Jesus, take the hamster wheel

I've been having a hard time lately.  I don't know why.  But anxiety is kicking my ass.  And I'm back to that old pattern about feeling bad about it, like I need to be fixed.  Like my anxiety is because I am incomplete and once I am completed I will no longer be anxious.  But I've lived in this brain for 32 years and I am starting to realize this may not be the case.  The anxiety will always be there, Erin.  It's what used to keep you up at night crying about the poverty you learned about in school that day.  It's what keeps you up at night because you can't feel God lately.  It's hard living with this brain.  Sometimes it's exhausting to THINK so much and obsessively over analyze ABSOLUTELY NOTHING AT ALL.  Scratch that, it's always exhausting.  But it's a cycle, I've learned.  Right now I'm at that peak point of the cycle where my brain is a hamster on a wheel, just GOING FOR IT.  That little guy is going to WIN.



Tonight I was reading to Grace and I was having a really anxious moment, like reading the words on the page but not really reading them because I was thinking about a million other things.  Not in an interesting way, but in a hostage situation way.  I wanted to stay focused and present, but I kept getting taken hostage, back to the hamster wheel.  I hated it.  Mostly because I excel at reading bedtime stories.  THAT THEATRE DEGREE WILL BE USEFUL DAMNIT.  I kept talking myself back into the present moment, because I loved the present moment, then running back to the wheel, then talking myself back to present and I started to kind of panic a little like, WHY can't I do this right now?  And I felt shitty about myself and angry with myself for sucking.  And then I started to justify why I am sucking -- Grace hasn't been feeling well, I haven't been getting much sleep for the last oh, 3 or so years, I have been eating to excess, over indulging in wine and sweets, I rarely find time to exercise, blah blah blah blah blah.  And you know what?  These things are all true.  Undoubtedly.  But even when I have all of those things in line I STILL HAVE ANXIETY.  And I really want to dismiss it, like pff okay DRAMA QUEEN, you and your hard little life and your sensitive little soul, you who have been given everything, surely YOU have certainly earned the right to be anxious. (That's sarcasm, btw.) Count your freaking blessings and LOCK IT UP.  And then I feel shitty again.  And back to the hamster wheel I go.

Anyway, I got to hear my favorite writer speak today, Glennon Doyle Melton, and she's extremely inspirational to a gal like me, a gal who knows nothing and may have a little extra side of anxiety than the average person, oh, and sizable portion of feelings.  But one of the things she said was, don't believe a woman who says, "I don't know."  Because a woman always knows.  So tonight, held hostage by my hamster wheel (I like to picture it orange, with, like, a jingly little bell attached to it?), I thought, I don't know how to deal with this right now.  And then I thought about Xanax. But I felt the hamster pause (He's cute guys, liver and white spotted.  Am I taking this metaphor too far?) and it dawned on me that what I needed to do was just write down my thoughts.  Go to your quiet bloggity blog that doesn't talk back, that doesn't need, that isn't disappointed or judgmental and just UNLEASH.

(An aside: The other day my mom was so sweet and took the girls so I could get us all packed up for a weekend away. I came home from dropping them off and I was starving because I hadn't really eaten breakfast and I'm nursing so I'm always hungry. It was just past lunchtime and I thought, I'll just get us packed, take a shower, do some vacuuming, then if I have time I'll grab something to eat.  And then I thought: WHAT?!  YOU HAVE TO STAY ALIVE, ERIN.  And you have to EAT to stay alive.  Eat the food.  Do the chores.  Put on your own life vest first, you know? I am so quick to bury my own self and then feel guilty when I need something (like food?! A one hour break?).  This is a tired trope, too.  I want to roll my eyes just reading it:  Oh, another over worked Mommy.  I dunno man, all I can say is it's true.  Serving these people, it can bleed me dry sometimes.  Blogging is usually a treat, reserved for moments when the ducks are in a row and the little people are happy.)

So tonight, after talking myself out of my panic, and taking a few productive turns on the hamster wheel I came downstairs, and instead of going right into prepare for tomorrow mode (i.e., toys away, dishwasher unloaded, towels folded) I said to Eric, I just need to write.  And he was like OK, and just kept doing what he was doing.  And I was sort of like, huh. I can just take some time?  It's that easy? WOW I like to make easy things hard.

Also I am long winded.  Whew.

I am tired, most days.  I can't feel God because I don't make time to search Him or Her out.  I'm tired of not being able to voice my opinion to people I disagree with because I'm afraid of not being able to get the words out right, and my voice gets shaky and I'm just better at writing things than saying things. I feel sort of unfortunate looking right now because baby weight and falling out hair and some new wrinkles.  I feel unworthy of the little girls that I have the privilege of loving and raising, and frankly I don't know what the hell I'm doing so how can I teach them anything?  What is the effing point of life, guys?  WHAT IS IT?


And that's frankly the gist of it.  For today.  And here I am, forty five minutes later, and I feel lighter.  Freer.  I feel a little more like myself. I feel like anxiety doesn't have to be definitive.  I feel like the questions I have for God aren't quite as scary.  And they're going to be there tomorrow.  They're probably going to be there on the day you die, Erin. Huh.  What is it about the act of pen to paper or finger to key that is so therapeutic?

And now.  To publish or not to publish.

Life Hack #4: Summer Edition

Guys, it's getting to that point in summer where I'm getting a little panicky.  It's August 7th.  IT'S AUGUST SEVENTH!  IT'S GOING TO BE OVER SOON.  This panic, this anxiety makes me a little cuckoo, makes me want to control things.  I want to remodel my living room and I'm contemplating getting rid of my piano....however, there's no earthly way I can remodel my living room and I adore my piano.  So, in my infinite wisdom and 8 minutes of spare time I have per day, I realized the one place I have ultimate control is MY BLOG.  Oh my little blogitty blog, I love you.  Thank you for doing exactly what I want and for not hiding your favorite doll in a drawer and then demanding her at nap time.  Please teach your sisters and dad a thing or two, okay?

This is what 4 months looks like

Elle, you giant, darling little girl...please stop growing so fast!

I think she looks like my Uncle Willie.  Which is another way to say she is all Schuette.

This is what 10 years looks like

Once upon a time, on a very hot summer day ten years ago, two crazy kids tied the knot.

It was literally 100 degrees that day.  Photo cred to the fabulous Front Room Photography.

Good Grief

She would be so mad at me for posting this picture. There were 23 and counting different brands of wrinkle creams in her bathroom on the day she passed. It's cool, Gma, vanity is our favorite vice too.

As I'm sitting here, a few stolen moments while Grace plays with my phone and Elle sleeps in, I'm feeling the loss of my grandmother-in-law who passed away last week.  She was elderly, she was ill, she was ready to go...it's about the best you can hope for, but it's still sad.  She was lovely, inside and out, and I am going to miss her tremendously.  Today I'm thinking about her because some of her treasures are in my dining room, waiting to be sorted, her beautiful glass bowl is holding bananas on my countertop, and thanks to a serendipitously timed moment, her car is parked in my driveway (more on that later). Most mornings are too busy for me to sit still and read or write, but today I have time, and I'm thinking about the passage I read in my Daily Guideposts book the morning after Grandma passed away.  It's a story of a woman suffering from macular degeneration who, regarding her failing eyesight says, "You can never be grateful enough until it's gone."  The author of the passage goes on to explain how she recognized this woman's grief not as self-pity, but as a "deep expression of thanksgiving for something or someone I am missing."  I've never considered that before, grief equalling gratitude.  Grief is hard.  It's sad.  It hurts right in the solar plexus, where no amount of food or drink or hugs can reach.  But to grieve is to have lost something worthy of your love.

Elle's nursery

Spoiler alert:  

*Elle has the best room in our house*  

The reason being, it gets beautiful west-facing light, unencumbered by the giant trees that occupy our yard. Take a look at the photo below, when this pretty room belonged to Grace.

This is what 2.5 looks like

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This girl. I love her.