Category Archive

Today (which is officially yesterday, I suppose) is my birthday.

I laid around in my pjs, then got dressed. We went out to lunch (Friendly’s, my choice). Did a little shopping, then went and saw Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. I don’t care what anyone says, I loved that movie. Loved. It.

Did some more shopping, and drooled over Coach purses. Got supplies and came home.

Tooled around some more, and got to baking. Two kinds of cookies and cupcakes later, I’m tired.

But satisfied.

It’s been a sad day. My dad and grandma are on my mind a lot- it’s the first year they haven’t called. Not to hear my grandma sing happy birthday to me is a little heartbreaking. Talking about how proud my dad was to have me, and know I’ll never hear that in his voice again- that’s hard.

But I’m trying to be happy, still. So let’s call it happy with smudges of sadness around the edges, for today.

This morning I walked out of my door into freezing cold. I almost walked into him or her. It was a little bird, on the sidewalk in front of our apartment. He was just sitting, and I almost walked into him. There’s no way something wasn’t wrong, because he didn’t fly away. I thought something was wrong and he was probably dying. I looked at him as I walked away, and as I drove away. I couldn’t think of anything to do. It is the circle of life that sometimes birds die, but I also felt like I should do something. I wanted to save the bird. I couldn’t bring it inside, because - well, her name is Rory. Bring the bird to the vet? I don’t think so. So I drove away.

And I cried. I cried. I thought- I don’t know what to do. I want to save you, or be there with you, but I don’t know what to do.

When I told co-workers I was leaving, I tried not to show how happy I was. I was so ready to be done. So tired. So burnt out. So, so, so tired.

Then I started telling my kids. One after one- I have something I need to tell you.

One after one, the next question was always the same.

Why?

It’s one thing to explain it to coworkers and foster parents. They may be sad, but they can understand. They understand burnt out. They get emotionally drained. They tell me you need to do what you need to do. I would nod my head and agree. It was time. I told myself you need to go before one of your kids or families pays the price for you being burnt out. My foster parents had a range of reactions- tears, lots and lots of questions, disbelief at my next move (insurance?!?!?), and understanding, compassion, and support.

It’s one thing to tell them.

It’s a whole other thing to answer why from my kids.

How do you tell them? How do you explain to a six year old that you can’t walk around carrying his pain anymore? The pain that he deals with personally every day- how do you explain that?

How do you tell a fourteen year old you can’t fight for him anymore? That you’re running out of energy and can’t fight his battles for him? How do you explain that you are scared that you won’t be able to fight the way you have for the last two years and that he will end up paying the price for that?

How do you explain to a thirteen year old that you are leaving, again, and that she’s going to have to have a new worker, again. How do you respond when she tells you how much she hates changing workers, and tells you that she tells you everything, and won’t have anyone else to do that with?

How do you help an eleven year old understand that you can’t finish the work you’ve started with her, because it’s time for you to go? What do you say when she asks why? I just don’t know.

I don’t know what to tell them. I don’t know how to explain that I can’t carry their pain and fight their battles anymore. I don’t know how to reconcile the fact that I can’t be there for them,  yet I ask them to live with their histories and their pain every day of their lives. I don’t know how to explain the personal toll that my attachment to them, my passion for helping them, changing their lives, has had. I don’t know how to help them understand that the toll has become too great, at least for a time.

I’ve always wanted to be a social worker. There’s never been anything else for me, besides mom. I knew I wouldn’t fit anywhere else. I just knew. There’s always been a passion inside me to fight for those who are helpless. The bird, the children. I’ve always wanted to rescue them. As I became a little more experienced, a little less naive, I realized that I couldn’t rescue them. But I could show them someone who cared, I could be someone who was willing to fight for them, I could advocate for them. If I changed their lives in some small way, if I saved one of them in one way, it would be worth it.

I feel like I’m not only leaving a job, but that I’m cutting off a limb. I feel like I’m walking away from a part of me that has always been there. People joke that I am going to the “dark side” and I don’t know what to say. I feel like I’m walking away from such a huge part of who I am, in order to save the rest of who I am. This is something I still don’t completely understand. I know on several levels that it’s time to go, that I personally need a break and a change. I know that I need to focus on other parts of my life right now, and that while I am still pouring my heart and soul into these kids I cannot focus on the things that I need to elsewhere. I know, but I don’t understand.

I know. It’s a lot of emotion for someone changing jobs. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe I’m overestimating the impact that me leaving is going to have. But I see the look in their eyes as they asked why. I hear the frustration they feel at finally finding someone they trust, only to lose yet another social worker. I feel the pain of having to say goodbye to someone yet again.

I feel guilty for causing any of them any kind of pain. It’s one thing to be the bearer of bad news, it’s another to be the cause. I know, I know I need to do what I need to do.

I want to save you, but I don’t know how anymore and I’ve run out of energy trying.

Why, indeed?

In three states, in four cities, four women made the same thing tonight.

Used to be it was just one woman serving it to the four, plus a whole lot of others.

Tomorrow, in three states and four cities, a whole lot of people will taste it.

It doesn’t sound like much and it sure doesn’t look like much- it’s pink.

My grandma’s grape salad is the best, though. There are two things I cannot do Thanksgiving without- my grandma’s grape salad and my mom’s applesauce nut bread (Shannon- 2T of butter).

When I moved out to CA for college, those are the things I made. I didn’t care about a whole lot else. I brought it with me wherever I went.

So while I was not looking forward to cooking, as I pureed the cranberries to sit overnight, I got a little teary-eyed. Thinking about the other three woman who were thinking of her and probably getting a little teary eyed too.

My friend who lost a very close aunt today said she was trying to figure out how to honor those we had lost this year as we sit down to eat tomorrow. She chose to buy a pretty candle, and will light it before they eat in honor of her aunt. I thought the sentiment was sweet, but not for me. As silly as it sounds, I’ll honor grandma by making her grape salad. I think she would like it better than a candle.

Four women. Three states. Representing so many more. All missing her.

November has typically been a hard month for us. My husband has lots of painful memories of November, and he usually struggles through the month. Every year it gets better, and we can breathe a little easier.

Right about the time he stopped needing to crawl into a dark corner for the month, it became my turn.

For a long time the grief, depression and anger subsided. I felt whole getting through the day. It felt a little bit easier. I could think of them without crying, without not knowing what to do with myself. I could talk about them.

Then I started realizing that I was having a tough time with all of that. It started getting tougher to get through the days. I started thinking about what happened more. I started getting more snippy and snappy and out of sorts and… sad alot. I realized it was the end of October.

I realized it was almost November. I told Khalil that I would like to crawl into bed now and come out in 2008. Clearly 2007 has been the worst year of my life. I used to hear people ask what was the best year and what was the worst year of your life. And I used to think I didn’t have a worst year. I knew there were years with best parts and worst parts, but not a whole year of best or worst. I now know what a worst year feels like. It’s when you feel like from the time the clock says 12:01 on January first, on through every day, you just can’t wait for the year to be over. It’s the year when every time you turn around the hits keep coming. It’s the year when you never really full like you can take a deep breath of pure air and just smile and be happy.

I now know what that feels like. This has been my worst year.

I realized a few things about November. First of all, it’s November. Which is always hard and I always dread.

The second thing I realized about November is this: the nightmare I called my life for six months started the day before Thanksgiving. That day I brought my grandma to the eye doctor. She had some loss of vision and wanted to get it checked out. The day is a bit fuzzy for me, but I remember being scared that she was not going to be ok. We didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of the brain tumors that eventually killed her.

Third, it’s the start of the Holiday Season. Halloween comes, and then it’s all about the HOLIDAYs! People start asking about Christmas shopping and what your holiday plans are. The truth is, I literally don’t know how to face the holidays this year. I’m sure when they come I’ll grin and bear it. But I don’t really want to. I want to, as I said, crawl into bed and just skip them. I’m not entirely convinced on why I can’t. That would be one way to get through the season. My memories of last year are tainted. My dad came on Thanksgiving. He was not feeling well, but my stepmom wanted to come and I wanted him here. He spent the meal time asleep on our bed, and then they went home. It was sad, and I remember feeling sad. I remember so desperately wanting him to enjoy the day with us. Christmas Eve came, and we always spend that with my dad and my stepmom’s family. It was fun, but it was a tough year because you could just see how sick he was. It was also Christmas Eve of 05 when we realized he looked sicker. So Christmas Eve 06 was a painful memory of how healthy he looked when we thought he looked so sick. Because now he really looked sick. But I remember treasuring being there. Christmas came, and we talked alot about Christmas. Because my mom, sister, and I were scared it would be the last one we would have with my grandma. And it was. It was the last I had with both of them.

This year is the first without them. And my life comes full circle. I’m heading back towards the day that started the hardest months of my life. And I’m scared to death. I don’t know how to walk through all of it. I don’t.

************

I wrote this about a week ago, but didn’t post it. I’m figuring it out- you walk through it by putting one foot in front of the other. Every day. That’s the only way.

Today is one of those days that if I was not doing NaBloPoMo, I wouldn’t be writing. I don’t write when I feel off like this, and when there are long stretches of me saying nothing, often that means long stretches of me feeling off. (sometimes, though, I’m just busy).

It’s one of those days where nothing feels right, everything feels off. The fun stuff has a smudge of crankiness around it. No one else does things right and that includes me. Where I want to snip and snap and crank but there’s no one that deserves it around, so I stuff it as much as I can and it just leaks out around the edges. One of those nights where Khalil starts feeling edgey because I’ve bitten his head off twelve too many times in the last twelve minutes.

Don’t you know? The days when you feel on the verge of tears all day long for no good reason? The days where you are stressed worried and upset about everything and nothing at all, all at the same time? The days when you vascillate wildly between falling off the edge of a cliff and being in the middle of a calm lake?

It’s when he asks what’s wrong, and I answer with both nothing and I don’t know. Usually one right after the other. Nothing. I don’t know. Because the truth is nothing is often my way of saying I don’t know when something is wrong. But I truly don’t know what it is. If I’ve finally figured it out it doesn’t take me long to come out with it.

Often it’s the collection of small but overwhelming stuff. The apartment is a mess (really, I am dreading going to work tomorrow). I don’t want to  unpack (really, I’m worrying about them, missing them. Feeling badly that I left them). I have to pay the bills (really, I’m worried about a job. I hate mine and I want a new one). And then maybe some more that are yet unnamed. I don’t know.

It’s one of those days, and there’s a reason I don’t write about them. Ellie is at the age where she whines (I don’t know if there’s actually an age for that, or if you just have to be a girl, because I remember getting in trouble for whining when I was graduating from high school at 17). All weekend long Shannon and I told her not to whine. And posts like this sound like one. big. whiny. whine.

Would you like some cheese with my whine??

I arrived, and we spent some time putting beautiful programs and favors together.

The bride and her niece.

The bachelorette was at the Melting Pot, which was soooooooooo yummy!

Pedis and Manis the day before the wedding.

Do you guys think that’s Jonathan Antin of BlowOut?? I could have sworn it was him, and pretended to take a picture of the mother of the bride so I didn’t blatantly take a picture of him, but it’s really hard to tell. We were at this little nail salon not in LA or Beverly Hills, but I still think maybe. If it is him I’m so going to kick myself for not saying something.

A bridal tea.

The day of the wedding, getting hair and makeup done!

The newly married couple- who knew a whole face could smile so big??

Isaiah.

Kira “hey! what’s up?”

Naomi, me, and Jenn.

Jessica and I.

********************************

It was a very good weekend. So nice to be part of my friend’s wedding, and so nice to see my friends. I miss them very much. As I said to Naomi before I left- it’s sometimes harder to come, because I remember how much I miss them.

On Saturday I had the privledge of meeting Jack:

(bottom right is big sister Molly kissing Jack’s toes).

Congratulations to Joe, Brett, and Molly. Jack, you’re one heartbreaker already.

Last night I was all kinds of “off” and just couldn’t figure out why. Was snippy, didn’t want to get off the couch. Wanted to lay around and pretend like that was all I ever did.

This morning I figured out why.

I was listening to my Nickelback CD, and this song came on. I listened to this song alot back in March. A. Lot. I would blast it in my car and belt it out. It made me feel alive, made me want to be alive. The phrase “Amen I, I’m Alive”- I would sing it over and over. It felt like everyone was dying, and I needed a way to stay connected to life.

The song came on in the car, and I realized.

It has been six months since you have been- not alive. The other day Khalil asked me to go grocery shopping with him. He rarely does this, but he did this time. I went, begrudgingly (I’ve never liked grocery shopping in general). But I got to the store and it hit me like a ton of bricks. This is what I used to do with you every other weekend. I still know your habits and could probably get the main things off your list. Veggies from the salad bar. Tomatoes on the vine. Milk in the purple jug. Aveeno. There was a reassurance to getting certain things every week, but also trying to find the new things that you saw commercials for that our grocery store never carried. The spray salad dressing. The pain stuff you wipe on your forehead.

You had fallen, and had black eyes. You didn’t really make a big deal out of it, but I was sad. These were some of the last pictures we took with all of you, and look at those black eyes.

Rory was still little here, and was smelling your hair. You were laughing hysterically, which was cracking us up. It was so funny, but especially because you just loved cats. You always asked about Rory, and always loved on her when you came. You indulged me my little stories about her and laughed at all the parts where other people just look at me like I’m crazy because I’m talking about my cat like she’s a person. How could I not? It’s in my blood.

You were really happy at your 80th. So surprised, and happy. I’m glad we did that for you. It was also your last birthday.

This is you with my other Grandma, dad’s mom. You guys were really cute together, sitting there holding hands.

Look at that. Four generations. That’s a nice picture. We’re lucky to have you.

That is the smile I remember best.

I love you and still miss you.

I used to live in Southern California. I didn’t miss the humidity of New England summers, or the snowstorms of New England winters. I did miss spring rains and the sounds of fall and the changing leaves. Despite that, I convinced myself that I didn’t miss the seasons. I had heard other New Englanders tell me that they couldn’t live anywhere there wasn’t seasons. I told them I didn’t miss the extremes. 

Either I was lying or I didn’t know myself well.

I love the seasons. I love measuring time by watching the weather turn. I love the end of each season, where you can anticipate the nest. I love the end of summer when you’re just dying to be able to wear long sleeves and sweaters. When fall comes there’s the smell of crisp leaves and fireplaces going, as well as the beauty in the landscape of trees in an array of colors. As fall progresses I love being ready for winter- anticipating that first snowfall and the first time you can see your breath in the air. I love the end of winter, when you’re not sure you can make it one more day. I love that first unofficial day of spring, when people come out in short sleeves and capris, even though it’s freezing, because they’re so sick of sweaters. I love watching the buds pop up through the snow, and watching the snow melt. I love looking at the green buds on the trees come out, and watching the trees fill out with air. I love waiting for summer to come- when you’re hoping for a day when you can feel comfortable in tank tops. When you can sit outside in the light until 8:30pm. When the air is sticky on your neck, and when you’re waiting for breezes. I love the smell of freshly cut grass. And then there’s the day towards the end of summer, when you’re waiting for fall.

I think that having the time in each season makes you appreciate the next even more. Just when you think that you can’t take any more of a certain kind of weather, or clothes, or nature, the next season is well on it’s way, just in time again. You thought it might never come, because it seems like this year it’s not going to, but there it goes and saves you again.

I think that’s true about life too. It’s so much easier to appreciate the joys when you’ve tasted some of the sorrows. Seasons in life are easier when you’ve had to wait for them, anticipate them. I can do that, and just keep reminding myself that like the seasons, our time for the things that we wait and hope and dream for will come. Just like each season.

I had a wonderful weekend with my friend. It was so good to be with her. So good to be with someone you can just be yourself with. That’s a beautiful gift.

We ended up at Friendly’s in the mall for lunch. It’s one of the small restaurants, full of booths, no tables. We walk up to the hostess station, the restaurant is maybe 1/3 full. Of booths, no tables.

I say, “2 please”

Amy says, “Is there any way we can get a booth?”

We made each other laugh in this way all weekend.

This week has been shitt-ay. So to end the week with a bang, I’m not going to moan about the crap that the week has brought. I’m going to talk about the good stuff.

To start, today and tomorrow: I’m meeting a friend in a town between us (we live 7 or so hours from each other) and we’re getting a hotel. She’s pregnant and I’m missing her baby shower, so we’re having our own girls weekend/ baby shower. It will be nice to spend the time with her, because once that baby comes that will be a long while coming! I’m happy about seeing her though.

It is a good thing that the nice police officer who pulled me over for speeding only to discover my registration had expired in October 06 didn’t tow my car and revoke my license. *phew*

It was awesome to see my sister, mom, niece and nephew this week. It’s good to be with family. Caleb and Ellie are getting so big and anytime I ever think I miss California I only have to look at them and how big they are and how close they are to me and know that I made the right choice in coming home.

It’s good that the work stuff that made me cry all week is more or less sorted out. Work was horrible this week. One of my kids ended up losing her foster home and another one ended up losing the school he had been working for forever. Neither of those losses was their fault, and it was hard to help them sort it out when I was having a hard time sorting thast stuff out.

Khalil ended up having a good week with his goddaughter. She’s going through some really hard things right now. Wednesday was horrible but yesterday they were able to shop for a bookbag, go to the zoo, and enjoy the day. It was a nice way to end for them.

I didn’t need to eat crap this week to help me deal with my stress. This is the week I started back on the Diabetic Exchange, and I didn’t once feel the need to make poor decisions given my emotional state. What a freeing feeling- I can only hope it lasts. However, I’m just taking one day at a time. Like the alchies. ha.

I still have so, so, so much. My husband, my family, my cat, my health (mostly), a roof, clothes, my husband, my family, good friends. Sometimes I wonder how I dare ask for more?

friends.

husband.

family

life is good.

To give myself some credit, I haven’t pulled out the scale. This is in an effort to not define myself by my weight.

So instead of defining myself by the numbers on the scale, I keep thinking about how I feel. And how that I feel that I look.

The only word for it is fat. I hate mirrors right now, because I look fat. I feel fat.

The grocery shopping is done. I’m ready to be exercising. I’m ready to not feel fat every day. I hate it and am dangerously close to hating me.

Another thing I’m working on in therapy: Not viewing my value in terms of numbers. Pounds. Not letting the scale dictate my worth.

This sounds so little. Right??

Here’s the thing. I can tell you how much I weighed at any given point in my life. I also base how I feel about myself on how much I weigh. If I’m working out, and eating well, and losing weight I feel great about myself. I’m worth something, I’m good at things, my mood is better. If I feel fat, I feel worthless.

Fat does not equal worthless, as it turns out. But I apparently think that it does. My therapist asked me to work on loving myself no matter what I weigh. I didn’t- and still don’t, to be honest- totally understand this concept. Because if you work on loving yourself no matter what you weigh, how do you get yourself to lose weight? Don’t you have to hate yourself at a certain weight so that you can motivate yourself in order to lose weight? Don’t you??

No. In fact, you don’t. I’ve talked before about loving myself (no, I can’t find the post. sorry.) and I think I was working hard at doing that. I do know on some level that part of losing weight is about taking care of yourself, which you have to love yourself in order to do. Another words- hating myself = not caring if I take care of myself = not exercising and eating like crap = weight gain. On the other hand loving myself = taking care of me = eating well and exercising = losing weight.

huh. It sounds so simple. Why then is it so hard??

Sucks.

Need I say more? I tried for a minute to use another blog to write about it. Then I more or less “came out” with most of my friends about my/ our infertility. So I figured I may as well just “come out” here with it:

Khalil and I are struggling with infertility. Real, live, bonafide infertility.

And in the way that my weight loss posts don’t typically talk about calories and pounds (although I know some do) but the emotional and mental aspects of weight loss, my infertility posts are not going to talk about MD visits, medicines, diagnoses, or other such details. I find them boring (to myself, I’m not at all talking down about others who want to keep that kind of record, it’s just not me) and so I don’t want to share them with you guys.

I will tell you this, though: infertility sucks.

It’s weird thinking that you can’t just have sex and BAM! there’s a baby. It’s kind of sad and very frustrating knowing that it’s going to take more than just the two of us and a magical moment and all of a sudden there will be a new addition to our family. It’s hard knowing that it will take us, lots of not-so-magical moments, and a team of doctors to get us pregnant.

The first thing that I have to grieve about? Is the way we get to tell people we’re pregnant. I didn’t tell many people that we were even trying or considering pregnancy. When people asked, I was very vague. “Sometime!” or “We’ll see” or I’d go so far as to make things up “We’re waiting until Khalil gets through grad school”, “My career’s going so well right now, we want to wait”, “We’re waiting for a house”, “We’re trying to get our debt paid down”- all of those have come out of my mouth. I really, really wanted it to be a surprise. There was a place in my heart every month while I waited that planned out when I’d be seeing family next and how we’d tell them. The month before Thanksgiving I wondered if Thanksgiving would be too soon to tell everyone. Ditto Christmas, Memorial Day, Easter, etc. (Not Valentines Day. I was in Pittsburgh for Valentines day, dealing with my dying father. I wasn’t planning pregnancy news.)

When I told my mom, she asked why I waited so long to tell her. And I told her the truth- because I had wanted it to be a surprise.

It still breaks my heart that when we get pregnant, it will likely be planned. There are still some steps in the meantime, but right now the all-knowing doctors are saying that IVF will probably be our best bet (for those of you not familiar with infertility vernacular/ acronyms, IVF stands for In-vitro fertilization, and it’s when they take my egg(s) and his sperm, fertilize my eggs in a petri dish, and a few days later (hopefully) transplant embryos back into me. Fun, no?). This is just about the most intrusive and expensive way of getting pregnant. Again, fun, no?

Infertility, much like death and dying, is a grieving process. The difference is that there are sparkles of hope along the way, that keep getting run over. You have a test, or a doctor’s appointment, or something. And you have a hope that this one will be fine, this one will show something different. And then it doesn’t. You have each month of hoping that you’ve happened upon a miraculous surprise- naturally-achieved pregnancy- and then you don’t.

The idea is to keep up the hope. But this infertility? Not only does it suck, it’s also a hope sucker. You have to work to keep it from sucking all the hope right on out of you.

In my 27 years, I have moved something between 10 and 15 times. The first was when I was little, and I don’t remember it. My parents moved from Wyoming back to Connecticut. They did it via cross country road trip (the first of three times I would move across country). I moved from our home when my parents got divorced.

I have dreams about that house sometimes. For all intents and purposes, it holds all of my childhood memories. The woods in the back where my mom put a salt like one year for the deer. Where I could wander for hours and my parents didn’t need to worry anything would happen to me. There was a small pond (giant puddle?) in the back that would dry up in the summer but that I could “ice skate” on in the winter. We were surrounded on three sides by woods that I spent hours upon hours exploring. I lived in two bedrooms in that home. I have happy and sad memories from that home- happy memories of us living as a family, and sad memories of the things that ripped our family apart in the end.

The home that started out red and was gray by the time we moved out holds my memories. I could go on and on about all the things I remember about growing up in that home. If I think hard enough about them, I remember, but I know that if I ever walked back into that home memories would come flooding back.

No home has ever felt like that one. I have lived in many places I called home since them- condos with my mother, apartments with girlfriends, in a room in my father’s house, and apartments with Khalil. None has quite the nostalgia that the home I grew up in holds.

This week we packed up my husband’s childhood home and helped my mother-in-law move into a new home. This move came closest to that move out of my childhood home. Most of Khalil and I’s first memories are from that house. First time hanging out, first kiss, first realization that I was with the man I was going to marry. Some other firsts. But none of my memories compared to the memories my mother in law and husband packed up on Monday.

Our memories come with us. They do not get stuck in homes, or on beaches, or in any specific place. They may feel like that, but they don’t. They live in our hearts, in our skin, in the spaces inside us built for them. They come when we want them to and sometimes when we don’t. Memories are slippery, but precious.

I had my own moments of saying goodbye to the house. It was a home. There were reasons why this move was so hard for everyone- but especially Khalil and his mom. In a way, this was the final close on the chapter of their lives that included his dad and favorite aunt. They had to say goodbye to that time, because the new house will not hold any of those memories.

My heart breaks for them. I know that they will carry their memories with them forever, but I know it is hard to say goodbye to the physical, tangible connections to those memories.

I’ve started up a little… possible business venture. If you haven’t checked out my pic site, check it out: http://landscapeofpaige.wordpress.com. If you check it often, please don’t click over, there’s still not anything new. Please don’t hate me, guys, life has been crazy.

I’d like to start a new business. I’d like to photograph children. I’d like to go to people’s homes- not in a portrait kind of way- but in their natural setting and environments, and spend some time with the kids. Behind the camera. Produce great, non-posed (for the most part) photographs.

I did two photo shoots. I borrowed friends kids- not Caleb and Ellie- and took 1-2 hours to shoot them.

Now I’m spending inordinate amounts of time editing those pictures.

As I wrote to my sister and mom, I feel like a teenager inside. All angsty and quivery and full of self-doubt. I had so much fun taking the pictures, and love the way some of them have come out. I’m  having alot of fun editing the pictures- it’s fun to compare a picture from how it starts out once it’s done editing. I love pictures that are great straight out of the camera. This is something that I might get paid for, but that I love and am having fun doing.

I’m still not sure about making this a business. If I charge money to take pictures- well, it’s not like taking pictures of my niece and nephew. I take their pictures and often get awesome pictures:

They just come. It feels natural. I don’t feel pressure. I’m not trying too hard. I am who I am, with a camera, and they are who they are- my niece and nephew. If I charge money, then people other than myself need to be pleased with the results. I know that my sister likes the pictures I take of her kids, but she doesn’t have to. I like them, but neither one of us is paying me for pictures. It’s more pressure when someone else has expectations of what they would like from you.

I wonder if I try to do it for others will it always feel like I’m trying too hard? Like I’ll never be good enough?

This is one of the pics I took for a friend. I don’t want to use many of the other ones I have, because I didn’t get her permission to post pictures of her children. I like how it came out. Will she? Will anyone want to pay me to take their children’s picture? Khalil tells me that I’ll become good- that this is something I love, and I’ll get to the point where I’m all professional-like. It’s just that I’m not used to being unsure of myself in a whole lot.

** for the record, this post is not meant in any way as a searching-for-compliments kind of post. It’s a way to get out all the jumblies I have inside when I think of starting a new and exciting but very, very scary venture in my life.**

Years, that is.

We’ve been married for three years. That equals over 1,000 days.

I asked him yesterday if he felt like it was longer or shorter than three years. We agreed- it feels like three years has flown by, but also like we’ve been together forever.

This last year, in particular the last six months, has been hands down the hardest time in my life. It’s just been… hard. Sometimes that translates into hard for our marriage. But never in my life have I been more convinced that I married the right man. The one with the quiet strength when I’ve run all out of any kind of strength. The one who can take one look at me and know something is wrong, before I’ve even figured that out myself. The one who knows when not to push and when I so desperately need him to push. This man, he gets me. He knows me inside and out, and I love that.

I feel safe. With him. It has only been three- but feels like forever. I’m so lucky that I get to spend my life with him. With him by my side I feel like I can handle each day. I love him so much it hurts.

Happy Anniversary, hon. I love you.

It’s amazing what a day will do for you. Yesterday it took me almost two hours to get out of bed. I knew I needed… just, a day. So I took today off of work. I crawled out of bed at 9am. It felt like heaven to not have to get out of bed. I watched a movie, ate breakfast, and sat around for the morning. I didn’t clean, or pay bills, or run errands in the car. I did walk to the bank, but I took my camera. It was the most peaceful hour I remember having in well over six months. I took pictures. I narrated my pictures for my photo blog, but don’t think that I will narrate them there. I let myself be creative, and calm. I found the beauty in my surroundings, hoping to let that beauty carry over into the rest of my life and my perspective on things.

Between the work that I do and the things that have happened in my life lately, everything has felt ugly. Grey, brown, depressing and ugly. I have had trouble getting out of bed. I have not wanted to do anything. I want to lay in bed and just.. sleep. Today I let myself wander. I let myself do whatever I wanted to do. I didn’t press to meet a to-do list. I didn’t have anyone demanding or asking anything of me. I was able to just be. Something I’m not sure I’ve done in a very long time.

I think this is one small baby step towards beginning to take care of myself again.

I’ve always been a crier. I have friends who are worse, but I do cry alot. I cry when I get mad. I’ll stop talking, and get very quiet, and cry. Which makes me even MORE mad, because I think, “Why am I crying? Why aren’t I yelling?”. I just cry.

I cry when I’m lonely. I cry when I’m tired. I cry when I’m scared, and even sometimes when I’m nervous. And yes, occasionally when I’m happy.

I also cry when I’m sad. Since dad and grandma died, this has happened in a specific pattern. I cried most of the way home from Pittsburgh, and then on and off the next day. Then I didn’t cry, for two solid days. Not a tear. I acted like everything was quite. alright. Then we went to order the flowers, and I lost it. And I lost it for the rest of the day. I teared up all day and then at night had a huge breakdown. Sobbing for what feels like ever while Khalil holds me.

Since then that is how it works. I have a few dry days, and one day where I feel like I’m on the edge, and then I lose it. On my dry days, this is a dandy way to live. I can almost forget that I’m grieving and pretend that I’m doing just fine, thankyouverymuch. The on-the-edge days suck. I spend all day trying not to cry. Swallowing my tears. Even if the reasons to cry have nothing to do with anything, I don’t want to cry.

Because since I started with the breaking down, crying scares me. I’m out of control, and heaving big sobs. I don’t typically cry like this. I cry, and then move on. These tears are hard to move on from. I spend a long time crying, then a long time calming down. I hate it. So I spend the days avoiding it. Which is not the best way to manage grief, I’m fairly sure.

I know I will get there. The days between crying are more and more- two, then three, then four, five. I know I’ll get there. I know that I will heal. I know I will miss them, and eventually figure out a way to say goodbye. I know I’ll always miss them but at someone I’ll integrate into my life the fact that I don’t have my grandma or father anymore.

I know I’ll get there, but in the meantime?? I just get through the day.

My dad is in the hospital. Yes, he got a transplant. No, he’s not 100% out of the woods yet.

My grandma just died.

Where are my emotions?

They’re shut off. I feel like I’m walking around in ‘off mode’. When I found out my grandmother died, it took about six  hours for me to have any reaction at all. I cried most of the night, then shut myself back off. I haven’t cried since.

I don’t usually react like this. I usually cry, and get moody, and cry, and have a teary and emotional response to both grief and stress.

This time, I’m turned off. I think that it’s just too much for me to absorb, so I’m not processing any of it. I’m just turning it off. I hear information and let it roll off of me. Dad has a fever and may be sick? Ok. Grandma died? Ok.

It’s not that I don’t want to deal with any of it. I do. I really and truly do. I just don’t know how to turn myself back on and not get completely overwhelmed by the amount of crap I need to process.

I am, of course, visibly eating through the emotions. It’s totally insane. Peppridge Farms has a new slogan I saw today, “Every taste has a feeling”. How apropo. Chips taste like boredom. Chocolate tastes like grief. Alcohol tastes like “please make it go away”. Overeating tastes like anger. It is in fact true that every taste has an emotion.

I need to start dealing with the emotions. This sounds like a job for a therapist.

It would be one thing to have my dad be in liver failure. And to have him leaving next week for “preliminary testing” and possibly staying out of state while he waits for the transplant. It would be stressful, scary and sad. Overwhelming and stressful.

It would be one thing to have Grandma diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. To have to process the fact that she will not be here for the duration of the year. That she will never see me have children. That we will have to help her die, if that’s even possible. To try and support my mom as she supports my grandmother. To try and be there for Grandma. To talk about hospice and radiation. It would be scary. And sad- so, so sad. Heart-wrenchingly sad. It would be overwhelming and stressful.

For so long weight loss took front and center. The fact that I needed to lose weight was the thing that bothered me, the thing I needed to deal with. Then we didn’t get pregnant as quickly as we thought we would. That started to take over. That is significantly more stressful than the weight thing.

Then people started getting sick. Nothing puts stress into perspective more than a very sick or dying close relative.

It would be one thing if they were doing it one at a time. This is going on all at the same time. It is beyond overwhelming. At any given moment, you don’t know who to think about. Who to worry about. Who to be scared about. You don’t know who to imagine your life without, because that is a fact of reality for one and a distinct possibility with the other. Who do you cry about? How do you even process this?

The answer is one day at a time. You don’t spend alot of time processing, because you get through each day as it comes. You take things one situation at a time. You wipe away the tears, again, and move on. You remind yourself that you will get through this. That if you just keep getting up, you will get through all of this. Your life may change forever, but you can get through this. One. Day. At. A. Time.

Yesterday I was all of these: cranky pants, crabapple, oscar the grouch, Royal Bitch. I don’t know what’s wrong.

I felt blah. Down. Bored. Unsettled. Out of sorts. But I don’t know why. I’m not sure there really is one specific reason, as much as it may have been little pieces of alot of things getting to me. I feel somewhat better today, though I’m finding myself still snappy. Like when you start to take yourself too seriously, and all of a sudden nothing’s funny anymore. It’s not a pretty place to be and I don’t like myself when I’m in it.

My favorite pictures of Caleb and Ellie:

For more pictures of them, go see my other site.

So what do I do yesterday to make myself feel better?

This Christmas season has been a bit chaotic. It’s been a flurry of buying and cleaning. It’s also been seeing Grandma in the hospital and worrying. Working and stressing. Spending what time I can with my husband.

Things are starting to settle down a bit.  I have a mountain of wrapping to do, but everything’s been bought. Grandma’s home, at least for now. I’m off of work. I have some time to take a deep breath, look around, and realize that… before I knew it… it’s Christmas Eve!

I wrote this last year on Christmas Eve, and it basically says exactly what I wanted to say this year. I’m still struggling with what I really believe, but Linus and what he said still resonates with me.

Have a wonderful Christmas. Or Chanukah, or Kwanzaa. Or Chrismakkuh. I hope you spend time with family, and get what you really hoped for.

I’m twenty-seven today, yo.

I have actually alot of feelings about my birthday. I have always loved my birthday. I don’t know- some people hate it, some people are indifferent. I LOVE it. I love the day. I love people calling and singing me Happy Birthday, I love Khalil whispering it in my ear first thing in the morning. I love the cute messages and text messages I get. Love the e-mail cards. Love the presents. I just… I love it. This year feels a little different, though.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m still loving my day. I’m having a very good day, thank goodness. But leading up to my birthday I was leaning more toward the indifferent side on my birthday. It felt- less exciting, less thrilling. Maybe after you have twenty-seven of them the excitement starts to wear off a bit? (Ok, probably for most people it starts to wear off at about twelve of them. But if we haven’t learned that I am not most people, what have we learned?)

I also feel old. I feel… last year I felt like I was on the other side of twenty-five. That meant I was closer to thirty than I was to twenty. And Lordy, did that feel… older. Now I’m practically closer to thirty than I am to twenty-five (almost) and that just feels scary. I don’t feel quite grown-up enough to be thirty. So I guess it’s good I’m not quite thirty, huh?

I also feel a little sentimental today. Last year I had a very close friend that I lost this year. Today I am feeling a little sad about losing her. We also went out as couples for our birthdays. I loved it. It was just… something we always did. I missed her birthday dinner this year, and thought of it. But I’m missing her presence on my birthday. Last year her daughter, four at the time, left me the cutest voicemail on my birthday. “Hi Auntie Paige. (she’s not answering mommy! It’s a voicemail, Jewel!) Auntie Paige? Happy Birthday Auntie Paige. (She’s still not there mommy! Just leave the message Jewel!) I love you Auntie Paige. (Mommy! She’s not answering! Why won’t she talk to me?!).” Click. It was precious. Don’t get me wrong- this morning my niece and nephew called and sang me happy birthday. It was beautiful music and brought tears to my eyes. I talked to both of them and got Happy Birthdays from them. I just have been thinking about my friend and her family and missing them today.

Bittersweet, I suppose. I still love my birthday. I love the day to celebrate me, as selfish as that sounds. But I am also thinking about the things I am losing and have lost. I will focus on the positives and the many blessings I have. But as I get older, birthdays stay bittersweet, I think.

But I still owe a Thanksgiving post.

Things I am thankful for, and they are many.

I have to start with my husband. And the love, support, and friendship he gives me, every day. And for his sense of humor and not letting me take myself too seriously.  

And I’m thankful that he can cook. Because man, if he couldn’t cook, we’d be in a load of trouble in life.

I’m thankful for my cat. She’s just my baby. She wakes me up every morning at five am to cuddle with me. And if I’m still in bed, she comes again at 6:45. That time she’s hoping that I’ll get up and feed her, but still, I get a cuddle in.

I’m so thankful for our families. Khalil and I have families that couldn’t be more different in some ways. But they all love us. And are there to support us.

Khalil and I have a roof over our heads. We have a warm bed to come home to and a guest bed to offer to people. We have food in our pantry, and a decorated home. We have family, and friends, and each other. We have each other.

We are so blessed.

I had a long, thoughtful, love Thursday-ish post planned. I really did.

But I am tired.

And I have a headache.

And my stomach hurts.

There is so much to be thankful. I am so thankful. So much that I don’t want to kill the thankful post because I am so tired. So bear with me. Will be back tomorrow.

Ha. I checked my blog stats: six views. Now, I’m not a huge blog, which is ok by me. But since I’ve started NaBloPoMo, I’ve had more hits… last time I had stats that low was, I kid you not, October 29. Two days before NaBloPoMo.

 I know where you all are. You are in your kitchens, cooking and baking. You’re in your bathrooms, scrubbing. You’re at the table making placecards. You’re at the store getting last minute ’stuff’. You’re packing, getting on a plane, or getting in a car.

I hear you. I’m doing the scrubbing, baking, placecard making thing. I’m so excited. SO excited.

But also? I’m SO TIRED. I still have a ton of baking to do, a kitchen to finish cleaning, an apartment to vacuum (it is days like this I LOVE not having a house- having less space means having less to CLEAN!).

Today was the day from hell. It puts tomorrow in perspective, I will tell you that. My grandma is having some medical problems, and I took the day to take her to the MD, get prescriptions filled, etc. I love my grandma, but she deserves a post all to herself. There have been about a gazillion phone calls to relatives, but mostly my sister and mom. There have been tears and recovery from tears. There have been good and horrible moments.

But she’s still here. I have so, so, so much to be thankful for. I may be exhausted, I may be not feeling well. I may be daydreaming of Friday when I plan to see… um, no one. Except Khalil and Rory. But in the meantime, I’m looking forward to tomorrow and I am counting my blessings. And I have many.