I woke up from a horrible dream last night in which I had lost this entire blog due to lack of use. I think that has actually happened to a few people, and I *have* gone from posting daily to weekly to monthly to oops! I missed a month, so it wasn't an entirely unbelievable dream.
And golly gee! Did it ever hurt! Can you imagine losing almost seven carefully documented years of your life? I guess that A. I need to find a way to back up or print this priceless piece of my history and/or B. Get writing more, buddy (!)
April is a good time to catch up here. Both it and August are months that I mark major changes: The start of my single life, the anniversary of recovering from Rheumatic Fever and living with a heart condition and PTSD. Surrendering to God's will.
Naturally, the sting is lessened each year, sucked into the daily mechanism of my blessedly normal life, and spat back out as a twinge of pain and reflection instead of the all consuming beast it once was. I am different. In mostly good ways, but different nonetheless, and I am glad to forever have a record of where I was and am at these intervals in my life.
So, where do I sit in year six?...
Still happily (re)married to the most perfect-for-me man in the world, happily mothering six amazing souls--I wouldn't change any of it. Except the pee around the base of the toilet, but I know there will be a time in my life I will miss even that.
I have had to face some emotional/physical damage from my previous marriage and even some junk that happened to me when I was single, but it hasn't been impossible, especially when I have such a kind and patient spouse who is dealing with some of the same things himself who is willing to listen and talk. We try not to lose too many days to dwelling on what was. Our trust in one another, in our future together without tragedy, continues to grow.
Another difficulty has been letting go of the things I knew I would miss about single life--namely regular intervals of time to myself. Though I always hated sending my kids off to their dad's for evening visits and every other weekend, my mind and body became acclimated to having that time to throw myself into my writing, my housework, my physical exercise, and my social life. I got ahead in these times, recovered my introverted self, and was able to get back into parenting revived. Caring for seven other individuals in various capacities and for a home that seems absolutely unable to keep itself clean, while working and homeschooling and taking very few breaks has had its chew-me-up-and-spit-me-out moments. I have put on weight without the time I had to devote to trail running and kick boxing (and those post break-up depressions that left me without an appetite, but I don't miss those at all!). I have a dozen stories written, awaiting endings or middles or editing. My head is full of ideas that there just isn't enough time to get down. Most of my wants are trumped by the needs. I haven't had a haircut in nearly five months because I also don't have the money I once did to spend just on myself. The heels are all worn off my shoes.Sometimes my husband eats my ice cream... ;-)
All trivial and easily forgotten most days. Not all of them--I'm still human, but hardly worthy of complaint and easily compared to the struggles of wives and mothers everywhere.
On top of those things, I'm still adjusting to my new home--trying to build friendships in a place where most people already have friends, and where the well was already semi-poisoned against me depending on who was team my husband and who was team his ex-wife after the divorce (I hate that, but it's a sad reality all divorced people have to face). I'm looking for new writing friends, always. None yet. I miss Boise like a dull ache that never quite goes away, but, again--if you asked me to go back, I wouldn't. A visit would be nice, but I'm committed to blooming where I planted myself.
I learned this weekend that I am made of eternal stuff and therefore resist endings. I am always finding a challenge or a handful of challenges to force me to the next level. It doesn't mean I'm not grateful at all times, always, just that I am not really happy until I am pushing and being pushed up against by that next big thing.
I feel absolutely certain I am in the right place, surrounded by the right people, that I need to be to get me chasing that next dream. And, now that I'm one post down, I'm also certain I won't be losing my blog and can move back to dreaming about all my teeth falling down and having to remember high school drill team routines.
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