Holy Crap, we're back!

Holy crap, we're back!

With all the craziness that's been going on, I haven't had time to sweep the cobwebs out of my corner of the internet lately. (Truth: I've had time but I've spent it doing other things...like eating chocolate covered pretzels, growing a  human being in my body, and watching the soft-core known as Outlander. No judging.)

So! Here we are with ALL! NEW! THINGS! That are really just commonplace regular things that are new to us. 

Things like: 

• A new baby! Baby Thor will be here on or around Feb 11, 2016. Dani is...underwhelmed by the arrival of a baby brother, but very excited about finally being able to stay up later than anyone in our house. 
• Dani is in Kindergarten! She's made the leap to a new school, and is crushing it. She's happy, adjusted, and basically being 5, Which, all previous ages considered, is my favorite so far. (Bias Revealed: The fact that all butt-wiping is now HER responsibility is not a small factor in determining my favorite age.) 
• Kris' sarcoidosis is in remission. (Can I get a halle-fucking-lujah?!) His ACE levels, along with many other bloodwork components that don't need to be memorialized on the internet, are returning to normal. Clearly, this return to health can be attributed to his wife's nagging about eating his goddamn blueberries and not the heavy-dose pharmaceuticals he's been mainlining for the last few months. 

That's all the time I have today, more to come tomorrow and (hopefully) on a more regular basis. 

'Round and 'Round We Go, Where we'll stop...

Nobody seems to know.

We're in this chaotic, frenetic, survivalist pace of our lives right now and it feels like the merry-go-round is about to throw an axle from all the speed.

I wish there was a way to put all these worries on a shelf and dust them off when I have time for them. But, truthfully, there would never be time for them. 

We keep spinning around, and I'm beginning to wonder how much longer all this will go on. How long will we be wondering what is happening to Kris? How long will I feel this know in my stomach about his health? How long will it be before Dani realizes not everyone's daddy goes to the doctor as much as hers? Not everyone's daddy gets tired so easily? 

How many more fucking doctor's visits will I sit through and how many more medical journals will I sift through, looking for answers? 

I'd love to say that we're enjoying every moment we have together, but we're all stressed and tired and ready for some answers, already. 

It's hard not to scream at the doctors-- "ENOUGH! Enough with the vague diagnoses, enough with the condescension. Enough with waiting months for test results that should take days. enough with making it a full-time job to track your ass down for a simple answer. ENOUGH! Do your goddamn job and figure out what's wrong." 

Because, dear doctors, all your ass-covering, your hemming and hawing, your inability to or lack of desire to dive in and help us is wearing me down until I am less than enough. I am exhausted. I am scared. I am  frustrated to the point of tears and I am spending precious energy trying not to think about what life would be like without Kris in it. 

That being said, do not mistake my exhaustion for defeat or my fear for cowardice. I'm still here. We're still here. We're still fighting. Though our minds and muscles may protest under the physical and emotional strain of endless MRIs, bloodwork, scheduling, and exams, understand that we will never give up fighting for Kris. In the meantime, I'm going to read this, every morning to keep me reminded of how truly, sharply, beautiful life can be. 

Because dear doctors, as my dad and General Patton used to say, "Lead, follow, or get the fuck out of the way." Your choice. 

Waves of Happiness

I'm sitting on a Key West fishing boat, surrounded by friends and  my family. The Florida sun is blazing down, changing my near-stark-white Polish/English skin a dusky shade of pink, while the spray from the sea cools my shoulder.

I tilt my head back, close my eyes and listen to the sound of the engine, a low roar, as it propels us to the next spot of calm. I hear my child laugh and open my eyes to see her face holding a wide, tall grin that is pure joy itself.

My daughter reaches out to point at the dolphins that are swimming alongside us. While I'd expect that visage to make my heart burst out of my chest, it doesn't. Instead, it settles quietly and contentedly as I allow myself to be fully immersed in this beautiful, golden moment.

And I think, as I'm here, that this is it. This is paradise. No palm trees or sunsets needed. Just sunshine, laughter and loved ones.

Why Arguing With the Kids in the Room is OKAY.

When I was younger, my parents fought like their lives depended upon it. An observing anthropologist might have written in a travel diary  "The adult natives appear to actually gain physical energy and sustenance  from battling both verbally and sometimes physically with one another."

I swore, when I grew up my children would never see me argue with my spouse. They would only see the good. The happy. The idyllic.  In short, I was full of shit.

Today, the world pissed in my cornflakes, took a dump in them for added protein and then force-fed them to me while I was being made to watch 'Perfect Cousins' reruns. It was...a challenging day. So, when K came home, I was already full-throttle bitch mode.

K: ...*walks indoors,sets briefcase down*

Me: Hi!

K: Hey, listen, when's dinner ready? Ten minutes, you say? Ok, I'm just going to cut the grass before dinner. 

Me:...(TILT. TILT. TILT! )...Why did you even ask about dinner, then? G'head, cut the damn lawn. I've only got dinner IN THE OVEN and almost ready, but suuuuuuure. 

Now, granted, I kept the curse words to a minimum when D could hear, but she did, in fact, hear us arguing. And you know what? That's ok. Because after a few minutes to cool down, and collect ourselves, she saw this scene, too:

K: Listen, I didn't realize how hard you'd worked to have everything ready when I got home. Let's sit down and have a nice meal. I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention.  

Me: I'm sorry, too. It was a long day and I should have been more flexible. 

K: K. We're good? 

Me: We're good. 
K: Rays game after dinner? 
Me: Sure, but oh my God, have you seen their pitching staff lately? May as well watch the Walking Dead. Fewer zombies....

Sure, she does hear us occasionally lose our cool at one another, but she also sees forgiveness. Tenderness. Compassion. We talk to hear about the fact that sometimes grownups disagree and that yes, she's right, we really should use our indoor voices when we're disagreeing. We work hard at being good to each other, but sometimes marriage and proximity and challenges just push you past the point of sanity. 

The important thing is to forgive swiftly, wholly, and honestly. (And to check with each other about dinner first, because seriously, that damn roast took me an hour.) We are all continually learning more about the people we live with, be they old or young. I like to think that D is learning some pretty good things from us, even when we show her our imperfections. 

Echoes

Dear Latayah,
We talked last night. Or, I should say this morning, to be more precise.

You knocked on my door in my dream, and I opened it to you being your same beautiful self. We talked about...something. I really can't remember and its not important. What mattered was that I was able to see you again. To hear your laugh, to ask your advice (you always gave the best advice) and to see your smile.

There were bizarre parts of the dream, of course-you had an obituary of someone else you carried with you. I don't remember who's it was, but it felt like it was your own. Odd, right?

And then there was the moment when I looked away from you. At that moment, I realized you were dead. I was talking to a dead woman. I looked back and your face was covered by a cloth. I asked you about your apartment; if you were still there and you said "Yes." And everything froze for me.

Suddenly I was back at your apartment- staring at the door. (It's been replaced now, but it was the old one I was looking at). I'll never forget seeing the scars on your door--you know the ones. The hatchet marks where the fire department broke down your door to find you, already gone.
You were Sleeping Beauty on the couch, only no prince could ever wake you.

I miss you, my friend. I hope you're not still home. I hope you're resting peacefully and happily, wherever you are. I'll see you in the sunshine and hear your laugh across the room.

 

And The Thunder Rolled...

I'm sitting here, in my quiet little cozy corner of the house. (Cozy being a euphemism for hot and small, but whatever. Glass half full, and all that.)

As I write this, the RainPocalypse has descended upon my neighborhood. Thunder roars as it beckons the rain to slash mightily through the tree lines and across windshields...and here I sit. Safe. Warm. Excited.

I love storms. Always have. There's a cleansing quality about them that can't be replicated by any shower you can ever take. Perhaps it's the unpredictability or lack of control, but storms, they are magical. As the RainPocalypse continues, I can't help but think about what storms meant to me when I was younger. 

They were nights snuggled on the couch with my parents, who rarely even spoke to each other, let alone snuggle on a couch. They were candle-lit walks to the kitchen for snacks because our power always (ALWAYS) went out during a thunderstorm. They were boardgames played by lantern light because OH MY GOD, the Nintendo was out.

It was thrilling and bonding, at the same time. It was extraordinary to see the lightning spider like broken glass above the lake.

It was during a storm that I found my first true love. We sat on a dock in the rain for hours and talked of everything and nothing. We've since lost touch, but I will forever have the memory of that storm tattooed on my heart.

So, as this storm rolls over our house, I'm taken back to nights where life was simpler, safety was a given, and love was earnest and true.

It's amazing how a little water, noise and electricity can do that. 

Perpetual Quarter

I showed D how to spin a quarter the other day. She thought I was made of magic for the rest of the day. Yes, I completely used that to get her to eat her vegetables that night and pick up her umpteen million toys. Parenting win!

Sometimes I look around from the minutia of the daily grind and wonder: How in the holy hell did I get here? I've often asked that question, but pre-D it was generally asked after a night I wouldn't remember but had thoroughly enjoyed. But how did I get here? 

That's easy. I moved my home, gained a husband, had a baby and a miscarriage all in one year. And then, not so unexpectedly, then I had depression. 

So, I wrote. And I wrote and wrote, and wrote some fucking more. Because my brain was a mess. Because I couldn't breathe from the isolation of being home alone all day just to be alone at night. Because typing out my words made me feel...not so alone. Even if no one ever read them but me, at least they existed. They were proof I existed. It's easy to forget that when the only person you talk to for days on end is an infant with the vocabulary of a cat in heat. That is to say, all screams.

And in that writing I discovered quite a bit. 1) I loved writing. 2) I was a fucking smartass and I liked it that way. 3) The confidence to quit giving one flying turd about what anyone else thought.

Put all that in a blender, toss in some time, a degree, a metric fuck-ton of hard work, a pretty great husband and one really rambunctious dog and you get: me. An actual, no-shit, writer. Who ran off and started her own content generation company that is actually growing and thriving and expanding beyond the dreams that she never even dared have.

I won't always say life is good. Sometimes life hands you shit and you have to keep your eyes on the prize. Sometimes the prize is just making through the day so you can say, "Well..fucked that day up right to hell. At least tomorrow is another chance to get it right".

But, most of the time this life of mine that resounds so loudly is like a carefully spun quarter: teetering, balancing, swaying from awesomeness to pain, but always spinning and moving and making me grateful.