Confession

Confession.

I am weary of fighting it.

I am very tired of fighting the depression.  The diagnosis came in the early 2000's, at the insistence of my friends that I needed some help.  They were right.  But, looking back, I know that it's been a part of me since at least 1994.

I fought against the diagnosis for a long time in my mind.  It's not that I had any shame regarding it.  But I didn't understand how I could be sometimes happy but depressed at the same time.  I thought you had to be sad all the time, I thought you had to be contemplating suicide.  I didn't realize that I could have moments of laughter and love, and yet still have the depression looming inside me all the while.

Initially, I sought counselling and medication, both of which were extremely helpful in getting myself back on my emotional feet.  The counselling helped me to see that taking care of myself was important, both to myself and to my family.  It helped me to find how to best do that, and it helped me to get out of the modern woman expectation of having to be the one to do EVERYTHING for everyone first.  The medication helped me to get on top of the depression.  It helped me control behaviors that I didn't even realize were nervous habits. It helped me to get AHEAD of it so I can keep it at bay.

But, at bay is all it is...  and I guess, all it ever will be.

I participate in neither counselling or medication now.  While the medication was good for when I needed it, the truth is I didn't really like being on it.  It dulled my nervous habits and the emotions that kept me weighed down, absolutely yes.  But it also dulled my happier emotions, too.  I didn't like that.  I started counselling again when we moved to Washington, but the one I saw thought I was doing just fine, and so I stopped going.  I'm okay with that.  I have good friends.

I am firmly committed to the concept of self-care.  I know the things that help.  I know which aspects of myself I need to care for first in order to stay ahead of the depression, and they are just as important to me as showering and brushing my teeth. I do NOT like to be in the pit when depression looms.  It is cloying and suffocating, and I hate it.

Sometimes I wish it would just go away, that I wouldn't have to constantly fight it anymore.  But, it's like this ever-present fog on the outside of my existence.

Have you ever held your breath for too long, and your vision gets dark and fuzzy on the outside?  At least until the oxygen gets back to where it needs to go, everywhere you turn, there's this ring of dark hovering on the outside of what you see.  It's like that.

I am stubborn, and I WILL NOT let this beat me.  But, all the time, I'm pushing that darkness back.  Push, push, push. I won't succumb to it, understand.  I just won't.  But sometimes, I want to stop fighting because constant vigilance against it is exhausting.

I admire you...

I was chatting with a friend the other day, and she told me she'd been thinking about all the different social media out there... Facebook, Twitter, blogging, etc.  Then, she went on to refer to what I do here, and said that she thought it took a lot of trust in people to share what's shared here, and that she really admired me for being able to do it.

You ever have someone tell you they admire you for something?

My inner heart reaction was to think, "What? Me? Are you sure you're thinking of the right person?"  But underneath that, I flushed with pleasure.  Except for a 3 year break, I've been blogging for almost ten years, and I've always shared in largely the same transparency as I do here.  Sometimes, I think that's more from defiance than bravery.  But, to hear that someone admired me for it... and someone I love.  It touched me in a way that's difficult to explain.  It's not just "you're pretty" or "you're good at ______"... it's more.  There is something maybe empowering and validating about knowing you possess a quality that someone else admires.

It made me think about how little we share those things, and how easy it would be to share the sentiments with those we admire. It made me think of how we could change people, empower people, validate people, encourage people if we only took the moment and the courage to tell them we admire them.

Think about it...  think about the people in your life you admire.  Think about why.  And tell them...

Who are you thinking about?

Heroes

Do you have heroes?  People you look up to... people you've come to respect... whether by talents, personality, accomplishments, outlook, status...?

I do.  My kids do. I guess that most of us do.  We sort of expect those people to toe a certain line, to walk a higher road, and to do it all the time.  I've seen that a lot with pastors and ministers...  their "flock" expects them to be holier-than-... them, to attain a level of perfection that they wouldn't dream of holding themselves to.  I suppose that's why more is expected of those who are called to teach... more is expected.

But, our heroes aren't of the super variety... they're people.  And people kept on pedestals can only fall off.

I had an experience like that in the last couple weeks...  someone I respected did something thoughtless, something "low road"-y.  And I was disappointed.  Not angry, not disgusted...  just disappointed and frustrated at the lack of thought this person put into who might be affected by their actions.  I just sighed and thought "I expected more from you."  And I had. I had expected them to be better than that, and it was disappointing to find out they weren't.

But, as I thought about it more, I reminded myself that the heroes I have are not Superman, not Batman, not Captain America. They aren't movie characters or comic book heroes.  They're people. They're just people.  And people are dumb. And people sometimes take the low road. And people can be disappointing.

But, so can I.

Unpacking: Letting Go

To 18yo Me

"11. You cannot change anyone. That is their call and their call alone. If you cannot accept them for who they are right now, accept that and let them go."

It feels like it goes against conventional wisdom. It flies in the face of what we're so often exhorted to do. Forgive anything of anyone. Support no matter what. Turn the other cheek. Never give up because what if...  what if it's your support that ends up being that which they need? What if it's your steadfastness that gives them the strength to become what they needed to become?  What if, what if, what if? What if you held on just one more time, buried the past just one more time, mended the pain just one more time, gave up your self-respect just one more time?

But, what if you didn't? What if, this time, you had the strength to let go? Not crush them, just let go. It isn't the conventional wisdom of holding on at all costs. But, I've come to understand that there is a wisdom to letting go, too. Sometimes it's more humane than clinging to something that will never heal.

Sometimes it's that you've inflicted far too much pain on each other to ever find your way back to healing and love. Sometimes truth comes out, and you just don't like who lives underneath the mask. Sometimes you both change, neither one in bad ways, but in ways that are simply different... and you lose the commonality that held you together before.

Letting go feels like quitting, like losing. We don't like to quit and we don't like to lose. Letting go feels weak, but I think we're wrong in that. I don't like to let go, but on the occasions, and there have been a few, where I have made the choice to do so, it has taken far more strength and courage than hanging on would ever have demanded.

But still, we have the compulsion to fight, to stay. I don't think that's a bad thing at all. But sometimes, it does more harm than it does good.

I have a hard time judging which is right when I'm in the midst of it. I get too close to the problem at hand, and my ability to see with wise eyes diminishes. It's here that I find wise counsel to be invaluable. People who are far enough back to see the big picture, but who love me enough to be honest-- even if it's honesty I don't really want to hear. I've come to appreciate and trust the wisdom of those in my life, learned to listen to it.

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood." Sometimes you just take different roads. You can push and pull and scream to get them to go down yours with you. But every once in a while, you find it's wiser for you both to just say Goodbye and Good Luck, and to explore the road on your own.

Sometimes life and love and friendship don't work out. Sometimes you let go so you can be whole without regret. And there is wisdom in that.

SHUFFLE

The final chapters of the The Gunslinger, the first book in the Dark Tower series, finds Roland with Walter, "the man in black." Walter is a bit of magician, and tells Roland's future through a reading of tarot cards.  Amongst them, Walter draws three cards for Roland...  The Prisoner, The Lady of Shadows, and Death (but not for you).

In the second book of the series, The Drawing of the Three, Roland fulfills each of these cards.  First, he draws Eddie from our world, a prisoner through his addiction to heroin.  Next, he draws the woman who eventually becomes Susannah.  And finally, he steps into Death to round out the book's conclusion.  But, between each of these "drawings," there is a brief section where the cards are shuffled before Roland moves on to the next drawing.

SHUFFLE.

SHUFFLE.

SHUFFLE.

There is a part of me that feels that way.. as if I've been shuffled.  All the cards were laid out in a prescribed pattern, like a game of Solitaire with everything where it's supposed to go.  It's as if someone came along in the middle of the game, gathered up all the cards, shuffled them eight times, and handed them back to me with instructions to play a new game.

Jarring, yes. Unexpected, maybe also yes.

But unwelcome?  Not at all.

And That Was My Grandpa

What I would have said if I'd had time to think... and if it had been the right time and place... (which it probably wasn't)

-----

My name is Joanne, and I'm Jim's eldest grand-daughter... by birth. I feel a little out of place here. I didn't know most of you before two weeks ago, though I knew OF some of you. And yet, we're all here, trying to celebrate the life of a man.  But, listening to people talk, I'm not sure I knew the same man you did.

I almost feel as if I'm hearing about a stranger, this paragon of virtue you praise for his prompt church attendance, self-control, and patience.  Indeed, it makes me laugh just a little because I know the past, both from experience and from story.  Maybe it's just that it's a funeral, and everything we remember is supposed to be all sunshine and rainbows, but that wasn't my grandpa.  Or at least it wasn't all of my grandpa, and it seems to be almost a disservice to not remember him as he was.

Perhaps he spent an exorbitant amount of energy in the time you knew him ranting about the "words on the wall" and how the Chinese and the Mexicans are taking over the country.  I'm not really sure where that all came from.

He didn't go to church when I knew him... and that was my grandpa.  He was raised in a sort of funky church, and by the stories I've heard, was a bit of the family's black sheep.  And I don't remember him ever attending before he got old and ranty about hymnals.

He took out his teeth to make me giggle whenever I asked... and he'd sit for hours and listen to the same terrible knock-knock jokes for hours and laugh at them every time.  And that was my grandpa.

Once, he got mad at something at the hardware store, threw handfuls of nails on the ground in a pique of temper, and stormed out of the store, leaving the poor bewildered employee to clean it all up.  That, too, was my grandpa.

There is a poem from the '60s that starts out:

Listen, my children, and you will hear
of my Daddy's great quest to go shoot a deer.
He left on a cold day in October--
He drove off in the truck, and I think he was sober.

That was my grandpa.

He was the man that taught me to drive a riding lawnmower when I was 8, taught me to watch for bird nests on the side of the road when I was 6, and saved me from the bear rug under the bed when I was 5 (and 6, and 7, and 8, and...).  And that was my grandpa.

He was the man that hooked me on to Zane Grey, though I always wondered what it was Mr Grey hated so much about the pesky Mormons that they were always the bad guys.   And that was my grandpa.

He was warm and funny and kind and good-hearted.  But, he was also impatient and quick to lose his temper.  and that was ALSO my grandpa.

He was married pre-1988 to my grandmother, and she should have been mentioned today.  Shame on you for leaving out such a large part of his life.  My mother, their only daughter, is sitting right here in the front row. They are both a part of the history that made him who he was, and it was a history that deserved to be told.

Today, maybe I'm the only one here that feels weird celebrating only a small part of who he was.  Maybe it doesn't bother anyone else that we're only praising the sunshine and the rainbows.  But my grandpa was more than just the sunshine and the rainbows.  He was whole and he was real, and I loved him for listening to my knock knock jokes just as much as I loved him for leaving my mom's aunt and uncle stranded in the middle of Arizona because he was ticked off.

It's these things that we pass on to the people we live behind.  The good and the bad of who we are... and both figure into the stories and the memories we leave in the wake of our lives. Both make us who we are, and both are important to remember because they make us REAL, and not just caricatures of virtue, prettied-up shells of our real selves.

And if I'm the only one who feels this way, so be it.  I'm not ashamed of that... I will go home with my memories and all the stories I've heard of his whole life.  I will tuck them into my heart, and remember the man that was.  All of him.

Just for today...

Good morning...  it's 8am on Wednesday morning, and I'm in the middle of preparing to get everyone out the door.  Not for school today.  Today, we are all (me, my husband, our three kids, and my mom) heading over to Eastern Wenatchee to attend my grandfather's funeral.

Time to represent.

Can we all do something for me today?

Can we let go of the little things that don't really matter?

Can we forgive those that have hurt us?

Can we let bygones be bygones?

Can we not worry about those that can't let it go?

Can we embrace happiness and joy?

Can we hold the ones we love close and appreciate the time we have with them?

Can we lift our faces to the sun and feel its warmth?

Can we stop to pick the flowers?

Can we let yesterday go?

Can we enjoy what is here and now?

Can we embrace life and joy and peace and friendship and love?

Even just for today?

Be true

Sometimes things happen just the way they're supposed to. Even when they're hard things, things that you don't WANT to happen...  sometimes they're right.

You can rail against that.  You can fight it.  You can jump up and down and scream that you don't want it.  You can cry and you can be mad.  You can preach about how unfair it all is.

And when you're all done screaming and hitting and throwing a general 2 year old's tantrum, then you can stop. You can stop and you can really look at it. And you can admit that you didn't want it, but you've got it... and you're so much better for it.


Last week, I had a talk with one of my girls about this, in a way.  I can't remember the situation exactly, but I had told her not to do something.  I didn't explain why, it was one of those "do what I tell you to do NOW and we'll talk about why later" sort of things.  Like when you tell your 2 year old not to touch the stove as they're reaching for a hot pan... you don't take five minutes to explain the reasons, you just say "DON'T TOUCH THAT."

Well, at 11 years old, they think they don't need more of that, and that I don't know what I'm talking about.  Course I did... and they ignored me, and the thing I didn't want to happen ended up happening.  And, as a parent, you just want to go "IF YOU HAD JUST LISTENED TO ME!!!"  But we talked about it later...  that I don't tell them to do things just to be mean and to make their lives miserable.  Sometimes, it's because I know more, sometimes it's because I'm wiser, sometimes it's because I've had more experience, and I understand what will happen next. And sometimes I just need them to ACCEPT that and do what I say.

I've been doing some of my own tantruming and ignoring of wisdom for a good long while.  But, of late, a lot of things have come together.  Maybe it's time.  Maybe it's the right friends.  Maybe it's the wisdom I'm finally in a place to listen to.  But things are right... and I can see that now.


Sometimes it's hard to strike out on a new road when you feel... cleansed and different. You want to move on, you want to walk fresh, you want to shed all that you had and were before and forge a new road with the newness of where you are.   But... people don't always let you, do they?  Maybe they can't forgive you for the past. Maybe they don't believe that you can change. Maybe punishing you has simply become a habit. And it's easy to drown under that cloak.

But they don't own you. And they don't own your heart.  And they don't know you.  So, you need to stop listening to that poison. Be strong in the knowledge and the wisdom that where you are is right. That where you are going is good. That who you are becoming is true.

Stand and be true.

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Photo Credit: Tiffany Terry, J Cook Fisher

10 Years Later

"Where we you when the world stopping turning...?"  Ever hear that song?

I was in bed.  I had twin 16-month-old daughters, and a 1 month infant... so I stole sleep when I could.  So I was sleeping on that day when the men flying those airplanes did their worst.  The phone rang and woke up from whatever exhaustion-induced dream I was having.

It was Joel.  He was at work, and started with, "I'm sorry to wake you up, but I just needed to call and make sure.  Are you and the girls alright?"

I didn't have the slightest clue what he was talking about, and wondered if we had had an earthquake that I'd slept through.  Joel told me to go turn on the television, so I wandered out to the living room in my pajamas and switched it on.

I spent the next few hours on that couch, still in my pajamas, watching in horror as CNN played the same scenes over and over and over.  Listening to what little was known, the bits and pieces we knew then.  What an absolute tragedy of hate.

And, with the rest of you, I remember today and I remember what happened and I remember the strike against us and I remember the lives lost and I remember the valiant courage of those who fought to save, those who sacrificed, and those who triumphed.

But my day did not end there.

Sometime later, my sister called.  She was engaged and in the midst of wedding plans.  Somewhere in the middle of making everyone happy, she and her fiance decided that they didn't really WANT to do a big wedding and decided to have a sort-of impromptu ceremony at the courthouse.  It had been planned for that afternoon.

They had talked over whether to still do it.  But, in the end, they decided to go ahead and get married, despite the tragedies.  I remember Carey saying something to the effect of "If we change everything because of what they did... they win."  And so they got married.

So, too, on this day, I remember an occasion of happiness.  Today, I also celebrate the adoption of a great man into our family. Today, I celebrate my sister's marriage of ten years. Today, I rejoice in the family that I am blessed with.  They at least have a very easy anniversary date for me to remember!

10 years after it all... sometimes it seems like a very long time ago, and sometimes it all seems like yesterday that I sat on my couch, absently caring for my children, watching the visual evidence of what had been wrought against the country I lived in.

And 10 years later... hatred hasn't won.  Somewhere deep inside the human spirit, there is a still small voice.  And in the midst of the day to day, we don't always hear it as we flit from errand to errand, job to job, school to practice and back home again.

But it is a voice that says "No, I will not be conquered.  And whatever you do to me, you cannot destroy ME.  No matter what you try, I will survive."

And we have.  We have survived and we have triumphed and we have been made whole again.

Just try to drive a plane through that.

Unpacking: Who's Your Joshua?

To 18yo me

10. You should have three types of friends. 1. Someone who mentors you. 2. Peers. 3. Someone you're mentoring. All three are crucially important. If you're missing one, you're doing it wrong.

Many years ago, Joel and I were leaders in our church's high school youth group.  One year, I remember we taught a bible study called Project 365, where we led the kids through the Bible over the course of a year.  As went through the Old Testament, we learned about Moses and Joshua and the unique mentoring relationship they developed as Moses prepared to pass the baton of leadership.

We talked this over for awhile, and how that was beneficial to both of them.  We developed a philosophy that it was important to be both Moses and Joshua...  That it was important to have someone wiser than you in your life, someone who could teach you, shepherd you, lovingly correct you.  But, we also came to believe that it was important to also be someone's Moses... to share what you've learned with someone who needs it.

"Who's your Joshua?" quickly became our study's catch-phrase as a reminder of the relationships to look for.

Even though I was the leader, that was a lesson that always stuck with me after that... even now, nearly 15 years later, the phrase pops into my head and makes me smile.  But, it also makes me examine my own relationships.  It reminds me to make sure I have people in my life who will lovingly guide and teach me, and also to make sure that I am pouring into someone else's life as well.

Who's YOUR Joshua?  And whose Joshua are you?

It's Under the Details

To all my mom readers out there...  do you ever find that you learn more from your children than you could ever dream of teaching them?

Right now, when the hormones aren't raging them into a moody frenzy, my daughters are really fun.  They're still children, but they're on the cusp of being something more. The best thing about this is an ability to grasp more complex concepts and a desire to talk them out... but mixed with a simplicity that I admire.  Because it's right.

We passed a political billboard the other day that was pointing out all the flaws of a particular politician, paid for by his opponent.  They were a little perplexed as to why there would be an advertisement of that nature, so we talked a bit about negative campaigning and how it works.

There was a pause of thought and then a pondering... "But... how are the people who vote supposed to know that they're any better?  Wouldn't it make more sense to say what they ARE going to do, and not just what's bad about the other person?"  Indeed, my little prodigies, indeed.

Sometimes, I think that, as adults, we make things so much more complicated than they need to be.  Every situation has so many details, so many what-ifs, so many conditions...  they cloud our ability to see the simplicity of truth that lies underneath all the details.

I had a falling-out with a friend not long ago... and as I sat contemplating all the details, all the contingencies, all the possibilities and wondered if it was worth it to pick up all the pieces, and sit with a bottle of superglue to put it all back together again... my daughter asked me, "Mom, did they ever say they were sorry?"

When the answer was no, she looked at me with a bit of sadness and said "Then, I don't think I want to talk to them anymore. And I don't think you should, either."

Perhaps, under all the details, it really is that simple.

There's a part of me that likes the details, that likes to sit and sort through them, to have arguments about them in my head with myself.  But, as I spend time talking life over with my budding young women, I am coming to realize more and more that the truth is rarely complicated, that right and wrong are quite simple.  The choices aren't difficult... It's the details we convince ourselves are important that make it seem so.  But when you clear the details away, and yes perhaps look at it as a child would, the choices are far clearer than you ever thought.

Spill It Out

I posted on my Twitter the other day, just after getting home from my grandpa's, that death and loss make me sit and realize just how much I worry about is stupid.  And that's true... and it's always true.  At least, for me. Being faced with the very idea of death... I suppose it makes me stop and think about how short our lives really are, and makes me examine what I'm filling mine with.

I feel like I'm standing in an empty field... with a giant white blanket at my feet.  I've just spilled everything in my life onto the blanket and separated it all so I can see it.  Every person. Every thought. Every worry. Every obsession. Every joy. Every hobby. Every pet peeve.

To the side, I have spread another blanket... smaller. And empty.

I reach down to the big blanket and pluck things off.  People I am in loving relationship with. People I can affect positively. Joys. Things and activities which fill my life with meaning and heart. The thoughts that build up and rejoice.  All of these, I put on the little blanket by my feet. All the things that are important enough to keep.  I arrange them tenderly on the little blanket, tie it up with a pretty knot, and place it next to my heart.

And now I stand and look down at what is left on the big blanket...  everything I worry about needlessly, the thoughts that tear me down.  The people where we just rub each other wrong. The silly fears.  The past I can't change, but that doesn't have to determine my future. The feelings that crowd out the good. All of this...  all of this is so unnecessary. So many things I've filled my life with that are wrong.

I reach down to this blanket, and tie this one up as well.  No need for pretty knots, though.  Not for this one.  I pick up the bundle and walk to the edge of the grass...  and dump it in the trash.  No more.

I've been here before... and the truth is that I will probably find a way to fill myself up with some of those things again.  Not all of them... but some of them will find their way back. But today, I claim a fresh start. Today, I turn my face to the sun with a smile and a light heart.

Today, I live as we are meant to live. For these are short lives we are given, and it is a pity to waste them in pain, guilt, worry, and sorrow. I choose joy. And I choose love. And I choose life.

What I Won't Forget

There are things I won't forget about this weekend with my mom, my grandpa, and my step-grandma.

I wasn't expected to be there. My mom had said that she didn't need anyone to be with her, but I knew she was wrong and that she would.  But if I said I was coming, she'd just hem and haw and feel guilty, so I just decided that I would go without telling her.  And if I was already there when she found out, she couldn't very well send me home 2 1/2 hours since I'd come all that way, right?  So, when I walked in the door, she was a little surprised...

After giving her a hug, I walked over to Grandpa to give him a "hello" hug as well.  The plan was to hug him, tell him hello, and then find a seat amongst the veritable party of people that were in the room.  Seriously, there were a lot and it was a little insane.  After hugging him, I squeezed his hand...  he squeezed back and told me that he was really glad that I had come.  And then he wouldn't let go.  I just found my seat on the floor right next to his chair, my hand in his, and we sat there like that for a good hour.  I found myself there a few more times over the next couple days... just sitting on the floor by the arm of his chair, holding his hand, sometimes leaning my head against his arm, as he dozed in and out.

I won't forget that.

Mostly because it's destined to become a little joke between my mom and I, I certainly won't forget the Mexicans. Oh, those poor Mexicans.  My grandparents are good people... but they're almost 90, and set in their ways and opinions.  Not really any use arguing with them...  not much point to it.  After this long, they're aren't apt to be swayed, so my general code of conduct for visits is to employ "smile and nod." This works awesome for short 4-hour visits.  Apparently, I am not quite as good at keeping it up for three-day visits.  It was sorely tested with the Mexicans.

For some reason, just about every national and local problem can be laid at the feet of the Mexicans.  Health care, economy, education.  You name it, those darned Mexicans are responsible for it.  The first few times, my eyes probably widened... but smile and nod, Jo.  Smile and nod.  I managed to continue it for the "Do YOU have any Mexicans in your neighborhood?"  I came THIS close to answering "No, we live in Redmond.  It's very well-to-do, and there's a city ordinance that bans them from taking up residence" but managed to conquer the urge.

It was the second day when we were apparently complaining about the food in the grocery store that I just about lost it.  It was a perfectly normal conversation...  apparently, all the food is too spicy.  "They are FORCING us to buy spicy food.  We aren't ALL Mexicans, you know."  I couldn't help it!  I laughed out loud.  I wasn't expecting it in this particular conversation, and I just couldn't help it.  From that point on, every time anything came up, my brain would go "I bet he's Mexican."  That's terrible, I know.  lol  This might be a "you had to be there" thing.

But, I won't forget that, either.

When I was very young, my grandma died when Grandpa was out-of-town as a trucker.  I don't remember very much of that.  But I do remember being in my room when he came over to our house the night he returned.  I think my mom had to tell him what had happened.  And he cried.  I don't mean cried.  I mean, racking sobs.  It was, I think, the first time I'd ever heard a grown man cry like that.  And in the ensuing 25 years, I don't think I've heard a lot of others.  Men are usually so strong and stoic and...  well, just strong, I guess.  And my grandpa wasn't any different...  but it was the first time that I was ever aware that men could be like that. That they could cry and be that emotionally affected by things.

So, perhaps, it is fitting that after my mom had said Goodbye to him, I went in to sit on his bed to say my own.  There was no sobbing today.  But there were tears.  I don't think he wanted me to see him cry, but I think it was not-wrong to hug him, to lay my cheek on his chest with my arms around his neck, and tell him it was okay to cry. It's hard to know how to pack all the I'm sorrys, and all the memories, and all the Iloveyous into one tear-filled conversation.  But, when I left, I think he knew I loved him

And I certainly won't forget that either.

Flipping sides

"Why can't we go with you?" my daughter asked. I was in my way out the door to drive to my grandpa's house in Eastern Washington. My mom was on her way there after he had been sent home to wait out the end of his life.

"Baby, Grandma's going to cry. I need to take care of her. And if she cries, you'll cry. And then, I'll have all of you crying and all of you crying is more than I can handle."

"Isn't Grandma your mom? Aren't moms supposed to take care of the kids?"

"Well, as you grow up, sometimes that changes. When you're a kid, parents take care of you. But as you get older, that starts to flip, and the kids start to take care of the parents. It's just the way life works."

And so it does. I'm here at Grandpa's and it's hard. But I'm also glad I'm here.

Grandpa can't keep any food down so he doesn't want to eat. His breathing is difficult. And when he sleeps, he has apnea and stops breathing for 30 seconds or so at a time. It's funny how you can be so attuned to something as quiet as breathing. But you notice it when it's gone, so you do.

My step-grandma's kids have all gone home. So from now till I go home tomorrow, I'm the only person here under the age of 60.

In every stressful situation that exists, someone has to be the strong one. The one that keeps their head, the one that exerts a mite of authority. The one that stays in control, minds the prescription schedule, maintains order.

Who that is changes, but today it's me.

There's a certain pressure when that's your role, isn't there? Because you cannot lose it. And maybe that's just as well because the pressure helps you keep it together.

Still, maybe sometimes you need to lose it just a little. A neighbor came over a little while ago to check on Grandpa, a nice man about my age. When he left, I walked him out to the gate to thank him for keeping an eye on things, and couldn't stop the tears from coming to my eyes. I had to stop and have a good little cry with myself before going back inside and being in charge again.

And to listen to more about the Mexicans.

A New Year!

I'm a mom, so the new year starts in September!  It comes complete with new clothes, new backpacks, new school supplies.  New teachers, new routines, new expectations. New opportunities.

For us all!

I love this time of year... not so much just because my kids are back out of the house.  I love our summers, and the spontaneity we fill them with.  I love spending time with my daughters. But I ALSO love getting back to the routine of things.  Back to a normal bedtime, a normal get-up time. A normal meal schedule. Everything...

I also love taking this time to sit down, look around me... at myself, at my home, at my car, at my family.. and decide "Ok.  What is it that I want to accomplish this year?"  So that's what this week will be for me...

I'm starting this year fresh in many ways...  and the world is, if you will, my oyster.  You can't be unhappy with that thought, can you? I'm pleasantly expectant in what this year has to offer, and I can't wait to see the answer to what it is, and with you all!

Good things are on the horizon!

Just some talky things....

Kids

We're doing 4th and 5th grade this year... The 6th grade at our school is low on enrollment, so they've rolled the 5th and 6th graders into a sort of junior high precursor program.  5th and 6th grades are mixed... they all take math from one teacher, reading from another, and science/social studies for yet another.  It seems like an interesting program and I'm looking forward to seeing how it works out.  It's a bigger pool of girls, and I'm really hoping this ends up positive for McKenzie.  Last year was a very tough year, socially.  and I'm fervently praying that this year is better.  Puberty is tough.

Alicia made me laugh the other day.  We were in the car headed to the mall.  She and Casey were discussing this one girl who consistently has it in for Alicia.  She's the one that pushed Alicia down during the track meet last year.  Anyway, Casey said "Don't let her bother you.  She's just jealous because you have so many friends."  Alicia thought about that for a second and then brightened.  "That's probably true.  Everyone likes me because I'm so FUNNY!"  Humble to a fault.

Losing Weight

Oy, the last several weeks have been a trial.  I've been pretty stagnant, yo-yoing in the same 4-lb range.  Not a plateau, truly.  If I'd been consistent in diet and exercise, THEN we could call it a plateau.  But, it was mere laziness on my part, especially in the diet, and the tracking of the diet. But, I've seized back the reins of control, and am back on track again.  Happily, I hit my lowest weight for the year this morning...  I think I'm going to dig out a pair of jeans from the next size down and see how far I have to go.

Reading

I'm in the middle of The Dark Tower right now, currently in Book 4.  The first time you read this book, it sort of just seems to take forever.  There's so much backstory, and you just want to get to the rest of the PLOT.  But, on a 2nd, 3rd, 4th read...  I really like this one a lot.  Lots of insight. But when I've finished the series, I really want to attack the project of reading a list of books I've been meaning to read for some time, but just never quite seem to get to it.  So, that's coming up.  I had great plans for keeping a book journal bag-type thing... where I would jot down quotes that affected me, and that sort of thing. And it would be organized and wonderful and very Proverbs 31-y.  But, alas, I just don't want to stop reading to write anything down...  So that's not totally not working for me.  LOL  It was a good idea, anyway.

Coming Up

Lots of concerts and football and travel fill my calendar this fall...  SO looking forward to all of it!  Football, music, friends...  EXCELLENT!