Anya's post

I have a lovely little gray cat named Anya.
She's just about the same age as my son and the only other girl in the house, so we have a nice bond.
Sometimes she's been another child, waking me up in the middle of the night to go outside and fighting with her "brothers" or me or dad. One night she meowed loudly until I came to the door to see her finish off a mouse she'd been hunting. (I don't think I gave her the praise she seemed to be looking for.)
She sleeps at the foot of the bed, and if bedtime approaches and I'm not there, she comes and sits by my feet wherever I am.

Lately, especially in the last week or so, I've noticed how much we've come to know each other. Instead of hanging around occationally or at bedtime, she's practically followed me around. She comes inside more frequently and jumps to sit on my shoulder several times a day (a favorite spot of hers since she was a kitten). I think she can sense my discomfort.

Since the beginning of May my chronic and occasional

Before the Dawn

Sometimes I play solitaire
in the middle of the night
Because I can't sleep
I can't make disappear
my weeklong earache
Or my husband's anxiety
I can't magically put
more money in the bank account
Or hours in the day
But man,
Can I really put away those cards
Right back where they belong
All in order
I can even auto complete
when I'm tired but I got it close
Or get a hint
When I need just a little more help
And if I get way too stumped
Or tangled and lost
I can hit a new deal
And start again

And it's so nice to remember
That all the cards do have a place
Even though, if you're watching
It looks like a mess
You might see my mistakes
Where I missed the red jack
but, just like the morning
I'll recycle the deck
try again tomorrow
And work hard to remind myself
How great it will feel

When it all works out in the end

Last minute Five Minute Friday: Bloom

Our garden is exciting right now. The plants are green and growing. We even harvested our first Zucchini! A few other "fruits" of our labors are showing signs too. Others are still waiting.

before the blooms, of course, there are just buds. Before the buds, there are just leaves. Stems, sprouts, and visibly only dirt.  

But it was coming. On its way. Working on it. Growing. Growing just the same as it is now, in fact. Just some phases are a little less exciting than blooms and fruits. 

Sometimes all we can see is just all we can see. Inside, the changes keep happening. The processes are working their way around, doing their jobs. 

Leo, the Late Bloomer comes to mind, probably the teacher in me. Leo could have felt bad about blooming after all of his friends. Maybe it was just his dad who was worried about it. Who knows, maybe the love of his mother and those around him helped Leo feel safe as he grew. Maybe that's what helped him have the courage to keep growing, even though others couldn't see it. 

I can see the frustration in being just a little two-leaf stem, or a tall stalk with nothing more than buds. But that doesn't mean that the blooms aren't coming. Growth might not be as triumphant or vibrant as a deep orange blossom on the backdrop of huge green leaves, but it is growth still the same. 

Faith enough to move on is still faith. 

Already Hiking

Two hours laying in bed, not being able to turn my brain off, sinking further into deprecating thoughts and loneliness, and I finally decided to come write to get myself out of it. The house was fittingly dark for 4am. I came to the couch to escape and hide, to write safely covered under a blanket despite the still near 80 degree temperatures outside.
Just one little lamp in the corner, I honestly didn't think much of it, but apparently it was enough to wake up the two year old who I'd woken up for in the first place at 2 when he was out of bed.
I can't even crash into despair and cry myself to sleep on my own?

That's a sign you need help. I need help.
Fully admitted, but what does it matter? I could admit all the things that are wrong or hard, but that doesn't change them. Therein lies the difficulty.

I want to be heard and held and understood. I just want someone to care, to hear and to help. I want to run away and have a break. I can't. I want to hide from all the things I just can't seem to get done. but I can't.
If the outside of me is reflection of the inside of me, I am cluttered with corners in desperate need of deep cleaning. I am as dead as my lawn and filled with weeds. I am thirsty for basic needs, scorching in summer heat.
I am alone.

It was nice to see some friends this last week, and to be reminded of how it was to have friends like that. People I could talk to and work with and listen to, and I felt balanced and refocused after talking to them. But now comes the sad reminder that it was just reliving a nice memory.

Now I am alone.

I want to talk. I want someone to hear me and help convince me that I'm actually doing okay, maybe even quite well for the circumstances. Perhaps they've been through something difficult too, and they can offer suggestions and sympathy. Just a friend to talk to without worrying that I'm dumping on them. I don't think I can survive carrying the pressure by myself. I want to take it off for a few hours.
I'm carrying all the camping supplies my family needs, but without a duffle bag. I keep hoping if I can just set it down and lay it out, I can fix the bag and zip it all back up before I put it back on. Roll it up so it fits better. Breathe and stretch and rest for a moment so I can gather myself to keep going. It's a 50 mile hike and I'm probably 10 miles in on the journey. Not asking for the pack to be taken away, or the journey taken for me, just in need of a rest. Maybe some water. A chance to readjust would be nice.

But I can't rest. I can't even sleep. I can't even break down properly because I'd wake the children.

Sure does make me feel like running away. I don't have anywhere to go, and the guilt at leaving my children would be horrendous, so I couldn't ever do it. But the thought occupies my mind a lot, especially when I can't sleep.
"What would happen if I just ran away for a little while?"
 Would I finally be appreciated? Would my own health matter more? Would it be more than just words that I am loved? Of course, these thoughts/hopes are interrupted by my children and husband who need me so constantly. No, Emma, you made a commitment that you don't want to break.
I might just break instead.

Just.... So alone.
So many reasons why the few people I would talk to are not okay to call. Middle of the night, time difference, busy, have their own kids/husband to worry about, haven't talked in years;


I guess I'll just keep writing.

Hey. What's up world?

I feel like I made contact with the normal world today. 

So many ups and downs and insecurities and emotions have filled my life for the last 4 months. Maybe I just came up for a breath of air. 

Floating on my back for a moment on top of the water, looking at the sky and clouds and just breathing. Today it was while Clark snuggled with me on the couch and his teething baby brother slept through the entire Curious George movie. Any we were avoiding using the water because the drains had backed up and there wasn't a plumber to be found all afternoon. And dad was off getting the mechanics to fix the problem they caused with the oil plug. 

But see? A moment of peaceful back floating can make life feel just a little bit better. 

I'm sure holding the family afloat while treading water will resume soon enough, but today?

Today I was calm and normal for a whole morning. 

Life must be getting better! :D

Emotions overload

Long, hard days.

Physical labor.

Mental stress.

Over committed.

Running everywhere, late.

Messy house, messy mind. 

An unending todo list at home, at school, at church.

Not meeting up to my expectations of myself.

Doing everything, accomplishing little.

Alone at home. 

Not being able to help others. 

Rejected offers of help.

Exhausted. 

Wonderful family.

Adorable, happy, inquisitive children.

Good job.

Chance to sleep.

Five Minute Friday: Glue

This is my first one of these, so here I go.

Glue.
The glue that holds things together. That melts in too much heat.
The glue that looks like a big white mess all over until it dries clear and somehow comes out okay.
The glue that gets up early for one kid after staying up late for the other just to keep us all sane. Or as close to sane as possible.
Sticky glue that sometimes feels dried up but pulls off the crusties on the tip and pushes hard to find just a little more good glue at the bottom of the bottle.
How much can you hold together with glue?

The glue that holds the family together.

Sometimes I wish I was the superglue and not just plain old schoolhouse Elmer's. I hope it can hold us all together just the same.