A shuffle forward

A small bit of progress today. Too small to be even considered a baby step, really. More like a shuffle forward. Not a fun shuffle, like the newest dance step. The painful kind of shuffle you work on in physical therapy after you’ve been in a coma for months and your muscles no longer remember how to walk.

It’s how I measure progress now, amidst the fog. In teeny tiny grains of success. A few weeks ago, I had my ‘first day I got to where I was going without crying all my makeup off’. That was a nice one. Not that it happens every time, but it’s infuriating to wake up crying. To start your day off crying and tell yourself “Suck it up. You’ve got things to do today.” So you take a deep breath and your wash your face and you try to apply just enough makeup to hide a little of the damage. Usually, it looks so bad when you’re done you cry again, have to wash it off, and start over. You finish the best you can, get in the car, and think you’re ready. You can conquer the day. Then you cry all that makeup off and end up a swollen, smeary, splotchy mess by the time you get to where you’re going.

I made it through a church service for the first time in 8 months without getting so upset I had to leave. (I have sat through a few others, sporadically, but cried a rather embarrassing amount. Just because I was sitting in a place that leaving would have caused more of a scene than staying still and crying). Not the good crying, the all ‘I’m so in touch with God’ crying. But unhappy, angry, bitter crying.

That is not how I want to feel in church. I do want to feel in touch with God. Or reflective about myself, what the message means to me, or comforted, or enlightened, or…something.

I didn’t feel any of those today. Not really. But I didn’t feel (too) unhappy or bitter. Mostly, I felt neutral. Like an observer. But that’s better than it was.

I was able to pray some. As I stood there (unmoved) looking over a huge room full of people, most of them completely into the worship that was going on, I started thinking. I figure at least one other person in that room today had to feel how I felt last week. And all the weeks before that. That somewhere in that room, there was a person that was so hurt and broken, so desperate for some comfort or healing or change that they were willing to stand there among other people, alone in a room of many. That they think every week “Surely this week something will be said to change my heart, to change their heart” and leave feeling worse than they came. That they will debate if it’s more embarrassing to sit there and cry as quiet as you can, or to get up and walk out with the tears streaming down their face.

So I prayed for that person. That they might have some comfort from whatever it is they are suffering.

The first (sort of) unselfish thought I’ve been able to have during church in awhile. I didn’t leave feeling worse than when I came in. I made it through.

Anti-reflection.

This is my new year’s anti-reflection.

It’s been two months since I wrote anything on here. I try to keep what I write here positive and uplifting. A chronicle of the great things that are happening with my family, mostly with my kids, who are growing up too fast.

It’s been two months of pretty intense misery. This painful, emotional, crushing, ripping apart of my soul. The six months prior to that had been no cakewalk either.

What do you say when what you have to say isn’t so nice. When it’s all dark and depressing and tiptoes into that ‘airing your dirty laundry on the internet’ space. I guess I say nothing. I’ve written, privately. It’s just not fit for public consumption.

Usually, I end every December with a reflection of the past year. A review of my goals, my resolutions. A hard look at where I need to improve, how I want to be better. The things that were great, that I want to keep doing, and the new things I want to achieve in the new year.

But I don’t want to do that this year. I’ve struggled with it, and wrestled with it, and come to the conclusion that I’m just plain not going to reflect. I’m not going to do it. I’m still in the midst of this pain, I don’t have clear perspective or vision, and I’m just not going to torture myself by dwelling on a past that I can (right now) see no point to. I know there is one, and I’ll see it one day. But January 2012 is not that day.

How do you figure out your goals when you can’t even reflect on what you’ve done? When quite honestly, you can’t even remember much of what’s happened as it’s covered in a fog of pain? When you have no desire to even look up those goals your wrote down a year ago, have no clue what they are, but a vague suspicion that they went to the wayside right about mid-april?

I’m sticking with some very simple ones that are the only things that have been positive for me as of late.

More prayer. I pray a LOT, constantly some days. But for the most part, I get through the days easier when I remember to do it before I get out of bed in the morning. When the first thing I do before I even open my eyes is beg God for help, strength, and clarity.

Send cards. I got one birthday card this year, from some dear friends. They’ve done more for me that that card could ever encompass, but that one card, for a day that felt very less than special, it meant a lot. If it meant that much to me, surely it means something to others. So my goal is to make sure I send cards to family. I do pretty well with the children, but not so good with the adults. I hope to be better at that this year. I may not be able to afford a gift. But I can afford a card.

That’s all. I want to be all positive and loft and make goals about being happy, or happier at the end of last year. But I think I’ll be doing well to make it through alive.

The Saga of the Balloon

Celia loves balloons. Loves them like they are people.

She draws faces on them, she gives them names, she plays with them and talks to them.

And when they pop, she mourns. Like her puppy got run over or her best friend moved away.

She’s not similarly bothered when they get left lying around until their heads are shrunken little sacks with their faces unrecognizable. When I have to cut them apart and throw them away, she’s okay.

But if they pop, she’s devastated. It’s her friend, and she loves it. It was special to her. She cries and cries and is heartbroken, until she is promised a new balloon.

At which time the emotional roller coaster will begin again.

Magic Kingdom

We went to Disney about 8 months ago…and I’m just now finding the time to share it. 

This was Jordan’s 3rd trip.  Celia’s as well, but since she was an infant the first two times she went (8 months and 9 months) then she didn’t remember any of it.

Last time we went in July and then again in August. It was unbearably hot. Especially when you’re carrying around an infant most of the day, trying to keep up with an 8 year old. Stopping only to nurse your hot sweaty infant against your hot sweaty self.

This time, we went in December. We brought some jeans and hoodies thinking that it was Florida, surely that would be enough. We even packed our swimsuits and planned to spend some afternoons in the pool.

And it was COLD. Record-breaking, damp, windy, COLD. We weren’t exactly prepared for it, and since we stayed on Disney property and used Disney transportation (an experience I really do recommend), we couldn’t exactly dash down to Walmart and buy warmer clothes. So we bought some (very spendy) Disney hats and gloves, and extra hoodie for everyone…and wore all of our clothes. Like, we layered almost all of the clothes we packed under our outer clothes and tried our best to keep warm.

Despite the cold, we had a great time!

Someone was always very excited to get to the next fun thing:

It’s a small (and mind numbingly repetitive) world:

Of course, we had to see the big afternoon parade:

I loved the dancer’s hair. I want it. Then it was pointed out to me that they were all wigs and would probably never look that good in real life. A girl can still dream though.

Celia’s favorite part….characters!

Jordan’s favorite part:

They rode lots of rides:

Celia even rode her first roller coaster. She was terrified, but she went on Goofy’s roller coaster, then on Big Thunder Mountain.

Little Birdie Words

When Celia was a baby, I used to call her my little bird.  Mostly due to the hilarious open mouth ‘feed me’ pose she would strike when it was nursing time.  It was the cutest thing and cracked me up.

I’ve never given up calling her my little Celia Bird, because it just fits her so well.  Light and delicate, beautiful, flitting from one thing to another, chirping out bits and pieces of interesting things.

Lately, I call her that more often.  She has a friend whose dad calls her by a nickname, and Celia noticed.  She SO wanted a special nickname.  I pointed out that she already HAD one, and have made an effort to use it more.

She has many nicknames.  Her friends call her CeCe at school. Some call her just Cec.  That one always cracks me up because it comes out like ‘ceese’ and the double entredre of using it like ‘cease’ when I need her to stop something is hilarious to me.

But more and more she is my little Celia Bird, and she has some hilarious things to say.

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In regards to a strange cat on the porch one morning:

“Let me get my robe on!  I know how to speak cat language.  I’ll go out and ask her to please leave.”

(she did indeed go out and chase the stray cat off, meowing for all she was worth)

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“I’m not a fan of those bears that eat people.”

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“Dad!  You remember that splinter I used to have?  Mom says she thinks it’s not a splinter but a WARP!”

A warp?

“Yeah!  I’ve got a warp on my foot!”

Do you mean wart?

“Yeah.  A warp!”

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She has also spent a lot of time decorating the house.  Yesterday she told me that she was making it ‘all halloweeny’ and that she was ‘spookifying the place’.  She then gave me badges (kitty stickers) that I apparently earned.  One badge was a ‘making it through your daughter decorating for halloween’ and the other was ‘making it through your daughter putting together a Tinkerbell costume’.

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I’m just glad she’s setting the bar low and all I have to do is make it through!