tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89129588483126250292024-03-05T18:05:45.980-07:00Heather in the Making<b>speaking truth. celebrating mistakes. spreading hope.</b>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.comBlogger862125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-75114157790215716742020-10-03T18:09:00.005-06:002020-10-03T18:14:29.348-06:00What's saving my life right now...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_u8wWHbncDLzytYslBsLPcbCL3aqL3ETJEG72uaAhm6I-XbkN4S6ltYTCzZiHOElI0O5AQrGZBDTry_x9i-Y-QC18BXzGcIBWEPw6zoUwc7eun0HYl_-2Yqg4Trw9fwa-YVlL-V0umC08/s1600/86185299_3466144856790372_4931337370294288384_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_u8wWHbncDLzytYslBsLPcbCL3aqL3ETJEG72uaAhm6I-XbkN4S6ltYTCzZiHOElI0O5AQrGZBDTry_x9i-Y-QC18BXzGcIBWEPw6zoUwc7eun0HYl_-2Yqg4Trw9fwa-YVlL-V0umC08/w427-h427/86185299_3466144856790372_4931337370294288384_o.jpg" width="427" /></a></div><br />If you listen to <a href="https://jenhatmaker.com/">Jen Hatmaker's</a> <a href="https://jenhatmaker.com/podcast/">For the Love Podcast</a>, you know that she asks this question (originally asked by <a href="https://barbarabrowntaylor.com/">Barbara Brown Taylor</a> - whose book, <a href="https://dk4dsgfbgkmll.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/21175157/SG_LearningToWalk2.pdf">Learning to Walk in the Dark</a> is on my to-read-soon list) of all her guests at the end of each episode. <p></p><p><i>I've co-opted the practice into my own work meetings (if I have any FLTI friends come check this out, they might go "aha!").</i></p><p>This morning, after a virtual community gathering for work, I stopped to reflect on the goodness of the moment in the midst of a very chaotic and anxious world. I landed on thoughts surrounding the two priorities that feel like they are in a cutthroat competition with each other during these historic times of COVID, a contentious election in a polarized nation, RBG's passing (still just so hard to express what and how I feel on that) and as a Christian, the resulting culture wars that are dividing both big C and little c church bodies (oh, and did I mention the environmental stresses of constant sameness due to being safer at home -AND- in the middle of one of the worst wildfire seasons across the west? That too):</p><p>1. taking time to retreat from life and engage in any kind of self-care</p><p>2. the overwhelming desire to get out there and do SOMETHING, ANYTHING, to facilitate the collective healing our families, communities, and nation need so badly right now</p><p>As I said, instead of feeling like a "both/and" combo, lately I've felt like these two needs have been duking it out something fierce, leaving me the badly bruised monkey in the middle.</p><p>I took some much needed, long overdue annual leave days last week/this Monday to unplug and recharge. I'm always reluctant to do this, because I fear the pile of "undone" that will inevitably be waiting upon my return, but especially when I have nowhere special to go (COVID) with my loved ones (I may be able to take PTO but they have school and work). Nevertheless, I put my time to good use - got caught up with a mentor from the past, went and got a massage, and fed my soul by reading strictly for pleasure and sleeping in. </p><p>Tuesday was re-entry, and for whatever reason, my boys were really not doing well with each other that day - and the lines between what had to be done vs what should be done began to blur - which is a huge trigger for my anxiety. My therapist got an earful that day. "I did ALL the right things - I took some time to myself, I communicated expectations, I was all Zen-ed out and ready to engage as Nice Mama, when all HELL breaks loose. I mean they're physical with each other and screaming hateful things and it was just like the universe was giving me a big ol' 'Eff you, Mama.' Like this is why we can't DO nice things instead of 'this is why we can't HAVE nice things." </p><p>And the week just kind of went to shit from there with the fiasco of a debate, the subsequent fallout on social media, church stuff (our youth ministry is in transition after losing our youth minister to irreconcilable differences - a split from which I'm still reeling - and parents are trying to provide opportunities for the kids in the very messy and disorganized way that these things tend to go), our dryer is broken - we're waiting on the part but outside not only smells like campfire, but the soot/ash that falls out of the sky would dirty clean laundry, so we are limited in what can actually get done/air dryed in our already small home (so there was TONS of clothes drama between the bigs and Mount Washmore jutted up into an epic peak), and being a doer, I was stressed because I was feeling like I was already behind the 8 ball with ALL THE THINGS.</p><p>Self-care went out the damned window this week. </p><p>So I was a giant turd to my family as a result - and you know, we are a family of <i>givers</i>, if nothing else, so they gave that turdishness <i>right on back</i>. Love you Seth, love you kids! <i>No really, we're all pretty good now.</i><br /><br />Anyway - this morning. A friend had an <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo?fbid=10224668247637724&set=a.4233893409712">excellent post</a> on Facebook about all the feelings and the need for us sensitive, empath, types to remember how to care for our selves in the midst of all of the world's chaos, callousness, and well, everything. So, when I had the opportunity to do work I love this morning - promoting the <a href="http://fltiofcolorado.colostate.edu/">Family Leadership Training Institute</a> work with my colleagues and other community members - I got up early and showered, put on some 'more I work in an office' clothes than the athleisure wear I've been living in these past 7 months, and did my hair and makeup (which is a rarity in these remote work days - it's a weird mental block that I can't quite explain, but I think it's just <a href="https://medical-news.org/30-signs-of-soul-exhaustion/">soul fatigue</a>?)</p><p>I felt good about my appearance for the first time in, oh, lets be honest, months? and left the meeting feeling accomplished and inspired. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo?fbid=10159144148597033&set=a.10151183473422033">So I snapped a selfie and reflected on it</a>.</p><p>Later, I cracked a window downstairs, as it was a rare day that isn't blowing the smoke of the fire on us, turned on some fun and upbeat tunes, and danced about as I did some household chores. As a particular song was boosting the mood, I thought, "I need to add this song to my self care sheet."</p><p><b>So I bring you Thing One of what is saving my life right now: </b></p><p><a href="https://passionplanner.com/">Passion Planner</a> and their <a href="https://passionplanner.com/collections/full-pdfs">FREE printable planning sheets</a>, in particular, the <a href="https://passionplanner.com/products/self-care-reflection">self-care reflection check in sheet</a>. Y'all - these prompts are like going to therapy, which I do every other week, but they help me track my feelings and WHAT MAKES ME FEEL BETTER. In this very surreal time that has a <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0107048/">Groundhog Day</a> like feel to every day, this is important. What I also like about their monthly calendars is there is a space for "People to see," which is perfect for someone like myself who deeply cares about EVERY ONE - but unless I have a regular place in my routines/places to see you - I tend to operate in an out of sight, out of mind kind of pattern. It is the single most hated characteristic trait of mine, and this HELPS me get out of that self loathing and find a way to think about "Who do I actually want to engage with?" and then..... I DO IT! It's great. Small caveat is that "people to see" is more like "people to write" because of the 'VID, but it still feels better than texting/social media scrolling.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqN2LvAB9JZA6xjc_z5SPgV0VrED4yDvVtNLfL2-5hwBAU3q1yvSJLRRojFn6biLe2lbO0o3w5bL1Qsk70gyMcRE73bUYteTInxr86rTzvsA4fHkHeFNIMJ5tRHIYI1PUUCtTEtG7WyCkz/s2048/120048931_2956372487976357_1785399850753622422_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="451" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqN2LvAB9JZA6xjc_z5SPgV0VrED4yDvVtNLfL2-5hwBAU3q1yvSJLRRojFn6biLe2lbO0o3w5bL1Qsk70gyMcRE73bUYteTInxr86rTzvsA4fHkHeFNIMJ5tRHIYI1PUUCtTEtG7WyCkz/w338-h451/120048931_2956372487976357_1785399850753622422_n.jpg" width="338" /></a></div><br /><p>That's not the check-in, but just an example of the journaling bits I'm able to do with this planner.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Thing Two: Passionfruit Green Tea drink</b></p><p>A hydration hack - I am chronically dehydrated because I ABSOLUTELY LURVE coffee but hate drinking water, especially water alone (without a meal) because food aversions are funny things. Wait, how does one get a food aversion to WATER, Heather? Uhm, pregnancy does weird things, and - no that's not an announcement - apparently those weird things stay with you, for oh, 20 YEARS AND COUNTING. Long story short - in prep for an ultrasound while I was prego with Kelsey (as a busy student) I tried to drink a lot of water, per instructions from the OB/GYN, in the morning before my appointment. Tried being the operative word. In the throes of horrible morning sickness, said volumes of water came up violently, not once, not twice, but 3 times. And I've never been the same.</p><p>So that means staying hydrated is hard for me. I don't care too much for hot teas unless I am sick because they don't have a lot of the body and mouthfeel that coffee does. I like iced, SWEET tea, but hello, liquid calories in a woman's 40s are not her friend. Well, I was introduced to Panera's lightly sweetened passionfruit green tea, and I loved it. So I came up with a recipe to make a version of it at home. This makes a gallon</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;">Steep 8 decaf green teabags in 2-3 cups of water to make a sort of "concentrate" </p><p style="text-align: left;">Add the following to a gallon sized pitcher:</p><p style="text-align: left;">1/4 c Guava Torani Syrup (I buy these at our local Shamrock Foods because they are inexpensive there and more flavors tend to be available)</p><p style="text-align: left;">1/4 c Passionfruit Torani Syrup</p><p style="text-align: left;">2-4 Tbls Honey (serves as an electrolyte)</p><p style="text-align: left;">Pour hot tea over and stir will til the honey is disolved</p><p style="text-align: left;">Fill pitcher with water until full. </p><p style="text-align: left;">A 16 oz glass runs 56-72 calories depending on the amount of honey used. Less calories that vitamin water, gatorade, and no nonsense ingredients like you find in diet sodas.</p></blockquote><p><b>Thing Three: Discbound Planner, Special Pens & Journaling Stickers</b></p><p>This goes with Thing 1, but I love a planner that I can change up and customize like a bullet journal (bujo) but not have to commit to page orders falling in weird places (I want to do things MY way, not according to the latest fad planner - yes, even Passion Planner has its shortfalls when you buy their preassembled planners!)</p><p>So I have a nice <a href="https://www.staples.com/Staples-Arc-Customizable-Leather-Notebook-System-Black-9-1-2-x-11-1-2/product_886232?cid=PS:GooglePLAs:886232&ci_src=17588969&ci_sku=886232&KPID=886232&gclid=Cj0KCQjwwuD7BRDBARIsAK_5YhXSOsIpRxbI3kNBVdun5XYOBr48RSzym3aKjQ2U-ifui3-Yqvg_qLoaAqsBEALw_wcB">leatherette Arc discbound planner from Staples</a>, the punch, some nice heavyweight paper to print my pages on, and stickers/pens to make them pretty. I am not an artist like my talented daughter, but, oh, how I love good aesthetics and layouts. I'm tracking my favorite podcasts, books I've read, and different insights with the self-care check-in. </p>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-42593791257596508382020-03-20T10:58:00.003-06:002020-03-20T10:58:19.218-06:00Now Featuring: Tact and HumilityTwo posts in one day?<br />
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Is this 2006, the hey-day of blogging, relived?<br />
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Nah.<br />
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Just thought I'd balance out my last post with some more diplomatic, dare I say, tactful, words about current events.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of my favorite quotes, and a challenge to which I aspire!</td></tr>
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Yesterday I sent a message to our Celebrate Recovery group at church regarding our need to pause our meetings while we figure out remote options during COVID-19 mandates for social distancing.<br />
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I got several messages back saying, "Wow, great message," so I figured I'd share in the event that something resonates with anyone else.<br />
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COVID-19 Changes to CR</span></h1>
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<span style="font-size: 14px;">Hello brothers and sisters, it's Heather here with a message from Bob and myself.</span></div>
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<strong>This week there will be no meeting.</strong></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14px;"><strong> And, despite what was said in the group text thread last night, we are recommending that group members do not push for meetings on our own as individuals. </strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14px;">This is in compliance with recommendations from the Centers for Disease Control, Governor Polis, Larimer County Department of Public Health and Environment, and our own elders here at Meadowlark. This virus is real, and while most of us would have a mild occurrence of it personally, if we are still going out to occasionally get groceries, gas, etc., you never know if/when one of us may have been exposed and whether we could transmit it to people who may be especially vulnerable to the infection. This is a time for <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ephesians+5:21&version=NIV" style="color: #007c89; font-weight: bold; text-size-adjust: 100%;" target="_blank">mutual submission</a> and <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1%20Peter+5:5&version=NIV" style="color: #007c89; font-weight: bold; text-size-adjust: 100%;" target="_blank">humility</a> when it comes to doing what we need to do.<br />
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<u><strong>Coping with Feelings</strong></u><br />
Some of us may be feeling like this is all a bit much, possibly overkill, in the response, and that is ok - if we do this right, <em>that is how it will especially seem in hindsight</em>. On the other hand, some of us might be feeling like their fellow Christians are being dismissive about the concerns, and therein, testing God. This is not an either/or time, friends - it's both/and. Both are completely valid.<br />
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Some of us may be anxious about the economic impacts this may have for you individually, locally, nationally, and/or globally - and that is also ok. This is a time of confusion and a lot of unknowns. Fortunately, we serve a God who does know and is watching out for us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14px;">Some of us may be freaking out about being "up-close and personal" with the whole fam-dam-ily for the rest of the school year (especially those of us with kids still at home). That is also a valid concern. There are a TON of resources online for families to refer to regarding this. I also know that Shannon Chandler and Daniel Wheat (Children's Ministry and Youth Ministry at Meadowlark, respectively) are working to develop tools and activities as well.<br />
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There are going to be a LOT of feels right now - and the best way to temper them is to examine those thoughts and make them submit to the will of Christ (<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12%3A2&version=NIV" style="color: #007c89; font-weight: bold; text-size-adjust: 100%;" target="_blank">Romans 12:2</a>).<br />
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So, let's all be still, take a pause, and gain some perspective in the spirit of <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+14&version=NIV" style="color: #007c89; font-weight: bold; text-size-adjust: 100%;" target="_blank">Romans Chapter 14</a> with respect to our various thoughts and feelings about the coronavirus and how we are dealing with it en masse.<br />
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<u><strong>Moving Forward and Staying Connected</strong></u><br />
<strong>CR:</strong> Bob and I are working on ways to get CR meetings accomplished remotely starting next week. I think we can utilize Zoom to do meetings remotely, and will be getting information out to people later to explain how to do this. In the meantime - I've linked a roster with everyone's contact information (except M's as I don't have it). Do not hesitate to reach out to anyone in our group "just because," or if you </span>are:</div>
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<li style="text-size-adjust: 100%;">Feeling triggered and/or tempted to use/act out in sin</li>
<li style="text-size-adjust: 100%;">Struggling with your thoughts/emotions</li>
<li style="text-size-adjust: 100%;">Want to pray/study with someone</li>
<li style="text-size-adjust: 100%;">Have a physical need for food/supplies</li>
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<span style="font-size: 14px;"><strong>Meadowlark Information: </strong>If you do not receive the members-list emails from Meadowlark, please email <a href="mailto:secretary@meadowlarkchurch.org" style="color: #007c89; font-weight: bold; text-size-adjust: 100%;" target="_blank">secretary@meadowarkchurch.org</a> to get added to the distribution list. There are communications coming out frequently with updates as to the state of current affairs, as well as prayer requests that are made known to the body.<br />
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<strong>Inspiration: </strong>If you are like me, inspirational scriptures and quotes are helpful to meditate upon, particularly with imagery. To this end, I have a <a href="https://pin.it/5kWpeMB" style="color: #007c89; font-weight: bold; text-size-adjust: 100%;" target="_blank">Pinterest Board I've called CR</a> that I'd like to share with you that could help facilitate some quiet time of reflection.</span></div>
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Retracted: Prayer requests specific to the folks in our group that stay in CR.<br />
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<br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-21187166623074428462020-03-20T10:22:00.001-06:002020-03-20T16:55:36.579-06:00Big Fam in a Little HouseOh, friends, sing that to the tune of Farley's signature song.<br />
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What a time to be alive - eh?<br />
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I have so, so, so, so much to say, but am finding myself reluctantly having to face the music of tasks that need doing.<br />
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We were supposed to be on spring break, visiting San Diego and Yuma (AZ) for the first times. Feeling sun on our faces, sand and surf on our toes, adventuring with new flavors and experiences.<br />
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Instead, we've been confined to our 1240 square foot home, with 4 full-size people, 1 tween, two dogs and two cats.<br />
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It's like we're on top of each other all the damn time and we're gonna bust the seams of the house much like the little coat before long.<br />
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If I hear one more whiny argument about Xbox time distributions - on the only common tv/sitting area in the house - not being fair, one more frustrated "You're such a dick*!", or have to ask one more time for a basic chore to get done, this perimenopausal, PMSing, COVID-19 at-risk-group** mama is gonna lose her crap in an epic way.<br />
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I digress though - what I was trying to say was that thru yesterday, we were doing pretty well. We were social-distancing ok by getting outdoors and enoying some activity/Vitamin D, and mostly making lemonade with this big old pile of mouth-puckering suck that Mother Nature has handed us in spades.<br />
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Because we were all off work/school for Spring Break. We have been together and that's all that matters, really, in the end.<br />
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But, reality looms.<br />
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Kelsey has had a shitty start to 2020.<br />
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First her bike got stolen while she was at work.<br />
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Shortly after that her manager quit scheduling her at work with no communication. She would check each week for the schedule only to find she wasn't on it. For four weeks she was constantly asking what was going on, when finally the vapid 20-year-old with a smidge of seniority over her informed her via text that she'd seen some things she didn't like in Kelsey and couldn't have on her management team (Kelsey was a shift lead) thus she had been terminated. Nothing like getting fired via text with no real explanation and after FOUR WEEKS. Anyway....Kelsey is a hard worker and anytime I've met any of her co-workers in public they have sang her praises, so this was a blow.<br />
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In the midst of all that, Kels was informed that she was not selected to be an RA at CSU next year which has really cranked up her anxiety about getting her education with as minimal debt as possible, gaining valuable leadership experience, etc.<br />
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Then - the first real vacay we'd ever planned as a family got canceled. Her boyfriend has been quarantined. He never got a COVID-19 test, but was told by doctors to isolate like he had it. Don't get me started on the craptastic-ness of that response.<br />
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And now, CSU is having all on-campus students who can leave come and move their things out this week.<br />
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As you can imagine - this threw my transition-averse, rigid-thinking, over-planning, self-described autistic young lady into a sense of overwhelm and we had full-blown meltdowns Wednesday and Thursday as a result.<br />
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Not to be outdone, my boys can't leave each other the fuck alone. One of them is always stirring shit up, whether it's a balled-up sock pelted across the room - hitting the other in the face - fart wars, snide comments, antagonistic measures ad nauseam, there's always a cry of injustice and cruel words getting hurled at each other.<br />
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I can only imagine what this will be like next week when I return to work, albeit remotely from home. In theory, my kids are too old to require child-care, but that doesn't mean they are going to self-manage while I'm trying to Do The Things.<br />
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Also? It freaking snowed yesterday and is now cold and wet and no one wants to go out in it.<br />
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In short - I need your prayers, friends. And this is just me asking for my daily bread. Some people are carrying so much more.<br />
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We have friends/families whose husbands are recovering from strokes/bypass surgeries (one of each) in the midst of this weird and difficult time.<br />
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I saw on Facebook that a former co-worker's uncle was a COVID-19 casualty.<br />
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Another friend's parents live in Italy and were both ill, though they are now recovering.<br />
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I love several peeps who work in healthcare, corrections, and other remote-work-not-optional fields who are trying to manage all of what I've shared plus the stress of their occupational hazards of having contact with the world.<br />
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My heart hurts for them all.<br />
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I'm feeling stretched already and I'm in a bit of a sheltered circumstance right now.<br />
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But now, I gotta figure out how to make "office space" for me, Kelsey, and the boys to continue my work/their schooling for the remainder of the semester.<br />
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I may be making good on the <a href="https://www.uhaul.com/Articles/About/20625/College-Students-U-Haul-Offers-30-Days-Free-Self-Storage-amid-Coronavirus-Outbreak/">offer U-Haul has made</a> to displaced college students to make that happen.<br />
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Hang in there folks - we're all in this together.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">* The official <a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2018/03/shine-that-light.html">Sweary Magdalene</a><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;"><a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2018/03/shine-that-light.html">™</a> policy on swearing in casa del Meyer is that curse/coarse words may be used to express strong feelings, describe things, but ARE NOT to be used to denigrate people, so this is not okay with me...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">** Thank you <a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2009/05/the-who-what-how-and-why-of-my-mystery.html">Pneumogedden</a> for making me permanently susceptible to respiratory illnesses.</span><br />
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<br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-67662955454535919222020-01-15T17:12:00.000-07:002020-01-15T17:25:21.162-07:00Failing forward<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I've only told a few people, but part of my no-holds-barred, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wEJd2RyGm8Q">This-Is-Me</a>-bellowing, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I'm a </span><a href="https://wonderoak.com/2018/01/30/dear-hot-mess-mom-to-me-you-are-perfect/?fbclid=IwAR1dILyTJfMbBNMlqEtuDg06FuxX2pmX9fhDL8qR2uLWdZMzy2bGJdQVx9Y" style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">hot mess mom</a> <span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">move to radically accept myself WHERE I AM AT means no secrets.</span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It means giving up the illusion of juggling* so much "just so well" and showing everybody that the reality is that I'm not even juggling, I am basically dribbling all the balls I have dropped from the juggling circuit.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>*There may be some folks out there that I actually lied to, in effort to save face, saying that I had finished the incompletes. That's embarrassing to admit, and I hate it because it feels like I let my integrity go by doing that, but anyway...celebrating that mistake right now.</i></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbmtjlbbFYz6rzndwMlOsDeIIlcgwJ692aVBJmS7zA-0EmoeqSx6ocNaVhXoKAuQEg-tBorp7MD55VLW0J9Du9gnSiK5Dz3zzsWyBvG65Z_46w_sw-ufkn6DOnWGe36WvXfTEVP9FpNHgD/s1600/IMG_3137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1529" data-original-width="1600" height="610" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbmtjlbbFYz6rzndwMlOsDeIIlcgwJ692aVBJmS7zA-0EmoeqSx6ocNaVhXoKAuQEg-tBorp7MD55VLW0J9Du9gnSiK5Dz3zzsWyBvG65Z_46w_sw-ufkn6DOnWGe36WvXfTEVP9FpNHgD/s640/IMG_3137.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So without further ado...roughly 10 days ago I rolled my eyes when I saw mail from CSU. I thought it was a reminder of our outstanding balance from Sunny's kidney infection adventure in November, despite just having received an e-statement days before. Nope, it was worse. </span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was the Graduate School writing to inform me that my lack of progress in turning my mountain of incompletes to completes had created a string of Fs, thus I have been dismissed from my Master's studies. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Again. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ten years later, I am in the same sinking boat I was in after Christopher's birth and the ensuing hell I so fondly named <a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2009/05/the-who-what-how-and-why-of-my-mystery.html">Pneumogedden</a>. <i>This degree is never going to happen.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><br /></i></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Months ago, as I started to realize my need to bail water out of said boat, I was told by a professor that I was going to have to get my MA "in a way that works for" me.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">In other words, the set-up of the program (or, really, higher ed system in general) did not really make space for working professionals, particularly mothers (who are already doing the </span><a href="https://nypost.com/2019/05/07/being-a-mom-is-the-equivalent-of-2-5-full-time-jobs-according-to-survey/" style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">equivalent of 2.5 FTE jobs in the US</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> - God bless the patriarchy</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">), to attend, participate, and complete the assignments for their classes. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So today I go to meet with the graduate advisor, whom I've never met before, because she was not in that role when I started this program almost 3 years ago (where does the time actually go, folks?) and I don't know what I'm expecting.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mostly because I am so self-flagellating, so exacting that I have zero grace for myself, I was not expecting the kind words of encouragement and acceptance that she spoke to me.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">After we'd talked about several things, including Pneumogedden, an opportunity to work with some state legislators to de-silo child abuse prevention efforts in the state - you know me, I love a great tangent to go off on - she said to me, with her Turkish accented English, "You know, you <i>are</i> MA - this coursework only confirms, but you are already performing like [an] MA."</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So basically, they are going to work with me. I'm going to get my assignments done for the classes I've already attended and participated in (just didn't get my papers written for) at the pace I can do, we're changing my advisor, and I'm getting this pro-paper done. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maybe it will be all wrapped up in time to be a 20th anniversary commemoration of graduating with my first post-secondary degree as a 1st Gen non-traditional student.</span></span>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-47154710773405054002019-02-28T21:53:00.001-07:002019-06-28T19:08:56.106-06:00The way I rollDude....this week has been like....transformative or something.<br />
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I think Sunday was a start to regaining my muchness, but when I got my new glasses Tuesday, it was like Frosty getting that magical hat.</div>
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I came alive.</div>
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I was animated and witty. Competent and productive. Creative juices are like, <i>flowing</i>, man. </div>
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(This is not a put-on dialect, I'm writing it as I would speak it, you know, conversationally? I have an inner valley girl that comes out when I'm happy and excited.)</div>
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Seth said I looked like a hot librarian, and you know? I think Heather got her groove back with that boost of confidence, even if incrementally.</div>
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That night was a CRAZY BUSY day.<br />
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So I did, all the things, as a mom does, #LikeABoss, including being "so incredibly open, like it's painful, like open notes on an EASY test, open" (description brought to you by Colton) that my superior street cred and gutter mind fostered a three-hour conversation with my teens about anything and everything, replete with fits of belly laughter resulting in tears. </div>
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Best core workout I've had in awhile - but, well, that's not saying much given my propensity for physical activity of late.</div>
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I felt like I was in college again, (wait.......lol) and all of a sudden it was 12:37 AM. </div>
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ON A SCHOOL NIGHT!</div>
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Yesterday was one of those days at work where I barely felt like it was <i>work, and</i> I managed to talk my not officially but we're pretty sure she's high functioning ASD kiddo through her "My brother used my keys to put his lax bag in there for practice and then left and now I don't know where my keys are so-now-I'm-gonna-be-late-I'm-dying-because-panic-and-rage-because-this-was-NOT-MY-FAULT!" meltdown with relative panache. I <i>am </i>human....and <a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2018/03/in-which-i-out-myself.html">Sweary Magdalene™</a>, after all. Five phone calls, including pulling the elementary schooler out of class to inform me where he'd put the keys his older brother gave him were (I shit you not - the things mothers do to move their kids from Fight/Flight to Functioning), later, and the young lady was on her way to school.</div>
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Then today, my supervisor and I held a webinar that was really productive, and the momentum<b> just. kept. going. </b>after we ended the webinar. We <i>literally</i> just started putting pen to whiteboard for over an hour. </div>
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"What about....?" </div>
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"Oh, and then this...."</div>
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IT GAVE ME LIFE.</div>
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When I returned to my desk, my inbox held an amazing, just-what-I-needed missive from a professor I had reached out to about my struggles to balance work-life-school and OMGwhatamigoingtodo? </div>
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It was a true Godsend. Thank you, Jesus.</div>
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Then, it was time to go get my vehicle tags renewed because it was the last day of my grace period....but first, I needed an emissions test. Managed to do that in record time because Larimer County now has this <a href="https://www.larimer.org/clerk/vehiclelicensing/kiosk">FABULOUS kiosk system that we can utilize in MINUTES</a> versus sitting in the lobby for hours.</div>
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I had time to spare before getting Chris and friend to basketball, so I went in to have my wedding ring's damages assessed for a repair quote. FINALLY. It's been months. </div>
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Then, I remembered Jenn!</div>
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Jenn is my friend from church with whom I have had a standing Thursday date for almost a year. We used to walk at the park by my house (before daylight savings time ended) while her son is at chess practice. We have been meeting at Starbucks and gabbing since The Long Night started.</div>
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I called her - "Hey, I totally spaced it's Thursday - are you in town?" </div>
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"Yes, tell me we are getting together - do you want to walk because it is actually really nice out."</div>
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"Ugh, I'm in a pencil skirt and boots today, probably not."</div>
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"Oh, ok - I have some stuff to pick up at King Soopers, then, want to walk around there?"</div>
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It was a date. </div>
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But we didn't walk. </div>
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No, when we saw the patio furniture displays, we decided to just sit right there and get our visit in. We were laughing and having very candid conversation when a lovely redhead over by the eggs caught my eye.</div>
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It was Kelsey's elementary enrichment (i.e. Talented and Gifted) teacher!</div>
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"I thought that was you," she said, and laughed. </div>
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I told her, "Well the Starbucks is over by the sushi and it smells too strong of pickled ginger, and we happened to walk by this display, and well, why not, right?"</div>
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She laughed and we chatted across the aisle briefly. </div>
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Meanwhile, the employees at King Soopers must think I'm crazy because of the way I just made myself at home.<br />
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I mean....I already <a href="https://photos.app.goo.gl/THRZim9nWxRSu5ze6">took a video clip</a> of the dude (Steve) who looks JUSTLIKE my very distinctive (dude is 6'7") brother who just happens to also be a grocery store employee <i>and </i>lives here in town, too. Oh, yes, I did.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu8H87eu0RY71Dt7QaEbUxPZbltAqEEq6TXKckVxIpyQJfd98D-a4YN34DsJURF7lZQOerKf-Q0HsvPr5z0-z2Siv41y980Fj2qbrS7xBj7KKs57JmadT9OYbzbzE5s7eEEtfHVfXgfltd/s1600/steve.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="586" data-original-width="347" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu8H87eu0RY71Dt7QaEbUxPZbltAqEEq6TXKckVxIpyQJfd98D-a4YN34DsJURF7lZQOerKf-Q0HsvPr5z0-z2Siv41y980Fj2qbrS7xBj7KKs57JmadT9OYbzbzE5s7eEEtfHVfXgfltd/s400/steve.png" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steve</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6OzMHqSeuADJHchyphenhyphenIzSst4BBmyagTShKpNIpFjr7pHNqawxeKt1EDX3enp9MBLt2sn2hOUPbEOEElQazLLpdfWwHCLvSUIooRmQt9XcCxwYOiotWekHjfZfJMF34d8oWunqcfKV6wmrEW/s1600/Cory.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="381" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6OzMHqSeuADJHchyphenhyphenIzSst4BBmyagTShKpNIpFjr7pHNqawxeKt1EDX3enp9MBLt2sn2hOUPbEOEElQazLLpdfWwHCLvSUIooRmQt9XcCxwYOiotWekHjfZfJMF34d8oWunqcfKV6wmrEW/s320/Cory.jpg" width="252" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bro</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I had to show my mom the guy I've been calling my "brother from another mother," for over a year now. I HAD to make her understand why he makes me do a double take every time I see him, so I took the opportunity when it presented itself. I mean, the first time we saw him stocking produce (same department my brother works in at a different grocery chain), Seth asked if it was my brother and I marched over to him convinced he'd changed jobs without telling me.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I guess all this is to say that I'm rolling a bit more like myself, when depression isn't kicking my ass.<br />
<br />
I come from a long line of <a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><span id="goog_2117000141"></span>grocery store antics<span id="goog_2117000142"></span></a>, so that's genetic, too, I guess.</div>
Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-51650089899371371942019-02-24T15:44:00.001-07:002019-06-28T19:09:14.328-06:00#nofilterBetween sickness, a 3-day training in windowless rooms, and gray weather, February has been a low sun month for me. As a serotonin challenged type, this is no bueno.<br />
<br />
As a result of this compound deficit, I've been escaping via carbs, tv/internet and sleep instead of working on the things I ought to be, i.e. school work, family projects, etc.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb56hT9RTq-Wfpki7oE1tvhqldAqVvw0L-3PWSW_gj86WY8OA2JOB1uDnetI-u80hXtJo0a8diZumDJvhJDW9_tDpyOEMP9DwiOvxiKththNS9j443kMkKdEYPdH5q_LXLrA6TQHnYLloN/s1600/FB_IMG_1551044315613.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="741" data-original-width="750" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb56hT9RTq-Wfpki7oE1tvhqldAqVvw0L-3PWSW_gj86WY8OA2JOB1uDnetI-u80hXtJo0a8diZumDJvhJDW9_tDpyOEMP9DwiOvxiKththNS9j443kMkKdEYPdH5q_LXLrA6TQHnYLloN/s400/FB_IMG_1551044315613.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't know who Alicia Cook is, <br />
but that ^ is 100% accurate and <br />
all happened this week.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>I'm pretty good at filtering how truly crumbly I feel on a day to day basis, not because I can't be real, but more because of how others have expressed their discomfort at my being real*.<br />
<br />
Thursday morning, I called Seth, late on my way to work, bawling after a particularly bad episode of #depressedmomparentingteens.<br />
<br />
I felt really hopeless, like what is the point of waking up daily <i>just</i> to struggle through? It's not <i>living</i>, not living abundantly like Jesus calls us to anyway**.<br />
<br />
Today, though, I felt a brush of God's Spirit whispering to my soul, "Let Me show you the things that can nurture you. No more hiding from DOING, let's move you to BEING."<br />
<br />
So...<br />
<br />
It started when I said yes to a text asking me last minute to serve in the nursery at church today. This despite my mind's almost immediate argument that I really needed to be spiritually filled today.<br />
<br />
<i>God: Who are you trying to kid, woman? , You haven't been mentally present in weeks - months? - at church.</i><br />
<br />
God - 1, Heather - 0, sorry, Geoff!<br />
<br />
Any way, I'm glad I did because I got to spend some time reconnecting with a dear sister whom I've neglected for far too long. And my therapist's prompt to set goals re: social support echoed in my head.<br />
<br />
Even though my outta whack brain tried to convince me not to, I signed up to go on the ladies retreat in two weeks.<br />
<br />
<i>GOD: Yes, you'll be later because of your Friday class, but you cannot keep skipping events and then wonder why you feel like an outsider.</i><br />
<br />
God-2, Heather - 0.<br />
<br />
Seth and I have been talking about going to our kids' church camp again as staff this year (we did this 6 years ago and it was awesome) and today was the first meeting for staff. Despite my worry of what a week without Seth's income would do to our budget, we just committed.<br />
<br />
<i>God, through the words of two sisters from church in class today, with a hint of JFK: Don't ask what can I get from my faith, but how can I bless someone in theirs?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
God-3, Heather - 0.<br />
<br />
On the way home from church, I got out of my head and spoke my intentions of wanting to get out and on my bike this afternoon. Seth, upon hearing this, made sure to restore my tires to their pre-winter inflation levels (without me asking even though I could have done that on my own - thanks babe!).<br />
<br />
And I finally got out to ride the "new" paved trails that have been done for over a year. It's still Feb-brrrr-uary in Colorado,which means there was a cold, tear-generating wind blowing at my out of shape mass, but the mountains were majestic and it felt good to work my body. I spent almost 75 minutes outside, breathing fresh air, soaking up sun, working my cardiovascular system and marveling at beauty. Does your workout give you that?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0e9sdjtlE2tLeJYpaJ0g2sQBppICvTRQcjkwnBIebLhYKY8JgDZ0IvJrrBoYC_iQJNeP6KJxo_R6fVT1lBcOgaXa79lCNs-KAK4InSYgn_evg3e_9TvlnpN1sCF9OVItoH8TtQeChIcSe/s1600/MVIMG_20190224_132344.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0e9sdjtlE2tLeJYpaJ0g2sQBppICvTRQcjkwnBIebLhYKY8JgDZ0IvJrrBoYC_iQJNeP6KJxo_R6fVT1lBcOgaXa79lCNs-KAK4InSYgn_evg3e_9TvlnpN1sCF9OVItoH8TtQeChIcSe/s400/MVIMG_20190224_132344.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This does not do justice to the mountain vista, but I wanted to capture the moment</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'm so grateful for the daily reminder of my Creator's presence that the beauty of my home provides just with a look to the west (or east for the morning sunrise).<br />
<br />
<strike>God -4, Heather- 1.</strike><br />
<br />
Correction:<br />
<br />
God - infinity, Heather > Depression<br />
He's in this with me, after all.<br />
<br />
*Ok, so in the spirit of this quote, let's be real. This discomfort stuff is probably equal parts me and equal parts them because of our American socialization.<br />
<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQWZP-GSzpg1TEZ0jTyC0sZG4BVA8D-JhtnnUrRts3DKr2cdvBg1iMuyn5zVmgnIM6J44hcCXvIem0ZhpBc1IMoNscntoEJyZR0SXoRoGuIkv-86pXpla5ZiOUMZgYSE6N70Co-qqd9gPd/s1600/FB_IMG_1551044286534.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="864" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQWZP-GSzpg1TEZ0jTyC0sZG4BVA8D-JhtnnUrRts3DKr2cdvBg1iMuyn5zVmgnIM6J44hcCXvIem0ZhpBc1IMoNscntoEJyZR0SXoRoGuIkv-86pXpla5ZiOUMZgYSE6N70Co-qqd9gPd/s400/FB_IMG_1551044286534.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
**Trust me, I know the Christian walk is not "always rainbows and butterflies, it's compromise" (<a href="https://genius.com/Maroon-5-she-will-be-loved-lyrics">Thank you, Maroon Five, for one of my fave ways to describe life) </a>and a whole lot more.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-29960641374623499042019-01-23T11:18:00.002-07:002019-06-28T19:09:35.533-06:00Moving beyond the knee-jerk - is it possible to overcome identity threat in the age of social media?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv4J7Esdnk0TswI_piPh02OKtS1gBgk_ZMjx84fdoeKF01MhcbDeffENuJrH8yma1nT5jILV_7zsIzFkT6scbCfXVZrtaVSeWhb6hhlJarj3_1kYJFU6tNAMYdF0nVp58f6VLLMrFugJwO/s1600/aravind-kumar-732662-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv4J7Esdnk0TswI_piPh02OKtS1gBgk_ZMjx84fdoeKF01MhcbDeffENuJrH8yma1nT5jILV_7zsIzFkT6scbCfXVZrtaVSeWhb6hhlJarj3_1kYJFU6tNAMYdF0nVp58f6VLLMrFugJwO/s640/aravind-kumar-732662-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Note - the links inside the body of this text are for your enhancement - they elaborate the points at which I'm getting.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
So...I'm hesitant to <i>go there</i>, but the past 24 hours of my Facebook feed has pretty much made up my mind.<br />
<br />
If you haven't seen or heard about the <a href="https://www.npr.org/2019/01/17/685976624/backlash-erupts-after-gillette-launches-a-new-metoo-inspired-ad-campaign">new Gillette ad </a>from last week, I daresay you either:<br />
a. Actually do live under the proverbial rock<br />
b. Have an existence similar to Helen Keller's in which you are both deaf and blind, or<br />
c. Really don't care<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
Any of which are ok with me, however, most of my colleagues, friends, family, etc. have seen it, and many on the periphery have maybe only heard about it. Regardless of the camp in which they find themselves, i.e. those who have watched/listened to it themselves and shaped an informed opinion, or those who instead prefer a reactionary click of the share button upon seeing the conclusions of social media <i>thought leaders </i>(because italics = airquotes, right?), there is a hella lot of buzz right now.<br />
<br />
When people first saw the ad, my feed was filled with a lot of friends who'd watched and comments along the lines of "Wow," "Slow clap," "THIS," etc. To be fair, many of my friends are also social justice champions in the non-profit and education arenas, so perhaps a bit biased, I know.<br />
<br />
But when my husband, a socially conservative, working class dude, came home and said, "Have you seen this?" and made me watch when I admitted I'd seen things about it but had not actually taken the time yet, concluded, "I thought it was really good, why is everybody making a fuss?" I thought, "Because it resonates."<br />
<br />
Days later, the screenshots of Twitter posts sticking it to, ironically, the metaphorical man behind the ad at Gillette have begun to fill my feed from friends and family owning [even] more conservative views. Interestingly enough the two posts that frustrated me most were those whose OPs were women, blaming women for the outcomes we see among American males today.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiswMVlXmVqtP4pAl6XbwhmmfIwwetk72SlExlAU0DJJbGr8nIiCZKllHsekLlSENhq6FD4feU4c5DwoK9reOzvOZFReTGKhZyNc2keKElH_e329YPQblrNT6xlgfyZTiru9XI8tLukxkeT/s1600/49773405_2213536838861405_2269399030591127552_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="443" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiswMVlXmVqtP4pAl6XbwhmmfIwwetk72SlExlAU0DJJbGr8nIiCZKllHsekLlSENhq6FD4feU4c5DwoK9reOzvOZFReTGKhZyNc2keKElH_e329YPQblrNT6xlgfyZTiru9XI8tLukxkeT/s640/49773405_2213536838861405_2269399030591127552_n.jpg" width="294" /></a></div>
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<br />
Let's unpack these a bit, ok?<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>
Both seem to conflate the presence of males with the presence of masculinity, toxic or no. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
One is a socio-biological reality (i.e. the statistical frequency of male-presenting individuals in a given population/place such as a family/household, teachers/school); the other is a cultural norm about the values and experiences of what maleness should be. Quite different things.<br />
<br />
Secondly, <a href="http://www.educationnewyork.com/files/The%20importance%20of%20disaggregating_0.pdf">disaggregate the data</a>. Of those kids growing up without a father who are depressed, aggressive, and/or criminal, how many witnessed Dad being violent with Mom/other family members before he left? How many were sexually abused by Dad before he was put in jail? How many are of color and exposed to other societal injustices? How many are living in the chronic stress of housing instability and/or poverty because Mom is having a hard time making ends meet? How many are living in a home where Mom has a revolving door with strange men coming through because she "ain't nothin without a man?" How many well-adjusted kids grow up in homes of single parents? Likely more than those who are not well adjusted since conformity is the norm, not the exception. Don't cherry pick your data on which to base your claims, and for the love of God, please don't expect that the OP activating your own confirmation bias hasn't done so themselves.<br />
<br />
I'll admit that this kind of thinking triggers me. A lot. Having heard, "I would have expected that from you, with your background, but he knew better," at a certain pivotal time in my life has set me up for being triggered when people assume things for/against others just because of their supposed family values.<br />
<br />
All that said - interrogate your thoughts, people, and those with which you find yourself agreeing. Particularly those of you who claim to follow the same Deity as me. (Romans 12:2) Are they truly right, or do they serve you by keeping you from your own scrutiny?<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>
Both seem to equate maleness as what is being upheld as <i>toxic masculinity</i>.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<br />
<div>
No one is saying that masculinity in and of itself is toxic. Feminists do not support an agenda that paints all men as evil/lesser. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What Gillette's ad and many others are saying, is that this "boys will be boys" attitude that allows presidents to openly say they just grab women "by the pussy" and be touted as a saint, that blames women for their own victimizations, that says they can't express emotions other than rage or lust without being branded a "girl" - that shit is toxic.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is where some people will need some education. Did you know that there is a whole online culture of toxic masculinity that goes by the term "<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Incel">incels</a>?" Did you know that they are not just harmless ne-er do wells hanging out and wanking to porn, posting ranty online fantasies in their parents' basements, but have<a href="https://www.coloradoan.com/story/news/2019/01/21/colorado-man-arrested-threatening-kill-as-many-girls-see/2641866002/?fbclid=IwAR0UiXE-953q10BzsxKi1QA8MvpgE2KVkFGjoHDvLHMk9m3wk7-aTh_Oncs"> actually taken steps to harm women</a> simply for not showing interest in them? That's a toxic sense of maleness.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Domestic violence is toxic masculinity. And yes, I know, #notallmen abuse and #notallDVSurvivors are female, but just as the difference between, and thus the need for, #blacklivesmatter and #alllivesmatter is the disparity, disproportionately more cis-het men are DV perps than women or LGBTQ individuals.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/KristinaKuzmic/videos/393288498092717/?__xts__[0]=68.ARBShU4T_27Ffc1qpnrd5UXnv1zHYblzeUDwjtxeqmd_Lj17l8RyHP5LxDoViQvG6C5UGbxDsonCqF_7OCSCaSER1GVVRJwtLfB-jnl2TVyxwjFs-m_8YX3TBepOdWUFP1FUuWvtj8vqfzcOUh3lz1ClHga3_2lD2HwRJTtW2E91XSep-JrVZ84OIp8ovd2L0v89pOgy4rNm4oaO-1la0gitxLQ19Qpz6sX_WRfKrorzs-ufppfMDVDjaQaM-ol-sWHqxOVJEZj1XnsBqQvYkb48GLsu2v1_3sHB4tz4ipWJ22BLWFouuPCsFhRqxbVTWAo81fA7fedpD616xOnlEaDc04ivuNiVbTHUWw&__tn__=-R">This bullshit that men post online to women of prominence</a> (and even those not of prominence, i.e. high school boys do on social media to girls at their schools) is toxic masculinity. And women who say, "Oh, you should just be nice" versus #outthem are also internalizing toxic masculinity. Just like people of color believing the white supremacist crap they are exposed to experience internalized racism. STOP THAT. You never know how many friends you isolate when you do this shit.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>
Both seem to think toxic masculinity is some new identity threat. </b></span></div>
<div>
Tale as old as time, y'all. Does that mean we put up with it?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
No, because for at least 2,000 years (more if you count other heroines in the Bible/ancient studies) since Jesus drew a line in the sand for the adulterous woman, people have been saying enough. One of the things that fascinates me so about this particular bible story is that the woman was being judged alone, not with her partner in the crime of extra/pre marital sex (adultery was painted as both then) as Mosaic law prescribed. Even then, the <i>bro's before ho's</i> attitude was alive and well. That's toxic masculinity.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Finally, I am kind of amused at the outcry generated by this one pro-scriptive ad that tells men to be different. Because women are pulled in 5 gajillion different directions by marketers alone - age gracefully - no, you're too old; be thin and fit - no, be bodypositive; be a lady on the streets - but a freak in the sheets; I could go on, but most of the folks reading this will already know what I'm talking about. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't care if you are masculine or feminine - why don't we all just espouse these traits of decency?<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
Merciful</div>
<div>
Loyal</div>
<div>
Equitable</div>
<div>
Reliable</div>
<div>
Integrity</div>
<div>
Courteous</div>
<div>
Serving</div>
<div>
Honest</div>
<div>
Flexible</div>
<div>
Kind</div>
<div>
Inclusive</div>
<div>
Nurturing</div>
<div>
Fun-loving</div>
<div>
Compassionate</div>
<div>
Responsible</div>
<div>
Hard-Working</div>
<div>
Et. Cet. Era</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In sum - do some reading. Question your feelings - "Why does that bother me/Why do I agree so firmly with that?" Is it true, factually, or to your experience? If the latter, could others have different experiences? If so, does that threaten to erase your experience? Why would that matter to you? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.” MLK Jr.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
How do Dr. King's words apply in this sense?</div>
<div>
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<a a="" href="https://www.vox.com/first-person/2019/1/22/18188776/toxic-masculinity-gillette-ad-apa-guidelines"></a></div>
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Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-75931787888998485782018-12-11T06:00:00.000-07:002019-06-28T19:11:24.862-06:00Surprise! We have more in common than you think<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQfOPw7JJ1hD1HizYcjOIYQsHnxu-bahM4gp6GY1AWAj4sf4b9pDzIIgQs6sQyB7haZJI1cRvKxN1683QXyZcrBDZ45uLEJhyOrC2srHtzgu_7hSDRSYyjBFGLRQ5uIjeKtkToM7ef_OV/s1600/nuno-antunes-200901-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQfOPw7JJ1hD1HizYcjOIYQsHnxu-bahM4gp6GY1AWAj4sf4b9pDzIIgQs6sQyB7haZJI1cRvKxN1683QXyZcrBDZ45uLEJhyOrC2srHtzgu_7hSDRSYyjBFGLRQ5uIjeKtkToM7ef_OV/s640/nuno-antunes-200901-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/eKfEO0qM1aU?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out 0s, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out 0s; white-space: nowrap;">Nuno Antunes</a><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; font-size: 14px; white-space: nowrap;"> on </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/search/photos/ring-road-of-iceland?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out 0s, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out 0s; white-space: nowrap;">Unsplash</a><br />Ring Road of Iceland</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"Mom, can you unlock your phone?"<br />
<br />
"Why? What?"<br />
<br />
"I need to unlock your phone so I can get the singer/song that played last - I liked his sound," Colton insists.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Backstory:<br />
<br />
Five years ago on Christmas Day, my family sat in a movie theater, transfixed by the outlandish-yet-relateable <i><a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0359950/">Secret Life of Walter Mitty</a></i>. This was quite a feat, considering we had kids aged 4, 10, and 12 and there wasn't even a hint of animation in the entire film. From its gorgeous, sweeping cinematography of stunning landscapes to the ear candy soundtrack, Walter Mitty's sensory appeal enhances the fun plotline in a way that engaged us all.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, we've watched this flick together repeatedly....we even incorporated it into our family norms - when one of us has a skewed reality about something, we'll say, "Ok, you're Walter Mitty'ing on us right now," referring to the alternate reality the title character often envisions.<br />
<br />
Because I liked the soundtrack so well, I designed a personalized Pandora station around its sound. <a href="http://www.ofmonstersandmen.com/">Of Monsters and Men</a>, <a href="http://junip.net/">Jose Gonzalez/Junip</a>, <a href="https://jackjohnsonmusic.com/">Jack Johnson</a>, and a little <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYYRH4apXDo">David Bowie</a> created an auditory algorithm that added bands I knew, like <a href="https://www.mumfordandsons.com/">Mumford and Sons</a>, <a href="http://thelumineers.com/">the Lumineers</a>, and <a href="http://www.vancejoy.com/">Vance Joy</a>. As I added <a href="http://ironandwine.com/">Iron and Wine</a> into the mix, Pandora suggested I might like <a href="https://www.cityandcolour.com/">City and Colour</a>, <a href="https://www.kodaline.com/">Kodaline</a> (OMG, love them!), <a href="https://gregoryalanisakov.com/">Gregory Alan Isakov,</a> <a href="http://www.lordhuron.com/">Lord Huron</a>, <a href="http://www.theheadandtheheart.com/">The Head and the Heart</a>, and more. It's one of my favorite stations and I listen to it often at work.<br />
<br />
Ok, so that brings us to last night's scene from Casa del Meyer.<br />
<br />
I had just arrived home and Christopher is playing @#$%ing Fortnite, Kelsey is at work and Colton is upstairs messing around on his phone. This is typical.<br />
<br />
So too is it typical for what followed - my command that Fortnite be set aside, and both boys start some chores while I figured out WTH to make for dinner since I got a roast out that morning but failed to put it into a crockpot as I'd intended. Christopher threw a holy fit, per usual - we need an intervention at this point - and Colton and I both got to the ends of our ropes with him.<br />
<br />
At some point, Christopher retreated to his bedroom and it was silent downstairs.<br />
<br />
"Hey Mom, care if I turn on some music?" Colton is a musical genius when it comes to immediately knowing artists and their lyrics, even if just barely acquainted with them. All eras, all genres. It's nothing short of amazing when I can't even remember my thoughts from minute to minute, let alone discern the actual words of most songs without the lyrics in front of me.<br />
<br />
"I don't care, but I need it to be mellow - I'm a little stressed right now."<br />
<br />
Colton pulls up his Spotify. "I gotchu," he assures me.<br />
<br />
A song I recognized from my Walter Mitty radio came on, and I started to hum/mumble sing to it, since per usual I didn't exactly know the words, just the tune.<br />
<br />
"Wait, you know this song? How?" Colton was incredulous.<br />
<br />
"It plays a lot on my Walter Mitty station."<br />
<br />
His song goes off and then he can't find similar music - so I turn on my station, assuring him that it was similar.<br />
<br />
He rolls his eyes, hard, at me.<br />
<br />
Of course, the first song was a pretty folksy/bluegrass one from Iron and Wine.<br />
<br />
"Mom, this is so <i>not </i>the same...."<br />
<br />
I skip the song and go back to the kitchen, which yields us an annoying Tide ad. I get lost in what I'm doing.<br />
<br />
"Mom, can you unlock your phone?"<br />
<br />
"Why? What?"<br />
<br />
"I need to unlock your phone so I can get the singer/song that played last - I liked his sound," Colton insists.<br />
<br />
I oblige his curiosity, and see it was a song from Gregory Alan Isakov - <i>sidebar, what happened to being cool with a one-word moniker? Such a mouthful and it doesn't quite feel right to abbreviate in any form.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"So, does this mean you might like <i>my </i>music for once?"<br />
<br />
"Well, it's not Kelly Clarkson. That was actually <i>good</i>."<br />
<br />
"Well, there's a lot you don't know about me, son. There's much more to me than what you see on a daily basis - and I'm sure that's true for what I see of you, too."<br />
<br />
<i>And, someday, we'll be better friends. Right now, you are still being raised and you won't always understand. But these glimpses of where we can connect better give me hope.</i>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-35237459185474237222018-12-08T10:31:00.001-07:002019-06-28T19:10:01.338-06:00On coming back<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3K4-uGNS-awcA1Pa-HsSY5LPdFwDs4YuoopNvurd7txkYIq4fLoIDrX5Ogg5OkwW60EXdneBnoVtdli99p1CqhcsD7L3KiFxW42tZ1E2Az_ScwQ6wkCnWecEJSpF9Z3CDUOTNRSm44QTt/s1600/andras-kovacs-753812-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3K4-uGNS-awcA1Pa-HsSY5LPdFwDs4YuoopNvurd7txkYIq4fLoIDrX5Ogg5OkwW60EXdneBnoVtdli99p1CqhcsD7L3KiFxW42tZ1E2Az_ScwQ6wkCnWecEJSpF9Z3CDUOTNRSm44QTt/s640/andras-kovacs-753812-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
It's me sitting in the gray loveseat that swallows me up every time I visit, my left leg tucked under me. I have so much energy and the words, they are flowing. I'm talking and talking, and talking so much. The filler words are not as prevalent because my thoughts are ordered and navigable.<br />
<br />
He asks, "So is it incremental, like each day gets a little better, or a more dramatic epiphany of 'OMG, my brain is back?''<br />
<br />
"It depends," I shrug. "Sometimes it's both. Sometimes I just fake it - being functional, ignoring the feelings - that I don't even see when it happens or even have an aha, it just becomes. This time though, like whoa, I got so much shit done for my final paper - and it's just like, so amazing because this time last week, I didn't know what I even would write. Hadn't done my lit review, no clear hypothesis of research questions to guide me, and now? I'm almost done. It feels good to be back."<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
It's when every ounce of my being <i>wants nothing more </i>than to DEEP clean this house - like dusting ceiling fans and scrubbing baseboards kind of <i>fun</i> - but I <i>need</i> to hit the term paper (miraculously cranked out this week, per above) with revisions, data (I FOUND IT!!!), and reorganizing my sections, as well as my methods final, and being able to say to myself, "Self, you are on deadline, and you will have time to do all that cleaning when you're on Christmas vacation.<br />
<br />
It's having the presence of mind - that executive functioning stuff is so critical - to create a plan and stick to it.<br />
<br />
*Really, I'm not <i>that</i> person, where is this intense desire to clean even coming from?<br />
<br />
********************************************<br />
<br />
It's me laughing with my teens about the very awkward conversation we are having, and thinking, "<i>These. These are those moments you will miss. They do exist," </i>with a smile.<br />
<br />
It's getting excited about the work you're doing and feeling the thrill of fresh ideas.<br />
<br />
It's wanting to invest time and effort into my hair, clothes, and outfits again.<br />
<br />
And so much more.<br />
<br />
At the intersections of mother, wife, employee, grad student, woman, and a jillion other hats I wear, I'm thankful for modern medicine. It's brought me back, time and time again.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-49946708236442054892018-11-09T08:09:00.001-07:002018-11-09T08:09:37.429-07:00Here we are again.<br />
My fractured friend.<br />
An unraveled heart,<br />
A voice whose art<br />
Is to say, "Come on, just be done"<br />
How many times can this be overcome?<br />
<br />
-- thoughts from a broken mindHeatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-41942985583396751072018-05-19T15:42:00.000-06:002019-06-28T19:11:57.844-06:00 These Shattered States<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1CRtZrLDOvQXyW46RYLEkUhwGUmrSI8kxOxsqk2FcZLALEVouLvclDgra_fVZiblnyWnBBfMJGWjl1HlGPupCy2in8ZdQWFEa1ktzcyWlwCXEjK6UhHN7-N5sBfunnbOogoNEmIvJovIt/s1600/Screenshot_20180519-143206%257E2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="874" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1CRtZrLDOvQXyW46RYLEkUhwGUmrSI8kxOxsqk2FcZLALEVouLvclDgra_fVZiblnyWnBBfMJGWjl1HlGPupCy2in8ZdQWFEa1ktzcyWlwCXEjK6UhHN7-N5sBfunnbOogoNEmIvJovIt/s640/Screenshot_20180519-143206%257E2.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Oh Jesus," I pray upon seeing the news of Santa Fe, heart shattering. "It's happening again."<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
I remember during that horrible day in Colorado when the Columbine shooting occurred, my friend was birthing her first child. In the weeks that followed she told me, "Heather, I couldn't answer the question 'What kind of world was I bringing this baby into?'"<br />
<br />
Over the years, the shootings have become commonplace.<br />
<br />
We have drills and trainings.<br />
<br />
When I started working for CSU last summer, I had to attend a mandatory active shooter training for university employees. I learned more than I ever cared to know about what went wrong with the Virginia Tech shooting, the methodological plots of a sick, and dare I say, evil, young man. I rarely dream to the point of recall the next day, but I had a horrifically detailed nightmare that evening that history was repeating itself. I was terrified.<br />
<br />
All too often these days, our children are also having to do these drills. And then, it happens. Again and again, and again, the stories of the shootings surface, reinforcing the need for the drills, and birth the fear of "When (not will?) will it happen at my school?" What is that doing to their young minds? Is it any wonder that adolescent anxiety is up?<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I recall the plane ride home last October, crying at all the empty seats. Seats that had been filled when I checked in online the night before. Too tired to sleep. Too exhausted to stay awake.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Hot, salty memories snake down my face.<br />
<br />
What will it take? How many more lives will be lost, and how much of our future generations will be afflicted with PTSD incurred by the trauma of living through something like that?<br />
<br />
I struggle with the instantaneous name calling and finger pointing that people do on social media in the wake of tragedies like this. I experienced that after Vegas from my own loved ones. Never mind my trauma, because your opinions are the only ones that count, how careless of me to forget. Same for all of the nasty commentary directed towards the kids of Parkland who were brave enough to call out the bullshit that is the American fetish for guns. Same for the parents of Sandy Hook who not only lost their children, but <a href="https://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2018/04/17/603223968/sandy-hook-parents-sue-conspiracy-theorist-alex-jones-over-claim-shooting-was-fa">continue to be victimized by Alex Jones </a>and other conspiracy theorists that drive attention away from the real public health issues of gun violence in America.<br />
<br />
This is the agony of being a woke person in America right now. Whether it's guns or systemic racism, #metoo or political corruption, if you are a person speaking up about these things, the only people hearing you are other woke folks. Everyone else is sleeping under the blankets of privilege, [willful] ignorance, "tradition," and/or complacency.<br />
<br />
I don't know how to change it.<br />
<br />
I know my husband and I had a rather heated conversation about the guns issue this morning. Or at least it started that way. We never came to an agreement, but we did start to listen to each other.<br />
<br />
I wish that our country could at least get to that point. Instead we have viral memes saying terrorists aren't the greatest danger to America, the Democratic party is and all Republicans are racist. That gets us exactly nowhere.<br />
<br />
We have got to start attacking the issues instead of each other, in every way.<br />
<br />
America, if we Humpty Dumpty too much, cracking our society to the point of no return, nobody will be left to put us all back together.<br />
<br />
We have to set differences aside, and consider solutions for the greatest public good. That may require some sacrifice from everyone. </div>
Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-17279959502591722492018-05-12T11:13:00.000-06:002019-06-28T19:15:33.739-06:00Nine credits later...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsaVbVPjfpCSVBziGW_LiAAHIa6IvlcQTJ-XMxC5oSPifaWEpGod3loucJpIFFxUNeMsn5hbfLLCtC33GqOdZlBTwFyOxigFEV1aquUrRQT1EjbAZmeX52aPs45LXMcFZjADgD1Yotqglc/s1600/debby-hudson-533412-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsaVbVPjfpCSVBziGW_LiAAHIa6IvlcQTJ-XMxC5oSPifaWEpGod3loucJpIFFxUNeMsn5hbfLLCtC33GqOdZlBTwFyOxigFEV1aquUrRQT1EjbAZmeX52aPs45LXMcFZjADgD1Yotqglc/s640/debby-hudson-533412-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/u9BRh7YZYMk?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap;">Debby Hudson</a><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; font-family: , "blinkmacsystemfont" , "san francisco" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "ubuntu" , "roboto" , "noto" , "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: nowrap;"> on </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/search/photos/next-chapter?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap;">Unsplash</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Or maybe just three.<br />
<br />
One completed class out of three total this year. Two incompletes.<br />
<br />
But the incomplete is a tool in a grad student's hand, I'm told.<br />
<br />
I'm choosing to look at it that way, too, because otherwise, depressed Heather sees it as Exhibit #5967 in the case being argued in the court of my mind that I have lost my Sweary Magdalene™, no-bullshit-high-achieving mojo.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmts5-0Vylk1I5Xm88I5tI0D-H0A3a4hjaD0YtjsMLiZceIcC0O5cJbi8dNDqL4CTUemku-lDddt4EgRF_aYogibXN_nkA9u7fShnjS6JLLp_FEyk2t3b5VW0dDyG3WNMOxS0ny3Ca4gyR/s1600/muchness.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="255" data-original-width="500" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmts5-0Vylk1I5Xm88I5tI0D-H0A3a4hjaD0YtjsMLiZceIcC0O5cJbi8dNDqL4CTUemku-lDddt4EgRF_aYogibXN_nkA9u7fShnjS6JLLp_FEyk2t3b5VW0dDyG3WNMOxS0ny3Ca4gyR/s640/muchness.gif" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The f*cking prosecuting attorney.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<a name='more'></a>I recently had to do the employee portion of my performance appraisal at work, and wouldn't you know, my deficit mindset had me stymied when it came to thinking of things that I not only accomplished, but did well. With a little coaching though, I was able to pull it together, and damn if I'm not A-Freakin-Mazing!<br />
<br />
So, this next bit is a debriefing of sorts. For years, I have counseled people to take inventory of their strengths; guess it is time for me to take some of my own damned medicine.<br />
<br />
Midway through the semester, I found myself slipping. I picked <a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2018/04/self-care-fo-real-it-aint-all-play.html">myself up</a> <i>and</i> <a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2018/03/shine-that-light.html">reached out to people to support me whilst I was still a little mentally wobbly</a>. My professors, my co-workers, friends, family, and even...the whole interwebs by putting myself out there on Facebook and here on this blog.<br />
<b><br /></b>
That is no small feat and takes a lot of guts. Trust me, every single one of them has been tied up since rendering myself emotionally naked to the world.<br />
<br />
I was behind in my poli sci class heading into finals - missing two reaction papers and my debate paper, much less being prepared to take the time-limited comprehensive final. <i>That time-limited shit is </i><span style="font-style: italic;">so damned </span><i>nerve-wracking </i><i>and really torturous for anxious perfectionistas like me! </i>In one week, I read all the materials for one reaction paper, revisited the materials for the way earlier reaction paper (and thus had forgotten some of the details), wrote/submitted both reaction papers, and studied/wrote/submitted that damned final.<br />
<br />
While not done with any great levels of confidence, mind you, I basically got 3 weeks of graduate study done in 1 week! I feel like I should get a medal for it. The incomplete is for me to get the debate paper materials read, and write the paper. Submit, and I'm three credits richer.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile in my sociology class, I felt like I struggled all semester. In conversations with my prof, she would say that was not her perception, and we mutually agreed that when I felt that way I needed to tell my inner negativity to STFU. That said, I did struggle with identifying a concept for my term paper that incorporated the theories of the semester. By the time I landed on a valid premise, I really had two weeks to research, review, and write the beast, one of those weeks being the 3 for 1 mentioned earlier. In virtually one week, I located and read umpteen scholarly articles that got me to a point where I could successfully write my paper. I got my bibliography done and turned in, and then realized I was running out of time.<br />
<b><br /></b>
So I'm almost done with the paper and once it is turned in, I will have completed a doctoral level course, and be three more credits richer, putting me at 21 credits toward my required 36 for the program. (Thank you <a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2006/10/i-so-buzzin.html">previous attempt at grad school</a> credits transfer).<br />
<br />
And the piece that has really restored my muchness the most? I have now identified my professional paper topic (<a href="https://polisci.colostate.edu/m-a/">Master's Plan B versus Master's Plan A</a>, which requires a thesis). It's an expansion of my sociology paper, AND ties in with issues and experience from both my past and present employment roles! Not only am I excited about it, this semester's professors are both super supportive and that has made the confidence soar.<br />
<ul>
</ul>
<b>All of that is <i>so not</i> failure, ya know? </b><br />
<br />
Many of my school peers were in similar boats with respect to staying caught up, and they did not have 40 hour/week jobs, children to raise, and youth was on their sides much more than mine. <i>Although, that was not the case for my sociology classmates - three of us are mothers and one is expecting, and it was helpful to have that commonality.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>I'm feeling pretty damned good about this school year.</b><br />
<br />
Soon enough, those pots above will be sporting three flowers, demonstrating this year's accomplishments. Maybe they're a little behind on the blooming, but they WILL bloom.<br />
<br />
And that, is all I can ask for at this time.Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-6651366381492761592018-05-04T12:39:00.001-06:002018-05-07T19:31:57.465-06:00How to do finals, working mom in grad school edition<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRRoZXWizwnkUwHr1KxtYLlp3NI8mHqV6AttNsq_u6lNkvFO4r_Jh3S3l64hgpqivgi2MP9vejztLT0apAc53VeNwb_unchrxowxqPL5vP8R2vlV96jPiAob07RBMZm6TSo4vMn5xukznZ/s1600/IMG_20180504_120117_640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRRoZXWizwnkUwHr1KxtYLlp3NI8mHqV6AttNsq_u6lNkvFO4r_Jh3S3l64hgpqivgi2MP9vejztLT0apAc53VeNwb_unchrxowxqPL5vP8R2vlV96jPiAob07RBMZm6TSo4vMn5xukznZ/s640/IMG_20180504_120117_640.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Channeling my inner <a href="http://momastery.com/blog/">Glennon</a> and trying to remember "I can do hard things."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
You're in graduate school, so your finals are really just papers / essays. It's a lot of key-pounding and hitting the delete button like the woodpecker when you realize nothing you articulate makes sense.<br />
<br />
There are some things you must do for success. ETA: I took 24 hours PTO off to do all of this, because, uh, balance?<br />
<br />
1. Leave the house. You'll think, but the kids are at school, no one's home, this will be great!<br />
<br />
You will be dead wrong.<br />
<br />
Your dogs will think, "Mom's here, so let's go for a walk." You will be hungry and gain 100 pounds because you ate every thing in the house. You will be cold and fuss with the thermostat. You will smell something weird and begin to investigate the source, only to spend your time at home cleaning.<br />
<br />
Leave the house - it will be better for all involved. Shower and makeup are completely unnecessary. Brushing your hair is optional.<br />
<br />
2. Dress comfortably. Finals writing is intense, yo. I'm seen above in my 2XL Stranger Things, SO SOFT long-sleeved tee that I scored at Target last week for $3, yoga pants that don't hug too tightly and my fave pair of running shoes. I begrudgingly left my blankie at home.<br />
<br />
2.a And....I'm all lathered up in Aspercreme because my muscles are aching from sitting at the library hunched over my lap top for 8 straight hours yesterday. See also, feeling like a geriatric admitting that. It hurts, hurts so good to admit my frailty.<br />
<br />
3. Adding to 2.a - use the library computers, not your laptop. Because ergonomic chairs make the difference. Marathoners gotta have the right strategy. Select one closer to the bathroom - (the stall bathrooms, not the single user one that smells like butt EVERY TIME) because....<br />
<br />
4. Bring ALL the COFFEE. If you don't do coffee, then insert caffeination of choice here, it is NOT optional. You are averaging 4 hours of sleep per night. You may be here far longer than you anticipate. (and you are an adult learner who has pushed 3 humans out of your body, so you see the need for proximity to the facilities)<br />
<br />
5. Take SMALL breaks now and then, preferably to stand and stretch and maybe listen to an upbeat song to regain your focus. Do not open up social media and "just see" what's happening. You will be entering the quicksands of time, never to emerge with sufficient time for success<br />
<br />
6. Maintain your sense of humor, but channel it appropriately. For the prof that is asking for a class synopsis, sure, insert wit. For the one you owe a research proposal? Not so much.<br />
<br />
7. Repeat after me: "There is a light at the end of this tunnel. Just 10 more hours today, then 1 down, 1 to go." Adjust according to your coursework.<br />
<br />
I wish I'd snapped a picture of the banner ad the library had running on the kiosks when I came in yesterday - it said:<br />
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<b>Make Good Choices</b></h2>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-51202631839044033352018-04-20T21:34:00.000-06:002018-05-12T11:29:23.250-06:00Creative...from the archives<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkimQh_c_0GnFlnSfI7tMflQxbHnF5PQz4BlrVEIzClpskcFqD8cnC4Q1bTJRY6leSq8LB70AWKFeTSHa5CntgfPrMIG3AGiSPT90GXm91b3KggXbq3z-1fmKIc03rBnbCyFTgB-fyDBOx/s1600/deniz-altindas-38128-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkimQh_c_0GnFlnSfI7tMflQxbHnF5PQz4BlrVEIzClpskcFqD8cnC4Q1bTJRY6leSq8LB70AWKFeTSHa5CntgfPrMIG3AGiSPT90GXm91b3KggXbq3z-1fmKIc03rBnbCyFTgB-fyDBOx/s640/deniz-altindas-38128-unsplash.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">And as they continued to ask him, <span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">he</span><span style="background-color: white;"> stood up and said to them, “</span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">Let</span><span style="background-color: white;"> him </span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">who</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">is</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">without </span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">sin</span><span style="background-color: white;"> among you be the first to throw a stone at </span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">he</span><span style="background-color: white;">r.”</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2013/03/mercys-fool.html?m=1">I wrote this just over 5 years ago</a>. It has beckoned to me several times over the years. Someday it will be fully developed into a full fledged fictional account of this biblical story.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="background-color: white; font-family: "trebuchet ms", trebuchet, verdana, sans-serif; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; position: relative;">
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Mercy's Fool</h2>
</blockquote>
<i> </i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">She was cold, trembling with shame as the telltale signs of her chill were exposed, visible through the thin linen underdress, the customary </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">sadhin</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">, that she wore. "Will they punish me and call me a harlot for this as well?" she wondered. </span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">She crossed her arm over her breasts to conceal the evidence of her discomfort. The men had taken her without allowing her to put her outer robes back on. Her thin, almost threadbare, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">sadhin</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;"> was a woefully inadequate grasp at any remaining shred of modesty she could claim, and offered no protection from their eyes.</span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;"><i><br /></i></span>
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Though she suffered the painful awareness of every carnal need her body was crying out for - warmth, food, drink, and sleep - she remained quietly aloof. She knew the risk of her actions…that she had willfully sinned against the law. To become hysterical and beg for undeserved mercy would do nothing for her but subject her to further judgment and cruelty. She was exhausted, but death was certain, and despite her captors' own periodic dozing, she resisted to sleep, reliving the all-too-few memories she had of feeling loved, safe, protected in her life before it would all be taken from her.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Clearly these 'men of God' had no interest in following the letter of Moses' law, or else Nachum would be here with her, he just as guilty as she. Nachum, her beloved, who had loved her their whole lives, and mourned the day her parents married her off to that horrid old man she now called husband. Nachum, who had tenderly kissed away the bruises left by Jubal. Nachum, whose scent still lingered on her skin. Did he know of her plight, and despair, realizing death was unavoidable? Or, the more cynical side of her wondered, was he sated to have finally known her, relieved to face no consequence? That thought stole her breath away, striking her heart with a searing pain far more excruciating than any of Jubal's beatings. "No," she pleaded silently with herself, "Nachum is an honorable man." <br /></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>He had told her that first night that he was prepared to face death with her if they were ever found out, that he would rather die in the sin of loving her than live a righteous life, without her love. Hot tears slid down her face at the memory leaving wet trails in the dusty floor as they fell.</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yeshua. Throughout the night, she heard the elders who were awake talking, most of it unintelligible, frantic whispering. But that name kept presenting itself in their discussions. "Who is this Yeshua?" she wondered. "No matter," she eventually decided. "Dawn is approaching and my fate will be sealed soon enough." As the men were selectively following the law, she wondered if she would even be given the requisite trial before they executed her for her sin....</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The story of the woman caught in adultery has been on my mind a lot in recent months. As illustrated above, I've imagined many different scenarios that could be the back-story to what we read in John 7:53-8:11. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In addition, I've done quite a bit of reading regarding the story's authenticity, as my Bible has a disclaimer above this passage: <span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">[The earliest manuscripts and many other ancient witnesses do not have John 7:53—8:11. A few manuscripts include these verses, wholly or in part, after John 7:36, John 21:25, Luke 21:38 or Luke 24:53.] </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="text-align: center;">I believe to my core that this passage is authentic because it rings true with Jesus' reactions to the Samaritan woman at the well and that of the sinful woman's washing of his feet with her hair, tears and perfume. It is a story of love and mercy, which is what Jesus is all about, and has been a go-to passage for me throughout my faith journey because it resonates with me so loudly....</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 24.48px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; position: relative;">
<br /></blockquote>
Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-34830687881820801602018-04-11T21:07:00.000-06:002018-04-11T21:07:07.548-06:00Spring Haiku<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4R9JxniY5JIWvsLcb1Kv_lQxjBnVGYnckohG5j8LAxEAhCrXK-nlAmymeQOoaEE_y1Z4Pvs5R-TALJdw2b084ZGy6ZFOb5EeB3HpmMybizVsEGG79pi8a-3mzc1KTH2GcWNr6QtOrhq1/s1600/ben-rosett-10610-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4R9JxniY5JIWvsLcb1Kv_lQxjBnVGYnckohG5j8LAxEAhCrXK-nlAmymeQOoaEE_y1Z4Pvs5R-TALJdw2b084ZGy6ZFOb5EeB3HpmMybizVsEGG79pi8a-3mzc1KTH2GcWNr6QtOrhq1/s640/ben-rosett-10610-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Forsythia glows<br />
All golden while Dogwood's skin<br />
Blushes up her arms<br />
<br />
Christopher says it<br />
Is April, the best month since<br />
It is getting warm<br />
<br />
Willow's leaves peek out<br />
Chartreuse, with the promise<br />
Lilac and Linden<br />
<br />
Will soon scent the air<br />
Accompanied by sweet grass<br />
And sun-dried linens<br />
<br />
Grills will be fired up<br />
Creating Spring's miasma<br />
Would that it could be<br />
<br />
Bottled, put to sale<br />
To be opened in the cold<br />
Days of winter, a promise<br />
<br />
Soon fulfilled as Sun<br />
Warms the Earth, bringing forth life<br />
And all its wonder.<br />
<br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-39926701706850287692018-04-04T18:00:00.000-06:002018-04-04T18:03:24.212-06:00Self-Care fo' Real: It Ain't All Play<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BSPqZDnhUyOzkOhaxz7SljU8gNgxJM-khEZhUHQF7i1hUZCgDDoKdT4h8OpF1i8ZLIMTR2D4CcN8F-XytWHzcWHqlBZtaj1CtUeXcslPeqwv1G7r1Jy_6r8_Bu0EzOi3xhATjCoU4jPg/s1600/29749993_10156442509552033_5875590661830639332_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BSPqZDnhUyOzkOhaxz7SljU8gNgxJM-khEZhUHQF7i1hUZCgDDoKdT4h8OpF1i8ZLIMTR2D4CcN8F-XytWHzcWHqlBZtaj1CtUeXcslPeqwv1G7r1Jy_6r8_Bu0EzOi3xhATjCoU4jPg/s640/29749993_10156442509552033_5875590661830639332_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It didn't really hit me in the grocery store just why this med container appealed to me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'd been in a serve and return pattern with my GP's nurse for a couple of days.<br />
<br />
<i>Can I get a referral to a psychiatrist? My depression is hitting especially hard.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You will probably want to check with your insurance to make sure that is covered and who is in your network. We don't really make referrals as much as advise or recommend providers based on their specialties.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Ok - called Anthem BCBS because I was too overwhelmed to navigate the online info. Also, I was on the phone while driving and maximizing my time. Gotta make those customer service reps earn their suppers, no?<br />
<br />
The insurance peon emailed the list of eligible providers to me.<br />
<br />
I then uploaded it to the patient portal app with a note:<br />
<br />
<i>Psychiatry is covered in my plan. Affordably so, even. Here is a list of providers that I am ok to see - could you please tell me which of them on the list specialize in brains dealing with undue societal gender norms in which we have to be super women? With a ton of traumas and two significant concussions in life? Mmmkay, thanks, bye.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Maybe it was a little different. Same idea. You get the point.<br />
<br />
Almost as soon as my finger tips hit send on that hot little note, my phone rang.<br />
<br />
It was my doctor's nurse. That woman is my freaking hero.<br />
<br />
My doc is out of town, and she urged me to come into the clinic and visit with a lovely NP as well as the social worker (aka Patient Navigator), because it could be more than the depression.<br />
<br />
True enough. Though not likely, having recently had all my thyroid and endocrinology panels done at a health fair.<br />
<br />
Nevertheless, the message was clear: WE NEED TO SEE YOU.<br />
<br />
Not to mention the fact that I was just spent psychologically because working up the nerve to coordinate all that shiz was a lot of Big Steps?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Exhaustipated">Exhaustipating</a>.<br />
<br />
So, yesterday morning I found myself sitting in the exam room, waiting for the NP to come in. I'd seen her before with one of the kids' ailments over the years, though who knew if she would remember me.<br />
<br />
Soon as she opens the door, I lose it and turn into the bawling, sniveling creature I've been for the past month.<br />
<br />
She is great.<br />
<br />
We decide to up my Wellbutrin by 100mg a day since I have been on a conservative dosage. We also change it from standard release to extended release for a steady stream throughout the day.<br />
<br />
Then the stuff I knew was coming.<br />
<br />
<b><i>How's the sleep?</i></b><br />
<br />
<i>Well, while I would totally love to cocoon myself and sleep the days away, I am still somehow a responsible, functioning adult and I make do with what I get. I rarely have trouble sleeping, but with homework and all I find myself getting 4 hrs here, 9 hrs there, etc. I know that isn't healthy and I have to regulate, but....yeah.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b><i>How's the diet?</i></b><br />
<br />
<i>So, it's been a whole lotta fish sticks and Poptarts lately because of time and schedule. What? That's not ok? [KIDDING] No, I know, I need to get back to more produce and whole foods, and I'm pretty good at it, it's just a matter of implementing.</i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<b><i>So maybe ask your family for some support there in planning and prepping ahead?</i></b><br />
<br />
<i>Yeah.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b><i>How's your relationship with exercise these days?</i></b><br />
<br />
<i>Completely non-existent....which explains the newly acquired 10 lbs (since November health fair weigh in) your scale informed me of. Again, I was doing SO GOOD getting to the gym, walking dogs, etc. But since school started this semester....I haven't been to the gym since.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b><i>Ok, well, let's work on that.</i></b><br />
<br />
<i>And by 'let US,' you mean me, but yes, I'm aware of the need and that it will help, it always does.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
By now, I'm tallying up the list of "small changes" that I need to implement and my head is about to implode.<br />
<br />
After 25 years of dealing with depression/anxiety, I know, logically, intellectually, that these are key components of maintaining my mental health. But knowing and doing, especially when your brain is shutting down your motivational centers, are quite different things, it turns out.<br />
<br />
And, the <i>knowing</i> of All The Things combined with the <i>not doing</i> of All The Things when your mind is wonky, turns into the "ONE MORE REASON YOU ARE A HORRIBLE, TERRIBLE, NO GOOD HUMAN BEING!" cheer that depression does, ad nauseum - literally, in your head.<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>What about therapy?</i></b><br />
<br />
<i>I was seeing a therapist after Vegas. And, while it helped, I really feel like I could have gotten the same impact by going out with my girlfriend and talking - there were no tools, no exercises to work through that gave new perspective or coping mechanisms, ya know?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
We talk about CBT and bio-feedback options and how the patient navigator could help me explore options regarding providers with those qualifications.<br />
<br />
The patient navigator comes in and thank you, Jesus, she is amazing at her job.<br />
<br />
We talk a lot about how difficult it is to disclose when you're in the field of helping. How you know people and they know you, but do you want them to know <i>that?</i> How while we preach no stigma, it is almost doubly stigmatizing to disclose our own diagnoses and struggles.<br />
<br />
We talk Brene Brown and apps like <a href="https://www.calm.com/">Calm</a> (which I've had on my phone for several months) and other mindfulness/self-help tools.<br />
<br />
I show her the brilliance that I found on the website <a href="https://unfckyourbrain.com/">Unf*ck Your Brain</a>, and she is impressed. The woman behind the site, <a href="https://unfckyourbrain.com/about/">Kara Lowentheil</a>, is a BAMF feminist with the smarts to use cognitive neuroscience in her coaching - <a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2018/03/shine-that-light.html">Sweary Magdalene </a>approves.<br />
<br />
"See, you got this!"<br />
<br />
Heavy, shaky sigh.<br />
<br />
"Yeah."<br />
<br />
I go to the grocery store to get my new RX, determined to buy the fixings for a healthy dinner, but hey depression has my executive functioning by the balls, so to speak. I can't think of anything.<br />
<br />
I have a <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/hthrmyr/">Pinterest account </a>with eleventy-one thousand recipes, most of them <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/hthrmyr/fuel-for-fitness/">health conscious</a>, at the ready on my mobile life manager - but that idea never even lands.<br />
<br />
I walk to the magazine aisle, look at a couple of food mags, and snap pictures of a couple recipes that call out to me, then proceed to buy the items I don't have at home. How's that for coping mechanisms? Outta the box, I know. :pats self on back:<br />
<br />
Go to the pharmacy department, pick up new meds. We're out of vitamins, so I grab some while I'm there. I recall being low in vitamin D, so I grab some of those. Out of the corner of my eye, the pill boxes call to me. The one I already have is too small for everything I need to put in it.<br />
<br />
And then I see it, the rainbow stacker pictured above. Toss it into the cart, and don't think anything more of it.<br />
<br />
Until this morning.<br />
<br />
As I took my meds and the promise of a new day glimmered anew before me, it hit me.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+9&version=CEV">His promise.</a><br />
<br />
I "subconsciously" picked a daily pill box that will constantly remind me.<br />
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
You will not be destroyed. </span></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">You can do <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Philippians+4%3A13&version=NCV">all things with Me</a>. </span></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=romans+8%3A37-39&version=NCV">Nothing will EVER change that.</a></span></h2>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So may it be.</div>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-78711758451657752612018-03-30T00:02:00.000-06:002019-02-28T21:51:31.127-07:00Shine that Light<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">If you experience suicidal thoughts, the following post could be potentially triggering, as I share some of my own struggles in this area. </span></i><i style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">If you need support right now, call the <a href="https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/">National Suicide Prevention Lifeline</a> at 1-800-273-8255, <a href="https://www.thetrevorproject.org/">the Trevor Project</a> at 1-866-488-7386, or reach the <a href="https://www.crisistextline.org/">Crisis Text Line</a> by texting “START” to 741-741.</span></i><br />
<i style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i> <span style="font-size: medium;">Sunday morning I was in the church nursery with a little body in which the biggest spirit I've ever known resides.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: medium;">He's a special boy, who has overcome so many developmental barriers in his short life that his mere presence in a room teaches a thousand unspoken lessons. Too often I admire him and his family from a distance because of The Busy Life.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: medium;">Together, we tentatively, shyly at first, sang that old song, <a href="http://laurieberkner.com/music/song-lyrics/19-music/lyrics/475-this-little-light-of-mine.html">This Little Light of Mine</a>, giggling at the joy he displayed when we hid our little "lights" (index fingers) under "bushels" (our cupped hands) and then ripped them away as we stage shouted our "No's."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">This little light of mine</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I'm gonna let it shine</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Hide it under a bushel?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">NO!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I'm gonna let it shine</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Sometimes that light is to help guide others to a path that is right. That is the context <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+5%3A14-16&version=NIV">Matthew 5:16 affords to the two verses preceding</a> it and in which it is often preached.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Other times, that light serves to illuminate the dark within us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The pain and courage it takes to summon that light, share it, and let the world gaze at all that is wrong within us is one of the greatest paradoxes the lived experience offers us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The paradox continues in that this brightening process holds the key to our self-perpetuated prisons, offering freedom from shame and heartache.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Yet The Jailer</span><span style="font-size: x-small;">*</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> stands guard, whispering, "You can't tell them - they will never see you the same way again - all they will ever see is your weakness. Attention seeking, pathetic weakness."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">That Jailer is a liar, but oh, how we fall hard for that tired old routine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">So...I did a thing today.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Well, really, I did a thing yesterday, the ramifications of which lead to this thing I did today.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I had a bit of a melt down at work yesterday.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I was the woman who cries at the office. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">And not because I was telling a sentimental story.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">No, this was full-on depressed Heather riding the spiral of disaster ALL THE WAY DOWN because she just couldn't even, heaving sobs in reply to the non-stop barrage of inner self loathing that roared louder than the supportive words of my co-workers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">It was irrational. Completely crazy, if you will.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Which heaped up more shame for The Jailer inside to sling at me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I had class to get to and begged off finishing the meeting. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">A hand reached out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">"Are you ok?" was asked. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Not the Captain Obvious variety of the question, rather, the "Are you ok to end the conversation/move on?" sort. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The kind that implies "You're not going to do anything harmful to yourself, right?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The kind that makes me feel like a gigantic zero.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">A muffled wail of, "No, but I'll be alright," was my response. I was humiliated, and of my own doing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I fled the building, hot trails of disgrace snaking down my face.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I got to class and avoided eye contact, knowing the tell-tale puffy red look would elicit questions that I didn't want to, couldn't, answer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Over the course of the next two hours, I re-gained my composure, even managing the nail-hitting commentary of the night. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Home and straight to bed, skipping church.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I woke up this morning and had the same sense of dread wash over me as soon as my feet hit the floor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Damn, still there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Got through the motions of getting everyone off to school and arrived at work earlier than normal since Chris had a before school choir practice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Had an unanticipated "so, about yesterday," conversation with my supervisor that went really, very well. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">And yet....</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">He said, "You're doing amazing." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">But I heard The Jailer, five times louder, screaming, "LIES!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The sobs came to visit again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">My best friend brought me out to lunch, and I fell apart a few times during the conversation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">She said, "You're in the midst of a flare, Heather. It's ok. It happens, and you will recover, just as you have in the past."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The Jailer started up again, squeezing my heart, "This will never end. You're mine."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I silently mustered up the strength to counter, "No, I'm God's and God's alone. You don't own me. I will do my time, and then I'll be free again."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I rode the roller coaster of emotion the next several hours, culminating in a silent drive to FLTI tonight with Kelsey. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Occasionally, the jailer's hurled insults and my recounting of the day resulted in fresh tears. The skin just under my eyes is so damn raw, y'all,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">SO. MUCH. SHAME.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">We got to FLTI and I sent my supervisor a text. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">"Thanks for the talk today. I'm in the midst of a depressive flare and I'm struggling..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>This little light of mine.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I pulled myself together and put a semblance of a mask on. I'm all pro at that. Have had a lifetime of practice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I felt my heart lift more and more as the evening went on. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Fully doing life and getting outside of your head will do that. <i>Not saying it will replace talk therapy or monitored medication, lest y'all think I'm going all David Avocado Wolfe on you. </i>But it does help.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">At the end of the session, we had our closing circle as always.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">"Aha's" first.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I raised my hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>I'm gonna let it shine.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">"My aha tonight was what a powerful mood booster you all can be. I've been struggling, really struggling, with a flare of my depression all week, I was crying on the car-ride all the way here tonight, and you all have made me laugh and feel lighter than I have all week."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Let it shine.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">It's slightly terrifying to share with people who know you in the community, in a context where this kind of vulnerability could potentially damage your career / reputation. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">But, as <a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2018/03/in-which-i-out-myself.html">Sweary Magdalene™ (Kelsey's new name for me, given my last post) </a>would say:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">FUCK THAT SHIT. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">That kind of thinking blows the light right out, and makes everyone think you're doing Just Fine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Most of the world isn't doing Just Fine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Our kids getting shot up at school is not Just Fine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The deep-seated racism that continues in our country is not Just Fine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The tremendous lack of access to safe, affordable housing and quality childcare is not Just Fine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The so common it pains me to think about occurrence of #MeToo events against women in our country is not Just Fine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">And really, so much more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Bottom line is that we ARE NOT JUST FINE.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">And I'm not going to perpetuate the lie that I am anymore.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Am I in a forever state of sadness? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">No - God and friends and family and the miracle of Wellbutrin have all gotten me through this before. I will get through this again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Anyway, back to my point about tonight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">After our circle, I encountered the largest, tightest group hug ever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The love. The light. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">It was shining BRIGHT.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Every body there was the power of Christ (Higher Power) that is laid upon us when we boast about our weaknesses. Because in that power, that fulfillment of humans living in relationship, as God intended, is freedom and life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: medium;">Sidenote: In FLTI, we believe that what happens in FLTI stays in FLTI. I wish to make clear that I have honored that in this account in that I have only shared what *I* own to share and none of my peers' actions/statements.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>*The Jailer is a creative literary device to symbolize depression in this story. I have chronic depression, not psychosis via delusions and hallucinations.</i></span></div>
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<br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-36645393771349748212018-03-21T20:07:00.000-06:002018-04-04T15:04:58.692-06:00In which I out myself<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy5ATa6ZiPPYVDU3a1uJkKCVyBMK6yLNS7xuI7yiunN_3Z78W3U0o3_6mvxqf05PKFHQXvYmUWKLaXBeTnwKZzaouf9X7W4t6vNjvRgLUaCpGH6ek6Ti5q16q13u9lmJATKa3GyJBOV0JR/s1600/max-brown-505252-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy5ATa6ZiPPYVDU3a1uJkKCVyBMK6yLNS7xuI7yiunN_3Z78W3U0o3_6mvxqf05PKFHQXvYmUWKLaXBeTnwKZzaouf9X7W4t6vNjvRgLUaCpGH6ek6Ti5q16q13u9lmJATKa3GyJBOV0JR/s640/max-brown-505252-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/Uc6XXpq7iVs?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap;">Max Brown</a><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; font-family: , "blinkmacsystemfont" , "san francisco" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "ubuntu" , "roboto" , "noto" , "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: nowrap;"> on </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/search/photos/struggle?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap;">Unsplash</a><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">If you experience suicidal thoughts, the following post could be potentially triggering, as I share some of my own struggles in this area. </span></i><i style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386, or reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">There is a war going on in my head</span><br />
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</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I've shared </span><a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2014/08/on-my-bleeding-heart-we-gotta-talk.html" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">this before</a><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">. Several times.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Why do I struggle so much with my depression?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Nature? Most definitely, my genetics are rampant with mood disorders and addictions. I'm medicated and unafraid to say so.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Nurture? Equally causal. It wasn't a rosy-glow picture.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Trauma? Multiple.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Systemic oppression? Check.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Spiritual battle? To the extent that I believe God made doctors and pharmacists to improve and save lives, yes, I would say the converse is that the fallen nature of this world means that biological ailments occur and can be used to rob people of their joy and peace. <i>What I am NOT saying is that mental health conditions can be prayed away. That's bad theology and I won't have it.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Stress? You have no idea. BINGO.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I kind of stacked the cards against myself this semester; </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> <br />
<ul style="font-size: medium;">
<li>Motherhood (which is now <a href="https://whdh.com/news/study-motherhood-is-the-same-as-having-more-than-2-5-full-time-jobs/">being acknowledged</a> as the workload equivalent of 2.5 FTE)</li>
</ul>
<ul style="font-size: medium;">
<li>A full-time job (which I enjoy, even if it's fairly taxing)</li>
</ul>
<ul style="font-size: medium;">
<li>Six credit hours of graduate study/week (and that's just class time, not counting homework</li>
</ul>
<ul style="font-size: medium;">
<li>Participating in the leadership development program for which I work (with Kelsey and that has been a great bonding experience with her and my peers, also takes another 4 hrs/wk + homework)</li>
</ul>
<ul style="font-size: medium;">
<li><span style="font-size: medium;">My marriage is turning 20 years old this year and both Seth and I are staring at mid-life somewhat disillusioned that neither of us are where we pictured ourselves at this point. We've changed and grown a lot. In some ways together, and others apart. And marriage is HARD WORK.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="font-size: medium;">
<li>The developmental task for my teens to think outside of their amygdalas (amygdalae?), utilizing critical thinking, empathy, self-control, is a task of MONUMENTAL proportions and is taking all of me to not eat them and be done. <i>Kidding, I don't really have a taste for humans.</i></li>
</ul>
<ul style="font-size: medium;">
<li>I seem to be the only one who is both bothered by the chaos of unattended chores AND is willing to spend lengths of time doing them <i>in our common areas</i>. <i>There is a child who is very meticulous about their space, but that's it.</i></li>
</ul>
<ul style="font-size: medium;">
<li>Two of my children are in high school. And one is driving, working a part-time job (struggling with time management and stress as a result), has been in relationship for two years, and is going to be a senior next year. <i>This equates to a daily prayer of, "Dear God, please don't let me f*ck them up any more than I already have," and new strands of glitter hair making their debuts, contributing to my future as a <a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2006/03/origins-of-stepchild.html">peach-haired geriatric</a>.</i></li>
</ul>
<ul style="font-size: medium;">
<li>In a world that bases the value of a woman on her appearance, the daily reminder of time beating along via the mirror's reflection of the more-than-fine lines on my face, steady accumulation of inches on my waist, and the fading of what has always been my crown jewel, my red hair, I'm not exactly feeling bodycon these days.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Add in the family dynamics of being between the parents of teens and launching center stages of the family life cycle, where family role strains are highest, and I. JUST. CAN'T. EVEN. </span></span><br />
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</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">In the grad school realm, I feel lost. Where I've always been a quick study, both socio-perceptively and intellectually, I'm struggling to focus and comprehend the pretentious linguistics of scholarly articles, much less to be able to recall specific details on which to base any intelligent fodder for the class discussions.</span><br />
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Part of this (most?) is for sure a bandwidth issue - I am well aware of that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Perhaps another underlying issue is that I'm in a program in which I do not have an undergraduate foundation. I feel like the proverbial fish out of water in many regards as my classmates readily draw upon knowledge from an undergrad class they had with my professor(s), and I'm like, "Uh, I know about sensation and perception, socialization, and human development. Maslow, Piaget, anyone?" And....crickets. <i>Not really.</i></span><br />
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</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">While I feel confident that this is the right program for me, in the classroom full of young adults who are closer to my daughter's age than my own (that was made clear, again, tonight) and did study political science, or in my other class (in which I am the only master's student - the rest are all PhD candidates), sociology, I feel like I'm missing some of the basics, and often feel inept in comparison.</span></div>
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I know,<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://bloggingmidlife.com/?p=1476"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="403" height="400" src="https://i1.wp.com/bloggingmidlife.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/comparison.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<ul></ul>
<br />
But being a PT student in a program that is heavily skewed toward FT students (classes only offered every 3-4 semesters) and no summer session classes, kind of required me to do this if I wanted these classes before 2020.<br />
<br />
Scale back at work, you say? At a financial cost - the tuition benefit I receive as an employee is pro-rated to FTE %. So, if I were to negotiate a reduction in my hours, I would have to make up the difference cost-wise. Being that we don't have a nest egg for Kelsey to attend college and that is in the near future, I would rather not rob her of any educational resources we could offer her, spending them on myself instead.<br />
<br />
Also, grad school is competitive, and I yearn to do better than I did as an undergraduate, where I simply attended, gained, and applied knowledge without participating in student activities or forming relationships with the faculty because I was a working, married, 1st generation student who just kept my nose to the grindstone. Because this is important to me. This experience is something that will help me in furthering my goals of working for social justice through policy. I also hope for the advanced degree to serve as a means to facilitate Seth's future career change as manual labor continues to take its toll on his body, offering a higher income on my part to offset any losses that might be incurred in that life transition.<br />
<br />
All of that is a lot. A freaking shit-ton of life burden.<br />
<br />
I'm more sweary than I'd like...while I appreciate a well-executed curse on occasion, I'm not such of fan of the ubiquitous use of them that many are. <i>That may be scandalous to some of my church friends, but I like to think I'm a bit like Mary Magdalene in that regard (aside from the whoring bit), and she and Jesus were tight.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I find myself crying a lot. Like "pre-natal a lot"....BUT IT IS NOT THAT. <i>We took care of that...and had it confirmed. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2018/02/dude-wheres-my-car-cautionary-tale.html">I lost my car in Denver,</a> causing unnecessary stress that initiated the self-fulfilling prophetic cycle.<br />
<br />
The negative self-talk is relentless.<br />
<ul>
<li><i>You're a crap mom, your kids wouldn't fight like this if you were any good at mothering.</i></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><i>You don't belong here. </i>(In grad school, at work, on earth in general - and PLEASE KNOW, this admission carries so much guilt and shame with it, because I KNOW that it isn't true, but that voice isn't one of <i>knowledge and objectivity. </i>Besides if God had meant for me to be gone, I would have perished with <a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2009/05/the-who-what-how-and-why-of-my-mystery.html">The Great Pneumogedden of 2009</a>, among many other things which I have overcome. Also, no, I don't have a plan.)</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><i>You were never meant to be..</i></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><i>Nobody actually likes you, you know? </i></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><i>The only one who looks after you is you, and you can't even do </i>THAT <i>well.</i></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><i>You FAIL</i></li>
</ul>
And that is just the beginning of the self-inflicted cruelty.<br />
<br />
We could go all day. Oh, wait, I already do.<br />
<br />
I try to combat it with affirmations, meds, therapy visits, and self-care the best I can. It's exhausting, and I'm just <a href="http://www.scarymommy.com/being-tired-can-be-mental-health-struggle/?utm_source=FB">SO TIRED.</a><br />
<br />
I am fighting my damnedest to get through this though. And enlisting help, so rest assured I'm not in this alone.<br />
<br />
Looking at life a bit like Avery did when Jerry Maguire said he wanted to break up with her.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>"I did the 23 hour nose-route to the top of El Capitan in 6 hours! I can make <i>this </i>work!"</b></span></div>
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</span></div>
<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DbsA9MfvkRs?start=67" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
I've done it before.<br />
<br />
As my boy Bruno says, "Don't believe me, just watch."<br />
<br />
<i>*I totally should have been doing school work while writing this, but I chose to take care of my mental health by putting this out there.</i><br />
<br />
<br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-7372371950932382412018-02-28T20:27:00.001-07:002018-04-04T15:00:09.483-06:00Dude, Where's My Car? A Cautionary Tale of Distracted Femininity<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh476bqivdMc1VKx2HdgasOfx4fzPCLK70iwadckYR6os-KpzGpSClplXTwKsmawJhIlVEUkoJIMxqStvLK5Pt6AnBIlvM1SgdaMWsqSSXEdJJ5cTSHMDwK6x9jZ3B69O19B6BDj6FWtPNz/s1600/glenn-carstens-peters-190592-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh476bqivdMc1VKx2HdgasOfx4fzPCLK70iwadckYR6os-KpzGpSClplXTwKsmawJhIlVEUkoJIMxqStvLK5Pt6AnBIlvM1SgdaMWsqSSXEdJJ5cTSHMDwK6x9jZ3B69O19B6BDj6FWtPNz/s640/glenn-carstens-peters-190592-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/RLw-UC03Gwc?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap;">Glenn Carstens-Peters</a><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; font-family: , "blinkmacsystemfont" , "san francisco" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "ubuntu" , "roboto" , "noto" , "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: nowrap;"> on </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/search/photos/overwhelmed?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap;">Unsplash</a></td></tr>
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<div>
L<span style="color: #444444;">ately I have been channeling <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUTGr5t3MoY">Green Day's Basket Case</a> on a daily basis.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;">Things are pretty overwhelming.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;">But then, aside from my confessionals here, most people just see the outcomes that get produced, and think, "I don't know how she does it [all]."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;">Truth is, I am barely getting by [in my head, anyway] and this semester is thoroughly kicking my [rather large and growing daily] behind. Add in a touch of Heather's Crazy [un]Luck<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">™</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">, and well, things have been interesting to say the least.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On any given day, I've got a gazillion "browser tabs" open in my brain from meal planning, to chauffeuring needs of my children for their various activities, to bill paying (read: juggling, given Seth's recent medical leave), to two graduate courses' weekly duties/contents, to relationship maintenance, to blah, blah, blah. It never stops grinding, this ole cerebral system of mine.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZVG8geNQzupRIh7hnDtniANbonko45pUo3BHIEqaHXdSHTCc3MTan_frylkc8DQj4KzxNQTB60uPiFwtt9wORuYgRz5zCXcRWRzK76wi7aw8y49BIsw9VmaovF2wkStvFjgLIN_dAsJ5u/s1600/x1_edited-11.jpg.pagespeed.ic.upzQqnfagn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZVG8geNQzupRIh7hnDtniANbonko45pUo3BHIEqaHXdSHTCc3MTan_frylkc8DQj4KzxNQTB60uPiFwtt9wORuYgRz5zCXcRWRzK76wi7aw8y49BIsw9VmaovF2wkStvFjgLIN_dAsJ5u/s640/x1_edited-11.jpg.pagespeed.ic.upzQqnfagn.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">A week ago Monday, I had to get off work early to take Kels to turn in her new job paperwork at <a href="http://knowyourmeme.com/photos/1269888-sbubby">Taco Baco</a>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">It had snowed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I got overly invested in the work I was doing and ended up leaving later than I intended.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">As I walked out the door, I pulled my phone out of my coat pocket and called her to say she needed to be at the ready when I got home. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I do NOT like to be late. Ever. For meetings/appointments, assignments, deadlines. None of it. And, when I am, the self flagellation that ensues is nothing short of neurotic, especially if said tardiness is caused by external, uncontrollable factors. But I digress.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Walk to the parking garage, go to grab my keys.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">And. They're. Not. There.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I rush back into the office to see if I left them there. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Nope.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">My phone rings. It is my gym calling to say that someone picked up my keys and called them, and that the woman also works on campus, in the Biology Center.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I wrack my brain, trying to mentally locate the Biology Center. The campus has changed immensely since I originally arrived 20 years ago. A flash of memory hit me with the revelation that I walk past the new Biology Center on my way to Clark every day. It is further away and I'm going to be still later.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Stress thermometer ratchets up more.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I walk to the Biology Center and go to their "front desk" area, per my gym's instructions, tell them like 5 times what I understand to be true only to be greeted with blank stares of confusion.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">My inner voice is swearing a blue streak at this point.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Did they mean the new medical center?</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><i>I don't know, did they?</i></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Add stress.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">So I head out to check that alternative, when a train blares through the midst of my pathway, blocking my progress. I think to call the medical center - inside the Biology Center for quiet - and they say, no, no keys have been reported.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><i>Ok, think, McFly!</i></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Go to walk back out and see a woman I'd seen when I went into the parking garage, and just as I notice she has my keys, she asks me, and I'm like, "Yes,thankyou, lovetostayandtalk, butIgottago."</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Call Kelsey's manager since this is MY mistake, and he's like, "Calm down lady, no big deal" dismissive.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">All's well that ends well.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Fast forward a week to <i>this</i> Monday, and I'm heading to Denver to attend a meeting on my boss's behalf as he has yet to figure out how to be in three places at the same time. Will someone get on that, btw?</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">The balance in the checking account was -$1.20 (payday was the next day), my gas tank is half full, and I'm running on fumes. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">The ever present stress is simmering.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I have $10 cash in my pocket and roughly as much on the credit card in my wallet.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Google chimes, "Your destination is on the right," while I observed downtown parking had gone up considerably. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I drive around shopping for affordable parking lots, feeling my anxiety rise as the time ticks further away from "on time."</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I make note of the lot's general area, and decided to leave my heavy bag with my wallet in it, because I know I have to hoof it quite a ways to the meeting (roughly a mile).</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">It's a nice day, sunny and 60 degrees, so my black blazer will suffice.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I make a slightly less than fashionably late entrance, with some of the other attendees - solidarity! </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Learn, network, and fin.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I go back the way I came. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Or so I thought.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I walked roughly 6 miles, back and forth, stopping to talk to some Homeland Security dudes. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">See also: this is a branch of law enforcement whose officers are less than impressive in their intellectual reasoning abilities. They were like, "Bruh," :shrugs: "maybe call DPD?"</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Walk a bit more, notice it is getting dark. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I know where <i>I </i>am, I just don't know where my <i>car </i>is.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPt2_CkXXY2Il8FUTi_OD2tBhDZxmaiZnImme_MbcWSXvsgPI3MTOhNHZ9jv6jpUy17IdHoW2Y0DhT5GgHkihQJZHaTjqN8xv5APAnqfKkyVUePo2HwUdGrNeL8bXBboXNuV0PGUZwjEH/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="253" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPt2_CkXXY2Il8FUTi_OD2tBhDZxmaiZnImme_MbcWSXvsgPI3MTOhNHZ9jv6jpUy17IdHoW2Y0DhT5GgHkihQJZHaTjqN8xv5APAnqfKkyVUePo2HwUdGrNeL8bXBboXNuV0PGUZwjEH/s400/download.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I'm on Champa and 21st...aaaaaand there's <a href="https://www.coloradocoalition.org/">CCH</a>. These are my old stomping grounds, when I worked in homeless and affordable housing issues. The nature of homeless behavior has become more aggressive in Fort Collins in the 15 years since I worked in the field - legalized marijuana and the opioid epidemic has made the homeless more volatile than they used to be.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">And I'm chilled. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">My feet are killing me. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I'm not being kind to myself at all.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="background-color: white;">I walk to a 7-11 and </span><span style="background-color: white;">I notice Seth has tried calling and texting.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I text, "I did a dumb thing....call you in a min."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">When I tell him, he is incredulous. How?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Well, I was in a hurry and stressed and apparently my recall was screwed by the cortisol in my system. Also, do you not think I feel stupid enough? Because I assure you, I feel like THE village idiot on which the archetype was based.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="background-color: white;">I</span><span style="background-color: white;"> call DPD. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">"So, do you have a receipt - the address should be on there," the dispatcher says, kind of annoyed by my plight.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">"See that's just the thing - it was a cash only lot. No receipts, just the slots system. It was $7, the sign was red and white, and it was somewhere near 20th and Stout, I thought. Seriously, the dumbest human trick I've ever done," I admit, defeatedly.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">He tells me that he's sending an officer to me, but it will be awhile because they are busy.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I inform the cashier that I'm not casing her joint, but that I am waiting for the police because I'm an imbecile.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Then I post on Facebook.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">And my friends - y'all are the best, you know? - tell me my Google maps should have a timeline (YES! It does! but, I've looped around no less than a dozen times, and there is no way to drill down to detail on my screen and see where I started/stopped) tracing my steps. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmA-_8yuQcpbdIEZOoK8Zc8yTPkOCSc6IP6FIIUknvRgGmh3Q0efEIdpcuI2FMFtP_8Jdipf3UDtoaShd2ZiUyYYnkm2JxWkir24CgDJfB_eORFkyoV06TDItKssHQbHiv-e5bzZtO0qSO/s1600/Map.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="869" data-original-width="1176" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmA-_8yuQcpbdIEZOoK8Zc8yTPkOCSc6IP6FIIUknvRgGmh3Q0efEIdpcuI2FMFtP_8Jdipf3UDtoaShd2ZiUyYYnkm2JxWkir24CgDJfB_eORFkyoV06TDItKssHQbHiv-e5bzZtO0qSO/s640/Map.png" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444;">Dark blue is driving (before and after I lost the car - we drove right past it several times). Light blue is my foot work. Imagine this on a smartphone, and every time you try to drill down or change from landscape to portrait, it zooms out and you have to start all over again.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="background-color: white;">Another friend (of the fabulous </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/talesofpublictransit/">Tales of Public Transit</a><span style="background-color: white;">) lives nearby, and comes to rescue me. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">The DPD officer comes at the same time and is awesome.She also looks just like <a href="http://chicagofire.wikia.com/wiki/Sylvie_Brett">Sylvie Brett on Chicago Fire</a> and my pop-culture loving brain is dying to mention it, but, objection, your honor! Relevance?</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">My friend buys me a bite to eat (I haven't eaten since breakfast and it is now approaching 8 pm). We then drive around searching for this parking lot that has somehow been covered with an invisibility cloak. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">No dice.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">The panic is real.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Amy is amazing - keeps me calm. I think if I can look at my Google timeline on a larger screen, I can pinpoint where we need to be. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Except Google says, "You're logging in from a strange device - let's send your phone a code to make sure it's really you." Which is great, really, Google, I do appreciate your security, but my PHONE WAS DEAD. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I use my backup e-mail to send Google a note that I was stranded and unable to get in with a phone code. Hope for the best.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I'm housed overnight, sleep a little and set out with her Amy's husband in the morning. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Second lot we see is the one! </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">And there is my Silver Subie in all her unadulterated glory. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Car starts, bag and wallet are in, and I'm on my way.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">I get to FoCo around 8am, stop at home, change my clothes, go get the cars registered (due the next day), and go to work, then class, then meet the fam for dinner and pick Kelsey up from work at 9pm.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">This is my life. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;">I'm exhausted all the time. </span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;">There's more to it than the sheer bad luck and stress response clouding my judgment and/or memory (a nagging reminder of the scene in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Still_Alice">Still Alice</a> where she hides a gun for when she loses too much of her brain to Alzheimer's occasionally plagues me when I'm really in brain fog).</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">My mind is packed to the gills with new information from classes, umpteen schedules, things I want to say (and often don't) to my loved ones about how important they are to me, dreams...</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;">There's this stupid insecurity and self-doubt of a 1st gen student popping up that never manifest itself in my undergrad studies. It keeps the stress dialed up. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;">There's the mom guilt of not being there for ev.ery.thing. Am I spiting the quality of their childhoods by chasing this dream?</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">And before anyone gets all self-righteous about "But HOW?" could this happen and they would never... let me remind you that this crazy, American pace of life has had more tragic results than mine.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">One <a href="https://www.cincinnati.com/story/news/2017/08/24/ten-years-ago-day-local-mom-left-her-child-die-car/596774001/">mom got so into auto-pilot </a>that one day when the routine was upset, she forgot her son in the back of her hot car all day. He died. My heart breaks for that family still, because I can totally see myself in that situation. But for the grace of God go I.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">And sometimes, it's not just busy mom dysfunction. Our human minds are feeble, quick to take shortcuts, especially when the primitive brain is in control and being doused with cortisol, adrenaline, and whatever external stimulants we're feeding it. [I'm living on a caffeine drip these days...this is stupid, I know, but you do what you hafta].</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">For instance, the <a href="https://www.spring.org.uk/2008/02/how-memories-are-distorted-and-invented.php">Australian woman who was raped in 1975, and accused a guy who couldn't have done it </a>because he was speaking on the news at the time of the assault. You would think in such horrific circumstances, someone would KNOW who attacked them. But, like commonly happens, her mind mis-recalled and subsequently misinterpreted the cues she had seen.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;">The moral of the story is that when stress compromises your executive functioning, there is hell to pay.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;">---PSA - Had I "<a href="https://www.bustle.com/p/how-to-save-your-parking-spot-in-google-maps-never-search-for-your-lost-car-again-54177">dropped a pin</a>" on my phone in the parking lot, none of this would have happened.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;">Had I realized my confusion before walking around in circles for hours, I could have r<a href="https://mashable.com/2015/07/22/google-maps-your-timeline/#Fryq8P9ChGqi">ead my timeline better</a>, and maybe figured it out.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;">Links are for your benefit. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;">This is Heather (actually Emma Stone, but she's pretty and I like her voice better than my own - I would totally cast her to play me in a movie of my life).</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ6Rw02kzEURvTxwJ5TCRaaKgZxnFAYysAbWsXSdXmDnsaavBtFlA2MM862LIRrFINgLqbQxC3lx13HPbh2U3a95iEbUPJKQ8KFQoFjg_qPmklRuuzf5tk8nzH6MmLW9w7bSGNpyW_72PR/s1600/girl-woman-panicked.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="700" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ6Rw02kzEURvTxwJ5TCRaaKgZxnFAYysAbWsXSdXmDnsaavBtFlA2MM862LIRrFINgLqbQxC3lx13HPbh2U3a95iEbUPJKQ8KFQoFjg_qPmklRuuzf5tk8nzH6MmLW9w7bSGNpyW_72PR/s640/girl-woman-panicked.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;">Don't be like Heather.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #444444;">I'm here to serve. So you don't have to.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444;">You're welcome.</span></div>
Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-87543750529632500612018-01-11T07:23:00.004-07:002018-04-04T15:01:33.462-06:00Epiphany<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNfly4GdMO71yke2Ir6HZ_JtihF4GYn35QtWG888Qi4_bsycNS25eLPoEwNGTrnx-yyMxXcLTAbOcqkVs9fjwgGT-Wy4jukQHEkNhzySZTx93tjkSOdkJel5QsujfOSDCkjaoOoV_SeI5E/s1600/austin-chan-275638.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNfly4GdMO71yke2Ir6HZ_JtihF4GYn35QtWG888Qi4_bsycNS25eLPoEwNGTrnx-yyMxXcLTAbOcqkVs9fjwgGT-Wy4jukQHEkNhzySZTx93tjkSOdkJel5QsujfOSDCkjaoOoV_SeI5E/s640/austin-chan-275638.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/ukzHlkoz1IE?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; text-decoration-skip: ink; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap;">Austin Chan</a><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; font-family: , "blinkmacsystemfont" , "san francisco" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "ubuntu" , "roboto" , "noto" , "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: nowrap;"> on </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; text-decoration-skip: ink; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap;">Unsplash</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I remember.<br />
<br />
This one day in a college lecture the instructor was highlighting the virtues and pitfalls of hallucinogenic drug use on the human psyche.<br />
<br />
"So I have this friend who's a brilliant writer, you know? He calls me up and says, 'Dude, I keep having this amazing word pop into my brain the last few times I've gotten high. Like its structure just blows my mind, and the meanings it conveys, and I gotta capture it, I just keep forgetting.' Ok, so I tell him to keep one of his gazillion note pads handy next time he lights a joint and write it down so he can find it when he's sober."<br />
<br />
"Well, kids, he did it. Wanna know what this transcendental language icon was?"<br />
<br />
"'The.......' Just the word 'the.'"<br />
<br />
Titters from the crowd.<br />
<br />
"I know, right? So there you have it."<br />
<br />
And he launched into a litany of other effects THC and other hallucinogens can have on the brain, particularly with respect to short-term memory.<br />
<br />
(Let it be known that I have never had the slightest interest in experimenting with pot. Not a moral high-horse thing, simply too many negative associations with the drug as a child.)<br />
<br />
So keep that story in your back pocket.<br />
<br />
Monday night, I was so excited, practically giddy - really, to go back to yoga after a very long absence during fall semester.<br />
<br />
Except.<br />
<br />
This specific class has gained some crazy popularity, and when I opened the door on-time, the studio was packed to the gills.<br />
<br />
No room at the Yoga Inn.<br />
<br />
Sadly, I resigned myself to climbing the stairs to the cardio balcony that overlooks the basketball courts, where Colton and Christopher redeem their 6 hours of school-day sedentarism through sweat on a regular basis.<br />
<br />
I'd planned on 50 minutes of yoga plus 30 minutes of cardio that night, so I set the elliptical for an hour.<br />
<br />
See previous note about my gym hibernation last semester. And note, that's a hella long time for an out of shape mom.<br />
<br />
But where a girl has goals and endless power jams from Adam Levine, Ed Sheeran, Kelly, Meghan, and Katie, a girl has the ability.<br />
<br />
About 30 minutes in the endorphins start to kick in, and with them, insights to the speech I need to write for my upcoming Sentate confirmation start to trickle through my mind.<br />
<br />
Then flashes of thought as to recent marital strife - how I could really resolve some things on <i>my</i> end.<br />
<br />
<i>Hey, you know, I bet you could solve the world's problems with this strategy....</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Churchy thoughts, reflections of Saturday's time with the homeless.<br />
<br />
Ideas on how I could start writing more of <i>my</i> stuff, creative plots, beautiful vignettes.<br />
<i><br /></i>
Seriously, mind-blowing, revolutionary sagaciousness was flowing with the blood pumping through my mom-bod.<br />
<br />
See also: bordering on delusional.<br />
<br />
<i>I'm gonna have to write these down, these are so good!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
And then, scene.<br />
<br />
Workout is over, I'm dripping sweat everywhere (regrettably after the staff had just wiped the area down - sorry, folks), I'm in that blissed out state that occurs when one really moves and pushes their body.<br />
<br />
Go pick up the boys and wrangle them to head home.<br />
<br />
Arrive at casa del Meyer.<br />
<br />
And <i>poof! </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
All insights are gone. <i>What were those amazing thoughts?</i><br />
<br />
I suppose I'll need to start recording my thoughts as they pop up during my elliptical time.<br />
<br />
But.<br />
<br />
A tiny bit of me is scared the profundity will be much less in real time.<br />
<br />
You know, about as deep as "the."Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-86030675748208805962018-01-05T23:20:00.001-07:002018-04-04T15:01:59.082-06:00When the 'sleeping dogs' grow restless<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdI0nIX92etX_VNjCW8qF_1fZx6GbDxdhC6YhyphenhyphenBE0QfxKlMY5gR8WpszoGmDeyv4lNp1WctChdvoa-XazPeYYDbgqmN7h_lwF5h8dlarNDmkLYHS9INlf0k6FLjaRZldZl0UY1jOkVrAW/s1600/michael-mroczek-435208.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdI0nIX92etX_VNjCW8qF_1fZx6GbDxdhC6YhyphenhyphenBE0QfxKlMY5gR8WpszoGmDeyv4lNp1WctChdvoa-XazPeYYDbgqmN7h_lwF5h8dlarNDmkLYHS9INlf0k6FLjaRZldZl0UY1jOkVrAW/s640/michael-mroczek-435208.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/9z2ukw4XvvM">Unsplash.com: Michael Mroczek</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When you grow up knowing your mother's partner, your air-quotes dad, isn't actually your father,<br />
<br />
It's kind of like being adopted.<br />
<br />
But not really.<br />
<br />
Because growing up with your mother and siblings<br />
<br />
Is not like being adopted.<br />
<br />
When you finally meet the paternal side of your DNA, at age 14,<br />
<br />
It's like a birth parent reunion.<br />
<br />
Except, you've known who he was all along.<br />
<br />
You went to school with your cousins.<br />
<br />
And you knew it.<br />
<br />
And they knew it.<br />
<br />
When <a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2006/03/ever-just-wake-up-with-someone-on-your.html">trauma enters</a> that newfound parent-child relationship,<br />
<br />
It's like death of a family.<br />
<br />
Especially when the book finally closes shut for decades on that brief chapter.<br />
<br />
Except, when social media allows you to look them up, see pictures of your then-toddler brothers all grown up and pushing 30,<br />
<br />
You know.<br />
<br />
It's not really like they're dead.<br />
<br />
They are quite alive.<br />
<br />
Without you.<br />
<br />
Are you dead to them?<br />
<br />
Do they remember?<br />
<br />
Wondering what half of your medical history is can be,<br />
<br />
Like being adopted.<br />
<br />
So much unknown.<br />
<br />
But you know.<br />
<br />
Exactly how to reach them,<br />
<br />
Should you have the desire.<br />
<br />
But that's the question,<br />
<br />
Do you desire to know and be known,<br />
<br />
More than you are comforted by the insulating comfort distance affords?<br />
<br />
Is the wondering insufferable to the point you must act?<br />
<br />
Or is the bliss of ignorance prized enough that these passing fancies of curiosity will be sated with a glimpse of your child's bone structure staring back at you through a screen?<br />
<br />
Almost 25 years ago, I met them.<br />
<br />
Nearly 17 years ago, the book of our relationship closed, both covers gradually moving a mutual direction toward the closure.<br />
<br />
And yet, a niggling curiosity will awaken.<br />
<br />
I don't always know why, but sometimes it isn't very easy to let the sleeping dogs lie.<br />
<br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-30283880575254801772018-01-01T09:59:00.000-07:002018-04-04T15:03:33.169-06:00Actualization: 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjCHmEOzS5FEy1V1LgcW5trqh2CBI3rVzwD-smVsItjO9evRpIikPufaTL1HAnGX7_laTcBqGAuVtGo0SC4Egu4JXKXKotWs69k2iUx6xXILCFwUjFq-wMuz1QsbEPUjFqQYk-bUeMWpLj/s1600/26220509_10156153330762033_2105435139674406409_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1324" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjCHmEOzS5FEy1V1LgcW5trqh2CBI3rVzwD-smVsItjO9evRpIikPufaTL1HAnGX7_laTcBqGAuVtGo0SC4Egu4JXKXKotWs69k2iUx6xXILCFwUjFq-wMuz1QsbEPUjFqQYk-bUeMWpLj/s640/26220509_10156153330762033_2105435139674406409_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
I suck at New Year's Resolutions - always have.<br />
<br />
And ONE word for the year?<br />
<br />
Seems so constraining, so limited for this tangential, all-the-strings-in-my-web-are-connected thinker.<br />
<br />
So I did the vision board thing.<br />
<br />
Yes, the very thing that I've poked fun of over the years.<br />
<br />
You see, there's <a href="https://www.powtoon.com/blog/mind-blowing-vision-board-4-step/">science</a> that backs it, and I am determined AF (and, truthfully, a <strike>little</strike> lot overwhelmed) about making 2018 very, very different from 2017.<br />
<br />
There are a lot of moving pieces to this year:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>First official semester (i.e. IN the program) as a grad student, taking two courses, not one</li>
<li>Going through the <a href="http://fltiofcolorado.colostate.edu/what-is-flti/">Family Leadership Training Institute</a>, and harnessing my voice</li>
<li>Second half of Kelsey's junior year, i.e. figuring out life plans and making $#!t happen for her</li>
<li>Lacrosse season - high school and club for Colton and Chris, respectively</li>
<li>Seth going back to work</li>
<li>My appointment to the Colorado Children's Trust Fund Board</li>
<li>Answering the calling God has given me (see all of the above!)</li>
<li>Really pursuing my fitness/health, and taking care of myself</li>
<li>Pouring into my relationships</li>
</ul>
<div>
So, I really needed something to bolster me as I pursue all of these things.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The BIG words for 2018 that I am holding onto for dear life?</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Awakening - civilly, spiritually, life path-wise </li>
<li>Hope - we have to do better in our families, communities, country</li>
<li>Transformation - intellectually, physically, emotionally, spiritually</li>
<li>BREATHE - I have to take time to rejuvenate, PLAY, and create</li>
<li>Triumph - I will succeed where I put my mind to it</li>
<li>Active - I have to make time to be healthy</li>
<li>Tribe - my friends and family are priceless and I want to continually invest in them while adding new people to the tribe</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
The small words are ideas for how to accomplish these things.</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Find beauty in common places</li>
<li>Made in America with love (shout out to the idea of making America KIND again)</li>
<li>Daring Dissenter</li>
<li>Pioneers of HOPE</li>
<li>Refresh: Mind, Body, Soul</li>
<li>I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart</li>
<li>Truth be told</li>
<li>Because I have this crazy idea that my purpose is bigger than me</li>
<li>Breaking borders with Kindness</li>
<li>Class (as in the academic type)</li>
<li>Work harder</li>
<li>Relax</li>
<li>Gratitude</li>
<li>Write</li>
<li>Rejuvenate</li>
<li>Quest</li>
<li>Explore</li>
<li>Playtime</li>
<li>Camp</li>
<li>Getaway</li>
<li>Free to be you and me</li>
<li>Friends</li>
<li>#justsayhello</li>
<li>Surround yourself with inspirational people</li>
</ul>
<div>
Can't wait to see what's in store!</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-10239026741784688502017-12-26T23:09:00.002-07:002018-04-04T15:04:34.051-06:00My UnravelingIf ever someone saw into my soul and summarized the anguish seen inside, "<a href="https://brenebrown.com/press_and_media/">Queen Brené"</a> did.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfiDXG4D7yvZOxGXehyphenhyphendcw7OLy8W1G_sOzyKtd5IKiZlRxp1xrUc51f8OMcj3hr-vTOrhASLsjLFrVuw5eOr62I2aq5_wMfhqfQf04U7hYii3oFYvv_5_dk22CZb3D3lVPgcdIwBFRwQER/s1600/Midlife.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="423" data-original-width="564" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfiDXG4D7yvZOxGXehyphenhyphendcw7OLy8W1G_sOzyKtd5IKiZlRxp1xrUc51f8OMcj3hr-vTOrhASLsjLFrVuw5eOr62I2aq5_wMfhqfQf04U7hYii3oFYvv_5_dk22CZb3D3lVPgcdIwBFRwQER/s640/Midlife.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
I wouldn't say that this tug of war has been specific to the last couple of years (i.e. mid-life, I guess?) rather this pull between what I <i>want to be</i> and what I'm <i>supposed to be </i>has been the constant state of Heather.<br />
<br />
This year, twenty-seventeen, has been a rough one for me, and I'm beyond ready to shake it off.<br />
<br />
But, since my other strong female warrior she-ro, <a href="http://momastery.com/blog/about-glennon/">Glennon Doyle (Momastery)</a>, likes to say, "First, the pain, then the rising," I thought some reflection on the events of the past year was apropos.<br />
<br />
I started 2017 out with the knowledge that my beloved position with a local non-profit was ending due to an imminent layoff. The December to May job-seeking process, even whilst well-connected and known for excellent work, was more-than brutal. The vicious and exhausting cycle of opportunity - anticipation - rejection rendered my newly re-acquired confidence back to the level I'd had as the insecure little fat girl who always got picked last for kickball. That some of my interviewers were colleagues with whom I had worked made the notifications thanking me for my interest, noting, "but we went with another candidate," sting all the more. Mostly, though, I began to feel like this idea of living the life I <i>wanted</i> was a fantasy.<br />
<br />
In the middle of that anguish came the call that my grandmother had fallen in her home and broken her hip. Somehow, in that borderline psychic way I've always had about me, I knew it was the end for her. Her health had been declining steadily since her love affair with cigarettes had cursed her with COPD and a host of other ailments, leaving her independence and mobility all but gone. I knew in my heart of hearts that she would not return home.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>She would rather die than be put in a nursing home where she couldn't smoke, though. Grandma's compromise to it all had been to allow my aunt - long-addicted to meth and sex - to live-in with her under the ruse that she would be Grandma's 24/7 caregiver. The quality of that care was laughable, but as all other aspects of that life had been dysfunctional, they made it "work." I had been appalled by the filth and food hoarding (MONTHS of leftovers in the fridges - yes, two lovelies filled with grotesque science experiments) when Mom and I flew out in 2015. During the summer of 2016 visit, were it not for us stopping by with breakfast each morning, unbeknownst to my aunt, Grandma's first meal of the day would not be until late afternoon.</i></div>
<br />
I talked to Grandma in the hospital after she'd had surgery to fix her hip, and she lamented that I wasn't there. A couple of days later, she contracted pneumonia in the hospital and I borrowed money <i>(more like my dear friend shoved it upon me, bless her) </i>to fly out there and be with her. At the same time, I was able to offer my cousin some desperately needed respite. She was juggling work at a new job with being a young, single mother of 3 boys against the desire to have someone with Grandma at all times.<br />
<br />
It is hard enough to lose someone you love. Harder still to watch them fend off the regrets and demons of a life wrought with betrayals, abuse, and secrets no soul should ever have the burden of carrying, as they die a torturously stretched out death. <i>I've written <a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2017/05/where-prayer-and-conjuring-meet.html">about this previously</a>, but it is time to really process.</i><br />
<br />
I arrived on Wednesday evening. My cousin and I drove from the airport to the hospital straightaway. Grandma looked so pale and frail, even thinner than she had been just six months prior. She knew and recognized me, and scolded me for spending money to come see her. I told her to save it for someone who would listen, that I was a stubborn broad, too. She grinned at that and said, "Well, okaaaayyy," in her wry, sing-songy way she always had, "Then I guess Imma glad you're here." That moment of lucidity was short-lived, as within moments I was a man she didn't want touching her, as she snatched her hand out of mine.<br />
<br />
My cousin and I spoke at length with a male nurse that night regarding her disorientation and hallucinations. He perfunctorily surmised it was dementia and that she'd had it for a long time. Hope and I firmly said, "Impossible," even as he reasoned away that many dementia patients "pass" the daily tests of living by relying on the cues of a familiar environment. I told him that may well be, but that when my kids and I visited that was VERY out of the norm and she never skipped a beat, let alone when we talked on the phone. Both of those "tests" would have failed at some point if she'd had dementia. He showed us her brain MRI and pointed out a bleed that looked to have been chronic, saying that it would be miraculous if she <i>didn't</i> have dementia because of the oxygen deprivation her brain had experienced for what looked to be a long time.<br />
<br />
That was the first inkling for me that she'd actually had a stroke first, which caused the fall, resulting in the hip fracture. God, oh, my dear Lord, the exhaustion of having to play forensic detective and medical advocate, while also begging my loved ones to face the music that despite the doctors' sunny outlooks, she was not going to survive. It was soul-depleting.<br />
<br />
I spent all day Thursday with Grandma at the cursed hospital room. She saw the souls of many who'd gone before her in that room, and conversed with them, fought with them, sometimes telling me what the contexts for these vignettes were. Often, I had to guess, educated by the pieced-together revelations of many dark family secrets.<br />
<br />
Someone had called Adult Protection Services on my aunt, concerned regarding the circumstances of Grandma's fall. My aunt began furiously texting my mother and me about that situation. Minutes later, the APS worker came to visit my Grandma and me. Never a dull moment. Grandma was sharp and lucid during that time, for the first time all day. She could barely take in any liquids, let alone food, and I constantly had to swab her dried, sunken mouth to get the chunks of dehydrated spittle out of her. She was in a constant state of agitation. So I sang to her for awhile, hymns of comfort and peace.<br />
<br />
Eventually, she was cleared for a transfer to a nursing home, where she would supposedly recover from the <i>hospital delirium </i>and the hip fracture, then go home. I knew otherwise in my heart. In the hours leading up to the transfer, her agitation and the ever-present death rattle in her throat just got worse and worse, to the point I felt her end was imminent.<br />
<br />
The transfer was bungled from start to finish. First the transferring medics came with a damned wheelchair, when clearly this was a gurney job. Hours later, they returned with a gurney into which to transfer her. They banged her hip on the rail, which caused her to cry out. The nursing home staff were not prepared for her meals since her arrival was well-outside their normal hours for such activity. The director came in to welcome us and explain everything, noting she would contact the kitchen for a liquid diet dinner, but she got called away to an emergency, from which <b><i>she never returned</i></b>. A couple hours later, when a CNA came in, I let loose my inner advocate - albeit professional, my anger had simmered all day about the incompetency from the hospital to there...that poor woman was terrified of me, and my cousin wondered in awe how I knew to be such an eloquent bitch without actually descending into vulgarity.<br />
<br />
Grandma entered a calm state, and we sat with her, my cousin, aunt (she'd finally showed up around 5pm, just as the transfer was happening), and me.<br />
<br />
My aunt bailed when Grandma had a painful altercation, bawling that she just couldn't stand seeing her like this. I roared, again, asking her - this time with plenty of vulgarity - how the fuck she thought I'd felt watching her heart-rending suffering all damn day. But, you can't reason with addicts, and she left, not realizing this would be her final goodbye. No doubt that haunts her today.<br />
<br />
She passed just a few short hours after Hope and I left her, sleeping peacefully, that night.<br />
<br />
Hope, my cousin Zaryn, my Uncle's son who had just been an infant when we'd moved from Washington to Colorado in 1993, and I managed the tasks of acquiring information from the funeral homes about options for Grandma's remains, which we would later relay to my mother, Power of Attorney while Grandma was alive, now Executor of her will. When we went back to Grandma's room to talk about arrangements with the funeral home director, we entered the scene of Grandma's body being put into the body bag, rather crudely and forcefully. Hope and Zaryn had to leave the room, while I broke with Mom on the phone. Just as I felt my knees start to give way, my body wracked with sobs, Zaryn's primal, keening embrace bolstered me. The fact that we were virtually strangers, yet his family devotion was so fierce caused me to weep even harder.<br />
<br />
It got worse from there. When Mom and my step-dad George arrived after their long haul from Colorado, we had to move through the grief-numbed motions of settling Grandma's financial affairs. What we found was heart-breaking. Exploitation in obscene amounts, leaving my mother with serious debts to settle and precious little in the bank accounts.<br />
<br />
Along with the normal phases of grief anyone goes through with the loss of a loved one, were betrayals that only compounded the emotions we had to navigate. I have found myself asking God how any one of the women in my family's history could ever have seen evidence of His hand in their lives, so much evil had colored their lives. Why do some people have so much ever-present trauma in their lives from birth to death that their souls are the hardened soil Jesus spoke of in the parable of the seed-sower? No hope for the Unreachables. Just how and where is the mercy in that? And for someone to quote John 3:16? Puh-lease.<br />
<br />
I'm still struggling with that. My walk with God this year could be illustrated as an arduous hike, riddled with fallen logs that have ripped chunks of my flesh off me, boulders that have caused me to slip and fall, repeatedly skinning my knees, elbows, and smaller rocks that have caught my foot, resulting in breath-robbing falls that have left me gasping. And I don't know that I can say that I've arrived on the other side of this period....yet. I'm still taking steps toward it...my wounds keep coming open again, but each time they close up a bit, then re-open, smaller. I know some day, those wounds of my battered faith will no longer be scabs that hurt as the oozing restarts, but scars and bruises, painful to touch, but no longer vulnerable to the threats of infection. For now, though? I'm still awfully tender and would ask that you're careful with my heart.<br />
<br />
I returned days before my job timed out. The job that helped me re-see myself as the capable, confident, and stronger-than-most woman I am. I returned to the soul-sucking task of job-seeking adding a layer of loss to the already fresh row of grief covering my heart. It felt like an unrelenting season of injury.<br />
<br />
In April, a job opening was made known to me that didn't just call to me, it screamed to me. So I applied, interviewed and got the call with the offer the morning of my 38th birthday. It marries my interest in disrupting inequitable systems/policies with empowering others, and has provided the resources for me to return to graduate school. That is a part of 2017 that I would never trade.<br />
<br />
The end of September, I was able to realize a dream that has been in the making for the past 17 years. My <a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2008/03/how-this-all-got-started.html">March Mommies</a> had <i>finally</i> devised a plan to get together! Not all of us, but 10 of us! We planned on spending a weekend in Vegas, and it was a-mazing. It was the first non-work, non-family crisis overnight time spent away from my family in...ever. And with the women who've known me the longest, walked with me through some of my most difficult times? Paradise.<br />
<br />
Until the last few hours.<br />
<br />
We had decided that night not to go out, to just eat in at the hotel and play around inside. We played Ellen's Head's Up game and sang cell-phone karaoke, drank wine and ate an equal amount of gourmet goods and junk foods. Basically <i>Moms Gone Mild. </i>We'd had so much fun.<br />
<br />
And then, texts about the shooter began to hit some of our phones. Just down the street, the nation's largest (within the past century at least) mass shooting was unfolding. I can't describe the feelings of terror with a specificity such that someone could understand.<br />
<br />
Some people have said, "Well but you weren't <i>really </i>there, there," meaning I wasn't at the concert.<br />
<br />
And while they're not wrong, they also don't get what it is like to see people streaming the streets, running in fear, fear that is very real. They don't know what it's like to not be able to contact loved ones to assure and be assured that you are ok (Seth sleeps with his cell phone on silent, and it was after 11 in Colorado). They don't know what it's like to be in such a hyper-vigilant state that you pull an all-nighter. They don't know that when you need to seek answers, even if they infringe on your political views, that their invalidation is re-traumatizing and basically tells you, "I don't give a damn, nobody means more than my guns!"<br />
<br />
I was in a fugue like state for a week before I called the therapist. I had to be able to talk about it, and my family members weren't safe to talk about common sense gun control with, nor was Facebook the media in which to do so. I'm still seeing him.<br />
<br />
Then, Seth's fourth surgery in three years hit. It's taken a toll, and wreaked havoc with our family dynamics, from finances to division of labor, to <i>in sickness and health, </i>to <i>is this the rest of my life,</i> to mental health role reversal and my discomfort with it, coupled with a dawning realization...we are now at week 10 of what we thought would be an 8 week recovery. There've been moments of barely hanging on, where another downed log on my faith trek clawed deep enough to reveal bone and require stitches. Thankfully, family and our church have shown up.<br />
<h2>
In a BIG way. </h2>
For that, the Lord blesses you, and we are beyond grateful for the meals, cards with encouragement, and generous financial blessings.<br />
<br />
As it turns out, everything discussed here so far, all rolled together, brought me to the unraveling mentioned in the opening quote, facing some desperate questions:<br />
<h3>
<i>What do I really want in life?</i></h3>
<h3>
<i>Who am I, really?</i></h3>
Over the next several days, I am putting together my vision, hopes, and dreams for 2018 and beyond.<br />
<br />
First off?<br />
<br />
Saying 'Bye, Felicia,' to the trials of this year, and clutching the precious teachings 2017 provided close to my heart, carrying them into 2018. Growth mindset, baby.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-62778811413793154932017-12-16T12:22:00.000-07:002018-04-04T15:05:32.730-06:00This has been hanging out in my drafts folder....<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNI6E-IP85hx9nN3tN4_xkzU7fSbjHhyN9y1H1_d8K9Ro0kMqsZQ1vonfQruYepcgaTtk34MqbBoJ1cJWp1bHa3La8tdhsmNb3PEQsmNT3AVQh61olJsIwuU0Vri_BR6KwHcVqWYTnjDRH/s1600/nik-macmillan-153579.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNI6E-IP85hx9nN3tN4_xkzU7fSbjHhyN9y1H1_d8K9Ro0kMqsZQ1vonfQruYepcgaTtk34MqbBoJ1cJWp1bHa3La8tdhsmNb3PEQsmNT3AVQh61olJsIwuU0Vri_BR6KwHcVqWYTnjDRH/s640/nik-macmillan-153579.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/http://unsplash.com/photos/qyvm0zXdKYE" style="background-color: #f2f2f2; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap;">Nik MacMillan</a><span style="background-color: #f2f2f2; color: #111111; font-family: , "blinkmacsystemfont" , "san francisco" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "ubuntu" , "roboto" , "noto" , "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: nowrap;"> on </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/" style="background-color: #f2f2f2; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "San Francisco", "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Ubuntu, Roboto, Noto, "Segoe UI", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start; transition: color 0.2s ease-in-out, opacity 0.2s ease-in-out; white-space: nowrap;">Unsplash</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<strike>Summer is officially winding down.</strike><br />
<br />
The boys both started school <strike>yesterday.</strike> <strike>three weeks ago Friday</strike>. Who are we kidding, winter break is next freaking Friday. Maybe that says a bit about the craziness of the past 6 months, particularly the last 4 since school started?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSFT49QSPLWYCcxW-8h5ojcwSYWmEd0XsGsx3GVOS8P1CioV88kYiIvX95c_YF2CwYozje50RCj85qYKTU20F9-0TIPH-8P7paOKZZQO2e1TYoWkWDGKm0kaLyWhTs7mA8Zb8xCwHED_p-/s1600/20861556_10155757260157033_6473928578510477368_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSFT49QSPLWYCcxW-8h5ojcwSYWmEd0XsGsx3GVOS8P1CioV88kYiIvX95c_YF2CwYozje50RCj85qYKTU20F9-0TIPH-8P7paOKZZQO2e1TYoWkWDGKm0kaLyWhTs7mA8Zb8xCwHED_p-/s320/20861556_10155757260157033_6473928578510477368_o.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3rd grade</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEgLa49iAq9SAZpJ5XGTbNmezIQjxfaM2xbHMNzkNT3ZWoQmOA5qyhjfj0u5YXOwshtF5MHtlMkwt0H0l-gZu5eXxUH5NAEm7TcTPhxx-lNNk7uEC4GI_Gxv_CbEjLFodbB_8bSE__MmoO/s1600/20900964_10155757262747033_8956285379584826128_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEgLa49iAq9SAZpJ5XGTbNmezIQjxfaM2xbHMNzkNT3ZWoQmOA5qyhjfj0u5YXOwshtF5MHtlMkwt0H0l-gZu5eXxUH5NAEm7TcTPhxx-lNNk7uEC4GI_Gxv_CbEjLFodbB_8bSE__MmoO/s320/20900964_10155757262747033_8956285379584826128_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freshman!?!?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i>Do not get me started about the ridiculousness of starting school on a Friday.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Kelsey <strike>starts</strike> started on a Monday. <strike>Three weeks ago tomorrow.</strike> (see above - the year's half over)<br />
<br />
<i>Junior year.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>HOW?!?!?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcjx5hDbPOcl1Q7Kmaxoj2PC5tqjBetftEz7CyhT0dw5V1UvDpjrMG2vbR6VfYxlFTkFGZsait-woUFJH-VHE_ohq2Y0-S_AI6r64SsqlsV3Kg7UCuVhCwbtyef8ovGLIHBJ-bZhqVn8bz/s1600/20934085_10155766206557033_7101317018782128931_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcjx5hDbPOcl1Q7Kmaxoj2PC5tqjBetftEz7CyhT0dw5V1UvDpjrMG2vbR6VfYxlFTkFGZsait-woUFJH-VHE_ohq2Y0-S_AI6r64SsqlsV3Kg7UCuVhCwbtyef8ovGLIHBJ-bZhqVn8bz/s320/20934085_10155766206557033_7101317018782128931_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i>
<br />
Anyway....Monday <strike>is</strike> (August 21st) was back to school for me, too.<br />
<br />
Yes, 20 years after I first stepped into a Colorado State University classroom, I <strike>will be returning</strike> returned to the Clark building, the building in which 90% of my undergrad classes were held, the building that housed that infamous basement bathroom wherein I learned I would be <a href="https://heatherinthemaking.blogspot.com/2006/03/growing-up.html">accompanied across the graduation stage</a>.<br />
<br />
Memories.<br />
<br />
See also: Time, it does jet on by.<br />
<br />
Once again, I've found myself in that odd rhythm of life that brings things full circle. Despite so much changing everything stays much the same.<br />
<br />
**** And that's where the train of thought ended, my friends. I was probably called to attend homework problems or my alarm went off to go pick up one of the children.<br />
<br />
Where I was going, I'm not quite sure, but I figure I'll hit publish for the hell of it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8912958848312625029.post-32400494319668247572017-05-11T08:51:00.001-06:002017-05-11T08:57:01.927-06:00Where Prayer and Conjuring Meet<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUpVozsZfSdOL-vtRdtezdbYRIoo-FpxN-0rr5WsuLR-SXAJoB4fdvQ4jqz7Arimp8nNZ7qlt_ctFSFsdzGbt6cq7PNyIk-2OEhPQEuJsOFkos7jcPk4KZDnk9bEI-KGiETlDZorOFV9SC/s1600/16715990_10155125098152033_1378630373498859105_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUpVozsZfSdOL-vtRdtezdbYRIoo-FpxN-0rr5WsuLR-SXAJoB4fdvQ4jqz7Arimp8nNZ7qlt_ctFSFsdzGbt6cq7PNyIk-2OEhPQEuJsOFkos7jcPk4KZDnk9bEI-KGiETlDZorOFV9SC/s640/16715990_10155125098152033_1378630373498859105_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<i>For those who may be new here, my grandmother passed away in February. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>My grief comes and goes, hitting</i><i> in those proverbial waves.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Sometimes I talk to Jesus and the Father about it. </i><br />
<i>Other times I talk with Grandma.</i></div>
<br />
Hey Grandma,<br />
<br />
Mother Nature almost missed the memo - not granting her usual showers in Colorado until late in the month of April, so May is catching up for us.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
We've had a lot of gray days, but I'm not complaining. We had a dry winter and desperately need the moisture, lest we have another summer filled with wildfires.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusaD6EkF6dlawcQ021EJ-Db3GCCopwZH4N8m03pNjO7BDzlO49J1mnaHfFPBzMYfaiOwfPwrPO9DiwexuxlPkM6a_9i1_WigkdwSkLCFX39yjt2fpTDXMHJ8lclXUIrQwJUdPPcjjTn0f/s1600/HighParkFireNightmachtMG3435jpg-2124217_p9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusaD6EkF6dlawcQ021EJ-Db3GCCopwZH4N8m03pNjO7BDzlO49J1mnaHfFPBzMYfaiOwfPwrPO9DiwexuxlPkM6a_9i1_WigkdwSkLCFX39yjt2fpTDXMHJ8lclXUIrQwJUdPPcjjTn0f/s640/HighParkFireNightmachtMG3435jpg-2124217_p9.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Credit: CNN</td></tr>
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Rain in <a href="http://denver.cbslocal.com/2015/05/22/300-days-of-sun-not-really-just-good-marketing/">sunny Colorado</a> yields a lot of rainbows, and lately, they've been different. Like they're only for me to see and playing peek-a-boo with the rest of the people. Like they're from you.<br />
<br />
A couple weeks ago, as I was taking Colton home from practice, I drove around Donath Lake and there it was. The sun was peeking out of the clouds for the first time all day, just before it began its western descent, edging the spent thunderheads all silvercast, stretching her beams wide to dance on the water's surface.<br />
<br />
One cumulus puff caught my eye with its radiance. Edging the corner nearest the sun along with the virga streaming down from the main cloud body, was a waterfall of prismacolor.<br />
<br />
I wanted to stop and snap a picture because I'd never seen anything quite like it.<br />
<br />
It was kind of like this, but still different:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDbWW7Q9-z-gFUH2SW0Km0vaXKsQitYmcuepg3MzUfnb9pwOuN7gXswW6LQzGXODVcOyqjmhmuqe53G4Cz8xC_L3TEb0Rdfmb4qfPQrZhazzlT2MC0TIJIUg5eT7KqOCHQaqrj3afLKNtV/s1600/cloud-iridescent-dave-walker-uk-4-25-2013-lg-e1465376703945.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDbWW7Q9-z-gFUH2SW0Km0vaXKsQitYmcuepg3MzUfnb9pwOuN7gXswW6LQzGXODVcOyqjmhmuqe53G4Cz8xC_L3TEb0Rdfmb4qfPQrZhazzlT2MC0TIJIUg5eT7KqOCHQaqrj3afLKNtV/s640/cloud-iridescent-dave-walker-uk-4-25-2013-lg-e1465376703945.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://earthsky.org/earth/i-saw-a-cloud-with-rainbow-colors-what-causes-it">Credit: EarthSky.org</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It was so beautiful.<br />
<br />
Also fleeting.<br />
<br />
The angle of the sun changed so much that by the time I turned the corner and could pull over, you were gone.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, the skies were almost black, but as we turned east to our park destination, a broad diagonal swath of cloud was streaked with rainbow, ever so faintly.<br />
<br />
It took me back.<br />
<br />
***************************************<br />
<i>February 16, 2017 </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>My cousin Hope and I are driving in her van, tears still fresh in our eyes, along US-395 as we follow the ambulance transporting you from the hospital to the nursing facility.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It has been a long day.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I got to the hospital just before 8 am, after getting Hope's boys ready and off to school and driving her to work.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You only knew me for sporadic periods that day. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I watched you try to reconcile your past with the ghosts in the room all day long.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>At one point, you'd sat up abruptly out of a peaceful state, pointed your finger at whomever you saw, glaring intensely at them and growled menacingly in your tobacco-deepened baritone voice, "You get your hands off of her!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You shook your finger for emphasis and roared, "D'YA HEAR ME?!? You get your hands OFF of her, I said!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>My eyes brimmed, hot and salty tears threatening to burst the dam of calm resolve. I knew not one, but several different unspeakable incidents from your past to which you could be speaking, and that there could be countless others I didn't know about.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I rolled my eyes heavenward, the Spirit in me groaning out to God, "Why? Why was her life so damn hard? And you can't even give her a merciful death? Why?" and then I blasphemed against the Lord, "What the f*ck is wrong with You? You allowed some sick sh*t to happen in her lifetime - why????"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You collapsed, exhausted by the outburst and then told me you needed a cigarette something fierce.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Grandma, you can't have one here." </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Why in the hell not?"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Because Grandma, remember you are in the hospital? You fell and broke your hip and had to have surgery, so you've been here in the hospital for the last several days."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You huffed, rolled your eyes at me and grumbled in disgust, "You're so full of sh*t!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I chuckled, that was you, all right.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You had a brief period of startling lucidity when you talked to</i><i> Mom on the phone a bit. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You told her, "Tara, I'm just so tired. Imma fixin' to go upstairs to that big house with all the purty lights. You should see them, it's so purty."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Mom was still on the phone, via speaker when the Adult Protection Worker came in to ask you about your fall. The frustration and relief in your eyes when she validated your feelings of not being treated like an adult, all the doctors talking to us instead of to you, ignoring your attempts to clarify, brought the threat of tears again.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Again with the silent groaning, "She was always so strong, so feisty and intelligent, so independent. This helpless, snowy-haired, frail and infant-like being is not her. Please, Lord, be merciful and take her soon." </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But then, guilt at that last bit. Because, what would happen?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You refused to eat, and it was all I could do to get water into you, holding the straw to your cup and guiding it to your cracked mouth, dry from your mouth breathing.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You rested, fitfully. The death rattle grew louder as the day wore on and the letters D, N, R taunted me in my head. I sang hymns to you in hopes of calming you down. It worked for awhile, putting a toothless smile on your face as you rested.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You were supposed to be transported early afternoon, but so many things went wrong with the orders that we (Hope left work early and joined me at the hospital around lunchtime) watched the clock drag on.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i>
<i>I kept calling and texting Tina (Hope's mother, my aunt), telling her your time was short, but per usual her sense of time didn't correlate to the world's in any kind of reasonable ratio. Excuses abounded.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The doctors wouldn't just come out and say what my gut knew. Your time was near, but they kept insisting that you would recover outside of a hospital environment. As a result, I had to tell Mom and Uncle Darrel and Hope, "She's not going to get better, and it's going fast."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I hated being the one to point out the reality that the doctors wouldn't.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You got more and more agitated, struggling to breathe with each coming breath, talking about having to make living arrangements for Tina and David. Hope and I assured you that you didn't need to worry about any of that, you just needed to "get better."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You called out in a sob, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry...so sorry," Hope looked at me with tears, and we broke. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Grandma, what are you sorry for, sweets?" I asked.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You weren't able to specify, but you said, "Nobody should have to go through this," and went on to babble about splitting things three ways and being fair to the kids.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Grandma, you're a good mom and grandma and you are loved! You don't need to worry about all that. We love you know you love us and you just need to rest and relax," Hope told her, firmly and yet her tone begging her to find some peace of mind because this was killing us.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>There was no more discussion, because you fell into a silent trance; the only sound coming from you was that horrible rattling that only grew louder with time. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Hope and I held hands across your bed, tears streaming together. I honestly thought this was it for you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Then finally, around 5 pm the medics who would transport you arrived, this time with a gurney. (They'd come before with a wheelchair and both the doctor and I roared about the incompetence of doing so) </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You perked up, snapping out of your trance - which meant that it hurt to get you in there and that was not pleasant.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We go to follow, and find Tina in the parking lot. Finally.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Oh, there is anger, but it will have to wait.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We start to follow the ambulance, and right as we get to the bridge, Hope says, "Heather, look!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The sun has emerged from the clouds and the most vibrant rainbow is before us.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We both took it as a sign that this storm of life was about to end.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Some 8 hours later, you passed.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And the sun came out bright and clear that Friday in a day-long defiance of the forecast.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We knew it was for you.</i><br />
<br />
***************************************<br />
<br />
Since her passing, there has been a lot of angst in the family, which is not what she wanted.<br />
<br />
But it seems to lift more every day.<br />
<br />
I miss you, Grandma.<br />
<br />
Keep sending those special rainbows.<br />
<br />
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Heatherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04653012877754804144noreply@blogger.com0