Security and Discomfort

On any given day, at any given time, my son resembles Charles Schultz's Linus. He carries a blue blankie, warn with love, over his shoulder. It goes in the car, to the doctors office, and most importantly, to bed. It dries tears. It's a soft landing for the roller coaster of emotions that a three year old rides. It's an extension of Fynn.

Paige never took to a blankie. She has one, a matching pink to Fynn's blue, and while she snuggles it occasionally... it's not a necessity in her day.

I was a blankie girl. I had a Special Blanket {as my mother called it...} hand made by my great grandmother; it was made up of two cross stitched deer, a frog, a few birds. A white background that was loved to the point of holes. I slept with it nightly, I snuggled it when frightened, I huddled in various spots with it under my chin. It caught my tears and kept me company at night {my sleepless nights started early... I'm afraid I've passed the restless sleeper gene to my children}

The middle of the blanket, the part where the pattern is still intact, hangs in a pink frame over Paige's bed.

And now, I have a thing for blankets. I sleep on my side, with sheets and quilts atop no matter what the thermostat reads, wrapped over my shoulder and tucked under my chin. I feel secure. Warm. Cozy. Safe.

For long time a blanket wasn't actually a blanket, but a glass or four of red.

Like pulling a blanket under my chin, I swallowed glass after glass during movies that hit a little too close to home. Like Rachel Getting Married. I drank a lot during that movie as I watched it from my living room couch. The wine washed out every thought in my head that led me to believe that there was a problem with how I drank. It cleared the word addiction from my brain. On girls nights out with my mother's group, when talk would come up of an alcoholic or an addict, or someone who had issues in any way with substance abuse, I'd swig whatever was being poured and say wise things and spout off advice to those who wondered. I, after all, have a grandfather who is an alcoholic, so I knew everything.

But really, I knew nothing. Except that I liked my security bottles, and I disliked feeling uncomfortable.

Jillian Michaels has a yoga dvd out in which she says something along the lines of "get comfortable with being uncomfortable". I laugh every time I hear those words.

Part of this sobriety thing is being comfortable with being uncomfortable.

A friend let me borrow her copy of Mary Karr's Lit. It had been on my to read list for a while, but I never got around to holding it in my hand.

I started it last weekend, and it makes me terribly uncomfortable. I've stopped reading at times because it hits so close to home. It makes me remember, and realize, and think and work through things that I'd long forgotten about. Reasons and memories and the worst... triggers. Reading her words about her journey towards sobriety has me wanting to reach for a drink, wanting to drown the voices that come up and say that's me... that's why I did... and do... and... and... and...

Reading Mary Karr's words I revisit places I'm so thankful I'm not currently inhabiting.

And it makes me remember that while each of our stories of alcoholism, recovery, sobriety, are unique and individual - there are so many similarities. There are these recognizable traits, threads that are sewn through us to tie us drunks together.

Mary Karr writes "...the scared self holds on while the reasoned one lets go." as I read those words I'm reminded how scared I am of relapse, of going back, of the fragility of sobriety {I think I mentioned that last bit in a post not that long ago...} I'm holding on because I'm scared.

I'm finding myself holding a blanket more often than not while reading Lit. Whether it's the pink fleece Red Sox blanket my inlaws gave me for Christmas last year, the quilt that lies on my bed that my mother crafted with remnants of childhood dresses and doll clothes, or even Fynn's coveted blue blankie.

Security. I know that I can be secure while being uncomfortable.

It's possible.

I'm glad I'm once again a blankie girl.

It's here...

... and it's better than I remember...

Virtual Coffee II

It's Tuesday... so it's time for a little Virtual Coffee. Head over to Amy's for details and to check out more Virtual Coffee participants!

If we were really meeting for coffee today...

I'd be hounding the barista to see if they could make me a pumpkin spice latte even though it's a day away from September {and if I remember... they start making them in September... but I haven't been counting days or anything like that...}

When we got situated, me with my probably non fat vanilla latte that really isn't nearly as good as a pumpkin spice latte, I'd start to talk your ear off.

And I'd ask you if you had any idea how many different things you can do with Uno cards.

Seriously.

I busted them out earlier today, and Fynn and I matched numbers, practiced numbers, sorted, built card towers... and now he has a favorite number. Three. Of course. Because he's, you know, so three.

If you were sitting across from me at a little coffee shop, I'd casually whip out a certain membership card to a certain writer's community that I mentioned last week...

I'd probably tell you how it made me giddy to know that there's a card in my wallet that has to do with me and my passion, and it sits between the zoo membership and the beach pass. A little reminder of this process and creative journey. A reminder to simply write.

I'd have to tell you about our trip to the beach earlier today. We went, after a morning of errands and a nap that was too short for Paige, to get out of the house. And it was just too hot to go anywhere but the beach. But Fynn was acting like an old fart and made this face the whole time:

And Paige was happy as a pig in you know what for a while. I love this picture, because it shows exactly how she runs! Hands out by her side, open - grabbing and holding on to life and fun and excitement every single moment of her day. {things I do not love about the picture, naked kid in the background, skimpy bikini lady in the background... so there's a bit of editing, can you tell? ;)}

But it was high tide, and it looked like there was enough wood in the water that there had to have been a ship wreck or something... so Fynn didn't play in the water, and I stupidly let Paige slash around to her hearts content. Until she started screaming bloody murder, and I couldn't figure out why. I carried her up to the blanket, Paige writhing in pain, Fynn scared to death, people staring. Her feet were fine, legs fine... after stripping her down it turned out that she had wooden splinters in a very delicate area...

I'd spare you the removal of wooden splinter details. Just know my mommy skills were utilized, and the little girl is fine...

We didn't quite recover from that fiasco.

So I'd tell you about how we packed up, and it took forever to walk back to the car.

I'd whip out the camera that I always have with me and show you the silly faces the kids made when I asked them to stop for a picture. They did what they always do - Fynn turned his head the opposite direction and Paige said "CHEESE!!" {it's a miracle that I get any good shots of my kids}

They're funny kids.

I hope that if we were together today I'd remember to ask you about you and your family and your life. Or I hope you'd tell me to stop talking for a minute so you could get a word in edgewise.

I might have had a little too much caffeine already today... and when that happens, I have a hard time slowing down to listen.

So I'd apologize profusely :)

And then I'd thank you for putting up with me, and make plans to do this again next Tuesday, when hopefully there will be pumpkin spice lattes at our table.

Silly & sweet

She's one part silly...

...one part sweet...

...and all Paige.

The Gift of an Ordinary Day

Moments ago I finished Katrina Kenison's The Gift of an Ordinary Day.

This beautiful book has taken me longer to read than most. I savored the words, the emotions, the heaviness of the book in my lap as I underlined and starred passages. Katrina's words about living an intentional life and the journey she has taken to do so, have been with me the last few days.

I admit that this book hit home on so many levels. Katrina talks about parenting through adolescence, and from her words I could see a bit of my future. Mothering a teenage boy {she has two sons, so while Paige came to mind a few times, thoughts of Fynn, and similarities shared with her oldest son, were front and center}... the challenges and joys that come with letting go. But also I was reminded of those years and moments that I push out of memory, when I was a teenager, that I have yet to look through as a parent of a teen. The sympathy for my mother, the understanding and appreciation, welled up and leaked out of my eyes several times.

Finally, there was the issue of home. Of space and of feelings. One that I struggle with, especially now as our count down has started... in six months we'll be in a new place. Probably small, though hopefully a little roomier. It's an unknown right now. We have the date our lease is up, and an idea of where we'll look to rent next, but the unknown is looming overhead. Timing. Again, so many tears and emotions were conjured from Katrina's honest and lovely book.

Today, another Saturday that Lucas spent partly at work, the kids and I went on a morning hike to one of our favorite spots. And we soaked it all in. The background for me was not entirely made up of fields and train tracks and leaves on the brink of changing. It was made up of tearful moments of realizations that this ordinary day is quite beautiful in its own right...

I'll leave you with some of my favorite passages from a book now well marked and loved, a few pictures of my silly kids, and I encourage you all to check out The Gift of an Ordinary Day.

"The hardest part of being a parent may be learning to live with the fact that there are so many things we simply can't control, so much of the journey that is not our doing at all, but rather the work of the gods, the unfolding of destiny, fate. We give birth to our children, we love and cherish them, but we don't form or own them, any more than we can own the flowers blooming at our doorsteps or the land upon which we build our homes and invest our dreams. We may tend the garden for a while, take our brief turn upon the land, nurture the children delivered into our arms, but in truth we posses none of these things, nor can we write any life story but our own."

"If motherhood has taught me anything, it is that I cannot change my children, I can only change myself."

"There is, I remind myself, no more direct pathway to peace, no simpler way to encounter beauty, no better way of slowing down, than to try to practice devotion right where I am, doing each day's tasks as they come and building a life around what is already here."

"Maybe this is what I'm meant to understand during this slow descent into winter and all the changes that lie just around the corner. That there is no such thing as a charmed life, not for any of us, no matter where we live or how mindfully we attend to the tasks at hand. But there are charmed moments, all the time, in every life and in every day, if we are only awake enough to experience them when they come and wise enough to appreciate them."

**side note... Fynn's shirt says "Fight Pollution" - not just "Fight" as it appears in a few of the photos... yes, I feel this should be in bold lettering!!*

The Bigger Picture ~ Curly Locks

Welcome to Bigger Picture Moments, a weekly writing event sponsored by Bigger Picture Blogs. We welcome you to join us in finding the Bigger Picture amidst the hectic, everyday craziness in your week.

Head over to Maegan's to join in, share your link and spread the love by viewing and commenting on other Bigger Picture Moments. Next week Hyacynth will be hosting, and we hope you'll join us again!

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I remember being bathroom counter tall and watching my mother wrestle with her hair. Curls she would chop and then grow and chop and then grow again. She's smile as she futzed with mousses and banana clips, wink and talk about how she was blessed with "naturally curly hair" {in the exact tone as Frieda from the Peanuts}, sometimes bouncing the ends of her curls with the palm of her hand.

I'd giggle with her and look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Touch my short, mostly straight hair. Sigh sometimes. Dream of growing up and running my hands through spirals that bounced and stayed put and swirled around my head.

The mostly straight hair turned waves. Neither straight nor curls. In between.

Late childhood was spent sleeping on wet hair filled with foam pink curlers and plastic clasps, I was desperate for curly locks. I'd sleep {or rather, not sleep because of being poked in the scalp with the plastic devices....} fitfully, anxious for the new day and fresh curls. I'd wake to dry hair a few curls that would fizzle by mid morning. They quickly turned back to frizzy waves.

I thought of perms, drastic changes and measures, to have someone else's hair. But ultimately I settled for the other extreme. Stick straight, damaged, ironed hair.

After fostering an abusive relationship with my flat iron for years, I recently gave in to the in between. The waves and the frizz. And it wasn't pretty. But I kept on keeping on. My hair got longer, the frizz fuller, and it was me. Unpolished. Frazzled. But me.

A week or so ago I was at the grocery store and walked down the hair product aisle, looking for something, but unsure of what. I found a green bottle, mousse for curls. Extra strong.

I bought it. On a total whim.

And now, I wear my hair curly. With one minutes worth of polishing, my waves turn into the locks I never thought I would have. Shiny, bouncy, curls that swirl around my face.

The curls are now mine, along with a healthy does of acceptance. I look the way I feel. Some of the work that I've done on the inside is showing on the outside. And it feels good. The good, the beauty in us, takes time to shine through. To remind us, or show for the first time, that its always been there, waiting for a little bit of polish, a little bit of work.

Who knew that the simple solution to my hair problems was a regime that was less intensive than anything I'd tried before. And I didn't even have to touch the hair dryer. All thanks to a green bottle of mousse.

**edited to add picture of messy curls**

Virtual Coffee I

A while back I guest posted on Amy's site, Lucky Number13 for her Virtual Coffee post. Now, she's opened up Virtual Coffee and it's now a weekly link up! Please join us in a bit of warmth and friendship. If not this week, mark your calendar for next!

If we were to meet up for coffee today, we'd undoubtedly talk about the rain. It's been with us for four days. And while the kids are sad to not get outside, I'm reveling in the creativity that comes from days inside. Imaginative play and stories told. The moments that are ours. And the sound of the rain... it's a symphony made up of soothing notes and comforting harmonies.

If we were to sit with steaming cups between us, I'd tell you about the week Paige has had. This little amazing girl has said goodbye to diapers. I wouldn't tell you to boast that my two year old {an age which I never believed potty training would be possible...} is potty trained, but because I'm so proud of her. She had been teaching herself how to use the potty, and then after her check up last week, and with the blessing of her pediatrician, we moved forward full force. And she's got it. Yesterday was a break through day. And today, for the first time in years, I'm leaving the house without a diaper in my bag {but with lots, and lots, of changes of clothes... just in case...}

This morning, I'd tell you how I joined a writer's community in Boston. How I signed up for a workshop in November. How it cements certain things in my mind, and how intimidated and excited I am to sit in a room with a group of writers and... write. And share. And work.

Today I'd ask you if your babies are getting ready for their first days of school, as so many mother's are preparing for {or have already sent off...} their little ones to start new adventures. My heart aches for them, is excited for those kids, and I get a little twitchy thinking about Fynn starting Kindergarten in two years. Even two years away, it haunts my mind...

And today, as we said our goodbyes, I'd slip a cellophane package of freshly baked cookies, tied up in ribbon, into your bag. Everyone deserves a little treat... and these cookies are divine.

We'd wait for a break in the showers, and head our different directions. I'd ask where you're going, you'll do the same. I'd tell you we're going to brave the weather for a promised few pairs of new pink undies...

We'd embrace and smile and clutch keys and hold bags close to our bodies, and head out in rain.