It Never Stops

Two of my babies are 12. They are still, and may always be in some ways, babies. On Saturday at the train event, at one point both Miles and Charlie climbed up on a truck or tractor and then held out their arms to me to rescue them. A toddler might hold out their arms expectantly, and leap into your arms. When a 12 year old boy does it, I promise it's a different experience.

Charlie is so tall and heavy I can't truly hold him any more. He likes to sit on my lap like a baby, he likes to snuggle, but I can't truly carry him - he's simply too big. Miles is quite a bit smaller and quite a bit lighter, even though as you can see he's a great big boy.

He would let me carry him around a lot, pretty happily. He's greedy with his Mommy time. Since he was a baby it's been his opinion that the only baby that mattered was Miles. 

It's a conundrum, these boys that are turning into men. They aren't truly babies. They are growing but they aren't growing up. Aging is what they are doing. Time is passing and with it the biological things happen. But Cookie Monster is still hilarious, as is Lazytown, and all those other shows your 12 year olds left behind. We haven't outgrown and donated/yard sale(d) our baby toys, not all of them. They are still played with in many cases.

I don't know what it will be like to have men who watch Sesame Street and who want goodnight stories. Men who might still wear diapers and call me Mommy. Then I remember my joy when they learned to call me that, at the age of four or five, so maybe I'll just be happy they call me anything.

This time last year, my mom was in a place I don't know if I can ever be in - she was ready to die. She was very ill, disease was being quite the asshole to her. For her, the only thing she needed - in fact she said this even years before, was to know that her children were strong and safe. She knew that we'd be fine no matter what happened. She was right. We're a little broken and we're very sad but we're strong and we're safe. We're ok and we have each other.

How am I supposed to ever be able to die when I will always have my Miles and Charlie who need me so much? How?

I guess I can't die then. Perfect.

It Never Stops

Two of my babies are 12. They are still, and may always be in some ways, babies. On Saturday at the train event, at one point both Miles and Charlie climbed up on a truck or tractor and then held out their arms to me to rescue them. A toddler might hold out their arms expectantly, and leap into your arms. When a 12 year old boy does it, I promise it's a different experience.

Charlie is so tall and heavy I can't truly hold him any more. He likes to sit on my lap like a baby, he likes to snuggle, but I can't truly carry him - he's simply too big. Miles is quite a bit smaller and quite a bit lighter, even though as you can see he's a great big boy.

He would let me carry him around a lot, pretty happily. He's greedy with his Mommy time. Since he was a baby it's been his opinion that the only baby that mattered was Miles. 

It's a conundrum, these boys that are turning into men. They aren't truly babies. They are growing but they aren't growing up. Aging is what they are doing. Time is passing and with it the biological things happen. But Cookie Monster is still hilarious, as is Lazytown, and all those other shows your 12 year olds left behind. We haven't outgrown and donated/yard sale(d) our baby toys, not all of them. They are still played with in many cases.

I don't know what it will be like to have men who watch Sesame Street and who want goodnight stories. Men who might still wear diapers and call me Mommy. Then I remember my joy when they learned to call me that, at the age of four or five, so maybe I'll just be happy they call me anything.

This time last year, my mom was in a place I don't know if I can ever be in - she was ready to die. She was very ill, disease was being quite the asshole to her. For her, the only thing she needed - in fact she said this even years before, was to know that her children were strong and safe. She knew that we'd be fine no matter what happened. She was right. We're a little broken and we're very sad but we're strong and we're safe. We're ok and we have each other.

How am I supposed to ever be able to die when I will always have my Miles and Charlie who need me so much? How?

I guess I can't die then. Perfect.

Trains, Trucks and Tractors REDUX

We decided to burn our last Saturday before school in the swealtering heat at the Southeastern Railway Museum in Duluth. It was the Trains, Trucks and Tractors weekend which we haven't been to since God was a boy.

I'm required to say things like that, I live in the south.

We were pretty tame for the summer due to the financial constraints of not having a job but things are back on track and that's more of a relief than I can actually ever properly explain. It was nice to get out and feel like us again, soaking up the sunshine and the fun of big trucks, trains and climbing on tractors.

I've talked too many times about how I avoid being in pictures because of my massive case of body dysmorphia (ok I know I don't ACTUALLY look like Jabba but I feel like you think I do) but I can say I guess I don't hate that too much.

And we were having fun so maybe that's all I should worry about. I'll fail but you know. I can pretend.

Today's blog post is just a rambling mess without cohesion that's very self indulgent about a happy day out with my family. There can never be enough of these days in my world.

Their faces make me happy. Silly, happy, nevous, unsure - I love to look at them all and think about the adventures we had that day.

Today's post is a bookmark in my memory banks, of a day we were together and it was perfect.

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Trains, Trucks and Tractors REDUX

We decided to burn our last Saturday before school in the swealtering heat at the Southeastern Railway Museum in Duluth. It was the Trains, Trucks and Tractors weekend which we haven't been to since God was a boy.

I'm required to say things like that, I live in the south.

We were pretty tame for the summer due to the financial constraints of not having a job but things are back on track and that's more of a relief than I can actually ever properly explain. It was nice to get out and feel like us again, soaking up the sunshine and the fun of big trucks, trains and climbing on tractors.

I've talked too many times about how I avoid being in pictures because of my massive case of body dysmorphia (ok I know I don't ACTUALLY look like Jabba but I feel like you think I do) but I can say I guess I don't hate that too much.

And we were having fun so maybe that's all I should worry about. I'll fail but you know. I can pretend.

Today's blog post is just a rambling mess without cohesion that's very self indulgent about a happy day out with my family. There can never be enough of these days in my world.

Their faces make me happy. Silly, happy, nevous, unsure - I love to look at them all and think about the adventures we had that day.

Today's post is a bookmark in my memory banks, of a day we were together and it was perfect.

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The Safety Dance

I loved horror once upon a time. I loved the suspense of well written horror. I love the jumps and shocks of scary movies. I've been known to indulge in some pretty gross movie-wise stuff with my birthday twin Nikki so I can say that I definitely have loved some horror.

Time has changed that for me and I've addressed it before, I'm sure, but I just got a shaking reminder of how weak I am in front of FEAR and DANGER when presented well.

I just finished Stephen King's REVIVAL and I can say with a certainty that I had a strong idea of what the horror was going to be very early in the book. It was so interesting to read, the characters painted in that east coast charm of his (even those not from the east coast) that I couldn't stop. I wanted to know for sure HOW it unfolded, what it manifested into.

Except that I forgot one important little detail. I can't feel unsafe. If something moves me to the place where my mind can feel unsafe I simply can't handle it. Maybe it's motherhood. Maybe it's mortality finally settling in. But I know one thing for certain, I have to be in control and I have to be safe and know everyone I love is safe.

I couldn't watch Walking Dead because not only did I cry during all three episodes I watched, but because it evoked in me an all encompassing dread feeling of NOWHERE IS SAFE. That shit takes place in Atlanta and I'm in Atlanta and oh hell no I can't have that.

This book rolled me into a similar but maybe more all encompassing dread. Painting a picture of inescapable fate, one that waits for us all, I found myself getting more and more drawn in to the words. The pictures he painted, the aberrations of reality loomed on the page sharply and I got everything he meant.

And then I realized I am never, ever going to fucking sleep tonight.

My heart is pounding still a bit, thinking on it too much.

I hate to think I'm too much of a wuss to read one of my favorites but maybe it's come to that. I can't stand that idea, I love King. I want more and more of The Dark Tower. I love his work. But man, I'm not sure I'm going to sleep again, not even in the arms of the Dragon.

IT WAS PHANTASM SCARY. And that's all Generation X needs to know.

The Safety Dance

I loved horror once upon a time. I loved the suspense of well written horror. I love the jumps and shocks of scary movies. I've been known to indulge in some pretty gross movie-wise stuff with my birthday twin Nikki so I can say that I definitely have loved some horror.

Time has changed that for me and I've addressed it before, I'm sure, but I just got a shaking reminder of how weak I am in front of FEAR and DANGER when presented well.

I just finished Stephen King's REVIVAL and I can say with a certainty that I had a strong idea of what the horror was going to be very early in the book. It was so interesting to read, the characters painted in that east coast charm of his (even those not from the east coast) that I couldn't stop. I wanted to know for sure HOW it unfolded, what it manifested into.

Except that I forgot one important little detail. I can't feel unsafe. If something moves me to the place where my mind can feel unsafe I simply can't handle it. Maybe it's motherhood. Maybe it's mortality finally settling in. But I know one thing for certain, I have to be in control and I have to be safe and know everyone I love is safe.

I couldn't watch Walking Dead because not only did I cry during all three episodes I watched, but because it evoked in me an all encompassing dread feeling of NOWHERE IS SAFE. That shit takes place in Atlanta and I'm in Atlanta and oh hell no I can't have that.

This book rolled me into a similar but maybe more all encompassing dread. Painting a picture of inescapable fate, one that waits for us all, I found myself getting more and more drawn in to the words. The pictures he painted, the aberrations of reality loomed on the page sharply and I got everything he meant.

And then I realized I am never, ever going to fucking sleep tonight.

My heart is pounding still a bit, thinking on it too much.

I hate to think I'm too much of a wuss to read one of my favorites but maybe it's come to that. I can't stand that idea, I love King. I want more and more of The Dark Tower. I love his work. But man, I'm not sure I'm going to sleep again, not even in the arms of the Dragon.

IT WAS PHANTASM SCARY. And that's all Generation X needs to know.

I'm Much More Me

I'm sentimental and emotional by nature. I pretend to be tougher than I am to make up for that. I once did this assessment of my "emotional" work nature and basically it said I was super over sensitive, however, I was someone who would hide that I was hurt and would instead set people on fire in a rage rather than admit I was hurt.

Well that seems rather extreme. I have never "actually" set someone on fire.

What I've found though is that the more time I have ever have to spend trying to be part of a process/group/relationship the less time I'm actually able to be me. The less me I am, the less happy I am. Eventually I'm a spectator. That's when I start to fail. Work, relationships, anything. If I'm not able to just be me without being judged/criticized etc for being a flawed human I can't be a positive part of whatever it is.

I've watched bad things, wrong things happen to good people. But I wasn't me and I didn't have my voice. I had the voice that was acceptable, and it wasn't loud enough, it wasn't strong enough to truly be heard. The voice that could be heard was the one that agreed and complied.

There's this phrase someone said to me 20 years ago, "Children of alcoholics accept the unacceptable."

It's one of the truest things ever written. If you can accept that at the age of 8 you had to figure out how to use a phone book to look up the various bars your dad might be in, because you mom is bleeding and in labor, there isn't much you can't accept. And that's the problem with me. I've spent a long time accepting things that weren't right, weren't me.

Suddenly, though, I feel like me. I'm happy. I'm connecting, I'm sharing, I'm talking. I don't feel bad about who I am - I don't feel like I have to be someone ELSE in order to be liked.

I was so tired of being someone else.

Maybe I'll just be me for a while. I'm flawed. But I'm really quite awesome.

I'm Much More Me

I'm sentimental and emotional by nature. I pretend to be tougher than I am to make up for that. I once did this assessment of my "emotional" work nature and basically it said I was super over sensitive, however, I was someone who would hide that I was hurt and would instead set people on fire in a rage rather than admit I was hurt.

Well that seems rather extreme. I have never "actually" set someone on fire.

What I've found though is that the more time I have ever have to spend trying to be part of a process/group/relationship the less time I'm actually able to be me. The less me I am, the less happy I am. Eventually I'm a spectator. That's when I start to fail. Work, relationships, anything. If I'm not able to just be me without being judged/criticized etc for being a flawed human I can't be a positive part of whatever it is.

I've watched bad things, wrong things happen to good people. But I wasn't me and I didn't have my voice. I had the voice that was acceptable, and it wasn't loud enough, it wasn't strong enough to truly be heard. The voice that could be heard was the one that agreed and complied.

There's this phrase someone said to me 20 years ago, "Children of alcoholics accept the unacceptable."

It's one of the truest things ever written. If you can accept that at the age of 8 you had to figure out how to use a phone book to look up the various bars your dad might be in, because you mom is bleeding and in labor, there isn't much you can't accept. And that's the problem with me. I've spent a long time accepting things that weren't right, weren't me.

Suddenly, though, I feel like me. I'm happy. I'm connecting, I'm sharing, I'm talking. I don't feel bad about who I am - I don't feel like I have to be someone ELSE in order to be liked.

I was so tired of being someone else.

Maybe I'll just be me for a while. I'm flawed. But I'm really quite awesome.

With Clouds That Climb To The Sky

One of the things I miss most about not living in Indiana (besides the people I love) is the sky. If you never lived in a flat place where you could see forever you won't know what I mean. There is sky so big you can watch a storm roll toward you for an hour, or more. You can see clouds that are like living, breathing monuments to some fluffy white deity rolling and changing across the horizon. Clouds climb, they billow, they stretch into shapes and into themselves. 

Where I live is dense with trees. I took that photo above and you can see the horizon cluttered with trees. It was a beautiful day, storms rolling in and the thunderheads were just beginning their dance. Grey clouds came sliding in beside white billowing beauties heralding the pounding storm that was just behind them.

My son and husband tease me about the clouds endlessly, about my love of them. I once said "We don't have clouds like this in Georgia" when we were in Indiana which they both thought was hysterical. After I got done flipping them both the bird I went back to my cloud worshiping ways in silence. 

Maybe what I meant was, we can't SEE clouds like this in Georgia. Clouds are clouds are clouds. But I no longer have a wallflower's seat at their dance. My view is obscured by the southern belles known as Georgia Pine - their hoop skirts flinging needles and cones and blocking my view.

I'd like a day where I can sit on the edge of an Indiana field and watch the clouds. I'd be glad to snap some beans if you have them, or shell some peas. It's been a while, but I'm a pro. 

With Clouds That Climb To The Sky

One of the things I miss most about not living in Indiana (besides the people I love) is the sky. If you never lived in a flat place where you could see forever you won't know what I mean. There is sky so big you can watch a storm roll toward you for an hour, or more. You can see clouds that are like living, breathing monuments to some fluffy white deity rolling and changing across the horizon. Clouds climb, they billow, they stretch into shapes and into themselves. 

Where I live is dense with trees. I took that photo above and you can see the horizon cluttered with trees. It was a beautiful day, storms rolling in and the thunderheads were just beginning their dance. Grey clouds came sliding in beside white billowing beauties heralding the pounding storm that was just behind them.

My son and husband tease me about the clouds endlessly, about my love of them. I once said "We don't have clouds like this in Georgia" when we were in Indiana which they both thought was hysterical. After I got done flipping them both the bird I went back to my cloud worshiping ways in silence. 

Maybe what I meant was, we can't SEE clouds like this in Georgia. Clouds are clouds are clouds. But I no longer have a wallflower's seat at their dance. My view is obscured by the southern belles known as Georgia Pine - their hoop skirts flinging needles and cones and blocking my view.

I'd like a day where I can sit on the edge of an Indiana field and watch the clouds. I'd be glad to snap some beans if you have them, or shell some peas. It's been a while, but I'm a pro.