Cocooned

My husband, son, and I have recently moved into a new home. It's the first we've owned and it fits us perfectly. I can't wait for the end of the day so that I can go there.

Before I met my husband, I would walk in the neighborhood near the apartmeent complex where I lived and look into the warmly lit windows and sigh. Now some of those windows belong to me. I get to go in and feel that feeling.

Home.

Six Degrees of Separation from Death

Recently, there was a horrific accident in the town where I work. It reminds me of a strange phenomenon I've observed about people when this sort of thing happens. They want to indicate how the event relates personally to them, and will stretch far and wide to find some connection to the people involved. Why is this?

In my life I have been far too close for comfort to death, disease, and the dying process. I want nothing to do with it. I hate to admit it, but when I hear of something like this I breathe a sigh of relief that it wasn't me or someone I know. I do feel empathy towards the family, but I'd rather not think of it at all. It's just too much.

Why are some people wanting to get closer to it? This is something I don't think I'll ever understand.

Procrastinator.

So, I put a fairly important bill on top of the computer keyboard so that the next time I used the computer, the first thing I would do would be pay that bill. That was 2 1/2 weeks ago. The bill is now under a usb cable and a Post-It pad.

Mostly I don't want to pay this bill. It's vehicle tax. I didn't have to pay vehicle tax until I moved here. I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO PAY IT. But I will. Just not today.

If it makes you happy...

I just love that Cheryl Crow song. The problem is, I never really know what makes me happy until I'm already in it. In fact, I seem to be most miserable when I'm TRYING to make myself happy.

I recently got something I've been wanting for a long time. Then I sat there waiting to feel the bliss, the excitement, the all-out Yee-Haw-ness of the situation. Nothin'.

My husband said, "Maybe we're just not meant to be happy all the time." Thanks a lot Mr. Sunshine.

But then I thought about it. Happiness comes from stuff or events, and is fleeting. Joy is deep-rooted, part of the soul, flowing through our very being. Once I caught on, I realized, like the folks in Oz, I have had joy all along. I just couldn't feel it because I was too busy trying to be happy.

Forecast: Chance of Intermittent but Occasional Blogging

I am, quite possibly, the worst blogger ever. "Intermittent" does not even begin to describe my blogging behavior. It reminds me of all of the other hobbies I've had throughout my life - the remnants of which can be found in various boxes in the attic. Well, I'm dusting this baby off. Time to get back at it. At least for today.

The Dichotomy of Motherhood

Picture this: An incredibly cute yet incredibly loud short person spending most of his waking hours yelling, "Train, Mama" or, "Cookie, Mama", or "Down, Mama", or "Up Mama" pretty much constantly. This has been my Christmas Vacation.

However, between the yelling I've been given sweet kisses and hugs, the smell of baby shampoo, new words and new dance moves, and a Christmas morning filled with awe and delight.

I am a mother, and I am grateful.

Perspective

An old friend of my parents emailed me recently. I hadn't heard from him since before they died. He wanted to know what had become of me and my siblings. This kind of thing happens more often than you'd think, thanks to Mother Internet. She makes it so hard to hide.

My first reaction was anger because I felt like what he was asking was for me to assure him that we are fine, and that he no longer has to feel guilty for not checking in when we were young children, in need of many connections with people who loved us and loved our parents. I let that pass and then sent him a brief note letting him know that, in fact, my siblings and I have grown up relatively unscathed.

He wrote back. He told me about his family. His wife died in 1995 in a car accident. His sadness was evident in the words he wrote. I was reminded once again that everyone has their own burdens to bear and we are foolish to think that ours are heavier than anyone else's.