Good Food

Cooler weather is wonderful!  Especially when it comes to cooking.  There are some foods that you just can't have in warm weather.  Now that things are cooling down a bit, we're having good food around here.  We didn't have a garden this year, so we're not pulling the bounty from that, but we had some stuff in our freezer from last year yet that we're using up. 
The other night we had grilled steak, squash, and broccoli.  That was really good. 
Then we had a day of very little: Rice for supper.  Add some cheese and butter and Matt adds onions and mushrooms to his, and I use just plain teryaki sauce, and life is good. 
Now today, we're eating a lot again.  Lunch was pancakes made from scratch . Very nice, fluffy pancakes, too.  Now supper is already in the process.  Beef noodle soup with onions, carrots, and rutabagas and homemade egg noodles.  Mmm...
Luckily there will be leftovers. 

I guess the creativity is coming out in many ways.  What will be next?  Maybe pasties?  I've got a lot of the stuff right on hand for them.  And they are oh so good!  I also found a recipe for popovers that seems easy.  I may try them, too. And we haven't had egg rolls in a long time, either. Too much good stuff!

Ideal clarity

Wow!

I almost never get this much clarity for an idea!

I've been reading H.G. Wells' "A Modern Utopia."  I haven't been making a lot of headway with it, because I mainly read right before bed and it's a doozy.  Some sentences I have to reread about ten times before I can finally get what's being said.  And then, because I read right before bed, I have other distractions, like the TV.  Matt likes to watch all kinds of good shows before he sleeps, and I usually wind up sucked in to learning about how the Blue Angels fly or something like that. 

Anyway, I've been thinking about what my utopia would be. 

I've come to the conclusion that there is no utopia.  And so, my idea for a story came about.  A world run by women.  Men are banished from this world aside from the purpose of procreation.  And the story will be told from the point of view of a boy about to commence into the world of men after his "coming of age" ceremony. 

It won't be a "women are better than men" type of writing, nor will be it be the other way around.  There's a lot of thinking to do, yet.  Thank goodness I have a nice big white board on which to write random words.  Though, when Matt sees the words, "men banished" he may be a little frightened.  I'll tell him it's all for a good story.

Some of the tough stuff

There is something on my mind that I’ve been mulling over for quite a long time.  I didn’t want to write about it at first because I wasn’t sure if I could do so without going too far into personal matters that are not my own.  Now I think I can write about this without any problem.  It’s all a matter of finding the correct words. 

This past summer, in the beginning of July, I think it was, our Pastor’s son died.  He committed suicide. 

(An aside: what powerful words-commit suicide.  They are so final, which I guess is because they are final.  It’s not like a person DOES suicide.  A person COMMITS suicide.  It’s an all or nothing deal.  Anyway, back to the original post.)

This was a shock within our congregation and within the synod circles.  You can never really understand what drives a person to commit suicide (there it is again!).  The only explanation given was that he was “too enamored with the ways of the world.”  He was 30 years old.  He died on his 30^th birthday. 

This post is not necessarily about that, though.  Not long after the news got around to everyone, the daughters of our previous Pastor posted bible verses on their Facebook pages.  Which was nice, and I know where they were coming from with that.  It was a way to show from whence help can come and to not despair.  The issue I had was the younger one added, “If you’re having a problem, TALK to someone about it!”

Good words, I will admit.  However, they’re too simplistic.  There’s so much more to it than just “talking to someone about it.” 

I wasn’t able to explain that to her.  She’s now a freshman in college.  She still has the rosy outlook of a teenager.  I’m not willing to be the one to take that away from her.  Unfortunately, for most people, life experiences do that anyway.

I will begin this next portion with the explanation that I have never been suicidal.  Let me repeat: I HAVE NEVER BEEN SUICIDAL. 

Okay, now that’s out of the way.

Knowing my own background and struggle with depression, I know some of the thoughts a person can have.  I also know how difficult it can be to either voice those thoughts or to express that one is even having those negative thoughts.  For me, there are three main reasons for this:

A.     I don’t want to burden others with my problems. 

B.      I feel no one can understand my issues, so I don’t even try to explain.

C.     I’m not sure I can even find the correct words for what is going through my mind.

A lot of the time, I try to just muddle through on my own when I feel the depression coming back.  I go through good times and bad times.  Because of the three aforementioned reasons, I don’t tell people right away what is going on.  Why should I be the downer?  What good would it do, anyway?  How can I accurately explain what’s going through my mind?

And, now, knowing those difficulties I’ve had with mental illness, I can understand better what a person may go through.  

So, saying, “If you’re having a problem, TALK to someone about it” just doesn’t work all the time.  It’s an easy platitude for those who have never experienced depression/other mental illness to say.  It makes the people saying it feel better, maybe.  It’s like finding a leak in a dam and sticking your finger in it to make it stop: You may think it’s working, but it ignores the bigger issues that caused the leak. 

I also need to say that I’ve had wonderful people around me to help me through.  My most awesomest husband, Matt.  He helps me by taking up the slack around the house when I just don’t feel I can do anything.  He doesn’t judge.  Or, if he does, he doesn’t voice it.  He knows I do enough of that for myself.  He also doesn’t pressure me to say anything.  He just waits.  He knows in time it will come.

Also, I have my Minda.  She’s had her own battles and made it through.  She knows some of what I’m feeling and also knows how difficult it can be to explain.  Again, there’s no pressure from her, like Matt, she just waits.  She understands that with every emotion I have there’s always the underlying: Is that really me, or is it the depression again?  While everyone experiencing this crud is different, she is also able to say, “Well, in MY experience…” and luckily, I’m able to value that as it is.  (Go liberal arts education! WHOO!)

And I can’t forget Mary, who has cheered for me (whether she knows it or not), and prompted me to write about the experiences.  She knows sometimes saying something is difficult, but somehow writing it out is easier.  Maybe it’s the connection between the brain and the hands that aids that.  And when something is written, it can be erased, edited, etc.  When you say something, you can’t UNsay it.  You’re committed to the oral process, the written process is made to be edited. 

And now, if you made it to the end of this, I applaud you.  I’m happy I’ve made it to the end of this writing.  It explains many thoughts I’ve had.  I’ve finally been able to process them, and get them down.  In a nice, edited way. 

Bad Mom Moment

I’m a terrible mother. 

I really am.

Not always.  I can pull off some amazing mommy moments when teaching my girls, like making up the notecard game to help Kirstin learn some first words, or teaching Emily how to say, “I love you” after giving hugs.  Those are fun times.

But then there are the times when I’m tired, cranky, and putting up with whiny, cranky kids.  Then I tend to get more sarcastic and mean.  I also make assumptions that can hurt others.

So what happened?

I told Kirstin I flushed Mongo the cat down the toilet.

It all started with getting ready to go to the parade in town.  I had the girls ready, and I took a second to go to the bathroom.  We tend to keep an open door policy with the bathroom.  I think of it as modeling good behavior for the girls.  Really, it’s just a lack of modesty and laziness.  I was just turning to flush the toilet and the shower curtain moved outward. 

It startled me, especially as part of the curtain took the shape of a big cat paw.  I knew what was going on, but was startled, none-the-less.  So I yelled,

“Holy crap!”

Matt laughed and said I didn’t know Mongo was between the curtains.  Obviously I didn’t because otherwise I wouldn’t have yelled.

Kirstin heard the name, Mongo, and assumed he was in the toilet for whatever reason.  She didn’t see what was happening and put two and two together and got five, I guess.

So, the inevitable question came.

“Did you just flush Mongo down the toilet?”

The night before we’d gone to see fireworks at the Traverse County fair, and wound up visiting with Matt’s Aunt, Uncle, and cousins (that’s a fun story too).  We didn’t get home till after midnight.  Now, me, being tired from getting home so late the night before coupled with an odd inability to sleep after that, answered in my usual sarcastic way when I feel like that:

“Yes, Kirstin, I did flush Mongo down the toilet.”

I figured she knew that Mongo wouldn’t fit down the toilet, and that he would probably not like being in the toilet in the first place and just jump out.  I was completely and horribly wrong.

Cue tears and sobbing.

She thought she lost a beloved pet, again.  She wouldn’t stop even after I procured Mongo from the shower curtain and brought him out for her to pet.  She didn’t even really stop after I held her and rocked her.  All the while apologizing and telling her it was a joke and I shouldn’t joke like that with her because she takes things so seriously.  She didn’t stop crying till her dad gave her a hug and told her we’d better get to the parade or she’d miss out on all the candy.  Then it was like nothing happened and she was all smiles and antics again. 

By the way, the parade was fun as usual.  Kirstin was the only kid in our section so she got a TON of candy.  Of course, no kid needs that much candy, so to save her teeth I decided to take one for the team and eat some, too.  I mean, if it saves a child some trouble, it must be okay, right?

Another Creative Endeavor

Finally, able to take some time to write a little bit.  

Actually, I’m sitting at my desk with a cup of coffee and a muffin.  I was going to read some of my online stuff and then realized that I have no more to read online. 

And yet, there are dishes to be done, laundry to be folded, floors to vacuum, and all that good stuff to do today and motivation is just not there for right now.

So, I write.

I have been quite busy.  I got an idea into my brain and I just can’t let it go.  I want to make a quilt for Kirstin for her 5^th birthday in March. 

But I don’t quilt.

Hmm…

So I talked to Matt’s aunt Jo about it.  She can piece together quilts, but does only squares. 

Hmm… again…

Hey! I know! I can personalize it by embroidering a bunch of blocks with pictures and words that remind me of Kirstin.

And now I sit with embroidery in my hands while Emily is napping and after the girls go to bed.  I have all kind of pictures to embroider onto blocks of fabric.  

Only other problem: It’s been years since I last did anything like this.  I knew I needed help of some kind.  So I searched the web for any kind of tutorials I could find and came across Mary Corbet’s Needle NThread blog.  

How cool is that!  She even put up video tutorials of the different stitches, includes patterns, reviews embroidery books, and offers advice to anyone who asks.  I have learned much from this website. 

Now, this creative endeavor is going pretty well.  I made use of the local fabric shop for thread, needles, and fabric.  I even bought a little embroidery hoop from there, but it didn’t work well.  I got better ones from my Mom in law.  I’m all set, I just have to go with Jo to get the rest of the fabric, embroider all the pieces that need it, and get them to Jo.  It should be a fun project.  And I get to repeat it in a few years when Emily gets to be the same age.  

Otherwise I’ve just been knocking titles off my reading list.  I’ve read items by Henrik Ibsen, H.G. Wells, and am in the process of reading Cervantes’ Don Quixote. 

The reading list is something I’m never going to finish.  As I put X’s by the title’s I’ve read, I add new titles to it.  I just love books! With my reading list, I also get a sense of accomplishment as I finish a book and can put an X by the title.  Some of the books I like more than others.  Some I may read again, and others, well, not so much...But I'm getting a taste of all different kinds of literature.  It's wonderful!

Raising a Writer

“Give me a broken piece of heart!”

“Do you like my song Mama?”

Why yes, it’s a beautiful song, but it’s a little sad isn’t it?

“No, not at all Mama!  I just haven’t found the right words yet for when the heart isn’t broken anymore!”

I’m not sure where she even got the words “broken piece of heart.”  We always have so much music playing around here it’s tough to say.

But Kirstin does touch on something that every writer goes through: Finding the right words to convey the story, emotion, chaos, etc. with the pizzazz that will make readers think, “WOW! I know this!”

And that makes me realize just how grown up she is.  It all started with a haircut.

Before she looked like this:

Emily and Kirstin enjoying the sunny day

My little girl, and she would always be my little girl.

Then, we got her hair cut. 

Nora, Landon, Kirstin, and April singing in the VBS closing service.

Now all of a sudden she grew up on me.  She has good insights on people and situations.  She’s fun to listen to (though not ALL of the time).  She tries new things all the time.  She’s becoming more daring, a little more sassy, and tried swearing a few times.  All of which puts my heart into my throat, frustrates me, and makes me laugh.  It’s very difficult to tell a child not to use some words when you’re laughing.  Like when she said, “That f---ing d..n computer just doesn’t work!”

At least she used the correct context.  And yes, she gets that from me.  While I don’t normally swear around the kids, sometimes when things aren’t working right I slip up.  And yes, I’ve used those words when my computer wasn’t working the way I wanted it to.

And now I believe I may have a writer on my hands.  I want to encourage her to put her thoughts down on paper, as soon as she can write.  Right now she draws pictures a lot.  Who knows, maybe I have the next great poet, novelist, or playwright on my hands.  She’s still young enough that her imagination isn’t inhibited by anything.  It’s my hope that it never becomes that way.

Moving slowly

The surgery is done.  I'm sore, as is to be expected.  I'm learning to take the pain pills the doctor prescribed.  I turned down some heavy narcotics in my IV in the recovery room.  Not a big fan of them.  Took some Aleve instead when I got back to my regular room.  That worked pretty well.  Now I have Tylenol 3 to take.  It's not as strong as the demerol or morphine I was offered earlier.  Just focusing on getting better so I can then focus on where life is again.  It'll probably be a few days. I can't wait to hold my girls again!  I miss the cuddles!  In the meantime...being waited on is kind of fun!