lack of interest, concern, or sympathy.“she shrugged, feigning indifference”
unimportance.“it cannot be regarded as a matter of indifference”
Y’all I opened up my second novel on my computer this morning that I have been in process of writing for quite a long time and realized that it had been Eight months since I opened it.
Twenty something me would have been all over my own crap, making myself feel bad for having waited so long to get back into something that “I Love”. I would have told myself I didn’t really love it, I must not really love it because if I did I would have been writing that everyday. Twenty something me was inpatient and focused on speed rather than stamina.
Twenty something me was wrong.
Here I am now, Thirty something and completely fine with the fact that I haven’t touched my newest story in 240 days and do you want to know why. Because I now understand that to be creative, to create a world that isn’t real but has to be fierce enough to allow others to live in it even if only for a short time, you need to have the PASSION to build and believe yourself.
Creativity may be something we have inside of us all the time, but how we use it and what we do with it comes and goes and that is okay! A painter probably doesn’t spend all day, every day painting. A model probably doesn’t spend all day, every day posing for photos and a writer doesn’t spend all day every day writing. But every single one of us continues on, building passion and belief in our own reality and dreams.
Novel number two I am coming for you!
I was walking back to my desk the other day and two of my staff stopped me and said, “Heather, what did you want to be when you grew up?”
I stopped and took a second to reflect before I responded and my answer was anything but simple.
I am sure that throughout my life I have wanted to be many things. I am “grown” now and still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up but I do know that I don’t ever want to be just one thing. Only wanting to be one thing means that I would be that one thing forever, I would rather want to be what feels right in the moment and if the wind changes than so does where I am headed.
I think it’s okay to not have an answer to that question. I think that the happiest people are the ones who have not defined a small part of the world for themselves but have left opportunity for discovery of self.
I think none of really know what we want to be when we grow up.
This past weekend I was presented with this rare opportunity, a sort of once in a lifetime type opportunity. Something I had sort of dreamed about a time or two but nothing that I ever thought possible.
This weekend I was left at home. ALONE.
If you have children and you are a mother you understand this unicorn of an opportunity. As I waved goodbye to my babes who were happily going fishing with Jimmy for the afternoon, the reality of being actually alone set in.
Want to know what ran through my head??
- WOO HOO! OMG what am I going to do, there are so many possibilities! I could watch make up videos, do my nails or my toes or both, I could eat chocolate in the open WHAT?!
- About three minutes went by and I did none of those things. I began to think you know what I could get some laundry done, or clean up the toys that never stay clean because someone’s little hands are always in them, maybe organize the kids clothes drawers because birthdays and back to school are coming up.
- Then I sat in my favorite chair (after not organizing a thing) and thought maybe I will just relax and watch a lifetime movie without anyone giving me motion sickness by rocking my favorite chair back and forth over and over again and without whiny complaints coming from the always present peanut gallery about how gross it is to see people kiss each other.
- I got up a few minutes later after deciding that TV was not what I wanted to do. Nope, it was beautiful outside maybe I could throw on my running clothes and go exercise. Like actually exercise, not run after a tiny human being as they are giggling at you but really get in a good workout for the first time in…I can’t even remember when.
- I scratched that idea pretty quickly and thought maybe I can go work in my office without it being the middle of the night. I can upload some of my photos from my camera, throw them through an editor and calmly work on getting out some prints without being utterly exhausted.
Needless to say I did none of those things. Instead I grabbed some drinks and my camp chair and headed down to the river where the kids were fishing with Jimmy. After all that wishing I could be alone, all I could do was wish I wasn’t.
I guess what they say is true, be thankful for what you have because you will miss it when it is gone.
Some days I cry. I cry when I am alone and I know that no one will find me. I cry when I watch movies late at night as I think about the choices I have made in life and how some of what is in front of me rings too true. I cry when I replay some of the things that my son says to me at bedtime.
Some days I cry and I wonder if I would be so upset if I was ever given the chance, opportunity to let go.
Some days I am angry. Angry that I spent so much time trying to be someone who lived with no regrets even though I am not that person at all. I admire a person who doesn’t regret but I have come to realize that I am not that person. Perhaps if I had let go of who I thought I should be and understood how important it was to to be okay with wanting something to have happened differently, I could have granted the forgiveness that haunts me every day.
Some days I spend wondering, if I wasn’t so quick to move forward in the fear of feeling an emotion in the moment or regretting a decision if I would be happier, if thoughts would weigh on me less.
Some days I think I am happy but deep down know that I am not. And today is the first day I have admitted that. So maybe in the days to come I can come to realize some forgiveness I have been harboring, some sadness I have not let out.
Maybe in the days to come I can cry less, leave less and smile more. Maybe this is step one in finding myself again.
Yesterday was one of those days for me, the kind of days were you think there is absolutely no way I can do this.
I get migraines sometimes, and as I have gotten older the frequency with which the pain hits me has increased. The pain in my head gets so bad that it makes me physically sick, swells the parts of my face that hurt and blurs my vision. I try really hard to adult well…I drink plenty of water, I walk every day, I go to sleep even if I want to stay up to have some time to myself…you know all the things you are supposed to do. But regardless of my efforts, sometimes they still come.
Yesterday was a migraine day for me. I got up and managed to get into the shower, the water and sway that I felt in my body made me feel sea sick so when I got out of the shower, the best I could do was the floor of the bathroom. I sat there and gathered myself. Ten minutes or so went by and I was able to put on my skirt for work and a bra. I grabbed the children’s drinkable Motrin because I would not have been able to successfully swallow a pill and started drinking. I needed something to dull the pain enough for me to continue on. My Jimmy had overslept as he always does so he was home.
As I sat on the bathroom floor he brought me a lightly buttered English Muffin and ginger-ale with a straw (my go to for when I am sick to my stomach), and I ate and drank for as much as I could stand to. When my phone said 5:55am I knew I needed to get up, somehow, someway I needed to finish getting changed, to get the kids up and get in my car.
Thankfully the children’s Motrin had succeeded in dulling some of the pain behind my eyes, making my vision clear. The food and drink had settled my stomach enough to make the sea sick feeling disappear. As Jimmy helped me get the kids in the car I thought about how nice it would be to be able to just go back to sleep. But going back to sleep is never an option for me and it especially wasn’t yesterday when I was tasked to be in work early to ensure pay day was a success for a large summer program.
Being a Mom is hard, when they say you don’t sick days they are right…those don’t exist. No matter how much you try to stay in bed or to ask for quiet, it just doesn’t work out that way. And it isn’t because they don’t want you to feel better, it’s because they need you to make them feel better. Just being there makes them feel like the world is okay. I tried to leave work about a hundred times yesterday but that didn’t work out either so I stuck it out, hour after hour I pushed thru to be there for everyone that needed me all 24 hours of the day.
Days like yesterday remind me that I am more capable than I think, I just keep going one step at a time because even if I have no idea how to get off the floor, I know that is not where I can stay.
Deep down we all know that about ourselves, somehow…someway we make it work.
As I drove in to work this morning the radio station I listen to was discussing a study about how second born children are 25-40% wilder than first born children, more likely to get in trouble in school and in life. I chuckled because at the surface this statement would ring true for me as a mother to a darling, sweet and shy first born little boy and a loud, mean and overbearing second born baby girl. But the more that I thought about it, the more I thought that maybe that study isn’t 100% accurate.
When I had my son I was younger, inexperienced and had absolutely no idea what to expect after birth. Would the baby sleep well, eat right, learn things at a rate like others would? How many blankets are too many blankets or not enough blankets? What temperature is ideal, what activities should I be taking him too…I could go on and on forever.
By the time I had given birth to my daughter I had been a Mother for 4 years already…I knew the answers to those questions, or so I thought. I had all of these expectations because I had already experienced a newborn and everything that came with that. But what I hadn’t expected was my second child to be so completely different than my first from the get go.
My son always slept for 12 hours but not my daughter…she LOVES the night time and always has.
My son drank from sippy cups from 6 months on but not my daughter, she is almost 2 and refuses to drink milk from anything but a baby bottle (FYI I have bought every single kind of sippy cup in creation and even tried to make some of my own, nothing works!).
My son has always stayed safe, never left my side in public, never climbed up on anything and always asks for permission. But my daughter, if you put her down in a store she is GONE (like way gone and doesn’t give a crap if you say okay bye I am leaving). She constantly climbs and puts herself in situations that make me cringe!
I could go on listing difference after difference but my point is this…maybe my second child wouldn’t seem so wild if my first one wasn’t so calm. Maybe her wildness is because my expectation of who she would be was so different than who she is. Maybe it’s just that the wild in me calls to the wild in her.
To my wild child, I love you in all your beautiful middle of the night, ice cube eating, screaming at the top of your lungs glory and I couldn’t imagine you any other way.
First things first, while that is a photo of me that is not what I look like today. I have always somehow looked different. Every year, month, day something about me changes. On the daily my eyes can be a different color…sometimes blue, sometimes green and sometimes a gray purple color. My hair changes and not just because I dye it but it seems to guide the direction in which it now wants to be, short or long, darker or lighter. And then there is my face, a face that changes more often than other faces I have seen, I am not the same person today as yesterday.
While those changes are things that I embrace and find amusing, this is not about all those changes that I have always had, allowing me to blend in with people who once knew me. Nope. This is about my body, about your body if you have ever given birth and wondered was all that I was gone forever? Can I ever have that back again?!
I am at a time in my life in which “alone time” is something I get when I go to the grocery store (BTW not something I classify as actual alone time). So the idea of getting 2 hours a day, 5 days a week to go to a gym (which is how I got a semblance of ABS ever in my whole life) seems like a really bad joke. But I don’t want that athletic side of me to be lost forever and not just because I don’t want to let it go but because I remember how awesome it felt right after a workout…
As a working mom in the suburbs with 2 children, a full time job, sometimes a social life and constant activities I find myself wondering how do I stop losing it??
If you were reading this thinking “OMG I feel you girl,” and hoping that at the end of this post I would have a solution I am sorry to say I don’t. But the first step for me was realizing that I don’t want to lose this part of myself, I don’t want it to change permanently, I want to have some semblance of ABS again and toned shoulders (like really who did I think I was then!!) I want to feel that feeling after a good workout and not feel lost in a body unfamiliar to me.
And the next step for me is figuring out how the hell to find the road that takes me back there!
#throwbackthursday #26hourdays? #sigh
It’s Thursday. My life at home and at work have been on a crash course lately and I have barely had time to figure out what to wear every day. So here I am on a Thursday before I have an almost unprecedented 5 days off in a row…WHAT?! Exactly what I need BTW.
So this morning as I am driving 65 down the highway, sipping my coffee and pretty excited about all of the things I could possibly do in 5 days my son says “Hey Mom, Look at me.” Then he says it over and over and over again until finally I proclaim, “Dude, I am driving, how am I supposed to look at you.”
It got me thinking…what is it that kids think we are doing when we are behind the wheel in rush hour traffic driving at a high rate of speed? Do they think we have set up some sort of robotic driving device in which we don’t actually have to watch the road? Do they think the car decides how fast it should go based on traffic instead of us pushing the gas and break?
What are they doing all the time that I NEED to look at them constantly. Like oh hey look at you doing a total normal every day thing.
Anyways, I never turned around because the typical “look at me” is nothing out of the ordinary so he went on in this fashion…
Mom, I am in a coffin.
Mom, why is there not a coffin in my room?
Mom, I want to sleep in a coffin…imagine how warm and comfy it must be.
Mom. Mom. Mom.
Needless to say I immediately got off the highway, taking his strange constantly more morbid conversation as an omen of doom to come if I continued down this path.
Perhaps I will spend my 5 days building my 6 year old son a coffin LOLOL. Only to hear in the middle of the night another rendition of “Hey Mom Look at me here in my coffin.”
My father lived and died an addict.
The last few years of his life he was alone without the family that he had worked to create. He had become so bad that I had shut him out of my wedding, banned him from any contact from my son and I had truly believed that if it came down to it I would rather him not be walking free in this world.
He walked by me once on the street about 6 months before he died…he didn’t even recognize me, his only daughter. I was pregnant with my second child, a daughter when he died. He never knew.
I naively believed that if I didn’t ever speak about my father to my now 6 year old son he would never think to question it. I was obviously wrong and my son has asked more and more about why I don’t have a Dad, what happened to him, what he was like. My son has forced me to remember.
There was this time for a while when I was younger, before I knew much about the world when I remember only good about my Dad. He was that guy who rode in on his Harley to school, cranking his pipes and waving at everyone. Who would spend hours in my classroom making all the kids feel like the most important kid in all the world. Reading story after story because everyone wanted him to and he had no where else in the world that he would rather be. And every time he would finish reading to my class he excused me from school and we would rip off on his Harley together as everyone watched. I don’t know how much of me being the girl everyone wanted to be friends with had to do with me or with him.
That is the Dad that I wish I had the chance to know, the Dad I wish I had every day of my life. That was the Dad I didn’t allow myself to remember through my hate of what he had become.
My Dad lost his lifelong battle with the demons that haunted him from a life long past. He left me with the lifelong battle of how to move on and how to understand that it’s okay to miss someone who messed up.
I hope you are somewhere ripping around on your Harley, I hope you found peace.
I am beginning to.