Tag Archives: motherhood

Blurred lines

It's been one of those days. One of those days where you don't know exactly when the train derailed but where suddenly you find yourself one with a brick wall. Tired. Drained. Angry at everything and nothing at all….and just sad. It's a day where my physical resources are just tapped and my mental resources never really existed in the first place.

I yelled at my son today…more like raised my voice…but yelling for me.

I sighed more often than I breathed.

I smiled through a clenched jaw.

It's not one thing…I actually didn't have a bad day. It's just the accumulation of sick days upon sick days. It's a sick kid who's stir crazy. It's Valentine's day suddenly upon me before I'm ready for it and the mad scramble to make sure I can show my husband that he's important. It's being in the grocery store surrounded by a sea of pink and red…flowers and balloons… and suddenly realizing that I will never be able to buy my mother a rose again. That deep punch in my soul that came out of nowhere. It's my heart breaking. My motivation wavering. My self criticism peaking. It's…

time to fucking take a breath.

I'm alive. My son and husband are alive. Happy and alive. I'm sitting here at a coffee shop after a mad rush to get out…escape for just a minute and breathe. I'm here reminding myself that while it's ok to panic…ok to break…that I'm extraordinarily lucky. That my life is easy. My art still comes at my will. My love is overflowing. That I don't have to scrounge for my next meal. That I was able to choose to have the craziness that is my life. I am so very fortunate. Tomorrow, I have love to share with others who love me just as much back. I am soooo lucky.

I just needed a moment off the merry go round to remember that.

A moment to sift through my blogs to see a photo of a family that are hugging their child for the very last time here. To have my soul punched again back into proper perspective. I'm breathing again and I'm now sending my love mentally to another family who needs it much more than mine now. Damn…



Who am I?

Who am I?

It's a question I've asked and answered a lot over the years.

In silly magazine quizzes sent by well-meaning friends

In long, angst-ridden diary pages riddled with self doubt.

But it's a moot question because I am ever a work in progress, a moldable ethereal being that sometimes folds in on itself in guarded innocence and sometimes expands outward towards change and enlightenment.

I am sometimes nothing and more often times everything.

And that's because I have, from birth, defied labels.

I was supposed to be a boy. I wasn't…but some part of my dad never realized that.

I was supposed to be a quiet, subservient little girl because I was such a good girl. I wasn't. I followed the rules until they chained my spirit and then I fought like a caged lion.

I was supposed to be an awkward mouse because I was a “nerd”. But I wasn't. I wore clothes that broke the molds, make up that looked exactly like the models, and danced like rhythm had me, and not the other way around.

I was and always have been daring, well-spoken, fierce, loving, loyal, hard working, artistic, logic minded, soft-skinned, compassionate, strong, and prone to thumbing my nose at convention. I have always said that life is an illusion…social conventions made to be changed. You make the rules because there are no rules.

And I do this even when I am actively trying not to. And man, have I tried to change…long ago when I hated all that I was. I don't anymore.

Because that is me. Red hair. Sparkling, curiosity-filled eyes. Passion dripping from every single word…every single thoughtful gesture. A deliberate life. A beautiful life.

My son is just like me. Full of laughter, angst, humor, brilliance. He is all lights and darks and all the subtleties in between. He defies definition. My love for him defies words.

And it is through that love that I learned the truth. Because it was in that struggle in which, at first, I found myself trying to define him…that I ultimately looked in the mirror and let go of my own boxes. Saw myself as the truly wonderful whirlwind that I am. Cause I can't love him while continuing to hate his reflection. My face that stares back through his gorgeous, sparkling eyes.

God, he's beautiful. And so am I.

So someday, when he's busy shirking off the labels that less dynamic people will stick on him. When he's wondering if he's ok…I will tell him that I used to stop the car at lights, turn the music up and dance with wild abandon outside my car in front of everyone. That I have painted masterpieces. That I've written a novel. That I've traveled 1000 miles to help a friend steal back his cat. And all of these are just a fragment of a very crazy, mixed up, brilliant spirit that is his mother. The spirit I gave to him.

And then I will dare him to push it even further. Because he can. Because he will.

Because that's who I am.


It's been a slow start to the year. I would have loved to be able to start the month off illness-free, stress-free, and fully-revved to start fresh and take the world by storm. But it was molasses slow…full of a bad flu, flare pain, and a sick kiddo that is reaching his teenage rebellion at age four. The me from a few years ago would be tempted to call it quits and write off 2014 already at this rate. But I won't.

Everyday all over Facebook, friends post massive, photo-laden chronicles of their new fitness boot camps, clutter-purged houses, and new found determination. They have taken-charge, reformed and made-over their lives virtually overnight. I should be jealous, beating myself up for all that I haven't done…haven't changed. But I'm not.

Instead, I am feeling the gentle pull of a slow building momentum…

For years now, I have been Sisyphus. The rock before me impossible and yet time and time again I rolled its massive, crushing weight uphill hoping that sheer will would finally allow me to push it over. That I might earn the right to my freedom. That somehow I would earn the right to love myself and finally allow myself to be happy. To love my life.

But the rock never went anywhere.

I never went anywhere.

I was a hamster in a wheel. Filling my time with impossible tasks that would give me the right I was born with.

The right to be. Just be.

I don't have to be a great artist, writer, daughter, mother, or wife to be worthy of life and my happiness. I don't have to be successful, rich, thin, sporty, organic…anything at all to be worthy of the simple right to own my space. I simply need to be. To breath my own air. Wake in my own space. And that is enough. Everything else is the kind of bullshit that holds me back from everything I already am. That I was born with.

I am everything I want to be already. Because I'm me.

And that knowing, coupled with my mother's death has finally let me fucking drop that goddamn rock! Hell, I've even gotten off the goddamn mountain!

And instead, I've decided to try a little downhill excursion instead…gently letting my own gravity, the pull of my own heart slowly build up speed so that I might let it take me where I was meant to go. No more giant tasks, impossible goals… Just the gentle rolling of my own momentum.

And I'm already gaining ground….in inches…and then a couple feet. And maybe by next year, I'll be somewhere new, who knows? But what I do know…I will be enjoying the journey a hell of a lot more. Cause who the fuck doesn't like rolling down hills?

So here's to me ditching the damn rock… I hope you do too…

And when you do, come join me…I'll be writing some awesome books, painting beautiful pictures, and playing with my beautiful family with a big ol' smile on face, laying in the soft,green grass of the biggest hill I can possibly find and rolling down till I'm so full of happy that I explode.

I wonder what that would look like posted on Facebook? đŸ™‚

Blogs and Snot


This blog is going to be just about my life. My life as a 38 year old mother, wife, daughter,friend,  patient, daughter-in-law, artist, and human being. I want to try and remember the details in my life that seem to slip away with the chaos. I want to share my story to help others if I can. And I want a record of my life for my young son to have when he’s old enough to really know his mother.

So to jump right in… let’s just start with today.

The Cute is sick. It’s really nothing new. He and I are always getting sick. At least it seems that way. The books say that young children, on average, get sick every two weeks. And that is why I call him the Germ Factory.

I, on the other hand, am just fucked. That’s right. FUCKED. For the past 12 years…if there is a virus or bacteria…I have a 50/50 chance of getting it. And for the last 4 years…it’s risen to 99%. I get everything. And it’s not just that. I get pain added in for good measure. Heaps of it. You see, I have a pain condition. A pretty annoying one. The doctors (I hesitate calling them that) have so far diagnosed Fibromyalgia, but after careful research and the cropping up of some more disturbing issues such as intermittent tachycardia(rapid heart rate) and palpitations, a severe salt craving, blood pressure issues, and crazy body temp regulation problems…I think it’s closer to Dysautonomia with a mild, undiagnosed autoimmune condition to make matters more interesting. It’s been a bit complicated around here since the pregnancy gave it crack. It’s become The Beast.

So anyway, I hurt today. And my son is booger faucet. And a bipolar nutball. But a damn cute one at that. I hate how crazy he gets. He reminds me of how chaotic I was as a child. It was so hard to deal with my emotions. I see, in him, my ups and downs. My passion and my utter despair over seemingly random, petty things. I hurt for him. And then he uses that annoying whiny voice and I want to crawl inside my body to get away from it. Ugh, I hate the whine.  And it’s especially annoying when all I want to do is drown in covers and sleep off the pain. But I digress…

So today has been pretty boring. TV and iPad. Popsicles and cold medicine.

I love my life and my child though. And I’m so lucky to be able to snuggle him through days like today. I’m so lucky to be able to lay down when I need to. To have this kind of day. Just a boring, average, amazingly lucky day of snuggles and snot.

Ok…fuck the snot.

(Not an amazing way to start a blog but, hell, I had time. And when a mom has time…you do something with it if you can.)