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I am from nachos and poorly told jokes
From home-cooked meals and a comforting embrace
I am from daffodils beside the drive
Mud pies, pocketknives, imagination.
I am from wagging tails and
Sharpened claws, a comforting purr.
I am from magic, from dreams
I am from darkness and undeserved pain.
I am from an old creek bed and forest beyond
From butterfly kisses and melting chocolate

My daughter Sarah shared this poem she wrote for class... and made me cry.

Restful

This is how I spent my Labor Day weekend.
Literally.
Last week about did me in; the combination of interrupted sleep (due to baby doll pictured above), a massive migraine, and no husband to help rendered me useless.
Absolutely.
Thankfully I have the most wonderful husband in the world. He arrived home from a week of travel and took over all puppy care. He cooked, he cleaned, he folded laundry.
The man is amazing.
And all the while I napped, read, and crocheted.
And that's all.
I wish I felt ready for the week to start, but I know I'm in a much better position than if my husband had spent the weekend on his duff!

Splish Splash

This summer Iowa has suffered a drought of epic proportions, as has most of the country it seems.
We made the decision early on to only water our tomatoes and basil; even so, watering that small area of the garden deeply once-a-week increased our water bill by nearly 20 dollars.
But watering did the trick and we've had a reasonable tomato harvest. Basil loves the extreme heat, so it produced well also. So far I've frozen 25 quarts of pesto and maybe 10 of tomato sauces.
It was too hot most of the summer to spend much time outdoors, but we hosted numerous garden parties nonetheless.

The birds loved garden-watering days, often lining up along the puddles waiting their turns.

Must have slipped on the soap

It was well worth the extra money just to watch the show!

Torment

So, I was doing pretty well "embracing" my life and circumstances this week.
Until yesterday.
I could feel the tendrils of pain slowly forming from below my right shoulder blade, up through my shoulder, encircling my neck and relentlessly making for my head as early as Tuesday morning. I stayed positive, though, working to maintain a cheerful demeanor.
But when I woke up yesterday I was in the clutches of one of the worst migraines I've ever had. Somehow I managed to get all the dogs up and out, fed, and the two youngest to daycare. I picked my daughter up from campus on the way home. She has lots of doctor's appointments and doesn't have her own car.
By the time I got back home I knew I couldn't drive again.
No way, no how.
So I stumbled back to bed, popping some NSAIDs on the way.
And it was a crash of epic proportions.
Somehow I swam my way through the pain back to consciousness to take her back to campus.
Back at home, I forged through the torment long enough to bake batch of pumpkin bread and place a double batch of cookie dough in the fridge.
Then back to bed I went.
All life in the house proceeded without me.
I retrieved the dogs at the end of the day and my darling daughter kept them with her for the evening as I retreated to my darkened room.
Despite knowing I'd have to get up in the middle of the night with the puppy for sure, I took a muscle relaxant.
Negotiating the stairs in the middle of the night while carrying a 20 pound wiggling fur ball is a delicate process for me on the best of nights. I figured my best bet was to go as slowly as possible down the stairs. We made it, she and I, and thanks to the magic of Flexeril I fell back to sleep right away.
This morning the throbbing had receded, thank goodness, though I can still feel its tracks, an echo of the pain that was. It no longer hurts to move my eyes, so I was able to read the paper. I kept the dogs up and outside for only two hours, then put them all in their kennels so I could nap yet again.
I slept for 3 hours solid.
We're sitting outside right now, the first of the fall leaves gently cascading around me. The dogs happily snooze in the sunshine while I continually move my chair deeper into the shade.
There is much that needs doing right now, but it will just have to wait.
My son will be here in a couple of hours to play with the dogs, I'll pick up my younger daughter from school, then I plan to rack out yet again. Another couple of hours and I might have this thing completely beaten.
This time.
The great thing, though, about this whole awful experience is that I'm not beating myself up over it. It's hard for me to feel as if I've wasted so much time, but this time I gave in, as much as I could.
I plan to give in again this afternoon.
And tonight, we're ordering pizza.

Transitions

The house is quiet today.
Two dogs are at daycare, the old dog is sleeping, and most, if not all, of the cats have found their own little spots of sunshine for napping.
Right now I'm the only human at home.
I just finished a bunch of cleaning, organizing, and fur-gathering, ate my lunch and am almost ready to exercise.
But it's so quiet.
I was never one of those moms who couldn't wait for the start of school in the fall. I missed my children terribly when they were gone from home, and I still do.
Each year now brings such monumental changes.
My oldest son is in his last year of graduate school. Younger son, though he lives at home, works odd hours and is usually either at work or asleep. My oldest daughter is braving her disability and living on campus this year.
And my youngest daughter. Oh, my youngest! This year she is gone full days, taking four high school classes.
I remember everyone's first days of preschool but hers might have been the most difficult for me. As the youngest, her milestones always herald the end of one mothering phase or another.
I didn't know what to do with myself for those precious 2 1/2 hours without a little one to talk to, read to, engage with. I remember dropping her off, driving to the library parking lot, and crying.
I feel a little bit like that today.
But like preschool so many years ago, I gradually will find my groove; sometimes spending my time wisely, other times not so much.
Each of life's transitions is bittersweet.
As we grow older, we leave our younger selves behind.

It's important to remember that every moment is a memory in the making.
And those memories we'll have forever.

Mind of steel

Mom! Mom! Mom! Hey, Mom!

So I'm steeling myself for another week-long business trip.
No, I don't get to go anywhere; as usual my job is to stay home and man the fort.
It's hard to believe I've been doing this for nearly 25 years now. It's been almost 20 years since we moved here to Iowa and my husband took this high-travel job.
In most ways it isn't nearly as difficult as it used to be - 6 cats and 3 dogs do not equal four children under 9. I look back on all those years of mothering and the many weeks of going it alone and I wonder how I managed.
It's like I've always said: you do what you have to do.
One lesson it took me far too many years to learn is to recognize that my life at any given time is largely the result of choices I've made. There were many, many times, when I was dealing with toddlers and diapers, school-age kids and multiple pets, that I felt as if I had no choice. I was viewing my life as a series of obligations that I struggled against every waking minute.
Needless to say, living my life this way did not lead to happiness. In fact, it made me resent my husband and his traveling, lose patience with my children, and fail to see the wonder of each and every day.
At some point many years ago I realized I was looking at my life all wrong. It was my husband's job that allowed me to stay home with my children - a choice I had been a full partner in making. I loved my children and wanted to be with them, so why was I wasting my time with them feeling angry and resentful? I truly was right where I had wanted to be.
Now, saying this does not negate the fact that my choices often lead to difficult circumstances. The new perspective didn't erase the fatigue, do the laundry, or feed the kids. The dog still needed to be walked, the cats still had hairballs on the rug, and I still didn't have enough time to myself.
But simply deciding to embrace my life instead of fighting my circumstances made all the difference in the world.

How could you not fall in love with this face?

I could look at the messy house and delight in the creativity of my children as they played. I could welcome the 2 a.m. feeding (mostly) and relish the feeling of holding my baby in my arms. I could laugh with and enjoy my children and my life in a way that the lens of resentment never allowed.
It's been a long time since I've had children to bathe or bottles to fix, but this life lesson still holds me in good stead.
And while I certainly never chose fibromyalgia nor Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, a certain amount of acceptance goes a long way there, too. I'm often in pain and usually exhausted. But when I struggle against these realities my life is much more difficult than when I accommodate them. I can't "do" like I used to; I need to take naps, I can't carry heavy laundry baskets up and down the multiple sets of stairs in our old house. Sometimes these deficits overwhelm me with sadness and dismay. But simply adjusting my expectations can make a huge difference.
I may not be able to vacuum this week, but I can crochet an afghan. I can't mow the lawn, but I can enjoy the flowers. I may not be able to cook every night, but we can enjoy ordering out.
This week without my husband at home will be difficult, no doubt. But we have the pets - including the new puppy - we have because, in large part, I wanted them. They have enriched my life and the lives of my children immeasurably. So instead of fighting against what my choices have given me, I will again embrace them. I'll snuggle my puppy, run my girls to doctor's appointments and school, and probably not be able to manage cooking as healthily as I'd like.

I may look like this by the end of the week, but I plan to embrace my life and enjoy every day!

I'll grab naps as I can get them, let the messes go, and view my life through a lens of contentment.
I'm sure I'll be exhausted, but I'll be much happier if I don't fight my circumstances.
And there really isn't anything much sweeter than basset puppy kisses!

Morning musings

Sitting outside this morning with the dogs, the air is humid, but cool.
I'm even wearing a sweat jacket, though not for long.
It must have rained a wee bit last night as all the lawn chairs are wet. I had to gather towels and a large blanket to keep my rear dry.
My second very large cup of coffee is drained; I contemplate a dash into the house for another, but the droning of freeway traffic in the not-so-far-away distance overlaid by chirruping of crickets is, oddly, too peaceful to disturb.
This breath of cool air is a relief, a herald of cool September mornings soon to come.

The plantings in the yard are ravaged by this summer's drought, but flowers still bloom and the basil is ready for another harvest.
My dogs frolic in the grass, tug-of-war over a stick their only present concern.
A slight breeze and the leaves on overgrown century-old trees rustle gently.
I'm tired and not really looking forward to a day of puppy-watching and errands.
My husband is traveling yet again, so I'm also on night duty.
Friends have become scarce as life became more difficult these past couple of years. C'est la vie.

But right now, right here?
I realize I have all I need.
And I'm happy.