life

A Friend for Every Season

~ crossroadtrippers ~ Leave a comment

Winter is finally winding down and so begins preparations for spring. Since becoming a mom, spring cleaning means a little more than just cleaning house. I also have to spend a few hours putting back winter coats, gloves, hats, sweaters, etc. and dig out the spring jackets, short-sleeve shirts, and outside play toys. There are always old things to put away until next winter and others to be discarded as they have filled their use. I go to the store and buy new packs of bubbles and chalk. I also pull out favorite bouncy balls and bikes. There are so many things to do at the start of a new season.

Spring time is also a time when people start buying cars and looking at houses. In the three plus years we were trying to sell our home, my husband and I knew we had to wait until spring to see a fresh batch of homes hit the real estate market. There is something about being able to open up a window and let the outside come in after being shut off for so long that makes so many people ready to take on something more. Sometimes the fresh feeling of the new season can make a person make poor choices. For example, nice weather seems to bring out the worst drivers. Wait until the first sunny, fifty degree day ahead. The nutty people will be out cutting people off and driving like they just got their licenses (Yes, I have an issue with irrational drivers). Sometimes the spring fever hits and people go out and buy a new car because, hey, it’s spring. When winter comes around, they will realize it was a poor purchase. I admit, I have been there before. When life feels new and energetic, there are chances to be taken and adventures to be had and the consequences of which can be dealt with later. When the cold once again arrives, it is time to think of stocking up, being reliable, and preparing for the worst. There are always adjustments to be made and changes to be seen in every season, even with friends.

The older I get, the harder it is to keep in contact with those dear friends I had grown up with. Now over fifteen years have passed and I barely have a handful of those friends. I now have what seems to be a supply of seasonal friends. These friends are not always around but come out when the seasons of my life demand and they are not always meant to stay. Even those old friends I regret spending seldom time with are sometimes only meant to be in the early season of life. We all need a friend for the changing seasons of our lives. We all change and grow and are provided with just the right person to help us forge ahead. At a hard time in life, we may need that reckless and crazy friend that will do almost anything to put a smile on our face. Sometimes we need the irrational driver to jump in the front seat with us to test our boundaries and dare us to go just a little further. Yet another friend can be there to clean up and sort for the next season of life when a big change has happened. Most of the time, friends seem like those favorite bouncy balls my kids ask me to take out in the spring. They bounce in and out of life but are always so much fun when they come around. Every once in a while, a friend no longer fits in the natural rotation of life and we have to separate but there is always another on the horizon.

I have struggled with my own inability to make friends easily and I am often saddened by the sparse group I have left. I have cried and wondered how I needed to change in order to feel close to more people. The older I get, the more I realize the quantity does not matter. Who and when is what matters. Life has a good way of providing just what we need right when we need it, although we may have to look a bit harder. Those old friends may not be around today, but they were there when we needed them. Those bouncy ball friends, they are awesome to have when we need a fresh breath of air, and those steady friends, they are the best of all. The ones who are around for every season, no matter how many, are the ones truly worthwhile.

*d*

Should We Forgive or Forget?

~ crossroadtrippers ~ Leave a comment

Have you ever fooled yourself into thinking that you don’t care? For example, has someone broke your trust by sharing secrets about you or have you caught a group of co-workers gossiping about you and although it hurt you said, “I don’t care”? You knew when the words were muttered that it was just an illusion but for some reason you thought by saying the words the pain would cease. I’ve done it. When things like this happen, I think of what’s next and the old saying “forgive and forget” comes to mind. I want to forgive but forgetting hurt is difficult.

Hurt is an unfortunate part of life. No matter how much we shield our feelings from people, events, and unpredictability, hurt will eventually find us. Since hurt is coming, it may be a good idea to think about how hurt should be handled once it arrives and how we act once we decide to let it go. There is always advice to be found on the subject. In my thirty plus years of life, the quote, “No one can make you feel that way without your permission,” has surfaced multiple times. Maybe I don’t understand these words as I should, but how I feel doesn’t always seem like a controlled emotion. I have been at the receiving end of insults and lies with the sole purpose of hurting me. The culprit knew just what to say and went straight for the kill. If my enemy knew how to cut me where it hurts, wouldn’t I? We know how to hurt each other because we know what would hurt us. There is no internal process with me that can shut off the negative feelings resulting from negative actions. Sometimes I don’t feel like I have a choice about what I permit to hurt me, just who.

So brings us the quote, “Forgive and forget.” It is a lovely sentiment but somewhat foolish. Yes, in a perfect world we could forget all the bad things someone else has done to us but that would be difficult, even for someone like me who has a terrible memory. So, I don’t think we should forget. Why? If we were to forgive someone for continually hurting us and allow that person back into our life, we can predict with some accuracy what will continue to happen. We will get hurt. We have to allow ourselves some recollection of the way other people treat us. If not, we will have to start getting used to fooling ourselves into thinking that we don’t care. I am tired of pretending that I don’t care about how I have been treated. I am tired of feeling like I will never be good enough to earn equal respect with some people. I am a reserved person in many ways and my trust isn’t easily earned. It is hard to gain my trust again once I have been hurt. So I have had to teach myself to back away from some people and keep a protective distance. It is a hard thing to do because I like to give people as many chances as I can to have some sort of relationship with me but that isn’t always possible. The best I can do is to forgive differences but not forget that my trust was broken.

That is just how life is; we can’t get along with everyone and not everyone wants to get along with us. Honestly, there are people who don’t want to get along with anyone else. It is also a great part of the diversity of being human, we are all so unique. With this we must accept that pain will come at the hands of others. The best advice I can give about getting along with others is this: make sure opinions about other people are not based on any opinion other than your own, especially not based on gossip. Also, never judge someone based on outside appearance. I have received some crappy gifts wrapped in pretty packages. Haven’t you? This means we will sometimes be hurt by people before we know what they are made of, but we will have the peace of mind that we know for ourselves.

Upon finishing up this post, I ran across a verse of the Bible. Not everyone is religious but this verse is a good piece of advice that sums up what I want to say very well. Luke 6:31 (NLV) “Do to others as you would like them to do to you.” I have had a hard time wondering why some don’t allow me an opportunity to get to know them. At a recent trip to the grocery store, my husband and I ran into a mutual acquaintance. I have previously shared with my husband that she has been known to avoid me or fails to even acknowledge my presence. On this day, she did it in front him. She spoke to him for a minute and I said “Hi!” She then walked away. She heard me, looked at me, and proved my case. My only question was, “Why?” The times I have spoken to her have been pleasant enough but what about me makes her shut down? I may never know. I can speculate that maybe she formed her opinion of me based on gossip, maybe my shy nature comes off poorly (I get that a lot), or she just chooses not to associate with me. I don’t know but I will continue to try to give her a greeting or smile, even if she doesn’t like it because that is how I would want to be treated. Maybe someday she will return the pleasantries.

I know when I am treated like I don’t have feelings, it hurts. The only thing I can do is try harder to follow a good piece of very old advice and treat others kindly. I know I won’t always make the right choices so I will have to rely on someone else to forgive me but I can’t expect them to forget the way in which I have hurt them. All of us will make mistakes, how we handle our own mistakes and those of others may define who we are and how happy we want to be. When it comes down to it, don’t most of us want to become better people, if not for someone else, at least for ourselves?

*d*

Sweet, Sour, and Everything Between

~ crossroadtrippers ~ Leave a comment

image

My husband and I call our disabled child the “Sour Patch Kid.” If you have seen the commericals, you will know why. The slogan for the candy is, “sweet on one side, sour on the other” and their commercials usually show one of the little candy kids getting into trouble followed by a cute hug or something similar. I believe my son has studied these commercials in depth so he can perfect the art of the dual personality.

Typically he saves his sour behavior for home. From the time he started early education (at 4 months – he’s been working at it a long time) he was often praised for his good behavior while at school. My earliest memory of his “patchy” behavior began in the first year of early intervention. One of the biggest issues I saw at home would be him beating his head on the floor. I would take him to class and discuss the matter with the therapy staff and they could not believe he would exhibit that behavior. He would continue to do exceptionally at school and when we got home, he would be at it again. Even as he got older, he would have the staff wrapped around his finger and again when he got home, he’d do something like whack me. We have discipline in place and he sometimes ends up in time-out frequently. Most of the time it helps to curb his behavioral problems but he is continually testing the water with me. Today for example, we were waiting for his bus and it was running late. He was waiting inside dressed in his outerwear. I know it can be hard for him to understand why he has to wear it when he feels like he is going nowhere. He had taken off his gloves numerous times, threw his hat, jumped on his sister and other little things to show his displeasure of having to feel like a penguin. I sat him in time-out twice and the last time he sat he was working at taking his gloves off again. I reminded him that I wanted the gloves on his hands and he needed to behave. (I should mention the bus was a half-hour late). He didn’t like the whole morning and head-butted me in the face. I have a high tolerance for all kinds of ill behavior but getting hit in the face in any capacity is my least favorite. He got more time on the timer for hitting his mom. Shortly after, the bus finally arrived. He gets to the bus and out comes his sweet side. “Sigh.” Fast forward to this afternoon, the bus pulls up and he is happily calling for me. He waves goodbye to his friends and jumps in excitement as the bus pulls away. On the way back to the front door, he whacks me. “Really, little dude?”

This behavior has baffled us since he started showing signs of behavioral issues. We were assured it is normal but no one has any real advice. They refer to the period of time before the kids are ill behaved at school as a honeymoon phase because they eventually start the same problems at school. I am thankful that has not been the case with my little guy. He is still just as sweet as can be while he is at school and much more rotten for me. It is sad because I often feel like everyone else gets the best of him. The most frustrating thing is hearing from family how well he behaved he was until we walked in the door. That comment happens a lot and we always have the same answer as to why it happens. “We don’t know. We are just as lost as you.” We have no answers, just theories.

On top of trying to unravel his medical issues, we have the behavioral problems as the cherry on top. It’s daunting. Some days I feel like he is in time out three times more than the other children, but we have decided to be consistent as possible and require him to follow the same rules as the other children. Although he is allowed an additional warning or redirection of behavior. Nonetheless, he requires and demands a lot of attention, sometimes using the sweet and cuddly side or the sour side. I prefer the cuddly side and no matter his mood, I try to sneak a hug and kiss in, even if he doesn’t like it.

He recently started objecting to everything that happens around him. The staff at school have been trying to teach him how to use his voice to ask someone to stop bothering him (an issue because he is in a specialized classroom with other special needs children and he does get hit). That is all he does at home now. He understands the words, just not when he should use them.

I hug him. “Stop!”

I tell him, “I love you.”

“Quit it!”

One of the other kids sit next to him. “Knock it off, okay?!”

The baby cries. “Stop it, baby!”

He is learning what they are teaching very well. I just wish I could interact with him with less yelling.

My theory – he knows home as his soft place to fall. He is comfortable here and he knows he can take his frustrations to me, or slap them on me, whatever works. He has a gap of cognitive development that has slowed his language and prevents him from being able to communicate how he feels or what he wants. If I tell him that he can’t throw a ball in the house, I could explain why but he doesn’t understand. He has bad days where he is more tired or weak than usual and he is unable to convey that to me. He has no way of understanding why he feels that way. He has to be frustrated so he takes it out on the one person with whom he feels the most comfortable, me (or his dad when he’s home). I am stern with him and I have yelled. Every scream, hit, head-butt, and slap I take chips away at me. It is a crash course in patience every day.

Today when he came home, he crawled in his beanbag chair, covered up and fell asleep before I had time to ask about his day. It happens a lot. He comes home from school and crashes. Today he had a seizure at school so when he got here, maybe that smack was his way of telling me about that unpleasant event and how it bothered him or made him tired. He comes home and he feels like he can be himself and isn’t that what we all want? I don’t like his ill  behavior and we will continue to work on it but I know it’s something we just have to deal with. Maybe I will get lucky and he will let me off with just a “You be nice, Mom,”  as he pulls away from another one of my attempts to hug him. I will take what I can get and readily volunteer to be his safety net. Tonight he slept through the noise, dinner, baths and craziness of our evenings. It breaks my heart. His disease steals so much from him. It steals time with him away from me. My time with my little buddy is precious. People close to our family forget how sick he is. If he seems or looks okay than they think he is okay. The truth is, he has more going on than most people have to encounter in a lifetime and does pretty awesome. I wish more people would look past the sour patch and remember there is a little boy inside missing out on so much at the hands of his disease. I know I’d take any additional time with him I could get, sour patch and all.

*d*

A Hard Pill to Swallow

~ crossroadtrippers ~ Leave a comment

image

It’s hard to believe any of us ever catch on to the English language. It has a multitude of words with multiple meanings. For example, two of the many meanings of the word “trip” is journey and misstep. How do my children ever decipher what I mean if I were to ask, “Do you want to take a trip?” How do they know I am not getting ready to come knock them over? Or why are they not equally as confused after hearing ‘tennis match’? Is it a stick to burn a tennis racquet? Maybe a date between two tennis players? It is the frequent use of these words in real life that help us understand how we intend to use them. When that fails, out come the kid’s typical one hundred questions. Experience and knowledge help decipher the true meaning behind our words.

Words are very powerful. When the meaning behind a statement is misunderstood, it can cause havoc. When a statement is taken out of context, the same mess can occur. Then the problem would no longer lie with the person behind the words, rather with those who hear them. I get rather disgruntled when something I say is misconstrued or taken out of context so I try to make what I share verbally clear. That can be hard for a shy individual such as myself. I have to sometimes think very hard to make simple conversation, let alone a complex conversation that could change the way someone views me. Miscommunication can be a hard pill to swallow, or do I mean a pill that’s hard to swallow….. “Geesh.”

The only way we will ever know what others are trying to say is to ask questions and be knowledgeable. My biggest pet peeve is social media. There is no filter for the mess spread through social media. It is a great place to take one sentence of an entire forum and twist it to confirm the end of the world. People read, comment, or forward without finding out if there is truth behind what they are reading or sharing. I can laugh and pass off a good part of this, but when it comes down to respecting others, everyone should make an effort to find the facts and speak the truth. Maybe I am barking up the wrong tree, so to speak. Gossip isn’t a new problem and it has always spread like wildfire, long before the internet. Is it more important to form an opinion of someone based on what you want to believe about them or what you know? I know the easy answer, but what is the right one?

The solution is respect and love for eachother. Friendships should be based on what is inside and love above all. I may share my personal opinions on life with those around me but I do not anticipate them to change and follow my beliefs anymore than they can anticipate me to conform to theirs. It is mutual respect. Remember, when all else fails, the best advice is: BE KIND. Kindness goes a long way and it requires little or no understanding of another person’s beliefs so pass it on. It’s a shame when we miss out on the wonderful diversity of the human existance based on misinformation.

*d*

The Rose Colored Glasses

~ crossroadtrippers ~ 3 Comments

image

Beautiful is the view from rose colored glasses. The dreamy spectacles enchant the lackluster world. Nothing can spoil the view when the world is tinted in the hue of rose. Storms roll in and candy colored drops fall from the sky. Just open your arms wide to receive the gifts imparted from a world radiating a floral glow. All have worn them and all have felt immune to the world. The newly in love, the couple having their first child, or maybe newly acquired wealth. While in this transient state, nothing else matters. No words or advice can penetrate the feeling. I was there many times. It felt glorious and no one could change me. All was right with the world and I had all the answers. I only wanted to do as I wished and no one could challenge my flawed beliefs.

Time still passes when in possession of new and pretty things. The dust from the journey starts to tarnish the pretty rose glass, a few stumbles toss and scratch them, and over time, they aren’t as nice as they once were. Some people rigorously try to replace the feeling with a number of different things. Yet, time wears down beauty and life refuses to stay roseate. So when it comes, maybe it’s best to celebrate and relish in the feeling. Everyone has their time when the sun shines a little brighter, the road traveled is smooth, and the air smells as fresh as a new spring day. At this time, some plead for time to crawl. Or even stop. These are the moments that make up the most perfect of memories.  Remembering can flood you with emotions and feelings just as fresh as when it happened. When things don’t seem as splendid, these are the best moments to remember. They act as a glimmer of light when it has been too long since life looked rosy. I often like to remember a time before diagnoses, the days my children were born, or when my husband and I fell in love.

Looking back can certainly swell my heart with joy but it can also remind me of my own ignorance. I don’t like parts of the person I once was. There was a time I was so high on this feeling that I thought I had it all. I had all the answers and I didn’t need anyone’s help. I was ignorant to the people closest to me and that had to change. The only unacceptable ignorance is the ignorance that refuses to be changed and I was full of it. I thought I knew more than people with a lifetime of experience, I had strong opinions of many things with no personal experience , and the only things that mattered were the ones that surrounded my life. I allowed myself to boast but was unable to look past the end of my nose. I had fallen from my perch many times and usually walked away unscathed. I had to take a few big falls before I finally broke. There were times I couldn’t get up. I spent a lot of time kneeling at my broken life, trying to put the pieces back together. Some parts of it are still not put together.

A lot of people pass along wisdom during times of tribulation. Many people quote the saying, “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.” The more hardships I experience, the less I like this quote. I know I have been given more than I have been able to handle. This quote has made me feel inadequate. Where was this strength equal to the turmoil I was facing? Why was it so hard to pick up the pieces of my rose colored life? I was broken down until I was folded over with my face resting on my dusty hands. There was nothing left but to lay down my ignorance and plead for help. I think we will all be given more than we can handle alone. There are times we must silence ourselves, kneel down, and ask for help. I have replaced this saying with one of my own, “God will give you more than you can handle because breaking you down is the only way He can get you to kneel.”

In those most dismal moments you can choose to desperately hold on to the beauty that is slipping away or you can kneel. You can cling to the ignorance that refuses to change or give up your turn peering through the glass and find something deeper. The only way I was going to learn was to be broken.  I wasn’t changing any other way. Something terrible would occur, I would reflect and realize I needed to change. Time would pass and I began to forget. I would forget the gifts suffering allowed me and went back to my old ways. I was stubborn and it took a lot to change me. I only wanted to be happy when I was peering through the rose colored glasses. It was easier that way. These days, I try to find happiness even when I am broken and dirty from the journey. I admit, it can sometimes take effort searching for a reason to be happy. That’s when relying on those reaching out to help and something bigger than yourself is worth it.

The world can give us many reasons to lose hope. Several years ago I wanted to change everything in my life. I wanted to move, find another job, and start over. I had lost hope in other people. My plans changed when my son was diagnosed. Those same people I thought I lost hope in began to reach out to my family. I found the love and compassion I had feared was lost in this world and it took my own devastation to see it. Disparity is not the end of happiness but possibly the best way to find it in the most unlikely way.

*d*

It’s About Balance

~ crossroadtrippers ~ Leave a comment

In life there are many times we can feel as if we love and hate something at the same time. For instance, women can love a pair of shoes while hating how it hurts their feet. I personally love chocolate but hate that I must limit my consumption of it. The same can be said for people like my husband and I who have a special needs child and social media. We love it and hate it. My husband now hates it and has deleted the Facebook app from his phone. I have been known to defend it because of the support groups that have proved to be an invaluable source of information and support. Lately, the negative effects on us have outweighed the positive.

With Facebook and other social media, users sign up to share their lives with other users. If I have learned anything from my high school social experience, it was the never ending drama that goes along with sharing so much personal space with other people. We can hope certain social manners will be followed but that would be silly considering we are “friending” many people we barely consider to be acquaintances. By allowing so many people so close to our personal lives, negative experiences are bound to happen. For us, it has caused disappointments that possibly have my husband finished indefinitely. I am still dipping my toe in the edge. I am involved enough to check in on a few friends but I don’t want to be over involved again.

Over the past seven years since we signed up on Facebook, we have tried to use our manners. We try to avoid arguments, we do not engage in political or religious debates, and we are respectful of the opinions and lives of others. The longer I use Facebook, the more I notice the lack of manners and general respect people have for one another. We have been pulled into fights and insulted. I have had to diffuse situations that blew up on social media for my entire list of friends to see. We tried to play it safe and hoped we didn’t put too much out there, but like most people on social media, we got burned because we assumed our “friends” were friends. Sadly, in some cases we were wrong. Some people just want to read posts to gossip, judge or disapprove of others. It feels like high school all over again. I am sorry but our emotional plate is full and we have had our fill of drama.

Another difficulty I have with social media is the lure to envy. We can all get caught up in it but for us, it can take a pretty hard emotional toll. I realize most people want to use the nicest photo of their family and desire to show off the greatest aspects of their lives but it is hard to stop comparing. Vacation photos are the hardest for us. I know a few couples that snap a picture in front of a great hotel where they celebrate their anniversary every year or families that are full of smiles while enjoying the latest weekend getaway. I keep reminding myself to appreciate what I have and continue to hope things will get easier. I do appreciate everything we are blessed with but it is difficult letting go of certain dreams. I look at those posts and jealousy rears its ugly head. My newsfeed gives me many more opportunities for those feelings to take over and make me feel sad about our life. I truly do want to be happy about my life. I am grateful for the positive changes we have made through difficulty. It is hard trying to continue to make those positive changes while dreaming of some other life.

I think that is what it comes down to for me, I can’t get caught up in some other existence social media provides. It feels like I am balancing two lives. I am working overtime with life one already. I love the continual support that I have found. I enjoy learning more about friends I have made and connecting with old friends but I can’t get so involved that I forget the little people in the same room. So I am choosing to back away for myself and my family.

I love my life in so many ways, but there are aspects I hate. I hate what has been taken from me but I love the compassion for life that has filled that empty space. I hate that I won’t know endless happy outings captured in photographs for the world to see but I love that I can appreciate the happy moments I am given. I love sharing in the lives of others but I hate it when I often feel alone. Just like my rocky relationship with Facebook, I am finding my balance. I have to nourish what truly matters and break it off with those things that bring me down.

*d*

Homemade Pizza and Prozac

~ crossroadtrippers ~ 3 Comments

I made an awesomely beautiful homemade pizza tonight. My grandmother, who’s staying with us for the winter and loves pizza, was very impressed by its tastiness. My husband, who thinks he’s a pizza aficionado found it to be “amazing.” In all fairness though, he thinks a Quarter Pounder with cheese is “amazing.” While yummy in the throes of an insatiable grease craving, I would never say the burger is amazing. Regrettable, Indigestion inducing, Nap inspiring, those are all terms I’d use to describe the sandwich. But, the pizza was really good.

Anyway, pizza is something we don’t often break out the good china for. We spare my blue and white farm animal print dishes and use paper plates with those plastic support things under them. The practice has always been to use the plastic thing, throw away the paper plate when finished and put the supporter back in its place in the cabinet if there’s nothing crusted on it.

(Thinking of my last post about the horrors of germs on towels and the obvious contradiction this plate policy represents makes me wonder if this is why no one can seem to follow my rules. No, that couldn’t possibly be it.)

For whatever reason, my husband, an engineer, has never been able to grasp the supremely difficult procedure and leaves the plastic supporter lying on the counter RIGHT BELOW THE CABINET IT GOES IN. Without fail. Every time. I’ve asked nicely. I’ve yelled. I’ve brought the plate back to his office and laid it down on his desk saying that there must be some mistake and that perhaps he’d like to try again. He normally apologizes and puts it away but I’m dumbfounded at why he won’t save himself the extra steps and me the inevitable eye twitch. It’s true that I could just put the plate away but I have a long-standing belief that I married a man, not a child. That belief is tested on a regular basis but I don’t feel like I should be supporting his efforts to make me into his mother.

So, tonight, when he again left the plastic thing sit, inches below where it was supposed to be, I asked him to explain it to me—explain how he can’t add one more step to the process and just PUT THE PLATE IN THE CABINET.

“I think it’s because I sit the plate down there on the counter and take the paper plate to the trash and then I just never go back,” he said.

I fight back a quivering eyelid. “You walk past the trash can on your way to that counter. Couldn’t you throw the plate away and then walk to the counter?”

“Uh, I don’t know.”

This. This is why I’m medicated.

 

~L~

The Follow Through

~ crossroadtrippers ~ Leave a comment

I am bad at following through. When I ask myself why I am this way, the whole “nature vs nurture” debate plays out. As a kid my parents were great about getting me into activities, for one year. Dance class, piano lessons, plans to change the course of my life all occurred in the span of a year.
These days plans to change my outcome or improve myself take a great deal of determination. I never really learned to follow through. I have learned to feed the leering instant gratification monster. I can handle small life changing decisions like banning fruity pebbles (I clean the bowl but they are never really gone), limiting the verses of SpongeBob sung in the van, or how many times I will ignore the growing noise downstairs. The life altering decisions require effort but are usually worth the work.
This month I have decided to start over and make some small positive changes. Probably for the 142nd time. I have come to embrace my flaw. I make plans and often don’t notice how I have once again failed to integrate the difference until I am deep in my familiar loop. So I allow myself to keep starting over. Most people wait to start fresh until the first of the year. What good is a resolution without a year of failure preceding? Others wait for Monday. A new start may as well wait for a new week, right? I just keep trying. I keep trying to make those small improvements once a month, a week or even several times a day if needed. It doesn’t always work.
Failure is necessary. We must fail for growth. We must fail so we can understand ourselves and embrace our flaws. We must also admit our imperfection. Sometimes failure is a hard thing to recognize. I am a mother of four. There is a large supply of people to point out my mistakes. And that’s okay. Keeping on track takes work and it takes support. In the end, fighting to keep a desire for positive change yields the most results.
I will continue to make the simple  choices my kids can’t seem to live with: limiting screen time, finishing homework, or making sure they try everything once. I know I will fail to teach them something but I don’t want them to fail to try again.
As for me, I try to remind myself that I am worth the effort. The monotony of motherhood sometimes leads to a void of self-worth. Beauty is usually hiding behind a shirt used as a tissue, jeans speckled with cheerios and hair arranged in a fashion slightly resembling a pony tail. And the phrase “take time for yourself” is joke-worthy. I am on an uphill journey well worth the experience. My follow through could happen on a Thursday afternoon and that could change my life.

Ignoring a Five Year Plan

~ crossroadtrippers ~ Leave a comment
Next year marks my ten year wedding anniversary. This is significant for a number of reasons. For the significance of this post, it means my husband and I have been together for a couple rounds of “where do you think we will be in five years.”
This used to be such an entertaining game. Even before he and I met, a sported round of this game was always worth a spin. Here is how the three previous rounds have summed up since I was somehow declared an adult.
Round one took some casualties. I lost friendships and a marriage but I gained the confidence to live on my own and try to start asking what I wanted with the next five years.
Five years later and I was remarried. I had two children. We were both employed and happy. It was also in this five years we found out one of our children had a rare and incurable disease. Five years down the road began to look more bleak.
Sadly my husband and I no longer question where we will be in five years. My life is very different than I could have imagined and it demands that I live for today. Planning tomorrow ended years ago in a hospital room when we realized how quickly today can change tomorrow.
Five years from now is scarier than it used to be. The older I get, the less I would want to know. In everything there is joy but only with a share of heartbreak. I think I can wait for it all.
Today I will start a new game called, “making today’s decision at the crossroad count.”
*d*

Five Year Plan

~ crossroadtrippers ~ Leave a comment

When we graduated high school and were making plans about where we were going to be in five years, I don’t believe any of us really had a clue. I know I didn’t. I certainly wouldn’t have predicted that I’d be living with a cheating drug abuser, finishing up my last year of college and my English degree, and working four small part-time jobs just to be able to afford Dollar Menu dinners every night. Nor would I have been able to foretell the five years after that that included my druggie boyfriend leaving me for my cousin, me re-living my early 20’s out on the dance floor of the local dive bar, and numerous gentlemen floating through my life. None of that is what I imagined. The last five years has been a surprise too. The pleasant kind. I met my husband, finished writing a novel I started in 2005, and quit my job to—well, mostly I quit because it was awful. Also, I wanted to finish my book. I had intentions of getting a job once the novel was done, but finishing it made me want to be a part of the writing community. It made me want to see if I could make money doing what I loved instead of barely being paid to do what I hated. Even though I’ve found that it’s a long way from the last keystroke on your manuscript to the first paycheck, I’m excited to have come this far. This whole experience has pushed me to make choices about who I am, what I want, and where I’m going.

It’s a scary thing to be 33 and not have a clue where your life is headed—to be staring down the barrel of Life, pointed right in your face. Every day I feel inadequate and incapable and dare I say, like a failure. I wonder where I go from here. What’s next for me? Where will I be in five years? The only thing to do is to make a choice and pursue it like my life depends on it. I have to accept that just because I stumble, it doesn’t mean I’ve chosen the wrong path. There are bumps in every road.

~L~