I'm Still Here

I walk past the office a hundred times a day. I could go in and type even if it's just for a few minutes. There must be a story I have to tell floating around in my brain. I'm going to do it.

"Momma!"

Maybe if I ignore the call, they will figure out their issue on their own. It's possible, right? Other people's children do it, why not mine?

"MOMMA!!! He hit me."

"Momma! I neeeeeeeeeeed you."

"Momma! I miss you."

"Momma? What are you doing?"

"Momma. Can I play a game on the computer?"

No. Not now. The time isn't right. I'll get to it. Later.

Later becomes tomorrow. Tomorrow becomes soon. Soon becomes next week. Next week becomes ...

There are stories, beautiful stories, I want to share. They dance like fireflies on a summer evening. I chase them, laughing. I hope to catch one and put it in a jar so I can watch it's glow.

I put the jar on a shelf so you can see it when you enter the room. It is so beautiful. I think about it, the glow lighting a spark in my imagination. Posts are composed in I head.

Yes. This is it. It's time. I head towards the room hoping to open the door without anyone noticing. Hoping for a few minutes in which to share my story with the universe.

But I can't. The chorus starts again. I save it for later, hoping against hope that the story will still be there.

The next time I see the jar a few days later, there is no glow. The firefly has escaped and gone back to that summer evening. Maybe I can catch it again. Maybe. But most likely it is gone forever.

So I wait. Wait and wonder will my fingers ever get the chance to dance over the keyboard. Will my words ever be heard. Will I ever share a story, a piece of my soul.

"Momma! Momma! MOMMA!!!!"

Swimming and Running

My hand slashes through the water. My feet kick behind me, propelling me forward. My head turns, rising up to take a breath.

I continue on until my hand touches the wall. I could grab the wall and hold on. Or I could turn, pushing off and moving forward. I choose to turn.

The wall approaches again. And again I choose to turn. Touching the safety of the wall, letting go, turning back to the water.

My body begins to tire. My resolve begins to falter. My mind starts to scream. "This is not normal. This is not safe. There is nothing holding you up. You are not a creature of the sea."

The water is not real. It is not solid. It cannot hold me. Panic sets in.

I try to fight my mind. I try to continue on. I thrash and kick out of control. My chest tightens. My pulse quickens. My heart thumps so loudly I can hear it in my ears. I lift my head trying to take a breath but there is not enough air. My hands frantically search for the wall but it lies just out of reach.

My foot hits the ground. The ground is solid. It is real. One foot, then the other, hitting the ground and pushing off, propelling me forward.

I look up and see the sky. I look down and see the ground. It is solid. It is real. One foot, then the other, moving forward.

Around me are signs of life. Grass, plants, dirt, the smell of the earth. Buildings, cars, concrete, the smells of civilization. A squirrel darts in front of me, looking frightened before it escapes to the safety of a tree. A dog spies the squirrel and strains on its leash, struggling to pull free to chase the squirrel. The hand at the end of the leash pulls back, straining to control, to regain their rhythm. We pass and smile, connecting with each other, connecting with the earth.

This is real. This is solid. One foot, then the other, moving forward.

My mind does not struggle here. The sound of my footfalls, the feeling of connecting with the earth brings a clarity. I breathe in the fresh air. Each breath bringing the peace I have longed for.

This is real. This is solid. One foot, then the other, moving forward.

I have been swimming lately. Some days all I do is swim, struggling to reach the shore. Swimming in my kitchen, swimming at the store, swimming in my sleep. Too much swimming. An endless pool, river, lake, ocean.

I choose not to swim anymore. I choose to run.

This is real. This is solid. One foot, then the other, moving forward.

Everything I Touch

breaks down.

Longtime readers of this blog are familiar with my ongoing struggles with my house. Basement issues - check. Bathroom not working - check. Garage falling down - check. And just when we thought we were turning a corner and getting the basement finished. It all goes to crap.

Last Friday we had torrential, horrible, crazy, oh my goodness the world is ending, 100 year flood type rains. We got somewhere between 3 and 4 inches of rain in a 24 hour period. Not good. Ironically we had those same types of rains last year (so I guess its not 100 year, more like 1 year) when our basement leaked.

And what do you know? Our basement leaked again. Not on the fixed side that we were about to finish by laying the floor. No it leaked on the other side and then trickled over and pooled on the fixed side. So that's a big problem. Huge problem really, we need to do something about the leak before we can lay the floor. We'll try regrading first and then who knows. We were out of the basement for over a year and we were so close to going back there I could taste it. And now we'll be out for a while longer.

And after the Ark floating rains, we had a good old fashioned August style heat wave of 90+ temps. Of course the CrapShack does not have central air. Don't be silly, why would it have central air. So we lugged out all of the fans and tried in vain to cool it down. We also got out our window air conditioner and put it in our window. Or should I say tried to put it in our window.

You see as we were adjusting it, it fell out of the window. From the second story. Bubs and I just turned to eachother and started laughing. Of course, with our luck, the air conditioner would fall out the window. It was bound to happen.

We did, however, have a bit of luck. We have these big ugly evergreen bushes out in front of our house. I hate them and have wanted to get rid of them for years, but we haven't. Well those big, ugly bushes managed to serve as a cushion of sorts. The air conditioner hit the bushes and didn't make it to the ground and didn't break. Thank goodness for that. Bubs went downstairs, managed to remove the unit from the bushes and bring it (and a few branches) back up stairs. We finally got it in the window, plugged it in and held our breath. It worked! We would be cool(ish) after all.

So to make a long story short(ish), our house keeps falling down around us. We cannot finish our remodeling project at this time due to the leaks. We still only have one functioning bathroom. We are hoping the garage falls down due to some act of nature. Oh yeah, the lawn mower and the vacuum cleaner also decided to stop working. And I'm about one leaky faucet away from a breakdown. Fun times.

Overwhelmed

I try to stay organized. I try to keep on top of things. But some days, no matter what I do, its not enough.

The mess spreads beyond acceptable borders. Rooms that should be clean aren't and the ones that should look "lived in" look like federal disaster areas. Bunny is like a hurricane during the day, leaving a trail of dinosaurs other assorted animals in her wake. If she follows me into another room, the chaos also follows.

I try to pick up the messes we make each day. And then I try to do one more thing, laundry, vacuuming or something, to stay on top of the clutter. But there is not enough time, only nap time and after bed. And I am only one person. I need help, professional help, but any help will do.

But there are times, like today, when I cannot accept the help when it comes. Bunny chose not to sleep for whatever reason. So I got some internet time in but no time to myself or to clean. I was listening to her whine over the monitor, stewing, when my parents stopped by. My dad was going to do some work on the "deck" we have in the back. My mom started to clean the kitchen.

Rather than accepting the help, I lost it. I started to feel bad about myself and the chaos around me. I took their help as a judgement against me and my parenting skills. I thought if they had to help me, then it meant that I could not take care of my family in the way that I was supposed to. If I couldn't keep the house clean with just three people and two cats (with their shedding fur, their hairballs, their puke and their pee), then how could I possibly add another baby to the mix.

I was tired, I was alone, and I was overwhelmed. When I get stressed, I get lost. I get into a deep, dark hole and its hard to get out of. I realized that this home and this family are all that I have. I don't have a lot of other outlets for my feelings. I don't have friends who are in the same boat as me. None of my friends here can relate to what I am going through.

All of that emotion came out in the tears I was shedding. I felt like a failure, even though I knew I wasn't. I yelled at my mom. But really I was yelling at myself. Picking at old wounds, causing new ones because I just didn't know what else to do.

But the answer was there. It was staring me right in the face. I had to say that I needed help and I had to accept the help that was given. So I swallowed the false pride I was feeling and let her help. I still feel bad, but my kitchen is clean and that is a small victory. So now I can fold the 5 loads of laundry I did today and go to bed knowing that I, we, made a dent in the chaos. So thank you Mom and Dad for helping me, I really needed it.

The stress isn't totally gone, nor will it ever be. It is constantly there just like a friend or lover you want to let go of but can't. I just have to remember to take time for myself, to breath, to relax. Not to let it overwhelm me to the point of causing physical symptoms like it has done in the past.

I have to realize that I am not alone. I have my little family. And even if they can't always relate, I have friends. And I have this blog, I can reach out into the wilds of the internet and there are those who will understand me.