know--this giving in to the self-pity.  Exercise would  help.  Taking a shower would help.  Calling a friend would help.  Getting up off this couch and interacting with life would help.  But I'd rather just stay right here for a little longer.  I'm still and the whole world is moving at rabbit's pace around me.  I just can't muster the energy to care.

To analyze myself, I'd have to say that these are the ashes of issues I thought I'd burned from my past.  They were much darker and stuck around for longer when I was younger.  I should know better now.  I should know not to give in.   

So, I'll pray.  I'll pray even though I don't really have the words to say.  I'll pray for strength that I don't have.  I'll pray that I can see myself the way Jesus does.  I know he thinks I'm beautiful, even now.  I'll pray for my relationship with my husband.  I'll pray for my connection with Carter.  I'll pray for all our needs to be met as the economic world falls apart.  I'll pray for the fears to leave and normalcy to return.   Then, I'll get up and go take a shower.

My First Adventure in Poop

There are some things that you think only happen in movies.  The rationale is that only Hollywood could create something so disgusting that it's funny.  But today, the disgustingly funny came to my life in the form of a poop adventure. 

Each morning I'm awakened by the sweet sounds of my son babbling to himself over the baby monitor.  As I lay there listening, resisting the start of the day, Jeff says to me from the ironing board, "That baby probably has a diaper he's wanting to get out of."  We didn't know how true that statement was.  So, I get up and slide my feet down the hallway and before I even get to his door I can smell it.  I have ZERO affection for changing poopy diapers as it is, but the smell coming out of his room is far worse than any other diaper aroma I've ever experienced.  But, I know it's unavoidable.  I go in.  The smell is almost alive, knocking me to the side.

Carter is standing in his crib with a big smile on his face, as if he knows what I'm about to see and he's feeling a little proud of his creation.  I'm walking slowly forward with a smile on my face so Carter won't know how distressed I am about what I am facing.  I see it.  I know that I cannot be the sole witness to this mess, so I call in a small voice, "Jeeeeeeff."  He says, "What?" I say a little louder and with a little more urgency, "Jeeeeeeff, you gotta come here and see this."  He walks in, buttoning his dress shirt and stops.  He can't see it yet, but he smells it.  "Oh my God Carter, did ya' have to stink up the whole house?", was his reaction.  He comes closer and understands.  

There is poop everywhere.  It is in little puddles of brown on his light blue sheet.  It's on his bear's head, and the bear does not look happy.  It's smeared in 3 places up the side of the bumper cover.  It is on his beautiful Pottery Barn Kids quilt that normally hangs neatly on the side of the crib.  It is on his cute little matching pillow.  His blue dot blanket that he treasures is wrapped around him and through his legs.  It is covered in brown spots.  But, most of all, it is all over my smiling baby.  

Diaper?  What diaper?  That diaper did NOTHING to stop the avalanche of sludge escaping his body early this morning.  It came out between his legs and went south.  It came out the back the diaper and went north clear to his shoulder blades.  He had it on his arms and his legs and on his feet.  His construction pajamas were only a shell of their former whiteness.  Somehow it all had to be cleaned up.  Thank God I have the loveliest, nicest and most helpingest husband in the world.  He lifted Carter out of the crib, told him good morning and kissed him (brave, right?).  I grabbed a disposable cover for the changing pad and we laid him down.  Jeff took off the pants and I took off the shirt, tossing them into a plastic bag.  I took off the diaper that was solid poop from front to back and side to side.  No wonder it had given up the fight.  We lost count of how many wipes it took to get everything solid off of Carter so that I could carry him to the bathtub.

As I walked down the hall to the big tub, I could smell his hair.  Oh my, it was IN HIS HAIR.  Thankfully, Carter loves baths.  So, he was getting excited as I filled his little tub with water.  So excited that he PEED all over me.  Perfect, I thought.  Just perfect.  I cleaned up Carter and I took Carter back into his room to get him dressed and found Jeff taking everything off of the bed and putting it into a trash bag.  I knew I'd need to wipe down every slat on that crib before anyone touched it and somehow get the smell OUT of that room, but for now we had made progress.  Before walking Carter into the kitchen for breakfast, I brushed his teeth...just in case, you know.  Then, we all sat down for breakfast together to the sound of the washing machine.  What a shitty start to the day. HA!

The Fitness Journey

Before I got pregnant the first time, I was in pretty good shape.  The best I've ever been in, I'd say.  I've NEVER had a hot bod by any stretch, but it's felt pretty good to live in.  Then, having a miscarriage frightened me away from any physical exertion.  Out of running, working out and yoga, I only stuck with the lame yoga for pregnant chicks DVD for the first 2 trimesters of my second pregnancy, then it was lay around and wait to have a baby.  After having Carter, I only had 7 extra pounds to get rid of, which I didn't think was that bad.  But, little sleep and eating whatever and whenever took my weight up instead of down.  I'd read that at 6 weeks you can start exercising again, and if a book says it's ok, I generally go with it.  Lesson:  Listen to your body.  I did a full yoga session anyway and thought I would DIE.  Really, though.  I was in hurting in places that I fully expected to be hurting, my heart was racing and I was having a hormonal sweat.  I'm sure I did more damage than good that day, but I thought, "I've just got to get back on the horse."  But, I didn't.  I didn't really do anything active consistently until Carter was about 7 months old.  As a reward, I reached pre-pregnancy weight at about 9 months old.  

If I could make it there, I could go farther.  At 1 year I've lost another 8 pounds.  I feel so ready to step things up and get back to a strenuous activity level, but I'm finding that my body won't let me.  Each morning (except Sunday) I put Carter in his stroller after breakfast and we walk almost 2 miles.  Lately, I've jogged a bit.  At first, my legs weren't very strong and would start getting tired and force me to walk again.  Today, I decided that I would start off running and run the entire way.  To my frustration, my lungs and airways gave out before my legs did.  I had an asthma attack.  When I was young, I had exercise induced asthma.  I really haven't had problems with it in a long time, but then I haven't pushed my body and my lungs the way I did today.  It was a beautiful day, I felt great, I ran about 3/4 mile and then BAM--the burning, the airways closing, the gasping for breath.  I wanted to cry.  I have the motivation and I'm making the time, but my body doesn't want to cooperate.  I did a little reading on the condition and the treatment, aside from prescription drugs, is to walk.  

Dreams

For the past few nights, Jeff and I have had some strange dreams.  Where do these things come from?  Our thoughts, our fears, our hopes?  It seems like all those things wound into a place in our minds where nothing makes much sense.  

Jeff had a dream that Carter died and we had a little girl a while later.  The dream was at the hospital on the day of her birth.  Since then, I have been so aware of each move that Carter makes.  I'm more careful when I drive.  I cut his food into smaller pieces.  I jump if he coughs.  Whatever that dream sprang from, it translated into some very real fears for me.  I know that would be the biggest pain I'd ever have to face, so there's part of me that imagines that dreams come from a place of some truth.  Possibly as a warning? Now I feel like it's my job to watch Carter like a hawk should there be an ounce of truth to it.

Last night I had a dream that I think sprung from my difficulty to trust anyone, including Jeff.  We were in a crowded auditorium, which I think was the auditorium where we hold church, but 3 times the size--Eastside high school, and we were fighting.  Apparently I had caught Jeff looking at porn.  The most frustrating part of it was that I was crying and obviously hurt about the situation, but Jeff was laughing through all his words in the most disrespectful and uncaring way.  I kept getting more and more upset, but he was unaffected by my emotions.  He didn't care that I was hurt.  I woke up feeling as if it had just happened.  I was on the verge of tears and I felt so insecure.  I tried to talk to Jeff about it and he tried to make me feel better, but I can't shake it.

Sometimes I wish that I could escape dreaming.  They may start as thoughts or images, but they make their way into our lives and change who we are.

What is up with me?

Does anyone else ever ask themselves that?  What is UP with me?  It seems I've spent most of my 31 years chiseling away at this little comfort bubble that surrounds me.  I'm comfortable at home, with my family, with myself...but not with much else.  I suppose it's just the personality that I've been given--I'm an introvert.  I've never been much on speaking in front of others, and I find myself on some days not wanting to speak much at all.  But, it comes and goes.  Most of the time, I can muddle through being a sociable person and no one really notices.  It's an act I've perfected in the last 12 years or so since high school.  Then, I was the quiet girl.  I hated that, so I vowed to make a new start and a new me.  I think I did pretty well.  I can make friends and be in a group...and with no time or money spent on counseling (ha ha).

It's on those days that it "goes" that I'm asking myself that ever-so-serious question: Mandi, really, what is UP with you?  Take for example, a little outing that I went on last week.  Each Wednesday morning I take Carter to a playdate with some other kids his age.  It gives him the chance to be around other children to develop some social awareness and it gives me a chance to get out of these four walls and talk to other moms who are going through the same life issues that I am.  Most weeks, I LOVE it.  I like these people and we have a lot in common.  But this week I don't know what was going on.  It seemed like every word that came out of my mouth was so completely random and without much merit.  And, I could hear myself from inside my head with this annoying little echo.  Talking seemed so out of place on this day.  I tried to coach myself from the inside: "Come on Mandi--say something intelligent or halfway interesting", "Why don't you try smiling", "You're not being very perky--perk up, girl!"  But I was stuck inside awkwardness and self-consciousness and childishness.  Honestly, I think GROW UP and SUCK IT UP.  I'm afraid it usually just comes across as my being snobby or uninterested, but that's not the case.

It is sadness that brings these days of inner quiet on?  I don't think so.  I don't feel sad.  I really am so happy with my life on most days.  In thinking about it over the last few days, I think it's just who I am.  Not everyone can be the life of the party and some of us are just meant to listen sometimes.  I'm ok with that.  

At least I think I'm fooling most everyone.  I've tried to tell some people that I'm really pretty shy and quiet.  They think that isn't possible for a teacher.  Teaching is different, though.  I relate it much to an actor on a stage.  When I teach in front of a room filled with children and their little eyes and their little ears absorbing it all, I'm acting out a role in my life.  When I have on that hat, my voice is different.  I can sing, dance, act silly, read with feeling, talk intelligently (usually), show affection and emotion.  Maybe I just need to learn to translate that into other areas of life.  As my friend Robin says, "Just do it on behalf of yourself"

On a not totally separate subject, what is UP with people who feel the need to spill their entire lives and deepest secrets upon first meeting?  I guess I, of all people, just DO NOT get that.  I mean, don't you have some veil of intimacy that we need to get past as friends to be able to spill some of that stuff?  I'm sure I feel that way because whenever I get to the point that I feel I can talk about myself on a personal level to someone, I always feel somewhat guilty afterwords.  Did they really want to know all that?  Am I forcing them to carry a burden of knowledge that they weren't ready or willing to take on?  

Ah, it's like another job to me--something I have to work at every day.  Relationships, conversations, connecting, friendships--all work, but all definitely worth the trouble.  

My Brother is Leaving

I haven't written in a while. A lot has been going on that I just haven't felt that I could air out in public...at least as public as this is. But, life goes on and I'm still moving forward.

In about 5 and a half hours my younger brother is leaving to move to NY. In a way, I'm so happy for him. I know about having dreams. I can see that his talents as a chef have outgrown Greenville and its restaurants. I understand that he needs a bigger place and bigger opportunities. But, his leaving has still left me feeling a lot of regret. Regret for not really knowing him in a long time. We have different schedules--me with a baby to take care of and him working the restaurant schedule. Occasionally the entire family gets together on his nights off and he cooks for us and those are some of my favorite times. But still, I don't know him and now he's leaving.

The most important thing I know about him is something that I recognize no matter how little we see each other, and I pray that this will never change about him: my little brother has the best heart. He is so caring in a quiet and almost shy way. I'm sad that I won't see that for a while.

Why didn't I make more of an effort to spend time with him? Are we just too different? I've always felt a bit on the outside of my family looking in. I'm different from all of them in that I'm such the traditionalist. Both my parents are very athletic and I don't have that. Chad is into theater, music and big cities. He's so bold and outgoing. Jason is fun in a crowd and a super talented chef. They are each such individuals and so special in their own right. I don't really have a stand out talent and I'm big on following rules. But, we all love each other and I know in my heart that no matter where we all live, we'll always cherish the times we have together.

Bye little brother, I wish you all the best in the big city.

Summer Has Arrived

There are just some moments in life that you wish you could freeze and capture forever. Tuesday night was like that for me, and it came so unexpectedly. It had been a pretty busy day. Jeff had been studying for his big securities license test and I had to run all over town in the sweltering heat getting groceries and gas, returning this, taking care of that. Life moved fast on this day until the sun started going down.

We had just eaten dinner, someone came to adopt two of my kittens, I gave Carter a bath and Jeff decided to try putting together the church's huge new screen and projector to test it out. It's so big that he had to set it up in the yard. He plugged in the projector and set up his laptop to show on the screen. While he was doing that, my parents walked over to have some dinner as well. He went inside to grab a DVD so that we could tell the quality of the image. "Walk the Line" started playing and we all found a seat. I was in the rocking chair in the corner, my Dad had Carter in the rocking chair next to me. My Mom was sitting on the bricks and Jeff was in his stadium seat up near the screen. A warm breeze was blowing and the sun was setting all around us as the movie came into clearer view. As I watched my Dad rock Carter and everyone relax around me, the stress and busyness of the day melted off me. I settled into my chair and took a deep breath. I let the dishes stay dirty on the counter. I let the clothes sit in the dryer unfolded and I took about 2 hours out of my life to enjoy being with my family. It got darker and I saw a firefly. I took Carter to bed and got everyone a bowl of frozen yogurt on the way back out. All of a sudden, it was summertime.