It's the Tech

I just recently returned home from the Superstars Writing Seminar. Now... being a writer... I have gone to many writing conferences. But lately in the past few years or so, a friend of mine has been bullying me to go to the Superstars one. And yeah... I considered it for a while. But I finally went this year. Now, I'm not really going to talk about the conference itself - that's for another post after I've had time to mull over how the conference was for me - but rather something that came from me going to the conference.

This morning, someone I met there reached out to me to ask if I wanted to join a group from the conference who were working on writing pieces for the annual anthology. A group where we could discuss what we were working on, help others get over stumbles, or generally encourage each other and help each other get better. And I (somewhat reluctantly) joined.

As the chat was going along, someone else sent a message asking if the pic was a good one for the group, but there was no picture attached. After a moment of silence in the chat, someone else asked... "Was there a picture with that?" and the original picture poster was like... "Oh! It didn't go through! I should have known it was the tech. I was worried when there was silence that no one liked it."

And then a lightbulb moment went off for me.

"It's the tech's fault."

My brain: ugh. you messed up again.

Me: it's the tech's fault.

My brain: no one likes you.

Me: it's the tech's fault.

My brain: that's a horrible sentence you just wrote.

Me: it's the tech's fault.

It works for anything. And the best part about it is when I think back to my brain, "It's the tech's fault," it has literally nothing to say back to me. Cause it was the tech. And if we take it a step further - the voices in my head that tells me these things ARE the tech. I mean... think about it.

As I pondered this metaphor even more, I came up with this idea:

self-love.exe is malfunctioning. Please refer to the user manual and try again later.

That ^ could be like an error message in my brain. The user manual is something I can create that has topics like "self-love" or "confidence" or "ADHD" or... whatever. And then I can have a list within the category that I'm needing at the time of things that I can do to help improve whatever is "malfunctioning."

I'm so totally on board for this and am loving the analogy. What do you think?

via GIPHY

Well hello, you!

Well Hello You Moira GIFfrom Well Hello You GIFs

 It's...... been a hot minute.

More like a hot few years. Nearly a decade. In any case, I'm back. Life has taken more than a few turns, but I think this will be a good shift for me. It feels right, whatever that means.

And so it begins. Another saga of Shay's journey as a blogger.

Corporeal Illusion

I wrote this once, or rather wrote an early version of this, and then kept tweaking it until it turned into this. But it's pretty much summing up how I'm feeling right now.

Corporeal Illusion

Laughter rises to the heavens,   

luring your spirit back through the

veil of death.

Insubstantial as gossamer,

tangible as flesh.

Sorrow enchants my eyes.

Your back bridges the height gap

as I walk behind your brothers,

my sons.

I reach out to grab you,

hold you,

keep you from leaving.

And then—

You disappear again.

The Effect of Loss

This may be a bit of a rambled post because I'm not sure how to organize my thoughts. But if you're not used to that by now, I don't know when you will be.

Snort's arrival filled up our already bursting house, so we ended up moving. It's been almost a month, so most of the important things have been taken out of boxes. But lots of things are still packed up. I just can't get the motivation to unpack things because, well, it was a lot of rush and stress and a multitude of other things to get the stuff packed up in the first place. Add on the worry and responsibilities and all the other things that went into selling--and buying--houses was ... well it was a bit much. Still recovering. Eventually I'll get there but for now, I'm resting. Plus it's hard to convince myself to unpack things when there is general clutter and mess from just us living here in the first place. Garbage is hanging out everywhere, why would I want to add to the clutter by taking more things out of boxes?

That's all just preliminary stuff. Mainly I want to talk about Snort. I read my previous post so I'm going to try and not repeat things too much.

To say it simply, it's been... different... this having another baby in the family thing. Once upon a time when I couldn't get a baby to calm down, I would say things like "It's okay, it's okay, you're not gonna die." It only took me a few times saying that to Snort before I realized that I couldn't really promise that. Rapper has reacted interestingly when I would hesitate saying that. He said that it's kinda sad. Which I guess it kind of is. My new catchphrase (if you can call it that) is, "A crying baby is an alive baby, and I'm okay with that." Earlier today while Snort was sleeping, Bug said, "The baby's dead!" I responded instantly, "Not a good joke." Then you could see the light bulb turn on in his head, and there was kind of an awkward silence in the room after that.

In general, it's just been different. Yes, there are those few times when I peek over just to check and see if Snort is breathing while he's sleeping. But it's more than that, and I'm not sure I can explain it well enough (have I mentioned how frustrating that is for me?).

Rapper and I are more relaxed with Snort. With our other three boys, whenever they made the slightest upset sound or right when they started crying, we would put all our efforts into calming them down. It was really stressful. With Snort, he starts crying, and I may check to make sure nothing is wrong, but then let him sort it out on his own. Unless I know for sure that he's hungry or needs a diaper change or whatever. I'm sure this is a normal thing for most parents. I know for a fact that there are those memes or videos or whatever of how parents parent a first child vs a third or fourth. It takes us silly adults a long time to realize just how tough babies are. If they can survive new parents, they can survive anything.

It's also different because I seem to cherish Snort more. Maybe I cherished the other ones just as much and memories have disappeared, but there are times when I just hold him and stare. I may have taken more pictures when Bug was this age, and maybe I still cherished him just as much. But there's just something to interacting without a screen between us.

I'm noticing the little things. Times when he seems to want to be sitting up, even though he doesn't quite have complete control of his neck yet. I notice that he recently found his hands and his tongue. He spits his tongue out a lot. I hope I can get a picture of that. I did get a picture of his pout which is absolutely adorable! So excited I got that captured. Even though I have two other (living) boys, it's almost like it's just me and Snort. Because Bug and Goof Ball are at school all day. It's almost like having a first child again, but I'm older and wiser now, so I can relax and let Snort do his thing rather than worry about... well, everything. I used to have when milestones should show up (first time rolling over, sitting, crawling, etc...) memorized and stressed over it. But even though I'm encouraging him to strengthen his neck/back muscles and get him to roll over, I'm not worried that he might be behind. We got him a play mat thing with arches that connect to the corners and dangle toys. Always wanted to get one of those for my kids. He doesn't seem much interested in toys yet. He's almost there. He (accidentally) transferred a ball from one hand to the other today. You know those mesh-like looking balls with all the circles? Easier for little fingers that don't know what they're doing yet to grab onto.

I'm not gonna say I cherish every moment. I'm still a selfish person, after all, and there are times that are just hard because I'd rather do almost anything else than feed the baby or change another diaper. But, as sad as it may be to say it... I'm loving him, adoring him, studying him, as if I'm going to lose him. I really don't remember much about Little Angel, and that saddens me. Granted, I only had him for a week less than two months. But I've had Snort for about three and a half, and I imagine I may remember more about Snort if he were to die than I do about Little Angel.

As backward as it may seem, loss makes us more aware and grateful for what we have, and makes us better appreciate the little things.

Rainbow Baby

Friends and family should know by now that I have a new little one. After he (yes another he - and he snorts a LOT so we shall call him Snort) was born I learned of the term "rainbow baby." For those who don't know what that means, I guess it's the name for babies born after infant loss. "Rainbow" because I guess the whole idea that rainbows come after a storm. Hope after loss. Whether that's miscarriage or infant death, the term still applies. With that knowledge, I've now had two rainbow babies.

I don't really remember feeling too anxious when Goof Ball was born and the subsequent year of his life (when SIDS finally loses its hold on little ones). I may have been, but nothing stands out so much that I remember it. I don't really know why I wasn't anxious. One would think I'd be so anxious that I would worry about having another baby at all considering he was the baby right after Little Angel died.

But this post isn't really about that. It's about my second rainbow baby - Snort. First off, I wasn't prepared for Snort's birth at all. He came three weeks early. Which is still within the healthy range for babies to be born, but super early for me. After three births, all of them within a week of the due date, I just didn't expect for my doctor to tell me to take it easy (aka, no more Shorinji Kempo) on my 37 week appointment and to come back the next day to get my cervix checked again. Snort was born on that "next day." And even though his gestational age was 37 weeks and 1 day, he was 8 lbs and 13 oz. Thank goodness he came early, I say. And when I say I wasn't prepared for him to come, I mean we had to go to the store between my cervix check appointment (9:00 am) and when we went into the hospital (noon - thankfully the doctor let me have a smallish meal before we went in) to get a car seat, because we hadn't even had that yet. Thankfully I had the warning from my 37 week appointment to have time to pack my bag, because that hadn't even been done yet. I just simply wasn't ready. I expected him to be closer to his due date like his brothers had been.

Second off, I haven't really been too nervous about him. Occasionally when he's sleeping, I'll look over and check to see if he's still breathing, but I haven't been anxious about it. It's like it's on my mind, but not something that I'm so worried about that I've really been stressing about it.

However, a few days ago I had my first real panic attack with Snort. One morning I woke up without having woken the whole night except for the times when I woke up only to roll over. I checked the clock and saw that it was around 7:30. I realized that we had wanted to wake up somewhat early so Pro Boxer (we shall now change his name to Rapper - because of a job change - but still at the same place) could get yard and garage stuff done before it got too hot. The second thing I realized was that Snort hadn't woken up the whole night. I had just finished waking Rapper up and was looking at him when my eyes grew wide and I jumped out of bed and rushed to where Snort slept. He was fine (and is still fine), but in those few seconds, he was dead to me. I went back to the bedroom and with a little laugh (strange how that's often the reaction to the sudden release of extreme stress) said, "Well, he's alive."

Rapper looked at me like I was crazy. It was only then that he told me that Snort had woken up in the middle of the night and Rapper had gotten up and fed him and went back in bed. Normally I notice when Rapper leaves the room, but that time I hadn't woken up once. Never noticed he wasn't in bed, or that he closed the door, or crawled back in bed.

Despite the full night's sleep, that day was pretty rough for me. Partially because of the emotional drama I had in the beginning of the day, and party because it was a very full day of cleaning and other various busy things. Thankfully I finished the day off making cookies with good friends, and that helped lift my mood. I've since reverted to my occasional checking on Snort while he sleeps, without the emotional drain. I'm grateful that I was able to have another rainbow baby, and I hope that I'll continue to be blessed to have him in my life.

Dear World,

I'm weary.

I'm tired of the hate. I'm tired of the backbiting. I'm tired of the slamming. I'm tired of the murders and shootings. I'm just ... I'm done.

First off, it is possible to get along with someone even if you don't agree with them. Shocker.

Example: I'm a member of a very good writer's group. We get together to eat dinner after meetings. During said dinners, our subjects can range from politics to whether or not anime music is similar to 80's American music. Didn't know that was a subject up for debate? Well it was at one of our gatherings. To get to my point, no matter how "hot" a subject is (politics, for example), and how varied our opinions are, we still all get along. Even if one of our numbers is a Drumpf supporter and one is an avid HilClint supporter. I still like them, and they both still get along. I may not agree with their opinions, but that's just the thing. They are opinions. And opinions aren't fact. And they are as varied as there are sands of the sea - because that's how many people there are on this large earth, or who have lived, or who will live. Heck, I even get along with the avid Star Wars fan and the avid Star Trek fan (and they get along with each other as well). Astonishing.

I think it's even more strange that such a situation is abnormal in this world today.

Second, to quote Dr. Suess: "A person's a person, no matter how small." And I may add - no matter who they love, no matter their skin color, no matter their gender, no matter their nationality, no matter who they worship, no matter if they use a chair to move from place to place, no matter if they are hearing or not, no matter if they express themselves differently than you... no matter.... well anything really. A person's a person. Period. And being a person gives them worth. Being a person, no matter how different from you they are, demands respect.

Third, people have taken a liking to blaming mothers for, oh all sorts of things. But particularly when a tragic accident happens--like a child getting into a zoo enclosure, or a toddler getting run over by a car when the mom quickly stepped inside for something--they blame the mother for not being attentive enough. The thing about accidents are that they are accidental. Mothers of tragic accidents are just as human as you are, and the thing about humans are - we aren't perfect. We can't be everywhere at the same time, and there are times, yes, when accidents happen when we happen to be absent for even a second. Stop the hate and blaming. Start the love and compassion. Those mothers will blame themselves for the rest of their lives - trust me, I know.

There are enough critics and haters in the world. What we need is more love, more acceptance, more open-mindedness. That's how you be the change that we so desperately need. Be the love. Teach your kids to love. Everyone. Love is the only way to change things around.

Join me on a journey

On account of the lack of comments, that I don't post nearly as often as I used to, and the fact that personal blogs have kind of lost popularity, I'm not really sure who checks on this anymore. But I have been going back through my posts during the last three or four years as research for one of my pieces I've been working on, and thought that I should share my thoughts on here for those of you who have read those depressing posts when they clearly showed my emotional roller coaster. Some of the posts being so depressing that you may have worried for my life.

The reason why I needed to go back and read those posts is simple. I have changed so much from the person I was then that I couldn't even imagine how I felt back then. Which is very very good news. I couldn't remember situations, feelings, there was no memory of what my daily life was like, or of my emotional state. Trying to remember was like trying to walk through a cloud of darkness. That's all those years were to me. So in an attempt to talk about that part of my life in this piece I'm working on, I went back to my blog to see what it really was to be Shay during that time of my life.

I've come out of that research to say, my outlook on life has changed greatly. So much that I'm astonished. I still have rough days. But they aren't nearly as crippling as they were back then. Nor as long lasting. I hesitate to say this--because the healing journey has been a roller coaster by necessity, and I never truly knew if it was over or not, and never wanted to get my hopes up--but I believe that I have healed. From both of my life traumas. That doesn't mean that forgiveness has happened. I still have a huge pile of hatred and anger towards the ones who hurt me that I need to deal with. But from the time that my bubble popped about four years ago, and I stopped hiding from the dark emotions that the abuse gave me, I have been able to heal from the pain. I can stand family functions without feeling like I have to recover from it afterward. And though the hesitation is there regarding saying that I've "healed" from losing Little Angel, I think it's less that I've healed, and more that I've come to an acceptance that it's happened. Sadness will probably always be there, but the pain isn't nearly as fierce or as crippling.

The journey I've been on has been a very long one. At least twenty years. Nearly my whole life. Sometime in the last few years or so, I stopped relying on anything spiritual to help me. Partially because of my issues I mentioned in the posts during that time (not trusting God or that I was important enough to him, etc...), and partially because I was tired. I was tired of sometimes gaining the help that I needed, and other times feeling abandoned. I gained a lot of help simply from having amazing friends that I trusted. People that I didn't feel the need to pretend for. Or hide my feelings from. I've always felt like I could be myself around them, and they wouldn't judge me or tell me to act a certain way. I've also gained a lot of help from my martial arts class, which I have mentioned a few times on here. There I found a second place where I didn't have to pretend for anyone. Those two things gave me the chance I needed to simply be myself. And the more I was myself, the less I wanted to put a mask on for the sake of others. I grew, and not necessarily changed, but allowed myself to simply be, no strings attached.

It's been years since the darkness of night has terrified me to the point where I felt I couldn't move. Years since Pro Boxer's touch made me freeze in terror. There are still scars. Occasionally I'll have a small setback. But not to the point where I have a panic attack. Not to the point where I hate myself from the fear of disappointing Pro Boxer because I pushed him away again.

I still don't know what to think. I don't know how much of this healing has been me and the choices I've made or how much of it has been from God or some other spiritual thing. I'm not sure I'll ever know until the end. And almost, I'm not sure it matters that much. The fact of the matter is that I have come a great way, and I am grateful for whatever help I've been given. I'm still not sure where I sit on spiritual matters. Church gives me anxiety. Even thinking about going to church gives me anxiety. It makes my heart pound, and my muscles weak, and I feel out of breath and light headed. I don't know when I'll come to some sort of conclusion with that. I'm just going at my own pace right now. I do the things I want to do. Sometimes that means going to church, sometimes it doesn't. I've gone at my own pace this whole healing journey, and I've had such great success, I figure I'll keep up with that pace for now.

At the end of the day, I've grown a lot. I've moved from self-loathing to self-accepting. I've gone from being depressed nearly every day for months--years--on end, to enjoying my life. I'm in a much better place, and I wanted to let you all know that. I may not be where you want me to be, but I'm still on this journey, and I intend to continue improving and becoming a better person.

Social Butterfly

Since my last post, I've been wondering how to proceed. Because I don't want to worry you, my friendly readers, but at the same time, I don't know what to talk about other than my boring life or self-image issues. Because they are a nearly a daily battle for me to fight these days.

And I think I've figured something out. Something that I didn't quite know how to express years ago when I was in a similar situation. I am a very social person. I don't do well being alone. And though yes, I have kids (one of them is nearing 10.... yikes!) to talk to and be with, it isn't quite the same as having someone who will actually listen to me. When you talk to a kid, you are never quite sure if they are listening or processing or caring about what you are saying. Sure there are those rare bonding times when things seem to just fit together and you snuggle for a little or something, and there is a connection - but you can't control those. You can't get them to come when you need them most. That feeling, that "this person doesn't care what I'm saying right now" kind of feeling makes me feel oh so lonely. Hence the rising depression going on here. I rely on social things to help get me through the hard days.

I hunger for social interactions so fiercely that the small moments I have Pro Boxer around, I babble about nonsensical stuff - just fluff, really - just to have someone to talk to. And as a result of that, I find that I don't talk to him about the things I really need to talk to him about, and just fill the silence with inconsequential things.

I stalk Bacefook, but it doesn't have the kind of social stuff I'm needing (ironically enough). And I think it gives me even more anxiety than I already have while I'm sitting at my computer waiting for a notification, then feeling unfulfilled when it's a game invite or someone commenting on someone else's post after I had - not really talking to me. I don't know if I'd say I'm addicted to Bacefook - but rather I'm addicted to social interaction, and I'm searching for it in every aspect of my life that I can.

I remember how I used to talk about how I ramble on here a lot. I think that was a result of all of this. I want to talk and express myself without any limitations. What can I say? I like talking about myself and sharing my thoughts (doesn't every body?). In larger groups, I have a hard time doing that at all, because I tend to get talked over. So smaller groups or one on one usually are my favorite functions. Which is why - when I write emails or letters, or even post on my blog, when I have no one to interrupt me but myself - I go crazy and write all the things, talk about all the things, because I have no one holding me back or stopping my rambling.

And I think - this is what I need. This freedom to express myself. I have grown up in a cage. My parents meant well, I'm sure. But it was a cage nonetheless. By limiting me from talking about certain things, they likely meant to protect me, but really, it simply grew this need I have to be able to express myself without walls. That is why my good friends are so precious to me. Because I can talk to them about anything and everything, and they won't go away. I do fear, sometimes, that I'll become too reliant, or too needy, and they'll leave me. Despite being a social butterfly, I'm also quite shy. Meeting new people - trying to find that new really good friend is terrifying. Likely because of that similar fear - the fear of being left alone.

All the things

Oh boy. Where to start? Okay well... I guess I'll just plunge in.

First off, last month I completely forgot about my attempt at trying to be more active on here, in fact, I believe I even completely forgot that I even have a blog. So there's that. But considering everything that I've gone through in the past two or three weeks, I guess it makes sense.

Pro Boxer's schedule has changed. That, I believe, is the first most important (and very stressful) change. He is now working 12s. His assigned schedule is three 12s in a row. In perspective, it seems rather nice. I never get to see him for three days in a week, but then I get him, free of charge, for four. However, things haven't really been that great. In the three (four?) weeks that they've been doing this, they've been behind with their cheese production and hence, he has had to work four 12s in a row instead. I'm not even going to go into how much strain this puts on him (mostly because I don't really know - he doesn't complain much... or at all), but it's been driving me to insanity. His shift happens to go right through my social activities, and being the social person I am... His work has never really much cared about my schedule, but now they are declaring war on my sanity.

So there's that.

In preparation for this change in schedule, Pro Boxer and I have been working on saving up money to buy a second car, so at least I wouldn't have to leech rides off of my friends for my social things. But life threw another curve ball. We were visiting Pro Boxer's parents one weekend, and I was going to a writers conference. On the way back to their house one evening, our car flipped out. Even though I was still in drive, it was like the car switched to neutral and revved. Over and over. Even going into the red 6-7 (or whatever number - the red ones) rpms. And even though I was no longer pushing on the gas. So here I was on the freeway, needing to accelerate, but doing the opposite, yet my car was flipping out and I had no power to accelerate with. Let me tell you, that was stress x 100. I'm not going to go into all of everything (or this would be a very long post indeed), but suffice it to say, there was no accident, I wasn't injured at all, and I got back to in-law's house safely. But the car..... well, we got that checked the next day. On top of two minor things (that would be around a $500 fix), the guy told us that our transmission was going out. Considering this car has over 200k miles on it, and has engine problems anyway... yeah.

So. We spent all of our savings, as well as a couple thousand from Pro Boxer's dad (thank you!!) to buy a new (used) car. And of course, this was buying a replacement car. Not a second one. Granted, it was a great find, perfect timing and all that... except the fact that our other car died and we were basically desperate.

All of this combined together... The past week or so I have been reverting to the depressed wreck I was, oh, not so many years ago. I told Pro Boxer yesterday that I realized that this new schedule of his really isn't good for my health. And it isn't. When he has to leave again, I just want to curl into a ball and disappear. Some days I do that. And when I actually allow the depression to fully take hold on me, it takes me nearly half of the next day to come out of it and actually get anything done - including feeding myself. But of course, it's still hovering over me even then. And it's not even the more difficult time it takes to get to my social functions. During the week, I feel like I see Pro Boxer as much (as little?) as I did when I was going to school. Kiss goodbye, kiss goodnight... that's about it. And this time, I don't have the socialness that probably was almost the only thing sustaining me during my college years. At least not to the degree I had back then. I've found myself in a new stage of life, and I somehow need to find a way to get back to the happy person I was a month ago. I really liked that person. These days it's getting harder and harder to convince myself that I'm not a horrible person when everything I do (or don't do) makes me feel that way - thanks to the depression.

Quite the change in posts, but we've had quite the lifestyle change. This isn't the first time that Pro Boxer's shift changed, and it likely won't be the last, but the previous shift had been constant for over four years, and I had gotten quite used to seeing him at certain times. Having his help with house cleaning at certain times, etc... Now everything's changed again, and I just have to adapt ... again. In the mean time, I also have to find a way to get out of this rut without having my way, because apparently that's never going to happen with his current job.

*sigh...

Well anyway, consider yourself updated. I'll try and not forget about you again too soon.

Perceptions

Lately, Bug has taken an interest in telling me, "You're the best mom," or, "You're the best mom for me." He tells me this in times when I haven't done anything particularly remarkable, or even loving. More often than not, I'm staring at my computer working on writing something, or just wasting time. Trying to fill up my patience bucket again for the next round of homeschooling.

I can't see what it is in me that makes him say that. More and more, I'm remembering the times when I've lost my temper with the kids, or shooed them downstairs so I can be alone, rather than spend time playing with them. I almost encourage them to spend a lot of time on the computer, if only so I can enjoy reading or simply just not having to be with them. I look more forward to the times when I can get away for social functions rather than the time I am here with them. In short, the times I remember are the times that I'm really not being a great mom, or even a mediocre one. Sure, they are still alive. Something should count toward that, but none of my achievements seem to add up to being the "best mom." Goodness, I don't even cook for them, or make lunch for them.

His perception of me and my perception of me are quite different, you see. I don't think it will ever be possible for me to see myself the way he does. And I'm not even going to try. But these difference of opinions makes me ... thoughtful. Thoughtful enough to write a blog post about it, even if I don't really know where I'm going with this.

Earlier today I found out that Bug had wasted a whole hour of school time because he thought that he had already done the assignment the teacher had told him to do when he actually hadn't. Somehow, I didn't find myself yelling and being upset at him for that - other days I might have. I just explained to him how he got confused, and then we started working on the assignment. We spent another hour working on it, and I admit, I got a little heated at times. I would ask him a question and he would sit there silent for over ten minutes, playing with his feet. So yes, I got upset. I wasn't even having him do the actual writing (it was an opinion essay assignment), I was writing down whatever he said - but he hadn't said anything.

We finished filling out the little chart thing meant to help him organize his thoughts and then I typed it up in the program to grade it. I explained to him about how the chart is only the blueprint of the essay, and it shouldn't be turned in as the final. I told him that he wouldn't get a good grade if he turned it in that way - he should use the blueprint as a guideline and use it as a way to expand his thoughts and talk a little more about the subject. Then I made a hard choice. I could tell that I couldn't get much more work out of him anymore, because I had gotten upset, and he was upset because of that, and the length of times it took him to come up with one solitary sentence was becoming longer and longer. So I said, "Here's the deal - you won't get a good grade if you keep it like this. We can save it and come back to it tomorrow after you've had a chance to think about it a little bit more, or we can just turn it in like it is. But know that this blueprint essay doesn't work well as a final, and your score will not be very good. But it's your choice." He chose to turn it in, and like I had told him, he got 12 out of 30.

I think that was the first time of my parenting life where I truly gave him the decision to make his own mistake. I probably have done it other times, but this one, I could have easily taken it out of his hands and said, "Okay, that's good for today, we'll work on it more tomorrow." I know that letting our kids make their own mistakes is good for them. And I assumed it would be hard. I just hadn't expected to feel like a horrible mom for doing so. Granted, I made some great mommy decisions in that two hour span. I didn't yell at him for his misunderstanding, and though I did get upset a few times while working on the assignment, I also allowed him to make his own mistake. Yet I felt like crap afterward. It was a mixture of wanting to punch things really hard and wanting to curl up in a ball and cry. I ended up going to the store to get Oreos, but that's beside the point.

I have gotten better at acknowledging my worth. At believing that I just might be a good person. At not hating myself. But now I'm not sure those apply to my abilities to be a good mom. Something in this life, maybe in this society, or perhaps in this generation makes moms feel not good enough. People talk ill against stay-at-home moms, people talk ill about working moms, people talk ill about moms who let their kids play on too much electronics, or about moms who don't give them enough electronic time. I'm not sure how much stock I put in those perceptions, but I probably put in more than I think I do. In fact, above, I already listed too much electronics as one reason why I'm not a good mom. But there is something in life/society/this generation, or even wired in the women themselves that makes them feel "not good enough." But perhaps to your kids, you, exactly as you are, are good enough. I'm not sure how much I feel about that sentiment myself, but I wish I hadn't felt that horrible after I had let my child grow on his own. And I certainly don't want other moms to feel that way either, though I know they do.

Maybe not to the world, or society, or so and so's mom, or even to yourself, you feel like you aren't good enough or that you don't measure up. But to your kids, you just might. And that's all that really matters.

Parenting conundrums

It is interesting to me to see how different my kids are. But at this point in their life, I'm also learning that it's hard to find middle ground with them and their different personalities.

Bug is a very helpful kid. He loves helping, he loves serving, and he just generally loves making people happy. Great qualities that I love in him.

Goof Ball is very independent. Where I practically had to force Bug to learn how to use a spoon, Goof Ball took the spoon out of my hand so he could do it himself (and at an earlier age than I made Bug learn). Another great quality that is good for him to have.

But you can see already where the conflict comes in. Bug wants to help - Goof Ball doesn't want the help. Goof Ball yells that he doesn't want help, Bug cries because he can't help him. And of course, because of Bug's personality, he doesn't let anything drop easily - particularly if it's something that hurt his feelings. Like not being able to help someone. So he'll dwell and brood and cry about it much longer than I have patience for.

I've tried explaining to him that it's great that he loves to help, but if someone doesn't want help, you really can't give it to them. But he just doesn't seem to get that concept. I could try and convince Goof Ball to let Bug help him sometimes, but Goof Ball is just so stubborn that he would probably cry if I tried to do such a thing, and then we have two crying kids in the house for something really ridiculous. You'd think I'd have to deal with tears dealing with not being able to share something or whatever (which I still do, don't get me wrong), but no, I get tears because one kid isn't allowed to help another one.

Another conundrum is grounded in one major problem: Goof Ball hates to lose. Like I mean really despises it. If he feels like he is going to lose, he'll "change the rules" to make it so he will win. Or he'll quit. Or he'll cheat. Or what have you. This is another issue in our home that causes a lot of frustrations on both sides. I've tried explaining to Goof Ball that if he cheats, he lost. That if he always insists on winning, and changes the rules to make his win complete that no one will want to play with him. But no amount of discussion has changed anything. His stubbornness is firm in that regard. He will win. Or he'll quit. End of story. I think this is a good sign that I probably shouldn't ever put him in competitive sports...

Choices -> Consequences

In Bug's literature course, the unit we just finished focused on choices and consequences. Which was probably good, because he seemed rather confused when I asked him what the consequence was when one of the characters made a good choice. He seemed to think that consequences only came with bad choices.

Well, that doesn't really have much to do with the topic of this blog post, but it kind of does at the same time. Because today, Bug made a very very adult choice, and he astonished me to the point of nearly being speechless.

The virtual academy that we enrolled in does daily (often with more than one each day) what they call "class connects." Basically it's kind of like a group Skype call that has tools and other things where the teacher can show a power-point kind of presentation and have basically an online class. Well today when Bug was logged into one of these class connects, I came downstairs and found him playing a game on the internet instead of paying attention. Naturally, I scolded him, and told him that we would probably have to block the website he was playing on. He knew when we installed a blocker program that that was the deal-if he doesn't do his work and plays instead, we'll block the games.

Anyway, he finished out the class connect, as far as I knew, and about fifteen minutes later he came upstairs and talked to me.

"My teacher and I made a deal," he said. And I'm thinking.... what kind of deal? What are you talking about? "She let me color for seven minutes," Bug continued, "as long as I would listen to the recording and send her an email telling her what the class connect was about."

They always do a recording of the class connects for kids who couldn't make it at the scheduled time. At this point, I'm connecting logic together and asked, "Wait, did you tell her that you weren't listening?"

"Yeah," he said.

I didn't tell him to tell her. I didn't say anything that even suggested that he should tell her. In fact, doing such a thing hadn't even come to my mind at all. He chose to do that all on his own, and left me speechless while he continued to talk about what he drew on the class connect program.

He also said, "It made me feel really good. Because the teacher let me color."

I took that to mean that he felt good because he wasn't punished by telling the teacher what had happened. And so, with his good choice, I gave him a good consequence. We didn't block the website he was playing on.

The Magic of Childhood

Bug is getting to the age where he seems to know (at least sometimes) when I'm making a little fib for Goof Ball. Like one night, Goof Ball was worried about the lights off, and going to bed. I was exhausted, wanting to just plop off to bed myself, but I went in there to kiss and hug him goodnight. And then, without really thinking about what I was saying, said, "And here's a magic kiss to protect you from the monsters." It wasn't anything, really. Just a kiss with more pressure behind it and longer - on his forehead. I told him that when the monsters see that kiss on his head, they'll get scared and run away.

Well even that night, Bug seemed to be in on the joke with me, as it were. I asked Bug if he wanted a magic kiss too, but he kinda smiled and said in a somewhat I-see-what-you-did-there kind of tone of voice, "Nah, I'm good." And as a precautionary measure, I put magic on the door too to protect them with one more layer of made up magic.

There have been other times where Bug has seemed to play along with me when I say things like that, but at the same time, he hasn't let go yet of the magic of Christmas. Or the tooth fairy. Or any other made up magical being that he already believed in. Knowing that he has started to pick up on the little things that I make up to survive another day of parenting, makes me wonder when he'll actually start to question the existence of Santa. I suppose I'll have to start coming up with a believable explanation that hopefully won't hurt his believing, tender little (or perhaps big) heart. Knowing him, so long as I feed it to him well, he'll probably want to play along with it for Goof Ball's sake a few years longer. Maybe even want to help stuff the stockings or something. Who knows?

Reminiscing

So my little list of the past posts looks rather slim these past few years. Part of that is because people told me to stop talking about certain things on my blog, and part of that is because I realized that really most of my posts were angsty and depressing. But I think I may be finally able to start recording things again. We'll see.

And without further ado:

This year we were surprised when I opened my kitchen blinds in the morning to find balloons already bought and tied to our fence. It was a nice, simple little gesture that warmed my heart. Goof Ball seems to understand more about what this is all about these days. He said, "They're going to heaven," after we sent them off.

Friends and family have called or asked me how I've been doing, and honestly, the answer is just fine. It was a good day, and though depression threatened to overwhelm me during the weeks before Little Angel's birthday, the actual day was fine, and I didn't feel like I was drowning in sorrow and all that like I mentioned two years ago.

Truthfully, I am quite content with my life these days. I looked back at some of my starred emails the other day, and one was an email sent to me years ago from one of my sis-in-laws because of her concern of my constant depressing posts on here. There wasn't a return email that I had sent to her, and I feel slightly bad about that, not sure if I ever did respond to it.

I have a hard time trying to explain the path I've taken to get me where I am now, though not for lack of trying. I've written many pieces about Shorinji Kempo (one of the big reasons why I've been able to have such a miraculous turn around), written pieces about Little Angel, and other issues as well. But still I have a hard time articulating it, and that frustrates me as a person, but even more as a writer. Shouldn't I be better at things like that? Articulating my thoughts through the written word and all that? Why is this so hard?

Perhaps part of it is because it is so close to my heart. It shows my fears, my darkness, the part of me I keep hidden except with my closest friends. Perhaps it's because it has been such a severe turn around. Going from hating myself and mostly depressed to content with who I am and only occasionally depressed. I think a lot of it is that I'm still too close to it and can't see what steps within Shorinji Kempo have gotten me to this point. Maybe it's just all the support I've gotten these past years from wonderful friends who haven't judged me once. Maybe it's something as simple as ... time. Or perhaps it's because once I accepted myself for who I am, and started seeing/believing that I have worth as a person, I've been able to also accept my feelings for what they were and work through them rather than hide them under a thick layer of numbness.

Possibly it's been a combination of all of that. I've gone leaps and bounds from where I was two years ago. Sure the pain is still there, like my previous post mentions. Depression always seems to be a thought away. But I've gained tools to help me keep it at bay. Or at the very least to move forward despite it. To not wallow in it and fall even deeper with blame. If you would have asked me what I expected to get out of studying martial arts before I started, I would not have said all of those things, and though I believe I haven't gotten all of this benefit from just that, I'd still wager that my turnaround started solely because of it. And most of the growth has been directly because of it. I've often said that it's the cheapest and most effective therapy I've ever done.

So ... I guess if you're reading this, thanks for your support and love. I'm doing alright. There is still a bitter-sweet kind of pain, but isn't that kind of the definition of life? I've thrown my temper tantrums, pushed people away in an attempt to protect myself, or just to give myself time to heal. Thanks for your patience through it all. And on that note, here's a happy picture of my adorable superheros:

Living on a different planet

Someone once told me about an article written about how a mother who loses a child through death lives on a different planet from that point on. Everyone lives on the planet you used to, and you can visit them - but they can't visit you (basically how I took it is not fully understand you) unless they have moved to that planet as well. I kind of liked that idea. And it can be put to any other world shattering situation as well. I don't particularly know why, but I felt like I wanted to let you all know what it feels like to live on that planet.

After nearly 8 years of missing my son, I've come to the conclusion that the pain will always be there. I've just gotten better at hiding it. I may have said that before - it's a good way to explain it. Another good way I've found to try and describe it is like having a scab. There has never really been enough time (maybe there never will be) for the scab to actually heal. Because either I pick at it (particularly around this time of year) or other times other people rip it off, and the pain is roaring at me again. At times when I'm feeling more emotionally stable, the pain is more bitter-sweet than crippling, but it ranges basically one way or the other depending on what I'm already going through in my life at the time.

The simplest things can rip the scab off. Someone asking me how many kids I have. I really really hate that question. I've resorted to different ways of answering depending on the situation. If I never expect to see the person again, I say two without reservation. If I've felt a small connection to them, I'll test them (horrible, I know) and say three. If they say "oh, what are their ages?" I'll answer. Most often from there, the conversation moves and they never have to think about how many I have again. Sometimes instead of saying "three" I'll say, "I've had three." Most often people won't pick up on the strangeness of that sentence. But if they do, I know from there that maybe I could have a close relationship to them. Sometimes when the ages are asked, I say "the oldest is # and the youngest is #" and leave it at that. Truthfully, it depends on how I feel about the person upon meeting them, the circumstances along when I met them, and how I'm feeling at the time. How much pain arrives when the scab is ripped off - bitter-sweet or crippling.

Examples:

Once at the dentist I had to bring my kids with me. I sat down in the chair as the kids stayed in the lobby and played with legos. The nurse brought them up.

"I didn't know you had kids."

"Yeah," I responded, "I've had three." I hadn't felt much pain at the topic and I responded that way without really thinking. But from that one sentence, I felt the dentist seem to tense up.

The nurse laughed, and before her brain turned on, she said, "Oh? Did you lose one?" (thinking, I'm assuming, that I left him in the car or some other such thing.)

"Yeah," I said.

The tension spiked. The dentist seemed to sit more ridged than normal. She paused. "No, really?"

"Yeah."

I'm sure she felt bad, I'm sure that she berated herself for joking about such a thing, but before I had a chance to lighten the mood, the dentist forced my mouth open and the tension hung in the air (both of them more silent than normal) for the rest of the appointment.

---

Another time in a carpool, the subject of kids came up. I was comfortable with the couple in there with me and I said I had three kids.

The mom said, "I hope the transition to having three kids isn't as bad as people say."

I truthfully don't know if she was pregnant or not, though I think she was, and I knew they had two kids already.

"I wouldn't know," I said.

It was silent as she processed the obvious logic gap. Naturally I had to explain it fully when she tried to talk her way through it. That may have been an example of me ripping off my own scab.

---

Meeting a friend's playgroup mothers at Village Inn. I was the odd woman out, so obviously they asked about my kids. I didn't think I would ever see any of them again, and I wasn't in the mood. I responded, "Two."

My friend poked me with a knife. I looked at her. "What? I'm not gonna talk about it here."

The women, seeing a subject of gossip basically pounced on me verbally. I shook my head and said, "I'm not talking about it."

I don't know what they thought of me, but they stopped pestering me about how many I have and we moved onto their ages and gender.

---

There are some varying responses for that. Often, whenever the scab is torn off by someone else, just the question itself can make it happen. Other times I'm mostly expecting it and can prepare for it. It's a common question for meeting someone, so I can usually prepare my heart before hand. But there are other times, times that are somewhat more bitter-sweet rather than crippling. Because they come from my kids.

Examples:

Bug came home from church last Sunday with a paper chain made with five papers. After a small glance at them, I realized the papers were representing us. In order were Dad on the first chain, Mom the next, then the three boys' names. I picked it up and asked him what it was. He said he made it in class to show that we are all sealed together. I hung it with the other tribute things we have to remember Little Angel.

---

Along the same lines, Bug came home once with a paper of a family tree. And he included Little Angel in that as well. I have that one hanging on the door. What was pretty adorable about that one was that he had drawn balloons to represent Little Angel rather than faces like he had for the rest of us.

---

Yesterday I picked up Goof Ball from school early to go to a dentist appointment. We passed by the city graveyard and he astonished me. I can't quite remember how he started because I couldn't quite hear him, but he mentioned all the stones in the ground to show all the people that died. And I was like.... where did he hear that from? I hadn't talked to him about it much, so it really surprised me.

"I wonder how all the people died," he said.

"I don't know."

"Maybe because they stopped eating."

I laughed, because that's a subject of conversation in our house. (Me: "Bug, why do you keep growing! You need to stop that right now!" Bug: "But that means to stop eating, and if I stop eating, then I'll die!" Me: "Well... I wouldn't want that.")

"Maybe," I said. "But sometimes people just die because they got so old."

I hesitated after that, but decided it needed to be said.

"You have an older brother that died, you know."

"Yeah, I told my teacher that."

"What?"

From here, I had a hard time trying to understand what he was trying to say. But from what I got from it was that he wanted to tell the teacher that his brother died, but he couldn't remember his name, so he didn't. Or something. I couldn't quite get what he was trying to say, so the conversation kind of tapered off.

---

I know when I plotted out what I wanted to say in this post, and by the time I started writing it I've forgotten how I was actually going to write it. Even though it was only 15-30 mins from idea hatched to execution. Despite that, I hope the point gets across the way I intended it.

A few other quirks that have arisen since that time 8 years ago:

I avoid babies like the plague. It doesn't matter how close I was to someone before they got pregnant or not. It doesn't matter how much I want to get to know them, or bond with them. Once a newborn is in the mix, I avoid them. If this happens to one of my readers, or had happened to people I was friends with in the past that happen upon this post: It isn't/wasn't personal.

It seems like everywhere I go there is a kid around (often a boy) that is the same age that Little Angel would be. My family, my husband's family, one of Bug's best friends... pretty much EVERYwhere I go, they are there. I haven't yet decided if this is a blessing in disguise (that I can "watch" my three boys interacting together) or a curse. I guess it will shift and change depending on my mood.

Family functions are difficult. Not just because of the little boys running around that represent my lost one. But because the knowledge that someone is missing, and will always be missing. This pain doesn't usually appear instantly. A day or two aren't really too bad. But once it gets to near a week or so, I start to remember and realize, and I find I want to always hide. The pain comes sooner if it's a family reunion.

Sometimes the subject around people that know me well turns to death, or babies, or.... something that brings Little Angel to mind again. And then the elephant that no one (including me) wants to talk about appears in the room. When that happens, I would probably usually leave the room. Truthfully, I never know what I want. Whether I want someone to mention it, talk about Little Angel for a little bit, or if I don't want them to talk about it. No way in hell that I'll bring the subject up. Not that any of us would have much to say. Two months of life doesn't really leave much room for reminiscing. This is one aspect of the whole situation that I'm still trying to navigate through. I really don't know when I'd want someone to mention him or not. My mood, I suppose. That's my go to answer for now. I've never had an experience when someone actually started talking about it. Not that I want to dampen the mood with my heartache. That isn't really the point. Little Angel is often one of the first things that comes to my mind when trials are mentioned, or when death is mentioned, or anything relating to my situation is mentioned at all. And when no one else mentions him, or puts an arm around me, or makes any acknowledgement that there is an elephant in the room - it pains me. Maybe I'm the only one unable to move on. I'm the only one who sees the elephant. Unable to ever be okay with the situation. At the same time, I don't want to bring it up. No one wants to bring it up. And so we go on living in our little lives of perceived happiness. I have come to loathe the mask of happiness. Shorinji Kempo has awaken in me the ability to be myself, mask free, in more places than I've ever had in my life. I hate the places where I feel like I have to put that mask back on. Don't get me wrong, I am happy more in this point of my life than I ever believe I was before - thanks once again, to Shorinji Kempo. But I hate feeling like I need to put on a happy face when I really just want to cry. When no one brings up the elephant in the room, then on goes the mask and I have to deal with the pain later. Alone. Again. ("Why don't you go to Pro Boxer?" you may ask? The same reason I don't want to bring the subject up - I don't want to dampen someone else's happiness.)

I suppose that paragraph may need translating. I'm still working through all this myself. I guess from looking through it all, I really do want someone to recognize my pain. But I don't because I don't want to dampen the happiness of others. So I don't say anything, and they don't say anything, and I cry later by myself, or punch my handy punching bag in my garage, or cope with it on my own once again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Now that I think more about it, I have two good friends that are married. Occasionally the husband (we'll call him Sandpaper) will say something rather insensitive. Whether it's related to my childhood pain or Little Angel, he'll say it before thinking about it. Then the elephant appears and we all pause for just the slightest second. That slightest second of realization, of understanding, of remembrance is really all I need. Then the conversation often changes drastically. And I'm always kind of astonished at how I don't feel any pain. I don't have any upset feelings toward Sandpaper for his careless comment. Somehow, just the fact that knowing that the subject and pain wasn't completely ignored, that it came to everyone's mind - just that seems to be just enough for me. We don't have to say anything about it. The conversation shifts and laughter returns.

This is the life of a mother of a dead child. And as I said above, probably very similar to the life of many others who have had life-shattering experiences. Everyone needs love and understanding. Often the worst pain is the hidden pain that very few can see.

The Haunting of Springett Hall

I know I haven't been posting a lot lately, and I owe a few detailed posts on specific parts of my life that I want to explore more (homeschooling and Shorinji Kempo for example), but for now, this post is a shout out to a good friend of mine.

Remember my catch up post where I talked about NaNoWriMo and how I was able to write a whole novel in a month? Well, my friend, E. B., did that this last year as well. As well as the year before that. She edited and polished her 2013 NaNo novel in the space of one year and then pitched it to a publisher nearly one year later. Another year later, it is coming out to press. I am very pleased to announce the publication of this awesome book, written by an amazing person. I'm really glad that I first started coming to the writer's group that I did because I've been able to meet so many awesome people, and E. B. is no exception. You can see the book on Goodreads, but sadly, we'll have to wait patiently for a little while longer to have it in our hands. I, for one, will be sure to get a copy as soon as possible.

The Haunting of Springett Hall by E.B. Wheeler, available July 14, 2015.

Eighteen-year-old Lucy doesn’t remember how she died or why she’s haunting Springett Hall in Victorian England. One thing is certain: she was trying to fix a terrible mistake—one she must set right before oblivion reclaims her. As she pieces together the mystery of her death, shadows try to drag her into a dark abyss, and she struggles against the commands of a disembodied voice.

None of the living notice Lucy haunting them, except a servant named Philip whose memories are as fragmented as hers. They find evidence they were involved in a necromancer’s scheme to cheat death: a spell that went awry. Lucy also suspects Philip, for whom she’s developing an impossible attraction, may have been one of her enemies.

The more Lucy learns, the less she wants to remember. The necromancer’s work isn’t finished, though, and his influence is consuming the minds and wills of everyone in the house, living and dead. To have any chance of making a happy ending out of their mistakes, Lucy and Philip must face the truth about their past and free the residents of Springett Hall from a curse that reaches beyond death.

Teeth and the losing of them

So I promised pictures of Goof Ball and his first lost tooth experience. So here you go. Better late than never.

Heart Health

Okay, so good news. I'm pretty certain that the dizzy weak feelings were mainly due to dehydration. When I went to my doctor last Thursday, I had been trying to have lots of water bottles (17 oz each). That Wednesday, I had 2 water bottles. That Thursday, I had four. I was feeling pretty fantastic compared to the last few weeks. I still randomly felt dizzy, but not weak, and just in general lots better. The doctor did mention something that I hadn't thought about, that being inner ear issues. But because of the heart palpitation, he couldn't say for certain that it was the inner ear things. But he decided to advice me to go the inner ear route - get an appointment with an ear/nose/throat person and tell them my story, etc. And then if that fell through, then we could have gone the heart route. I mentioned to him that I was trying more water to see if that would help too and he said to certainly do that - and then if I continued to feel better and better, then I could cancel the ENT appointment. Well... at that point I was pretty certain it was water issues, so I didn't even call to make an appointment with the ENT people. And things have been going relatively smoothly. I still need to consciously basically force myself to drink water, but at least I know that it wasn't anything more serious than that.

Almost a year later...

So. I have a few minutes. Let me think about a few highlights to catch up my dedicated readers who've kept checking despite the lack of updates.

I'll go backwards, hoping that will jog my memory.

January:

Not too bad a month. Corner Band started rehearsing again after the Christmas break for the concert in March. I started homeschooling Bug (that deserves a post all unto itself...). I've been trying to find time between all the busyness to revise the novel I wrote in November. I've found that I am much more productive when I can get out of the house, usually to a cafe, to get writing done, but with Bug being home and needing me to help with his school stuff, I can only really do it during the weekend now. Going to church is hard. I still am not quite sure why. I think I'm lying to myself or making up excuses just so I don't have to dig deeper to try and find out exactly what it is about church that is making me uncomfortable there. Sundays are depressing. I come home from church depressed, and that's even after I've already skipped the classes and only went to Sacrament meeting for my calling. Oh, I also lost my assistant conductor, so now I can't take every other month off. Unless, of course, they eventually call another one... my assistant went to a mission in California with her husband. I'll miss them, but I think it's only a year mission. Oh, also, Goof Ball lost his first tooth on the first day of this month/year. I didn't even know it was loose until the party on the 31st, and it was so loose that even a small touch from me made it move nearly out. So I convinced Goof Ball to let me pull it out, and it didn't even take all that much persuasion to get the tooth out*. I'll have to post pictures later.

December:

Was. Hard. So hard, I'm kind of surprised I got through it as "smoothly" as I did. I can't really remember how I've survived December in years past, but I don't remember it being as hard as it was this time 'round. Nearing Little Angel's death date, my mood turned darker and darker. In years past, I don't remember that happening nearly as much. It was more like "oh, it's coming up, isn't it?" but other than random thoughts like that, I didn't brood on it like like I did this year. My only thought as to why it was so hard this time is because of the kicking spree I had the year before on Little Angel's birthday. I didn't feel the need to do it again this year, though I didn't have Shorinji Kempo on his birthday, but I didn't even feel like I needed it. And I think I really only have Kempo to thank for it. It's changed me in ways I didn't even really expect. I'm more relaxed. More comfortable with myself and my life. Well, that may need a post unto itself too. Whatever the case, I think I may be able to safely say, that December 2014 was the darkest December.

November:

This month was fantastic. And I don't say that lightly. Truthfully, any month from October to December (the small lifespan that my son had) is usually just painful. But this year, I dedicated myself to writing. There's this thing called NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) where writers rally together and pledge that they'll write a whole novel in the month of November. That's 50k words. Or to put it in non-writer terms, about 200 pages double space. This is the month where I really realized how beneficial it is for me to get out of the house to write. I wouldn't have been able to do it without my now favorite cafe and their nummy potato soup and endless supply of Dr Pepper. Also, I had told one of the workers there about my goal and every time we ran into each other, I would update him and he would cheer me on. And I'm proud (and not the least bit squirmish) to say that I made it. I wrote a whole novel (plus) in 30 days. I think my final total by the end of the month was around 57k or so. I reached the 50k mark before Thanksgiving, even. Truthfully, the novel's not actually "finished" because the wrap up at the end isn't there. But man, did it feel good to just dedicate myself whole-heartedly to something so monumental. Pretty sure it was one of the first truly overwhelming goals that I've made for myself and actually accomplished it.

October:

Wasn't all that bad. The approach of Little Angel's birthday wasn't something that really depressed or angered me like it had before. I think that's partly attributed to the growth I've had through Shorinji Kempo, and partly attributed to the kicking spree I mentioned above (and below - I'm fairly certain I posted about asking Sensei to let me kick on Little Angel's birthday the year before - 2013). My first theory was that in 2013, I finally allowed myself to actually feel and work through all the pent up anger that Little Angel's death had given me. I literally kicked that pad as hard as I could until I collapsed. This year, I didn't even feel the need for it, though I would have welcomed it. I've never lost the love I have for kicking to get frustrations and other things out (and in fact, I forgot to mention that Pro Boxer got me a punching bag for Christmas. Smiles all around). But this year, like I said, it didn't seem like something I needed. I believe that I faced his birthday not depressed, not angry, maybe sad, but I didn't actually feel the need to cry until I posted the pictures on Bacefook and tried to put my complicated emotions to words.

Little story I want to document: When I went to the store to get the balloons, I ran into Sensei. He had his kids with him, and we chatted for a bit. I told him that I was getting Little Angel's balloons and that we let them fly every year on his birthday, one balloon for each year. After we parted and I got home with the balloons, we had a little text conversation. Sensei lives on higher ground than I do, and he said to let him know when we would let them go and he'd keep an eye out for them with his kids. In the end, he couldn't see them, which I kind of expected, but it was a nice gesture that I appreciated more than I thought I would.

September:

Let's see... things are getting somewhat hazy now. I believe this is the month that I let my nephew stay with us. He's been having a hard time, and we thought we might be able to help him if he stayed with us. So we went through the process, put our trust in the fact that he had been doing better and that we might be able to help him. I also had the hope that if he could just stay with us long enough and go to Shorinji Kempo with me, it would help him like it helped me. It only lasted a few weeks before we had to send him away. I'm being specifically vague, because he's not my child, and even though I have every right to tell my story, I don't want to infringe on my brother's family's story. Suffice it to say that my nephew's actions gave me the worst panic attack I have ever had, which is saying something. I had screamed so hard and loud that I woke Pro Boxer up - he was upstairs, I was downstairs. I screamed so loud that I popped blood vessels around my eyes. In my head, I combined what happened to me as a child with what my nephew did. The combined pain from them both... I was me, but I wasn't me. I was the hurt child inside of me, and nothing Pro Boxer could have done would have released me until my fit was over. Thankfully, and as always, he did what I appreciate the most. He stayed with me and held my hand.

Summer months:

I don't really remember much about them at all. They were summer months that slipped by slowly, and yet too fast at the same time. My parents came back from their mission in the end of .... July? August? I guess I can't even remember that. I think it was July. Other summer recollections I can't *ahem...* recall. Oh! I think it was this summer when Goof Ball started wetting the bed, and just downright not going pee where he's supposed to anymore. We still haven't got him to re-revert into a non wetting the bed kind of kid. And we've kind of given up for a bit, because we were so frustrated that we were moving into shaming him and other not so good things and I decided to take a step back and just deal with it for a bit, or until I thought of something that might help better than other things we've tried. So we're still dealing with that. I'm getting awfully tired of changing his bed sheets and washing them every day.

So there you have it. These days I'm feeling weak and dizzy, and I have suspicions that it is because of my heart and the strange palpitations that I've had all my life. I have an appointment with my doctor coming up, and I actually went to the Instacare last Friday. The general doctor there couldn't tell me anything that I haven't already known. Yes. I know my heartbeat is regular, yet inconsistent (which is what he told me - or relatively close to what he told me). What brought me to the doctor was because I had been feeling dizzy and weak for over a week. He told me that it wasn't exactly ER material, which is what I had been worrying about, but that I should probably try and get the earliest appointment with a cardiologist and also check up with my primary doctor. Well, primary doctor appointment already scheduled, and from whatever he has to say, I'll decide if we need to go the cardiologist route. Pro Boxer (who has a different job now... still at the same place, but different duties, but I haven't been able to come up with a new name for him yet) suspects that maybe I just have some kind of bug or something of the sort. I've been trying my best despite the weakness to eat better, in case that has affected it, as well as water (though I haven't been trying nearly as hard with that ... water.... ick!).

I guess that's all I have to say, and at the very least, I'll try and remember to update ya'll on here after I learn more about heart/health stuffs.

Goof Ball-isms

On Monday, Pro Boxer and I went out for sushi (yes, you can be jealous if you want).  Before we left the kids with the babysitter, Goof Ball had something important to say to me.

"Mom, my bike is in the back of the car."
Me: "In... the back of the car?"
GB: "Yeah, so don't break it."
Me (just wanting to satisfy him, because there was no way his bike could be in the car): "Okay, we won't break it."

Just out of curiosity or something else, as I went outside and explained to Pro Boxer the weird conversation, I went to check in the back of the car, and out of the corner of my eye, something bright red was behind the car.  Yes, it was his bike, and we wouldn't have seen it, and it would have gotten smashed, and yes, it was not in the back of the car, but behind it.

This is just one example of how Goof Ball is more like me than Pro Boxer (at least in the way his mind works).  I had suspicions before because Goof Ball can find things a lot better than Bug ever can.  Even if what he's looking for is right in front of him, Bug can't see it.  He's a lot like Pro Boxer that way...  In any case, Pro Boxer wouldn't even once think to mention that something was behind the car before someone left, and Bug certainly wouldn't.  But the baby of the family could forewarn, just like I would have forewarned.

It's super fun to get to know these kids by seeing how they are similar to me or to Pro Boxer.

Another fun conversation with Goof Ball:

Me: *groan... yawn... 
GB: "Are you tired?"
Me: "Yes." (mainly from exercising that morning)
GB: "Then you should sleep."
Me: "Mmmm...."
GB: "Mom, can you sleep?"
Me: "Um, I don't know, I have a lot of things to do."
GB: "You can sleep, lemme show you how to sleep." He gets on the couch and lays down "See? Like that."
Me: "Oh, like that?"
GB: "Yes. Try it."
Me: "Okay." I just leaned my upper half on the blankets next to me and close my eyes. "Like that?"
GB: "Um.... kinda."
Me: "Oh, that's not right? Can you show me again?"
GB: "Like this." He curls his legs up under him on the couch and rests his head on the blankets.
Me: "Oh, I need to curl up?"
GB: "Yeah."
I take off my shoes and kneel on the couch and fold over to lay on the blanket. "Like that?"
GB: "Yeah! Now you can sleep!"

Thanks Goof Ball... but sleeping like that isn't nearly as comfortable for an adult as it is for a child. :)  And for anyone who's asked me if Goof Ball is talking more now..... yes.  Very much so. :)