All the Feels

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.

I guess I still am.

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.

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 This is the kind of night that's supposed to be spent with someone. And I'm not going to lie - it hit me. Hard.

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.

And yet the smell of burning leaves makes me start to cry.

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.

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.

Time To Go Home

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...

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.

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 am 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.

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.

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.

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.

And I will continue to write.

Six

Dear Griffin (aka Doodles, Buggy, Doll Baby),

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

And remember - I will carry the weight of your world for as long and as far as you need.

Love,
Mama

Writer's Block

Now this is the story all about how my life got flipped, turned upside down...

OK, not really, but you've got that theme song stuck in your head right now, don't you? You're welcome.

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.

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.

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.

Oh...and I worry. A lot.

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.

Letting go of that pressure is one of the best things I could have done.

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.

Five

Dear Griffin,

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Don’t get bigger. Stay like this.

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.”

And I do.

Happy birthday, Griffin. You’re my favorite person in the whole wide world.

Love,
Mama

Coming Clean

I 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Hiatus



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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

I need a new game plan, 'cuz what I'm doing ain't workin'

{photo credit}

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.

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.

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?

In short, yes. At least for us.

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.

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.

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?

All he has left

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.

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.

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."

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."

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.

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.

Love you, Grampa.

Melancholy

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Not this year. This year is going to be different.

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.

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.

Treading water

It 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.

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.

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.

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.

Sometimes good enough is all we can do. And when you think about it, what's wrong with that?

Life at a standstill

I'm tired of this blog. Actually, I'm tired of not having anything to say. Anyone who knows me personally probably got a big laugh out of that last sentence since I rarely stop talking...aside from when I'm sleeping, and even then, my brain is in overdrive. I have weird, vivid dreams and I remember all the details. Sometimes I wish I could slow down, or just empty out my brain and start fresh.

What I really meant to say was that I have nothing exciting to report. I avoid my blog because how many more times do I want to write that Patrick is unemployed? And how many more times do you want to read that? But the truth is that this is my life and it's what is on my mind. I never started this blog to entertain anyone else. I don't write here to have an audience. It was a place to document what was going on in my life. A place to vent.

So here it is. My rant. Unemployment ran out last Thursday. It was a shock as they had previously told Patrick he had one more round to go (another 12 weeks). Apparently the person who told him that was wrong. I wonder why she still has a job after making a huge error like that. Hmm...maybe Patrick could take her place. I'm over the shock. It's time for reality. And our reality is that we're pretty much screwed. We already have Griffin on state-funded health insurance (he's been on that since March and we are utterly grateful for that - there's no way we could have had his surgery or gotten his epi-pens or been able to pay for all of his doctor's appointments and medicine). I've tried looking into help with child care, but we don't qualify since Patrick is unemployed. Griffin desperately needs to stay in day care for two reasons: 1) He thrives there; those are his friends and his second family; he has learned so much from Christina and has had so many wonderful experiences there, and 2) Patrick needs to be able to go on job interviews and apply for other jobs. Taking a two-year old on a job interview is not going to make things better.

We just were accepted into a loan modification program which is supposed to help us keep our home. However, the day we signed the paperwork and found the money to pay for the first month, we found out about the loss of unemployment. The bottom line is we can't afford the mortgage - even with the lower interest rate. Right now I'm waiting for them to send me a request for income verification. I hope they're able to help us, but I'm doubtful.

I'm going on and on about this and I never intended to do that when I sat down to write. It's no one else's problem but ours. A few weeks ago I didn't think things could get any worse. And then they did. I truly hope this is rock bottom. Something has to give. Sooner or later Patrick has to get a job. Things have to get better...right?

Too tired and too stressed to think of a clever title

So I haven't blogged in a while. It's been over seven days, but who's counting? Here's the truth. I could come here every day, or even every other day, and write something. Anything. But I don't want to force myself to do that when I don't have anything to say, and I definitely don't want to make anyone come here every day and read whatever nonsense I write because I didn't really have anything to say. But isn't that exactly what I'm doing right now? Eh. Whatever.

Here are some very valid reasons (in my humble opinion) for my recent blogging hiatus:

Work
I work for a non-profit child care agency that helps low- and moderate-income families with their child care. I write grants and do all the PR and craft an annual fundraising plan and coordinate special events. This year is our 40th anniversary and we are not only hosting a celebration, we were kind of pushed into launching an endowment campaign. Basically, we are trying to raise about $1 million. Needless to say I've been swamped. The event is in less than two weeks and I've encountered almost daily migraines. Blogging is being put on the back burner until life returns to normal.

Children
We have a teenager and a toddler at home. Need I say more? Yes? OK, well did you know that in the state of Iowa, you only have to be 14 to get a driver's permit? Duncan will hit that magic age in about four weeks. Add to that the fact that Griffin has been battling his asthma issues and we've been battling him with his tantrums. Really Griffin? You seriously need to wear pants when you leave the house. Wearing a shirt and a diaper is not negotiable.

Finances
I'll keep this one short and sweet. Patrick is still unemployed. We're living off of my non-profit salary, unemployment, and our tax refund. Being depressed and being at home with another depressed person is, well, it's depressing.

Migraines
See the previous categories for an explanation.

My blogging will continue to be sporadic, at least until this huge special event is behind me. Only another couple of weeks and hopefully I will be back with more positive things to talk about - like NaNoWriMo, a description of the painful process of editing the first draft of a novel, and of course a discussion of our Halloween 2010 plans (you didn't think we wouldn't come up with another great family costume idea, did you?).

Edited to add: No one really reads this, so I have no idea who I think I'm talking to in this post.

50/50

I'm anxious. Anxious and sick. Patrick got a call yesterday about the job he interviewed for a few weeks ago. It was his second interview and it was down to him and one other candidate. They told him it would be a few weeks before they decided anything, so we weren't too worried. OK, I'm lying. I was freaking out. Why? Because November will mark one year that Patrick has been unemployed. One year. It has been scary, frustrating, humbling, and migraine-inducing.

They called and left a message asking him to call back. He did, but had to leave a message. So the waiting continues. We assume he'll know their decision today. My gut tells me he didn't get the job, but I don't know if that's really my gut, or if it's a defense mechanism so if he doesn't get it I can say, "I knew it."

I know I'm putting entirely too much weight on this one job, but when you're closing in on a full year of one paycheck and unemployment, it's that much more important.

The first time in my life I ever quoted Tom Petty

The waiting is the hardest part.

It is. And it has been for months now. I'm a bit reluctant to even post this because now that I've linked my blog to Facebook, anyone that I'm friends with (and let's face it, most of those people aren't really friends as much as they are acquaintances or ex-boyfriends or people that I was just dying to know how they turned out after our awkward phases in junior high). My point is that any one of those people can now read this - the blog that I started years ago as a way to replace my personal journal. So you might ask, "But Tracy, why on earth would you make public all of your private thoughts?" The simple answer is - I never thought anyone would ever read this. However, I have written and posted things that I do want people to read. So I battle with how much I really want people to know. At this point in my life, it doesn't really matter anymore because I just don't care what acquaintances from high school and college think about me. I so wish I felt that way back then.

Having said all that, some of my real friends know how rough things have been lately in my household. We went from a two-income, financially stable family to a single-income, financially unstable family. To put it in perspective, I work for a local non-profit as a grant writer/fund raiser. For those of you who can't read between the lines, non-profit = I'm not rolling in dough. I have a steady paycheck and I do OK, but we have a mortgage and day care and utilities and food and oh-my-god-if-Griffin-needs-one-more-round-of-antibiotics-or-inhalers-I'm going-to scream. The bottom line is we owe more than we make.

I am grateful that Patrick is getting unemployment each week, and even more grateful that while it must be a total blow to his ego to have to file an unemployment claim each week, he does it for all of us. We went about two months on just my paycheck and it was very difficult. One of the things that upsets me so much is that we are quickly approaching the one-year mark for him being without a full-time job. I bite my tongue all the time so I don't add any additional stress to his life by mentioning that I'm the only one with a job. But it's true. I am solely financially responsible for my family and my non-profit paycheck doesn't cut it. We're ridiculously behind in our mortgage and I get calls ever day from debt collectors. And it's not like Patrick hasn't been trying. He is waiting to hear back from a local company about a recent interview - it was a second interview, in fact. Any day now we should hear whether he got the position or if the other candidate got it. I'm so anxious about it because right now he doesn't have any other interviews lined up.

And I'm not just saying this because I'm his wife, but I can't imagine someone passing him up. He's smart, loyal, easy to get along with (unless you live with him, and then the abundance of coffee mugs that clutter the counter will drive you batty). Sometimes when I tell people that my husband is unemployed, they look at me a little strange, especially when I say it has been well over six months. Why can't he find a job? What's wrong with him? Is he not looking hard enough? There's nothing wrong with him and he is looking. He's either overqualified (no one wants to hire a guy with his MBA who is really looking for a more permanent, better-paying job) or he's underqualified (he doesn't have the exact experience they're looking for).

I'm not even sure why I engaged in this rant. I'm stressed and overworked and I'm looking at some freelance writing jobs to help bring in more money, which only means that I am going to be even more overworked and stressed.

In the meantime, we just have to wait and see if Patrick gets this job.

Oh Tom, however did you get to be so wise?

You're still here, but I already miss you

In case you didn't know, it's August. It's August 11th to be exact. Duncan started eighth grade today and on my way into work, I found a tiny, red leaf on the sidewalk. What happened to summer? Wasn't it just yesterday that Duncan went to the end-of-the-school-year party? Didn't we just sit in the bed of the pickup watching the Fourth of July parade?

This happens every year, and every year when the leaves start to change color and the temperature begins to drop, I vow that the next summer I won't let it slip away so fast. I vowed the same thing this past winter. Every night I drove home from work, the sun long gone and the tree branches like crooked fingers in the sky, and longed for warm days and green grass beneath my feet. This summer, I told myself, I'm going to enjoy every day. And here we are, August 11th, and I'm once again wondering what happened.

I did take a week of vacation just after Griffin's birthday so we could spend some time together. We ran errands, played in the pool, and went to the zoo. I tried my hardest to soak it all in. While Griffin played in his sandbox, I sat on the porch and closed my eyes, knowing that I would never get that moment back. The neighborhood was silent. The only sound was Griffin's laughter. That was wonderful, but it wasn't enough. Those days slipped by so quickly, and before I knew it, I was picking out my clothes for the next work day.

I envisioned sitting on our porch late at night, taking in the summer breeze and pointing out the constellations to Griffin. He loves being outdoors, and he loves to point into the sky and shout, "The moon, mommy!" But we never did that. I wanted to eat dinner in the screened-in porch at the back of our house. Griffin and Duncan could chase each other in the backyard and we could enjoy our meal while listening to the crickets or the distant buzz of a lawnmower. But we didn't do that, either.

On my drive to work this morning, I noticed how green and full the trees were. How come I never notice that until the leaves are about to change?

But there's still time. There's still time to show Griffin the stars and eat dinner outside. There's still warm nights to take walks and watch Griffin chase after bubbles.

There's still time.

Right now

• I'm waiting for the painkillers to kick in so my migraine will go away.


• I'm eating Goldfish crackers because the meds leave a funny taste in my mouth.


• I'm daydreaming instead of working.


• I'm grateful for Patrick taking Griffin into day care this morning - my head was hurting too much to deal with the daily battle of getting Griffin dressed and out the door.


• I'm happy that it's Friday - looking forward to playing with Griffin this weekend.


• I'm proud that I've been keeping up with my writing goal.


• I'm determined that I will finish this first draft by Griffin's birthday (July 22) - only 21,969 more words.


• I'm disgusted with the Chicago Cubs, yet I feel compelled to watch each game.


• I hope my boss approves my request for a week of vacation at the end of July so I can play with Griffin and prepare for his 2nd b-day party


• I'm grateful for our state-issued health insurance for Griffin. It has saved us hundreds of dollars so far...maybe even thousands once Griffin gets his ear surgery. In all honesty, based on our income, we pay NO premium, NO co-pay, and all of his generic meds are free. I can't say enough how absolutely grateful I am to the state of Iowa.

The post where I want to bury my head under the covers and pretend none of this is really happening

Life has been tough lately. OK, so that makes me sound melodramatic and incredibly ungrateful for the fact that I have a job and a healthy family. I don't mean to sound like a broken record, but things really have been tough.

No news on the job front for Patrick. We did get an extension on our unemployment benefits, so now instead of having them run out in mid-March, we have until early June. I think we might be eligible for another extension, but we're hoping Patrick is employed by then.

I continue to be amazed at how extensive the effects of unemployment can be on a family. I am overwhelmed with being the only one bringing home a paycheck. Don't we all have those days when wejust want to tell our boss we quit? We don't really do it, but the fact that we could is enough to sustain us for another few weeks. I am swamped at work - too many deadlines and not enough time or energy. The fact that I can't just up and quit my job (even though I wouldn't really do that) is suffocating. There is such an enormous amount of pressure on me to stay employed (let's not even discuss the Illinois budget and the fact that I work for a non-profit that is expecting to see major cuts).

But that's not the only effect. There's this constant biting of my tongue that I must engage in so I don't say something angry or spiteful toward Patrick. I don't blame him for his situation (although I do go over and over in my head all the ways he could have circumvented this situation), but there are times when I want to say something to him. Something like, "Since you don't have a job, would it hurt you to run the vacuum/wash some pots and pans/fold the laundry/fix the window in Griffin's room/etc.?" It's such a delicate balance of being supportive and not going over the deep end myself because I take on all the responsibility.

I know that being unemployed is having an effect on Patrick. I can see it in his face and in the way he sits and in his voice. I feel for him. I know he feels a sense of responsibility to our family and he's doing everything in his power to help. It's hard to watch and it's even harder to walk on eggshells each and every day.

We have gotten to the point where we are accepting help from places we never imagined. We're still waiting to hear if Griffin will be covered through the state of Iowa for his health insurance. There was a lot of paperwork that needed to be completed/submitted and I think we might finally know something by next week. For now, we can't afford his medication, but because I work for a social service agency, I've been pointed in the right direction to a couple of places that might be able to help us out with the cost of his epi-pen. We tried to apply for assistance from WIC so we can pay for some groceries for Griffin (milk, bread, juice, peanut butter, etc.), but we make just a bit too much to qualify.

I told Patrick the other day that he and I have both been in denial about our situation. We have been living on one paycheck and unemployment for almost one year. We have drained our savings. We have borrowed from both of our families. We cannot pay for our mortgage, credit card debt (even just the monthly minimums), utilities, groceries, and day care. We owe more than we make each month, but somehow we've "gotten by." Some people get paid, some don't. But it has caught up with us.

I always felt like we weren't as bad off as some other people. But I don't think that's the case anymore. We are the people who don't make enough to get by each month, but make just a few too many dollars to get help. I finally told Patrick that we need to get help wherever we can and in whatever form - food pantry for some of the basics, local agencies for Griffin's medication and help with our utility bill (so that doesn't get shut-off), the home retention program through our mortgage company (we're already in a trial period), etc. Whenever I think about this I feel as though I'm taking help away from someone else. Maybe things aren't as bad as I think. Then I look at my checkbook and the stack of unpaid bills. I see that the mortgage company has sent yet another letter threatening to take our home. I receive another phone call from a debt collector. Add all of those up and we deserve the help as much as the next person.

I don't think Patrick wants to think we're at this point. I believe he still thinks we're going to be OK the way things are. We're not. He keeps saying that once he gets a job "everything is going to be OK." Eventually, yes, but not right away. We're going to have to work our way out of this pit.

So for now, I am the one who calls for help. I will be the one to go to the local church and get some free food. I will be the one to wait and see if we qualify for Medicaid for Griffin. I will be the one who apologizes every time a bill is late. I will be the one who begs for a little bit more time to find money to pay our mortgage. Just another burden added on my shoulders.

Three more months

I'm back again after another long blogging hiatus. Things have been hectic. Griffin got really sick again, this time with a case of double pneumonia. Poor baby missed an entire week of day care. Normally, Patrick and I would check our schedules and see who could stay home what day and then we'd just take turns taking a day off from work. Here's the thing...something I have been avoiding writing about because, well, it's embarrassing. We couldn't take turns this time because only one of us is employed right now. That person is me.

I'm not even going to go on and on about why this is the case. Let's just say the economy is to blame. Patrick has been collecting unemployment since July 2009. And before anyone jumps to any conclusions, Patrick has not been searching for a job that whole time. The unemployment benefits were supposed to be a temporary solution while his company got back on their feet. He made the decision a couple of months ago to actively search for a job, which he has been doing all day and all night since December. Also, I don't want to hear about how he should have thought more about his family when he started on unemployment and looked for a job back then, because I've had the discussion with him numerous times. He was being loyal and didn't want to leave them in a bind. Patrick's a good guy, but look where that got him.

And to top it all off, we lost our health insurance at the end of February. I signed Patrick and myself up on my work plan, which means we're down another $265 per month. If I signed up the whole family, I would have paid $530 per month - we just couldn't afford that. So, I signed the boys up for HAWK-I services that are offered through the State of Iowa for uninsured children whose family meets specific income limits. Say what you want about Iowa, but they know how to take care of their children. The most we would pay for their health insurance would be $40 per month.

Patrick's had some interviews and there is a really good job that's basically waiting for him, but the position won't open until summer. He's going back to bartending, which I dread, but we don't have many options at this point. His unemployment runs out in three months. Three months. That's it. We are way behind in our mortgage (I get to field those calls just about every day). We can't afford to pay it now with my salary and his unemployment checks. But in three months, we'll only have my salary...and I work for a non-profit. You do the math.

Missing in action

Just as I vowed to post more often (like I used to do), everything came crashing in on me. Griffin got over his bout of bronchitis and finally got all the steroids out of his system only to get sick again last week. Another case of bronchitis, but this time it wasn't responding to his antibiotics. When I picked him up out of his crib on MOnday morning, he was hot to the touch. I felt the heat from his skin burn through his pajamas and even through my pants. His temp was 103 and he was miserable.

After a trip to the ER and another chest x-ray, the doctor came in and told me it was double pneumonia. We had to pick up a really strong antibiotic, rotate Tylenol and Motrin every three hours for the next 48 hours, and give him lots of liquids (he stopped eating and lost over a whole pound).

I've been swamped at work and have some major deadlines hanging over my head. Patrick agreed to watch Griffin for the rest of the week so I could go to work, but early on Tuesday morning, Patrick complained of a sore throat. Let me preface this part of the story by telling you that Patrick never complains about feeling sick and he rarely goes to the doctor. When he called me around 12 PM and said he was going to the doctor, I just about fell off my chair. The doctor diagnosed him with influenza and started him on Tamiflu. Patrick had a temperature of 102 for the next couple of days and I wasn't able to go to work. I couldn't leave Patrick, who couldn't get out of bed, to take care of Griffin, who had pneumonia.

By Wednesday night I was sick again (I had a cold last week). I developed a horrible sore throat, cough, and headache. I ended up with a sinus infection, a bronchial infection, and a flare-up of my asthma. So now I'm using the nebulizer, have antibiotics, and am on Prednisone.

Long story short, I missed a shit-load of work and I spent my weekend writing grants. Thankfully, my parents are wonderful and came to visit this weekend to help us get back on our feet. They bought us some groceries and helped sanitize our house.

Summer can't get here soon enough...