cool beans

Years ago when I saw a therapist for the first time, she had me construct a “safe place” in my mind. I would relax and focus and put myself in a place atop a gentle hill where a large and sturdy tree stretched out over soft, green grass. Most of the time I pictured myself on a swing hung with thick rope from a strong branch. I visualized this image many, many times. I practiced and meditated so that when I had panic attacks, I could make fists and feel that rope in my hands. That sensation steadied me and with that rope in my grasp, I swung toward mental health.

Near the end of that period of therapy, I watched the one who had hurt me walk away. I closed a door behind him and went back to the hill with my tree and my swing. I laid down on the grass, closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I could smell the earth and I could hear the leaves rustling above me. Inside, I was still. I felt peace. When I opened my eyes, for miles and miles, as far as I could see, there were tulips.

I’ve been reading about a lot of negative feelings regarding Valentine’s Day. What’s the deal, people? It’s a sweet day. And like I told my sister tonight, if you are romantic and spontaneous throughout the year, Valentine’s Day might be just any other day. But if you’re easily sucked into the rut that is every day life, Valentine’s Day is a reminder to say, “Hey, I dig you baby.”

It doesn’t mean I need flowers, though. It doesn’t mean I’m the only one that should look forward to the day. But! My husband has been bitten by the Valentine’s Day Bahhum-Bug and thinks that’s what it’s all about. I would trade the card and flowers for a night out alone with him. Or another quick weekend getaway. Or another date night to the movies (especially since The Aviator is still here and I’m dyyyyyyying to see it). But the flowers are really pretty. Thanks. And cheer up, a-holes. It’s supposed to be a NICE day.

Now then. I wrote a little bit about my fragile mental and emotional state in my last entry. I’m about the same but today was better because:

1. There was sun. Glorious serotonin-makin’ sun.
2. I took the day off and caught up on my homework. (Only the unit exam to take now for this credit hour!)
3. Sixteen 4th-graders agree: I’m mega cool.

I have never had the opportunity to help with a holiday party in my kids’ classrooms. Today I helped another mom entertain some really easy to entertain fourth graders in my son’s class. He told me they were really excited I was coming (?) and when we got home he said everyone liked me. I felt all giddy and popular and almost asked, “Do they like me or do they like like me?!” We played some games and had some fun and I smiled so hard my face hurt for an hour after we got home.

My kids were also psyched because our unconventional Valentines were a hit. I think the little cards are boring and my own kids barely read them. This year, we made Jolly Lollies. They were incredibly simple and easy to make. These would be fun for birthday party favors, too.

We were going to make Little Gnomes, but we just ran out of time. Felt is more difficult to cut than the craft foam, and getting the paper clip on the little hat was kind of tricky. It wasn’t as kid-friendly as the other project. I did manage to make one, and it is UH-dorable. My son and I talked about them and think we might use them for Easter because they’d look very cute in baskets - even if they don’t quite “fit” the holiday.

I think blog entries are meant to be cohesive or have some kind of point or something. Maybe. This probably won’t.

I see some of you check in regularly and I’m sorry I don’t update more often because I know how nice it is to see a new post! For those bloggers I read before I knew about Sitemeter and the like, I’m sorry I looked like a crazed stalker refreshing your site fifty times a day! Yikes!

I’ve complained before that I was feeling overwhelmed by life stuff and mom responsibilities and employment and blinking, but I was lying. I was good then. I’m overwhelmed now.

Being very involved with a fundraiser and taking a college course (which is online but has been THE single worst experience with an instructor EVER. EVER. She threated to call my advisor because I wasn’t working enough in her class. That I paid for? Hello? Someone call the Moron Police!) is a crazy thing to do when you have a full-time outside the home job and three kids who are in daycare and school and activities. Also, there is laundry and eventually these people who live in my house will need to eat something not from a box, can or the freezer section.

It’s all a bit too much right now and somehow, everything I touch turns to shit lately. I’m not liking that.

There are worse things in life than being busy and having too much to do and feeling sorry for yourself. I’m aware. But reminding myself that it could be worse just makes me cry because I’m obviously unprepared for worse if I can’t handle things that aren’t yet The Worst or even just worse. You know?

So. Tomorrow I have an appointment with a doctor I’ve not seen before. Actually, I believe she’s a Nurse Practitioner. She has been recommended by everybody. Which is about three people. Anyway, it’s supposed to be my yearly lady parts examination. I hope it does not turn into my Friday blubbering and begging for strong medication visit. But it probably will.

This morning, lying in bed nursing The Toddler, I tried to teach him to hold his fingers up and say “TWO!” He tried hard with the fingers, but could only hold up one at a time. He didn’t try to say “two” because he had a boob in his mouth, but he chuckled several times because I am very funny.

Two years ago this morning, my husband and I set out for the hospital. The sun wasn’t up yet and I was feeling both excited and disappointed. I was ready to meet my new baby, ready to count fingers and toes and see if the baby was cursed with my weak chin or cursed with his father’s prominent jaw. I hoped for dark hair and wished for curls. But most of all and like most other parents, I wanted all parts in the right places in proper working order.

I was also disappointed because I had wanted my body to work on its own this time. For labor to start at home and to sit up in bed one night and exclaim, “It’s time!” But that didn’t happen, and now it never will.

But today I know that it doesn’t matter. At least not to me. What matters is today my baby turns two. My clever little guy with straight-but-wild white blond hair and chubby little cheeks and a chin that is resembling his father’s more every day. He likes baths and going for walks. He loves grapes and bananas and is really not very good at feeding himself yogurt. He likes to dance and play peek-a-boo and if you have a ball, you’re his new best friend. He is wild about his brother and tolerates his sister as long as she doesn’t touch him.

He’s also fond of picking his nose - and mine, too, I guess. He says, “Ohh!” and looks surprised and amused when he farts and he loves to stick his feet in my face. He used to love eating toilet paper. (Outgrown that, thank goodness.)

He can say the following things:

boo (his word for nursing)

shoe

ball

bath

sister’s name

MA!

DA!

go

coat

I don’t know

downstairs

shut the door

dog

juice (though this means anything other than water)

water

“I want…”

banana

more

down

Grandma (means grandma and grandpa and sounds like “ammo”)

remote

car

…and lots of others I’m sure I’m forgetting.

Want to see what we got him? Take a peek.