Getting out of the Rut

Oh My. What is it with me? I am trying, trying and I do not know which way to go.

I am starting. It may not be the right path. But it is a path.

I am trusting. I have faith. These are good.

But I am far from there.

I may not be out of my rut; in fact, I know I am not out of my rut. But I am moving in it, attempting to get out.

Like a car that is stuck in mud or snow, you know you need to get out. First, you just press the gas. And then you do it a few more times. And then you realize you need something more than the gas and the accelerator in the car to get out. You may have to try a few things before you figure out how to get your car out.

In the snow, all it may take is a few handfuls of salt to help get your traction. And that may move you forward a bit, but then you are stuck again. You may try to put some boards or wood there to gain traction. Of course, you have used the shovel you keep in your car to keep moving snow from around the tires. Sometimes you may have to borrow a shovel because for some reason yours is not in your car - maybe because you have loaned it to someone else that was stuck.

Sometimes, you enlist help from friends or family. Sometimes that doesn’t work.

Sometimes, a stranger will stop and try to help. Once my neighbor came to try to help. He is from London and probably Minnesota Blizzards are not his specialty. I knew he wanted to help, but doubted he could. He went home and fetched a rope and we tied it from our other car to the Suburban that was trapped in the snowbank. The first try, the rope just came untied. Then we tightened the knots and made more knots and tried again. Then the rope broke. We were cold. I thanked him (I hope) and sent him home, saying I would call a tow. I did call a tow and he came with his big tow truck and tools and pulled me right out.

Sometimes we need others to pull us out. The next couple of winter days, I slid around on the slick streets for the unending winter conditions, until I slid into another snow bank. Others can, and often do, have to get us out. The sooner we let others in, the sooner we can be open to their service.

Just because you find yourself in a rut, and know you need to get out, it doesn’t always happen with the first, or second, or third try. Or the first or second or third tool you use. Does that mean that you leave your car there and quit trying? No. You keep trying. You keep plugging away. You try something else. You keep working hard and keep your eye on the prize.

I will get out of this rut.

Something has happened to me

Something has happened to me. I’m not sure when and I am not sure how. I trust. I have faith. I have asked for it, hoped for it, faked it. But in the past, when things got hard, they were harder than they needed to be.

I think my general coping mechanism is flight. Although some may not agree. If I have not always fled physically, which I often have, I flee mentally. I shut out the world, close up. I think of all the ways I don’t need whoever or whatever has caused me angst. How I can live without them. I started this early in life and still, sometimes, it is my first line of defense when I am hurt or scared.

I have had a trying few weeks, built upon a trying few months and even years. It will take a book to actually describe what has led to this grueling time, because it was nothing hard and fast like a divorce or unexpected death or a hurricane. The loss of self rarely has a defining moment; rather it is given up gradually.

But, just as I sit here looking at the snow out of the window on this second day of May, I know the summer is coming. Every single day last month, I kept thinking tomorrow will be better. Now I am not convinced it will be tomorrow, but I know for a fact that summer will be back.

Just as I know summer is coming, I know that I will get through this tough time. I don’t have to manage it or manipulate it. I don’t have to run away from it, or even build my mental wall around it. I may or may not have to work my way out of it. I am sitting with it and feeling it the best that I can.

“If we can stay awake
 when our lives are changing,
secrets will be revealed to us
—secrets about ourselves,
about the nature of life,
and about the eternal source
of happiness and peace
that is always available,
always renewable,
already within us.”
~ELIZABETH LESSER

This is not comfortable or fun. Or in a moment to moment basis, particularly enlightening. In saving the energy that I usually use to run or protect, something is happening. I am finding some peace, and , perhaps a little direction.

Easter

I was awakened earlier than I would have wanted on Easter morning - probably around 6:30. I heard the little pitter patter of feet running into our family room, which is just on the other side of the wall that our bed is on. I love this pitter patter. On Christmas, I generally set my alarm for very early, and sit in the dark by the lights of the Christmas tree, and wait for them to wake up, so I can record them and their excitement on camera, so that I can hold on to it forever.

But, on Easter, I let them wake up first. I hear them coming, and, upon waking, I am delighted at their excitement. I listen to their hushed voices, savoring the pure joy of happiness, yet unencumbered by the heaviness that inevitably will come in life. Inexplicably, the little ones will not start without their big sister. When my oldest daughter wakes first, she too, will go and get them before they start. I love this, want this, but not fully understanding the bond of siblings, a yearning I will have all the days of my life. So when I hear, “Let’s get Chloe,” and hear them rushing out, I quickly contemplate trying to sleep for the thirty seconds more it will take for them to be back, I try to pull myself out of the grog of heavy sleep, so I can listen to their voices, for a few sacred moments, in sync, on a team, no fighting or bantering.

Steve gets up and goes in there with them and I lay in bed enjoying the peace. I have had a heavy heart lately, and we have had a hard few weeks. So many thoughts of Easter (that will have to be addressed at a later time). No squabbles yet, so I pick up a book that I have been reading, Devotion, a spiritual memoir of sorts, and try to get a golden nugget to hold on to for the day.

The egg hunt is delayed for as long as possible, but they are too excited. I get up and head out with my camera, leaving my heart inside, as it is too heavy to carry today.

By 8:30, they are done, Steve is on the couch asleep in front of the TV yet again, and I am looking at the next four hours with a mix of panic, dread, sadness, lonliness, and, worst of all, hopelessness. I am saving the reasons for all of this for another day. I want to bolt out of my house to a coffee shop, as I do many weekend mornings now, but the thought of that being my Easter morning paralyzes me. I scan through Easters past. I think of all the families and all the fun they will have today. I weigh the fear of going to a coffee shop alone on Easter, contrasted not only by the high profile holiday , but also my kids being home, unattended, playing video games and watching TV. This scene stabs me, but I know I am empty and have nothing to give them. I say a quick prayer (to whom? ) that they not be too scarred by this, and ask for strength to pull myself back together, so that I can be the Mother I so desperately want to be. I brace for impact for what my husband will say when I say I am leaving for the morning. Holidays and traditions are very important to him, and as he is judging himself for being so sick, he will also judge me for not carrying on while he physically can not.

This bracing for his reaction turns out to have been unnecessary. He knows. We are both drowning and each, singularly and alone, know that to save our ship, we have to do whatever it takes to save ourselves. He offers, through his cough and pounding headache, “We could all go for a walk. Change it up.” I’m sorry, I can’t. Neither of us has the energy to rally the children. I know this. “Maybe if we have time when you get back.”

“Sure,” I say, knowing I don’t mean it. But this offering, along with the freedom to go, becomes a lifeline for the day. He is trying. I am trying. I go through the drive through for coffee, and go on a long drive. I half listen to Krista Tippets On Being show, and my thoughts are racing, tears flowing. More so, not because of what is going on, but for the loss of this Easter for our family.

A few years ago, a friend of mine found out she had breast cancer. She had to have a double masectomy as soon as possible. The surgeons next opening was on Christmas Eve. It was her daughter’s first Christmas. When I went to visit her in the hospital on Christmas Eve, she told me of dropping her daughters off with family, and kissing them goodbye , saying, “Merry Christmas.” She explained that she sacrificed this Christmas with them, so she could take care of herself, so she could have many Christmases to come.

So, I grasped on to the memory of my friends’ comments about Christmas Eve years ago, and my thoughts and feelings and tears flow freely without judgement. I will take care of myself, today and in the future, so that I may once again enjoy my family as I so desperately want to.

This will be the most honest expression of some of my sadness and struggles that I have put out for others to read to date. I like to cover these struggles up for a multitude of reasons. Vulnerability is one reason. Another is that these musings are not uplifting or validating and seemingly serve no purpose, for the reader or the writer. It is not focusing on the good, adjusting the attitude, which are the platitudes I often use to move through pain.

I will post this as a leap of faith. Maybe, just maybe, by recognizing the feelings and identifying them, the act of putting it out there will help to release them, and perhaps move through them. Since no one reads this, I know it is just an exercise for me. But, when others have done it, like Lindsey in A Design so Vast, it has helped relieve the pressure of my ballooning hopelessness, and puts me back in the company of real humans, living real lives, experiencing the not so good, along with the good.

The Galley

I love good finds. I love good deals. I love authenticity. I love good food. I love things you can't get at any strip mall in the suburbs. I found something that fits all these categories.

I loved this dinner. Saleh Hamshari is Palestinian and he is a great chef. I note his ethnicity for two reasons. I think it's cool we have a Palestinian IN OUR SUBURBS. Second, I don't know much about Middle Eastern/Palestinian cooking (turns out it was Peruvian cooking I think), and maybe you do. Maybe you would know better than to dunk your chicken in this sauce without heeding caution.

But I didn't know better. Nor did I know the name of it. MEAN GREEN HOT SAUCE. That definitely would have been a hint. But, honestly, I wouldn't have been prepared. Because I would have started talking crack about how I grew up down South and nothing in Minnesota is truly spicy. Well, let me tell you, this hot sauce is not fit for any native Minnesotan.

This was a perfect hot sauce. It was spicy from the inside out. Not a sauce that you make and then you want it to be spicy so you add hot stuff. Or something that tastes like it had a spice packet added, like jambalaya in a box. It was so flavorful, so rich, that it stung when you ate it, but had you crawling back for more because the flavor was so sincere.

Moving on. The MEAN GREEN HOT SAUCE comes with an incredibly moist, juicy flavorful whole chicken that is roasted and then pressed over a charcoal fire. It is also accompanied by your choice of two sides. We had fluffy, sticky (yes, it was both) jasmine rice and flavorful green beans. We have a family of five and have left overs of everything.

Total Cost: $25



For more information, and for those who live in town and want to order, check this out.

Its all in the way you look at it

I have often thought about the power of writing. There are so many different perspectives and outlooks. So many different ways to view any given moment in time. It is not just in writing, but an attitude.

Todays post and picture are about the same day as yesterdays post.

Notice in the picture above. My son has a nice claw mark down his cheek given to him by his sister when a fight broke out. Oh, I don't remember exactly when this happened or what it was about because it happened ALL DAY LONG. Often in louder, whinier voices than I am able to write.

"I don't like yours. Its not pretty."
"You can't have that one. It's mine."
"That ornament doesn't go there."

There ensued moments of sneaking ornaments on and off the tree. Child A didn't wanted it to look one way. Child B either didn't want it to be that way, or more likely, wanted to antagonize the other, and took the ornament off when A wasn't looking. Child A would discover it, shriek, and seek to remedy the situation in whatever way they could.

When someone was feeling especially powerless, they would resort to, "you can't ever have a sleep over in my room again," or "meanie", or "I am not getting you a present."

As much as I hate to admit it, the banter sometimes crept into the grown ups in the house. Oh, it didn't get as vicious, mind you, but it was there. If one of us had an idea that differed from the other, little things would happen. Someone would disappear so they couldn't help or make snide comments about who is doing more.

And, being a part of a competitive family, somehow we can turn Christmas decorating into something you can win. I can get more ornaments on the tree than you. I will hang the prettiest one. Who can get more boxes out? Who can put the most money in their giving jars?

This also, rather than extends to, probably stems from the adults. Mostly the one not writing this. :)
While putting up the lights on the tree, I actually stopped to write down this quote to make sure I got it right.

"My side is gonna look perfect. Yours will need tons of help."

A Dreamy Day

The Kids stayed in their pajamas all day. We call these jammie days. THEY LOVE THEM !

We didn't have anywhere we had to be ALL DAY LONG. We love that.

We decorated for Christmas, played games (current favorite of my six year old is cribbage) , built with legos and blocks, unloaded ornaments (a favorite of everyone), made rice krispie treats, hung the advent calendars, had a candle light family dinner, and even did our part to help out others.






Look how cute little Sally is peeping through!







May the rest of the season be as joyous as this day.

Cutting down the Christmas Tree, Year 15

For the last 15 years, we have gone to Tallackson's Tree Farm in Big Lake, Minnesota to cut down our tree. This year seemed easier, at first. It was a warm 45 degrees and the sun was shining. No need to make sure we had all the snowsuits and extra garb to stay warm. No diapers or sippy cups to pack. The kids got themselves dressed for the most part, packed what they needed for the day, and off we went.

I had a letter I needed to mail to my grandmother and he said, "What's this?" A letter I need to mail to Nana, I want to drop it in the box on the way out. OK. When we drove the 2 houses to our mailbox, he put the letter in the mailbox. I said I didn't want it in the mail box, I wanted to drop it in the US Post Mailbox. "It will post faster here." I don't care, I want it in the US Post box so no one will mess with it. "No one is going to mess with this." Now, it didn't really matter where it was, and most probably no one would mess with it, but I just don't like doing it that way and I CANT UNDERSTAND WHY YOU ARE ARGUING WITH ME ABOUT THIS WHEN THE US POST BOX IS ANOTHER 50 YARDS DOWN THE ROAD.

Steve and I always want a latte for the hour plus drive, so he obliged me and we went to Starbucks. Then I was being a little high maintenance, and he obliged me because he knows he can be that way too - I wanted to stop at Lunds to get tweazers. I needed a new pair and I wanted it NOW otherwise THIS ONE HAIR WILL BE DRIVING ME CRAZY ALL DAY AND YOU WILL HAVE TO HEAR ABOUT IT. He didn't really mind stopping once I explained it like that. So then he asked me to get some donuts while I was in there. OK.

I came out and needed one more errand. Now I know that I was pushing the limits now, but it was in the same parking lot, same little strip mall. I needed some conditioner for my hair and WE WERE RIGHT THERE. I hadn't been able to get it all week because someone always had to be somewhere and didn't want to stop. Now they all had a movie, Steve had his coffee and donuts, so I wanted to stop. So he stopped. And he was very nice about it.

On the road now. We get on the interstate and their movie is over. Wow. The dog is jumping over the back seat and landing on the kids. They are screaming. About the dog. And wanting another movie. So we pull off at the next exit, the one after we entered the interstate. Steve is losing it now, but trying not to let on. He gets out to take care of the dog and Chloe unbuckles to change the movie.

All is well and we are off again. We pull out of the gas station where we stopped and are about to turn left to make a quick right to re - enter the Interstate. Chloe can't find the remote to work the DVD player and is getting louder and more frustrated with it, the dog has gotten out of his leash and jumped on the kids again, and Steve starts yelling that this is my fault because I didn't get out and help when we stopped. I snap back that there was nothing I could have done because he was doing a GRAND job of RE - TYING up the dog and Chloe was changing the movie. We make a U turn and screech back into the closed gas station we just left. Now Steve is pissed. He opens the rear of the Suburban and PUNCHES the dog and the kids start crying because he punched the dog and WHY CAN'T WE FIND THE REMOTE? I am at a cross as to what to do. I yell at Steve that he has upset the kids and he can't punch the dog while I am looking for the remote. I eventually, after removing half the crap from the car, find the remote under the seat.

FAMILY HOLIDAY TRADITIONS ARE NOTHING BUT FUN!

So we are back in the car, everyone is calm, some small sniffles coming from the kids, Steve is being extra nice because that is what he does when he feels bad for losing it. I am about to laugh because we are at the same light where we are going to turn left to make a quick right for a reentry onto the interstate and NO KIDDING BUT I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM. I quickly wonder to myself if I can hold it for the hour or so trip , and decide I can't , so I just laugh and say I have to go to the bathroom. If he would have ignored me and driven on, (which I would have done) I would have said it again, and I guess he knew this and didn't want to hear about it for the next hour. So, instead of that left that we had tried to make twice before, he went straight and pulled into another gas station and was very nice about it and asked me which side of the car the gas tank was on because we might as well get gas. I am laughing out loud now even though he isn't quite able to do that yet. I asked if anyone had to go to the bathroom and the kids yelled, "Can we get out and get a toy?" "NO!" I did get Sally out and we went to the bathroom and came out and they were ready to go. We did sucessfully re- enter the interstate at this point, and one of the kids asked, "Are we almost there?"

We talked about rethinking this tradition and going to the lot down the street.

But what will we really remember when we see the photos from the day?