Friday, June 18, 2010

This is just bitchin'.

And by "bitchin'," I mean complaining.... not awesome or rad or wicked or any of the other outdated things that people say that mean, "good." And yikes. You know you're in for an awful blog post when the title is a play on words that L-A-M-E.... so consider that a warning.

A long time ago someone once said to me, "Tava, your down-in-the-dumps, depressed times are the majority of people's best-day-ever moments." Now either that was a compliment or he really thought I was maniacal, which now that I think about it, makes a. lot. of. sense. But he did have a really nice car. Or something. Suffice it to say, if he could see me now... Well, I guess you could say that I'm "down-in-the-dumps". I tell you this not to get your pity, but more I suppose to explain why I haven't been posting lately. You see, my reflections as of late, are pretty much downers and I don't wanna bring ya'll down with me. See, "ya'll down with me"? Who says that? You know who doesn't say that? Me. At least when I'm myself.

Now onto why I am not myself.

First and foremost, I blame the JC Penney "Fitting" Room, which should really be called the "You've GOT to be KIDDING" room. Speaking of reflections, if that was mine in their mirror.... Do they WANT you to buy their stuff? Could they have worse lighting? More unflattering mirrors? Grosser floors? Ok, the floors really don't matter that much when it comes to buying, but really? They may as well send a mean little person in to not only point out your flaws to you, but circle them in marker on the mirror, the way a football announcer does over a football play. Luckily, I brought my own two little people to do that.

Secondly, I said "good-bye," to both my inspiration and my naturally curly hair sometime in late February and I must say that the absence of both really stings. Although I've said, "good-bye," to that particular inspiration in the past, it was the first time I said it to my curls. Now this is important. If you have a long surgery or are under anesthesia for a considerable amount of time, (in my case, 12 hours) it will CHANGE YOUR HAIR. Mine was curly. Perpetually 80s admittedly. But never once did I complain about it, try to permanently straighten it or even wish it was straight. Anyway, it's gone. And I will one day accept the fact that when people see Orion's curly hair, they ask me who she got the curls from. (sniff)

Finally, I have lost myself somewhere in motherhood. Now, I suspect just by this statement alone if said in person, I would hear a collective, "Amen Sista." from moms around the country and the world who, without my going any further, know exactly what I'm talking about and feel the same. Can I get a witness? (Note: I attended a gospel church for years, so if I'm losing any reader on these statements, I apologize.) I think that generally speaking, I do a pretty good job maintaining Tava as her own person, but really? There are only so many Dora and princess coloring book pages I can color, leftovers from kids' meals I can eat, only so many brightly colored books under 15 pages I can read, only so many trips to the potty I can make with two little ones, only so many cartoons, computer animations and obnoxious kids' show hosts trying their best to teach lessons and instill manners (God bless 'em), and only so many mysteriously sticky messes I can handle before I am unrecognizable... to even myself. Whew. Felt good to get that out.

I know these things seem trivial. They are. They are not however really what has me down-in-the-dumps. Maybe I'll get to that later. But I have been a single parent now for about 2 months and I guess I'm getting a little... hmmm... let's call it, "punchy," shall we? In the near future, I will be going out by myself to find some adult conversation, some spicy food served on breakable dishes and I will then treat myself to some time to catch up on some Leah posts and maybe a book.... with lots of pages. And no pictures. And sprinkled with multi-syllabic words. And I will wear shoes that are in no way sensible. And a white shirt. And I will not bring wet wipes. See, I'm feeling better already.......

Thursday, June 3, 2010

buried alive.

Dear Buried,

It's amazing the way two little words in the subject line of an email can really affect me. I am often affected by your words, but usually in more of a belly laugh sort of way rather than a heart-wrenching, cry-my-eyes out way. The body of your email explained and expressed where you are right now and what you are going through, but your two little words were well more than adequate.

And in this time, between reading and responding, I sit here full-hearted but empty-handed with the "thing" or "stuff" or "answers" or "cure" to what it is that has you buried alive. Sure, I know that "I'm sorry." or "Put it in God's hands." or one of my all time favorites, "It will be ok in the end, if it's not ok, then it's not the end." are all well-intentioned and no doubt appreciated... but you and I both know that no number of heart-felt and empathetic platitudes come anywhere close to easing, nevermind anesthetizing this seemingly insurmountable pain. And it is for this inability for which I apologize to you right now. I'm sorry I don't know what you are going through. I'm sorry that the rain that began trickling down upon you has become a torrential downpour. I'm sorry that every direction in which you turn, there is grief and loss and heart ache and while trying to console and encourage those around you, you must also grieve and manage yourself. I'm sorry that I am not there right now and in the upcoming days and weeks ahead.

You're a smart girl. And I wise one. You know Who holds the future and you know the promises that He gives to us in His Word. So do your loved ones. And that is tremendous. We both know that. But if I were with you now, I would give you my entire set of brand-new Villa della Luna Pfaltzgraff, discontinued dishes, take you to a raquetball court and hand each individual piece to you to shatter against the wall of your choice. (I would insist on protective eye wear, however.) We could yell and destroy and perhaps get in a couple games of raquetball. I wouldn't tell you that I know what you're going through, because I don't. I wouldn't quote scripture to you, because I already know you're in them. I wouldn't try to console you or tell you that it's going to be ok because I don't if the "ok" that it's going to be, is the "ok" that eases your pain. And I'm so so sorry for that.

You and I. We're words people. And I don't have any. To make it better. And for that I'm sorry. I'm a phone call away. To cry. To vent. To distract. To listen..... shovel in hand and on my knees.

Ready to dig,