tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-211539122024-02-21T12:29:37.450-06:00An Unencumbered LifeWriting My Way Through the ChaosUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger645125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-10836493178035514332016-12-11T16:56:00.000-06:002016-12-11T16:56:10.553-06:00Feed Your Soul<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This has been a challenging week. It has been a long time since I've been in such a dark place - four years to be exact. I fought my way out of that darkness, and many dark places prior, but each time it happens, it feels as though it will never get better. I will never be myself again. </div>
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I don't know how to describe depression to someone who has never experienced it. There's a sense of heaviness - an almost physical pressure on my entire body. It weighs me down. It dulls my senses. Nothing tastes good. Nothing feels good. Colors fade and my world becomes monochromatic - mostly shades of grey. I feel disconnected from everyone and everything around me. I can be sitting across from someone, listening to them talk, yet I really don't feel like I'm there. I laugh when I'm supposed to, but inside I fight back tears. And those tears...there are so many of them. For everything. For nothing. For the fact that I want the pain to go away.</div>
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I've felt this brewing inside me since July. It started as a weird, fleeting thought. I passed it off as me being stressed. The sadness would creep in, but I was able to push it away. Stuff it down inside and go on with life. I shouldn't be surprised that it finally reared its ugly head last week. Nothing that strong can stay down forever. </div>
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In this last week, I've had a chance to think about my life and how I've been handling things. It turns out that pushing aside those red flags and stuffing your emotions away is not the way to go - shocking, right? I realized that I spent a lot of time trying to be happy, and trying to make others believe I was happy. I was looking for outside validation to fill some of the emptiness I felt inside. But it doesn't work. Sure, for a short time it does, but it doesn't last very long...and then I'm left feeling emptier.</div>
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No one, not even my family, can do that. Sure, they can support me through this, but they can't fill the emptiness and insecurities for me. I have to do that myself.</div>
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I need to find my own way, heal my own emptiness, feed my own soul.</div>
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That is just what I intend to do.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-68375069555358521772016-12-01T18:48:00.000-06:002016-12-01T19:43:25.436-06:00This Girl<div style="text-align: center;">
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This girl. The one with the lopsided pigtails. The one with the slightly crooked smile. I miss her. Sure, parts of her still exist within me. Her innocence. Her curiosity. Her empathy. And her innate need to always root for the underdog. Those things will never change.</div>
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But other things do change. It's inevitable...</div>
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I look at her face - smiling and proud - and I want to tell her so much. Be careful. Love hard, but protect your heart. Trust, but not too much. But maybe those are lessons we need to learn through experience. Maybe she needs to feel the pain and the loss in order to...what? Be who I am today? I smile, but not as much as I used to. I laugh, but sometimes I hesitate. I think way too much. I dissect people's words and try to decipher meanings when I should just accept them and the feelings they bring me. </div>
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These are the changes within me that I don't like, the ones I've been forced to face. The ones I'm working on reversing. It is difficult, and I truly have to work at it. The first time I caught myself laughing after my marriage ended was the strangest sound. It had been so long that I almost didn't recognize myself. Living in the moment is hard when you're waiting for the other shoe to drop. I tell Griffin every day to love hard. Take the risk because the benefits are so worth it! But I am not so good at taking my own advice. I hide behind my fear of rejection and my fear of not being good enough for someone again...and I hide behind my books, and writing, and words. It's safe here. But it's not what I want. </div>
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I want the laughs that come from your toes. I want to believe what people tell me. I want to shut off my brain and live in the moment. I want to open my heart and love hard, and not worry about rejection.</div>
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I'm a work in progress - we all are, really. It will take time and some work, but I have faith I will get there. And when I do...this girl will be whole again.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-90040884090823295652016-11-05T23:23:00.002-05:002016-11-05T23:32:13.403-05:00All the Feels<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When Griffin was around three-years old, I used to say that he felt every feeling 100 percent. Love, anger, joy, sadness. Whatever he was feeling, it coursed through every fiber in his little body. I guess I shouldn't be surprised...he is my child after all, and I was the same way.<br />
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I guess I still am.<br />
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I don't know what it was about today, but man, I felt all the feelings. Maybe because it was a Saturday without Griffin, which meant that my house was silent. Believe me, I have plenty to do. There's writing, and laundry, and going to the gym. I have about a hundred books sitting in my bookcases that have yet to be read. I still have boxes in my garage that need to be unpacked. Keeping busy isn't the issue. The issue is when I stop being busy. The issue is when the sun starts to set and the silence takes over.<br />
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I went outside today to get the mail, and I was dreading it. Why? Because it was gorgeous out there - the sun was just beginning to set, and the sky was this amazing burst of orange, pink, and blue. The temperature was mild. I could smell burning leaves in the distance. I actually stopped on my driveway and thought <i>This is the kind of night that's supposed to be spent with someone.</i> And I'm not going to lie - it hit me. Hard.<br />
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I know I've said it before, but it's the truth - the last five years have been a roller coaster. I spent the first three trying to save a marriage that never stood a chance. I realized that the only thing that could be saved was myself, so that's what I did. Over the last two years I started to write again. I rekindled old friendships. I laughed - oh my God, I laughed! I finally feel like a whole person.<br />
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And yet the smell of burning leaves makes me start to cry.<br />
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I'm embarrassed to admit that there's a void in my life. I miss having someone. I've had five years to prove to myself that I can be alone. I can take care of myself (and Griffin). But I don't want to be alone anymore. But I know that nothing is guaranteed. Maybe I had my chance. Maybe I should just feel lucky that I experienced love once...even though it ended horribly. Maybe I shouldn't be selfish and try to find it again.<br />
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But maybe I should believe in second chances. And maybe...just maybe I'll find someone who doesn't mind that the colors of the setting sun or the smell of burning leaves make me cry.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-13064002846051494292016-02-12T23:32:00.000-06:002016-02-12T23:32:23.109-06:00Time To Go Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Where do I even start? I sat down to write this and I immediately felt rusty. Out of shape. Like I'd been in some sort of writing hibernation for the last few years. I guess that was the case. I wrote a couple of posts during all the turmoil, but my heart wasn't in it. Neither was my head, really. I've decided that it's time to start fresh. So here I am...<br />
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So here's the deal: I got divorced over the Summer. Sounds simple, right? Actually, signing my name on the official papers wasn't nearly as traumatic as I anticipated, but that was only because of the three years leading up to that moment. I'm not here to blame anyone or rehash the details, because in the end, it doesn't really matter. In the end, two people know what went wrong, and we each have our burdens to carry and our hearts to heal. I'm only discussing this because I've been away from my writing for way too long, and oh how I love to write. But I put it aside - completely ignored it in fact - because of everything going on in my life. I sacrificed it in order to fix a marriage that could never be repaired.<br />
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So yeah, divorce. It's not the easy way out that so many people think. Maybe for some people it is, but I think those situations are rare. I've heard people say that going through a divorce is like a death. It sounds kind of silly, but it's true. I grieved. I <em>am</em> grieving. I'm grieving the loss of my marriage, my best friend, my family. I'm grieving the loss of the person I used to love - because he now no longer resembles that man at all. I'm grieving what used to be, what was supposed to be, and what should have been.<br />
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When I signed that piece of paper that legally ended my marriage, a piece of me died. I know that sounds melodramatic, but hear me out. It's not what you think. I'm not talking about being so closely entwined with someone that your life is over. I mean an actual part of me - of my spirit - died. Ask my family, or anyone that knew me as a kid. I always believed in the good in people. I always trusted. I never thought anyone would intentionally hurt me. Naïve? Possibly. Maybe no one should go through life having blind faith in another human being. I did, though. I liked that about myself. That's the part of me that died...and I really hate that. I feel different, like I'm trying to adjust to a missing limb. I'm trying to find my balance and learn how to maneuver through each day.<br />
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So what does this all have to do with writing? The divorce, and the three years of turmoil leading up to it, have become the proverbial elephant in the room. I've tried to sit down and write, but I can't see past it. I think I needed to face it head on. I spent three years putting everything into saving my marriage, and in that time I ignored so much. I ignored myself and my writing. But that stops now. <br />
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It hasn't been easy, and as much as I'd like it to, it's not going to magically go away. I will continue to grieve and make my way out of this pit slowly but surely.<br />
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And I will continue to write.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-45442744894268608202014-07-22T00:09:00.001-05:002014-07-22T00:09:46.416-05:00SixDear Griffin (aka Doodles, Buggy, Doll Baby),<br />
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Today you are six! Every parent says the time flies by, and while I always believed it, I never knew just how fast it would happen until you came along.<br />
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This has been one roller coaster of a year for us - so much has happened. By far the biggest milestone was that you started school. Watching you learn to read and write has been amazing. I can't even begin to count the number of scraps of paper I find throughout the house (and even in my purse) with your writing on it. They are filled with questions: Mama do you like hot dogs? Do you like the Cubs? They are filled with observations: Sponge Bob is funny. Legos are fun. No matter how many notes I find, I can't get myself to throw them away. Each one is a little piece of your personality.<br />
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I am proud of how you adapted to the social aspect of school. One of my biggest fears was that you would end up with my painfully shy personality, but you jumped in with both feet. In fact, you did more of a cannonball. No fear. Meet the Author night at school? No problem. You even sat in front and asked questions. Fiesta Dance Party? Of course. I only wish I had my camera as you danced your heart out to Copacabana. That is one of the many things I love about you - your complete lack of concern about what other people think. You don't look around to see if anyone is watching. You don't worry if someone is talking about you. Someday that will change...it always does. But for now, it's the most awesome thing to watch. I wish I could be just a little more like you.<br />
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This has also been the year of "imagining." You've always had a vivid imagination, but this year you took it to a new level. At least twice a day you take time out to imagine - as in, "Mama, I'm trying to imagine here." In case you forget, that's my cue to go into another room while you pretend to fight ninjas or Transformers or some other random bad guys. Sometimes you are the ninja. Imagining usually involves some fancy kicks, rapid fire sound effects, and on occasion, your "light sword" (which is really just a mini M&Ms holder). I'm not allowed to enter the room while you imagine, and you've been known to give me the stink eye if I stop and watch you.<br />
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Oh...and it is so much fun to watch you. Sometimes I think I could do it all day. Watching you imagine, play at the park, and splash around the pool are some of my favorite times with you. Since the day you were born I've said that you are an all-or-nothing kid. You did (and still do) everything with gusto - scream, cry, laugh. There's rarely an in-between. You even feel with gusto. Your empathy amazes me...and at times, it even scares me a little. You feel for everyone, even complete strangers. Just the other night as we were leaving the ER, you saw a man laying on a gurney in one of the rooms. "That poor man. I hope he's OK," you said. I squeezed your hand and said, "Me too." <br />
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Six years. It's amazing to think all we've been through together, especially during this past year. I know it hasn't been easy, but I like to think we managed to push through this together. I really didn't think we would make it past that first night in our new place. I tried to be the tough one, but it was you who came up with the brilliant idea: "Let's do things like we used to do at our other house...like sleep next to each other." And we did. And in the morning things looked a little brighter. We survived.<br />
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You have carried way too much on your tiny shoulders this past year. You are a little boy. Your world should be filled with giggles and trips to the park and fighting ninjas in your backyard on a warm summer morning. I don't want you to worry. I can do that for both of us. It's my job. Someday I hope you can understand that everything I've done - all of these decisions I've made that you haven't liked - has been with you in mind. Every single one.<br />
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This letter has taken on a much different tone than the previous ones I've written you, but this has been a much different year for us. We will continue to push through like we've done in the past - together. Sometimes at night when I'm trying to get you to calm down and fall asleep, you pull my arm over your body. I have a little secret for you...I need that comfort as much as you.<br />
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And remember - I will carry the weight of your world for as long and as far as you need. <br />
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Love,<br />
MamaUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-196810045634979922013-08-04T22:13:00.001-05:002013-08-04T22:13:56.616-05:00Writer's Block<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAeAHyHXKZoO58n3TIEhNw_uqihecnj4ddLt-s0ZshQ-N32TPdB_eYz8_SzaSH2hdApBztiALubIogd2QR463ow-dovvty7rLn5iZONVQXqm79C9JLDlXFEdmV7lwvJG-9hNyb/s1600/dress_girl_globe_typewriter_wallpaper_photog-0f612006b53798818ab6a0acb7d3d640_h_sidebar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAeAHyHXKZoO58n3TIEhNw_uqihecnj4ddLt-s0ZshQ-N32TPdB_eYz8_SzaSH2hdApBztiALubIogd2QR463ow-dovvty7rLn5iZONVQXqm79C9JLDlXFEdmV7lwvJG-9hNyb/s320/dress_girl_globe_typewriter_wallpaper_photog-0f612006b53798818ab6a0acb7d3d640_h_sidebar.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Now this is the story all about how my life got flipped, turned upside down...<br />
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OK, not really, but you've got that theme song stuck in your head right now, don't you? You're welcome.<br />
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This actually is the story (or maybe just a quick post) of how one of the things I love the most has taken a backseat to life. And believe me, I'm fully aware that no one reading this has ever asked themselves, "What the hell has happened to Tracy's writing? Did she ever finish that last novel?" In a nutshell those answers are nothing and no. So if someone asks me how many novels I've written (and for the record no one has ever asked me that question), I get the pleasure of giving the stupid answer of "three and a half." Gah! That half really screws with me. <br />
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For as long as I can remember, writing was how I dealt with the thoughts swirling through my brain every second of every day. It was how I worked through my emotions. It was how I got to escape from reality - whether it was boring or just too overwhelming. But now? I can't write. Part of the issue is that I don't have time. I swear, if a single person tells me that in order to be a successful writer I need to make the time to write, I will have to kick you in the shins. Seriously, come a little closer. <br />
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There are 24 hours in a day. I work eight of those. If I'm lucky, I sleep six. When I have Griffin, I'm cooking, bathing, entertaining, reading, monitoring, building Legos, and snuggling. Somewhere in there I'm supposed to be cleaning and doing laundry. I spend time on the phone with debt collectors, negotiating payment plans and promising them that they will get paid. Someday. I deal with banks and credit card companies and even Medicaid. I fill out paperwork on what seems like a daily basis. And then there's the little matter of getting my house ready to sell and finding another place to live. <br />
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Oh...and I worry. A lot. <br />
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In the beginning I tried to write. I tried to schedule it in, but grew frustrated when the words wouldn't come. My mind wandered to the stack of bills on my desk or the list of phone calls I needed to make the next morning. In the last few months I've decided to put my writing on hold until life settled down. Considering how long I've been in this mess, I have no idea when I will start again. But I will, and that's what matters to me. The ideas are there. In fact, I still walk around with my notebook in my purse, jotting down plot ideas, character traits, or bits and pieces of awkward conversations I've overheard.<br />
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Letting go of that pressure is one of the best things I could have done.<br />
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I will write again. And when I do...look out because I've lived through more in the last 18 months than many people do in a lifetime. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-33888742081957510362013-07-22T00:00:00.000-05:002013-07-22T00:00:01.546-05:00Five<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Dear Griffin,<br />
<br />
Today you are five (that is something like 1,760 days in case you were wondering…and I know you are). I don’t know about you, but I can’t seem to wrap my brain around that number. For me, I can’t believe we made it through the colic, the nighttime feedings, the tantrums, the teething, and late night visits to the emergency room (technically we still make those visits). And for you, well, for you five means you get to go to kindergarten – that place where you get recess twice a day.<br />
<br />
Yep, in a flash you’ve turned into the most sensitive and quirky kid I’ve ever known. Sometimes I wish I could crawl inside that head of yours to see how it works, to see how you see the world…to experience life like everything is new. The smallest things make you squeal in amazement – the first firefly of the summer, the distant sound of the ice cream truck making its way through the neighborhood, the first green tomato growing in our garden. Life is here for your enjoyment, and by God, you’re going to do just that. From the moment you were born, I’ve said you were an all-or-nothing kid. Five years later and I stand by that statement.<br />
<br />
You make life more enjoyable, which is an incredibly selfish thing for me to say, but it’s the truth. I got more pleasure from watching you enjoy Disney World than I would have had I been there by myself. I don’t think I will ever forget the look on your face as you watched the fireworks light up the sky over the castle. And then there was that hug you gave me after I asked you if you liked it.<br />
<br />
You have taken all of your medical issues in stride, charming everyone you come in contact with when we go to the University of Iowa for your appointments – from the nurses to the valets. The techs were so impressed with how still you were during your chest x-rays, you walked out of there with six stickers. You see those visits as an adventure, a chance to break away from the everyday routine. I am trying to learn from you.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I wish I could tell you just how much you mean to me. How you brightened my darkest days…after even darker nights. Maybe someday I will share that with you, but not until you are older. You shouldn’t have to carry that burden now. You already worry too much about me as it is.<br />
<br />
I love watching you get older – finding things that interest you (penguins, cats, the solar system, and volcanoes) and asking important questions (Where does the sun go at night? What do penguins like to eat? Are there any volcanoes in Iowa?). But there are times when I wish you could stay just how you are today, with those still toddleresque soft arms and legs and your penchant for sitting on my lap when we read together. The way you hug me when you’re sleepy and say, “Mama’s soft” and stroke my hair. I find myself watching you when you don’t know it, trying to soak in every single moment. Your giggle. Your voice. Your mispronounced words.<br />
<br />
<i>Don’t get bigger. Stay like this.</i><br />
<br />
But you won’t. You can’t. I know that deep down. But for now I will cling to our nighttime routine: Off go your bedroom lights and on goes your favorite “sleepy” music. And then, in the soft glow of your nightlight, you whisper to me, “Hold me tight, Mama.”<br />
<br />
And I do.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday, Griffin. You’re my favorite person in the whole wide world.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mama<br />
<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Bettendorf, IA, USA41.560849999999988 -90.48343999999997341.465806499999985 -90.644801499999971 41.655893499999991 -90.322078499999975tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-55866652760922407882013-02-12T14:56:00.000-06:002013-02-12T14:56:01.671-06:00Coming CleanI believe this is the record for the longest gap between blog posts. I'm not proud of it. I used to write weekly...maybe even more often. It drove me nuts that I wasn't writing and I actually felt guilty for such a long hiatus. Who was I kidding? It's not like anyone was waiting to read what I had to say about parenthood, work, and the stress of balancing all of that while trying to someday possibly reach my dream of becoming a published author. It was when I let go of that self-imposed guilt that I discovered that I really did have something to say.<br />
<br />
You know the whole elephant-in-the-room phenomenon? That's pretty much what has been going on over here on my end. The more I tried to avoid what was going on, the more excuses I found not to blog. When you try your hardest to ignore something so enormous you end up becoming paralyzed. Frozen. Completely blank.<br />
<br />
So 2012 sucked. From the first day to the very last. As Griffin likes to say, "I'm not even kidding about this." From a severely sprained ankle to a skin cancer diagnosis and surgery. From the death of my dear, sweet grandfather to the near death of my marriage. The year drained me. It robbed me. It took my soul. You know that feeling when you coast into the gas station on fumes? That was me. All the time.<br />
<br />
I didn't want to talk about it - especially the marriage part. I was ashamed, embarrassed, confused, and frustrated. I still am, actually, but it just depends on the day. It consumed me, though, and all those other things I already mentioned simply piled on top of that and pushed me down lower and lower. A wise person once told me that sometimes we all just need to tread water. I couldn't even do that. It seemed like every time I was able to break the surface, something stronger than me pushed me back under...and held me there.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I feel as though I lost an entire year of my life. Physical therapy, biopsies, doctors' appointments, futile attempts at marriage counseling. I was out-of-control. A puppet. But as the year came to a close, I realized that I did have control over some things in my life, and that it was just a matter of knowing what those things were. I cannot control whether or not I develop additional skin cancers (though I would love to be able to control that!), but I can do my best to prevent them and continue to see my doctor every few months for checks. However, I can control whether or not I let all of this consume me. I could stay paralyzed, watching life pass me by, but that means missing out on everything that I love - Griffin, my family, my passion for writing, pursuing my dream of publication, etc. <br />
<br />
Everything that happened last year will always be a part of me...a part of my history, but it is a conscious decision not to let them define me. That's the tricky part. It is so easy fall into the victim mentality. By no means have I conquered that. There are many days when I let myself stew in some sadness. Sometimes it's just what we need to do. But I have learned when to get back to life, when to suck it up and move on.<br />
<br />
I have no idea what is going to happen this year. People tell me I have nowhere to go but up, but in all honesty, that makes me uncomfortable. Sometimes I feel like I'm just waiting for the next shoe to drop. In the meantime, though, I will continue to be a parent (a pretty darn good one, too), a maybe-wife, a friend, and as always...a writer.<br />
<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-26441561380019536192012-08-10T10:31:00.001-05:002012-08-10T10:31:13.029-05:00A 90-Day Challenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I have written three novels. Sounds impressive, right? Not so much. All three were written during National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). Somehow it feels like they don't count. I wrote each one in only 30 days. How good could they be? I almost completely flew by the seat of my pants. I went in with a few characters, a beginning, a few major plot points, and an inkling of how I thought the story might end.<br />
<br />
That was it.<br />
<br />
OK, so they weren't horrible, but none of the novels ever came out how I envisioned them. Something was missing. After the first novel I did more research and more plotting. But no matter what I did I ended up somewhat disappointed. The truth? My characters were less than exciting and the plot kind of fizzled out.<br />
<br />
I planned on participating in the summer version of NaNoWriMo. I even had done a couple months of research and was just about ready to go when my gut told me not start. Something didn't jive. So I completely scrapped all my research and gave myself sometime to think about it. And I did. The strange thing was that I was OK with it. I thought I'd start to panic, but somehow I knew that if I started writing this novel I would only end up disappointed again. I didn't want to feel that way.<br />
<br />
So I'm starting over and I'm doing things differently this time. I've been reading <a href="http://the90daynovel.com/" target="_blank">The 90-Day Novel: Unlock the Story Within</a> by Alan Watt. I know what you're thinking - <em>But Tracy, another novel based on a time frame? </em>Yes and no. Yes, it's encouraging me to complete another novel in 90 days (which is way more time than NaNoWriMo), but this book is way more than that. I've realized that I've been going about this the wrong way. When I sit down to write, I want to write. I want to dive right into the story and see what happens. But that's my problem. I jump in way too fast. Yes I think about my characters and what motivates them and how they would react in different situations, but how well do I really know them? Watt's book is teaching me to slow down and really think about the story I want to tell. Don't start writing. Heck, don't even lock yourself into a story until you've thought through all the different possibilities. The first 30 days of this challenge is about brainstorming and getting to know your characters.<br />
<br />
I'm committing myself to this challenge - to doing things a completely different way. Yesterday was Day One and my assignment was to complete two prompts. I wrote stream-of-conscious and wrote a whole ton of stuff I never would have thought about had I just jumped into plotting.<br />
<br />
I've been thinking about maybe giving some of my responses as long as they don't give away too much information. Since very few people actually read this blog, I think I'll be OK. So...here are the prompts and just a couple of my responses:<br />
<br />
1) <em>My story is about:</em> a woman who is desperate for someone to understand her even though she doesn't quite understand herself.<br />
<br />
2) <em>What I want to express through this story:</em> is a deep sense of loss when you are forced to mourn the person you used to be.<br />
<br />
One day down, 89 more to go!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-25747473164536722412012-07-22T00:31:00.000-05:002012-07-22T00:35:56.690-05:00Four<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Dear Griffin,<br />
<br />
I never know what I plan to say when I sit down to write your birthday letter. Today is no exception. I did read through the last three letters and noticed a theme - where has the time gone? I wish I had an answer. I am grateful, however, that I have done my best to savor our time together. Going to the museum to run from exhibit to exhibit. Going to the library to sit in the cafe and dine on a cookie and juice. Taking daily walks to the park to see if we can spot the elusive ice cream truck. Running through the hopscotch sprinkler to stay cool on hot summer afternoons. The thing is that we rarely do anything "big," but it's those everyday activities with you that I love so much.<br />
<br />
You have been a constant source of joy and laughter...even on some of my darkest days. One look at your sweet face and I forget the stress and anxiety that coursed through my body. When I feel like a bad mom for not making you a better dinner, you turn to me and say, "Mama...you make the good tacos!" It is then that all is right with the world. You have taught me that sometimes good enough is just fine because it's the giggles, the snuggles, the wiping of tears, the rubbing of your back, the whispers late at night that everything will be OK...that is what matters most.<br />
<br />
You have made so many leaps and bounds this past year. You had to make the transition to a new day care with all new kids. It turned out I was the one who had a harder time with that, while you settled in and made new friends. This year also marked the onset of your sense of humor, including your new catch phrase: "I'm just teasing you." You love to tell jokes, though they could use a little work: <br />
<br />
<em>Knock Knock</em><br />
<em>Who's there?</em><br />
<em>Griffin</em><br />
<em>Griffin who?</em><br />
<em>Griffin loves peanut butter!!!</em><br />
<br />
You have taken after Baba and love to write your own songs - nonsensical and silly, they always make you laugh. <br />
<br />
You are an adventurous soul with very little fear. You wandered away from me and got lost in Target. When the security guard found you and asked what you were doing, you simply replied, "I was looking for a watermelon," as if it were the craziest question you had ever been asked. Isn't that what everyone does at Target? Your adventurous spirit has gotten you into trouble as well as some injuries. Trying to prove that you really could fly, you leaped from our bed to a small pile of laundry below the window. You made it, but not before you smashed into the wall, blood flowing from your lip and tears streaming from your eyes. <br />
<br />
You are willful and independent and stubborn. You will slap my hand away when I offer help because you want to do things all by yourself. You have run errands with me with your shoes on the wrong feet and your shirt on backwards because you needed to dress yourself. As much as I want to "fix" things, I don't because I know how important it is to you. <br />
<br />
You are a sympathetic and empathetic little boy. I hope that never changes. Weeks after I sprained my ankle, you would ask me how it was feeling. You ask me if my ear is all better...and sometimes you ask to see it and then say, "It's so much better Mama!" You have so many feelings and love to tell me about them - usually referring to yourself in the third person: "Griffin is very angry" or "Griffin is sad" and my all-time favorite, "Griffin misses the ice cream truck (even when you're holding your beloved Tweety Bird ice cream and the ice cream truck's brake lights are still visible from our driveway). I am glad you can tell me those things, though. It makes life a little easier.<br />
<br />
From the day you were born you have done everything 100 percent. When you cry, you sob. When you laugh, the noise could shake the walls. It's all or nothing with you. I think that will serve you well in life. <br />
<br />
I'm writing this in bed and you are sound asleep down the hall in your room, tucked into your race car bed surrounded by stuffed animals and your Transformers (so symbolic of the tough and sweet sides of your personality). Four years ago at this moment, Daddy and I were in the hospital, still in shock that you were about to make your appearance into this world a full two weeks early. 7:04 AM. My life would never be the same. <br />
<br />
I mean it when I say "you are my most favorite person in the whole wide world." You are silly and sweet and funny and frustrating, and I wouldn't change a thing.<br />
<br />
<em>Of all the things in life count on one<br />I'll always be behind you son.<br />He said life is a battle and it ain't even fair <br />but if you stay up in your saddle,<br />you're already halfway there<br /><br />He said stand your ground and don't back down<br />that's the only way to win.<br />When life throws a punch son, <br />you've got it take it on the chin.</em><br />
<br />
<em>~William Elliot Whitmore</em><br />
<br />
I love you, Griffin. I always will.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mama<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-71145509879102590772012-02-08T16:18:00.001-06:002012-02-08T18:53:53.903-06:00Hiatus<div align="center"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img height="200" id="il_fi" src="http://www.pencilbugs.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/back-from-hiatus-300x300.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="200" /></div>I haven't posted to my blog since September. That's a record. It's not one that I'm proud of, but I guess I took an unintentional hiatus. The quick low-down is that I got sick at the end of September - pneumonia. Totally took me off guard. Then it just spiraled out of control and Griffin and I both were non-stop sick from October through the end of November. I even got my first case of pinkeye! Awesome.<br />
<br />
I made it through NaNoWriMo (and even finished) and then life put on the brakes. Or maybe life went zooming past me faster than I ever expected. I really don't know which analogy best fits, because in all honesty, it feels like both are happening at once. Step on the gas. Slam on the brakes. Over and over. No wonder why my head throbs so much.<br />
<br />
I've wanted to write about what has happened, but I can't...for a number of reasons. First (and this truly is the first time in the history of my blog), I don't need people knowing everything that is going on in my life. I just can't go there. Second, writing about it makes it real. Okay, I know the reality of what is going on, but I can (and do) find ways to focus on other things. Sitting down and writing means tapping into the emotional side - a side that is simply toO raw right now. <br />
<br />
So, I have a choice on my hands. I could take an intentional hiatus (disappointing all three of my readers!), or continue to blog and write about everything but what's really on my mind. I haven't decided yet. I loved the freedom from not writing my blog, but at the same time, I missed it. Writing is what I do. It's my outlet.<br />
<br />
I'm going to sit and think about it for a bit. I need to see what feels right. But I will be back. Sooner or later, I'll be back to writing...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-39639314766965487582011-09-20T13:26:00.000-05:002011-09-20T13:26:35.874-05:00I need a new game plan, 'cuz what I'm doing ain't workin'<div style="text-align: center;"><img height="284" id="il_fi" src="http://teachingselfgovernment.com/sites/teachingselfgovernment.com/files/images/2011/05/boyTantrum.jpg?1304813144" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="422" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://teachingselfgovernment.com/yes-or-no-parent-choices-765">{photo credit}</a></div><div align="center"><br />
</div>Not long after Griffin turned one, our day care provider mentioned that she had never seen a child hit the Terrible Twos so early in life. I laughed about it. Sure, he was an independent kid very early on, but really? The Terrible Twos? Then reality hit. Griffin was perpetually in two states: 1) Mr. Noodle (every limb would go limp and it was virtually impossible to move him) or 2) The Two-by-Four (he would flex his entire body so getting him into a car seat was like a professional wrestling match). Okay, so maybe I am exaggerating a bit. Oh, he did these things, but he was also a sweet, cuddly, loving little boy.<br />
<br />
I started taking the approach that we weren't dealing with the Terrible Twos, but the Trying Twos. Perhaps if I changed up the language a bit, it might change my outlook and response to his behavior. It worked. I was able to recognize (most of the time) what triggered these tantrums. We learned that when he was getting tired, he would have a meltdown. Instead of flipping out and yelling at him, I would empathize with him and say something along the lines of, "I know how difficult it can be when you're really tired and can't fall asleep. I get cranky, too." I told myself that it wasn't his fault that he was cranky/tired/hungry and wasn't fully able to express himself verbally. Sometimes the only way he can tell us he's feeling this way is by acting out.<br />
<br />
Then people started warning me that the Twos might be bad, but watch out for those Threes. Seriously? I thought we'd made our way through the worst of it. Could it really be worse?<br />
<br />
In short, yes. At least for us.<br />
<br />
I don't know what to do anymore. Most of the time Griffin is a happy and silly boy who loves to give hugs and shows concern if someone gets hurt or is sad. However, when it gets to bedtime, look out. It's like the devil comes out. He puts up a bit of a struggle for his father, but will eventually go to sleep. For me, it's a battle royale every single night. He throws things. He swats. He kicks. I'm almost embarrassed to admit this because it sounds like I'm raising a complete brat. I have tried just about everything imaginable. Be firm. Don't let him push the boundaries. Stick to your guns. I've tried taking away privileges. I've tried talking in a soothing voice. I've tried getting down to his level and explaining things to him.<br />
<br />
So what am I doing wrong? Am I doing anything right? I feel like a parental failure most nights. I go to bed exhausted and tense. I wake up with headaches.<br />
<br />
This too shall pass, right? But what do I do in the meantime? How do we deal with this so we don't raise a bratty, bossy, and abusive child?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-3390920413171902962011-09-06T12:18:00.000-05:002011-09-06T12:18:36.829-05:00I can do better than thatThe other day I finished reading a book on my Kindle and thought to myself, <em>I can do better than that!</em> It didn't stem from overconfidence, because that is the last word anyone would use to describe me. No, it came from that tiny part of my soul, the one hidden very deep inside. It's the bitter and envious part that I try to keep hidden, but on occasions such as this, pop up uninvited.<br />
<br />
I don't like to admit to those thoughts and feelings. Inadequate. Envious. Frustrated. They make me feel ugly. The truth is that book that I read? It wasn't horrible. It just wasn't what I typically read. The framework was all there, but I was looking for a little more depth or some unexpected twists and turns. <br />
<br />
So I finished the book feeling less than satisfied and a whole lotta' cranky because <em>that</em> book had been published. Maybe it was just my mood at that time, but I let the cranky seep in and take over. <em>I can write better than that, </em>I kept thinking and eventually saying out loud.<br />
<br />
Finally, after soaking in the cranky for an hour or so, a little voice popped in my head and said <em>So do it. </em>I thought about those words for a minute and decided that instead of complaining about a so-so book that got published, I could sit down and prove my point. Instead of wasting time and energy and emotions, I could transfer all of that into my writing. If I can think I can writer better than that, then do it.<br />
<br />
Feeling inadequate sucks. So does envy. It's not about comparing myself to another writer...especially one who has an agent and is published. It's about focusing on my writing. It's about learning about the craft and honing my skills. I can take those feelings and instead of dwelling on them, I can use them to push myself toward my goal.<br />
<br />
Easier said than done, but it's a start...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-68309486013126501802011-08-30T10:29:00.000-05:002011-08-30T10:29:58.918-05:00It's that time again<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img height="250" id="il_fi" src="http://cogitoergoblawg.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/nanowrimo_2_w.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="400" /></div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Another NaNoWriMo is looming ahead. The thought of sitting down and writing another novel under such a tight deadline makes me giddy. Weird, I know, but it's exciting and fun to see everyone race to the finish line. </div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">You're probably thinking, "But Tracy, you already wrote two NaNo novels and did nothing with them." That's true. Well, it's somewhat true. Novel #1 is currently sitting on my desk in a file folder. I never went back and revised it mainly because by the time I actually finished it, we were approaching the 2010 NaNo. As for Novel #2, I'm editing right now. I decided that going through the editing process would be a great lesson for me. So far, that has been the case. It's filled with plot holes, characters that basically fall off the face of the earth, and an overall sense of "why should I care about these people?" Definitely not good. However, as I make my way through edits, I can see where I went wrong and how to make it better. So far I've completely cut a character from the manuscript and as crazy as this sounds, I'm changing a major part of the plot.</div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">I wanted to be done by the end of September so I could have October to brainstorm for 2011 NaNo, but I'm not sure that's going to happen. As for Novel #3, I've got a hint of an idea. Actually, it's more like a single character. She's been floating around in my head for a while now and I know she's got quite a story to tell. I just need some quiet time to flesh it out.</div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">I saw a <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/">NaNoWriMo</a> countdown and it looks like we're a little over 60 days away from starting. I really do encourage everyone to try it...even if you don't aspire to be a published author. You can say you wrote a novel, even if you never show it to anyone and it sits on your desk collecting dust.</div><br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-16415832202494423782011-07-22T06:23:00.000-05:002011-07-22T06:23:52.080-05:00Three<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWdFX6kUBpdwh_oBNyRQremz2reV_a9M24kFojP2MlNddA3iG73mIv0rNLJs_5owKv98DWi3gygmLZEoTYJHwcFjiCNhqQThJNm00CdkC8RV3_jhjxWqViTBPp5IPqf-RmHrZ2/s1600/Baby+Griffin+2008-2009+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWdFX6kUBpdwh_oBNyRQremz2reV_a9M24kFojP2MlNddA3iG73mIv0rNLJs_5owKv98DWi3gygmLZEoTYJHwcFjiCNhqQThJNm00CdkC8RV3_jhjxWqViTBPp5IPqf-RmHrZ2/s320/Baby+Griffin+2008-2009+003.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Dear Griffin,<br />
<br />
Today you are three years old. By the time you're old enough to read these birthday letters I've written, you will know how much I hate cliches (and you also will know exactly what cliche means). But I have to use one now: I don't know where the time went. Wasn't it just yesterday that we brought you home from the hospital? Or when you curled into a little ball on Daddy's chest and napped? What happened to all that time? Some days I want it back. I want those early mornings and long days when it was just the two of us while I was still on maternity leave. I want the long walks that calmed your colic. I want to hear your squeaky little noises warning me you were about to wake up.<br />
<br />
Yes, all those things were wonderful and sweet (even when they really weren't), but now we have a happy, willful, and independent little boy. Each day you say something that makes me laugh. Each day I discover something new about you, like the fact that you would pass up every meal just so you could have something sweet (just like Daddy). Or that no one is allowed to help you - or even ask if you need help - unless you tell us (just like your Mommy). You are curious about the world you live in and are not shy about asking questions. <em>Where did da sun go, Mommy? Why's thunder so loud? How do I get up on a cloud?</em><br />
<br />
Your curiosity and wonderment over the littlest things makes me see life through your eyes and appreciate the world so much more. I forgot how beautiful the moon was until you pointed it out to me. I forgot how how good the rain feels until you suggested we run around in it. And I forgot how relaxing it is to sit on the front porch eating a popsicle until we did that together. As silly as it seems, I feel like I should thank you for that. For making me stop the chaos. For making me take the time to see all the beauty in the world that you see. For making me enjoy all the little things - the sound of the ice cream truck, a cloudless sky, a single Hershey Kiss.<br />
<br />
In your first birthday letter I told you that I wanted so much for you in life. I still do. I want you to continue to be curious about the world. Never stop asking questions. Never stop learning. As much as you are loved, I want you to give that love back to others - not just family and friends, but those in need. I want you to be sure to not let fear rule your life. Most importantly, I want you to know that you will always matter (your thoughts, your opinions, your feelings). We will always listen. We will always care. We will always love.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<em>Hold your own</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Know your name</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Go your own way</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>And everything will be fine.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>~Jason Mraz~</em></div><br />
<br />
You are loved.<br />
You are sweetness.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
MommyUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-13952547691785588622011-07-12T11:23:00.000-05:002011-07-12T11:23:37.582-05:00Growth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOgQ5nJ7yIjeUZjA2FcTjH3aQmEKU1vElczOHK5fOE7ebfm_bkC0_nkxC-g22opcVBjW9j4bZvsEM5CVsUM-zg1FmI-UhbRMdzOEN5C8EFv65LeuXANzksmS1R5J8_mtWJ1SeV/s1600/grbowing_tomatoes_s600x600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOgQ5nJ7yIjeUZjA2FcTjH3aQmEKU1vElczOHK5fOE7ebfm_bkC0_nkxC-g22opcVBjW9j4bZvsEM5CVsUM-zg1FmI-UhbRMdzOEN5C8EFv65LeuXANzksmS1R5J8_mtWJ1SeV/s320/grbowing_tomatoes_s600x600.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.life123.com/home-garden/gardening-tips/vegetable-gardening/planning-and-starting-a-vegetable-garden.shtml">{photo credit}</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">When I was a little girl, I loved visiting my grandparents' house because they had an amazing vegetable garden. The funny thing is that back then, I wasn't all that interested in eating those vegetables, but was amazed at how someone could start with a tiny seed, add some water, sunlight, and TLC, and grow bright, red tomatoes and crunchy cucumbers. During my visits, I watched my grandfather pluck the cucumbers from the garden and lay them out on the counter, while my grandma worked her magic in the kitchen.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Ever since we moved into our current house a little over six years ago, I've wanted to plant a vegetable garden. We even had the perfect spot in the corner of our backyard, just begging to be transformed. I put it off while Griffin was a baby - just too much work. But this past spring I made the commitment. I pulled weeds and turned over the soil. I spent my Mother's Day buying seedlings - tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, basil, and strawberries. Together, Griffin and I planted our garden. We stepped back and I crossed my fingers. I can grow anything in a pot on my deck, but could I keep alive a <em>real</em> backyard vegetable garden? I could only hope.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The quick answer is yes. Our garden is thriving and growing each day. We just picked our first cherry tomato and everyday Griffin asks when we can pick all the other vegetables. <em>Soon, baby. Soon.</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">While our garden was simply intended as a way to grow our own vegetables - cut back on expenses, eat fresh, try new recipes - it has provided us with so much more. Griffin has been learning about science and the lifecycle of plants. He is interested in eating the vegetables and fruits we are growing. But most importantly, he takes pride in his work - standing alone in the garden with me as I picked weeds, he opened his arms wide and said, "My garden makes me happy." </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And as for me? Well, I've spent a lot of time during the past year in a major funk. OK, so it has been more than a major funk, but you get the idea. Lots of sadness. Lots of worry. Our garden has given me a place to work off those emotions (it's darn hard work in that garden!). I've committed to something and followed through with it. I started with nothing but a six-by-six square foot section of grass and overgrown weeds and brought it to life. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">It has given me a purpose outside of my regular life as a wife, mother, and employee. That might sound silly to some of you, but when you feel the way I've felt for the past year, it means the world. Each day that I watch it grow, I feel myself grow - farther away from the tears and the worry. I am learning to leave them behind.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em>My garden makes me happy...</em></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-8344243377588585182011-07-09T21:38:00.000-05:002011-07-09T21:38:36.977-05:00All he has left<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsYezWBg-uSl416jVf-E8Ci1l4m5E5SW9S_PUEFP5Rf1refuDz2VL-xTUT8K3hPQRfYDSycKGjcAbYLGQo-AU0JN4cdLk-eT8Md9iWWgabQGRgrcgxbvoyxMdkNttUiAVsK77v/s1600/2011+083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsYezWBg-uSl416jVf-E8Ci1l4m5E5SW9S_PUEFP5Rf1refuDz2VL-xTUT8K3hPQRfYDSycKGjcAbYLGQo-AU0JN4cdLk-eT8Md9iWWgabQGRgrcgxbvoyxMdkNttUiAVsK77v/s200/2011+083.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>My grandpa has the gentlest soul I've ever known. I've never heard him raise his voice. Never seen him angry. He believes in forgiveness and second chances. He knows that no matter how hard of a life he had growing up, someone else's life was even harder. <br />
<br />
He is a veteran of World War II. He battled cancer. He fought back after a series of strokes. If there is one thing people who meet my grandfather say about him it's this: He's got a fighting spirit. He's a tough cookie. If anyone can get through this, it's him. <br />
<br />
My grandpa turned 95-years old in March. It was one year after the strokes. He is now in a wheelchair at all times. But that same energy and personality shone through when he piped up and said to the family, "So who's ready for 96?" We all raised our hands and he smiled and said, "I'll be here."<br />
<br />
This past week has been tough for my grandpa - he had an infection which turned out to be MRSA. He's been seeing a lot of doctors and taking all kinds of medications. When my dad visited him the other day at his assisted living center, my grandpa said, "They've finally broken my spirit."<br />
<br />
I cried when I heard that he said those words. I cried because I don't ever want to hear anyone say that - especially my grandpa. And I cried because I'm afraid that's all he has left. I understand that he's 95 years old. I know that he has had a good, long life. But he's still my grandpa. Everyone who knows him, and even those who only know him through the stories I tell, knows that his spirit is what has carried him through these years - growing up as a first generation American, serving the nation in war, losing the love of his life after 54 years of marriage, fighting cancer, etc.<br />
<br />
It's difficult to see someone's body deteriorating, but it's almost worse to see someone's spirit dissolve because it is our spirit that sustains us.<br />
<br />
<em>Love you, Grampa.</em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-10412593751878099122011-05-12T10:04:00.000-05:002011-05-13T15:39:00.861-05:00My struggle to become a person<div style="text-align: center;"><img height="240" src="http://www.bigtrends.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/struggle.jpg" width="320" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bigtrends.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/struggle.jpg">(Photo Credit)</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>It has been one month since I last posted something here. That's sad. It's not for lack of having something to say because, well, I <em>always</em> have something to say. I could give the standard excuses - I've been buried under a pile of grants for the last six weeks, Griffin has been sick twice since we saw the pulmonologist, and I've been working on projects around the house (and outside if you include our garden). <br />
<br />
The real problem is that everything I write is about ME. I mean, that's the whole point of a blog, right? It's my opinion. My perspective. My ideas. That gets boring after a while...even for me and it's my own life we're talking about. How many times can I write "Griffin was back at the doctor today," or "I planned on writing, but that grant sucked the life right out of me."? I feel like that's all I've got right now. <br />
<br />
A couple of months ago I wrote about the pressure wanna-be writers have with trying to work on their own writing while establishing a presence online. I decided that I wanted to focus on my writing - learning more about the craft and completing and revising another novel - because that's what was going to make me a better writer. I'm not at the point where this can be a writing blog. And I don't really want it to be one. Ever. <br />
<br />
I started this blog on the eve of my 33rd birthday as a way to write as often as possible...about anything I wanted to write about. I liked that. I enjoyed writing about our vacations and books that I read. I loved sharing a family recipe and my always-evolving photography skills. I want and a need a place to talk about my family, my struggles, and my ambitions. But there's that pressure to focus on writing. There's the pressure to know lots of other bloggers who share the same dream. The pressure to be part of "that group." If I comment on a blog, I'm worried that someone will check my blog and see that I last posted about Griffin's visit to Iowa City. That's not what a fellow writer wants to read about. But it's still my life.<br />
<br />
Because I've felt so caught in the middle, I've avoided my blog completely. Not the best solution, and definitely not intentional, but that's what happened.<br />
<br />
Here's what I wrote in my very first post back on January 18, 2006:<br />
<br />
<em>"Quite a number of years ago - almost 20 to be exact - my father gave me a book as a gift. It's by Hugh Prather, and it's called <strong>Notes to Myself: My struggle to become a person</strong>. If I could steal that title without getting in trouble, I would. That seems to be the theme of my journals. </em><em>Despite being 24-hours shy of turning 33, and having finished graduate school and found a 'real' job, I still feel like I struggle to become a person. I don't think that's a bad thing."</em><br />
<br />
So maybe that's it - I don't have to change my blog to be something I'm not. Maybe I just continue to write about my journey. My journey as a person, who just happens to be a wife, mother, grant writer, and fiction writer. <br />
<br />
<div align="center"><strong><em>Every moment that I am centered in the future, I suffer a temporary loss of this life.</em></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><em>~Hugh Prather</em></strong></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-7023292517427399712011-04-13T15:45:00.000-05:002011-04-13T15:45:30.144-05:00Melancholy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzj6ZAWSWa-adeDohKx1aAFb77w9E3QZQjV0n1fkcHZQMj4qW4zcXeesMn8x9GuN0g8yr3FwO1gndrJaIrcUsMFA0h4J906SZrMHbW5SdnOMtyqxv61ItpwkQBI7-9WuBkN7VO/s1600/Griffins+2nd+B-day+088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzj6ZAWSWa-adeDohKx1aAFb77w9E3QZQjV0n1fkcHZQMj4qW4zcXeesMn8x9GuN0g8yr3FwO1gndrJaIrcUsMFA0h4J906SZrMHbW5SdnOMtyqxv61ItpwkQBI7-9WuBkN7VO/s400/Griffins+2nd+B-day+088.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Me and melancholy...we're old friends. In fact, we're so close that he decided to stop by for a visit this week. It had been a while, so I let him in. <br />
<br />
Here's the strange thing. Usually this feeling hits me at the end of summer. I'm not sure what it is about that time of year, but it always happens. Maybe it's the end of long days and the end of the freedom to walk outside in bare feet. As soon as I see that first red leaf fall from our tree, I know it's over and the mourning sets in. I mentally start preparing myself for the short days, the bundling up we need to do to go outside, and the claustrophobia that sometimes sets in from being stuck inside. Yep, at that first sign of summer coming to an end I try to soak it all up. I want to spend every moment outside. Playing. Eating. Watching all the activity in my neighborhood. I start to miss it all before it's even gone.<br />
<br />
So why am I feeling this way when summer hasn't even started? The tulips haven't even opened and most of the trees are still bare, yet I feel this way. Maybe it's because I know how quickly time passes. I hate to use a cliche (but I'm just so good at it!), but it does pass in the blink of an eye. <br />
<br />
There's such an ease to our summer "schedule," and I use that word hesitantly as there really isn't a schedule as much as there's some routine. School lets out and Duncan is free to stay up late and watch movies with Patrick. Yes, I still have to get up early for work and get Griffin off to day care, but when I leave I can put everything behind me. I go home and play outside with Griffin. We mess around in the garden. We go for walks. <br />
<br />
Every year I vow to not only make the most of the summer, but to be mindful of it, to hold onto it and soak it up. Unfortunately, I always seem to come to this conclusion at the end of summer, when there's not much left to hold onto.<br />
<br />
Not this year. This year is going to be different.<br />
<br />
This morning, when Griffin woke up, I went into his room. He smiled at me, and then he looked at his windows and said, "Mommy, the sun is up!" It was if he was seeing it for the first time. If only I could bottle that innocence and enthusiasm. I can't quite do that, but I can see life through his eyes a little more often, and that's what I hope to do this time around.<br />
<br />
I know Mr. Melancholy will still make his annual visit at the end of summer. That's never going to change, but I don't think I'll regret letting time slip by too fast.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-17163445676088715392011-04-12T10:38:00.001-05:002011-04-12T11:29:11.792-05:00Bacterial what?I haven't been avoiding writing about Griffin's appointment in Iowa City. It's just that on the morning of the appointment, he tried his hand at irony and woke up with a cold and a cough. What can I say, he's quite advanced for his age...<br />
<br />
So yeah, he had a horrible cold...and then the coughing started...and then a horribly infected ear. Any free time I had (which is usually zero), was spent administering ear drops, antibiotics, and breathing treatments. This makes 16 ear infections and 17 bronchial infections. But who's counting? I don't know whether to laugh or cry.<br />
<br />
The appointment went well considering how long we waited - and I'm not complaining. I was thrilled we were able to get an appointment so quickly. It's just that an hour in the waiting area plus an hour in the exam room plus an almost 90 minute appointment meant that Griffin was at the end of his rope by the time we were leaving. <br />
<br />
The doctor was wonderful (and incredibly patient). He asked us questions about the patterns of Griffin's infections. How do we know he's getting sick? What does it sound like when he coughs? When do we know he needs to see a doctor? I told the doctor that sometimes Griffin "whistled" when I picked him up or when he stood really close to me. Then there are the "rattles" in his chest and vibrations that I feel in his back when he sits on my lap. I told the doctor that Griffin has had one official cold in his life - when he was three months old. Every other sniffle/cough/sneeze has ended up in his lungs. Fast. He can go from an occasional cough to a deep, violent, turn-his-face-red cough in just a few hours.<br />
<br />
We were told we've got two different issues to deal with: 1) asthma and 2) bacterial endobronchitis. The asthma diagnosis came as no surprise as he's been treated for asthma symptoms since he was four months old. It's just official now. As for the second diagnosis, I had never heard of this before and I'm sure the doctor could see my face twist in confusion and concern. Honestly? I still don't know a whole bunch about it, but I can explain it like this: Griffin always has bacteria in his system and it settles in his airways waiting for any little sign of infection. When he does get a cold, that bacteria kicks into overdrive and he goes from sorta-sick to we-need-to-take-him-to-the-ER sick.<br />
<br />
The doctor started him on preventative antibiotics three times a week for the next three to four months, which is when we are scheduled to go back to the hospital.<br />
<br />
There were so many questions I wanted to ask. Will he ever outgrow this? What are the long-term implications of this? Is there any chance he's damaged his lungs from all these infections? Is it too late to do anything about that? Of course I thought about all of this on our way home. I'm still absorbing everything and trying to learn more about this <em>{FYI - don't Google "bacterial endobronchitis" - it'll only freak you out like it did me}.</em> I plan to call the doctor later this week and ask all of my questions.<br />
<br />
So despite an official diagnosis, the world is feeling a little more topsy-turvy than I expected. I don't like topsy-turvy. I like calmness. I also like a healthy, smiling Griffin. I hope this new treatment works and we get him back. We've sure missed him.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-87948941212615247532011-03-29T12:01:00.003-05:002011-03-29T15:59:45.106-05:00The big time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6H-oIdhbc4PI1n9U4KZXay6IsMXqqGe9oggOky-c8lJ-Nkvjm7zRSvmkQ7sfpOVPU3teKdciPBz6OWi0CoVRTqpiWlOXbi_qmvbm6Qy2hKAUrz20WLRbd5hXBOX5Cov6D9Ib/s1600/logo-uich.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6H-oIdhbc4PI1n9U4KZXay6IsMXqqGe9oggOky-c8lJ-Nkvjm7zRSvmkQ7sfpOVPU3teKdciPBz6OWi0CoVRTqpiWlOXbi_qmvbm6Qy2hKAUrz20WLRbd5hXBOX5Cov6D9Ib/s1600/logo-uich.png" /></a></div><br />
I started writing again. Before anyone gets excited about that, let me clarify. Last night, I sat down with my laptop and wrote about 100 words. But it felt good. I miss having that creative outlet in my life, because right now, I need an outlet. <br />
<br />
Next Thursday we're taking Griffin to the <a href="http://www.uihealthcare.com/depts/uichildrenshospital/index.html">University of Iowa Children's Hospital</a> for an appointment with a pediatric pulmonologist. In all honesty, we should have done this months ago. Maybe even years ago? And yes, I know he is only two-and-a-half, but this kid's lungs have been giving him trouble since he was <a href="http://unencumberedlife.blogspot.com/2008/11/seriouslywhere-george-clooney.html">only four months old</a>. We waited because everyone told us that it's because he's in day care, and under three years old, and that the winter months are tough on little ones. It made sense. <a href="http://unencumberedlife.blogspot.com/2009/07/no-sleep-tonight.html">But then he got pneumonia just before his first birthday</a>. And then just six short months later, <a href="http://unencumberedlife.blogspot.com/2010/02/missing-in-action.html">he developed double pneumonia</a>. In between those months were bouts of bronchitis. In fact, by the time he was 18 months old, he'd battled bronchitis about 12 times.<br />
<br />
At that time, Griffin was prescribed daily breathing treatments and "rescue" treatments as needed. When he got really bad, he was on oral steroids, too. I don't think Griffin knows life without the whirring sound of his nebulizer. <br />
<br />
It has been a rough winter for him with illnesses - ears (four infections in four months even after tubes surgery), bronchitis, colds, fevers, etc. Then came early February and <a href="http://unencumberedlife.blogspot.com/2011/02/on-hold.html">we found ourselves rushing to the ER</a> again with a listless little boy with a cough and a fever of almost 106. Diagnosis: Pneumonia. Again. That made three times in 18 months. And if that wasn't enough, he developed an ear infection just one week later, and then another bout of bronchitis just one week after that. That was it. We'd had enough and Griffin definitely had enough. We brought up the idea of seeing a specialist, but we were told that they most likely wouldn't do anything different from his current treatment plan. We mentioned it to Griffin's allergist, but she sort of said the same thing. Were we overreacting?<br />
<br />
Last week Griffin developed strep throat. A week later he developed a cold/cough/bronchial infection. And now? Another ear infection. I did some research and found out that our current health insurance does not require us to have a referral to see a specialist. I picked up the phone and called the Children's Hospital. Our appointment is set for April 7th and I have never been so excited to see a doctor. Maybe, after additional testing, we will find out that this is how Griffin is and we should stay on the same treatment plan. But maybe we can get some answers, or even tweak his meds just a bit so they're more effective. <br />
<br />
Griffin hasn't been healthy for more than two weeks in a row since early October. I miss happy Griffin. I miss his smiles and silly questions. He doesn't smile so much anymore and that makes me so unbelievably sad. I'm not expecting a miracle from this appointment. It could turn out that there is nothing more we can do. A little peace of mind would be nice, though. Peace of mind and a big 'ol smile from my Griffin.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUR4-_JeaWrukskIiGhYt2et5T23nK8K67W87HqLq0IFKtWZp5vHsFqfCnK4coFqeqVDv677ypIN3S8uw3YksCtbyDkZrujvqmS3X9u89CmJ7iNAPvQSERmFWpldeD1uCqkbEo/s1600/Fall+2010+089.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUR4-_JeaWrukskIiGhYt2et5T23nK8K67W87HqLq0IFKtWZp5vHsFqfCnK4coFqeqVDv677ypIN3S8uw3YksCtbyDkZrujvqmS3X9u89CmJ7iNAPvQSERmFWpldeD1uCqkbEo/s400/Fall+2010+089.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>The smile that I miss</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>(September 2010)</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-32841836392781315742011-03-16T22:28:00.000-05:002011-03-16T22:28:58.902-05:00Treading waterIt has been one month since I last posted on my blog. To be honest, it's not that I haven't had time. I haven't had much to say. What's the point of reading this if all you're going to see is a series of complaints? Yes, lately my life has been stressful and frustrating. Whose life isn't? We all experience ups and downs in life. I'm no different. I took a long break during my most recent down. Not a real break, but just a break from my blog. It was one more stress I didn't need. Instead, I took that time to focus on just surviving. Getting by. Taking care of the basics in my life. <br />
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There is a lot of pressure to do it all - work a full-time job, take care of your family, stay on top of bills, etc. Then there's that little matter of actually taking care of yourself. What? You mean it's okay to take time to take a walk (alone)? To read a book (not one with pictures)? To browse the aisles at Target (and not have to explain to a two-year-old why you won't be visiting the toy department)? So that's what I've been doing lately. Reading. Enjoying the weather - taking walks, getting ready for our garden, sitting on our porch doing nothing else. You know what? It feels good.<br />
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My boss and I had a serious conversation this time last year. It was the first time I told her, or anyone outside of my family, that Patrick was unemployed and we were struggling. After telling her how the whole situation had been weighing on me, and how the stress of keeping everything (and everyone) together was overwhelming, she said to me, "Sometimes all we can do is tread water." In other words, all you need to do to survive is stay afloat. No fancy moves, just keep your head above water. That's exactly what I've been doing this past month. The pressure is still there. I feel it all the time, but the difference is that I can weigh what is truly important. Sometimes the laundry sits longer than I would like. Other times, I don't cook and we have sandwiches for dinner. Writing has fallen down my list of priorities. Instead, I choose to sit in my living room with Griffin, watching him squeal as I blow bubbles.<br />
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There is comfort in letting go of the pressure - letting go of the excess. I'm not trying to keep up with anyone else. I'm just trying to do what I need to do to get by. I'm treading water, and that's okay.<br />
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Sometimes good enough is all we can do. And when you think about it, what's wrong with that?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-9476706140824192212011-02-17T14:38:00.000-06:002011-02-17T14:38:52.226-06:00Derailed<div align="center"><img height="239" id="il_fi" src="http://sixuntilme.com/blog-mt1/images/October06/train_tracks.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="320" /></div><div align="center"></div>The past few months have been trying. Exhausting. Frustrating. And I swear, I don't want to complain, but seriously people, I'm ready to throw in the towel.<br />
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I knew going into parenthood that times would be challenging. I don't think anyone who intends to become a parent goes into it thinking life with a new baby is going to be like the inside of the Pottery Barn Kids catalogue. Because if it was, I would have signed up years ago. No, I went into this knowing there would be sleep deprivation and illnesses and even the trying toddler phase. Anyone who knows me knows how ill Griffin has been since October (not even counting everything he's had since birth). I'm not even going to list the illnesses because 1) there are too many and 2) I don't want to relive any of those moments.<br />
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OK, so kids get sick. I know that. They are constantly sticking their hands in their mouths and they have yet to master the whole cough-into-your-elbow thing. It's going to happen. But so often? And so severely at times? Griffin got tubes put into his ears in July. He did well for a few months, but then BAM. He's had four infections since mid-November. Four. One of which lasted three weeks. <br />
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Exactly how bad is it? Our pharmacist knows me by sight. And when Patrick picks up Griffin's medication, she tells him, "Tell Tracy I said hi." No joke. This has happened more than once.<br />
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A number of months ago, I spoke with my doctor about the stress in my life - some of it out of my control and other stress that I allow to take over. It turns out that I wasn't taking care of myself very well. Not so much physically, but emotionally. I was doing for everyone else, but not for myself. I wasn't reading or writing. I was eating junky foods and not exercising. I wasn't laughing. When I left her office I came up with a game plan. I joined Weight Watchers and began eating better and losing weight. I started going back to the library once a week by myself and slowly browsed the shelves. I started writing again and completed another NaNoWriMo. I even managed to get back into crocheting - this time I started making something for myself. <br />
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And then Griffin got sick. And got sick again. And again. I was forced to miss work. My anxiety level skyrocketed. I missed two Weight Watcher meetings in a row (one because I was in the hospital with Griffin and the next because he passed his illness onto me). I've been reading the same chapter of a book for the last month. That sweater I was making for myself? Still not done. I don't even want to bring up the novel I'm trying to finish. <br />
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Is some of this out of my hands? Yes. I wasn't going to leave my son in the hospital with a fever of 106 so I could go to Weight Watchers. I slept when I could (and believe me, I tried to sleep), but Griffin's coughing fits kept me awake. So yes, there were things I could not control. However, I am very aware that I could have done something to counteract the stress and anxiety. Sleep deprivation and a bad case of bronchitis didn't have to keep me from making poor dietary choices (OK, maybe that one Friday when I couldn't get out of bed, but all the other days I could have done better). <br />
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The bottom line is that I've been derailed...and maybe I derailed myself a bit. I'm going to go back to Weight Watchers tonight knowing full well that I've probably gained something fierce. It's a starting over point. A getting back on track point. Not just with Weight Watchers, but with being good to myself again. Reading. Writing. Planning our garden for the coming Spring. And laughing. I've really missed laughing. I can't wait to do that again.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-19255680691400524492011-02-15T15:20:00.001-06:002011-02-15T15:25:45.861-06:00Taking a step backI hate that my blog has become all about writing. <a href="http://unencumberedlife.blogspot.com/2006/01/day-one_18.html">I started this five years ago as a way to log the rather boring details of my life - not for anyone other than myself.</a> I was a journal-keeper. I have stacks upon stacks of notebooks logging the boring details of my life going all the way back to my first years as a teenager. Life got busy and the writing slowed and then eventually stopped. Blogging was a way for me to get back into that habit of writing and tracking all that was going on in my life (even if it was interesting to no one but me).<br />
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I wrote about my family, my hobbies, my travels, and my passions. Along the way, I rediscovered my love of writing fiction.While I mentioned it frequently, I never did anything about it. By chance, I met someone who also loved writing. She might have loved it more than me. Or perhaps she expressed it more than me because the love was there, but over the years I just pushed it down. It was just another unrealistic dream. <br />
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But here's the thing. It's not unrealistic. I always say, <em>If you don't go in, you can't find out. </em>So a couple of years ago I decided to go in so I could find out. I completed NaNoWriMo in 2009 and subsequently completed my first novel. I'm working on completing Novel #2. I began reading published author/writer blogs and trying to soak up as much knowledge as I could from those with more experience. I've never admitted it, but all that did was make me aware of exactly how much more I needed to learn. I felt defeated and insecure. Not ready to throw in the towel (because you can't get rid of me that easily), but definitely discouraged. Definitely feeling left behind.<br />
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Until I read <a href="http://jodyhedlund.blogspot.com/2011/02/pressure-to-jump-in-too-soon.html">this post</a> by author Jody Hedlund. A light went on! She goes on to say:<br />
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<em>"But newer writers today have the pulse of the writing industry at their fingertips. And while there are an incredible number of benefits to being intimately connected to the industry, young writers may also be feeling undue pressure to do too much too quickly. And once under the pressure, they may soon find the love and joy of writing zapped from them.</em><br />
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<em>I think newer writers, those close to the beginning of their writing journeys, need to take the pressure off themselves. And they need to give their creativity and love of the writing process time to develop."</em> <br />
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I feel as though I'm in a mad rush to win a marathon. I need to slow down. I need to pace myself. I need to reignite that passion for writing that I've lost along the way. So I am taking a step back - no more reading so many writer blogs, no more trying to keep up with others, no more unnecessary pressure on myself. I just need to get back to the basics. Just write.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21153912.post-7611818152346256202011-02-11T23:07:00.000-06:002011-02-11T23:07:02.522-06:00On holdI knew that keeping up with my daily word count was going to be a challenge, but I thought I was going to be up against my own motivation, work deadlines, family obligations, and love of a good night of sleep. I never thought I'd have to put everything on hold while I tended to a two-year old with pneumonia and a temperature of 106. Griffin was home from day care for over a week and all my time and energy went to giving him tons of different medications, going on follow-up doctor's appointments, keeping him cool and calm (not an easy task), and trying to catch up on my own sleep.<br />
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To make matters worse, as soon as he was well enough to go back to day care, I got sick. Really sick. I developed a cold which quickly turned into a bad case of bronchitis. Being an asthmatic, I'm used to bronchitis, but this one is a real doozy. <br />
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While I hoped to be done with the first draft of this novel by the end of March, it's looking more like sometime in April. How do I feel about being so far behind? To quote Griffin, who uttered this phrase to me while we were in the ER waiting for his lab results, "I no happy." <br />
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I do have a lot of catching up to do, but what really matters is that Griffin got over the pneumonia and is just about back to his regular, crazy self.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0