A Gift

I'm pretty aware of the effect my mind's wanderings has on my overall feeling of wellness.  Letting my mind settle into all the ways I am pissed at my circumstance results in mindless eating, grumpier responses to my children, blah-ness.  The opposite tends to be true as well: tending to the awesomeness begets more awesomeness in all the ways.

I received a gift today.  I am certain I receive them every day, and this one was obvious.  This is my journey to reprogram my mind to pay attention to the gifts and therefore create a shift in my life toward the possibilities.  For the purposes of this journey I am choosing to assert that the gifts are not happenstance.  It's more fun and meaningful that way.

Today my girls and I arrived at the river a full ten minutes early.  This is significant because by all calculations, based on commitments from earlier in the day plus the added time it takes to accomplish most anything when you add children to the mix, we should have been late.  I actually had a conversation with myself a few hours prior just to acknowledge that today we weren't going to be on time and that, this time, that could be ok.  

So there we were, before all of our friends arrived, chairs set up, kayak in the water, sunscreen applied, be-hatted: ready.  It was quiet.  The sand was hot from being undisturbed all morning, soaking up the heat.  The three of us had ventured into the first few inches of sublimely cool water, and I was taking it all in.  When I looked downstream I saw I hawk meandering through the sky toward us.  Not even really in the sky, I'd say, but following along the canyon and river 100 feet or so above the water.  I pointed the raptor out to the girls, and took an other moment to observe it myself.  It wasn't a turkey vulture for sure, definitely a prey bird.  But something wasn't familiar about it.  By the time it was nearly overhead I lost it, "OMIGOODESS!!! A BALD EAGLE!!! GIRLS!! GIRLS!! LOOK!!!"  A freaking bald eagle!!!  I knew they existed in the canyon but I'd never seen one, and this dude was right overhead.  It was surreal.  I implored my children: this was something that most people never get to see, like ever.  Rosanna replied, "And WE got to see it!"

Today I am thankful for that gift. For the moments aligning to put us where we were, with our eyes looking, our little family together and peaceful all of us ready to receive it. 

New day, new male cow excrement

Remember those weeks where you just wanted to bury yourself in bed and let the throbbing tragedy be muffled by your heavy, depressed slumber?  Yeah, that.  I just watched my entire paycheck be gulped down by a bill that I spent the previous hour frantically making phone calls to avoid.  The ding of my phone notifying me that my account is now hundreds of dollars overdrawn brought me back into the comforting arms of my bed.  Children still needed through my tears.  So and so looked at me this way.  I can't find my fairy house.  Look at this octopus I made with bendy straws.  Why are you crying.
I lie to my children a lot.  I carefully picked over the real reasons I was crying, an exercise that dove me deeper into the sadness.  The final response- after it was weighed for the possible level of inquiry it would illicit and the amount of life altering thought processes it could set off, was that, "I'm sad about the way I wish things could be." My eldest accepted that answer, responded, "I love you Momma" and left the room.
A friend told me that these challenges are being given to me in this life because I am being called to "level up".  On the path to enlightenment there are obstacles and navigating them is the test.  I don't like it.  I am very, very attached to the way I want things to be. I've let go of the physical manifestations- the house, the yard, the marriage.  Now I just want the peace.  I want a break from defending my children's growing up against the chaos that disguises itself as faithful, truest love.
On that note, I also want to say: faithful truest love doesn't ask you to be someone you're not.  It doesn't fight for you to have angry relationships with other people.  It doesn't leave you in lurches of sadness while it goes off and shares it's body with another before coming back to you.  It doesn't require you to tippy toe about, just in case it is having an insecure moment.

I'm not delusional about what love looks like.  I think it allows for all parts of oneself to be perfectly present, even the yucky parts.  I think the results can't be that you are left questioning and stressed and turned upside down and wondering what essential parts of yourself need to be remedied.  No.  That is not it at all.

It's Almost Here Folks!!

I've been through enough inner work to know that when I am feeling judged it is really just me judging myself.  And let's say that I'm wrong, that someone out there really is judging me, well shame on them.  They can go fly a kite (or some such thing).  But here I am feeling the need to justify, or explain some things away.  Really, also, to dump out this Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout-sized pile of feelings onto a blank computer screen.

I do my best to disappear on the weekends.  Emotionally and physically. I want to vacate my week life, set it down and come back in 48 hours.  I wouldn't say single moms are heroes (it's not a dig, I just am not sure that's the right word for it), and I am hardly that 'single mom' anyone ever talks about, but it's f*cking hard and draining to sustain two rambunctious, thriving, needing people through a week without that other person struggling right along side me.  And not just any other 'one'.  The one who made them also.  The actual only other person who can relate to them in the way I can, who can share a sideways glance with me that holds an entire story that we can giggle about without words passing.
And so I go.  I am not around for hanging out.  I am not around for work.  I am not around to experience any parts of my weekday life.  I really, really need to go away.  I need to check out.  It feels imperative to my survival.

And no, I won't be there with my kids at the weekend birthday parties.  He will.  I won't show up for those few hours to be there.  I want to.  I love the community, the family and love that is being with my tribe.  But then I am back in my week.  And my kids are too.  If you knew the heartbreak that happens for my babies when I pop in for a moment of their weekend, you wouldn't question it.  It sends them into a tailspin.  Maybe not right away, or maybe in that moment.  They aren't ready to deal with that.  I am not going to require them to.  They are still too raw.  So am I.

And so I'm not there.

And guess what else?!  Thursday I'm a free woman!!  Divorced!  Have I told how wrecked I am?  How vulnerable, exposed and generally terrified I feel?  I am coming up on a solid week of hovering on a meltdown.  I can't see old baby photos without crying.  I can't see or talk to Ethan without crying.  I can't listen to someone gripe about their husband without crying.  I can't listen to half the music on the radio without crying.  The way that electric guitar hovered on that note a moment longer- crying.  I am afraid if I really give in to the crying that is waiting for me, I'll be sucked into a deep pit and never be seen again.

You know what else is neat?  Some horrid person thinks I should be over it.  She thinks I am being dramatic and invasive.  As if my own personal feelings of failure plus the impending doom I feel is waiting for my children as they grow in a broken home isn't plenty on it's own- no I want to stick myself in the midst of the relationship that f*cks with my brain the most.  What a hilarious assumption.  An entire third of my life was committed to this man.  We created new human beings together with our bodies.  We cried and loved and laughed and struggled and were in awe together.

How sad for her that she hasn't had that experience.  Otherwise she wouldn't accuse me of being a horrible person for not being 'over it'.

Sundays are for wailing

There is a moment lately that I hate.

It happens on Sunday nights.  I come home to my children (after being gone for the weekend so they may have time with their dad without being shuttled around), in time to love on them a bit and help get them to bed,  They get to have both of their parents read to them, snuggle them into their covers and then leave them to slumber.  However, on Sunday nights they wail.  They know their daddy is leaving after he closes their door.  My six year old pouts at me, accusingly, "Why does daddy only get to see us two days a week and you get us five days?".  Her look is volatile, angry, wounded.  I tell her I agree, it isn't fair.  She flails back into her pillow, sobbing.

I hate him so much on these nights.  I am called back to comfort the casualties.  They are inconsolable.  And there is nothing I can do to make it better.  This is the part that makes me insane.  This is the part that leaves me silently crying along side them in the dark.  I'm helpless.  I can hold hands, rub backs, provide squishy, comfy stuffed animals, but I can't fix it.  I send him angry texts, imploring him to think about what he has done to his perfect, amazing children.  I regret it almost immediately.

Eventually their melt down exhausts them to sleep.  It's quiet and the rage I felt is lessening, but a punching bag would be ideal right now.  I realize it's a futile effort, and I try to see his side.  Every time I come up short.  I just couldn't leave my children, my family, my life for another person (this scenario, of course, doesn't involve abuse).  I would fight and fight and fight to see my children more than just on the weekends.  As a matter of fact I did.  I fought and fought and took on new, uncomfortable shapes and agreed to awful, unthinkable solutions and became a shadow.  I disappeared into an ugly dark place that had me unable to eat or smile or sometimes even get out of bed.

While it is undoubtedly the one thing I knew would never be a part of my story- I am getting a divorce.  The paperwork is cold, impersonal and daunting.  Seeing my precious children's names on a legal form makes me want to vomit.  Sitting for an hour and a half to hand over a pile of papers to a clerk who then questions why I would fill out such-and-such form (well, because that legal help desk over yonder told me to) has the tears that were welling up begin to spill over.  She doesn't care much.  I finally leave and take time to ugly-cry in my car before I can drive away.

This process sucks and has repercussions beyond oneself, we all know this.  He is learning the round about way, experiential learning is what I believe it's called.  I just never expected to have to protect my children from their father's "learning process".

So, you want a baby brother

Rosanna keeps telling people she is going to have a baby brother.  Those people then look at me with wide eyes.  I follow up with vigorous head shaking and silent concerns that maybe she knows something I don't.  Then, sometime later, I get the flow of relief - if you know what I mean.  So far, my kid ain't clairvoyant.

She also regularly asks if I can get pregnant.  I tell her that I can, but that's not in the game plan right now.  I told her to ask me again in a year.  You guys: I will not be shocked one bit if she asks me in exactly one year.  That's how creepy little kids are.

So all this baby talk has me wondering and thinking and considering.  Emotionally, yes.  Babies forever and ever.  Not because pushing them out is so much fun, but because that moment when the little buggar is lifted from your crotch and placed into your arms is unlike any moment ever in the history of all moments.  I want that moment again.  And again.  I also want to smell fuzzy baby hair and hold a person in the space between my elbow and my wrist.  I want a small blob of squishy goodness sleeping with head rested in my neck and frog legs perched on my chest.

Practically, no.  Sleep deprivation was one thing when there was no one else to take care of and that is no longer my scenario.  And can you imagine three- I mean four people in four different phases of eating?  One gets a regular plate, one gets stuff that's mostly mushable, one gets a dumbed down version of the regular plate and one gets baby food.  Also we'd have to basically never fly.  Affording 5 plane tickets might happen once, but we'd have to drive home.

Yeah, yeah, people have three (or nine) kids all the time.  Ask me again in a year.

Family and a fetus

I really love family reunion time.  It's become even more special since Rosanna is our daughter.  I love sharing our wee-one, showing her off and watching her light up other people's lives like she does ours.  I may as well have birthed a beam of light (although it felt like more).

Family reunion time means seeing people I haven't seen in two years and being with them as if no time had passed.  This year it also meant setting my Rosie free into the wilds of cousin-land to tumble and romp through the grass, throw water balloons, crash legos and play hide-and-seek under a dark sky in the front yard.  This moment of 'letting go' could have been more traumatic for me, but the awesomeness of my family prevailed.  The other kiddos are much older than her, old enough that making space for a two year old during rough play (lots of boys) might have been annoying.  But they were amazing.  They slowed to show her the art of filling water balloons, they stood close enough to let her hit them with one, they were fabulous examples of kindness and love.  I was so touched.

It was perfect and tough to see my grandpa.  He is getting frailer each time I see him and it becomes more difficult to be in a conversation as he slows.  I do my best to avoid thinking of what the end game is.  I overhear my grandma talking about how she can't imagine what that will be like, how utterly incomprehensible it is.  I am so thankful each time I get to hug on him.

After our family beach day, when we were all home, showered and admiring each other's sunburns, I made a discovery that's been a month in the making (we work fast): I'm pregnant.  We told my aunt, uncle and cousin first since that's how it went down last time.  Silly tradition, and it was neat to be with them the day we found out again.  Then we, of course, told everyone else.

This was a momentary stall, however.  We are a bit spooked in the department of getting excited, last time was such a let down.  However, if something goes awry and we didn't tell anyone, then we'd be suffering alone.  I'm not good at hiding.  People can get a pretty good read on me just to look at my face.  And who wants to suffer alone?  So now you know.  We're not expecting the worst, and we're quiet in our happiness.

On a related note- I couldn't be more thankful that the last pregnancy didn't work out.  I'd have an infant right now, and I think that would be a bit too overwhelming.  Rosanna still is needy enough to deserve all of me.  When she's three (when this baby is due) I imagine she'll have pushed away even more and the spacing will be perfect.

Sweet summer sunshine

Life is so exciting in the summer!  Outdoor activities are available around the clock and that means less possibility for screen time- yay!

We're stocking up on vitamin D lately by getting our swim lessons on,

taking weekly hikes with friends, 

losing the poundage by running (sorry, no picture of my sweaty awesomeness), attending festivals, 

playing with cousins, 

and other general liveliness. 

I know summer's only just begun, but I'm really digging it.  We've finished one round of swim lessons, the outdoor family movie nights have started back up (so far: Lion King and Cars), I'm actively training for a half marathon at Disneyland (in September) and my friend Alice and I get together weekly with our girls (they are 3 months apart in age) to hike and wander the wilderness.  Not to mention the weekly farmer's market on Saturday mornings where we get a Grandma Debi fix and where the past few weeks have been gearing up for an outrageously delicious fruit season.  I cannot wait to see what's available tomorrow morning!  

On another note, who replaced my kiddo with a 5 year old?  She's been saying the craziest things lately.  Some cute and some disturbing.  Like today when she told me to "shut up", like it was no big deal.  I can assure you that this language is not used in our house, and yet here it is, smacking me in the face as it flies out of her precious little mouth.  

Last week she told me matter-of-factly that she is pregnant.  

Yesterday, in the tub, she asked, "What's this?".  I told her, "It's where you go pee-pee from".  She asked Ethan, "Daddy do you have one like this?".  And then she asked me.  Oh, man- that came out of left field.  Who knew body-parts talk came at age two?  Not me.  Although, I don't really know when I expected it.

Lately, when E and I are using a "tone" with each other she is a firm request that we, "be nice to each other" and then follows it up with a, "Mommy, talk to Daddy".  Well played kid, well played.

She's nearly got the "Hakuna Mata" song down, it's really the only part of The Lion King that stuck in her brain (thankfully; you ever notice how dark that movie is?) and it's available to watch on youtube so....that's what we do.  I bet you can imagine how stinkin' cute it is to hear a toddler voice say, "It's a problem free, philosophy".  Yeah, it's cute.

She's obsessed with helping in the (tiniest) kitchen and I love it.  Most of the time.  

Yay summer!

So faaaar away, doesn't anybody stay...

Why does family spread?  Boo for family spreading.

Our Christmas was family coming back together for a few precious days to love, cook, wander and laugh heartily with each other.  Men folk went out to shoot empty bottles and cans in the beautiful high desert and women folk gathered in sunny spots on chairs to chat about, well, anything and everything.  In the cool dark hours, after bellies were full to brimming and wine glasses were replenished we all sat around together and laughed voraciously at things that would hardly translate into re-countable words.  Cheeks ached and tears streamed.  "Good times" is all at once the perfect description and an understatement.

My father's family is the kind of people who I can count on to extrovert love upon me and to fold me into to their fabric as if I had been there the whole time.  I feel a freedom being held in such love and I get swept up in emotional upheavals when I watch my child have the same experience.

It was a special Christmas.

We're special people

We're creative

We can be pretty entertaining

We're gorgeous

We love to have fun (and force our children to take a picture mid-fun, before sending them on their merry way)

And we love each other to pieces

It's a pretty rad time to be a Joris (I still lay claim to the name don'tcha know) and now I know why my dad made up a chant about how awesome it is to bear such a name.  This one's for my peeps down south, Joris Pride!