This Is Me Maria

I love the ocean. I hope we’ll get a little place there one day. I love the vastness. I love the roar, the wind, the smell.

I love sweaters and boots and fluffy socks and anything lined with faux fur.

I love old paper. Old books. Old leather journals.

I love all the things that powerful women don’t care about anymore like cooking, baking, quilting, sewing, gardening, and the like. I wish I didn’t really suck at all of those things. I truly am Gen Y.

I love the movies The Lake House and You’ve Got Mail. No matter the shards of dreams on the floor, I guess I really am a sucker for in the words of Ms. Bradshaw “…ridiculous. inconvenient. consuming… can’t live without you love”.

I’m not really sure what that means anymore though… and I don’t know if I have it. I thought I did but then someone told me I didn’t.

I type so much faster than I can write a letter, but I wish I could turn all of my real friends who I only ever talk to online anymore, into pen pals. I wish I could shop for beautiful stationary. I wish I could get more than just bills, junk, and packages in my mailbox.

I believe that people give and take a form of energy from one another. I imagine that at this time I take a lot of energy from just about everyone.

I have found that my daughter is usually a giver. Hugging her and spending time with her is soothing and healing. She gives energy, sunshine, and love.

My son is a taker. He takes so much all the time. Sometimes it is physically painful to my skin to touch him because he needs so much.

I am sad that it is likely my own bad energy that is ruining him. I am even more sad that there is little that I can do about it right now. When I have a good enough day that I have something to give, I will hug him and I will feel him take everything he can. I will hold him as long as I can, as long as I feel he needs more.

I hope that one day I can feel like a real mom again. Right now I feel like a bystander in their world, watching everything unfold around me.

I thought that finding more of myself, meant that I would drift away from my husband. At first, that seemed to be the case. To my surprise I have found that the more I love myself, the more I remember how much I love Christopher.

Being with him, is being home. Being in his arms is like basking in the warmth of the sun. There is no place I feel safer than with him.

I suppose this makes me somewhat vulnerable, but then there is no one I trust more. It is wonderful to recall that I am madly and sickeningly in love with him still after all of these years. I am so lucky.

1) Make time to listen to your friend talk about nothing and something.

2) Tell your friend you still love them - medicated or not.

3) Look at all of your friend’s photos of their kids/dogs/hobbies

4) Remember you friend’s special dates

5) Spend time with your friend

Maybe just one little thing will help you get through each day.

1) Lay your head on the shoulder of an unquestioning, unassuming, friend that you trust. Just close your eyes and lay there for awhile.

2) Listen to a song that you really like. Music is like medicine for the soul. Listen to songs that calm and caress your soul.

3) Take a walk. Everyone knows exercise helps with depression but no one explains how to climb out from the depression cloud to start exercising. Just try a comfortable walk for now.

4) Seek out a flavor tea that you love. Collect a personal sized tea set that you use just for your own private tea time.

5) Create something very small. Buy a tiny kit of some kind that allows to express your creativity but is a small project that won’t overwhelm you. Like a tiny herb garden, or a tiny ornament decorator.

http://money.cnn.com/2008/03/18/smbusiness/bellevue_washington.fsb/index.htm

My city took 1st place this year! We’ve been in the top 100 at least a few times in the past few years but this year we took the #1 spot.

I don’t follow news with any kind of regularity so I am very slow at learning of anything. LOL

Yay Bellevue!

I am very fortunate to have a handful of good friends. An interesting trend that I’ve observed lately is that many of my older friends tend to be pessimistic like me. I appreciate that they can relate to my concern and often validate feelings.

However, my younger friends who are closer to my age tend to be more optimistic and we are able to say encouraging things like “I KNOW everything is going to be okay for you.” We don’t question each other and say things like “How do you know everything will be okay?”

In a cynical, bitter world it is nice to have that kind of support. I am very lucky to have found friends that I can relate to, even if I only talk to them online and on the phone and very rarely get to see each other in person.

I think there is something to be learned from from people like my fabulous friend Lish, who is a constant source of support and sunshine.

My daughter is amazing. Every moment with her no matter what we are doing, is magical. There are almost no words to describe how wonderful she is. Not in a “she always listens and follows directions”  kind of way because lets face it she’s my daughter. She and I don’t even have the understanding and comradery that I share with my son.

Even before my mother died (uncomfortable pause to soak that up); I wanted a daughter. I didn’t know why but I always knew that I did. The day that I brought her home I felt a new level of completeness but even now I can’t exactly put into words why.

Yesterday she sang me a song she learned in preschool about clouds in the sky. Just sitting with her listening to her tiny voice was such a blissful moment, just because it was her. I try and soak up every moment I have with her. I am not eager to admit that she is 5 now.

I bother to regale anyone with this story because my daughter reminds me to just stop and I hope you’ll take the time to do the same. Just stop and enjoy your children.

My mom died when I was a girl. I don’t think about her often and I can probably count the number of times I’ve cried about her on one hand. A psychologist might tell you that I haven’t yet grieved for her. What that means for me is that I don’t like to talk about her or even think about her. Whenever I start to weep for her, I stop because I feel foolish. I feel too old to be crying for my mom.

Unfortunately being a mother reminds you of your own mother. Today my children were playing on the sofa in a mound of cushions, building tiny rooms made of the square brown pillows that litter the seating through out the house.

I was reminded of this time my sister and I were trying to build a fort out of pillows and sheets. My mom started to help us but she went all out. Taking mattresses and cushions apart, using sheets from all over the house, building this elaborate fort system through out nearly our entire home. It was fantastic and surprising and an afternoon I’ll likely not forget.

I always worry that I am not creating good memories for my children, but I recently realized that part of who I am comes from the unique memories I have with my dad and even my mom. Spending late nights drinking coffee at a bookstore, taking long drives to all these old little towns, listening to all kinds of crazy new age music and listening to NPR.

I have to remember that my family is making our own memories, just a different kind. Library trips, ice skating, watching movies and working in our yard with our dogs playing nearby.